#what is a timeline but a miserable little pile of scenes?

[grapejuicestyless]

Could You Imagine That?

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: You failed. The gold, the cross, the fame, the fortune. But really, who cared? Not when you had the best gift of all. Inspired by the song: Forever by Noah Kahan

We listen to Pope and Kiara argue about who knows how to build a fire better, throwing logs into a heap by a pile of rocks and lining stones in a circle in the sand. John B and Cleo make beds for everyone to sleep on and Sarah works on some sort of spear for us. Yet, JJ and I haven’t even given a second thought of how long we just might be here for.

Maybe a few more hours, a couple days or years. In the end, did it really matter? We’d been just fine so far and we’d swear the feeling of freedom was worth it no matter how starved we became or how cold the nights were. We’d screamed about Poguelandia hundreds or times already, calling out the name of this great island and hoisting the flag we’d painted with rocks and the mud packed beneath them. Our hands pruning from the salt water and our shorts left on the edge of the shore line while we ran around in our underwear, splashing around like little kids and laughing like old friends should.

“We’re broke!” We laughed, finding the fact that we failed more funny than anything. Because had we really failed if we got a greater gift than what being filthy rich could give us?

“But real rich in our heads!” JJ would scream back, chasing me down along the edge of the ocean. And when the waves slowed my strides he lifted me from my waist with his tanned arms, not minding how our wet bodies stuck together like glue and our clothes would surely stink like ocean for as long as we’d be here.

“Won’t be alone for the rest of our lives!” I laughed in his hold, and his grip restricted my lungs but I would take the ache that came with it over any other feeling in the world. Because even after he loosens his grip, he never really lets me go and I am reminded of how he’s always within arms reach. Ready to make me smile, make me laugh. And it’s worth more than anything money could buy.

“Can you guys help us?” Kiara calls out desperately, but even she can’t hide the smile on her face, how much she loves the idea of it just being her and the Pogues all together and safe for just a small moment in the grand timeline of adventure ahead. No parents, no threats, no blood or tears. Just the sun and sand beneath our feet. A good cooked fish roasting over the fire and beds woven with leaves under our heads.

“Come in the waters just fine!” JJ splashes, catching a glare from Pope as the salt water briefly tames the fire they just started. And when Kiara catches his line of vision, we don’t have to look back to know their broken laughter is because their stripping to join us in the sea. Ready to splash around carelessly like children do, like we do.

“Can you imagine being here, like this forever? No more window shopping or late rent!” I laugh, bearing all my teeth in my smile when Kiara wraps her arms over my shoulders and places a sloppy kiss to my cheek.

“Won’t be alone for the rest of our lives!” She repeats my words back to me, eyes shining with the glow of the sunset that casts a warm hue over her sunburnt cheeks.

“Poguelandia forever, baby!” JJ’s arms pull Kiara away from me, and like glue, I’m stuck to him with nothing more to offer than the sweetest smile and the world shining in my eyes. I feel more alive than ever and theres not an ounce of gold that could replace it.

“Oh my god!” Cleo laughs at the scene in front of her, dry wood under her arm and a soft blush in her cheek from the sun. We’re all drenched in salt or sweat but we can’t help but feel absolutely okay with it.

You could fly over head at that very moment, on the search for miserable teens in need of help and you wouldn’t even look twice. The way everyone laughed like brothers and sisters and cherished what the world gave them, you’d think we were on some vacation. Like we hadn’t washed up here by accident.

Broken bones and aching muscles worth every moment that led us to this island and this life.

Looking back at JJ, I see the stars in his eyes and the world under his feet. It’s all we’ve ever wanted. A simple life by the ocean with all the people we love. So, we might be broke, we might be hungry and by god we might smell but by god are we richer than most.

“Poguelandia forever.” JJ whispers only for my ears to hear, forehead pressing against mine and his eyes observing the crinkles by my eyes. His thumbs lift from my hips to rub against my cheeks. Then he kisses me, kisses me in a way I hadn’t felt since before death looked at us in the eyes and grief was all we knew. Like we both knew finally that it would all work out and we would be okay.

When we pull away, we share the same hazy look we had plastered on our cheeks before and his hands plant themselves firmly on my hips once again. Squeezing the skin between his fingers playfully and drowning out the world around us.

“Could you imagine that.”

[the-littlest-goblin]

*shows up to @essek-week 6 days late with all the prompts shoved into one fic*

based on this post by @slayerscake​

___________________________________________________________

Essek, for all his magical skill, had very little experience being a fighter. But you pick things up when you travel with a group that gets in as many scrapes per day as the Mighty Nein—you don’t necessarily learn how to fight well, but you certainly learn how to fight alongside the Mighty Nein.

While Jester is a cleric, try to go unconscious near Caduceus. 

“It’s not that she refuses to heal,” Fjord explained gently as he inspected the gash across Essek’s sternum for signs of poison. They were all a bit paranoid now since discovering that their previous monster encounter had, unbeknownst to them, injected a slow-acting venom into every bite. “She just prefers to take the enemy out first. It’s a strategy thing, you know. Save the healing for after the fight, once the danger’s gone.”

Essek turned his gaze over to Jester. In their post-battle huddle, while Caduceus hummed a healing prayer for the group and Fjord dressed Essek’s wound, she was several yards away helping Veth saw off one of the beast’s talons as a trophy.

 Fjord continued, “Of course, if you’re like, actually dying in front of her, she’ll heal you. I mean…” he trailed off. Sure, Essek hadn’t exactly been dead-dead when he’d collapsed next to Jester during the fight, but he wasn’t far from it. The last, ironic thought he’d registered before consciousness slipped away was how fortunate it was to fall in battle right next to a cleric. As his eyes fell shut, it was with anticipation that he would be up again in a second to rejoin the fray. 

When he had finally awoken, it was Caduceus’ face smiling over him, not Jester’s, and the ferocious monster had long since been turned into a carcass.

“Mm-hmm.”

Fjord sighed and sat back on his heels. “Just, maybe next time, if you have to go down, try to go down closer to Caduceus.”

“Noted,” Essek grumbled, watching with nauseated fascination as his skin knit itself back together in time with the melody of Caduceus’ spell.

When in doubt, polymorph.

“I am a bit surprised you don’t already have this in your repertoire. I have found it to be incredibly useful.”

Essek shrugged, shoving off the automatic sting of embarrassment that came with admitting ignorance. He didn’t need to feel that way around Caleb.

“Well, I have rarely found myself in a position to fly over rough terrain or transform a terrifying monster into a sloth. Until now, that is.” 

Caleb laughed lightly. “Such is the adventuring life, I suppose.” He smiled, taking a break from flipping through his spellbook to look up at Essek. Even this brief moment of eye-contact felt so charged with energy that Essek had to avert his gaze, the sense-memory of guilt welling up in his throat threatening to choke him. The intensity of Caleb’s undivided attention was still difficult for him to bear. His fingers twitched to rub at the burning spot on his forehead. Instead, he gripped his pen tighter. 

“Here.” Caleb flipped his book around to show Essek the page dedicated to the Polymorph spell, covered in transmutation runes. Essek recognized a few of the symbols in passing. “This should be easy for you to copy down. Then we can practice a bit. I think you’ll find casting it on yourself makes for a rather enjoyable pastime.”

Buff the lesbians. 

Essek’s eyes darted between Caleb and Caduceus, unsure how to interpret this piece of advice. “Um, can you be more specific?” 

Caduceus blinked at him, seeming confused. “Specific how? You mean like, which spells you should use on them?”

“No, I meant specific as in to whom you were referring. I just…” Essek glanced awkwardly around the table. Most of the group was distracted, digging into the enormous feast provided by Caleb’s clowder of feline servants. They were all worn out from a long day of hard travel and enjoying the warm reprieve of the tower.

Essek cleared his throat, trying to discreetly lower his voice without making it obvious that he was being secretive. “I have not exactly been given a briefing on all of your individual sexual preferences.”

“Oh, I can fix that!” Jester cut in. Apparently Essek’s attempts to be clandestine had failed, as they always seemed to with this group. “Caleb is—”

“That is alright, thank you,” Essek swiftly cut her off. His cheeks were already burning red-hot. “Can you please just tell me who ‘the lesbians’ are in this circumstance?”

He could feel Beau’s glare boring through him all the way from the other end of the table as she stared incredulously over her magical flask of whiskey. “You should really be able to figure that out yourself, man.”

Squishy wizards stay away from fights.

“Stay. Here.” Yasha’s growl was twice as terrifying as the insectoid beast screaming over their heads, and Essek was pretty sure the force from her shoving him behind the rocks was going to leave just as big a bruise as getting smacked by the creature’s tail, if not bigger. “Hide.”

“I was trying to help,” Essek muttered, a mixture of shame and indignation pushing him to defend himself to her.

“I know. You can help by staying alive.” A hint of softness entered Yasha’s gruff voice, although its effect was mitigated when she hefted up her massive sword. Essek instinctually slunk away from the arc of the blade. “Fighters get close, wizards hang back. That’s how we do things in this family.” She smiled at him, and another layer of the ice around Essek’s heart melted. “That’s how we keep you and Caleb from snapping like twigs. Save the close-range spells for when things are really desperate.”

Essek nodded his affirmation. Yasha turned and began running back into the melee, letting out an almighty roar. Just before she went out of range, Essek reached out his hands, whispering the incantation and twisting his fingers around the fabric of time that surrounded her large frame. Yasha paused for a moment as the effects of the Haste spell hit her, then turned to flash Essek another smile and a thumbs up.

That’s how we do things in this family.

You have to look sexy when using spells.

“I really do not understand the purpose of this.”

“We’re just trying to help you out!” Veth grinned at him mischievously. Somehow, the ghost of a goblin’s snarl showed through her straight halfling teeth. “Every good adventurer knows aesthetics are crucial to effective spellcasting.”

“That’s not—”

“Plus, we’re not fighting in the cold anymore,” Jester added. “We don’t want you to get overheated in the middle of battle.”

“That… really isn’t an issue.” But he knew resistance was useless when it came to these two. Resigned to his fate, Essek dutifully lifted the mantle over his head and began undoing the fastenings of his cloak. 

Outer layer discarded, he lifted his arms up half heartedly to show his self-appointed image consultants the results. “Is this satisfactory?”

“Hmmmm,” Jester tilted her head to the side, considering him. “Can you try rolling up your sleeves?”

“I’m not taking off my shirt!”

“No one asked you to!” Veth hopped off her chair to circle around Essek, studying him with an intensity she usually reserved for things she was about to shoot. “Now, show us your stance.”

“My what?”

“You know, your sexy fighting stance.” Veth stopped in place, whipping out her crossbow and striking a dramatic pose. 

“Um…” Essek attempted to mimic her, one hand on the meteorite pendant that served as his arcane focus, the other reaching out as if he were about to cast a spell. “Like this?”

Jester tapped a finger to her lips thoughtfully. “You know, now that I’m thinking about it, that tank top did look really good on you, Essek.”

Essek put his head in his hands.

If you get charmed there is going to be a very high chance of Beau punching you to snap you out of it. 

A constellation's worth of stars swam in Essek’s vision, pain bursting through his head like a reverberating drum; he could feel the nasty bruise blooming at his temple where Beauregard had struck him. Blinking away the stars, he turned just in time to see Beau’s fist heading towards him once again, this time making expert contact with his jaw. The force of this second blow sent him hurtling toward the ground, knocking the wind out of him. 

Amid the pain, a sense of clarity slowly came over him, cutting through the pleasant, misty haze that had overtaken his faculties. It gave him just enough presence of mind to scream an indignant, accusatory, “Ow!” at Beau.

She flashed him a cocky grin, seemingly amused by his tone. “Look man, this is what happens. Get charmed, get hit. Now square up.” 

Essek held up one hand in an attempt to stave her off, gasping for breath. The buzz in his brain was receding; somehow, Beau had punched the spell’s effect right out of him. “No really, I’m fine now, it worked—”

But she was already going in for another punch. Helpless to stop her, Essek braced himself for the hit, thinking that if nothing else, he had to admire her thoroughness. 

[backtothestart02]

Hazy - 4/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Angst city. Enjoy! lol.

Commissioned by @jennlee44

*Many thanks to @valeriemperez for beta’ing.

...

Chapter 4 -

Two days later, and Barry still had no clue how to get out of Iris’ proposed arrangement.

Date someone else? No way. Even pretending to date someone that wasn’t Iris was out of the question. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone. He wasn’t over Iris, and it would be so unfair to whoever was “dating” him to act like he was. Besides, in his reality he was Iris’ fiancé. It felt like cheating on her to even think of someone else in that way. He wasn’t physically or emotionally capable of it.

Holding hands? Cuddling? Kissing? Making love?

He was squeamish just at the thought of any of those.

No. He couldn’t do it, and he wouldn’t. No amount of tears on Iris’ part could make him, as much as he hated to see her cry.

He turned to look at the clock and saw it was nearing his lunch break. One more case to go through and he’d let himself get out of CCPD for the next half hour. Forever fearing he’d run into Eddie or Iris made his workspace a war zone the past few days. His only comfort was Joe texting him when he and Eddie were going out into the field, so that he knew it was safe to make his escape.

He’d made the mistake of not waiting for a text the day before and caught Iris and Eddie in a loving embrace at Eddie’s desk. Apparently, all had been forgiven and they were a happy couple once more. Luckily, Eddie’s back had been facing him. Unluckily, that made Iris’ eyes meet his in a surprised and curious gaze. He quickly turned away and headed for the elevator, but her eyes were still watching him until the doors closed.

It was just a matter of time before Iris confronted him again, and he couldn’t figure out how to respond. Burst out that he was in love with her? That he would never date someone else? Accuse her of torturing him by asking him to do something he didn’t have it in him to do?

He didn’t know. But what he did know was that the sound of high heels were coming towards him down the hall merely seconds later, and he was too caught up in his own head to recognize them.

The knock on the door frame jolted him to her presence.

“Knock, knock,” she said.

His phone vibrated on his desk, and with a single glance Barry saw it was from Joe. He and Eddie had left.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she continued, walking into the room.

“I’ve been working,” he said, and she took note on how his pile was half as high as it had been two days ago.

“Your bruise looks to have healed up nicely,” she commented.

“Mhmm.” He quickly categorized the files into two piles and reached for his brown sack lunch.

She came and sat on the edge of his desk in the one spot where there was nothing occupying it.

He sighed, grateful it didn’t come out as a nervous gasp. She was so close.

If he was back in his time, this could easily turn into a steamy situation.

But he wasn’t. Because somehow, he’d ended up here. In a time where maybe Iris secretly had feelings for him, but she was married to Eddie, and there was nothing he or anyone else could do to change that.

“What are you doing here, Iris?”

“I came to check up on my best friend,” she said matter-of-factly.

“But I’m not your best friend,” he said, standing up. “I’m not anything to you.”

He saw that hurt her, but he wouldn’t let himself get affected. He walked past her and towards the exit.

“And whose fault is that?” she asked bitterly.

He stopped, his teeth grinding against each other as his hand clenched around the door frame.

Before he could spit some repulsive thing in response though, she was quick to come to him.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I know you don’t like the situation any more than I do.”

He turned around. “So why are you pushing someone else at me when I’m not…ready?”

“It’s been a year, Barry.”

“It’s been 17, Iris.”

Her face fell, downcast.

“So, you still…?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

Her shoulders slumped, and then her sad face turned angry.

“Well, what am I supposed to do with that?”

“The same thing you did before, I guess,” he snapped. “Cut me out of your life.”

“That’s not what I wanted! I-” She stopped, realizing she’d said too much.

Dots started to connect in Barry’s head.

“What do you mean that’s not…?”

She sighed, her face downcast again.

“After what happened at the reception, he said you or him.”

His eyes widened. “And you picked him.” His hurt could not be concealed.

“I’d just married him, Barry. I promised him my life, through thick and thin, sickness and health, good times and bad. I…I had to.”

“But I was your best friend, Iris!”

She took a step back.

“You shouldn’t have kissed me. Then none of this would have happened.”

“I was probably drunk,” he said.

“You were! Which made it even worse. You were Eddie’s best man, for crying out loud.”

Oh, God. He was? He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Let me guess, you don’t remember that either.”

His eyes narrowed.

“I’m going to leave now, go on my lunch break. Don’t be here when I come back.”

Her jaw dropped, her eyes filling with tears. He wanted to take it back. He wanted to take it all back. But he had to get her to leave. He couldn’t give her what she wanted, and he couldn’t stand to have her so close and not really have her.

“You could apologize to Eddie!” She called after him. “You’ve never done that either.” She scoffed, then softened. “That might work.”

He stopped again and turned around.

“Iris…” He sighed. “I don’t know if I want to be your friend right now.”

She took a step back, shocked to her core.

He turned away finally and made his way down the hall to the elevator, fighting to get Iris West-Thawne out of his head. She wasn’t his, and he needed to stop pretending she was. At least in this timeline.

…

That night, Barry decided to go out to a bar and get drunk. He also wanted to be entertained, so he went to the same karaoke bar he had with Caitlin back in the timeline he knew when they were both miserable and pining over people they couldn’t have.

Big mistake.

He spotted Caitlin and Ronnie at a table off to the side, and within five minutes of being there, Ronnie had dragged her up onto the stage to sing “Summer Lovin’.” Caitlin wasn’t drunk this time and was instead very nervous. Barry was amused. If only she knew…

And if only he could talk to her, ask for her advice. She had always been such a good listener when he needed to vent about Iris. And Cisco was a great distraction. He could get Iris out of his head like no one else could when he just needed a break from the drama and angst and heartbreak.

He missed their friendship. He missed having a friend. It was just depressing being in this timeline, considering that the only person he really had was Joe. And as great as Joe was, he always knew what was on Barry’s mind, and he couldn’t fix it either. Plus, there was just something about someone your own age having your back.

He turned away from the off-pitch pair onstage and paid for a beer at the bar.

Iris hadn’t been in the lab or even at CCPD when he’d returned from his lunch break. He’d meant what he said at the time, that he didn’t want to be friends – because he wanted to be more than that, and that he didn’t want her there – because he needed space from her accusations and pleading requests.

But he missed her all the same. It was hard to finish his work for the day because he couldn’t get her out of his head. And for all his trying, he couldn’t help believing that they belonged together. Not just if Eddie had died and not just if he’d told her how he felt about her sooner, but every timeline, every version of reality, they all resulted in Iris changing her name to West-Allen. Always.

He refused to believe this one was any different.

“Barry Allen,” a nearby voice announced with flair.

He quickly turned to see who the mischievous voice belonged to, though he’d be a fool not to remember her. She was impossible to forget.

“Linda?”

“You remember me,” she sassed. “Fantastic.”

She took a seat next to him at the bar and lured the bartender over.

“I’ll have what he’s having.”

The man handed her a beer, and she quickly paid for it.

“So, what brings you to these parts?” she asked, sidling close. It didn’t make him uncomfortable, but it did make him wonder if she was just a little bit tipsy. “Karaoke doesn’t really seem like your scene.”

“And what is my scene?” he asked, hoping to put some clues together of what exactly his relationship had been to Linda Park in this timeline.

“Anywhere Iris is, probably,” she muttered into her bottle.

Barry blushed. “Iris and I aren’t on speaking terms right now.”

“Oh, I know,” she informed him. “I used to see your pretty face in CCPN almost every day, but for the past year, poof! It’s like you never existed. I know why too.”

“Then you know why I’m not where Iris is right now.”

“I invited her to come out with me tonight,” she told him. “You would’ve been right on track with my suspicions if she’d said yes.”

“Well, I’m glad she didn’t.”

Linda looked at him curiously.

“Oh, yeah, why’s that?”

“You’re friends with Iris. Don’t you know?”

“Eddie?”

He nodded and took another sip of his drink.

“Yep.” He popped his lips.

“Still…you guys have been friends for years,” she continued. “I didn’t think her getting married would change that, even given the stunt you pulled.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

The silence lingered, and he gawked when she looked to still be waiting for a response.

“Didn’t she tell you? Eddie told her to choose between the two of us, and she chose him. So now we can’t be seen together, or it’ll cause problems in their marriage. The end.”

Linda’s eyes widened.

“No.”

He turned to face her.

“She didn’t tell me that.”

“Yeah, well, she didn’t tell me either until today.”

“I’m sorry, Barry,” she said softly. “I didn’t think she’d give you up so easily.”

He shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think it was. Easy for her, I mean. But that still doesn’t change the fact that she did it. Or the…bizarre thing she’s asked me to do so we can openly be friends again.”

“Oh? I’m intrigued.”

He snorted.

“Come on, tell a girl. You know I’ll never hear it from Iris.”

He sighed. “She wants me to date someone else to convince Eddie I’m over her. So he won’t feel threatened or like I’m trying to steal his wife.”

“And are you?”

“Am I a threat?” He shrugged. “Maybe. There’s no chance in Hell I’m getting over her. That makes me threat enough, probably.”

Linda licked her lips.

“I might have a solution for you.”

“Oh, yeah, what’s that?”

“Well, it just so happens that recently Scott, our editor at CCPN, and I had a little…one-night stand.”

“Oh, Linda.” His nose scrunched up. “I did not need to know tha-”

“Shut up. I’m not done yet.” She laughed.

“Please…proceed.” He gestured for her to continue, his face still scrunched.

“Thank you.” She took a swig of her drink. “Let’s just say, I don’t want it to end that way. Or at all.”

“You like him.”

She set her chin in the palm of her hand.

“He’s attractive as hell,” she confirmed. “But uh…up here too.” She pointed to her head. “Not just-”

“I think I got the picture,” he said dryly.

“There’s more between us. I can feel it. And Iris…she has feelings for you, Barry. It’s why I never asked you out. I always thought you two were kind of inevitable.”

He sighed. “Yeah, me too.”

“Listen.” She set her hand on his arm. “Iris is loyal to a fault. She takes her wedding vows very seriously. But the two of you have been friends since way before Eddie came along. That should mean something.”

“I thought it did.”

“Take me out,” she said, straightening in her seat.

“What? No. Linda, I can’t-”

“Relax, it’s all pretend. We won’t do anything you don’t want to do, and privately we won’t do a thing. Let’s just show Iris and Scott what they’re missing out on.”

He hesitated. “You’re sure Scott doesn’t want more because he’s…hung up on someone else?” Like, Iris?

Her brows furrowed. “And who would that someone else be? Iris?”

She read him so well. She always had.

“I didn’t mean-”

“Even if that’s true,” she allowed. “That doesn’t mean I can’t change his mind. That doesn’t mean we,” She gestured between them, “can’t make both of them jealous.”

He stared at her for a long while before laying out his requirements.

“I don’t want to hold hands or cuddle or kiss.”

She smirked, amused.

“Can you put your arm around me?”

He blinked, having not thought of that.

“I…”

“Loop our arms together?”

“Well…”

“Pretend to whisper something flirtatious in my ear when Iris or Scott are watching?” She paused. “I’ll giggle to make it convincing.”

She leaned in.

“There are plenty of subtle ways to show we’re in a relationship, Barry Allen.” She held out her hand for him to shake. “So, are you in or are you out?���

...

*Also posted on AO3 and FFnet.

[daffodilon]

cafune

cafuné - (brazilian portuguese)

"the act of running your fingers through your lover's hair; among the few words that cannot be directly translated into english"

Pairing: Jungkook / ♀ Reader Rating: M for Mature Genre(s): 🍭 Fluff, 💔 (like five seconds of) Angst, 🔞 Smut WC: 9,458 Warnings: Sexual content, porn with feelings, dry humping, like i’m talking thigh riding, coming in pants, dirty talk, discussion of exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics if you squint, baby boy jungkook, uhhh swearing, mentions of drinking to the point of blacking out. God this sounds filthy but I promise it’s #soft If there’s anything I’ve forgotten to warn for please bring it to my attention!! I haven’t slept in two days I’d appreciate the help. This isn’t beta’d, either, so watch out for that too, I guess

Summary: [A kiss-and-confess in an alternate universe, originally written as part of a much larger chapter fic, my library/roommates au. It took off in another direction and no longer fits within the scope of that timeline, and the scene had to be re-written. So now this is a standalone getting-together oneshot, because it was too cute of a concept to scrap.] TL;DR: talking to Jungkook about your Feelings™ and making out for like 8k words. It’s, like, slowburn without the slow. So I guess that makes it... all... burn... 🔥 👀

p 01, 02

Theoretically, there’s a big difference between a kiss and a cup of tea. One might even call it obvious. 

Indeed in practice, there’s a big difference between a kiss and a cup of tea.

Both in theory and in practice, kisses and teacups are difficult to confuse.

The point is, don’t ask how the hell you managed to screw that one up, because you don’t know, either.

What you know is, you knocked on Jungkook’s open bedroom door after putting the electric kettle on for yourself.

What you know is, he waved you in from where he sat on the bed, and you crossed the floor to peer over his shoulder at what he was working on, and he let you lean in close enough to glimpse the video editing program he had open for a quick look before he pushed the laptop closed and asked you how your day was.

What you know is, you gave him the radio edit, secured a promise from him to let you watch his project when he was finished, and then offered to bring him some tea, if he wanted any.

What you know is, he beamed at you in reply, eyebrows way up under his bangs, and he asked you for green tea.

Then, you grinned and told him, “Of course.”

Then, you turned to go. Your brain said, “Give him a cup of green tea.”

Now, theoretically, you know the difference between a kiss and a cup of tea.

Theoretically.

You kiss him instead.

It’s soft, and sweet with pent-up affection and syrupy endearment, and extremely quick.

It catches up with you pretty quick, after that. The fact that you’re awake, right now. The fact that you really did that, in real life, without a warning, without a word of precedent.

Your first instinct here is to get the hell out of dodge, and through the welling panic you make to get up and do just that, foolishly hoping you could avoid the consequences of your actions that way, or maybe at least postpone them.

Plan A doesn’t work out.

Thanks to his reflexes, Jungkook catches your wrist as soon as your eyes widen in realization and you move to slip off the bed and bolt. He stops you. Begs you oh, god no, don’t you dare to that to me, you can’t just kiss me and run away. Please, please don’t do that to me.

There’s nothing you can do but sit down again and he says, “I'm sorry but would you please, please talk to me. What- What was that?”

So you gather up every last shred of courage in your body to give him what he deserves: honesty. This isn’t Plan B. This isn’t even Plan C, but you no choice but to tell him.

How he’d looked so darling, all in white, sitting an arms length away. Warm and beautiful and relaxed, all fluffy hair and soft edges. That old, old familiar low simmering want had ballooned, expanded until the pressure maxed out and finally, finally burst. There wasn’t space inside your physical body to contain the expanse of it anymore, and you’d gone ahead and. Leaned down and kissed him.

But for any of that, you need words, and they aren’t making themselves available. Your useless brain churns out miserable sensation after miserable sensation, instead. You can feel the aftershocks of the inner explosion making your fingers tremble. Blood rushes in your ears, making your own voice sound like you’re underwater.

Words finally begin to tumble off your lips, but not the right ones.

“Oh, god. I’m, so, so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking, I- Jungkook, the truth is I'm in- uh. Like you? I like- love you. And. I got- caught up... I don’t know.”

One, two, three exceptionally long beats elapse. You think mildly that maybe this is the worst you’ve ever felt, recalling hangovers, recalling being stood up on a date when you were seventeen, recalling crying into Jimin’s shirt after Seokjin’s party. This train of thought continues until he demands,

“Say that again, without the apology. Tell me again, don’t say you’re sorry.”

So you tell him, again, but you’re about three beats per minute shy of cardiac arrest. You’re no doctor, but you’re reasonably sure.

“Jungkook, I'm in love with you. I’m s- wait, no, sorry, I'm. Shit. I should- do I start over? I’m,” You look up at the ceiling, blinking back the traitorous tears welling in your eyes and sigh once, “I’m so in love with you,” you finally get out, helplessly, only to get a shaky exhale in reply, and have to wait in excruciating silence for a number of seconds, while Jungkook works through his disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping maybe if you close them tightly enough, the tears threatening to overflow will stay trapped. It’s a good effort, but it doesn’t work.

Then you hear, between many stops and starts, “I’ve... um,” He clears his throat, so you open your eyes again, since you’re clearly fighting a losing battle here anyway, in time to see him reaching for your hand before drawing back at the last moment, unsure. “Kind of, always been... yours. Like, this whole time?” Which... what the hell does that mean? “I’ve... I’m... I didn’t think- I was so scared that- I just. It’s just that you have no idea how many times I've imagined you saying that to me. And literally... not a single one of those times did I ever imagine you would be apologizing for it in the same breath. Please tell me again.” You’re pretty sure you’re physically shaking at this point, but it’s good that he’s asking you for simple things, one at a time, seeing as your brain has shut off. Checked out, right before you decided kissing him was a good next move.

You force yourself to make eye contact with him as you say, “I- Okay. I love you? I’ve been in love with you since... for so long now. All right? So please, what the hell does that mean, ‘I've always been yours?’ You’ve always... you’re what?”

“I mean I'm yours. I mean I love you. I love you, too. Will you please kiss me again, so I can kiss you back, because I've been sitting here these past five minutes freaking out about this whole situation but also the fact that you probably think I'm a terrible kisser? Because of just now? I’m sorry, I just, the shock-  and I'm not. I swear to god, I promise, I'm not, so please-”

You kiss him again, cutting him off mid-word, and, yep, oh, there’s a clear difference once he’s had time to react. He’s true to his word. But-

“Yeah, I know,” you murmur against his lips after a minute. The giddiness is finally beginning to catch up with you. Jungkook opens his eyes, it appears, with some effort.

“I- you what?” Holy fuck, he looks far away. It takes him a second to come back to himself enough to ask, “What do you mean?” His eyelids are heavy, and you can see his gaze trained on your mouth. The incredible way he looks this fucked out after a few seconds of kissing is really, really fucking distracting, and you almost forget what you were going to say.

“I know. I remember.” It’s not difficult to give in to the temptation to chase his lips again, between sentences, and you allow yourself to nip at his lower lip, like you’ve wanted to for so, so fucking long. But you do want to tell him, “Christmas,” before falling back into him again.

And Jungkook, poor thing, for all he’s good at kissing —giving as good as he gets and making your eyes want to roll back in your head and let him take, take, take what he wants— for all he’s very, very good at that, he’s just a little bit shit at multitasking. Carrying on this conversation is clearly, by degrees, becoming more and more difficult. You note with a little satisfaction that his chest is heaving slightly when he pulls back again, eyes still closed, but with a crinkle in his brow and his pretty, pink, kiss-swollen lips turned down at the corners in confusion.

“Christmas.” You can see him trying to remember, and yeah, you expected that, but. Ouch, anyway. You force yourself not to dwell on the number of times you’ve mentally re-lived that night, times he clearly hasn’t.

“Mhmm.” It’s too much to resist dipping back down for yet another quick kiss in between words. You’re getting addicted to it, it’s already clear. “‘S okay. You were pretty drunk,” you supply, pressing another kiss to the freckle beneath his lip, nosing along his jaw, kissing the skin there with every ounce of tenderness that’s taken up residence in your heart, piling up higher and higher over the past year, affection distinctly tinged with a powerful rush of relief overflowing in this moment as if to make up for how painful the past ten minutes were.  

“Christmas... kissed you?” Jesus, he sounds wrecked. Might as well be drunk now, at two pm on a Sunday. “Kissed you... mistletoe?” A modicum of clarity makes its way into his tone, as you reach the soft patch of skin below his ear and graze your teeth there, and you’re pressed up so close against him that his full body shudder wracks you as well. A fresh flutter of butterflies almost makes you gasp, in response. You’d been completely sure he didn’t remember that night at all. “That was... at Christmas there was, I was, so much-” His breath catches as you kiss your way down his neck, giving special attention to the mole there, “So much eggnog. I was so sure that- that was a dream.”

“Mmm mm. Nope.”

“Not a dream?” Your kisses make their way along to the other side of his neck, kissing back up, toward the corner of his jaw, angling to get his breath hitching again, and it works, up until he wrenches his head to the side with effort, leveraging his hand, which had made its way into your hair while you weren’t paying attention, to move your head where he wants it, with his lips properly brushing yours again as he says, “Hang on a second. Hang on... No? Are you sure?” Jungkook’s voice has taken on a hoarse note you weren’t expecting. This, combined with the firm grip he has on your hair has a moan slipping out of your mouth before you can clamp your jaw shut, but you have to scoff.

“Am I sure? That that was a thing I lived through? Yes, Jungkook I'm sure.” His eyes are boring into yours, now.

He’s maneuvering you both, now, careful not to pull too hard on your hair, but not relinquishing his grip, either. Before you know it, you’re on your back, propped up against the pillows with Jungkook’s body caging you in from above. He kisses you again, harder, and hotter, a kiss that has you chasing his lips when he retreats far enough to continue,

“Wow. Okay back up a little bit, I need you to tell me what happened, then, because I have a memory and its...,” —another searing kiss, “Let’s just say it can’t be accurate from start to finish. Call it wishful thinking.” He pulls back again, to read your expression. You aren’t sure what he sees there, but it’s probably something along the lines of pure want. Probably. “I was definitely blacked out from Seokjin’s horrible rum concoction. Help me out here?’”

You take a moment to give yourself the benefit of a steadying inhale, because it’s very, very difficult to think straight under these conditions. Under Jungkook conditions. Literally under Jungkook, is your current condition. Jesus, his eyes are so, so dark. Your imagination straight up fails to even speculate what he could mean by that, tapping out before you can even try. It’s too much to think about.

“What? I don’t know what that means. What do you remember happening? Or think you remember happening?”

It was worth a try, but you get only a shake of his head.

“Nope. You first. What do you remember?”

“I um. We both went to Seokjin’s for his Christmas party?” Jungkook, to his credit, seems to quickly register that you’re having a little difficulty relating events back to him, and takes a measure more pity on your kiss-clouded mind than you on his, a moment ago. He must genuinely be invested in your answer, because he backs up a little, sitting back on his heels with his knees on either side of your hips. You miss him immediately, and try very, very hard not to make any sort of embarrassing whine in protest, and succeed... mostly.

“Uh huh. I remember being sober-ish at that point.” Jungkook corroborates, kindly ignoring the noise you made, except to smile to himself as he reaches for your left hand with his right, intertwining your fingers. This simple gesture somehow makes your heart flip again, even harder than at any other point tonight. You need his weight back, want his mouth again, so you rush a little through your version of events, noting certain major details.

“You wore dorky cardboard reindeer antlers.” His eyes flit up and to the right, clearly searching for a matching memory.

“... Oh. Uh huh.”

“We played some drinking games with Tae, plus some other people, got tipsy.”

“Mmm.”

Jungkook has drawn your interlocked hands up to his face, and begun to press featherlight kisses to the side of your thumb, the inside of your wrist. Your heart rate immediately doubles, and you note with a healthy dose of chagrin that he must be able to tell, with his soft mouth at your pulse point. The fresh rush of want and embarrassment that follows has you reeling, and when you go to continue, you find yourself stuttering. You can see clearly on his face that this leaves Jungkook feeling smug, but you don’t have the will to challenge him over it at the moment.  

“I- I was also a little. A bit drunk. Then... I lost track of you for a little while, and then suddenly you were back.” You’re jumping ahead in the story now, but you can’t be blamed, because Jungkook’s mouth is tracing a soft, measured line down the inner skin of your forearm, making your heart start and stop. You had no idea that area would even be sensitive. You’re reasonably sure you’ve never been kissed there, before. “So it was me and you, in the kitchen,” you continue, reminding yourself to breathe, “And. uh. Um. Seokjin and his friend wouldn’t stop trying to get us both back out into the living room, and I couldn’t understand why, until finally,” Jungkook’s kisses reach your inner elbow, and he’s pressing closer again, eyes closed. He’s not currently watching your face, which helps you refocus enough to go on, “Finally I got it, only after we’d been shepherded over to the fireplace. And I looked up over your head and I saw the mistletoe, and I thought, this is it, this is the day I finally murder Kim Seokjin.”

When Jungkook huffs a laugh at this, the gust of warm air from his breath makes goosebumps break out all over your skin, and his eyes slot open to sparkle at you from a foot away, mouth still pressed to your upper arm. He’s smiling, and his next kiss to your bicep is tinged with a hint of teeth as he hums for you to continue. You do your best to keep your voice from sounding strangled. “But I looked down from the mistletoe to your stupid fucking antlers, and they were crooked? So I just. Um. I reached out and at first I thought I was just going to fix them. And then I. That’s not what I did.”

“No, it isn’t, is it?” Now Jungkook’s close enough to kiss on the mouth again, so you close the distance, too needy, too earnest. But he kisses back equally as honest, and after a moment, it seems he hasn’t heard enough. “Then what?”

You sigh.

“Then I. Think mostly it was rum driving the bus at that point? I just kind of said, fuck it. And I kissed you, because... because I wanted you.” Which, oops. It’s definitely, one hundred percent, completely true, but you had sort of meant to say “wanted to.” Oh, well.

“That sounds familiar.”

“Yeah?” Even to your own ears, your voice sounds breathless.

“Yeah,” He leans in again, this time only to brush noses and ask, “Tell me again.” It takes you a moment to understand what he wants to hear, but you work it out after a short second.

“Huh? You mean tell you I like you? I’m in love with you, Jeon Jungkook. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Another kiss, warm and soft, heavy with what feels like the weight of a lot of pent-up want and postponed feelings. You figure you can take that as a yes.

Jungkook sits back up a little, eyes crinkled and sparkling with his smile as he picks up the previous conversation as if the little detour that put it there hadn’t even taken place.

“I wanted you, too. But I feel like I remember being so drunk I didn’t know where my hands were,” he confides. You wince.

“I... yeah. That’s the thing, I’m so sorry, Jungkook, I could tell you were drunk, I shouldn’t have kissed you when you were so far gone. I- I’ve beat myself up about that since the minute I did it, when I pulled away and the bubble popped and suddenly I could- I could hear all the hooting and whistling.” Your cheeks are definitely coloring at that part of the memory, but this is something you need to get out. “I never should have taken advantage of you like that. I was drunk too, but not as far gone as you were, and I should have-”

“Oh, my god, please. Cut that out. Don’t, don’t don’t don’t do that. Don’t even think about it.,” he cuts you off, “I’ve heard about enough today of you apologizing for liking me. As for the consent thing... I literally- there’s nothing I’ve wanted more in the world, drunk or sober, than to kiss you, for like. The longest time. The most miserable, longest time. I’d consent to you doing... literally anything to me, any time you wanted—” And uh, that is a whole other big issue you don’t even know where to begin to unpack, so you start spluttering, but he rushes ahead before you can formulate a proper argument. “—You could chop my leg off. I trust you.”

This, for some reason, has your breath hitching all on it’s own, “But I realize you had no way of knowing that, until just now. So I'm sorry I let you stew in that guilt this whole time. I swear I really did think... I just couldn’t believe I’d be so lucky. I didn’t know it was real. Just.... you should know my only regret is that I can’t remember it better.” He stops for a moment, searching for your eyes, wanting to make sure you’re getting every word. His tone softens, “I remember wanting you, though. I’ll be honest, I’d forgotten all about the antlers until you brought it up. I remember talking to you in a kitchen... that’s all vague. I just remember thinking I wanted to kiss you so badly, I kept taking sips of eggnog just to have something to do with my mouth. In retrospect, maybe a different solution would have worked out better, because it seemed like every sip made it worse.” Jungkook chuckles, “I remember being so happy you were in my arms I thought I was going to throw up.”

“Oh, God,” you groan, throwing an arm over your eyes, only for him to tug it away, admonishing.

“Hey! No, not like that. Not drunk throwing up. Butterflies throwing up.” You have to roll your eyes, although a smile steals over your face.

“You sure about that? Because they feel pretty similar, in my experience.”

“Oh yeah? In your experience? Had a lot, have you?” He grins at you, making you swat his shoulder petulantly.

“Well, let me think. Seeing as how you like to come home from the gym with every vein in your arms bursting like they’re going to jump out of your skin, with your hair soaking wet, and then crowd all up in my space when I'm cooking, at least four days a week, every week, I'm going to go with —yes,” you gasp, as Jungkook picks that exact moment to utilize his new tactic of tugging your hair just this side of too hard, while also kissing down the side of your neck and biting down.

“You like that I go to the gym.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you huff, after a respectable period of recovery when you can speak again, “I don’t know where all this bravado is coming from when a minute ago you were so sure I couldn’t possibly like you back, you retconned an entire Christmas out of existence.”

“Yeah, well, I’m half convinced I’m dreaming as we speak, so, if I wake up in bed alone again I won’t be surprised.” He says this so matter of factly you have to stop him, pull back for a moment and stare at him incredulously.

“What? No, Jungkook, this isn’t a dream.” He’s already leaning in to kiss you again, eyes slipping closed, so you scoot back, out of reach. You need him to listen. “Jungkook.”

He sits back up, reluctantly, letting you push his shoulder and rearrange your positions so you’re each lying on your sides, facing each other. Less power balance in play this way, legs still securely entangled, one of Jungkook’s hands in two of yours, still close enough to feel each breath he takes tickling the backs of your hands. “Do you have a lot of conversations about dreams within dreams?” you prod a little, trying to make a point, “That’s so meta.”

“I mean, no. This isn’t Inception.”

It’s unexpected, and it has you laughing. “God, I fucking love that movie.”

You extract one hand to hold it up between you.

“Excellent taste, a man after my own heart. High five?”

Jungkook can only really tip forward and try to headbutt your palm with his forehead, because you’re hanging onto the one hand he’s not currently lying on top of and he doesn’t have much of a choice. “But don’t think I can’t tell you’re trying to change the subject. That’s what I remember, one really dreamy kiss that I have literally never been able to forget about every time I've seen you since Christmas. And then I... um. I needed air and I pulled back, and everyone was, uh. I guess it could be called cheering?” You wince at the memory of the cacophony. “It was like being catcalled by barn owls,” Jungkook’s turn to laugh. “Then I think... I just ran? To the bathroom? And uh. Cried for like twenty minutes, did like three extra shots of rum, called an uber. Went home and cried more and fell asleep and woke up to like a million missed calls from Jimin. That’s the night I had. So. What do you remember?”  

“That’s horrible. That doesn’t sound nice at all, I'm so sorry. It was so bad you cried? Jesus Christ.”

“No, it’s not that at all. The kissing you part was, um. Really nice. Like, everything I wanted, nice. But it’s just that... it didn’t mean any of the things I wanted it to mean; it was just a friend kiss. A mistletoe prank kiss our shitty friends pressured us into and I knew that’s all it was to you—” Jungkook begins to protest here, so you correct, “—that’s all I thought it was to you, at the time. Except now I knew what it felt like, and the fact that it would probably never happen again and that was horrible. Is why I c- I cried.” You’ve been avoiding eye contact during this speech, but now you look up again and meet Jungkook’s gaze, and you can see a deep, deep sadness there.

“I am so sorry,” he says again. “Kiss me?” You have to disentangle one of your hands again to achieve it, but you lift one arm and give him another smack on the shoulder without any real power behind it. “Ow. Please?”

“No! What did you mean, ‘wishful thinking?’”

“Kiss first?”

“I swear to god, Jeon Jungkook, if you don’t-”

“-Fine! Fine, I’ll tell you. I just want one kiss and then I promise I will explain.”

“God, needy.” But you’re already leaning forward to catch his lips again. You never have been able to deny him anything he asked for, anyway. Your track record with telling him “No,” is a crapshoot.

You break apart again after falling headfirst back into his warmth and unsteady breathing, working with considerable effort to remain on topic. “It’s sex, isn’t it?”

And abruptly, Jungkook’s blank, wide-eyed panic face confronts your question.

“What? No, what- why- no, that’s not-” A beautiful flush works its way up Jungkook’s neck to his face, spreading across his skin like a glass of red wine toppled over on a tablecloth.

“That’s why you’re so squirrely about telling me, right? It was a sex dream?” You interrupt his stuttering, “Look, Jungkook, it’s fine, it’s not like I haven’t had-”

“No!!” he finally sputters, cutting you off. “I swear, that wasn’t it. I was about to tell- wait. You what? Not like you haven’t... what? Oh, my god.” Now it’s your turn to flush positively scarlet, as Jungkook’s head falls forward until his forehead connects with your collarbones, overwhelmed.

A moment passes. He’s not even saying anything.

Maybe you broke him?

“...Jungkook?”

“Uh huh. Yep, I’m here. Need a minute.”

“O- Okay.” You don’t know what to do, feeling phenomenally awkward, so you begin to tentatively run your fingers through his hair, detangling the strands and combing it softly with your hands. It’s getting long.

Air from Jungkook’s nose washes gently over your neck as he murmurs a pleased noise at the attention, and some muffled words into your throat.

“What?” you ask.

“I said, ‘You’re going to kill me.’”

You’re feeling playful, so you tell him, “At the risk of hyping myself up too much... I think it’s fair to say you haven’t seen anything yet, Jungkook-ah.”

It’s quiet, but you do still managed to catch his whispered, “Fuck,” along with a barely perceptible tightening in his grip where his hands grasp your sides. Then, at a more reasonable conversational volume, “I promise, it’s more like, I wanted to make sure I knew the accurate story first before I talked through what I remember dreaming, it’s not that it’s a sex thing and I’m not embarrassed to tell you about it.”

“Uh huh.” Your skepticism colors your tone well enough to have him lifting his head to let you see the honesty in his face.

“It isn’t!”

“Okay, okay. I believe you,” you tell him, unable to keep the beatific smile from your face at his expression, and he blinks, looking momentarily dazed.

“You have the most beautiful smile,” Jungkook tells you, eyes dropping to your mouth and then back up to meet your gaze, a sweet smile of his own crossing his face as he says it. “Oh my god, I have so many things I can say out loud now.”

Your blush is back with a vengeance, bringing up with it a vaguely hysterical giggle. You spare a brief thought to wonder when was the last time you felt this happy. The ballooning buoyancy of it fills your chest cavity like air in your lungs underwater, dragging your whole body up, up to the surface. You think it could pull you all the way up into the sky if you don’t hang onto the boy in your arms with all your strength to stay grounded. Love like helium in your lungs, his smile like a flame beneath the patchwork balloon and the tactile experience of having your hands in his hair, on his shoulders, body heat shared between you as ballast.

You’re still in this dizzy headspace, trying to imagine how to articulate this feeling to him when he continues, “It’s one of the reasons I first fell in love with you.”

The words are a bellows on the fire feeding all the floaty feelings and the experience is such a shock to your already overloaded system, you don’t know what to say or how to say it, instead continuing to blush to the tips of your ears and pulling him in by the drawstrings of his sweatshirt to connect your lips again.

He seems glad enough to meet you in the middle. He indulges you for a long minute; says, “My version of events is consistent with yours all the way up to mistletoe, I think. I was holding you, and I was finally kissing you, and then the rest of the night is a blur of Hobi-hyung telling me to just sleep in his bedroom, and then I think is where I started dreaming, because you were back. And you told me all kinds of things that I’d always wanted to hear, like this, and you climbed into my bed, like this. And you kissed me, like this. It felt warm, and it felt real, like it always does.”

“Oh, baby...” Is all you can say, and to you it seems ineffectual but hearing it makes Jungkook shudder and press closer. You note it carefully, with a rush of affection.

“It’s okay, though.”

“Do you believe you’re awake now?” you test him suspiciously, and watch him draw back an inch, eyes flitting around the room from himself, to the rumpled duvet, back to you for a beat and a half; then, curiously, he draws forward again, tucking his face under your chin, nuzzling his nose below your jaw where you spray your perfume, and breathes in. Your whole body locks up in response to the sudden closeness, and a wave of heat radiates out all over you directly from your core when you feel the unmistakable sensation of his tongue flitting out in an open mouthed kiss there, and then again, and then again.

“Mm... think ‘s real.” His voice is suddenly so much deeper than you’re used to, and you have to swallow, hard, in order collect yourself enough to speak, and still when you try at first it comes out as a bit of a squeak.

“Wh- What could you possibly have learned from that? Dream me never let you kiss my neck?”

“Oh, no. Not that,” He smiles, and you can’t see him, but you can still tell, because he hasn’t lifted his lips from your skin, and his pretty teeth drag gently over the tendon in your neck. “Dreams can feel real and they can look real, but they don’t smell real. Don’t taste real.”

Jungkook leans up to peck you on the lips, properly, and you’d love to keep looking at his face, shrouded by fluffy, too-long hair, bangs falling in his eyes, skin smattered with precious moles and the barest hint of hair growing in from his most recent shave, which you’ve never been near enough to notice. You’d love to, but your eyes keep slipping shut when your lips meet. It’s hard to fight.

“What does real taste like?” you ask, when you can drag your eyes open again.

Jungkook’s looking right back at you.

“You tell me.”

This time as your mouths meet, you give all your attention to the slide of your tongue against his, dipping between his lips to taste, sucking on his pretty lower lip. It earns you a gasp followed by a very unsteady exhale, and even the breath tastes sweet. You reposition your hands, using the fingers of your right hand to cup his jaw and encourage him to leave it slack and open, so you can lick back in, chase his soft tongue, and control the kiss.

Your observations are as follows:

Number one: Real tastes like --toothpaste. Mint flavored and fresh

Number two: Real tastes like --chapstick. Sugar and citrus, like a lemon hard candy

Number three: Real tastes like --bubblegum, which is actually coming from you and sweetens everything else that much more, and

--A fourth thing, difficult to label. Something your brain could never quite have conjured up, no matter how vivid the dream. Something that could only be intrinsically Jungkook.

Jungkook is breathing hard, some of them breathlessly voiced, almost moans. In the process of pursuing your single-minded goal you’ve managed to tip him on his back, lying short-ways across the bed, the wrong way. It looks to you as though the change in dynamic is affecting him considerably. Heat tinges the tips of his ears and you can faintly see his bangs beginning to stick to his skin. It makes your heart race, lightheaded from the power of it and perhaps a lack of oxygen.

“I think... I think I get it.”

Your words appear to call him back from another place, his eyes opening almost as if from deep sleep, heavy lidded, but with pupils blown, his chest heaving with each labored breath in. A beat passes before he flashes his teeth at you in a swift smile of understanding. You smile back.

It would have been hard, (no pun intended,) from this angle, not to have noticed the situation in Jungkook’s sweats by now, and you’re definitely aware of it. It’s encouraging.

You swing a leg over his body until you’re straddling his waist. You pause, glance at the clock on the bedside table and see that about a half an hour has passed already. You look back again, narrowing your eyes at Jungkook laid out beneath you, then back at the clock, and then bring your hands to the hem of your shirt and lift.

Jungkook only has time to begin to sit up, propping himself up on his elbows by the time you’ve whipped the offending article off, over your hair, like ripping off a band-aid, not giving yourself the chance to worry about doing it. It leaves you in your bra and your jeans, and the cute ankle socks with the little jello blobs on them. Jungkook said he liked these, once.

You don’t have the time to get anxious about not having had enough notice to change into one of your sexier bras, because he’s transferred his weight to one arm, elbow locked behind him, and reached out with his free hand to smooth over your side, wide, warm hand electric on the newly exposed skin, all done as if in a trance, like his hands are moving of their own accord. Gaze glued to you.

“Oh,” he exhales all at once, like all the air has been punched out of him, and, all right, yeah, that’s flattering. It might have something to do with the way your weight settles over his crotch, as well, but that’s neither here nor there. “Oh, wow.” Your tummy flips again, as you wrap your arms around his neck. His hand is still wandering, trailing the backs of his fingers tenderly down over your belly button, to your lower stomach, barely enough pressure not to tickle, then curling his fingers over your hip and stroking with his thumb. The hand travels behind your back, up to the clasp of the bra, where he hesitates, “Can I?”

When you nod your head, your hair moves, brushing your shoulders and poking the bared skin, prompting you to toss your head to the side to relieve the itchy sensation. You reclaim one of your own hands to assist the boy under you with the hooks, and between the two of you, you manage to get the thing done. You hold your breath, nervous, waiting for him to slide the straps from your shoulders, but he seems to sense your impulse to do so and kisses you first.

Slowly, gradually, his mouth moves down along your jaw, to your neck. He drops lingering, open-mouthed kisses all the way down your throat to your clavicles, and across to one shoulder, meeting up with the point where he left off kissing up your arm when you were relating back to him the details of your first kiss together. In the process, your left bra strap is brushed aside gently by his nose as it draws over your skin, and you inhale sharply as he continues down, tonguing the new expanse of skin bared to him, in no hurry, kissing your breast and taking the nipple into his curious, exploring mouth.

Your back arches toward him with no conscious direction from your brain, but Jungkook is there with his free hand pressed firmly against your shoulder blades, pulling your body closer to him anyway. You can feel a moan you’re trying not to vocalize begin to slip out, but Jungkook beats you to it, laving his tongue over your sensitive nipple and groaning out a soft, “Ahh,” followed by a low, rumbling hum before he looks up from under his eyelashes coquettishly and begins to suck. The moan you’ve been holding back escapes without your permission, as your head falls back, all strength in your body and the ability to hold yourself up threatening to fail at once.

The noises his mouth makes are wet and lewd, and if your panties hadn’t already begun to feel uncomfortably hot and sticky some time ago, chafing against the denim at the seams between your thighs, they would have at that. He draws off after a minute, releasing your breast with a filthy sounding pop to give attention to the other. It leaves your bare skin prickled with goosebumps and briefly cold with the saliva from his attention.

Miraculously, your other bra strap still clings stubbornly to your shoulder, the cups still dangling down your front between your bodies until Jungkook’s fingers slide beneath the fabric and finally coax it off and away, allowing you to slip your arms out. He deposits it at the foot of the bed.

With the barrier gone he resumes his ministrations, kissing across your ribs and lingering for a moment directly over your heart, beating at a furious pace as a direct result of everything he’s doing to you. He continues on to lavish all the same attention on your right breast. Seems only fair, to him.

He does want to make use of his other hand, however, and tease you with his mouth and his hands at the same time, so he sits up a little further, pressing forward until you get the hint and sit up to let him rearrange your positions slightly.

You’re pliant in his arms and willing to be maneuvered up to a point, and that point is that you’re ready to no longer be the only one undressed, and you’re impatient to get him out of his baggy hoodie, so you each rise to your knees, face to face, and you slip your fingers beneath the hem of it until your fingers curl over his sides. You find that he’s bare skinned underneath the sweatshirt, and quickly realize with a shiver that knowing intellectually that he doesn’t tend to wear layers under his hoodies is one thing, and it doesn’t compare to knowing it intimately, physically, which is another. His skin is warm, warm and soft beneath the pads of your fingertips.

You’re so overwhelmed to have the opportunity to touch him like this your hands are shaking, but you power through, needing to feel him and know him and make him feel good. You draw your hands further up, feeling the divots in his ribs when he inhales hard and his ribcage expands to contain the breath. The sweatshirt rides up with your hands, gradually bunching and folding until you reach his underarms, brushing soft hair for a second and he lifts his arms to allow you to slip it off, over his head.

His face briefly disappears from view and then reappears on the other side of the collar, hair ruffled and eyes searching for your reaction, your approval or disapproval.

(As if you would ever be disappointed by anything you found under Jungkook’s clothes.)

You run your hands over his swelling pecs, as he takes one deep breath after another, then down over his abs and then back up again to smooth over his shoulders, just trying to drink it all in.

“Jesus Christ, Jungkook,” you whisper in awe, pulling him forward with all your upper body strength to crush his body to yours, and he responds by wrapping his arms around you and crushing you right back. Your lips find his cheek, then his nose, hands on either side of his face to aid your aim as you drop kisses all over it. You let one hand travel down his side to his hip and bring your mouth to his ear, experimentally taking his earring between your teeth and tugging as you manage to leverage one of your thighs between his legs and encourage him to rock down on it, all at once.

The reaction is immediate, Jungkook moans outright in arousal and surprise. You briefly let go of the earring to flick your tongue over the area, and then take it back in your mouth and pull again, gently, and it’s worth it for his body’s response, when you feel his cock jump in his pants where he’s pressed up against your thigh.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah? We like that?”

Jungkook merely groans in reply, and his left hand finds its way down your lower back to your jeans, sneaking under the waistband and then under the elastic of your underwear a few inches to grip your ass in his palm and angle your lower body so he can grind down on you, working his hips slowly, giving himself a little friction and then drawing away. His right hand finds your nipple again, plucking sharply to get you gasping and then pinching and rolling.

You give up moan after moan for him, everything he does to you just feels so fucking good, you can feel the dopamine saturating your brain with every second his hands and mouth are on you. Fuck, but you could get used to this.

You mouth along his jaw to his neck, letting your teeth graze his skin lightly to feel him shiver. Curious, you bite down a little, enough to sting and then lave your tongue over the spot. His hips stutter and you smile to yourself.

“Hey, baby,” you address him, dragging his hips down against you with a little more force.

It earns you a stuttered, “U-Uh- Uh huh?”

You let your mouth travel back up to his ear, ask him softly,

“Do you think you could come like this?” making sure your lips brush his skin as you say it.

“Fuck,” he grits out, letting his head fall forward onto your shoulder, like he lacks the strength in his neck to hold it up anymore. “You can’t just say shit like that.” But his hips work down on your thigh over and over again on their own, so you prompt him,

“But can you?”

“Oh, god. I don’t- I don’t know. Yeah, probably. You’re so hot. I’m so hard. Probably, yes.”

You grin into his hair, “That’s my baby. What a good boy for me.”

And Jungkook... honest to god whimpers against your skin.

Whose life you must have saved in a past reincarnation to deserve this, you don’t know, but you decide just to thank your lucky stars, and back up just a little, to move until you’re lying down against the pillows, right way up in Jungkook’s bed, holding your arms out for him to follow you there.

Jungkook’s head snaps up as soon as you start to move backwards, like he thinks something might be wrong, but he gets the picture quickly and settles his weight over you easily, slotting your leg back between his and grinding down immediately.

He captures your lips in a bruising kiss before breaking it to ask, concern clear in his eyes,

“What about you?” And his hand rests over the button of your jeans, waiting for your permission, but as much as it pains you, you have to shake your head, bottom lip pulled between your teeth.

Your eyes find his and you tell him, “Another day, Jungkookie, baby. We don’t have time.” Your eyes flit over to the bedside table with the digital clock on it, ruthlessly bearing the current time, and then back to his face, tilted up at you, open, waiting for an explanation. “Tae will be home in ten minutes. He’s bringing friends.”

A pout forms on Jungkook’s kiss swollen lips. Oh, no. Oh no. “Jungkook, we can’t. Do you want him to walk in on us in the middle of this?” And Jungkook’s eyes suddenly drop from your face like he can’t hold your gaze, but you feel the tell-tale twitch of his cock in his pants. There’s no way you wouldn’t. Jungkook clearly knows this, because he screws his eyes up, shut tight. Oh.

“You do? Oh, Jungkook. Oh, come here, baby.” He resists for the briefest of moments, but he lets you take his face in your hands and connect your lips again, and starts to roll his hips again, a little harder than before, but his eyes stay screwed shut. “You’d be into that, huh? Taehyung coming home and looking for you, coming to see what all the noise is behind your door and swinging it open to see your big, hard cock buried in my dripping pussy?” You pause for a second. “Is this okay?”

Jungkook chokes on nothing, but nods frantically, thrusts speeding up. “I’m so wet, Jungkook. You did that to me. Make me feel so good.” He’s moaning freely, now, face buried in the crook of your neck, one of his hands kneading your breast like his life depends on it. “You know, we didn’t lock the door. He could get home early. Would we hear him come in? Over all that pretty noise you’re making? Do you think we’d hear in time to stop? I don’t think so.”

You give in to the impulse to bury a hand in his hair again, scraping your nails gently against his scalp, brushing his bangs up off his forehead, then gripping a handful at the crown of his head and pulling, a little less gentle this time. Your other hand slips under the waistband of his sweats to take a handful of his ass and help him frot hard against you. You can feel the muscles flexing under your fingers, as he pants open-mouthed, breath fanning hot and damp over your neck.

This is unquestionably the hottest sex you’ve ever had, and you’re not even fucking. Neither of you are even totally naked. But Jungkook moans, brokenly, hips stuttering, and he says,

“I’m... I think I’m gonna come,”

“That’s my good boy, come for me. That’s right. Go ahead and make yourself come for me, baby.”

His face scrunches up and he gets out through gritted teeth, “Hurts,” and you slacken your grip on his hair immediately, ready to let go, but his eyes snap open and his hand flies to your wrist in a blur of motion. “No! Please- Please keep- my hair, fuck, I’m so close. Fuck,” So you wrap your fingers back in the soft, faintly curly strands and tentatively give another tug. “Ngh. Wasn’t- what I meant.” He gestures toward his crotch, and in following his movement you get an eyeful of his v line descending down under his sweatpants, and the fabric has ridden low enough at this point that it’s solely being held up by his straining erection. You can see the beginnings of a trim patch of pubic hair peeking over the waistband, and a distinct dark, wet spot decorates the place where the head of his cock must be. It makes your mouth dry to look at, but you catch his meaning. The friction must be overwhelming.

“Just a little more, baby,” you encourage him. “I know you can do it, you dirty thing. You aren’t wearing underwear, are you, sweetheart?”

Jungkook blushes to the tips of his ears, and with his shirt off you can see the way it travels down, down, all the way over his chest. Mouthwatering.

“I- I wasn’t expecting-”

“That’s what I thought. Just want to be caught, huh? Like the danger of it? The thought that someone might see you with your cock out in your sweatpants and know?” This earns you another whimper.

Then, “You.”

“Hm?”

“You, I wanted you to know. I wanted you to notice. Maybe. If I could be brave enough to... Thought maybe you might- oh, fuck, fuck. Thought you might see, think of me sometime... if you were getting off, by yourself... oh, god.”

Your turn to moan.

“Jesus Christ, that’s so hot.”

“Can you- Can I touch myself? Please, I’m so close, please let me touch myself.”

“Not this time, baby, I want you to come like this or not at all, can you do that for me?”

Jungkook whines louder, hips frantically rutting against you, desperate to come.

You lean and latch your mouth to the juncture behind his jaw that you noted was so sensitive, earlier, working the patch of skin between your teeth and gripping his hair tight at the same time.

With any luck, this is going to leave a beautiful, mottled mark and he won’t forget every time he looks in a mirror, and it’ll be in plain view to everyone else who sees him until it eventually fades. You’ll just have to create new ones, when that happens. The thought that this might happen again in the future between you fills you with a bubbly, giddy joy despite the knowledge that there’s no time for you to get off, this time. It’s all right. You’re playing the long game, here.

Jungkook suddenly tenses up hard and gasps out, “‘M gonna come, please, can I? Oh god, I’m gonna come.”

“Go ahead, baby. My good boy. Come for me.”

And he does, body locking up, every muscle in his abdomen flexing and quivering, veins standing out in his forearms, neck, and forehead, sweat dripping off the line of his jaw. He’s a vision, hovering over you, spilling into his pants and gasping heaving breaths. He opens his eyes in the last couple seconds as come stains the fabric between his legs, staring directly into your eyes. His irises are almost invisible, pupils blown and lids low and heavy. You can’t stop the full body shiver that wracks you from head to toe. That’s an image that’s going to stay with you when you’re alone in a cold bed from now on.

“Kiss me,” he demands. And you do, stroking his hair, gently now, sweeping it back off his forehead and smoothing it behind his ears.

His tongue slips out between your lips lazily, tangling with yours in a soft, sated dance for a long minute, until he appears to lose the ability to hold himself up with his arms and drops all his weight bodily on top of you.

“Oof,” you huff involuntarily. His head has landed conveniently on top of your chest, directly between your boobs. He hums from this position, utterly content, gooey pants and all. “Jungkook.”

“Mm?”

“We gotta get up.”

“Mm mm. No.”

“Tae is due in like, t minus two minutes. I need to change my underwear before company gets here. You need... a tissue and some fresh pants, at the very least.”

“Don’ wanna think about it.”

“Where’s my bra?”

“Nooo,” comes the protest from your, soft, sleepy, sexed out sweetheart. He’s very hard to say no to.

“Come on,” You slap his sweaty bicep to no effect. You really don’t want Taehyung to find you like this. Heaving a deep sigh, you decide it’s time for your last resort.

Your fingers dart to Jungkook’s sides and dig in, tickling him mercilessly. His entire body heaves and twists up off you involuntarily, up and away from your reaching hands.

“Cheating!” he protests through his giggles as you squirm out from under him in the aftermath. You really do need to change your underwear. And probably your pants, too.

You grab your bra and your shirt from where they each landed respectively, putting them back on while Jungkook sits on the bed, looking vaguely put out, pushing out his bottom lip at you.

“Aww,” you coo, coming back over to give him the kisses his expression is crying out for. Petulantly, he kisses back, but continues to pout, even as he scoots to the edge of the bed, making a face as the mess in his pants shifts when he moves, no doubt gross by now.

“I need a shower,” he sighs. “Why did you do this to me?”

You laugh outright at him, and decide he deserves it when you say, “Because you were begging to come, Jeon Jungkook.”

He scrunches up his nose in response, now standing, at least.

“I am getting you back for this.”

“I look forward to it,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around him and kissing him again, slow. You’re not even a little tired of this. Not even close.

Your eyes are closed, but you sense movement near your waist, so you open them, only to see Jungkook shucking his pants, using the bunched up material to wipe up the worst of the cum on his lower belly, and chucking the whole mess into the hamper in the corner. Despite all you’ve done today, this is the first time you’re seeing Jungkook properly naked, and you find yourself blushing and snapping your eyes to the ceiling, looking anywhere else.

He laughs at you, predictably.

“Oh, after saying all that to me, you’re gonna get shy now?”

“It’s different!” you squeak, unable to tell if it’s safe to look back yet.

“What’s different?” Nope, definitely not safe. If anything it’s less safe. His voice is very close to your ear, now. You keep your eyes determinedly locked on the ceiling fan. It needs to be dusted.

“It just is.”

“Because that was in the middle of sex, and now the sex is over, suddenly you’re flustered?” You just nod. “What if sex isn’t over, then? Will you look at me then?”

“Huh?”

And now Jungkook’s hands are on you, thumbing your sides, sliding under the shirt you just put back on. You dare to let your gaze fall back on his face, but no lower.

“I said, ‘What if it isn’t over.’”

“But it is. You just came.”

“You didn’t.”

“You just came!”

Jungkook’s eyes drop to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“So?”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

He just shrugs one shoulder. “Trust me, I can go again, if that’s what you want. You drive me crazy. But I don’t have to, I want to make it about you.” A pause, where he glances over his shoulder, then, “I’ll lock the door this time.”

It’s a lot to take in. You groan, smoothing your hands over his bare chest and squeezing your eyes shut. Try to remember the reasons it’s not a good idea. It’s difficult. Every fiber of your being wants him.

You give in a little, just enough to kiss him again, allowing your hands to travel down his back, scraping your nails over his skin just a little to feel him groan into your mouth, smoothing your palms over the globes of his ass and squeezing indulgently. You feel his cock, oh, god, perk up in interest already and decide, no, that will have to be enough for now. Giving him one last peck on the lips, you pull away.

“Later,” you promise, smiling.

Jungkook looks disappointed, but he still says, “Fine. Later.” And you can already see his eyes shifting to a darker shade, cogs in his head making plans for you.

You suppress a shiver, and slip out the door.

[Part 2 is now up!]

[seven-oomen]

So I hope you’re feeling better, and have managed to cool down finally.  A year or two ago, the A/C in my apartment kept going out, to the point where finally they had to just replace the whole unit, and there were days when the temp inside would hit nearly 33 degrees (according to Google’s conversion chart.)  As someone also very much built for colder climes, I was about ready to murder someone, but that would have required too much movement and energy expenditure.  So I know just how indescribably miserable that feeling is.  (Frankly if I ended up in Eur at any point, I would probably also cave and buy some sort of A/C, too.  Give me cold over hot any day.  I can always add more layers, I can only take off so many.)  Also, I hope you’re feeling better in general after therapy, and that it was at least helpful and cathartic, if super difficult and heavy.

I’m sorry your game turned out disappointing.  I’d seen a few memes pop up on Facebook with no real context that now make a lot more sense.  I think sometimes a sequel that just doesn’t quite live up to expectations can be worse than if it’s just a trainwreck from the start, because you can visualize how it might have been if only…

I did have one more thought on the HP front (oh god, why?  how?  I was never really even in that fandom…)  I can’t remember enough details right now to be certain if Durmstrang was more generically Eastern European coded or if it was more specific to certain countries, but I thought it wouldn’t necessarily be entirely out of the question that Noah could be a student there.  Chris in Beauxbatons is a no- brainer.  And Hale is already a British last name.  Basically, what I’m saying is Tri-Wizard Tournament, except they’re fucking.  (Which given what little I know about the HP fandom, that is probably not the first time someone’s said that…)

And I see we’re just going right for the feels with that flashback, huh? XD  Why do I have the feeling that there’s going to be a corresponding scene in the current timeline as a callback that will just make it hurt even more?  (My heart says Stiles or Malia singing it to Ben, my head says anything is good, really)  And now I can look forward to imagining John’s ghost lovingly Gibbs-smacking the three of them upside the head any time they start getting angsty about how the other two feel.  Do you have any FCs for (young) Claudia or her father (I think there were already at least a couple different actresses, so I consider her fair game)?  Or Julio?  And having a visual for him now makes me think of the flashback in Ch.6 where he was treating their injuries, wondering if he and Mieczyslaw ever did go to have a “chat” with Elias, if there was a specific event that lead to that particular incident between Chris, Noah, and Elias, and where Peter was during all that (and who kept him from “helping” his father with his visit)?

Oh, one more for the sibling prank pile: when I was in high school/college, a lot of times when I’d be over at this one friend’s house, we’d be downstairs playing video games with her little sister and/or brother (by which I mean, they would be playing GoldenEye or Perfect Dark, and I would just be dying a lot because I’m beyond terrible at FPS), if we were playing music “too loud” (usually No Doubt or Garbage, or later on, AFI), her older brother would go upstairs to his room and start blasting Queen or Pink Floyd at top volume to try and drown us out, like some kind of Stereo Cold War (instead of using headphones, or asking us to turn it down, or something else logical.)  It definitely made for some interesting mash-ups, and I always had to fight down the urge to ask him “…you know we like those bands, too, right?  Like, if you’re trying to dissuade us or irritate us, you’re doing it wrong…"  Long story short, I could totally see Stiles and Jackson doing something like this, until one of their dads gets so frustrated they start blasting some of the most teenager repelling music they can think of to make them stop.  Peter: “You think this Spice Girls mix is painful?  Keep it up and you’ll learn that I know where Chris keeps the Nickleback CDs he doesn’t think we know about.”

This was originally gonna be part of my review, but I wasn’t sure how long it might get, so I saved it for one of these.  So I know in a previous chat you mentioned Peter’s wedding day was one of the happiest of his life, and I know Chris calls them his husbands, while Noah said Peter’d been “practically proposing”, so I was wondering would they be considered engaged at this point, or actually married (like, werewolf married or something)?  Because I am entirely here for some kind of ceremony once shit calms down a bit.  I can’t see Peter resisting the chance to get both his boys into fancy suits to show off just how lucky he is.  And they could work all the kids into the ceremony in different roles, all of them dressed up, too, but allowed to style it based on their personality and preferences.  Think about all the photoshoot opportunities.  Not sure who would be the best choice for officiant, because I’m not sure who may or may not have popped up by that point in the story.  I feel like the most appropriate setting (based on present knowledge) would be the Nemeton.  Second option would be the back yard of the house once it’s been rebuilt, depending how far in the future that is and how long they want to wait to make it official (Or other locations, what ever feels the most right.)  Imagine Melissa (lovingly) roasting the everloving shit out of them in a speech.  T H E  D A N C I N G…  Just, like, a huge celebration of the fact that they made it through.  And don’t forget the honeymoon…  Them at very least getting a room in some super luxe hotel, even if they don’t want to go too terribly far away because of the kids.  Champagne, huge shower stall and Jacuzzi tub, giant bed with 1000ct sheets, balcony with a hot tub, just, like, all the nicest, fanciest luxuries.   (And because I apparently can’t get enough of them teasing Peter to distraction)  At the end of the night they all stumble into the bedroom, and get Peter sitting down on a chair or bench facing the bed.  They loosely tie his wrists behind him with the tie he’d been wearing, and slowly unbutton his shirt and slide it down to wrap around them as well (they all know it hasn’t a chance of holding him, that’s not the point) before backing away out of reach and going to work on each other’s suits.  Eventually they’re down to just their necklaces, dress shirts, and an extra surprise they had made for their husband; matching Chantilly lace panties specially handwoven with a triskelion pattern (I was thinking maybe out of lilies-of-the-valley, because for some reason I felt like Peter was a May baby, and that’s the birth flower for that month, and also I feel that would curve into the Hale spirals fairly easily and nicely.  And while I like the idea that it’s traditionally black, this one has a lovely blue shift threaded through it that would look AMAZING on them), and featuring thin triple side ties made from silk in shades of blue to match their eyes (‘cause maybe he won’t rip it if he can just untie it?).  Peter’s brain would just keep blue screening and rebooting as he tried to process everything, while they turn and crawl up the bed (giving a hell of a view as they go), turning back to him as they lean up against each other, trying to mock pout through their smirks like “Won’t you join us, husband?  It’s lonely up here without you."  His shirt just ends up confetti sized shreds of white cotton (or silk?) floating gently down to the floor as he surges up the bed at literal supernatural speed so fast he almost bounces off the headboard, trying to figure out a way to tackle both of them at once.  (…Holy shit, I cannot believe I just actually wrote all that out.  Apologies if it went a little far, as per usual, I may have gotten carried away.  In my defense, speculating about it kept me from murdering the guy who decided to open and start "testing” our dog whistles because he insisted the last one he got didn’t work, so.)  Actually, that also reminds me, we know that Derek has a triskelion tattoo, do you think Peter does as well?  Or gets one at some point?  Do you think Noah or Chris would ever get one, as a sign of pack loyalty, since the Hales are the ones that took them in when their own families cast them out?  (And also, that’s definitely a mark that’s not going to fade away, but also does not carry the risk of accidental turning.)  Where would any of them have/get them?

And re: review responses, etc.  Don’t worry if you don’t want to reveal too much ahead of time.  I generally figure a lot of what I mention is stuff that has a good chance of just coming up later in the story.  I’m equally happy with the previews we do get and with waiting patiently (I swear I can) for things to be revealed in future chapters.

Oh, and the cosplay!  (Sorry, meant to mention that earlier but I got…distracted…)  If you do ever get the chance to do that one that would be amazing!  By the time I got into TW I wasn’t getting to cons very much any more, so I’ve never really seen anyone cosplaying any TW characters, at least obviously.  And we so rarely got to see any of Peter’s beta shift as it was.  I will say that the Hale boys are some of my faves for fandom inspired fashion (basically where it’s not specifically a costume and most regular people wouldn’t get it but I know.  I’ve done it with a number of characters over the years.)  I have several henleys in colors that feel appropriate to the show’s wardrobe, that if I’m in the mood I’ll pair with some dark jeans and boots or black chucks.  It lets me express my fannish inclinations with less risk of anyone getting all judge-y about it.  I, however, can’t get away with wearing them with quite as few buttons done up as they do, there tend to be laws about that sort of thing.  I also have a cute floral dress that works really well for a Lydia inspired look, and plans for similar, slightly more obvious, versions for Raven (Teen Titans) and Black Canary, should I ever manage to get to a convention again (I’m much more prone to costumes that are adaptations over exact accuracy.  Nobody wants to see me in a spandex suit, not even me.)  But yes, full support and encouragement on the cosplay!  That look is definitely one that would catch attention.

Final unexpected segue: Many, MANY years ago we carried a product at work that was an anti-mating spray (yes, that’s spelled correctly).  It was intended for unspayed females that went into heat to help keep interested males away.  Many were the customers that bought it without paying attention who thought it would help with grooming.  I just thought it was one of the funniest things I’d ever heard of, and that was long before I knew anything about omegaverse fic.  Can you imagine something like that in a traditional a/b/o story? XD  I still think about that product every so often (no idea if they even still make anything like that), and wanted to share the hilarity.

Wow, just realized that it’s like 3am.  Jesus, I’ve been rambling a while.  But I think that was everything?  Anyway I’m going to attempt to go to bed, and pretend I didn’t just write more almost porn.  (There’s a quote from the movie Noises Off! [another fave, highly recommend if you’ve not seen it], where a character is referring to her ability to remember lines, and says “Well, it’s like a slot machine up here.” *gestures vaguely at her head* “I, I open my mouth, and I never know what’s going to come out; three oranges, or two lemons and a banana."  And I feel like that’s an accurate description of my posting style.)

For the FC I do, for teenage Claudia: Davina Claire (but imagine the brown eyes)

For Adult Claudia the actress Joey Honsa: 

And for Claudia’s dad (I’m not awake enough to copy Miech’s name fully): Gary Oldman

And Julio Delgado: Santiago Calbrera

Fucking tumblr... I had entire sections typed out during work but my phone freaked out and now it’s gone and I can retype it all over a again... am angry >:( 

Anyway, yeah I’m doing a lot better, ac’s on, I got drinks and shit. And I’m trying to rock my Reese’s pieces tank with Harry Potter booty shorts.

I’m gonna try and answer the most important things I wrote down and work from there. 

And now I can look forward to imagining John’s ghost lovingly Gibbs-smacking the three of them upside the head any time they start getting angsty about how the other two feel.  

There was a lot of Gibbs-smacking back when John was watching over them. Although he made sure to never freak out Chris and instead go for the ‘abby kisses’ on the temple and forehead whenever Chris did the right thing or was particularly vulnerable.

I also have this headcanon that John took care of Allison and Jackson for the first week or two because Chris just couldn’t. He felt alone at almost 18, just went through pure hell to deliver two babies he doesn’t really know. He loves them, he does, he’s just-, he doesn’t know how to feel. So John steps in and teaches him how to be a parent. It takes a bit of time but by the time Jackson and Allison are a week old, Chris is fully on board and would die for them in a heartbeat. And John just looks at him with this pride in his eyes and kisses his forehead. “I’m proud of you.” It’s the first time Chris hears that from a father figure.

And having a visual for him now makes me think of the flashback in Ch.6 where he was treating their injuries, wondering if he and Mieczyslaw ever did go to have a “chat” with Elias, if there was a specific event that lead to that particular incident between Chris, Noah, and Elias, and where Peter was during all that (and who kept him from “helping” his father with his visit)?

This I will address in the prequel, and maybe a very short teaser flashback.

And I was going to close this story with a wedding, a honeymoon, and a pack run at the end. ^^ And holy shit the panties idea is fucking golden.

I could not focus on my work today XD. What an image please do give me more if you think of them ^^. It’s a lovely idea to have Chris and Noah dressed in lacy triskelion panties while having Peter ‘bound’ in a chair. They’re making out, they’re all having fun. And Peter’s hard, like he’s trying so hard to be a good boy for them but holy shit if they keep making out like that, all bets are off. What a fantastic image. Although probably not the best when trying to work XD. (I don’t mind.)

Actually, that also reminds me, we know that Derek has a triskelion tattoo, do you think Peter does as well?  Or gets one at some point?  Do you think Noah or Chris would ever get one, as a sign of pack loyalty, since the Hales are the ones that took them in when their own families cast them out?  (And also, that’s definitely a mark that’s not going to fade away, but also does not carry the risk of accidental turning.)  Where would any of them have/get them?

He do! All the Hales do, it’s a coming off age thing for the wolves and some humans get them as well to show solidarity with their wolf siblings.

John had a tattoo on his left pectoral. His wife Kathryn had hers on her right shoulder. Nathaniel had one between his shoulder blades out of solidarity to his wolf brethren. (He was born human). Talia had hers on the right side of her abdomen just above her hip bone. Merlia had a tramp stamp triskelion. Peter has his over his heart. (The top of the spiral can be seen peeking through some of his deeper v-necks.)

 Laura had hers on her left shoulder. Derek has his between the shoulder blades in honor of his oldest uncle. Chris gets his on his left pectoral after he’s had his youngest child. (In honor of John) Noah gets his on his right pectoral as a mirror image after he’s had his youngest twins. (They talked about it before hand where they’d get them.)

Malia gets hers on her left wrist. Stiles on his right wrist in solidarity. Both of them on the inside. Jackson gets his just below his right collarbone. Allison gets hers just below her left collarbone. Ben gets his on his left arm when he’s old enough.

Not sure about the others but it’ll come to me.

Can you imagine something like that in a traditional a/b/o story? XD  I still think about that product every so often (no idea if they even still make anything like that), and wanted to share the hilarity.

I am wheezing. That’d be so fucking funny XD Anti-Alpha! Alpha be gone! Spray the horny away! (Okay I’ll stop.)

But now I am imagining Stiles making a prank like that where he just gives his pops (Noah) a spray bottle for christmas that says: Spray the horny away! And has a photoshopped picture of Peter on it with a red cross through it.

They have a good laugh about it.

[beneaththetangles]

BtT Light Novel Club Chapter 18: The World’s Least Interesting Master Swordsman, Vol. 1!

Welcome to the next chapter of our Light Novel Club! It is in times like this, where we’re quarantined in the middle of a pandemic, when novels and light novels can be great for giving us something to do without going out. And if all of the virus news gets a bit too much, a trip to another world can sound awfully inviting. So join us as we take a trip to a fantasy world where we find The World’s Least Interesting Master Swordsman (courtesy of J-Novel Club) and how to become an overpowered protagonist by simply training for half a century!

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1. What are your overall impressions of the novel?

Jeskai Angel: This book is a humorous isekai tale that uses its unusually aged protagonist to poke fun at common isekai tropes. Thanks to some of its more elderly characters (e.g., the protagonist, the Regent), the story also had so many practical observations about life and human nature that it reminded me a little of Bottom-Tier Character Tomozaki.

stardf29: So I have an admission to make here. Before this novel got licensed, I had actually found–and read–some of its manga adaptation on a fan scanlation site. (For the record, I have a strict policy of not using such sites for licensed content.) And… well, it bored me, so I dropped it (right about after Sansui and Saiga’s second fight).

So I was quite surprised to find out how much I liked it when reading the novel. The story really does need Sansui’s narration and getting his thoughts on everything going on around him. That’s what makes this an interesting look at the usual isekai premise to me.

2. What do you think of the novel’s humorous jabs at isekai cliches?

Jeskai Angel: What fascinated me is that this book seems like it’s both deconstructing and reconstructing isekai stories at the same time (this trope came to mind). There are a bunch of scenes and characters that blatantly highlight the silliness or impracticality of common isekai elements. Yet this isn’t just a parody whose only purpose is to lampoon the genre. This book has a real and at least semi-serious isekai story of its own to tell. Of special relevance here is that a number of characters switch (sometimes more than once) between being appearing as humorous caricatures and being portrayed as more complex and realistic people. As a result, this LN comes across as a loving critique of isekai stories, without reaching the point of being a satirical condemnation of the genre. It’s really kind of cool to see the author balance these elements. Sansui, after meeting Saiga and his harem, says, “It’s about then that I seriously begin to question if I’m actually in another world, or if I’ve been sent to some anime or light novel’s setting instead.” This question challenges readers as well — should we interpret characters like Saiga, Lady Douve, and “God” as jokes, or see them in a more serious light?

stardf29: Good call on the Decon-Recon Switch. While the story definitely pokes fun at the usual isekai tropes–and that is one of the draws of this series–it also doesn’t go out of its way to make things miserable for everyone (though some people definitely are having a better time than others).

Having multiple people brought over from Japan independently is a nice way to approach this. It’s far from the only story to do this, but it does nevertheless mean we get some different approaches to the overpowered protagonist experience, and seeing how Sansui and Saiga play off each other is fun. I especially like when they get to make video game references to each other to help explain things.

3.What do you think of the various characters?

3a. Sansui

Jeskai Angel: I was really impressed by how successful the author was at selling me on the idea that Sansui is over 500. I don’t know how a 500-year-old person would act (I suppose none of us have met one, LOL), but at the very least, Sansui is a striking contrast to most LN protagonists. He’s unfailingly calm & levelheaded, never acting impulsively out of desperation or fear or anger. He pragmatically accepts what happens even if he doesn’t like it, rather than giving any speeches about rebelling against fate or changing the world or something. He’s humble, but not pathologically so. He doesn’t care about showing off or impressing people; he doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone. He perceptively critiques the failings of others, yet he remains quite empathetic toward them all the while (his attitude toward Douve & Saiga stands out in this regard). His humorous narration is the heart of the story.

I don’t know if he realistically acts like a 500-year-old, but I’m pretty sure he’s the most mature LN protagonist I’ve ever seen (the next closest might be Teacher from Reincarnated as a Sword? Maybe Veight from Der Werwolf?). Sansui consistently projects a sort of world-weary maturity & insight that really helps me believable he’s lived for centuries, & which strongly contrasts him with typical isekai protagonists. The unusual basis of Sansui’s abilities is also notable: he didn’t receive instant super powers & he’s not a young prodigy. He earned his ability through a lot of work.

One mystery does intrigue me: Sansui seems surprisingly blasé about dying, leaving behind family & friends, & being sent to another world. Thinking of other isekai protagonists who weren’t terribly happy with their old lives (e.g. Mile, Veight), I can’t help but wonder if life in Japan wasn’t kind to Sansui, & whether we’ll see more of this background in the future.

stardf29: Sansui is, ironically enough, quite interesting. Or rather, he himself might not be very interesting, but his path in life definitely is. His path as an Immortal reminds me of Buddhism and its ultimate goal of being free of desire of impermanent things, hence how he does not eat or feel romantic attraction, and by and large does not care too much about what is happening around him. It certainly gives him a nice big-picture perspective on things, but at the same time, I can’t help but wonder if maybe he has lost too much “humanity” in the process. In that sense, having to take care of Lain is a potentially big shake-up for him, and something I wish this volume would have gotten into more. Hopefully future volumes will get more into this.

3b. Saiga

Jeskai Angel: While Sansui’s narration is vital to the book, I thought one of the story’s neatest tricks was introducing us to Saiga through Sansui’s POV, but then suddenly allowing Saiga to narrate portions of the story as well. Our aged protagonist hilariously skewers Saiga for being a miserable little pile of clichés, & some stories would have stopped with using Saiga as comic relief, but this one turned around & built him back up. Through both Sansui’s own thoughts & Saiga’s direct narration, this caricature turns out to be a lot more human. He’s still flawed, but he’s far from the unsympathetic buffoon he first seemed to be. I was especially impressed by the humility he showed after his third defeat, & the way he accept Sansui’s wisdom.

Saiga became pivotal to how I read the entire story. He is the clearest example of the author deconstructing & reconstructing a trope. So as the story complexifies Saiga beyond his trope-skewering first impression, I can’t help but wonder about all the other seemingly cliché-mocking characters. Other important figures like “God” and Lady Douve come across as jokes at first, just like Saiga… But are they? They don’t all get to narrate their own side of the story, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t more going on with them.

A lingering mystery is WHEN does Saiga come from? He arrived in the fantasy world 500 years after Sansui did…so did he die sometime in the 2500s? But that’s hard to accept. To Sansui, Saiga is wearing a totally normal school uniform — would uniforms remain unchanged that long? They also understand common references like Sansui’s video game analogies. This suggests they are from roughly the same era in our world. But if Saiga & Sansui are from the same era, why exactly did “God” reincarnate them at such different points in time?

stardf29: One theory is that the timelines of this fantasy world compared to “our” world are not completely parallel, so maybe 500 years in that world is only a few years in “our” world. Kind of like Narnia time. Hence Saiga might have died in “our” world not too long after Sansui, despite ending up in said world some centuries later.

Alternatively, “God” might be purposely choosing these times to place his otherworldly visitors…

As for Saiga himself, he’s very much the “typical” isekai protagonist, but not in a bad way; he’s earnest, likable, and knows his video games. He genuinely cares about his harem, and is able to accept losing to Sansui once he realizes the difference in how long they’ve lived. So yeah, it’s very nice to see how, rather than just being a joke, he’s actually a person trying to live the best life he can. He might not have made for an interesting protagonist, but he does well as a side character.

3c. Douve

Jeskai Angel: As with Saiga, at first Lady Douve is just a cliche, the arrogant, shallow, privileged young woman. Sansui outright says her personality is “that of a stereotypical spoiled noblewoman.” She’s a funny joke, & not an especially evil person, but at the outset there isn’t much to like about her. But the story forces me to doubt this first impression. For me, the key was when she finds out about Tahlan. Was it really just coincidence that Douve’s capricious whimsy caused her to take immediate interest in both Sansui & Tahlan, despite barely knowing anything about them? All she knows about Sansui when she offers to hire him is that he’s some weird kid with a baby and unusual jumping ability. She becomes interested in Tahlan just from hearing about him. Did she randomly glom on to these two Rare Arts-using blademasters who, surprise, surprise, also happen to be among the most goodhearted people in the story? Once might be a coincidence, but twice? I can’t help but suspect Lady Douve is actually sharper than her petty aristocrat act would lead us to assume.

Sansui’s own observations also helped me see Lady Douve more sympathetically. At one point he remarks, “I’m starting to feel a little worried for Lady Douve. It might just be that she’s actually a very unfortunate person, and she’s just oblivious to it.” As we see the obsessive & controlling way her father & elder brother treat her, Lady Douve’s own peculiarities or ways of acting out become increasingly understandable. There’s also mention of how Douve truly wants to be loved, not just sought for her beauty or as a steppingstone to power. As Sansui notes, “She’s not even twenty, but I guess she’s starting to get desperate. There’s no malice in Lady Douve’s feelings; if anything, there’s even a touch of sadness there.” She is a comically exaggerated version of an isekai trope, but she’s also deeper than that.

3d: “God”

Jeskai Angel: A group of wolves is called a pack. A group of lions is called a pride. And a group of coincidences is called a pattern. This entity known as “God” only appears in person briefly at the start of the tale, but his fingerprints show up suspiciously often. Initially, of course, “God” just seems like a exaggerated cliché. The scene where a newly dead protagonist appears before deity & hears “Sorry you’re dead, let me reincarnate you in another world with great power” is a staple of many isekai stories. Off the top of my head, I follow By the Grace of the Gods, I Shall Survive Using Potions, & Didn’t I Say To Make My Abilities Average, all of which have this kind of scene. I think it also happens in Konosuba and In Another World with My Smartphone? Master Swordsman just leans into the ridiculousness of the scenario. “God’s” nonsensical excuses about killing Sansui & Saiga are…remarkable.

But that’s not the end of the matter. We find out “God” apparently has a habit of “accidentally” killing Japanese high schoolers & resurrecting them in this other world with special powers. The first hint is the way Master Suiboku reacts upon meeting Sansui: “Oh, God sent a another visitor from another world.” That’s not the most logical response to meeting an oddly dressed stranger in the middle of nowhere…unless you’ve seen it happen before. Later we meet Saiga. Then we hear the history of magic lecture about more super-powered Japanese folks. Then we get Paulette’s revelation about her OP Japanese friend, & learn that the fourth Great House has a similar champion. Finally, His Brothership & His Fathership indicate that Pseudo Revolutionary France has a similar asset. There’s also Paulette’s cryptic comment to consider: “…a time is coming when these four aces will need to work together.” It keeps getting harder to believe it’s all just a joke.

When I started reading this novel, I took the depiction of God as lighthearted mockery of a stock scene that has appeared in a number of reincarnation-type isekai stories. But as it went on & the clues kept adding up, I grew more & more convinced that “God” is up to something & isn’t just the clownish dunderhead he acted like in front of Sansui & Saiga.

stardf29: Yep, there’s definitely reason to believe “God” is orchestrating things in a particular way. After all, it’s clear that these otherworlders are affecting the world in major ways. In a way it’s yet another example of the story’s decon-recon of overpowered isekai protagonists; you can’t put massively overpowered beings in a world and not expect things to be twisted around them. And “God” may very well be intentionally twisting things here…

3e: Blois

Jeskai Angel: Blois might be the only major character the story hasn’t gone out of its way to poke fun at so far? Likewise, nothing really jumped out at me in terms of clues that she will have great hidden depths. She’s the sane, normal, serious character, often serving as a foil to the antics of Lady Douve & occasionally even toward Sansui. The sidestory in particular let her play that role, inspiring me to make Bloiromir…

I did find it particularly interesting that Blois remains desirous of a relationship with Sansui even after finding out his true age. Given the comedic emphasis of the story, my expectation was that Blois would be freaked out by the whole concept of Sansui being an ancient immortal & there would be some sort of humorous scene where she retracts her expression of interest. Instead, she processes this new information & earnestly affirms that her feelings are unchanged.

3f. Paulette

stardf29:  It feels like it’s rare in light novels to have a character who’s a religious leader of sorts and is actually portrayed positively. Paulette is a nice contrast to the other known house leaders who are definitely more of the typical self-centered (albeit not malicious) noble ladies. She also has an interesting struggle with times when she has to resolve things with violence even when she personally wishes she doesn’t have to; at the same time, she has a good sense of justice and isn’t afraid to do what she needs to in order to expose wrongdoing. I’d definitely like to see more of her.

Jeskai Angel: Is Paulette a reconstruction of flawed aristocratic characters in general? This story gives us several nobles who are…exceedingly quirky, if not outright wicked: Douve and her family, Happine, Nuri, etc. And I bet if we took a few moments, we could probably name a dozen decadent / corrupt / inept / arrogant aristocrats from other stories. I wonder if at least a portion of our negative view of aristocrats comes from modern society’s disdain of formal class systems; the concept of nobles just goes against our egalitarian sensibilities. Amid such figures, Paulette is a refreshingly exemplary noblewoman: responsible, effective, smart, etc. — and with no glaring instances of weirdness, stupidity, or evilness. She challenges our assumptions about aristocrats with realistic complexity.

4. Old Man Sansui makes many wise observations (the Regent also gets some insightful comments), so did you have any favorite life lessons or sage advice dispensed in this story?

Jeskai Angel: “It’s not enough to state the truth. Words are meaningless if the person won’t hear them.” Sansui is right on the money. I’ve spent a long time learning this lesson, as I’ve tried to grow as a writer. We can’t stop at just being right — we must strive to communicate effectively with other people, or else our being right does them no good.

“Other people are just that: other people. I need to focus on my own flaws.” Sansui is adept at critiquing the failings of Douve, Saiga, etc., but he doesn’t lose sight of the reality that he & they are all flawed, fallible humans. To borrow from Jesus’ teaching, we might say Sansui needs to focus on getting the log out of his own eye, not on worrying about the speck in someone else’s eye. He is introspective enough to recognize on several occasions that he could have handled a situation better & that he needs to grow, yet he avoids becoming overly discouraged by his missteps.

“People, not swords, should decide when and why to fight.” This speak to the importance of understanding ends & means properly. A proverbial example would be the non-profit institution that becomes more focused on bringing in money to sustain itself than on whatever good mission the organization started with. Swords are a means to fight, but having a sword does not mean fighting is the goal itself. I think religious people often become fixated on things that should just be means, but get treated as ends unto themselves. Jesus’ rebuke to the Pharisees about tithing garden herbs while neglecting justice & mercy comes to mind.

stardf29: I think I’ll go with this one: “A life obsessed with winning and losing is stifling.” This was Sansui’s advice to Saiga, and he goes on to explain how, for him, it’s more about fixing his own flaws than a desire to “win” or “lose”. Overall I think he has a good point here, in that focusing too much on defeating others is ultimately a desire for constant conflict, and one has to think if that really is the way they want to live.

5. What are your thoughts on the setting of the story and the various events going on in the background?

Jeskai Angel: On first impression, it seems like a fairly generic fantasy world that exists only to aid the story’s critique of isekai tropes. IIRC, that really starts to change when Paulette shows up. She introduces politics and foreign affairs to the story, cluing us in the complicated dynamics between the four Great Houses and the royal family, and also bringing attention to the emigre nobles who fled the revolution in Pseudo-France and how war is brewing. Learning about these broader issues that exist outside of Sansui’s personal orbit helps the world feel richer. My view of the setting was also influence by the Saiga Effect, where after seeing how Saiga was rebuilt into a more realistic character, I started to wonder if the seemingly cliche bland fantasy setting is deeper than it first appears.

On a different note, I eventually realized why the story felt somewhat sparse on world-building details. All but a couple short sections of the book are narrated by Sansui or Saiga, the latter of whom is still fairly new to this world and the former of whom has been here a long time but spent almost all of it in total isolation. There’s probably a TON that our two narrators simply don’t know about the setting, so it makes sense to leave it out of the narrative until there’s a reason for natives of the setting to explain.

Oh, I tweeted about this a while back, but I also found it intriguing that Master Swordsman is one of a number of (relatively) recent (to be translated & published in America) light novels to draw inspiration from the French Revolution. The absolutely amazing Tearmoon Empire is basically time traveling to prevent the French Revolution, and Altina the Sword Princess is aiming to LEAD the French Revolution of her setting. In Master Swordsman, the unnamed neighboring country has suffered civil war, famine, slaughtered aristocrats, overthrown the royal family, seen counter-uprisings against the revolution in some areas, and has the logic of revolution carrying it to embark upon foreign wars. Taken all together, the intended historical parallel seems clear. Interestingly, the revolution is yet to occur in the other two series, but here, the revolution is an accomplished fact, and people in the Arcana Kingdom are stuck dealing with the consequences. Another difference is that the other two series are set in the country where a revolution will / may take place, whereas Master Swordsman takes place in a non-revolutionary kingdom that borders Pseudo France.

stardf29: What stands out to me is what we had mentioned earlier, about how all these overpowered people from another world are messing with established political structures. It definitely sets up an interesting situation domestically, where the royal family is wary of the major noble houses and their “aces,” and it makes me wonder what kind of conflict that will lead to later on. And then there’s the pseudo-French Revolution going on in the next country over, which is intriguing because at this point we don’t really know that much about it. We’re mainly just getting scattered clues as to what’s going on over there, and it’s fun trying to piece those clues together. There’s definitely reason to believe that another “ace” is involved in some way, but other than that, we just have to wait for further volumes.

6. What do you make of the various “romances” in the story so far?

Jeskai Angel: I feel like the romances in the story, at this point, are basically “Schrödinger’s relationship.” They exist in an indeterminate state where they are simultaneously both jokes and serious relationships.

Saiga’s harem is very much used as a source of humor. Douve’s talk of marrying Sansui is a point of humor. Blois herself seems perfectly sincere about her interest in Sansui, but their relationship is still treated as source of levity thanks to the antics of Douve and also His Brothership and His Fathership (like that scene where they express approval for Blois and Sansui to marry while pointedly ignoring Sansui). And of course Douve’s interest in Tahlan is played comedically (e.g., her melodramatic reaction to learning that he’s the brother of Happine’s sister-in-law).

But as with other aspects of the book, there are indications that these relationships may be more than just laughable cliches meant to poke fun at light novel romance conventions. So even if Douve and her family treat Blois and Sansui’s relationship humorously, the two interested parties (and even little Lain!) seem to be perfectly serious about it. Sansui pokes a lot of fun at Saiga’s harem, but the story also treats their relationship more soberly by showing how the girls genuinely care about him and by discussing the practical difficulties a harem romance brings. With Douve and Tahlan, Sansui’s observations about Douve being unfortunate, sad, and desperate strongly suggest that as readers we should see a meaningful dimension to Douve’s interest beyond just Douve being her usual foolish noblewoman self.

All these relationships, or potential relationships, are indeed amusing, but the narrative seems to show that they have (or at least might have) more significant weight than mere jokes. It will be interesting to see where things go from here. Will they all turn into legit romantic relationships? Will none of them? Or might some be handled more seriously while others remain the butt of jokes?

stardf29: Starting off with Saiga and his harem, while it definitely starts off as a joke, there does seem to be a more serious side here. In particular, we see how Saiga is warned that people will not be as accepting of a Hex User as one of his girls, despite how he wants to treat her as on equal standing as the other two girls. And as for those other two, one of them is the lady of a major noble house and the other is a foreign princess, so that could have all sorts of interesting political implications. The key thing here is that Saiga genuinely loves and cares about all of them, which means he’s invested in protecting his relationships despite whatever reality has to say about it. There’s definitely potential for some interesting effects as a result, so I say this is something to keep an eye on.

With Lady Douve and Tahlan, I just think they’re a nice couple. Douve shows a nice bit of vulnerability with how she doesn’t want to be married off as a political tool, and I’m glad she has this chance to find love on her own (if she manages to get past the implication of being tangentially related to her greatest rival). Let’s just hope her father and brother don’t try to mess things up too much…

Now, as for Sansui and Blois… this one definitely intrigues me. On Blois’s side, we see how strongly she feels about Sansui that even the news that he’s an Immortal over half a century old doesn’t change her feelings, and she’s willing to deal with Sansui’s lack of feelings for her. On Sansui’s side, though… as I mentioned before, I have to wonder how much Sansui’s lack of romantic interest, along with his lack of hunger and desire in general, is a loss of his humanity. (I want to differentiate this from actual asexuality; I do not mean to imply that not having sexual attraction means you are any less “human”; Sansui is a special case because he also lost other desires like hunger, and it came about as a result of his Immortal training.) I’m definitely curious if Sansui will regain some semblance of romantic desire later on, or if maybe he will remain as he is and accept a relationship for more practical purposes like giving Lain a mother.

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And that’s our discussion for this month! Leave your own answers to the above questions in the comments.

As a reminder, our next Light Novel Club discussion is on Spice and Wolf, Vol. 2! It will be posted on April 23rd, so if you’re looking for something to do while under lockdown, why not give it a read?

[everyfairydies]

We All Go A Little Mad Sometimes Part IV

One-Shot Rating: 18+ Characters: John & Dean Winchester; Sabbath Nolyreux SPN Timeline: Pre-Series Warnings: Obscene language, violence, torture, and adult themes Prompt: Sabbath’s sweet personality hides a dark insanity Disclaimer: I know, I know, vampires were an unknown to Dean and Sam until later in the series. I’m smudging the canon a little. Deal with it.

It was a miserably cold night, and both men were chilled bone-deep as they moved through the woods. They’d spent the day at Sabbath’s place, a four-bedroom house she claimed belonged to a family friend. When Sabbath banned them from the kitchen, John researched the location the girl’s body was found, the abandoned farm west of the town. He’d told Dean they were going to check it out, and here they were. Dean hoped his dad would give it up soon, he wanted to get back to his warm bed in his warm room. A raggedly dressed man raced through the field, away from the house, and headed for the woods. There he would find cover, there he could hide. Find a way back to the road, hitchhike his way into town. When he reached the edge of the wood, he didn’t slow, but crashed in at full speed, ignoring the branches that clutched and tore at him, scratching his exposed limbs and face. He started to slow, thinking surely there was no way anyone could have caught up with him. A voice called softly from his left. “Brian.” He turned so fast he fell face down into a pile of rotting leaves. As he scrambled to his feet, he heard the voice call again, louder. “Briiiiiian.” Dean and John heard the name echo through the wood and froze, weapons ready. They exchanged a look, and listened, trying to locate the source of the voice. Regaining his feet, Brian ran in the opposite direction of where he thought the voice was coming from.   “You can run, but you can’t hi-e-ide!” The voice sang sweetly in the night.   John motioned Dean to move to his left, as fast and as silently as possible. After a few meters, Dean noticed they were coming up to a small clearing, the moonlight bright through the trees. As he pointed it out to his dad, they saw a figure stumble into the clearing. Brian stumbled into the clearing, looking back over his shoulder. He turned back to the clearing and skidded to a halt as a woman appeared out of nowhere, less than a foot in front of him. “Boo!”   Brian sank to his knees before her, his head lowered as he started to cry faintly. “Oh, sh-sh-shhh,” the woman kneeled down slightly, wrapping her arms around Brian’s head and rocking him gently. “I know, I know.” Dean circled around the side of the clearing, stopping when he was at the woman’s ten o’clock. He moved right to the edge of the trees, and nearly gave himself away by gasping aloud when he realised the woman was Sabbath. “It’s been so terrible for you, Brian, hasn’t it?” Sabbath said gently, Brian still sobbing quietly in her arms. “All alone in that empty house, boarded up with no way out. Not even a basic chair to sit on.” She fell silent and kept rocking him. “And you can’t trust the food, can you? Who knows what’s been put in it, or how fresh it is. Or where it was harvested from. Is it normal, delicious, nutritious blood, or is it dead man’s blood? I couldn’t tell, could you?” Brian lowered his arms slightly, looked up at Sabbath and shook his head. “No. No way of knowing.” She continued, her voice quietly sympathetic. “But you deserve it, don’t you? You deserve all of it, and worse.” Her mouth twisted in a chill smile as she leaned closer to him and spoke softly in his ear. “You didn’t really think you got out of there by yourself, did you?” Brian jerked, and he froze, his features twisted in a look of horror as he lifted his face to meet her eyes. Sabbath’s low chuckle circled around the clearing, worming its way into his brain and lodging there. He shuddered, remembering the last time he’d heard that laugh. “I would have thought a predator such as yourself would recognise a trap when it was set before him.” She said conversationally. “But apparently not.” She straightened to her full height, standing tall above him, an avenging angel bathed in the crisp moonlight. “So what do I do with you now?” She mused.   “Let me go,” Brian pleaded with her. “Let you go?” Sabbath imitated his words, tone, and facial expression. “Let you go?” Her features hardened as she gripped his head between her hands, fingers digging into his scalp. “Let you go?!” She screamed in his face. “Let you go like you let her go? Remember, Brian? Dear little Samantha, whom you tortured and terrorised and terrified? You let her wake up in the cold arms of her dead mother, whom you and your worthless bitches drank dry in the night.” Dean stared, transfixed by the scene before him. The pitiful man on his knees, begging for mercy, that was a vampire? Sabbath had captured him, and tortured him, by herself? As she stood there gripping the vampire’s head, Dean kept waiting for her to squeeze it to a bloody pulp. He had no doubt that she could do it. Her rage was tangible, and focused entirely on the creature before her. Dean half-expected him to spontaneously combust in the heat of the rage pouring from the depths of her soul. “You kidnapped her best friend in the middle of the night, stealing her from her bed and draining her, before feeding her body to the dogs,” Sabbath snarled, her eyes burning. “Turned her living father into an abusive alcoholic, before turning him into one of you, making him attack her, almost kill her. You broke her spirit than broke her mind and laughed all the while.” She punched him in the head, as hard as she could. She felt the skin on her knuckles split and start to bleed, heard the crunch as one broke against his skull, but didn’t feel any pain. She was too far gone in her own rage. “Let you go?” She yelled. “When you haven’t even begun to pay? I’m going to hurt you in ways not even you thought up in over one hundred years of existence.” She bared her teeth in a rictus grin, staring into his eyes, their faces barely an inch apart. “I’ll take you back to that house and lock you in. I’ll leave you alone for weeks on end, and when I do come to visit, to give you the blood you need to keep existing, I’ll take my payment.” She held one of her throwing knives up to his eye, the blade long and sharp. “I’ll burst your eye; you’ll feel it ooze down your face. Then I’ll slice your tongue over and over with a razor, as far back into your throat as I can reach. I’ll blast heavy metal through speakers you can’t find at full volume, flood the house with the scent of burned hair and scorched flesh, each room lit by flashing strobe lights, keeping you awake for days on end until all your senses are so overloaded you’ll be trying to peel your own skin off. I’ll rip off your-“ A figure tore out the woods, a blade flashed in the moonlight, and Sabbath found herself holding Brian’s severed head in her hands. She stared into his dead eyes as his body slumped to the side. She slowly looked up at Dean who stood with chest heaving, the machete blade in his hand dripping blood.   Dean blanched when he saw Sabbath’s eyes. They were wide, wild, burning. She wasn’t just angry, she wasn’t acting solely out of vengeance. She was mad as a March Hare. “You killed him,” she said it so quietly Dean almost didn’t hear her.   “Yes.” Dean admitted warily. “You killed him quick. Painless. Why?” “It was enough-“ “You’re on their side, aren’t you?” Sabbath accused him.   “What?” Dean exclaimed, incredulous. “No!”   “Yes, you are. You’re on their side. That’s why you killed him. You granted him mercy.” Her eyes narrowed and Dean took a half-step back. “He didn’t deserve mercy!” She screamed and launched herself at him.  

Dean raised his arms, trying to fend her off, but Sabbath was completely out of control. As she screamed at him, accusing him of being on the side of the monsters, she pummelled him with the severed head in her hands. Dean turned his face aside and determined he would keep his mouth closed, desperate not to swallow any of the blood spattering from the head as she hit him with it. His stomach churned and he worked to keep himself from puking as the head became more battered and bloody.   Sabbath adjusted her grip, grasping the head’s long pony-tailed hair in one hand. She leaned back and whipped it at Dean, screaming at him incoherently. She was so focused on hurting Dean that she didn’t notice when John came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her off of Dean. Sabbath failed wildly, snarling, trying to tear herself out of John’s arms, straining towards Dean and clawing at the air with her hands. John grabbed her arms, trying to talk her down, but she just kept screaming. John threw her away from him, and before she could regain her feet, he punched her as hard as he could. She shook her head to clear it and, growling, launched herself at John, trying to push past him to get at Dean. It took another two hits before she finally went down. John, more shaken than he’d admit, stepped over to where Dean dragged himself to his feet. His head and shoulders were covered in blood, and John thought it best not to mention the small scraps of flesh that had ripped off the vampire’s head and stuck to his face. He reached out and steadied his son. “You ok?”   Dean nodded. “Oh yeah,” he croaked, “never better.” He stumbled a few steps away from his dad, fell to his knees, and threw up.