#i did this for six hours straight its so mid

[vampenjoyer]

fem sanji (closeup + less background under cut)

alt versions whatever

[potato-lord-but-not]

“There’s something aesthetically pleasing about the word noon. Its palindromic spelling feels appropriate for the middle of the day, when the sun is directly overhead and the hands on the clock are pointed upward in a straight line. It’s even spelled with letters found more or less in the middle of the alphabet.” (“What Time Is…” par. 1)

Perhaps unfortunately for my argument, this article goes on to explain how the word ‘noon’ originally referred to the ninth hour of the day, that of course being 3 o’clock; because the sun and with it the people rose at six. It is derived from the Latin word for ‘ninth’, ‘nonus’. The word’s meaning apparently shifted during the twelfth century, because of the prayers of monastic orders. The second of three daily prayers would occur at noon, and the time of this prayer eventually became earlier, landing at twelve. This is believed to have been so the monks could break their fast sooner. Of course, this is not universally agreed upon and other theories include shifts in seasonal daylit hours, and European Medieval people’s struggles to have accurate timekeeping.

None of my sources suggest that three o’clock was considered the middle of the day at any point in time, therefore I would like to argue that the word noon did not originally refer to the middle of the day, but eventually, when it was given to the time that is more deserving of that title, came to do so. I believe that the denotation “middle of the day” is something that is both scientifically and culturally awarded, and that for whatever reason the people (however unknowingly) creating the Old/Middle English language believed twelve o’clock to be so. If you wish to create your own cultural norms, by all means go ahead, just remember that the word culture refers to a group, so you’ll need to find some people who agree with you. (Which, hey, maybe you already have, maybe most people agree with you and I’m just being pedantic.)

Anyways um hi, sorry about this, I did in fact make a tumblr account solely to send you this, because the idea of doing so was too funny to me to not.  Also, I just discovered that the Oxford English Dictionary website has a pay wall these days and I am DEVASTATED I tell you, devastated. But yeah, I’ll stop, have a good weekend, I love you, I hope your morning spent on public transit hasn’t been too boring.

Works Cited

“Culture Definition & Meaning.” Merriam-Webster, Merriam-Webster, www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/culture. Accessed 2 Mar. 2024.

“Noon (n.).” Online Etymology Dictionary, www.etymonline.com/word/noon. Accessed 2 Mar. 2024.

“What Time Is ‘Noon’?” Merriam-Webster, Merriam-Webster, www.merriam-webster.com/wordplay/noon-history-ninth-prayer-hour-nones. Accessed 2 Mar. 2024.

OFC you’re leaving citations on A TUMBLR ASK OH MY GODDD anyway I do believe I’m starting a cultural shift because everyone I’ve asked so far has NOT said mid-day is noon they’ve ranged from 11-1 to 1-2 (albeit a bit earlier than my 2-3 answer but STILL)

Yknow what fuck it let’s do a poll bb

anyywayyyy everyone say hi to my girlfrienddd give them a nice warm welcome to tumblr <3

[splatsvilles-fashionista]

Splatoon 3 Version 6.0 Patch Notes Breakdown

Been a little bit since I did one of these, but Nintendo released the Chill Season 2023 patch notes about three hour ago, and while in terms of balance changes this is one of the smallest patches ever, it's got a ton of quality-of-life changes, so let's dig in, shall we?

So let's start from the top. In terms of new content, this patch includes a new catalog, two new stages (Robo ROM-en and Bluefin Depot), two new Specials (Splattercolor Screen and Triple Splashdown), nine new weapons, two new multiplayer songs, the new King Salmonid Megalodontia, and eleven new Tableturf cards.

Additionally, you'll note that they're including a line about giving you one Sheldon License at the end of each season. This is actually really relevant to a change coming down in line, so tuck that in the back of your mind for later.

The balance changes are all buffs, but they're relatively minor, and only six Main weapons and one Special are seeing any changes this time around.

Starting off, .96 Gal is having its ink efficiency buffed by 8%. It currently gets 40 shots on a full ink tank, so I wager this increases that number by about 5-10, but it's 5 AM my time at time of writing and I am bad at math, so I don't know for sure.

Ranged Blaster's explosions get a 15% paint buff. Note that this applies only to the final explosion and not the trail, so it's not a straight 15% paint buff.

Dread Wringer gets a 10% ink efficiency buff, and since it currently has ten sloshes on a full tank, that increases that number to eleven.

And finally, for Main Weapon changes the Heavy Edit Splatling now paints more. Unlike the Ranged Blaster's paint buff this is a lot harder to gauge, but Heavy Edit's paint can be kind of spotty and inefficient, so this is undoubtedly a good thing for it.

After that, we've got only two points-for-Special changes.

Jet Squelcher and L-3 Nozzlenose both get some points shaved off their Specials, taking their Ink Vac and Crab Tank to 180p and 190p respectively. On one hand, I am biased and hate the Jet Squelcher, and I think this buff was completely unwarranted and unnecessary, but on the other hand I love the L-3 and want only good things in life for it, so they balance each other out, in my book.

And, for the final balance change of the entire patch, we've got a Reefslider buff, as it now makes you invulnerable during its startup 13 frames faster. The thing about this change is that like, it's a buff, and that is good, but the problem Reefslider has is not getting the Special off, it's that you very rarely survive the aftermath of using it, and this does nothing to solve that. With Triple Splashdown on the horizon I think things might be rough for this Special in the future.

And that's all of the balance changes! There being so few of them indicate two things to me: That Nintendo is overall happy with the the state of the game, and that they are wary of touching anything unless they have to. And one hand I get it, after all, competitive players are currently saying that there really isn't a meta at the moment, just picking weapons you're good at and playing well, and that's probably not an environment you want to shake up too much. But on the other hand, there are a lot of things like Line Marker, Undercover Brella, and Reefslider to name a few, that could really do with some sprucing up to help them keep up with the just the middle of the pack. I think raising the bottom bar a bit higher would be to everyone's benefit.

But we've got two Specials being added, so I suppose now's not the time to rock the boat too much. We'll see how things have shaken out come the mid-season patch in January.

But the balance changes are a very small part of these patch notes, and nowhere near the most interesting, so let's keep moving on.

Anarchy Series and X Battles are receiving a whole slew of changes, the most prominent of which are some new badge rewards for win streaks and attaining high X Rankings. Additionally, matchmaking in X Battles is being changed to more strictly separate people with high and low X Ranks, as well as allowing more team compositions. To cut a long story short, weapons have a set of internal values that the game uses during matchmaking to try and balance the team compositions. Matchmaking in high-power X Rank infamously takes a very long time, so I have to imagine that this change aims to speed things up by making the matchmaking more lenient on that front.

Salmon Run, in addition to the new King Salmonid, is getting some significant changes, starting with some changes to the Specials:

Kraken Royale and Triple Splashdown are being added to the pool of available Specials. Additionally, Mr. Grizz has finally agreed to always provide at least two workers on every team with a long-range Special to handle all the pesky Stingers and Flyfish. Be sure to thank your local union representative the next chance you get.

This change is particularly spicy. Your Salmon Run stage badges will now boost your starting difficulty on their respective stages, adding more incentive to play beyond the two superbonuses, as well as making the grind for future badges easier. This certainly gives me more motivation to go for those VP 400+ badges.

You'll now be able to tell what King Salmonid is present during each Shift, and the Salmometer will change to match it, as well. Can you believe they didn't change that when they added Horrorboros?

Also I am curious what this means for those Shifts where the King Salmonid was random. Will the Salmometer become a question mark? Are they not gonna do those anymore? We'll have to wait and see.

But this next change, is a big one, and it's for, what else, Big Run:

Big Run trophy requirements will now be set in advance, and no longer scale off top 50%, 20% and 5% player results.

I am in two minds about this change. On one hand, I always thought that people complaining about overfishers in Big Run were kind of petulant and entitled, especially when the rewards were as minor as locker decorations and badges. Maybe that's mean-spirited of me, but there was never a way for me to read it as anything but people demanding to be given the same reward as the people working the hardest without putting in the effort themselves.

But on the other hand, the 5% cutoff has been steadily rising as overall Big Run participation decreased, which is just a natural result of time passing and casual players falling off the game, nothing weird there, but this means that the top becomes more stacked, further disincentivizing casual players as getting even the bronze trophies becomes harder and harder for them. Giving the players much clearer and more achievable goals will likely serve to pull a lot of people back into Big Runs, and that is undoubtedly a good thing.

And hey, I said the rewards weren't worth getting upset over, and by that same metric, I don't think it's worth getting upset over more people getting them, either. All the better, if it makes more folks happy. And as for the people who do want to grind their hearts out, well:

There's still some recognition for that, too.

So that's the gist of the Salmon Run changes, so let's finish up with some miscellaneous changes.

Remember how I told you to keep that bonus Sheldon's License in mind for later?

Players who own every currently available weapon will now be able to trade extra licenses in for Shell-Out Tokens. In other words, that extra license serves as a failsafe so you don't lock yourself out of buying future weapons by spending all your licenses on gacha rolls.

The Splatfest Battle Pro queue is receiving the same matchmaking changes as X, presumably for much the same reasons.

And finally, the most important change of all:

WANDERCRUST IS BACK!!! YEAH BABY!!!! WOO!!!

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #9] White

warnings: birdie time he he. honestly just very wholesome all round, but the embers are burningggg, they’re very wet! fantastic! (1) mention of Hang Sơn Đoòng (worlds biggest cave).

soundtrack: lemon - loco, hwasa; safety zone - j-hope

wc: 6k

bd total wc: 540k (on-going)

minors dni | AO3 | series masterlist 

It's mid-morning the following Monday when Jeongguk's message lands in your inbox. The sky is free of clouds, sun beating down on the windows of the subway carriage you're in. It's above ground, crossing the river.

Summer is reaching the end of its peak, but monsoons are still a looming threat. There have been weather warnings all month, but today seems okay. You've an umbrella tucked into your tote just in case, legs crossed as you flick through your notifications on the subway.

Three unread messages sit pretty at the top of your inbox.

Jeongguk: Still on for today?

Danbi: u, me, ryan reynolds in lycra, tonight. game?

Seokjin:  such a tease, you know i love those shorts on you - if memory serves me correctly they were off far more than they were on whenever you wore them ;) you around tonight?

Jeongguk is probably the only one who needs a reply, and yet you can't help but stare at Seokjin's message for a little longer than you should.

If Danbi knew you were texting him, she'd probably confiscate your phone, like your parents used to do during your teen years. Jeongguk would probably throw all your stupid little origami birds at you. Would hope you'd get a paper cut.

It'd be deserved, you think.

Jeongguk had wasted his entire Sunday on you as a result of Seokjin's carelessness. You didn't leave until Jimin had taken a nap on the couch at just gone six, your day full of mindless chatter and harmless distractions from Seokjin. It had been nice. Comforting.

And yet when you'd arrived home, a text had been waiting from Seokjin:

heyyy, sorry I had to rush off. didn't wanna wake you. you looked toooo cute. was so nice to see you again.

It's kind of embarrassing, the way your heart seemed to settle at the sight of it; like things were as they should be once more.

You told yourself that Seokjin hadn't meant to upset you. That it was all a big misunderstanding.

He said everything you wanted him to in that message. Said sorry. Maybe he didn't give you an excuse nor an explanation, but he did give you a compliment, and that had you giggling.

Had you thinking that maybe you'd been reactive, and were too highly strung. Perhaps he was never the issue. What if it was you?

Still, it's Jeongguk's message thread you tap through to instead - yeah, just on the subway now! we're still meeting there?

You contemplate whether or not you want to tell him that you've spoken to Seokjin later. He'll no doubt ask about him, with a sneer on his lips, nose upturned at the mere thought of him.

And so naturally, you know you'll lie. "No. Not heard from him."

It's not that you want to be dishonest. Not in the slightest.

You're no stranger to a white lie or two, but Jeongguk had scooped up all of your broken pieces in the early hours of yesterday morning, and tried to washi tape them back together - only for you to run straight back to the person holding a sledgehammer.

You don't want to be reckless with the care Jeongguk's afforded to you; it's just that while Jin's got a sledgehammer in one hand, it also looks like he's got super glue in the other. It's a little bit stronger than washi tape.

Especially Jeongguk's rolls of washi tape; which are the entire reason why you're spending your day off on the subway, and not tucked up in bed, instead.

Jeongguk had devised a plan following the fall of your origami bird, but had neglected to tell you exactly what that plan was.

Had said "look, I won't lie - I can't help you with this. Gimmie the evening to think of a plan, though? I'll text you later."

He'd texted you an address by the time you'd arrived home. Told you not to search it up; said he'd meet you there at midday. Kind of felt like a challenge, and you don't like losing - so you'd done as he'd said. Other than putting the address into Naver maps to find the route, you were none the wiser as to where you were headed.

The subway leads you to the outskirts of town. Down by the river, just a little further up from the arboretum you always tell yourself you should visit more often. You're local to the city, but it's so vast that there are still areas you aren't too familiar with. This is one of them. You know what's in the general area - the arboretum, an old water park, and some museums, but you've no idea what the exact address could be.

As you climb the stairs, you're regretful of the fact you actually listened to Jeongguk. Should have looked up the address beforehand. Seen what was about; what dress code would have been appropriate.

Denim shorts hug your curves, and a little white blouse sits prettily on your shoulders. You're making the most of the summer while it lasts; skin exposed, despite the judgement thrown your way by the ajummas you pass on the street.

A mirror selfie had been sent to Seokjin before you'd left the house, in reply to his collarbone-wielding, broad shoulder-baring bed selfie. His hair had been messy, and there was a little pink mark on his neck. You're pretty sure you left it there. Didn't wanna focus on it for too long just in case you realised that you... didn't.

There had been a little tactful positioning of your phone in front of your face when you took your photo. Had been covering your eyes. Hiding the glitter.

And it's funny, 'cause it's the first thing that Jeongguk notices when he spots you.

You're looking around, realising exactly where you are, a frown slowly forming. He'd expected nothing less. You always arrive with a small frown whenever he's around - but he also always manages to get you beaming, too. It's part of the charm that comes with being around Jeongguk. Bad moods dissolve into nothingness.

He smiles, just like he always does. Waves. Throws you not one, but two peace signs. His thin lips plumpen into a pout as he wiggles his shoulders, the ease of acting childishly coming naturally when he's around you.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" He glows as if he hadn't seen you less than twenty-four hours ago.

Strolling towards you, he ignores the slight scowl that's resting on your neat brows. Just continues smiling. All doe-eyed and dainty. Hopes you won't be able to resist breaking into a smile, too.

He likes your glitter today. It's just in the corners of your eyes. Thinks you look like a fairy.

"I'm wearing white!" is all you can say, a little exasperation clouding your words, before laughter begins to tumble from your lips whether you want it to or not. "You asshole! You should have warned me!"

Jeongguk's wearing all black. A pair of shorts, a long sleeve swimming shirt and one of his many oversized black t-shirts over the top. See, he's dressed according to his plans - the plans that he neglected to share with you.

But he's a man. How much can you really expect from him? You doubt he's ever had to run home in the middle of a thunderstorm with his arms crossed over his chest to protect his modesty. Doubt his eyes have ever felt the unwelcome intrusion of sodden mascara running into them.

"Oh, chill out, Disco Ball," he banters, rolling his eyes as he twiddles his lip ring with his tongue. He comes to a stop in front of you. Pouts. Pushes his lips to the side, and his cheek slowly rises like a freshly baked loaf of bread. "It's only a little water. Worst comes to the worst, we'll just buy you another shirt."

When Jeongguk says it's only a 'little water,' he's telling a big fat lie.

You're both well aware that 'little' is hardly the appropriate word to use.

Not when you're standing next to the entrance of the largest outdoor waterpark in the city.

You don't want to say definitively, but you think it might be the largest waterpark in the entire district. Biggest you've ever been to, that's for sure, not that you really make a habit of it.

"Look," he says. "You're the one who wrote the bird, not me. Blame yourself."

"And you're the one who didn't give me a dress code," you reply with a small scoff. He's unbelievable.

It's not like he was ever supposed to see your birds. Your intention had only ever been for the pair of you to vent out your frustration; to see them in black and white and maybe colour them in.

"You could have just looked at Naver. Seen where you were going."

"You told me not to!"

Jeongguk smirks to himself, a little pleased with how much you seem to have blindly trusted him. He also thinks it's incredibly foolish, and adds it to his list of things he needs to worry about in the future. While it's him that you're mindlessly following the orders of, it's okay, he supposes. Knows you're safe. Nothing to worry about right now.

"You'll be fine, Byeol," he says, hooking an arm around your neck, rubbing his knuckles against the crown of your head. You don't even bother to scramble away, sensing his grip tighten when your back edges out from his grasp. With arms like his, you're ensnared whether you like it or not. "You bring your bird?"

He keeps his arm locked around your neck, resting on your shoulders, but stands a little straighter as you head in direction of the waterpark. His relaxed posture allows you to rummage around in your tote bag for the small piece of folded paper. It's in the bottom, a little crumpled, but still quite clearly in bird form.

Jeongguk pinches it from you as soon as you retrieve it, not seeming to care much for the fact that it's your bird. You're locked in by his arms as he strengthens some of the creases that have fallen lax thanks to the lack of attention you'd been paying when you tossed it into the bag.

"You're gonna give yourself bad bird luck," he tells you. "Gotta preserve them, Byeol, or otherwise you'll never overcome your fears."

"I'm not really sure we'll be overcoming any fears today," you mutter in response.

He takes great offence to this. Tells you to 'stop being a negative Nancy', and that 'you'll never overcome your fears with an attitude like that'. You pinch him through his shirt. He recoils away from you, finally giving you a little room to breathe.

And then he calls you a goblin.

"That's rich," you snort, peering into your bag once again to get your wallet, shooing his hands away as he brings out his own wallet from his shorts pocket. "Nah, this is on me. My fear. I'll pay."

There's an attempt from him to protest, but you just tell the cashier you're paying for two, and there's very little he can do about it. He feels bad. This is, after all, his idea. He gave you no wiggle room. You wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for him.

A bathroom? Maybe.

But not here.

"Absolutely not," you had exclaimed yesterday afternoon after reading the bird. Jeongguk couldn't stop laughing. "Stop! You'll give me a complex."

He hadn't meant to find it so funny - he was just taken by surprise. It's a reflex.

"No, no," he cooed. "It's cute. Really sweet, actually. Should have told me last night. Could have actually done something about it."

It was at that point that you flicked him on the forehead. Told him to go touch some grass. Get his head out of his ass.

And then, finally, you told him, "You're never showering with me."

In typical Jeongguk fashion, he'd just smirked. Found your defensiveness funny. "And nor is anyone else, apparently."

The bird resting on Jeongguk's stomach was laying flat, open on your words:

SHOWER WITH SOMEONE ELSE.

He thinks it's the all caps that cracked him up so much. So aggressive. So cute. A bit like you.

Showers had been one of your favourite forms of intimacy during past relationships. You'd even found it fun with casual hookups.

But now?

Feels forbidden. Tarnished. Dirty.

It's almost as if someone else running their hands over your skin beneath the water will rid you of the stain that Seokjin left - and if you're not his, whose are you?

It's stupid because you don't belong to anyone but yourself. You'd spent months resenting the removal of your identity, but now that you have the chance to reclaim it, you're still letting his mark remain.

You had told Jeongguk later that afternoon - with absolute certainty - that he'd never be facing that fear with you, only for him to say, "it doesn't have to be that big of a deal. I'll prove it to you."

And now he's trying to do exactly that.

He leads as you follow and make your way into the park. It's been a fair few years since your last visit, but it always looks the same; paint work a little tatty, white watermarks tarnishing pipes, and slightly dated equipment available for hire. In fact, you think the inflatables sitting pretty and ready for renting might be the same ones you used as a child on family trips.

"Still don't understand how on earth this is supposed to help me with my fear of intimacy," you speak softly once Jeongguk is done telling you about the tallest waterslide in the world. It's in Brazil, and he insists that he doesn't understand why on earth they called it Kilimanjaro when it's not even remotely close in height nor geographical location.

You tell him he's pedantic and he smiles as if you've just given him a gold star.

"It's helping because we're making it less scary," Jeongguk states all very plainly. Seems simple to him. His logical mind leaps from A to B, while yours is still spiralling round and round like a hula-hoop. "What do you do in the shower?"

"When I'm with someone else?" You raise a brow. "Not sure I want to say it out loud in a kid's waterpark."

"Oh, ew, no, not that part. I mean the basics," he sighs, before choosing just to answer for you. "You get wet. That's the first hurdle."

"Gguk, that's barely even the first meter," you counter. "And after that? There's still a billion hurdles left to jump."

"Well, you have to start somewhere, don't you?" He nudges his shoulder against yours, before spotting the concessions store up ahead. "See. Told you you'd be able to buy a shirt. Here."

He hands you his wallet, only for you to pass it right back.

"It's good, I'll get it."

"I dragged you here."

"And I'm the one who made that stupid bird," you laugh. "It's fine. Tell you what though, if they only have ugly shirts, you're gonna have to get one too. Can't be doing this alone."

"Watcha mean?"

"Well look at you," you shrug, as if it's plainly obvious. "You're in all black and - not that I agree with this, but - I'm sure some people will find you 'okay' looking. You know all the yummy mummies are gonna be swooning over you instead of looking after their kids."

"Swooning?" He grins with a small chortle. "Are you trying to insinuate something, Byeol?"

You gasp, and take a step away from him. "Are you saying I look like a mother?"

This, he decides rather quickly, is dangerous. You almost sound like you're flirting. It's not that he doesn't enjoy it, just that he knows he shouldn't indulge himself and yet-

"Maybe I'm into MILFs."

You've a remarkably good poker face. He can't tell if you're actually annoyed, until you look at him with a small smile. It's hidden by the sultry, tempestuous expression you're throwing his way, but definitely still there.

"So first I'm a mother, and now you wanna fuck me? Well, aren't you full of surprises?"

If there's one thing Jeongguk enjoys, it's a girl who knows how to twist words. Regretfully, it always gets him thinking about other ways they could twist their tongues. The thoughts are unsavoury. Sordid. Lewd.

But you're you.

You're off-limits, and he knows better than to play with fire. He needs to get you wet.

Just, like, not in that way.

"I'll put you under that fountain if you don't stop twisting my words," he asserts as you walk through the park. To your right is a pool, with bright slides twisting in all directions around it. Families play, and laughter prevails. It's nice.

To your left is a row of spouting fountains for kids to run through, water pitter-pattering against the warm concrete floor. They're tall enough that even Jeongguk could stand beneath them without issue. You always think they look like reverse umbrellas; water pouring where protection should be.

Puddles of water interrupt the walkway, but neither of you care all that much.

"Maybe if you got your head out your ass and stopped flirting-"

"Not flirting."

You scoff as sarcasm wraps itself around your words. "Yeah, and I'm a MILF."

He pauses. Stops walking. Laughs.

"Right," Jeongguk says. "That's it."

It's said in a tone so light and airy that you almost don't realise he's wrapping his arms around you with a grip tight enough to crack a rib. Your playful shrieks are ignored by other park visitors, chalked up to you being a pair of young lovers enjoying the frivolity of a waterpark together.

"I'm in white!" is your final cry before he pulls you under the cascade of a fountain with him.

The worst part of it, you think, is how goddamn happy he sounds, laughing at your misery.

"And I told you to stop twisting my words, Byeol," he says like the bastard he is, while you struggle against him again. Finally releasing you, he keeps a clasp on your wrists to prevent you from straying. "You made your choice."

"I made no such thing," you wail, but the stream of water has you spluttering - and then you're laughing.

Laughing just like he is; like how you imagine Galileo would have laughed when he first pointed his telescope skyward, and saw the rings of Saturn. It's unadulterated. Blissful. Pure.

Jeongguk loosens his grip on your wrists. He rests his elbows on your shoulders, using his hands to create a barrier between the stream of water and your eyes. There's glitter on your cheeks, now, forced to part way with your eyes thanks to the water pressure, and Jeongguk finds himself grinning at how you manage to look like a party even in the middle of the day.

Perhaps he's a lot more like Galileo than you first thought. Maybe he's laughing because he's looking at the stars, too.

Water barrels down on the pair of you, soaking your hair, your clothes, your skin. It's heavy, the pressure of the fountain far heavier than a shower, but you suppose the outcome is the same.

You don't want to look at Jeongguk with anything but moderate vexation, and yet there's a fond smile tugging at your lips.

Strands of wet hair stick to his face, droplets catching on his lashes and falling down his cheeks. He shakes like a dog caught out in the rain, only to continue getting drenched because he doesn't move from the fountains trajectory. It'd be so easy for him to just manoeuvre himself out of the fountain's direct line and hold you in place, but he chooses to be caught up in it, too. Chooses to be with you. Experience with you.

You'd done his bird together. Only fair for him to do yours with you.

"You still scared, Byeol?" Jeongguk asks, voice quiet beneath the water pummeling down on you both, and yet it has your attention loud and clear.

You want to banter back, say something that will get tripping on his words just like you seem to be - but the rope tied around your ankles seems to be around your tongue, too. Instead, you just shake your head.

"See," he smiles, now. Pulls a hand away from your forehead to wipe at his. Puts it back. "Are showers really that scary?"

And then you do laugh. "It's not a shower. You know it isn't even close."

His face scrunches, water catching in all of his little ridges.

He'll admit the water is annoying. Keeps having to close his eyes. It's bothersome, and it's not like he even cares for boundaries anymore at this point, so-

Fuck it.

His pinkies are against your forehead, index fingers outward. He lowers his head, mirroring you. Rests his forehead against his index fingers. Swears. Can finally fucking see.

And now that he can?

He's looking at you.

With his head angled to such a degree that your chins couldn't be further apart, you still manage to fool yourself to believe that your lashes could brush.

"It's as close as we'll get to one," he counters. "You are showering with another person."

"I'm under a stream of water with another person."

"And how is that any different to showering with someone?"

He isn't stupid. He knows the answer. Knows that you're pedantic enough to go into all the clauses and stipulations that would ever stop this from being classed as a shower - and so he doesn't let you.

Instead, he pulls away, grabbing your wrist as he does so. Leads you further into the park with a smile so big you're surprised he doesn't dislocate his jaw.

"That's the hard part done," he assures you. "You've had a shower with someone. Say thank you."

There's an acute awareness between you both that he's not helped you to overcome your fear in the slightest - but he does have you laughing as you walk through the park, absolutely sodden, without a single care in the world. You're not even bothered by the fact your black bra is visible through the soaked fabric of your shirt.

See, Jeongguk's gotten you relaxed in a situation when you know you'd typically be frantic. He's taking the pressure off. Got you giggling. Got you facing a fear, even if it's not exactly how he set out to do so, nor the fear in question.

In his defence, he really had thought his contrived little plan would count. He'd have never insisted on actually taking a shower with you. He understands why you consider them so intimate. He does, too. Something about the vulnerability really gets him. It's not even the sex that inevitably comes with one that makes him weak at the knees.

He thinks of the girl who folded paper butterflies for him, and how he'd shampoo her hair, chest pressed to her back, and the fact it was in the confines of his bathroom that he realised he was in love with her.

So, Jeongguk gets it. It's why he wouldn't even consider anything but his dumb little waterpark shower as a remedy of your insecurities. He hopes a lesson is learned even if a fear isn't overcome: you can let down your guard without giving up all of you.

What it comes down to, you think, is that Jeongguk isn't a taker. He's not a giver, either, really - but when your walls start to crack and crumble, he doesn't intrude. Stands at a safe distance. Offer you back your bricks. Most men you knew would see a weakness in your defences and claim what's yours as their own.

He's not always been this way. Used to have a 'what's yours is mine' understanding of his relationships, too.

His butterfly girl had taught him that no, just because he was given temporary access to something didn't mean it was his. He'd learnt the hard way after he'd always swapped his heart with hers, not realising she'd ever want it back.

And so while Jeongguk will never fully understand whatever you went through - not unless you choose to share it with him - he can empathise. Treat you how he wished someone would have treated him while he was still healing.

As the clouds migrate across the sky, fluffy white shapes occasionally hiding the careful watch of the sun, the day rolls into stupid competitions and races down the tallest slides in the park. The reason you'd ended up here doesn't seem to matter.

Jeongguk races you to the top of the slides again, and again, and again, just to try and beat you down them. He never wins.

Not until you hold back by just a millisecond.

It's just enough to give him a slight edge, and have him roaring in victory - "ha! suck it! loser!" - as he slaps at the water, a smile larger than Hang Sơn Đoòng eclipsing any desire you had to win. You'll let him have this one. Let him have one victory.

The haze of late-afternoon sun grazes down on the pair of you, while you lounge by the 'adults-only' pool area. A lot of families have gone home already, but sometimes it's nice to be away from the shrieks of kids messing about in the water.

You're not exactly the maternal type. In fact, Jeongguk's the one who's been pointing out how cute the kids are in their little armbands and sprout hairstyles. He's not wrong. They're incredibly adorable - you're just not that naturally inclined to go 'awww'.

It's all swings and roundabouts, though. Getting away from kids meant being surrounded by, well, some less wholesome auras.

Jeongguk thinks he notices it first; the unwelcome gaze of a middle-aged man. He's felt it for a little while. Upwards of ten minutes. Thinks you're none the wiser. Tries to figure out what's so fucking interesting. Stares him out a little bit - but is ignored.

See, the man - who is probably old enough to be your father - isn't looking at Jeongguk at all. Too busy staring at you, and that shirt of yours which is still yet to dry out. You're on your back, sunning yourself, clothes sodden and sticking to your skin.

Jeongguk thinks you look no different to anyone else in the park. It's typical to wear regular clothes in places like these. Would be more shocking if you were in a bikini. And so while yes, he has noticed the fact your bra is dark, he couldn't tell you the colour because he's been trying not to look. Actively avoiding it, actually.

Annoyance isn't something that Jeongguk's ever been able to hide well.

As he sucks in a little bit of air between his teeth and mutters a small curse to himself, you glance over.

"Hmm?" you ask.

It's not like you don't know the man's staring. You had warned Jeongguk about your attire earlier. Was always gonna happen. He just hadn't realised that this was the reason why you'd been so insistent about the fact he was an asshole for not giving you a dress code.

Realistically, you could have bought a second shirt - but the pair of you got distracted. Didn't care so much when you were laughing and joking about how you both look like rats with your hair all wet.

"Here," he says, tugging on his shirt at the nape of his neck. There's resistance, the weight of the water dragging against his skin, but he pays it no mind as he pulls the shirt over his head. You're still laying down on your back, and turn onto your front with a small grin.

"Y'know if I really was all that bothered, I'd just do this," you say, talking about your change in position. It's not that you want the man to stare - you just know he will regardless. Know that your shorts have ridden up a little, and so he's getting a whole new type of show.

Jeongguk doesn't laugh. Smiles, but doesn't let it reach his eyes. Leans over and drapes the fabric of his shirt over the top of your legs. Over your ass. "You'll burn."

"I'm wearing suncream," you purr, knowing that this has nothing to do with keeping your skin safe.

And so Jeongguk just shrugs. Considers staying silent. Chooses not to.

"He might wanna stare, Byeol," he almost growls beneath his breath, feigning indifference through his body language. "But I don't."

"You saying you can't help yourself?" You tease, to which he just rolls his eyes and lays back down.

"I can help myself perfectly well," he says, tongue flicking against the inside of his cheek. "Just didn't finish my sentence."

"Oh?" you chirp with great curiosity.

There's a boldness to the way you're engaging in conversation with him. Makes you realise that Jeongguk is just the same as any other boy. He can see you as a sexual object, apparently. Just chooses not to. It's all very interesting.

"He might wanna stare, Byeol," he repeats, crossing his arms over his torso, a defensiveness to his posture, even when he's flat on his back. "But I don't want him to."

Though his eyes remain closed, Jeongguk can hear you move to sit on your knees.

Your back is to the sleazebag, Jeongguk shirt bunching by your heels. You pull it around and bundle it in your lap, mouth resting open in a slight stare of shock.

Unspoken words beg for him to look at you.

But he doesn't. Keeps his eyes firmly shut. Grins. Just says, "Lie back down, Byeol."

The worst part is that you want to. You really do. When his voice is that low, the look on his face that cocky, you want to fold like a sheet of fucking origami paper. Have him bending you about like one of those damn birds.

But then you take a second to think, and realise you're no better than that guy who is still staring at you so intensely you're surprised he doesn't burst a blood vessel. Makes you feel bad. Guilty.

So instead you toss Jeongguk his shirt back and, as you stand, say, "I've a fear of intimacy, Jeongguk. No fear in telling men to fuck off."

He's not surprised by your response. Quite amused by it. Sits up on his elbows. Watches with curiosity as you walk away from him - and then is stunned to see you beeline for the man.

It's the kind of thing he'd see in a movie, background characters slowing to a stop, time ceasing to move except for the leading lady.

And then you're pointing. Accusing. Jeongguk's not sure of what - he can't hear you from this far away - but he knows it isn't nice. Watches the blood drain from the man's face. He's ghostly. And then it all returns, red and raw, with such a vengeance he's surprised blood doesn't start leaking from his nose.

When you turn on your heel, Jeongguk observes with morbid novelty at the scene unfolding; the intense shame on the man's face and the pure brilliance on yours.

"Men," you sigh, as you sit back down next to him. Mirroring his position, you're up on your elbows until you casually let yourself fall back into your original position. "Sorry, where were we? You told me to lie down? Done."

Jeongguk doesn't say anything. Just grins. Collapses back down, too. Doesn't tell you to cover up. Knows better.

Doesn't shut up about it for the rest of the day, though.

Relays the story to you as if you weren't there - weren't central to it - with so much animation that you think he might turn into a cartoon on the subway home.

He's still talking about it between the part where he invites you back for dinner - "Jimin's gonna be in but it's cool. We haven't eaten all day, you must be starving." - and the part where he stands by your door, taking a whole twenty minutes to say goodbye.

You've declined the offer. Told him it'd be a bit weird seeing Jimin. Wouldn't know how to explain it. Jeongguk just says "of course, yeah, you're right. Didn't even think of that. My bad."

There's a little silence afterwards. You know why. It's rejection. Not romantic, nor for anything serious, but it's still the same difference. He'd spent the day trying to help you break down walls only for you to put your bricks on top of his.

It's as he's heading down your stairs (after his fifteenth and final 'bye') that you realise how rude you've been. Just 'cause you wouldn't feel entirely welcome at his doesn't mean he's not welcome at yours.

"Hey, wait a sec! Danbi's home, but do you wanna eat here?" You chance. "We don't have much in, but I can order or we can-"

"My God, I thought you'd never ask," he grins immediately turning on his heel and back towards you. "So hungry I might die."

"You won't."

"I could."

The pair of you bicker as you enter your apartment, Danbi glancing up from the sofa. She looks at you, then looks at Jeongguk, and takes a second to place his face. Definitely knows it - and then it clicks.

She considers asking why the fuck your favourite barman is following you in. He's known within the confines of your apartment as the Barman That Smiles (more commonly referred to as BTS boy), Jeongguk's name a secret just for you to know. Danbi doesn't realise all of those nights you waste are the bar are wasted on him, nor does she realise he's the reason you snuck off the other night.

What she does wonder, however, is if this is all part of your master-get-revenge-on-Seokjin-plan.

Instead of voicing any of these queries, she settles on "what are we having for dinner?"

You shrug. "Ask Jeongguk. He's paying."

He raises a brow as if to question your assertion - only for him to cough up the bill for the pizza delivery that feeds the three of you through a Deadpool rewatch.

When he leaves, Danbi tells him he has to come back next week for Deadpool 2. You grin as you walk him out.

"She just wants you to pay for more food," you tell and he nods. Says he knows.

But then he calls back over to Danbi, "See you next week."

She does a little cheer, and it's all very sweet. They get on well. His humour is welcome in your apartment, and so is his presence. Danbi also hopes it means she'll get more free drinks next time she's at the club.

"She'll play you like a damn fiddle if you let her," you warn just out of her earshot.

"Good," he grins. "We can double date with you and Jimin."

You tell him to fuck off - but also insist that he lets you know when he gets home. The way you care about him is so casual that it feels as if it's been this way for years.

As he heads on home, Jeongguk kind of hopes it will be. Hopes it's the kind of friendship that stands the test of time. Worries that he shouldn't take the flirting too far - but then he's distracted by the little fleck of glitter on the top of his hand. His thoughts are lost, a smile unwinding on his lips as he strolls back to his place.

The skies are void of stars tonight, and yet, for the first time in months, Jeongguk's eyes are full of them.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Best and Worst of both worlds (Part 4) [Choice: GO TO UNIVERSITY]

tw: yandere, slight injury

damn yall iam tempted to add a third mid yandere like not as slayer girlboss as Yves but not as cringefail Montgomery, but fr idk how to slot it into the story because i think its gonna get 2 crowded

anywahys enjouy and pleas id appreciate them reblogs

part 5

You gave him the address of your university. He may now know where you frequent, but at least he doesn't know where you live.

"Alright, buckle up."

--

"Here ya' go." He pulled up right to the entrance.

You muttered thanks, but as you were unbuckling yourself, he told you to wait for a moment.

You watch him fish a ballpoint pen and an old flyer from somewhere, he removes the cap of the pen using his teeth before scribbling something on the piece of printed paper. He took something out from the side pocket of his door before shoving it into your hands.

You opened your palm to see that he had written his phone number on a torn brochure of the countryside. You quizzingly looked at the crumpled $20 note between your fingertips.

"I'm... actually not done workin' for the day. I'll have to work extra hours to make up the ones I lost. I don't know how long you'll be here, but I bet you're gonna get hungry or thirsty."

You said that you can't accept this, it's a lot of money!

He laughed right at your face.

"Don't worry about it! I'm workin' full time, that's just a little change for me. You just focus on settin' your grades straight. I'll probably clock out at ten in the evening. Give me a call and I'll pick you right up if you're still here by then."

Well, if he insists. You shoved the cash and his number into your pocket as you opened the door. He got out and opened his trunk, he retrieved your backpack with a grunt.

"What's is IN here?" He mumbled as he found it abnormally heavy for someone of your stature to carry daily. You replied that it's your study materials, he only shook his head in pity.

"Are you sure you're alright on your own?" He helped you get your arms into the loops of your straps.

You assured him that you're fine and you're used to this. He opened his mouth about to say something, but you already took off running. You looked back and waved goodbye, he scratched his head in bafflement as to how someone like you can run that fast with that much load.

--

The next bus is in an hour.

Sitting under the bus shelter is definitely not ideal in this severe weather. You wiped the sweat off your brow.

The only place you know you could lurk around without seeming strange is the library or one of the university's many cafes. You checked the time, it's still just half past three in the afternoon. Yves doesn't leave until six.

The cafe it is.

You don't know what to expect, whatever they're selling is always out of your budget. So you never bothered going near it, as it only made you hungry and bitter that you weren't born into generational wealth. But since you're a rich person today thanks to... what was his name again? You had a small spring in your step as you made a beeline to the cafe.

Perhaps you were too excited, you were too fast and too distracted by the various blackboard easels around promoting their respective cafe's dishes. You weren't paying attention to the man leaving the establishment

You bumped into something, rather, someone. Your collision is followed by the sound of a hot liquid spilling and a metal clanking. You gasped, trying to take steps back but you ended up stumbling over your own feet, tripping over your own ankle and falling backwards.

A sense of deja vu washed over you as a strong arm wrapped itself around your waist, keeping you steady and unharmed. But your dignity is definitely bruised to death.

You were afraid to look up. You know who this chest belongs to. Who else would wear a black turtleneck in this scorching hot weather and not break a sweat?

You muttered apologies as he lets go, realizing that not only did you commit accidental assault on your biggest crush, but you also made him spill the golden brown, clear, steaming tea that he's probably looking forward to drinking.

He grabbed you by the wrist and began inspecting you for any burns. Your eyes trailed to his other hand, which is now reddened by the scalding liquid splashing onto his skin. His fingers are still wrapped around his half empty, reusable stainless steel thermal cup. The rubber lined lid is now on the floor, sitting still in a puddle of wasted tea. The smell of jasmine permeates the air and into your nose.

Once he deems you unharmed, he lets go. And you rushed to pick his lid up, flicking any remaining liquid off before nervously presenting it to him.

"Thank you." He plucked it out of your hands and entered the cafe again. Through the pristine glass door, You watched him talk to the employee behind the cash register, they nodded and accepted his cup. Soon after, someone came out with a mop in hand.

They smiled and greeted you as they placed the mop onto the puddle. You panicked when the staff opened the door and invited you in.

At this point, you wanted to run away and hide in a ditch. But Yves is staring at you as he wipes his injured hand with a cool, damp towel provided by cashier. There doesn't seem to be any discernible emotion present on his face, but when you tried to flee- even only a single step, he narrowed his eyes at you.

Defeated, you hung your head low and went in. Setting your kiloton bag onto a nearby chair before making the walk of shame to the counter.

You tried not to look at his face, knowing that you're going to burst into tears out of severe embarrassment and guilt. You went straight to the cashier and asked to pay for his replacement.

"No worries! You don't have to, we replaced his drink free of charge. It was an accident, after all!" She chirped.

That came to you as a surprise. Aren't they supposed to be money hungry? Well, whatever. At least you don't have to pay extra, but you asked about their pastry choices. You wanted to buy him something sweet to make it up for the bitterness.

"Right this way!" She walked to the display case. They all look exquisite, but you felt like your eyes are about to pop out of your head with the prices. Unfortunately for you though, the option which is the most presentable and the cheapest is a large slice of fresh cream fruit cake, for the price of exactly twenty dollars.

You tried to hide your hesitance as you told her you wanted a slice. Good lord, and you see people eating their baked goods every day. She prepared one on a quaint little ceramic plate, placing a miniature fork next to it.

"That will be twenty dollars." You bite your tongue to prevent yourself from grumbling, knowing that Yves has some sort of superhuman hearing. You fish the $20 out of your pocket and try your best to smoothen out the wrinkles.

The woman's customer service smile faltered a bit when she felt a little resistance trying to take the note from you. It took a few more seconds of you mourning and tugging it before you finally let go.

"Thank you!" She beamed again.

Finally, you have no choice but to face him. At least you have a plate of cake with you.

His gaze softened and the straight line formed by his lips was replaced by a pleased smile. You followed him to the table where you placed your bag.

He set his bag down on the chair next to him and took a seat. You placed the dish on the table, you're actually unsure if he wanted you here or left alone. So you awkwardly stood nearby, waiting for the next social cue.

"It's been a while since we last talked. I missed you." He purred. His words and body language is enough to tell that he's accepting of your presence. But you're still cautious, it could just mean he's being nice for treating him to a scrumptious dessert.

"Please." He gestured towards the chair opposite of him. "Take a seat. I would love to catch up with you."

It would be rude not to. You settled in your chair, completely disregarding the rule you set for yourself to not mingle with him.

The table is... smaller than you thought. You're physically a lot closer to Yves than you would like, the table barely served as a barrier between you and him.

"How have you been?" He asked while taking a bottle of hand sanitizer from his bag. Yves applied a decent amount on his palm and rubbed it in thoroughly, going gentle on his recent injury.

You said you were... fine. Not wanting to reveal too much about yourself. The last time that happened, you managed to act a like fool in front of Montgomery. You don't want to look stupid in front of Yves. So you threw the question back at him.

He hummed in response. "I suppose... it could be better."

Yves left it at that. You don't know what to say next, trying not to look at the fresh burn. So you apologized again.

"You're forgiven." He shot you a teasing smile. "How endearing of you, treating me to a slice of this decadent sweet." Yves picked up the fork to cut and retrieve a piece.

"And, It's my favourite. Why don't you have a taste?" He brought the fork closer to your face. You tried taking the utensil, but his other hand went ahead to hold your chin. Applying a gentle pressure to silently signal that he wanted you to open your mouth.

'Why is he like this?' You internally screamed as you allowed the detectability of the cake to sink onto your taste buds. You might be biased, thinking that the dessert is a thousand times better due to him feeding you. You thought that this is the best thing you ever ate in your life.

Your face is probably hotter than his tea at this point. Curling your toes in your shoes as the embarrassment becomes nearly unbearable.

He released his hold as soon as he felt a little tug from your head, knowing not to go too far with his actions; just enough to excite your growing infatuation with him.

You give him a thumbs up as you repeatedly wipe your face with your sleeve as if trying to wipe away the blushes under your skin. Your ears perked up at his chuckles, it was something that you would like to hear often. But you don't think it's worth having heart attacks over.

"Your classmates were discussing about the exam." He cut another piece for himself. You watched him with widened eyes as he used the same fork to eat the cake; daintily covering his mouth with his hand. Yves didn't seem to care that the utensil was smeared in your saliva and proceeded with his train of thought. "They were lamenting over it in the library."

Then, he stopped. Bringing his piercing gaze back up to you.

You freaked out, realizing that this is the cue for you to respond appropriately. You let slip out that the paper was atrocious and you were fully expecting to fail your course. Blood ran cold in your veins as you realized he now knows more than he should.

"That's a shame." He replied. "But, you're being unfairly harsh on yourself."

He was interrupted by a staff member handing Yves his thermos cup filled with his Jasmine tea. Yves thanked them and they went back to their post.

"You're clearly dedicated to your studies." He nonchalantly fed you a piece again, this time without having to hold your face. Only when you bit into a slice of strawberry among the fresh cream did you realize what you had done. Yves slid the metal fork out of your mouth and took another scoop for himself.

This is extremely unsettling how you suddenly felt that comfortable accepting his antics.

"I know you did well." He took his time chewing his food behind his fingers. "You will not fail."

You found comfort in his words no matter how much you thought he didn't know anything about your life. It was nice to have someone recognize your efforts for once without resorting to fake pity.

However, unless your marker accepts tear stains as coherent answers, you are definitely going to fail.

Though, there is a small part of you that found it weird Yves is so sure of himself. It almost feels like your valid worries are simply sleep talk to Yves. But in the end, you dismissed it and convinced yourself that he's just a huge fan of toxic positivity.

You and him continued the day chatting about each other. Mostly about you, though. There were many times that you caught yourself oversharing, the majority of which you either downplay or overplay depending if it made you look good or bad.

Yves would only have a mysterious, even knowing smile on his face when you grossly upsell some of your best moments. You don't know why you did that, maybe subconsciously you tried to impress him.

Eventually though, you don't seem to mind sharing forks with this man who you spoke to twice and counting in your life. You realize if he wanted you to shut up about something, he feeds you a piece. You were offended, but humbled because you would immediately realize how ridiculous you're sounding at that moment.

You swear, Yves must be a practitioner in the dark arts. He made you act in ways you don't normally do, you're unusually attracted to him and he always seems to know how to control you.

You made a mental note to check your bag for any stray crystals, strange leaves, rocks or jewelry when you get home.

Yves sets the fork down on the empty plate before taking a sip of his tea. He listens attentively to every word you tell him about your interests in your favourite colour, your favourite TV show, your favourite song-- things that you knew would bore just about anyone.

Because if someone you don't really know were to rave about whatever you're raving to Yves, you would be fucking bored out of your mind. Your friends and family would be bored too, why is Yves so different? You're completely self aware that whatever you're blabbering right now should cease.

But somehow couldn't stop for the life of you.

It was like a projectile vomit of words, you kept yapping endlessly while Yves nodded and occasionally interjects with his own opinion at the most appropriate times.

In the end, the only thing that snapped you out of this mania is overhearing one of the staff members complaining about having to take the filles trash bag out back.

You knew that food establishments usually do that at the end of the day and you were instantly reminded of something important.

His smile fell into a thin line again when you suddenly whipped your phone up to check the time.

Two busses has gone by and you're still here. The next bus is in five minutes.

You scrambled to gather your belongings, hopped off the chair, and said a quick goodbye to Yves- right after explaining that your bus was arriving soon. He didn't look too happy with your sudden departure, all he did was observe you unspeakingly with his posture straight. Both of his hands were resting on the table atop each other.

You felt chills down your spine as he looked straight into your eyes with no anger, no sadness, but none of that warmth from before.

It scared you, but missing the bus again scares you even more at this point in time. So you took off running, leaving him alone in the cafe.

He spent a few more minutes sipping on his stone-cold tea before, collecting his cup, standing up, and leaving the building. Yves closed the door behind him and from his handbag, he drew out a familiar piece of printed paper with a certain construction worker's phone number scribbled onto it.

Yves took his time to tear it to shreds with controlled, fluid movements of the wrists. He repeated enough times to give him a handful of thin, even strips. There was no way of knowing what the document was anymore, which satisfied him.

He dropped his handiwork into the trash can he walked past. Yves sanitized his hands before heading in the direction of your bus stop with slow, relaxed strides.

[alphabetboyluvr]

bad decisions - jjk | nine

"You made your choice." "I made no such thing," you wail, but the stream of water has you spluttering—and then you're laughing. Laughing just like he is; like how you imagine Galileo would have laughed when he first pointed his telescope skyward, and saw the rings of Saturn. It's unadulterated. Blissful. Pure. Jungkook loosens his grip on your wrists. He rests his elbows on your shoulders, using his hands to create a barrier between the stream of water and your eyes. There's glitter on your cheeks, now, forced to part way with your eyes thanks to the water pressure, and Jungkook finds himself grinning at how you manage to look like a party even in the middle of the day. Perhaps he's a lot more like Galileo than you first thought. Maybe he's laughing because he's looking at the stars, too.

Bad Decision #9 - White

warnings: birdie time he he. honestly just very wholesome all round, but the embers are burningggg, they're very wet! fantastic! (1) mention of Hang Sơn Đoòng (worlds biggest cave).

soundtrack: lemon - loco, hwasa; safety zone - j-hope

wc: 6k

bd total wc: 370k (on-going)

minors dni | wattpad | series masterlist |

Summer is reaching the end of its peak, but monsoons are still a looming threat. There have been weather warnings all month, but today seems okay. You've an umbrella tucked into your tote just in case, legs crossed as you flick through your notifications on the subway.

It's mid-morning the following Monday when Jungkook's message lands in your inbox. The sky is free of clouds, sun beating down on the windows of the subway carriage you're in. It's above ground, crossing the river.

Three unread messages sit pretty at the top of your inbox.

JK: Still on for today?

Danbi: u, me, ryan reynolds in lycra, tonight. game?

Seokjin: such a tease, you know i love those shorts on you - if memory serves me correctly they were off far more than they were on whenever you wore them ;) you around tonight?

Jungkook is probably the only one who needs a reply, and yet you can't help but stare at Seokjin's message for a little longer than you should.

If Danbi knew you were texting him, she'd probably confiscate your phone, like your parents used to do during your teen years. Jungkook'd probably throw all your stupid little origami birds at you. Would hope you'd get a paper cut.

It'd be deserved, you think.

Jungkook had wasted his entire Sunday on you as a result of Seokjin's carelessness. You didn't leave until Jimin had taken a nap on the couch at just gone six, your day full of mindless chatter and harmless distractions from Seokjin. It had been nice. Comforting.

And yet when you'd arrived home, a text had been waiting from Seokjin—heyyy, sorry I had to rush off. didn't wanna wake you. you looked toooo cute. was so nice to see you again.

It's kind of embarrassing, the way your heart seemed to settle at the sight of it; like things were as they should be once more.

You told yourself that Seokjin hadn't meant to upset you. That it was all a big misunderstanding.

He said everything you wanted him to in that message. Said sorry. Maybe he didn't give you an excuse nor an explanation, but he did give you a compliment, and that had you giggling.

Had you thinking that maybe you'd been reactive, and were too highly strung. Perhaps he was never the issue. What if it was you?

Still, it's Jungkook's message thread you tap through to instead. 

You: yeah, just on the subway now! we're still meeting there?

You contemplate whether or not you want to tell him that you've spoken to Seokjin later. He'll no doubt ask about him, with a sneer on his lips, nose upturned at the mere thought of him. You know you'll only lie. "No. Not heard from him."

It's not that you want to be dishonest. Not in the slightest.

You're no stranger to a white lie or two, but Jungkook had scooped up all of your broken pieces in the early hours of yesterday morning, and tried to washi tape them back together—only for you to run straight back to the person holding a sledgehammer.

You don't want to be reckless with the care Jungkook's afforded to you; it's just that while Jin's got a sledgehammer in one hand, it also looks like he's got super glue in the other. It's a little bit stronger than washi tape.

Especially Jungkook's rolls of washi tape, which are the entire reason why you're spending your day off on the subway, and not tucked up in bed, instead.

Jungkook had devised a plan following the fall of your origami bird, but had neglected to tell you exactly what that plan was.

Had said, "Look, I won't lie—I can't help you with this. Gimmie the evening to think of a plan, though? I'll text you later."

He'd texted you an address by the time you'd arrived home. Told you not to search it up; said he'd meet you there at midday. Kind of felt like a challenge, and you don't like losing, so you'd done as he'd said. Other than putting the address into Naver maps to find the route, you were none the wiser as to where you were headed.

The subway leads you to the outskirts of town. Down by the river, just a little further up from the arboretum you always tell yourself you should visit more often. You're local to the city, but it's so vast that there are still areas you aren't too familiar with. This is one of them. You know what's in the general area—the arboretum, an old water park, and some museums, but you've no idea what the exact address could be.

As you climb the stairs, you're regretful of the fact you actually listened to Jungkook. Should have looked up the address beforehand. Seen what was about; what dress code would have been appropriate.

Denim shorts hug your curves, and a little white blouse sits prettily on your shoulders. You're making the most of the summer while it lasts; skin exposed, despite the judgement thrown your way by the ajummas you pass on the street.

A mirror selfie had been sent to Seokjin before you'd left the house, in reply to his collarbone-wielding, broad shoulder-baring bed selfie. His hair had been messy, and there was a little pink mark on his neck. You're pretty sure you left it there. Didn't wanna focus on it for too long just in case you realised that you didn't.

There had been a little tactful positioning of your phone in front of your face when you took your photo. Had been covering your eyes. Hiding the glitter.

And it's funny, 'cause it's the first thing that Jungkook notices when he spots you.

You're looking around, realising exactly where you are, a frown slowly forming. He'd expected nothing less. You always arrive with a small frown whenever he's around—but he also always manages to get you beaming, too. It's part of the charm that comes with being around Jungkook. Bad moods dissolve into nothingness.

He smiles, just like he always does. Waves. Throws you not one, but two peace signs. His thin lips plumpen into a pout as he wiggles his shoulders, the ease of acting childishly coming naturally when he's around you.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" He glows as if he hadn't seen you less than twenty-four hours ago.

Strolling towards you, he ignores the slight scowl that's resting on your neat brows. Just continues smiling. All doe-eyed and dainty. Hopes you won't be able to resist breaking into a smile, too.

He likes your glitter today. It's just in the corners of your eyes. Thinks you look like a fairy.

"I'm wearing white!" is all you can say, a little exasperation clouding your words, before laughter begins to tumble from your lips whether you want it to or not. "You asshole! You should have warned me!"

Jungkook's wearing all black. A pair of shorts, a long sleeve swimming shirt and one of his many oversized black t-shirts over the top. See, he's dressed according to his plans—the plans that he neglected to share with you.

But he's a man. How much can you really expect from him? You doubt he's ever had to run home in the middle of a thunderstorm with his arms crossed over his chest to protect his modesty. Doubt his eyes have ever felt the unwelcome intrusion of sodden mascara running into them.

"Oh, chill out, Disco Ball," he banters, rolling his eyes as he twiddles his lip ring with his tongue. He comes to a stop in front of you. Pouts. Pushes his lips to the side, and his cheek slowly rises like a freshly baked loaf of bread. "It's only a little water. Worst comes to the worst, we'll just buy you another shirt."

When Jungkook says it's only a 'little water,' he's telling a big fat lie.

You're both well aware that 'little' is hardly the appropriate word to use.

Not when you're standing next to the entrance of the largest outdoor waterpark in the city.

You don't want to say definitively, but you think it might be the largest waterpark in the entire district. Biggest you've ever been to, that's for sure, not that you really make a habit of it.

"Look," he says. "You're the one who wrote the bird, not me. Blame yourself."

"And you're the one who didn't give me a dress code," you reply with a small scoff. He's unbelievable.

It's not like he was ever supposed to see your birds. Your intention had only ever been for the pair of you to vent out your frustration; to see them in black and white and maybe colour them in.

"You could have just looked at Naver. Seen where you were going."

"You told me not to!"

Jungkook smirks to himself, a little pleased with how much you seem to have blindly trusted him. 

He also thinks it's incredibly foolish, and adds it to his list of things he needs to worry about in the future. While it's him that you're mindlessly following the orders of, it's okay, he supposes. Knows you're safe. Nothing to worry about right now.

"You'll be fine, Byeol," he says, hooking an arm around your neck, rubbing his knuckles against the crown of your head. You don't even bother to scramble away, sensing his grip tighten when your back edges out from his grasp. With arms like his, you're ensnared whether you like it or not. "You bring your bird?"

He keeps his arm locked around your neck, resting on your shoulders, but stands a little straighter as you head in direction of the waterpark. His relaxed posture allows you to rummage around in your tote bag for the small piece of folded paper. It's in the bottom, a little crumpled, but still quite clearly in bird form.

Jungkook pinches it from you as soon as you retrieve it, not seeming to care much for the fact that it's your bird. You're locked in by his arms as he strengthens some of the creases that have fallen lax thanks to the lack of attention you'd been paying when you tossed it into the bag.

"You're gonna give yourself bad bird luck," he tells you. "Gotta preserve them, Byeol, or otherwise you'll never overcome your fears."

"I'm not really sure we'll be overcoming any fears today," you mutter in response.

He takes great offence to this. Tells you to 'stop being a negative Nancy', and that 'you'll never overcome your fears with an attitude like that'. You pinch him through his shirt. He recoils away from you, finally giving you a little room to breathe.

And then he calls you a goblin.

"That's rich," you snort, peering into your bag once again to get your wallet, shooing his hands away as he brings out his own wallet from his shorts pocket. "Nah, this is on me. My fear. I'll pay."

There's an attempt from him to protest, but you just tell the cashier you're paying for two, and there's very little he can do about it. He feels bad. This is, after all, his idea. He gave you no wiggle room. You wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for him.

A bathroom? Maybe.

But not here.

"Absolutely not," you had exclaimed yesterday afternoon after reading the bird. Jungkook couldn't stop laughing. "Stop! You'll give me a complex."

He hadn't meant to find it so funny - he was just taken by surprise. It's a reflex.

"No, no," he cooed. "It's cute. Really sweet, actually. Should have told me last night. Could have actually done something about it."

It was at that point that you flicked him on the forehead. Told him to go touch some grass. Get his head out of his ass.

And then, finally, you told him, "You're never showering with me."

In typical Jungkook fashion, he'd just smirked. Found your defensiveness funny. "And nor is anyone else, apparently."

The bird resting on Jungkook's stomach was laying flat, open on your words:

!!SHOWER WITH SOMEONE ELSE!!

He thinks it's the all-caps that cracked him up so much. So aggressive. So cute. A bit like you.

Showers had been one of your favourite forms of intimacy during past relationships. You'd even found it fun with casual hookups.

But now?

Feels forbidden. Tarnished. Dirty.

It's almost as if someone else running their hands over your skin beneath the water will rid you of the stain that Seokjin left - and if you're not his, whose are you?

It's stupid because you don't belong to anyone but yourself. You'd spent months resenting the removal of your identity, but now that you have the chance to reclaim it, you're still letting his mark remain.

You had told Jungkook later that afternoon—with absolute certainty—that he'd never be facing that fear with you, only for him to say, "It doesn't have to be that big of a deal. I'll prove it to you."

And now he's trying to do exactly that.

He leads as you follow and make your way into the park. It's been a fair few years since your last visit, but it always looks the same; paint work a little tatty, white watermarks tarnishing pipes, and slightly dated equipment available for hire. In fact, you think the inflatables sitting pretty and ready for renting might be the same ones you used as a child on family trips.

"Still don't understand how on earth this is supposed to help me with my fear of intimacy," you speak softly once Jungkook is done telling you about the tallest waterslide in the world. It's in Brazil, and he insists that he doesn't understand why on earth they called it Kilimanjaro when it's not even remotely close in height nor geographical location.

You tell him he's pedantic and he smiles as if you've just given him a gold star.

"It's helping because we're making it less scary," Jungkook states all very plainly. Seems simple to him. His logical mind leaps from A to B, while yours is still spiralling round and round like a hula-hoop. "What do you do in the shower?"

"When I'm with someone else?" You raise a brow. "Not sure I want to say it out loud in a kid's waterpark."

"Oh, ew, no, not that part. I mean the basics," he sighs, before choosing just to answer for you. "You get wet. That's the first hurdle."

"Kook, that's barely even the first meter," you counter. "And after that? There's still a billion hurdles left to jump."

"Well, you have to start somewhere, don't you?" He nudges his shoulder against yours, before spotting the concessions store up ahead. "See. Told you you'd be able to buy a shirt. Here."

He hands you his wallet, only for you to pass it right back.

"It's good, I'll get it."

"I dragged you here."

"And I'm the one who made that stupid bird," you laugh. "It's fine. Tell you what though, if they only have ugly shirts, you're gonna have to get one too. Can't be doing this alone."

"Watcha mean?"

"Well look at you," you shrug, as if it's plainly obvious. "You're in all black and—not that I agree with this, but—I'm sure some people will find you 'okay' looking. You know all the yummy mummies are gonna be swooning over you instead of looking after their kids."

"Swooning?" He grins with a small chortle. "Are you trying to insinuate something, Byeol?"

You gasp, and take a step away from him. "Are you saying I look like a mother?"

This, he decides rather quickly, is dangerous. You almost sound like you're flirting. It's not that he doesn't enjoy it, just that he knows he shouldn't indulge himself and yet-

"Maybe I'm into MILFs."

You've a remarkably good poker face. He can't tell if you're actually annoyed, until you look at him with a small smile. It's hidden by the sultry, tempestuous expression you're throwing his way, but definitely still there.

"So first I'm a mother, and now you wanna fuck me? Well, aren't you full of surprises?"

If there's one thing Jungkook enjoys, it's a girl who knows how to twist words. Regretfully, it always gets him thinking about other ways they could twist their tongues. The thoughts are unsavoury. Sordid. Lewd.

But you're you.

You're off-limits, and he knows better than to play with fire. He needs to get you wet.

Just, like, not in that way.

"I'll put you under that fountain if you don't stop twisting my words," he asserts as you walk through the park. To your right is a pool, with bright slides twisting in all directions around it. Families play, and laughter prevails. It's nice.

To your left is a row of spouting fountains for kids to run through, water pitter-pattering against the warm concrete floor. They're tall enough that even Jungkook could stand beneath them without issue. You always think they look like reverse umbrellas; water pouring where protection should be.

Puddles of water interrupt the walkway, but neither of you care all that much.

"Maybe if you got your head out your ass and stopped flirting"—

"Not flirting."

You scoff as sarcasm wraps itself around your words. "Yeah, and I'm a MILF."

He pauses. Stops walking. Laughs.

"Right," Jungkook says. "That's it."

It's said in a tone so light and airy that you almost don't realise he's wrapping his arms around you with a grip tight enough to crack a rib. Your playful shrieks are ignored by other park visitors, chalked up to you being a pair of young lovers enjoying the frivolity of a waterpark together.

"I'm in white!" is your final cry before he pulls you under the cascade of a fountain with him.

The worst part of it, you think, is how goddamn happy he sounds, laughing at your misery.

"And I told you to stop twisting my words, Byeol," he says like the bastard he is, while you struggle against him again. Finally releasing you, he keeps a clasp on your wrists to prevent you from straying. "You made your choice."

"I made no such thing," you wail, but the stream of water has you spluttering—and then you're laughing.

Laughing just like he is; like how you imagine Galileo would have laughed when he first pointed his telescope skyward, and saw the rings of Saturn. It's unadulterated. Blissful. Pure.

Jungkook loosens his grip on your wrists. He rests his elbows on your shoulders, using his hands to create a barrier between the stream of water and your eyes. There's glitter on your cheeks, now, forced to part way with your eyes thanks to the water pressure, and Jungkook finds himself grinning at how you manage to look like a party even in the middle of the day.

Perhaps he's a lot more like Galileo than you first thought. Maybe he's laughing because he's looking at the stars, too.

Water barrels down on the pair of you, soaking your hair, your clothes, your skin. It's heavy, the pressure of the fountain far heavier than a shower, but you suppose the outcome is the same.

You don't want to look at Jungkook with anything but moderate vexation, and yet there's a fond smile tugging at your lips.

Strands of wet hair stick to his face, droplets catching on his lashes and falling down his cheeks. He shakes like a dog caught out in the rain, only to continue getting drenched because he doesn't move from the fountains trajectory. It'd be so easy for him to just manoeuvre himself out of the fountain's direct line and hold you in place, but he chooses to be caught up in it, too. Chooses to be with you. Experience with you.

You'd done his bird together. Only fair for him to do yours with you.

"You still scared, Byeol?" Jungkook asks, voice quiet beneath the water pummeling down on you both, and yet it has your attention loud and clear.

You want to banter back, say something that will get tripping on his words just like you seem to be—but the rope tied around your ankles seems to be around your tongue, too. Instead, you just shake your head.

"See," he smiles, now. Pulls a hand away from your forehead to wipe at his. Puts it back. "Are showers really that scary?"

And then you do laugh. "It's not a shower. You know it isn't even close."

His face scrunches, water catching in all of his little ridges.

He'll admit the water is annoying. Keeps having to close his eyes. It's bothersome, and it's not like he even cares for boundaries anymore at this point, so—

Fuck it.

His pinkies are against your forehead, index fingers outward. He lowers his head, mirroring you. Rests his forehead against his index fingers. Swears. Can finally fucking see.

And now that he can?

He's looking at you.

With his head angled to such a degree that your chins couldn't be further apart, you still manage to fool yourself to believe that your lashes could brush.

"It's as close as we'll get to one," he counters. "You are showering with another person."

"I'm under a stream of water with another person."

"And how is that any different to showering with someone?"

He isn't stupid. He knows the answer. Knows that you're pedantic enough to go into all the clauses and stipulations that would ever stop this from being classed as a shower—and so he doesn't let you.

Instead, he pulls away, grabbing your wrist as he does so. Leads you further into the park with a smile so big you're surprised he doesn't dislocate his jaw.

"That's the hard part done," he assures you. "You've had a shower with someone. Say thank you."

There's an acute awareness between you both that he's not helped you to overcome your fear in the slightest—but he does have you laughing as you walk through the park, absolutely sodden, without a single care in the world. You're not even bothered by the fact your black bra is visible through the soaked fabric of your shirt.

See, Jungkook's gotten you relaxed in a situation when you know you'd typically be frantic. He's taking the pressure off. Got you giggling. Got you facing a fear, even if it's not exactly how he set out to do so, nor the fear in question.

In his defence, he really had thought his contrived little plan would count. He'd have never insisted on actually taking a shower with you. He understands why you consider them so intimate. He does, too. Something about the vulnerability really gets him. It's not even the sex that inevitably comes with one that makes him weak at the knees.

He thinks of the girl who folded paper butterflies for him, and how he'd shampoo her hair, chest pressed to her back, and the fact it was in the confines of his bathroom that he realised he was in love with her.

So, Jungkook gets it. It's why he wouldn't even consider anything but his dumb little waterpark shower as a remedy of your insecurities. He hopes a lesson is learned even if a fear isn't overcome: you can let down your guard without giving up all of you.

What it comes down to, you think, is that Jungkook isn't a taker. He's not a giver, either, really - but when your walls start to crack and crumble, he doesn't intrude. Stands at a safe distance. Offer you back your bricks. Most men you knew would see a weakness in your defences and claim what's yours as their own.

He's not always been this way. Used to have a 'what's yours is mine' understanding of his relationships, too.

His butterfly girl had taught him that no, just because he was given temporary access to something didn't mean it was his. He'd learnt the hard way after he'd always swapped his heart with hers, not realising she'd ever want it back.

And so while Jungkook will never fully understand whatever you went through - not unless you choose to share it with him - he can empathise. Treat you how he wished someone would have treated him while he was still healing.

As the clouds migrate across the sky, fluffy white shapes occasionally hiding the careful watch of the sun, the day rolls into stupid competitions and races down the tallest slides in the park. The reason you'd ended up here doesn't seem to matter.

Jungkook races you to the top of the slides again, and again, and again, just to try and beat you down them. He never wins.

Not until you hold back by just a millisecond.

It's just enough to give him a slight edge, and have him roaring in victory —"Ha! Suck it! Loser!"— as he slaps at the water, a smile larger than Hang Sơn Đoòng eclipsing any desire you had to win. You'll let him have this one. Let him have one victory.

The haze of late-afternoon sun grazes down on the pair of you, while you lounge by the 'adults-only' pool area. A lot of families have gone home already, but sometimes it's nice to be away from the shrieks of kids messing about in the water.

You're not exactly the maternal type. In fact, Jungkook's the one who's been pointing out how cute the kids are in their little armbands and sprout hairstyles. He's not wrong. They're incredibly adorable - you're just not that naturally inclined to go 'awww'.

It's all swings and roundabouts, though.

Getting away from kids meant being surrounded by, well, some less wholesome auras.

Jungkook thinks he notices it first; the unwelcome gaze of a middle-aged man. He's felt it for a little while. Upwards of ten minutes. Thinks you're none the wiser. Tries to figure out what's so fucking interesting. Stares him out a little bit - but is ignored.

See, the man—who is probably old enough to be your father—isn't looking at Jungkook at all. Too busy staring at you, and that shirt of yours which is still yet to dry out. You're on your back, sunning yourself, clothes sodden and sticking to your skin.

Jungkook thinks you look no different to anyone else in the park. It's typical to wear regular clothes in places like these. Would be more shocking if you were in a bikini. And so while yes, he has noticed the fact your bra is dark, he couldn't tell you the colour because he's been trying not to look. Actively avoiding it, actually.

Annoyance isn't something that Jungkook's ever been able to hide well.

As he sucks in a little bit of air between his teeth and mutters a small curse to himself, you glance over.

"Hmm?" you ask.

It's not like you don't know the man's staring. You had warned Jungkook about your attire earlier. Was always gonna happen. He just hadn't realised that this was the reason why you'd been so insistent about the fact he was an asshole for not giving you a dress code.

Realistically, you could have bought a second shirt - but the pair of you got distracted. Didn't care so much when you were laughing and joking about how you both look like rats with your hair all wet.

"Here," he says, tugging on his shirt at the nape of his neck. There's resistance, the weight of the water dragging against his skin, but he pays it no mind as he pulls the shirt over his head. You're still laying down on your back, and turn onto your front with a small grin.

"Y'know if I really was all that bothered, I'd just do this," you say, talking about your change in position. It's not that you want the man to stare - you just know he will regardless. Know that your shorts have ridden up a little, and so he's getting a whole new type of show.

Jungkook doesn't laugh. Smiles, but doesn't let it reach his eyes. Leans over and drapes the fabric of his shirt over the top of your legs. Over your ass. "You'll burn."

"I'm wearing suncream," you purr, knowing that this has nothing to do with keeping your skin safe.

And so Jungkook just shrugs. Considers staying silent. Chooses not to.

"He might wanna stare, Byeol," he almost growls beneath his breath, feigning indifference through his body language. "But I don't."

"You saying you can't help yourself?" You tease, to which he just rolls his eyes and lays back down.

"I can help myself perfectly well," he says, tongue flicking against the inside of his cheek. "Just didn't finish my sentence."

"Oh?" you chirp with great curiosity.

There's a boldness to the way you're engaging in conversation with him. Makes you realise that Jungkook is just the same as any other boy. He can see you as a sexual object, apparently. Just chooses not to. It's all very interesting.

"He might wanna stare, Byeol," he repeats, crossing his arms over his torso, a defensiveness to his posture, even when he's flat on his back. "But I don't want him to."

Though his eyes remain closed, Jungkook can hear you move to sit on your knees.

Your back is to the sleazebag, Jungkook's shirt bunching by your heels. You pull it around and bundle it in your lap, mouth resting open in a slight stare of shock.

Unspoken words beg for him to look at you.

But he doesn't. Keeps his eyes firmly shut. Grins. Just says, "Lie back down, Byeol."

The worst part is that you want to. You really do. When his voice is that low, the look on his face that cocky, you want to fold like a sheet of fucking origami paper. Have him bending you about like one of those damn birds.

But then you take a second to think, and realise you're no better than that guy who is still staring at you so intensely you're surprised he doesn't burst a blood vessel. Makes you feel bad. Guilty.

So instead you toss Jungkook his shirt back and, as you stand, say, "I've a fear of intimacy, Jungkook. No fear in telling men to fuck off."

He's not surprised by your response. Quite amused by it. Sits up on his elbows. Watches with curiosity as you walk away from him - and then is stunned to see you beeline for the man.

It's the kind of thing he'd see in a movie, background characters slowing to a stop, time ceasing to move except for the leading lady.

And then you're pointing. Accusing. Jungkook's not sure of what - he can't hear you from this far away - but he knows it isn't nice. Watches the blood drain from the man's face. He's ghostly. And then it all returns, red and raw, with such a vengeance he's surprised blood doesn't start leaking from his nose.

When you turn on your heel, Jungkook observes with morbid novelty at the scene unfolding; the intense shame on the man's face and the pure brilliance on yours.

"Men," you sigh, as you sit back down next to him. Mirroring his position, you're up on your elbows until you casually let yourself fall back into your original position. "Sorry, where were we? You told me to lie down? Done."

Jungkook doesn't say anything. Just grins. Collapses back down, too. Doesn't tell you to cover up. Knows better.

Doesn't shut up about it for the rest of the day, though.

Relays the story to you as if you weren't there—weren't central to it—with so much animation that you think he might turn into a cartoon on the subway home.

He's still talking about it between the part where he invites you back for dinner - "Jimin's gonna be in but it's cool. We haven't eaten all day, you must be starving." - and the part where he stands by your door, taking a whole twenty minutes to say goodbye.

You've declined the offer. Told him it'd be a bit weird seeing Jimin. Wouldn't know how to explain it. Jungkook just says, "Of course, yeah, you're right. Didn't even think of that. My bad."

There's a little silence afterwards. You know why. It's rejection. Not romantic, nor for anything serious, but it's still the same difference. He'd spent the day trying to help you break down walls only for you to put your bricks on top of his.

It's as he's heading down your stairs (after his fifteenth and final 'bye') that you realise how rude you've been. Just 'cause you wouldn't feel entirely welcome at his doesn't mean he's not welcome at yours.

"Hey, wait a sec! Danbi's home, but do you wanna eat here?" You chance. "We don't have much in, but I can order or we can-"

"My God, I thought you'd never ask," he grins immediately turning on his heel and back towards you. "So hungry I might die."

"You won't."

"I could."

The pair of you bicker as you enter your apartment, Danbi glancing up from the sofa. She looks at you, then looks at Jungkook, and takes a second to place his face. Definitely knows it - and then it clicks.

She considers asking why the fuck your favourite barman is following you in. He's known within the confines of your apartment as the Barman That Smiles (more commonly referred to as BTS boy), Jungkook's name a secret just for you to know. Danbi doesn't realise all of those nights you waste are the bar are wasted on him, nor does she realise he's the reason you snuck off the other night.

What she does wonder, however, is if this is all part of your master-get-revenge-on-Seokjin-plan.

Instead of voicing any of these queries, she settles on, "What are we having for dinner?"

You shrug. "Ask Jungkook. He's paying."

He raises a brow as if to question your assertion—only for him to cough up the bill for the pizza delivery that feeds the three of you through a Deadpool rewatch.

When he leaves, Danbi tells him he has to come back next week for Deadpool 2. You grin as you walk him out.

"She just wants you to pay for more food," you tell and he nods. Says he knows.

But then he calls back over to Danbi, "See you next week."

She does a little cheer, and it's all very sweet. They get on well. His humour is welcome in your apartment, and so is his presence. Danbi also hopes it means she'll get more free drinks next time she's at the club.

"She'll play you like a damn fiddle if you let her," you warn just out of her earshot.

"Good," he grins. "We can double date with you and Jimin."

You tell him to fuck off, but also insist that he lets you know when he gets home. The way you care about him is so casual that it feels as if it's been this way for years.

As he heads on home, Jungkook kind of hopes it will be. Hopes it's the kind of friendship that stands the test of time. Worries that he shouldn't take the flirting too far—but then he's distracted by the little fleck of glitter on the top of his hand. His thoughts are lost, a smile unwinding on his lips as he strolls back to his place.

The skies are void of stars tonight, and yet, for the first time in months, Jungkook's eyes are full of them.

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[staringdownabarrel]

The Game hits differently as an adult than when it did when I was a kid.

Back when I was a kid, mobile games were still in their infancy. Like yeah, there was Snake and Bounce, but that was pretty much it. A mobile phone had the games it came preloaded with and while you could get new ones online, most people didn't. And while there was still that phenomenon of annoying little kids going up to random adults and asking if they had games on their phone, I feel like it wasn't as common.

For the most part, mobile gaming hadn't really gotten to the point where it was psychologically addicting the same way it is now. That kind of thing only really started up when I was in high school. Even then, I tended to write off the "oh, my mum's addicted to Candy Crush" stuff as just a meme-y thing rather than an actual phenomenon. It's really only been in the eleven-ish years since I finished high school, and mostly in the last five or six years, that I've really been aware of people getting super addicted to mobile games as a thing. (This isn't to say it wasn't happening at all before then; just to say I wasn't as aware of it before then. Keep in mind that I live under a rock.)

The other thing here is that back when I was a kid and watching The Game for the first time, it wasn't really as acceptable for people to just sit there on their mobile for hours on end. For a long time, the mobile phone was seen as a thing you had for emergencies only, and even then a lot of people wouldn't bother to take it with them when they left the house.

This did eventually change around 2009 or 2010, when even less well off people could get a mobile phone that wasn't just a Nokia brick that was really only good for texting and calling people. Once that happened, people started using them more. But before that? Nah, not really. The Boomer cartoons from the mid-2000s about Millennial teenagers always being buried in their phones were either making mountains out of molehills or based around the one kid they knew who was a bit more of a social butterfly.

So the first few times I saw The Game, I wrote it off as just being a product of its time. When I thought of video games at the time, I was mostly thinking of console games, not of Snake. I dismissed the idea that someone would get addicted to a video game as being something that didn't really happen that much outside of a few edge cases here and there where maybe a guy died at his keyboard after playing World of Warcraft for a week straight, and even then I thought it was mostly because they had no life outside of it.

Nowadays though, I think it was weirdly prophetic, and I'm not entirely sure the writers on that episode fully realised that at the time. People really are getting addicted to mobile games (and, to some degree, MMOs) much more than they used to, and that's largely by design. Those games really are designed to be addictive.

So while in 2007, I wrote The Game off as being a wonky fantasy written by a generation who were maybe a little bit out of touch, now I realise they were probably on to something. The idea that someone might design a game to be extremely addictive and try to weaponise it somehow doesn't seem as farfetched now as I thought it was back then.

More to the point, there really are people out there who'll do remarkably stupid things because of an online game. It doesn't have to be some propaganda campaign or anything like that; they'll just be mad that a certain part of the game isn't realistic enough. War Thunder in particular has a bit of a reputation for this--there's been multiple military personnel from multiple countries who've leaked design specifications for their country's tanks online because of the game. I wouldn't be too surprised if most spy agencies have people keeping an eye on message boards related to it just because of that.

I don't know if I necessarily think The Game is a good episode. Of the Wesley Crusher episodes made after he goes to the Academy, this is the only one that really falls into that "Wesley the wonder boy" trap a lot of season one episodes had where he'd be pivotal to saving the day. It's still a more interesting take on that concept because it's ultimately Data who does it rather than him, but that honestly could have been incidental more than anything.

What I do think, however, is that it's an interesting episode. It's the kind of episode that's definitely made me think as I've gotten older. My opinion of it now is that while it's not really the best episode, it is good science fiction because it was remarkably on point about the general direction society was going to go down and it inspires thought.

[dankusner]

Starck opening — invite [with Stevie Nicks...]

Some kind of mischief

The Starck Club: Memories of ecstasy, lifelong friendships and what went down in those famously large bathrooms

The Starck Club was a Studio 54 for a city still shaking off its reputation as the home of J.R. Ewing.

A warehouse in the West End designed by French architect Philippe Starck, the place came to define the decadent mid-’80s before AIDS struck and ecstasy became illegal.

In anticipation of the sold-out Starck Club 40th Anniversary Reunion today at the Kessler, we spoke to two people who were there, captured in this photo from 1987.

George Baum, 21 (now 58)

I was one of the few straight guys who worked the door.

I was dating a server there, but every night I was covered in lipstick.

I’d get pocketfuls of paper with people’s names on it.

I’d gone to a boys school in New England, and I’d met girls working in record stores, but nothing like this.

It was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.

We had a downstairs room that opened up on Sundays when the club was slower, and people entered through steps on the outside.

The stairwell was covered, but the steps led to open air, so those drips on the wall are probably rain.

There were drugs in the club, and probably every club in the ’80s, but it wasn’t a free-for-all.

People would pour cocaine on a table, and they’d get kicked out.

But there were bathrooms with these massive stalls.

You could have a party in there.

Did people have sex in the bathrooms?

I mean, it was a very stimulating place, and we were all young and didn’t have any worries.

Sex was at the top of everyone’s mind.

I remember Cheryl.

She was part of a regular group I liked a lot.

I think this picture is a friendly greeting.

She’s clearly telling me something, but I have no idea what.

I heard all kinds of things.

I worked at Starck until it closed in 1989.

It wasn’t making the money it had, and it was replaced by a terrible nightclub called DV8.

I worked for them, but you had to ask to go to the bathroom.

We had these comp cards to give to women, and they’d grade women on a scale of 1-10 and pay you based on that, which was disgusting even then.

Luckily, they shut down soon after they opened.

Starck was just an exceptional club: the philosophy, the people, the music, the creativity of the people. I’ve never seen anything like it since.

Cheryl Sharp, 20 (now 57)

I remember George being sweet and sort of shy, and I always gave him a hug.

I’m probably telling him some big secret in this picture.

My hair looks like a crimped curling iron nightmare.

It probably cost more than my rent.

That’s not my natural color, I can tell you that.

My roommate Truett Pool and his mother had dressed me that night in a little tankini from Contempo Casuals with bike shorts and stockings.

I was like, OK!

It was a Sunday fun day.

Truett was the first person I met from Starck.

He was on the dance floor with his mom, a hot little number in all leather, just adorable.

He introduced me to some of his friends, and I’m still close with those people to this day.

My college in Arkansas had been very preppy, very sorority-oriented.

I moved to Dallas that year because the economy was better but also because of Starck.

From day one, it felt like a place I belonged.

My mom used to say it was a cult, because every time I came home, I was wearing a Starck Club shirt, but it wasn’t.

Although I did leave one Christmas Eve and drive six hours to go to the afterparty.

I think ecstasy should be in the water.

Wasn’t it originally for couples’ therapy?

It changed my life.

It made me more open, happy and accepting, and I think that’s where our deep friendships came from.

By 1987, I didn’t see anyone selling drugs at the bar, but I did tip the bartender Mike $20 for water so I could be on his guest list.

It was a wild time, yes, but an inclusive, fun time.

The regularly bootlegged design for a Grace Jones performance from July 1989. Hynds says you can tell which shirts are fake because they have “Grace Jones” in black lettering instead of clear.

[vael]

2023 Annual Review

"I might as well copy-paste last year's Annual Review..."

Of course, even last year I thought the same thing. "A tiger doesn't change its stripes," and now in my 35th year, it's apparent I won't be changing mine.

What went well this year?

Parenting. I'm very aware of the cost of lackluster parenting. "It's a terrible thing to do to someone." No matter how strained I am, I've said I am going to be a dedicated father. This year I dedicated myself to both my girls and continued my usual routine of rallying the boy to greatness.

When parenting, I track their milestones and development because I want the children to be able to play at (and somewhat over) the level of their peers so that they're able to play with the maximal number of children. Milestones are also easily measured: they can do the thing or not. My son still struggles to relate to his peers today because he's never been on their level, and it's a pitiable thing which I personally experienced as a child. It lead to my poor self-esteem and lack of ambition. When I celebrate milestones, this is why.

Violet. "My little storm cloud." 🖤 Violet continues to meet her milestones. She's ahem strong-willed, sweet, intelligent, curious, and funny: I think she's picked up on my ability to parody -- songs and such -- and she'll make up her own little parodies of various things. This year she became a lot less fearful.

Olivia. "Child of light." I thought Violet was an especially happy baby; Olivia redefined that for me. For her first year, we called her the colon D baby. This guy -> :D

Olivia is an absolute joy to be around. She took 13 months to walk, which was a surprise given that Violet was fully walking at 10 ½ months, but it looks like she instead allocated her effort towards speech, because this girl can talk. And enunciate! She's also good with her fine motor skills.

My wife was able to flawlessly breastfeed Olivia for six straight months, which is a big achievement.

Made two new friends. Each from different countries, and each of them web developers. I always love hearing about other cultures and it was because of my Argentinian friend that I...

Started learning Spanish; soft-quit PGO. This year I finally was able to put down Pokémon GO. Partially because I'm playing Pokemon Sleep now, but mostly that I was a little too obsessive about PvP and I felt childish being distracted in public so that I could play the PvE events.

I started Duolingo mid-November. My learning strategy is slow-paced and with frequent review. I fully achieve "legendary" on the current unit before moving on to the next. It's working, and it's got to be better for my cognition, and certainly for my life.

Rearranged the house. My wife came up with the plan. My son took my old office and my new office is in the study, previously our entertainment room. I could barely stand living in this house before, but now I'm comfortable.

Game development. I may have burned myself doing it, but I can't argue with the results. I don't think I've ever been better poised for a successful year than I am now.

This year I also received the most volunteer help I ever have. Aforementioned Argentinian friend wrote a robust weather script, and Tinydark's Raigen helped develop tinydark.com and Hub features; I'm also excited to announce we've been able to hire him to work remotely at my workplace. We even had an artist draw some holiday costumes for Tinyblob, our mascot.

Health. I took almost three months off eating "optional sugar," breaking my nightly ice cream routine. I'd felt like I was starting to get fat, so I simultaneously started focusing more on building my upper body. I went as far as to take before-and-afters for Facebook, but I eventually had to stop so I could focus on game dev. Though I stopped my upper body work, I did start jogging in the morning. I fell out of the habit once Daylight Saving Time hit, and the girls' circadian rhythms were an hour ahead.

Artificial Intelligence. Not exactly "my" win, but AI has been instrumental in this year's high production. To think it's only gotten better throughout the year and stands to get even better, it's such a privilege to be able to use AI. That's just code; assets have always been a problem for my game development, but AI trivializes some of my asset issues (it's still pretty bad proper asset generation).

What didn't go so well?

Relentless work ethic. I have a long, contemplative post on this here, but: I am too ambitious. "A good problem to have." Well, in August I had my first real panic attack at 3AM. I thought it was a heart attack at first. But what's mildly concerning is that I felt stronger for it after; I overcame it on my own and that now that I know what it is, I'm better prepared for it. I didn't feel like I should try to avoid this at all, but rather that I'm more prepared for a second panic attack. Seems kinda not-a-good mentality.

My body. I said my forward neck posture would be my focus of the year, and I did a passable job of it, but it wasn't enough. I still get headaches and they feel like they're getting worse. We don't have the money nor do I have the bandwidth to see a rolfer, and I'm not sure what to do other than try to keep my posture in mind throughout the day. I tried to train myself to sleep without a pillow but had minimal success. I typically lay down once a day, mid-day if work allows it, for about 15 minutes just to clear my head and alleviate some of the pain.

I also abused caffeine: by my definition, two cups/packets/sessions a day. That likely contributed to the panic attack.

My focus. Nothing new here. It's just hard to truly focus when my morning's waylaid by children and I'm needed throughout the day. Interruptions break focus, so that's that: I cannot truly focus. The time I get at night is rarely good for focusing considering it's so scarce, the girls could wake up at any time, and that's typically the bulk of time I get to spend talking with my wife.

Buried. Two-under-two, working my job, working tinydark, doing (it seems) more chores than the typical husband does, my crumbling body and keeping myself healthy are the primary stressors.

No sympathy allowed; I chose this path and would choose it again.

Finances. We had two kids in two years (I regret not waiting an extra six months) so it's to be expected, but we've found ourselves deep in the negatives at the end of the year. Inflation's a real killer. We (ie: my wife) made some progress with the decision to grocery shop at two different stores for our weekly shopping trip, but the extra store is Trader Joe's... full of novel temptations. We're still better off for it, anyway.

Released neither Black Crown: Exhumed nor Bean Grower. I did have to take two weeks off for some contracting, but ultimately I just decided to spend more time on URPG, and everything takes longer than I expect.

What did I learn?

I feel like this year, I didn't get too worked up about our lack of financial progress. It feels more like acceptance than complacency. I will be free, unburied when my dream is realized: we just need to save up enough money for a down payment on a new house build, then sustain our finances while it's built, and finally sell this house for a minimum of $100k in the bank when all is said and done. I have confirmed this is entirely possible, and I'm grateful to have moved South before the pandemic. This is why it's acceptance: achieving this peace of mind is the only way I can finally buy the ice cream.

Otherwise, I've meditated on it, and honestly: I don't know that I really learned anything notable. At least as far as wisdom vs. tangible knowledge.

Goals and Expectations: 2024

Game dev. I can at least guarantee Bean Grower's getting a final release, presumably onto an app store. I'm giving myself three damn months for it. Black Crown is also getting three damn months, but I will concede that Steam Store support might be a stretch goal. Either way, I'm ending this year with two full titles under my belt.

Financial recovery. Sort of a given, and who knows, maybe the 15,000 hours I've spent building a game studio will actually pan out this year.

-- --

Welp, figger that's it. Vael

[alyosiuscreightonward]

Dear Diary.

After working so many hours in the past few weeks, I’ve a moment to catch up.

I work at a store where it is absolutely amazing that the store remains open. People don’t follow the rules and literally run amok as employees, is mid boggling to me.

Some people actually steal shit. In the world of retail, if you open and consume a product before purchasing it then that’s considered stealing. I don’t give a flying fuck on a rolling doughnut that you can eventually pay for it, you did willingly with afore thought consumed said item and NOW YOU’RE GOING TO PAY FOR IT AFTER ITS GONE??!!

Then I had to fire three people. One was notorious for being a No Call No Show and then in a group text admitted that he was drunk and he had allegedly gone to hospital for an IV treatment for allegedly having alcohol poisoning.

Then there’s the problem child. He admits that he has been homeless for allegedly six years now. How his family abandoned him and kicked him out. I understand that he’s angry at the world but it’s also sad and obvious that he’s refusing to take responsibility and ownership for his actions.

I can speak to this. In the late 1970’s, 1978-1980, I was homeless because I was a junkie and I was actively using. A few people helped me but I eventually fucked it up due to my own personal reasons and I wanted to make it clear that I was there and that led me down a darker path. I ruined my own life and I also ruined their lives by telling their parents or whomever that I was a part of the problem. It didn’t matter what their families thought of them but I was just going to eradicate them. I poisoned them and myself no matter the consequences.

One example, a phone call. “Mrs. Blank, ever since your son, Blank, has been coming here to do this thing, he’s been having affairs with men and I’ve been one of them. I also know that he may have gotten some girl, Blank, pregnant since she told me she had an abortion.”

Then there’s my poison pen letters. I’d write them all down and go into excruciating detail about what I did wrong and how their child was in this situation. Don’t believe me? Then ask these people (names and numbers) who are in their lives. Some are friends and some are at the university.

I own my shit. I also know that I don’t flush Haagen Dazs French Vanilla. I don’t sleep on a bed of rose petals. I snore. I also have fits of rhinotillexomania when driving. I also have had a bout of flatulence at inappropriate times.

However the aforementioned problem child is playing the angry game of how he was wronged and the entire world is out to get him. When I went to the police station, I told them that I was sitting at home plotting to destroy his life even though I had only met a few weeks prior.

He rolled up on me on his scooter (everyone knows the sound it makes) and started hurling insults at me because that person hadn’t been fired even though they were selling drugs, involved in robbing the cradle (she’s in 50s and her boyfriend is 27) and stealing from the job. He called me retarded and I was a fucking faggot. He spewed a few more choice words and insults at me and then proceeded to leave.

I then promptly took to my narrow behind to the police and asked for a no trespass warrant. I added, I’m 64 years old and with out and about I do fear for my life.

Then after that, it went pretty much straight downhill from there and there I was at the job crying in front of customers.

Up to that point in time, I had been thinking I was doing a good job by being the acting manager (Meryl Streep acting manager) and with a few exceptions I had been working diligently and really hard on getting things done. It fell apart. As usual I eventually got it together and went through the remainder of the day. It had gotten ugly via text messages because no one was answering me. Some time later, I had gotten a text message from someone who knew I was going away to Palm Springs, if I was going to change my tickets and stick around to get it done.

FUCK YOU MOTHERFUCKER!! I PAID FOR THESE TICKETS BACK IN EARLY AUGUST AND I AM GOING TO FUCKING PALM SPRINGS YOU FECKLESS CUNT!!!

As I am writing this, I’m in the desert about a mile away from the actual town of Palm Springs but I’m here and they’re all flailing about.

The sun is shining. The wind is blowing. It’s currently 75 degrees. I’m now going to finish my coffee and have a cigarette and then I’m heading into the pool.

[sovereignjojoz]

Ah!

Atsumu x f!/gn!reader

Warnings: its just a silly piece tbh. Petnames.

Atsumu felt tense.

Why did he feel tense, well the reason was simple. Just as he was about to practice a set, he got a call. His jaw ticked in irritation as he went to see the caller ID, but upon seeing your contact he softened. Normally he wouldn’t answer, however you of course were an acception.

Perhaps you were calling him to surprise him with a romantic romdevouz. Or maybe it was to bring lunch over? Whatever the reason, he was just glad you called.

So you can imagine Atsumu’s surprise when he answered the call and his beloved was crying, wailing incoherent sentences in panic.

“Baby, please… t-the…and…oh my! It’s…closer! Help!” You wailed, crying into the phone, as he tried to calm you down.

Before he could even ask what was up, another cry came from the other side of the line and the call abruptly ended.

Panicked, he sent countless messages to your phone, but despite his perseverance they remained unanswered.

Conflicted, he thought upon what to do. Of course if he left practice, he’d lose many valuable hours of practice. However those hours were incomparable compared to his love for you.

His internal debate was even throwing him off game, just a second ago he’d set a ball up which plummeted straight down onto his head.

Suna snickered, having been watching the setter for the past couple of minutes, causing his other team mates to pick up on his jitteriness.

“Tsumu what’s yer problem.” Osamu commented, each week without fail his twin somehow managed to bring drama into practise.

“ ‘m fine, it’s just my- I got a call ‘n now ‘m worried.”

“Look,” Aran interrupted, “if it wasn’t bothering you, you wouldn’t even be thinking about leaving right now so just sort out whatever it is.”

“Yeah it’s fine,” Kita reassured, “you can make up the time next session.”

Atsumu pursed his lips, a sense of relief overcoming him as his friends correlated what he too was thinking. “Yer right boys! ‘M needed elsewhere, boyfriend duty calls. Don’t miss me too much!” He yelled running out of the gym.

“Don’t worry, we won’t.” Osamu assured.

The sound of foot steps backtracking towards the gym was evident, “no one asked ya!” Tsumu retorted, childishly sticking his tongue out, blowing a raspberry before sprinting off.

The faux blonde had ran as fast as he could, managing to get to your dormitory in little under 5 minutes.

“I ran as fast as I could ta get here baby, what’s the matter, where are yer, is-”

He paused mid-sentence, hearing you calling out to him.

“Tsumu? Are you home?”

“Yeah babe, everythin’ alright?”

“No! I’m in the bathroom and-” you let out a shriek, “please come!”

Even before you’d ask he’d ran straight to your voice. He braced himself for what he’d find once he reached you.

He looked around the bathroom hurriedly, “what! Who is it? Are ya okay?” His eyes laid on your form, pressed up in the corner wall of the bathtub.

“It’s there!” You pointed near the doorway.

His eyes followed your finger, landing on the biggest spider he’d ever seen in his life.

Atsumu shrieked, jumping on top of the bathtub with you.

You looked at him, distressed, “Babe! You promised you’d get rid of them, you’re the lesser scared of us.”

He shook his head vehemently in denail, “there’s no way ‘m dealin’ with that monstrosity. The small ones, fine, I can tell that one wants ta eat me.”

“Tsumu!”

“Nuh uh!”

“Why no- oh my gosh it’s coming closer!” You said hugging yourself closer to Atsumu.

If this were any other situation, for example a beach date, he’d be enjoying himself. But it wasn’t, and he was scared out of his mind.

“How are you six foot and scared of spiders!” You whisper shouted, fearing the beast would detect your fear.

“Oh c’mon! Ain’t yer afraid of the other mother and she’s not even real!” He reasoned.

“Hey!” You pouted, “ I told you that in confidence.”

“Sorry baby, yer right.” He pecked you on the lips.

Unfortunately, that heart warming moment came to an end as the spider decided to move again. Contrary to last time, Atsumu shriek even louder than you -and higher too, as you jumped into his arms; using him as a human body shield.

“Oi. I know yer trick, yer not usin’ me as bait.”

“Oh I can see how highly you think of me.” You turned to him being serious, “C’mon we need to get out of here! I’m starving i’ve been here for an hour and I’m tired, do you have your phone on you?” You asked, rambling slightly due to your tiredness.

He patted his legs down, feeling for his phone. “Let’s call ‘samu.”

You nodded in agreement.

“What is it now.” Osamu asked, half of his face popping up on the screen.

“We’re in imminent danger.”

“Are yer now?” In the background you see Sunarin peaking over his shoulder, curious to see what was going on.

You took the phone out of ‘tsumu’s hands. “Samu help us, it’s becoming exasperating just being in here. Any longer and who knows what will happen.” You side-eyed Atsumu.

“Alright, only since I pity ya for having to be trapped with him.”

“Yer really in for it when ya get here!”

“Which will be never since ‘m not comin’ anymore.”

Atsumu chuckled awkwardly, “heh, ‘samu c’mon don’t be so petty.”

He stuck his tongue out just like Atsumu had earlier, then cut the call.

“Tsumu.”

He shrugged his shoulders, “it slipped out.”

Before you had the chance to rebuttal, you both noticed the spider had moved dangerously close to you. You’d estimate it was only 30 centimetres away.

In a means to protect himself, Atsumu jumped onto you like his natural instinct had told him to.

He’s seem to have forgotten that the two of you were balancing on a bathtub, consequently causing the two of you to topple over; you fell in first whilst he fell after.

“Atsumu!”

“ ‘m sorry!” He told you, pushing himself up.

That’s when he felt it, the sensation of numerous icky legs on his back. All Sunarin and Osamu could hear as they walked in to the dormitory was a mutuals scream of horror.

“TSUMU DON’T MOVE A MUSCLE!”

“BABY GET IT OFF ME!“

[queenofbaws]

I humbly beg of thee, Max Laura anything. I was thinking a first kiss gone wrong? PRACTICE KISSING BC THEYRE UR BEST FRIEND SO ITS NOT WEIRD AND YOU HAVE FEELINGS SO U THINK KISSING WILL HELP BUT NOPE THE FEELINGS GET WORSE??? I will take any scrap I can get my greedy lil hands on!!!!

thank you so much!!!

at-least-but-not-exactly-six sentence sat(or)sunday!!! ---

“I think we should kiss.”

“I th - wait, what.”

Of all the ways Max could’ve responded, Laura thought that one was probably best. It wasn’t really a question, and it wasn’t an exclamation, and he hadn’t like sprang up from the bench or anything, and the look on his face that went along with it was more confused than grossed out, so...in the grand scheme of things? Could’ve been worse! Could’ve been a lot worse.

She made herself nod (mostly because she’d been keying herself up for the past, oh, half hour or so just to get those five dumb words out and now that she’d spoken them, it was like her brain had thrown in the towel for the day), then absently took to rubbing the palms of her hands together as she thought her way through the next step. “Yeah, I mean, that’ll prove it one way or the other, don’t you think? If we’re...” She gestured. “If this...” Another gesture, pretty much the same as the first. “I just think maybe it’s the one surefire way to get to the bottom of it, that’s all.” 

“O-okay, let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Max said, his hands drumming out a tuneless rhythm against his knees. “You think we should kiss now to figure out if, what, we want to kiss more? In the future? Like, going forward? Is that what you’re saying?” He didn’t give her time to answer. “Yeah, I mean. Sold. Let’s do this.”

“I - wait, really?” It occurred to her that she’d pretty much parroted back what he’d said earlier, and so she couldn’t help but snort as she turned to better face him. “That’s...that’s it? That’s all the convincing you needed?”

The drumbeat cut off mid-solo as Max shrugged, his hands palms-up and at shoulder-height. “I don’t know what you want me to say here, Laura, it’s a solid plan.”

“Well yeah, I know that,” she laughed, finding it very difficult to sit still all of a sudden; had they really been sitting that close this whole time? It seemed impossible to think that their legs had been touching like that the whole time they’d been there, but maybe that was just the sort of stuff you didn’t stop to think about when it was your best friend’s leg doing the touching. Or...okay, no, none of that...okay, she had to stop thinking about that. “I guess I just sort of expected...”

“What? Should I have stuck my tongue out and gone ‘Ew, cooties?’ I know you have cooties, Laura. I’ve seen the test results. I was there on the playground the day you got your circles, dots, and yes, that extremely overdue cooties shot. I know what I’m signing up for here.” His joke did very little to distract from the extreme case of ants-in-the-pants he’d been stricken with, but it did earn him a shoulder-nudge. “Besides, it’s, y’know. Like I said, a solid plan. It makes sense. It’s like...taking a...” His eyes narrowed as he came to terms with what he was about to say. “Test drive.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “A test drive.”

“Yeah. Just. With. Our...mouths...okay, admittedly, not the best comparison I could’ve made, but also? Just saying? Probably not the worst, either.”

Boy, she knew that was the truth.

Laura took a breath, nodded to herself, and then set her hands on her thighs. This was it. She’d been the one to slap the idea down on the table where both of them could see it, so it was only right that she be the one to put it into action. “Okay,” she said, speaking to herself just as much as she was to him. “Ground rules.”

“Ground rules,” he repeated incredulously, taking his sweet time turning towards her so they were fully facing each other instead of just sitting side-by-side. “I sort of feel like setting ground rules takes something away from the kissing experience. Like...most of it, actually.”

“Yeah, fine, but you’re the one who called this a ‘test drive,’ Max, and you know what test drives have? Rules. Like don’t steal the car. And don’t swerve out of your way to hit every raccoon you see.”

He held his hands up again, and that time she thought she detected the sliiightest trembling in his fingers. “You got me there. So how about this, ground rule number one, I promise I won’t kill any raccoons while kissing you.”

To show him precisely how much she thought of that witty little zinger, Laura blinked once. Slowly. Then clucked her tongue and brought one of her hands up to cover his eyes. “Ground rule number two - ”

“Oh, so the raccoon thing is staying in? Good to know.”

“ - close your eyes, would you? This...who kisses someone else with their eyes open? That’s...it’s ghoulish.”

“All right, all right.” He made a big show of pushing her hand back down to reveal he had, in fact, shut his eyes. “Done. Any other requests?”

“Yeah, actually,” she laughed, gearing herself up for what came next. “If you could quit talking for like, two seconds, that’d also be great, because kissing is sort of difficult when the person you’re trying to kiss won’t stop flapping their yap.”

“Flapping my yap.”

“You heard me.”

“God, I hope this kiss sucks. I’m not sure I’m ready to commit myself to someone who refers to my mouth as a yap.” Even with his eyes closed, she could tell Max was joking. It was in his tone, in the quirk of his lips, but she knew what he meant - this was a heck of a line they were tiptoeing right now, and no amount of doofy jokes and elbow jabs could change that.

“Yeah, well,” Laura began, bouncing her front teeth against her lower lip for a moment before she did the dang thing and leaned in. “Join the club, Brinly, because I’m not sure I want to be with someone who talks about my super private cootie status in public.”

She’d fully expected him to have some sort of retort to that, but it seemed he was taking ground rule number three very, very seriously, because all he did was sort of laugh. No excuses, then, no time for second thoughts. Laura let her eyes fall shut as she pressed her lips to his, let her breath catch in her chest as she waited for the inevitable lightning strike or disappointed slide whistle or firework explosion overhead, and...

“Okay, um, ow, wait, hang on.” Promptly mashed her nose against his. “Sorry, my bad, just, uh...okay.”

��So much for ground rule number o - ”

Only the second time was the charm, it seemed. She felt one of Max’s hands slide to her shoulder as she moved her lips against his, but for a moment that’s all there was. He didn’t push her back, didn’t pull her closer, just let his hand rest there on the curve of her shoulder as the kiss slowly ended and they broke apart.

“Uh, so?” she asked, keeping her voice almost whisper-low since they were so close to one another, their lips still nearly close enough to brush. “What’s the verdict?”

Max cleared his throat once, twice, and then swallowed so hard that she could hear it click. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he started, “I think, uh...I think maybe we should do that again, actually. Just to...just to be sure, y’know?”

Her stomach dipped with disappointment for all of a moment...before she understood what he’d meant. “Oh yeah?” Laura laughed, letting her eyes flutter shut again as the hand on her shoulder slid up and up to cup her cheek. “Well, anything to be sure, I guess...” Then they were kissing again, and again, and again, and the answer they’d been looking for seemed pretty clear.

[sjw-publishings]

A Le’Silver Lining

Based on a story from Midas Touch, by @dumb-and-jocked

“Finish up pronto, or you’re fired.”

Aden sighed, he really wanted to get that promotion, the next step up the corporate ladder, but because of some desperate plea of a ‘millennial-life crisis’, he ended up revealing to his incredibly hot Boss...hoping he had been closeted this entire time.

He was wrong.

Recalling the many words and verbal insults from the strict CEO, it was far from a ‘privilege’ throughout these past few years.

And to be paid a similar wage while handling this douchebag’s laundry is just the icing on the cake.

All he wanted to do was to head towards the top with a faithful partner, but instead his arrogant boss reduced him to some laundry ‘boy’. He was in his mid 20s and treated like some joke.

“This is humiliating!”

Stuffing in the last few piles of clothes, he grumbled, but not too loud just in case his boss spied on him. Turning on the laundry machine as it whirled, done for the day...though not for long knowing how unreasonable that homophobe was.

Folding his arms, pocketing the white gloves he had to wear. As the douche puts it, ‘so he won’t catch the gay’. He rubbed his palms all over his youthful face, trying to contain himself from tearing over his demotion a couple of hours ago, hoping there will be a way to get some power back.

*Shone*

From the corner of his eye came a glint of something shiny, alone at the corner of the clothes basket was a singular watch, which was without a doubt very costly.

Not like his boss’s that shone gold, but rather one of silver. ‘A promising shine...yet dull’. One of the many insults that alpha would arrogantly scoff at him.

“Better polish this before he starts complaining about it.”

As he said that, he grabbed a cloth that appeared to his side and began polishing the accessory. Not realising how the watch voluntarily attached itself to his wrist as his eyes were laser focused on polishing the silver lining.

Le Silver Lining.

His fingernails began trimming themselves short, hands were bigger and more worn...yet eloquent. The changes trailed down his arms, tightening his biceps with lean muscle of a servant who had been tasked with numerous duties beyond laundry.

The boss eventually demanded more from him after all, as the shirt he wore had split into two, the lower layer ironing itself to his chest, sculpting his abdominals to six stones as two modest arches formed the front side of his chest, tightening as the solid foundation gets filled with pectoral muscle.

Starch blue Sleeves rolling down to his wrists, regaining the familiarity of a buttoned down as the upper layer rested over him like a navy suit jacket. He had to look presentable always, even if he was Mr. Conrad’s servant, especially when he had visitors.

Of course, his snobbish boss was always in control, living under his roof meant a rigid schedule with tons of tasks always needing to be done. Buttocks tightening...ensuring there will be no time for any poking from behind.

“He did give me some leeway though.”

Connecting his legs, as the stress pitched a tent beneath his trousers, which shifted to a more expensive quality that he missed, tightening on those knees in dark blue like his suit jacket, as he stood tall over 6ft, slightly shorter than his boss...but definitely the height of a man who was in charge of many things.

The man in the older twenties nodded, as with every swipe, the new reality of his situation became clearer and clearer.

His pouch rested comfortably in those briefs, which came with the uniform ‘to set ‘boys’ straight’ as so he proclaims. Being dedicated to his boss meant he had no time for a long term relationship, seeing men less and being forced to chat with women.

Though with the amount of ladies chatting with him....

“He has been exceptionally generous.”

Huffing out an arrogant flair, starting to appreciate his employer. Yes, he was bi-curious, nothing too serious though, at least with the men.

Plus the watch was, after all, a symbol of gratitude and position from the older male. Despite the consistent banter during his first few years, he really grew on him despite the excessive homophobia.

Because, it was as his boss said, working under him was a privilege.

Both things, he too had inherited from his long time boss. He did serve under him over 16 years, and while Conrad was demanding, he was absolutely generous, as long as one fits into his mould.

Which its something he slid on in perfectly.

“Still, not really my type, no?”

The age gap was less than a decade, but he was not interested in such acts with the man. Putting his foot down, shoes being polished into a prim and proper wing-tip, strictly professional like their relationship.

The strictness was something he did admire in a superior, alongside the pompous arrogance, he probably wouldn’t date the man even if he were gay! Despite it being so arou-

“Non non...what am I thinking?!”

His voice deepened, darkened. His nose wrinkled in disgust, disapproval to his more...’immature’ ways. Aging out to a matured thirty eight, as his skin took on a more elegant and healthy glow. Raised in the life of the wealthy, but with the humility of a servant.

They were simply, Sir and b...Monsieur. A Boss and his trusted butler, a respectable relationship between gentlemen.

Standing up straight, a posture he maintained throughout his years at the CEO’s house, shoulders filling up nicely on his uniform, buttocks being disciplined shut as though he vehemently made a decision to stay far from those kind of acts.

And of course, this choice was made solely on his own.

“Unacceptable, no?”

Smirking to himself, recalling the many rants from Sir Conrad about ‘faguettes’ and how disrespectful youths nowadays were, and the many nights they had fine women over as a result.

Giving a few combs to his hair, tight and thorough hairspray glued his slicked back cut to his scalp, maintaining it since he started as one of the servants in the mansion, the prim and proper look for someone who belonged underneath his employer, yet dashing enough to stand out for the ladies.

And of course, he had a level of authority unlike the supervisors of his boss’s company. Bringing his palm to his face, brushing against the dark brown bristles, stubbles, beard on his chin down to a more concentrated ‘chin strap’ as the locals call it.

Jaw sharpening itself to a cleft, moustache dressing above his upper lip, trimmed and twirled to the ideas from the CEO, with a modest patch of fuzz below his lower lip, mirroring his superior’s well groomed moustache.

Like a shadow, he would do as his employer says, and behave like him...with a Parisian twist.

The experienced servant giving a few final swipes to the watch with ease as the polished beam shone into his eyes, lenses. A pair of rectangular spectacles framed his new perspective, with utmost appreciation to his employer.

Brows arching downward, trimming away any resistance to the loyal affluence of the frenchman’s dark brown eyes. Pocketing away his hankerchief, he turned on the washing machine and made his way to the living room with a pre-prepared cart of treats.

Knowing, according to his watch, its tea time.

“As expected as always, Monsieur.”

Antoine bowed down to his waist, proud of his accomplishment of being second in command to the CEO of C.O.N. Corporations. And while he may not have a title like the fine gentlemen sitting at the boardroom, the Butler had more say in who stays than any of them ever could.

That enough was of satisfaction to the eloquent Parisian.

“Now if you would excuse us, we would like to have the rest of the afternoon undisturbed until a quarter past nine...”

As his boss said that, a fancy looking Madame climbed on top of him, and initiated an intense make out session like every other evening after a special occasion.

“Understood sir, enjoy your session.”

The french butler walked on auto pilot out of the room, leaving them to their heterosexual pursuits. Of course, while he was a fellow ladies man, he wasn’t going to steal the spotlight from his boss. He wasn’t a ‘boy’, but a ‘Monsieur’, and besides...

“Heehee~”

There was someone far more interesting on the staircase...

A french maid, dressed loosely in that typical frilly attire, winked at him. That cheeky vixen...she was literally asking to be painted, pulling his attention from his multitude of assignments to be done, and onto her.

Alas, the ladies do come first, his boss always encouraged his many trysts with women across the mansion, as long as he did a clean job.

And this blonde was no exception, most definitely another generous reward from Sir Conrad, something his eyes savoured by examining those pillows on her mattress.

Removing his glasses, he gave a dashing look at the lady, and daringly spoke.

“Bonjour Mademoiselle, Coffee, Tea, or me?”

[qqueenofhades]

did you watch lucifer season six and what are your thoughts pls and ty

Ahaha. Yes. Yes I did watch it. Then I cried for a literal hour and attempted to compose myself, only to start crying again when I lay down and kept on thinking about it. Then I had more feelings. Then I slept like the dead due to emotional trauma. Then I reblogged gifsets and had More feelings. Then @buffaluff and @flynnanimal watched it and also required emotional support due to drowning in their own tears. So, uh... we're all fine here now. How are you?

My main takeaway from the final season was the sheer amount of love for the characters, story, and fans that you could feel shining through all the episodes, and which made SUCH a refreshing change. I had feelings in my tags the other day about how a show about the devil was constantly goofy, hopeful, loving, and uplifting, rather than all the grimdark nonsense they could have easily done with it. (As I said, just imagine it as written by the GOT idiots?? NO THANK YOU.) The writing really loved everyone and wanted to give them a proper ending and emotional journey, and it wanted to show the fans that they weren't stupid for having invested six seasons of effort and emotion into this, and just... that is so much rarer than it should be? Compare all the movies and TV shows that treat their fans like the enemy, that want to outsmart them at all costs even if it means changing major plot elements, that ferociously guard spoilers and think that "shock value" means good writing, by throwing hackneyed cliche upon cliche and making everything Depressing, and just... Lucifer had its hiccups and slow points and missteps, of course, but I am SO glad they didn't do that. The entire show consisted of Lucifer slowly but steadily progressing toward being a better man, despite mistakes and setbacks and sometimes a little too much will-they-won't-they. (Season 3 was the only one where I got bored and skipped over the filler episodes with Pierce/Lucifer/Chloe in order to get to the end).

That is an essentially simple premise, but they stuck to it, and they didn't try to create more drama by randomly wrecking what they had already established. I wrote a fic all the way back in mid-season 2 (In Nomine Patris) that ended up predicting quite a few of the future characters who had not yet appeared on the show at that time, including Eve, Michael, and Azrael, and several plot points, including the very major one of Lucifer returning to hell for the sake of his daughter with Chloe. And while this might mean that I am just that good at guessing TV shows (I would like to think this....) it also means that the writers set expectations, followed through on those expectations, and didn't suddenly derail everything or turn it totally on its head just for the sake of cheap shocks. As we can all attest, they certainly caused PLENTY of drama, anguish, pain, and suffering, but they did it in a way that remained faithful to the overall premises of the story and the characters, and wanted to see them become the best versions of themselves. I cried my eyes out at the end and then thought, "hey, I might want to watch the whole series again," which, if you ask me, is the mark of doing your job right. There have been so few TV endings recently where I didn't immediately swear off the whole thing or have to pretend that canon didn't exist, so yeah.

As I said, it was just refreshing to watch something that had that essential deep generosity at its core, where the message is that everyone is worthy of love if they make the hard and painful effort to change and become better, and that even if earthly things feel small next to all this messy celestial drama, they still matter, and that you are loved no matter what. I loved that Amenadiel became God and Lucifer returned to hell as a choice in order to help all the trapped souls be able to work through their guilt and go to heaven. There were obviously certain echoes of The Good Place in that ending; I don't know if it was something they had planned all along or if the success of TGP, another series asking deep questions about life, death, morality, and human nature within the framework of a goofy heaven-and-hell sitcom, influenced it, but either way, it worked so well. Even if it tore my heart out and stomped on it on the ground, it was fitting and oh so lovely to see Lucifer, once the most selfish being in the entire universe, following in Linda's footsteps and becoming selflessly dedicated to helping other people. Just. Chef's kiss.

And of course, Deckerstar. The Hades and Persephone vibes were IMMACULATE this season, and while it did take Lucifer and Chloe the best part of four seasons to get together, they never significantly backslid, never had third-party issues or cheap cheating storylines once they were officially a couple, and Tom Ellis and Lauren German REALLY killed it this season in particular. It was never easy for them and sometimes the drama went on a little too long over the course of said six seasons, but the love story was beautiful and incredibly meaningful and always true to the fact that the actors and characters and writers (not to mention the fans) all loved it so much. They were so much the emotional heart of this, and when they went to hell together in episode 6x03 (where they turned into cartoons because wHAT even IS this show), Joe Henderson said in an interview that this was to give the fans a view into Lucifer and Chloe's future (after) lives post-6x10, and to offer them a basis to write fanfiction. I mean... the showrunner saying to the fans "here, we love you, have something to write fic about!" is likewise pretty shockingly rare. It's again an example of how this show always audaciously poked fun at itself, never took itself TOO seriously, and was always welcoming its fans and the people who loved it to do so, rather than making them feel stupid or taking joy in wrecking beloved characters or plots.

Obviously, I loved Rory, the badass lesbian half-angel goth Deckerstar child straight out of My Immortal (seriously, she was SO edgy, it was amazing), because of the fact that Lucifer's entire arc was always about feeling abandoned by his father and that he was going to have to face it for himself. Dorky Devil Dad Lucifer trying his absolute HARDEST to bond with his daughter was simultaneously hilarious, adorable, and heart-wrenching, and yet again, the Growth. We all remember when he could barely tolerate Trixie touching him, and now we're here. Also, any variation whatsoever of "this is just a brief moment of time that we must be apart, love is eternal and stronger than death and we will never really leave each other" as a line is guaranteed to make me bawl my eyes out. So that was fun.

I got a big kick out of Ghost Dan running around and trying to get everyone to see him, and had feelings about seeing him in heaven with Charlotte and his beloved Pudding Pops at the end. I had feelings about how they handled Ella finding out the truth (or rather demanding to know why nobody had told her) and of course, I obviously loved Maze and Eve and their goth/femme wedding and the fact that they got a good three-season romantic arc (indeed, I wanted more of them). My god, Trixie is SO BIG, she used to be a tiny little nugget. I love that Linda was the moral and emotional rock all along, from the first episode to the very last, and that Amenadiel was Deeply Vindicated when Charlie's wings appeared at his first birthday party. I love how Lucifer in s6 is absolute thousands of light years from Lucifer in s1. And as ever, Chloe was Perfect. I am happy that I spent six seasons with these characters and saw them become better, and that I was never made to feel like an idiot for trusting the writers to end everything in a beautiful and emotional way. Because, well. They did. Sure, maybe I could go back and pick at a plotline here or a detail there, but I don't terribly feel the need to do so? It might not have been perfect, but it was perfect, and I am so grateful that it existed.

[sunjaesol]

love, between the shadow and the soul

chenford | drabble | post-canon | title: sonnet xvii - pablo neruda

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Look, Tim Bradford did not get attracted to rookies, okay? In all the years he had been a TO, none had grabbed his attention. Not when he and Isabelle were dating, or married, or when she disappeared into the night with a trail of illicit affairs and a shot of heartache for him. Dozens of young women had sat in that car beside him and never ever had he let their femininity distract him. He served his country. He fought wars overseas. He looked Death right in the eye every single day and never blinked.

But then came officer Lucy Chen. He instantly knew the type of cop she’d be the second she turned in her seat, meeting his gaze for the first time, and nervously smiled at him. Nerves were normal, he was aware, but the doe-eyed look and the hopeful grin sold her out. No mystery. Just another young cop that would either slip through the cracks by the exam by tanking their grade due to stress, or she’d become a desk duty cop — one that stayed far from danger, that handled life with a perpetual softer touch ‘cause of her shrink parents.

Nothing wrong with that, Bishop would chastise him. Every cop had its use, she’d add. Sure, that might be true, but Tim didn’t want to babysit an armed toddler waiting for it to cry and call for mom. With just a couple well-placed Tim-tests, she’d be out of his hair in no time and then he could cross his fingers for a better recruit in the following weeks.

Life had the ability to change in a snap though — their funny, yet stern reminder that the universe called the shots, not the gun in his holster, or the rulebook. He got shot. Officer Chen backed him up. Her stubborn, yet brazen, yet honest attitude reeled him in just enough to ignore her little quirks she always joyfully displayed in the shop. Whenever he didn’t nip her ramblings in the bud fast enough, she babbled on and on about her personal life, her personal issues and relationships, like they were best friends (They weren’t! Boots and him never befriended!), like their relationship was anything more than a transactional training period. They got each other’s six. That was it.

But fuck, man. She got under his skin, too.

Lucy wore this… really nice perfume. A lot of female officers had make-up and perfume on, allowed a small sliver of self-expression, and he and Lopez had spend countless hours in a shop together. He was used to it. But somehow, Lucy’s stuck in his nose and didn’t leave. He felt like a creep, thinking about the blend of cardamom and oranges and cherry blossoms mixing with her warm skin, uncontrollable while also wanted. He wanted to fantasise about that fucking perfume of hers, a realisation that took a long time to come to terms with.

That didn’t mean he liked her though — he quickly corrected himself the first time he caught the pattern of behaviour — all it meant was that Lucy had good taste in perfume. Case closed.

So why did he linger whenever her shimmery eyes flicked up at him, why did his breath catch in his throat when her voice dropped to that infuriating sincerity as she uttered words of appraisal? Why his heart go haywire when she recorded all those audio books for him; an out of line gesture and overzealous task for a boot, which would normally result in him laughing their face.

Tim never thought he’d get over Isabelle, nor did he ever believe he’d have his happily ever after with Rachel, but with Lucy he foolishly hoped for more. A more that came from such a stupid and deluded place, probably fostered through months of loneliness and the Pavlovian response to her perfume, but one he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop it. The man was always in control about everything, ran his own tests and went over every possible outcome every day, every hour — and yet he didn’t see her coming. Lucy Chen had been right under his nose and he hadn’t been prepared for the ground to disappear beneath his feet; something that should honestly get him fired. The callousness of his emotions while entertaining the idea of a relationship with his own boot sentenced him straight to P2 or desk duty, or whatever.

Lucy deserved someone better, anyway.

Someone that understood her love for sage and cleansing homes. Someone that liked veggie burgers, chai lattes, karaoke nights and social media lurking. Someone that wouldn’t hesitate for one second to open her door for a teenage girl in need of safety and a little bit of that Chen-love. Someone that wasn’t any of those firemen assholes, but wasn’t Tim either.

He never let his insecurities get the best of him, but after seeing her thrive as a P2 without him, handling undercover stints like a pro, conquering her trauma of being buried alive, it only showcased that she had more bravery in her index finger than some army members had in their entire body, all while staying innately kind. Of course Tim lost his mind over her. Of course he tried shaping officer Barnes to be more like Lucy — more sun and bite and charisma, less army BS. Of course, of course, of course. Even Rosalind, the person he hated most besides Caleb, had him figured out in seconds. He was obvious as hell.

Which was why he had to move stations. Away from the Mid-Wilshire Division and to another. He couldn’t be around her anymore and risk compromising missions or attacks. He didn’t tell Angela the details, though her knowing look said enough, and simply replied that she’d miss him and that she was sure the chief would happily reinstate him any time.

He should’ve known that information leaked through like a wildfire.

The morning of his resignment, uniform neatly folded in his locker, Lucy stopped him in the hallway with the most befuddled expression he’d ever seen.

“What?” he said.

“What the hell,” she exclaimed. “You’re leaving and I have to hear it from Angela? Why’re you…? You love this division. Is everything okay?”

Shouldering past her, he drawled over his shoulder: “Everything’s fine, officer Chen. I’d advise you to put on your uniform and get to roll call.”

“Don’t pull this crap with me,” she bit back, latching onto his arm before he was out of reach. His feet reflexively stopped in place, stupidly waiting on her to finish her train of thought. “Tim, you can tell me if something’s wrong. We’ve been through… way too much for you to act this cold with me.”

He scoffed, feigning mockery, and put his hands on his hips. “We? Chen, I was your TO. That’s it. Get it out of your head it was more.”

Lucy blinked, once, twice, a hurt expression crossing her features, followed by disbelief and a quiet contempt he had become awfully familiar with. Swallowing back the regret, he watched as she pursed her lips and took a step back. “Wow. Okay.”

“Don’t take it personally.”

“Hard not to, officer Bradford,” she muttered. Turning to the locker rooms, she added, “Talk to me when you’re ready to not be an asshole.”

That should’ve been his cue to let her go and resume his trek to sergeant Grey, but a whiff of her fragrance wafted in his face from her dancing curls and any sensical thought was knocked out his head. He wanted to embrace her and burrow his face in her hair, he wanted to hold her with intent, he wanted to kiss the scent off her skin. His feet followed her instead, both fully aware and totally impulsive at once. He chose the excuse of loving a good argument with her to then utter: “I’m not an asshole, Chen. I’m honest.”

“If you’re honest, you’d admit that we’ve been very close friends these past months,” she exhaled, refusing to look him in the eye. He supposed he deserved that. Stopping in front of her locker, she continued with, “Distorting your own reality to fit your macho narrative isn’t healthy. Also, this is the women’s locker room. Out. Now.”

Tim sputtered out a laugh and crossed his arms. “Macho narrative? Please.”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed, all air sucked out the room at the intensity of her stare, and Tim felt himself flailing, suddenly wondering why the hell he wanted to turn in his badge when the only place he could have moments with lucy was, well, here. Why was he giving up on this, how silly it might be?

With a resolute voice, she said, “Tim, why are you resigning?”

Nothing in his entire career prepared him for this. Tim Bradford had survived Iraq and Afghanistan, twelve years of the LAPD and counting, a deadly virus, hundreds of bullets taken by the vest and felt the power of death on the blue lips of Lucy in the quiet countryside. Fear got pushed aside. Pride pulled him forward, onwards. But right now, he had to take a leap of faith — the sole thing he never relied on, but Lucy did — and trust she’d be there after the fall.

(He wanted to be that amazing someone for her.)

“Because of you,” he whispered. His fight or flight told him to run for the first time in forever, but he kept his feet glued to the floor.

Her jaw fell slack in shock. “E-excuse me? Me?! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Exactly,” he spit. “You… you’re…” Tim sighed. “You’re the best, Lucy.”

Faltering, her brows furrowed in utter confusion, a grain of her fury replaced with compassion. He wasn’t sure if that was warranted. All he was trying to do was get it off his chest, confess, before it escalated to insurmountable heights. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Uh…”

“You’re resigning, because I’m the best?” she tried to deduce. “No offense, any other day I’d be dancing right now, but this is just…” She gestured at him. “So weird.”

Tim let out a miserable sigh and ripped the band-aid off. Fuck it. “I’m trying to be honest about my feelings, Lucy.”

She froze. “What?”

“I like you. A lot.” Her wonderstruck expression didn’t make him feel better, so he quickly added: “Which is why I gotta decrease the risk of this exploding in our faces and go.”

“Whoa!” Lucy’s hand wrapped around his, eyes wide and searching, like any empirical data would be found within his green irises, otherwise known as fondness and unresolved tension with every quiet moment they had. “Is this… another test? Are you getting back at me for pranking you?”

He quirked a brow. “You’re a P2 now. Tests are over.”

“Right,” she quipped, catching herself. She let go of him and nervously tucked a lock behind her ear. “Yeah. Okay. And you’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. O-kay. Let me, uh…” the locker swung open “… wrap my head around this.”

“It’s a pretty easy thing to—”

“Tim.”

“Yeah, okay.” He backed off, hating how the control was out of his hands now, how he practically shoved his heart in her grip and her pretty fingers could crush it to dust if she wanted to. “I’ll let you do that.”

Walking out the locker room, he took a deep breath and straightened up his face. Alright. He royally screwed that over. If his army buddies knew, they’d all laugh in his face and tease him for the rest of his life. But at least he told her and got his answer, that a relationship was off the table but that they could save their friendship once he switched divisions and some distance mended his twisted, inside-out heart. Lucy had rocked his world and all she had to do was exist.

“Tim!”

“Wha— wow!”

Her body crashed into him the second he turned around to her beautiful voice, Lucy’s arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him down to her level ‘til all he experienced were her sweet eyes and breathless smile and a kiss. Lucy kissing him, slow and tentative, but it lit his heart aflame and urged him to hold onto her. Her perfume was all-encompassing, nose full of the fragrance and the soft slope of her neck and long, brown hair and fuck, he was kissing Lucy Chen. Except he didn’t care if the entire precinct idly watched by, or if she yanked him out the building on impulse, or anything — ‘cause he was kissing her and it was perfect. Her plump lips were better than he ever imagined.

Her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, arms and then his hands, squeezing. His forehead pressed against hers, embarrassingly weak in the knees from that incredible kiss that he didn’t dare to stand up straight. Two silly grins broke loose on their faces. He had no clue what to do now, or not do, but he did know he wanted her. He wanted everything.

Lucy decided for him.

“Don’t go,” she whispered.

Tim smiled. “Okay.”

[queenshelby]

Time for Change – Part One

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: None

Words: 1,193

Notes: Not based on Cillian’s life. This is fiction guys! 

The spring weather had finally kicked in and you celebrated the warmth of the day with a floral dress. Though modest, the dress was more revealing than he'd see your wear before. Sitting mid-thigh, it had thin adjustable straps and a low cut and ruffled neckline. Your body was curvy, but strong; soft in the right places, and filled out that dress like no-one else could. The gentle breeze played at the dress' hem as you walked, showing glimpses of your smooth tanned upper leg. Your hair was long and fell is soft waves down your back and framed your face.  

Cillian admired your body and the way the dress moved with you as you approached him even though he knew that he shouldn’t have. He was married to your step-sister and he shouldn’t be looking at you like this. It wasn’t right.

‘Cillian, how are you?’ you asked as he welcomed you in with a hug and kiss on the cheek as usual. But he let his hand linger on your lower back just a fraction longer than he probably should have and, as he pulled away he wondered if you noticed.

‘Hey, uhm, come in and thank you again for teaching the kids’ Cillian said and your face gave nothing away and he moved towards the kitchen to make a coffee.

‘Is Danielle not home?’ you asked surprised, not seeing any sign of her. You weren’t particularly close and didn’t talk much but, usually, she was at home when you came around for the boys’ piano lessons. Being a music teacher had its advantages and you were always willing and eager to teach your friends’ and family’s children for free. Cillian and Danielle’s children were no different and, in your opinion, they were immensely talented and you adored spending time with them.

‘She is staying with her mother for a while’ Cillian huffed out before offering you a cup of coffee which you gladly accepted. You never met Danielle’s mother, although you shared the same father.

You dropped your bag by the front door and followed him. He could feel your eyes on his back and he wondered what you were thinking when he told you that his wife had walked out on him for second time within the past four months.

‘She just left you, again, without the boys? Why would she?’ you asked surprised, wanting to know how to handle their lessons. They were only 10 and 12 years old and you were somewhat concerned about the current circumstances.

‘Well, as usual, she left without any sort of explanation’ Cillian said rather frustrated.

‘Fuck Cillian, I am sorry’ you said, looking around for a second to make sure that his boys didn’t hear you.

Sitting in your usual seat at the counter you talked while he made your coffee, checking in and updating each other on your somewhat troubled lives.

As you sat on the stool chatting about your marriage troubles with your husband James, you leaned slightly forward offering him a perfect view of your ample cleavage, causing Cillian to blush.

‘I suppose life has it’s challenges, huh?’ you eventually chuckled and your soft laugh brought him back but the look in your slightly narrowed eyes was, for once, unreadable. He realised then that you had asked him a question, but he'd been so caught up in his musings that he hadn't noticed. But you'd definitely noticed him staring at your breasts.

“Uhm yes, it does” Cillian eventually responded and you sat up straight and you both ignored his lapse. He gave your your cup, and without warning or invitation you took your coffee to the lounge room. He followed you. You sat on the large couch next to the piano, tucking your legs underneath yourself as you sat. Your dress falling a little to one side, he again caught just a glimpse of your upper thigh.

"So, this is my plan for the boys, what do you think?” you asked.

“Pretty impressive. You should teach my how to play this” Cillian chuckled and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Your piano skills are much better than you lead on Cillian. I’ve heard you play at Danielle’s birthday last year” you said, which was shortly after you moved to Dublin after having spent the past ten years in America with your husband.  

The reasons you sought to return to Ireland were your husband’s numerous indiscretions when working at a large corporation in New York. He had one affair after another until you had enough and requested a transfer back to Dublin, forcing him to break it off with his secretary.

You knew you shouldn’t have forgiven him, but you did it for your daughter who you had adopted six years ago, giving her the best life possible. An intact home, close to family.

But, what you hadn’t told anyone was that, two days ago, the last straw had been drawn when your husband informed you that he had to return to New York for two weeks to attend a business conference, a conference which you found out didn’t even exist.  

Cillian’s situation wasn’t much better than yours. Danielle and him had broken up on numerous occasions throughout the past two years and he thought that, by staying with her, he was doing the right thing. But this was no longer sustainable and he found himself conflicted about what he wants in life.

As your conversation about music and playing the piano flowed, you occasionally touched his arm. It was your innocent way of connecting with him, of showing him you were there. You meant nothing by it, but today your touch sent electricity through him, into his core and he had to use everything he had to resist reaching out for you.

Luckily for him, within less than five minutes, his sons arrived in the living room, ready for their lessons and Cillian got up and left you to it.

***

After about an hour, when you were ready to leave, Cillian thanked you for coming over and, again, you gently touched his arm.

‘You are welcome’ you said with a warm smile, causing him to take in a deep breath.

‘I hope Danielle is back soon’ you then said before continuing. ‘But, in case that she isn’t, do you want me to come over and cook you and the boys dinner tomorrow? James is in New York and I get a bit lonely at home’ you asked politely.

‘The boys are going to camp for three nights with the local football club’ Cillian then said and you nodded before, after a small pause, asking him whether he would like to come over to your house for dinner by himself then.

‘Uhm, I am not sure if that would be appropriate’ Cillian then said, already struggling being around you. The small touches and gestures were almost too much for him especially since, the last time him and Danielle were intimate, was six months ago and they’ve been doing nothing but fighting ever since.

‘It’s just dinner Cilly’ you reassured him and he reluctantly agreed.

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