#and that led to early 10s nostalgia and by the time that comes back into fashion will the nostalgia problem be worse or will something have

[moondirti]

10. RESILIENCE

CHAPTER TEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter nine / chapter eleven ⇀

summary: miguel gives you something to work for

explicit (18+) | 5.1k words warnings: enemies (with benefits) to lovers, SMUT, fingering, praise kinks, edging, miguel is a tease, training arcs, using sex as encouragement, strict mentor miguel, angst, blood and injury notes: this is just five thousand words of banter and filth. am i sorry?

You’ve never been one to reminisce. 

Nostalgia, déjà vu – to pull a sweet memory often feels like trying to fish a lightbulb out from the traps of your jaw. Impossible, not unless the glass shatters to cut your gums and you’re left with the bitter aftertaste of tungsten. There’s a barrier preventing it, somewhere in your mind, built to divide your life into two clean segments. Before and after.

The woman you were before the incident at Alchemax had plenty to look forward to. She spent her time shooting way beyond her ground to ever consider slowing down, lured by aspirations far more tempting than the comfortable life she led. Had she stopped to smell the flowers, to appreciate the way lavender lotion felt on her skin or the past not yet marked with blood, you believe things could have gone differently. That too is hard to consider.

The girl you are now is ripe with rot, softening in the places touched by radiation, crystallising in others. To bring anything – a voice, a face, any memory ­­– back from your previous life would mean spoiling it, so you keep it all banked behind that wall. And of course, from the year past, there’s hardly anything new to recall with a smile.

Had you been anyone else, you suppose this could’ve been one of those rare times.

Because the gym is unchanged, exactly as you left it. Realistically, it’s only been a week, and to expect any major upheaval would be counting on a tragedy like the one that befell your Earth. Yet­–

Somehow, you believed that coming back could paint it in a new light. Like the ground would collapse where you took him, and the mirrors would crack, all to expose an element you’d failed to consider. One to help you take comfort in the fact, despite your reckless tryst, you’re still here. Returned – which means that all your worst worries were needless, and that this is just a gym, and you are just a person. Perhaps, if you were to pace around that gaping realisation, then your anxiety would give away to thrill.

Would’ve. Could’ve.

It still looks like the roots of your most recent mistake, though. Your tummy knots with it, tangled in that dermal tissue. You’re overcome with the urge to run, in an almost exact mirror of the last you were here. The air brims with promise; not the well-heeled kind, but a twisted sort that makes it hard to breathe. You’re afraid that, whatever happens today, things will only get more complicated. You won’t handle it well if it does.

You’ve never been one to reminisce. This morning, it is all you can do.

When eventually it gets too much to bear, you search for something else while you wait. You’d come early, right out of your third shower of the weekend, to counter the warning he’d given you.

(‘Don’t be late.’)

Shivering, you zip your jacket before arranging your things on the entryway bench. You avoid your reflection on the mirror-lined wall, turning to face the machinery instead. They aren’t conventional, you notice – though a shelf holds an array of dumbbells, they run up to twice the average weights found elsewhere. There’s a frame resembling a medieval torture device; two hand pull mechanisms on either side, both of which are attached to a tower of barbells. To try pulling both up simultaneously would rip an unenhanced human apart, you think. It certainly would come close in doing so to you.

Of the bunch, your least favourite has to be the leg press sent from hell. That’s what you assume it is, at least. In truth, you can’t exactly tell. With a plate large enough to cover your entire lower half, wedged underneath approximately forty thick slabs of solid steel, the pressure alone would be enough to crush you.

You remain firmly within the confines of the hand-to-hand combat mat. Safe, if not somewhat weird for your foul misuse of it in the past. 

But your unease is heavy enough to diffuse into your fingertips now. Your knuckles shake with it, and you must do something lest you start clawing away at your palms.

Stretching, maybe.

Yeah. Stretching would be good.

You start with what you know. The familiarity is agreeable enough to lose yourself to it. Five minutes pass; you’re bent into a low lunge. Ten, and you’re forcing your knees to touch the floor in a butterfly spread. Fifteen is when your tendons start to tremble with a warm ache, when you finally feel loose enough to relent and take a quick rest.

It turns out to be fortunate timing. The door swings upon not a moment later, the atmosphere sinking to accommodate the gravity of his presence. You catch his shadow from the top of your peripheral, hanging upside down as it appears from your point of view – laying on your back with your head slightly tipped.

You can’t see his face, and therefore have nothing to occupy yourself with. In its absence, you’re forced to consider the uncomfortable parallel your position draws forth. The only thing missing are his thick thighs, straddling your chest with subdued strength.

Swallowing, you flip around to settle on your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows to take a good look at him. Last night, eyes hot and cloudy with tears, you refused to do yourself the favour in fear that his allure would only exacerbate things. You begin to understand the sentiment when your gaze locks to his.

“Morning.”

“You’re late,” You attempt to joke, grimacing at the awkward timing. The beam on which your relationship stands is precarious, possibly even more so than when you’d been plain-cut enemies. Everything is painted in grey, and it’s near impossible to discern where one boundary branches and the other ends. The confidence with which you once divulged in your humour is lost within the midst – your best bet is to cling to whatever instinct feels right.

Miguel nods, eyebrows raising in tandem to his languid shrug. There’s an almost playful beat to the way he walks, lined perfectly with the perimeter of the mat. You take note of his chosen apparel – his spider suit, perfectly complete save for the mask. A swell akin to disappointment rises within you.

“That expectation is solely reserved for you, fortunately.”

“I see. I suppose heroes have much better things to do, then.”

“Fate of the multiverse,” He waves his wrist, like the barb is easily dismissed. With what you’ve gathered about the man, you’re aware that’s far from the truth. “I still have things to tend to, beyond your containment.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” With the way he’s pursued you – relentless, a panther trapped in a box with an immaterial mouse as its meal – you’d have thought he’d delegated all other responsibilities to his trusted teammates in order to make time for it all. “Coming back from a mission?”

He traipses closer, blinking slowly in the affirmative. Unconsciously, you wiggle away.

“Successful, I take it?” You prod. “That an oddity for you, O’Hara?”

“The opposite.” He mutters, assessing your resting stance with mild intrigue. Your neck throbs with the angle it takes to peer up at him, again prompting a reminder of your last combat session. To quell it, you shift to sit on your knees.

Then, you imagine how your adjustment must look. Worse, likely. Wanton.

(Caveats seem to exist in abundance with him. There is always a but to your actions, a perspective to consider lest you want another misunderstanding.)

“My case being the exception?”

“As it continues to be.”

“I’m here though,”

“You are.” He pauses, inflection softening, as though the argument were fresh news. You half anticipate praise – a recognition of the effort it took for you to return. You’d spent your sleep after coming down that rooftop in a half-conscious state, reaching beyond your feverish dreams to grasp at whatever motivation you had left. You find, the longer he goes without mentioning it, the greater it begins to wane. Like a dying star, sputtering the last dregs of its fuel.

“Early too, I should mention.” You simper. For most intended purposes, it’s a crack at him, a push for the levity today so desperately needs. Yet another, lower part of you already mouths the response you wish to hear.

Good job.   

He doesn’t give it to you. “Which brings me to the topic today’s lesson,”

“As a precaution, I should tell you that any of the equipment will likely kill me.” You disclose, if only to brush off the disillusionment, pointing in particular to the leg press. 

“We’re not just there yet.”

“Then…”

“You want to know why you failed to pin me down when I asked you to?” He crouches, levelling to a degree closer to your eye-line. Still taller, you note. You steel yourself against shrinking back.

“Because you threw me off.”

“No.” His jaw ticks. “If you had kept with your attack, then you would’ve managed.”

You haven’t given yourself the opportunity to consider the reality of your clumsy attempt. The conversation lulls to make room for your contemplation. You’d thrown yourself onto him ­– like a glorified backpack – and were too wrapped up in your own panic that you hadn’t noticed his. With hindsight, though, it’s clear as day. He’s right, you could’ve managed. “But I faltered.”

“Exactly.” He echoes. “You didn’t stand your ground, which gave me the opening.”

It occurs to you that he doesn’t know the scope of your supposed error. It had really been the effect of his borderline aphrodisiacal cologne, potent and a dangerous addition to the vertigo that came with being jostled around. You consider pointing it out, a desperate last bid to disprove the very true argument he’s making, until he interrupts:

“Face down, forearms and toes on the floor.”

Your heart clenches with a febrile panic, blood piping hot through your veins at the same rate that your brain detangles the command behind his words. Either you’re debauched beyond reason, or it registers as filthy because he meant it to be. And where you’d usually rely on context, the murky limits of your relationship makes it hard to comprehend. You wipe your sweaty palms on your pants and decide that the former is the more plausible option.

(Or you can’t admit to yourself how badly you want the latter to be true.)

Either way, you do as Miguel says.

Once across the ground again, you’re able to better process the direction he’s taking you in. A plank: he’s asking you to do a plank. Ironically, you dread it more than you would’ve done the alternative.

You keep your pelvis to the mat, not yet exercising your core strength. He carries on.

“You lack resilience. Not only are you unable to withstand struggle, you don’t think to recover when you eventually fall.” The barbed observations hurt, striking you where you’re tender. It’s the part of you that’s always dissected everything he does into small, digestible pieces, but has failed to realise that he might’ve been doing the same in turn. “The first mark of a hero is their resilience. For you, that means pitting what you want to do against what you need to do.”

Another strike. You’d poked fun at his philosophical approach before, but it’s starting to make sense. Perhaps that fact alone should scare you.

Perhaps it does.

(What you want versus what you need.

Is that what you owe the world, then? Self-sacrifice – some bloody atonement – like you haven’t already bitten tooth and nail in guilt?)

“So, you’re going to make me plank?” You snap.

“I’m going to make you hold a plank. I won’t define a duration; you’ll just have to keep on until I tell you to stop.”

“O’Hara, not to question the metaphor you’ve got going on, but what could I possibly want from that?” 

“I’ve only witnessed you work hard for one thing.” He explains. It takes on a different tone than the one he’s been using thus far, though. Gentler, well-versed in the ways of a veterinary placating a feral cat. He’s treading lightly, you can tell that much, but for what you’re not sure. Because you’re close to walking out again, or because he’s about to broach unmarked territory. Whatever it is, it reads as condescending. Your muscles start to tense, like a taut elastic ready to snap, and your critique sharpens for what he’ll suggest next. “I won’t assume, and with what it can do as a form of encouragement, it’s important that you agree.”

“Spit it out.”

He doesn’t know you; you tell yourself. You’ve given him a lot of your worst, and maybe he can decipher a few truths from that, but he does not know you. You repeat the mantra over and over like a soothing balm, attempting to tamp your frantic confusion at this whole ordeal. 

“I’ll touch you. Return the favour, goad you along – but only for as long as you’re able to hold it. Drop, and I’ll stop. Pick yourself back up, I’ll continue.”

Oh.

Oh.

“When I feel as though you’ve met today’s goal, you can cum.”

And then he goes quiet. Deathly still, pouring his scrutiny into your wide eyes like he can read every thought that fires within you. But he wouldn’t be, because there are none. You don’t think. Can’t. It’s absolutely the last thing you could’ve predicted, a declaration so far removed from your worst-case-scenario that it sends you reeling beyond your flesh. You’re watching yourself in third person, a voyeur to the blubbering spectacle of Wraith – blanched and warm and entirely empty-headed. It’s unfathomable, disconcerting. 

Then, to make matters worse, you laugh.

In a manner completely unbecoming of the seriousness you’d opted to take this whole thing with, you laugh.

A crowing, boisterous sound of relief that crackles through your chest like lightning. You have to heave huge gulps of air in between to be able to respond. “You’re serious,”  

A dark eyebrow raises, the corner of his mouth curling with it. He must find it funny too, and for that you’re thankful. The mere notion injects a molten buzz into your gut. “Yes.”

“So… What – you’re insinuating a mentorship… with benefits situation?”

“No.” He shakes his head, like the title is any more ridiculous than the fact. “I’m giving you the option. You can’t trust your encouragement alone, so take it as something to look forward to. Something to work for. With it, you’ll be able to tell when you’re on the right track.”

“You’re going to Pavlov me into becoming a hero.”

He blinks. You meant it as a joke, though he seems to be taking it into account.

“If you don’t-”

“I want to.”

It’s said so quickly that you regret not faking a moment of deliberation. Really, though, there are only three things that occur to you:

Your contrition following last time was solely based on your fear of having overstepped.

The bottomless itch in you demanding some sort of recognition for your efforts remains unaddressed.

And him. It’s such an abstract reason that you can’t exactly name its contribution to your answer. Just that it’s him who’s asking; patchouli infused, broad-shouldered and stubborn Miguel O’Hara. The same man who you’d bet your life on wanting nothing to do with you, whose claw marks still scar the flesh above your wrist, whose venom still undoubtedly lingers in your system – making itself familiar with the chambers of your heart, that which you yourself can’t map. The very same man you can imagine being a father to adoring little children, because despite all the evidence to your feud, he’s also the same man who answered your curiosity about the 2099 space station with patience. Who’d cradled your neck between that rubble and refrains from calling you Wraith since you expressed your distaste for it.

Who felt so heavy on your tongue, pulsing and so fucking thick you wake up some mornings to the phantom feel of it stretching your lips.

Desire begins to gnaw up your bones. Changing your mind now would be the most blatant betrayal of oneself.

(What was it you promised earlier; to cling to whatever instinct feels right?)

“Extend your legs then.” He doesn’t let you dwell on it. “That means hips off the floor.”   

You adjust yourself into a proper plank position. Or, less than proper. Miguel takes several issues with it, rising from his crouch.

“Your elbows are too wide apart.” His foot nudges your arm until you bring it parallel to the other, straight beneath your shoulders. “Evenly distribute your weight to your forearms and toes. Everywhere else should be rigid.”

“Like this?” You turn to assess his expression. Already your lungs clench in exhaustion – this isn’t as fun as you thought it’d be.

“Of course not. Stop trying to look at me. Face down, you’ll hurt your neck like that.” The air swooshes and you assume he’s crouched back down, near your middle. A large hand grazes your belly. It tickles. “Contract it.”

You try to, but the slightest movement causes him to come in contact with you again. It’s over your jacket, just the barest of touches, yet it’s enough to make your form go weak. Your legs almost give out.

“Sorry– Just…” You huff a nervous laugh, adjusting yourself the second his warmth pulls away.

“Not just your abdomen, but your glutes too. You should feel like the rope in a game of tug-of-war. Full body tension.” You tune in to every syllable, triggered into every command like a well-rigged machine. “Yeah, that’s it.”

The acknowledgement makes you preen. It must affect your stance too, because he promptly clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“Most importantly, you don’t want this.”

And he finds the small of your back – right where your ass curves upward – to guide you back down, completely straight. His hand doesn’t leave you afterward, either, warm enough that you can make out the contours of it through body heat alone. Somehow, it stirs you even more.

Your groan is so pained that you hope it’s from exhaustion and not pining. “How much longer?”

“Really?” He deadpans.

“I feel like I’m going to collapse.” Your hips dip.

“I haven’t started the timer yet.”

His fingers slide along your pelvis, tracing it around the curve of your waist, down to where you’re sinking. Then, he lifts you back into place – anchored right above your pubic region. His press now is firmer, nudging into your flesh with the pads of his fingertips, and you can’t help the nauseous thrill arising where they do. They brush beneath your baggy top, skimming the precarious edge where your pants’ hem dives to skin.

You feel like the pages of an old book, flipped through an array of different scenes.

The first and most blatant is the discomfort that starts seizing control of you. Miguel insists you haven’t begun, but your unfit body is already suffering from positioning alone. Contracting your muscles proves harder by the moment, fragility skipping along the tissue until you’re convinced of the temptation to just let go. Your feet are unbalanced, and the unforgiving ground does a number on your elbows. The thin sheen of sweat beading across your hairline can only aggravate your suffocation, not cool you down as needed.

What’s harder to focus on – for all its monopoly on your mind – is how intentional his caress is. Every shift of his hand is practised, hovering right around where you need him but never doing anything about it. If he hadn’t admitted his course of action, then you would have tricked yourself into calling it professionalism. But while you can’t see him, his smirk is almost palpable – like humidity that makes a temporary home in your lungs – and you’re confident enough in it that you’re able to name him a tease. He’s teasing you.

The amalgamation of it all sends you into overdrive. You’ve only begun and you’re already yelling.  

“The timer!”

“You’re making it worse for yourself, you know.” He says, though moves to fiddle with his watch. 

“You’re a little shit, y’know.” But he’s right. Talking amplifies the fatigue.

“I’ll add that to the list. Right next to cocky bastard.”

“Don… Don’t forget sadist–”

“Hm,”

And, as if to emphasise its inapplicability, he cups you.

From behind. Dips his fingers in the space between your thighs, winds them to the front of your groyne, and palms your clothed cunt. 

Your skin prickles. 

“Fuck!”

Static envelops your arms as they phase right through the floor – momentum stopped only by your chin, which remains corporeal. If it weren’t for your tongue, which slips to wedge itself between your teeth, then you’re sure your jaw would have shattered on impact. Ichor floods your mouth, sharp, like butter melted on a penny. You groan, rolling around to rapidly blink up at the ceiling, purging the stars speckling your vision. 

Miguel just looks at you, expectant. His biceps flex when they cross over his chest. 

“That was four seconds.” 

“Oh, pleath. Thpare me the lecture,” Upon sitting up, you spit the blood out to your empty side. Your limbs have already reverted back to their natural state. “Not that you care, but it still counts as a personal record.”

“Go figure.” He mutters, helping you back into place. He doesn’t have to correct your posture this time. “Back to zero.” 

Silence follows the beep of his watch. 

Really, it’s more of a mental hush. You force your mind to scour all preoccupations to the backlog, cleansing the forefront of it to steam-pressed sterility. What had caught you off guard was your lacking focus on the physical; if you had been aware of the smallest movements coming from behind, then perhaps his touch wouldn’t have prompted you to phase out. You hadn’t even noticed his gloves retracting into his suit. 

Your tongue is still sore with incisor shaped indents, and you vow not to repeat the mistake that caused it. 

So, you focus on what’s happening rather than what could. Baby steps, one second after the next, waddling until you find a gait that suits your rhythm. When anything but your abdomen aches, you readjust. Your shoulder joints aren’t supposed to tense like that – you can almost hear him say – so you work on fixing it. If your toes begin to hurt, then clench your calves. Dig your nails into a fist, it helps take away from everything else. 

The air conditioning unit hums evenly from all around you. The echoes of other spider-people outside filter in with it. The combat mat has a vinyl surface that zips when you scratch it. The material of his suit smooths tacitly across your jacket. Your breath is as consistent as you allow it to be, stunted when you exhale. 

Your sweat is itchy as it dries to your lip. Your ribs pound where they fractured a while ago. Sinew wears down the longer you continue to flex it. He flicks the trim of your leggings, stroking the valley of your spine. Your palms split as your nails plough further into them, marked with crescent-shaped beads of red. 

Varicoloured motes float by your nose. Somewhere, hitchhiking on your train of thought, there’s a confusion. No stream of sunlight exists to highlight them. They shouldn’t be here at all. 

But then Miguel slips in, ironing over your cotton panties. Your whole body knits together, bracing like a compressed spring. There’s nothing you can do without making him stop, no jump or grand feat that promises release. You can’t even see the finish line, the marker an uncapturable notion, a rainbow moving away at your same speed. So, instead, you revel in how unwavering he is. 

His hand strokes over the line of your ass, about to push downward to where you need him most, before deciding against it.  

To pinch a cheek. 

He… pinches the swell of fat, right where your rear curves to your hamstrings.

It’s rough enough that you’re sure you’ll bruise. 

“Nmmgf–” You sulk. “Don… Y– T-tease.” 

“Se te olvidó. Squeeze your glutes.”

The sarcastic yes sir dies in your throat. Your face is aflame – from the work out, his ministrations, the revelation that when he reaches your cunt, he’ll be greeted with a humiliating mess. Your thighs are spread apart, yet your underwear still slides over your core, jostled by his intrusion and too slick to provide any real friction. 

That is, until he nips the fabric to bunch up between your lips. It stresses over your clit, biting down on the fattening pressure there. Pleasure tremors up your nerves, unsure of its validity under such an unfamiliar sensation. Your subsequent moan is almost miserable in contrast.

“P-Ple… O’H-ra.” To punctuate your plea, you purse your bottom as hard as you can. A physical signal, a question – is this good? Is it not enough? But all that manages to do is worsen your lust. Adding to the fire tenfold, potent as a gallon of petrol. You try to remain steadfast in the face of it all – this calamity, bombs upturning battlefield soil, to keep yourself in the position he’s asked of you.

But fuck if it isn’t punishing. 

“Mierda– that’s it.” He curses. You’re at the point where it’s enough praise to urge you along. “You’re soaked.” 

You hadn’t noticed his index and middle digits, finally fondling over your hole. Fabric still separates you, bunched tight right over the weeping thing, but as you hold out, he moves it to the side. It snaps away like he’s vocally ordered it to stay that way, his whims laws of physics in their own right, and you use that skewed rationale to supply the basis to your obedience. You couldn’t have done this alone – in no universe, of the hundreds you’ve visited, have you ever thought of it. You’d purchased gym memberships for their showers and walked right past the purpose. In your own world, you’d wasted your limited free time in strangers’ beds.

There’s always been a deficit of purpose in your life. For a brief moment, you’d found it in the stars. Now, with Miguel, you’re granted every ounce you might’ve missed in between, if only to experience what it would be like to unravel by his touch. 

And he leads you to it like he’s been trained in your precise anatomy. Blunt fingers implant onto your electric centre – that bundle of nerves overfed by the edging – circling, harsh and rough and fast enough to spike wrecked sobs. Your eyes cloud with desperation, foggy tears budding at your lashes and flowering down your sweat-slicked cheeks. His thumb responds, thrumming along your opening to test its elasticity. Upon deeming you ready, it dives to plug you shut. 

It’s delicious. You’re beyond delirious. He’s got a grip on you in every way; spiritually, his philosophy for today echoing as your only tether to reality. Mentally, with his stupid fucking lesson and this god-forsaken plank. Physically, strong arm literally hooked into your cunt and coaxing new slick with every quirk of his fingers. 

Which press down with a vengeance now, bearing on a trillion little synapses that flare up, liquifying your guts into a viscous substance, heavy as it sloshes around in you. Everything is screwed in, bolted to the same position he asked for – you don’t dare let go. Not as your heart stutters out of beat, finding the pace he dictates instead, flicking over your clit unhinged. Not when the digit that fingers your clinch twirls in place, searching for the lewd sounds it can create. Or with the following squelch, your lungs flaring – embarrassed – at every consecutive one thereafter.

He’s talking, whispering, goading you along. You can’t hear any of it. Either dirty talk or reprimand, it’s lost amidst your self-doubt. 

Because truthfully, you can’t persevere through this much longer. The tunnel continues to unroll before you, the light at the end waning dimmer and dimmer. How wonderfully poetic, you brood; your whole spider-hood spent chasing salvation, navigating through one purgatory to the next, only to lose sight of your little prelude to heaven. 

You want this – so much so that the word begins to blur with need, and Miguel’s lesson gains more relevance. You want this so bad that you’d worship every atom, every callus of his, from cuticle to elbow. 

(Resilience. Resilience. Resilience.) 

What you want and what you need. 

Which is which, again? 

You can let yourself go now, suffer through a shameful orgasm by collapsing to the floor and holding his wrist still to fuck yourself onto. It isn’t so much about that anymore, though – that pure sexual gratification, the most basic of requirements. 

It’s about the thing you’ve been wishing for the whole morning. Approval, the cue that you earned it, filtered through his encouragement alone. Not the physicality that manifests as a screeching voice inside your head, but his own – unadulterated, smoke-charred, the slightest of accents scorching its edges. And whether you like it or not, you can only gain it by enduring this test.

(He walked into this gym with the assumption that you’d want your way, and need his. 

Funny, how things turn out. It’s completely the opposite.

Perhaps he does not know you at all.) 

But he sees you. 

Watches the rigidity of your muscles, how they stiffen further given your newfound resolve. Observes as you smear bloody palms onto your wrists, and sniff back the cries you’ve let rip thus far. Your heels straighten out, ninety degrees to the arch, your head ducking to ensure your torso is as straight as can be. You hardly feel the pain anymore. 

And you see him. 

Or – the vague shape of his hand, tucked beneath your leggings. It’s dark, shadowed by the overhead fluorescents, but the bump is big enough for you to pinpoint when exactly he makes his decision. It halts, breaks away a smidge, and comes back with a renewed vigour.

“Can I!” 

“Go.” He permisses. 

(And it’s cataclysmic; both everything and nothing all at once. The bout of deathly quiet before matter meets antimatter, where magnets lose their function and you think you can hear the pitter patter of a pulse, erratic at your wrist. And when the ground rocks, trembling with an explosive magnitude, mass converting entirely to energy. When you roll into a ball of fear–)

You wind impossibly tighter, all but forcing his fingers from you. It’s terrifyingly strong; your orgasm wrecks you not in ripples, but as one metre-high wave, floodgates open to the mat beneath you.

(–and your best to embrace a quick death.)

Miguel aids you down to lay on your back. When he lifts his wrist to check the set stopwatch, his hand glistens with your juices. You're compelled to wipe it off, raptured by humility like he isn’t the one that just fingered you into oblivion.

“Two minutes.” He says. “Good.”

“That… that was only one-twenty seconds?” 

“Talk about a personal record.”  You huff. “Shut up.”

chapter eleven

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[itsclydebitches]

I honestly have no idea how they intend to greenlight volume 10 if it's not been greenlit already. They've announced the final season of Red vs Blue and a lot of early day fans are in agreement that the end of RvB is the signaling of the end of RT in general. It's their second biggest money maker next to RWBY. After this new season, it's over. What do they do next? Do RT really believe that RWBY is popular enough to coast on for another decade? It'll be a miracle if it lasts even one more year.

Their viewership has been on a decline since Volume 6, they've abused so much of their animation department that there's almost no one left, most of their VA talent for RWBY's popular characters aren't coming back due to all the controversies, any spinoffs or soft reboots or whatever keep going back to the Beacon era and don't really do much to help with the overall problems that are down to the roots of the company.

They even made their biggest ship that kept what few fans are left canon and put out half assed merch that sold out in minutes, and somehow they still haven't managed to find enough money to greenlight another volume?

If they somehow miraculously get Volume 10 made, it's probably going to be the last.

The last few years of RWBY have really highlighted for me how challenging it is to define "popularity" and "success" nowadays. Granted, a good chunk of that is simply my own ignorance about how the production side of things are run, but it nevertheless feels like there's this intense level of ambiguity that wasn't there in the past (or at least wasn't as obvious). Fandom itself has always been an unreliable source because depending on the corner of the internet you're in, you can get a wildly skewed perspective without engaging with everything that contradicts how "good" or "bad" you think things are going. As you say, merch sells out in minutes, yet neither the finances nor the implied security of that seems to be enough to land another Volume. There are questions about whether this could be a marketing scheme, wherein Volume 10's future is simply being kept under wraps to drum up interest. There's the question of whether popularity matters at all when we've got companies cancelling and pulling undoubtedly successful shows, all according to their own, long-term algorithms. On the one hand the information surrounding RT is all about the abuse of their workers, another scandal, how this might all tie into the strikes... and yet most of this is nothing new and RWBY has still secured movies, a soft reboot, comics, and books. I agree completely with your list above of all the ways in which the series is struggling (massively) and yet RWBY has been "dying" for half its run-time. So is this the final nail in the coffin—the inevitable ending that's been a long time coming—or just another year where the fandom unintentionally cries wolf?

I'm not so naive as to believe that things were actually simple 'back in the day'—that's the nostalgia talking—but it still seems like things were simpler in comparison to what we've got now. TV and its media equivalents used to be—or at least felt like—a fairly straightforward journey of airing, ratings, syndication, cancellation, renewal, and then (eventually) the viewer securing a copy for themselves via VHS and DVDs. Now it's like, "What do I do with the newbie webseries eventually bought up by a major corporation and moved from a free watch, to a company-specific streaming watch, to a different, more expensive streaming watch, all of which has led to a decade of success with various spinoffs, but apparently this webseries still isn't making enough money to continue? Regardless, it and everything else I love to watch is inching more and more towards digital-only copies, a status that is inherently nerve-wracking, which means that if it does suddenly crash and burn (given that this is one of two series keeping the original company afloat) circulating this story and maintaining the fandom will be that much harder."

I find that depressing and I'm someone who thinks RWBY is pretty awful right now. I can't imagine what that ambiguity and the state of streaming media in 2023 feels like to fans still in love with the show.

So yeah. Idk how they intend to greenlight Volume 10 either.

#rwde #rwby #mymetas

[odysseys-blood]

ASK GAME 1-10, TELL ME EVERYTHING FOR BOTH GABRIEL AND PLUM

girl that is so many i'll split this in half and do gabe's first and plum's another day

Gabriel

1. What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

Gabe does modeling so she's on the move more often than she'd like to be so when she takes a lazy day she will do Absolutely Nothing. Judas (her youngest sibling) will come by on those days to hang out and also be her little helper for the day! Lazarus lives with Gabriel too but they're always out of the house do judas is the most reliable option. It's a coin toss on if she'll actually stay down for the full time she's off, and if she doesn't she'll take judas out somewhere for the rest of the day instead.

2. How easy is it for your character to laugh?

She's a very jovial person! I think she has one of those cutesy tinkly bell laughs. This is great for BD who would do anything to get a cute girl to laugh for him after may telling him to shut the fuck up every time he opens his mouth. even though BD probably deserves it.

3. How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

Like i said she's always in and out of shoots so she probably conks out easy but Gabe's a sleepy time tea person imo. (i say imo like i didnt make her). maybe adding in a blood capsule if she's a little hungry too.

4. How easy is it to earn their trust?

The city Gabe's in isn't the safest for humans or monster kin so she's open but not like. naive if that makes sense. She trusts you to act accordingly and in exchange she'll be on her best behavior! She is a nightmare (humanoid demon species thst feed on blood and "negative" feelings like fear or apprehension) however so meeting her is more likely to be your problem than hers.

5. How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

Refer to above idk why these r right next to each other. But to expand a little bit the only reason you would lose her trust is if you're a constsnt promise breaker. this is why she and may have been dating on/off because while gabe makes time in her schedule all the time for may, may often gets caught up with work often that she can't really leave which has led to many instances of gabe waiting up for her at meeting spots only to get a "im sorry" text 2 hours late.

6. Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

she bites people i dont think she cares much

7. What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

if she and judas do something like clothes shopping i think that would bring back a lot of memories for her! gabe began socially transitioning in early highschool (around judas' current age) and her mother, ezekiel, was with her every step of the way from making sure she was in an as comfortable as possible school environment, giving her a lot of support at home and ofc making sure gabe could wear whatever made her comfortable. at first gabe was wearing more subdued simple dresses like ezekiel does because she thought they looked amazing on her mother, but ezekiel pushed her bit by bit to look more at what she would want not just what she thinks would make ezekiel happy.

8. What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child.

terrorizing local kids is in the repertoire for nightmare children but it doesn't look good at PTA meetings if everyone knows you because your baby was putting frogs and worms and stuff in other kids' backpacks. you can bet gabe had nice naps from a full tummy after recess every day though

9. Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

honestly i dont think she'd swear often? not from like thinking swearing is bad or w/e it just doesnt fit her.

10. What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

first time she invited mayhem home for dinner and that girl ghosted her the day of and replied hours after ezekiel had A Fit and gabe and lazarus spent hours trying to do damage control to make sure their mom didnt go and rip may a new one. was an embarassing day for gabe for many reasons and may was not allowed to try again and make up for it for a year bc its likely that ezekiel might have hurt her bad. don't play games with her babies like that

#cliff finally answers #commandersgrab #oc corner #yes i took a long time just bc i wanted to make a little gabe what r u gonna do abt it #long post

[adaycalledx]

horrendously long ramble coming ahead

or: a letter to myself after 10 years of being on the 'net.

October 14th, 2022 will mark 10 years of being an active member of online communities. I can remember it like it was yesterday, really. I was 11 years old, had just started middle school, and I was super into watching the new episode of Lego Ninjago every Wednesday night with my little brother.

It was a Sunday, and like nearly always, I was on the family computer in the living room of my dad’s apartment, scrolling through the forums of fanfiction.net (which I had only recently discovered looking for Harry Potter stories) when I found a roleplay forum. At the time, I didn’t really know what it meant, but it sparked my interest. There were people – just like me – who liked the same things I did, who wanted to live in that fantasy world. You could even create your own character.

So I made mine.

It was a thinly, thinly veiled self-insert. Horrible characterization, gross misunderstanding of Japanese culture, and realistically one of the more annoying things the people there would have seen. They accepted me, though.

The people there became my first “internet friends”, a term that I didn’t even really get. We’d had enough internet safety classes in school for me to know that I shouldn’t use my real name, and I didn’t for the longest time. I definitely made up a lot of things about myself too. I guess I wanted to be interesting or something.

I stopped talking to most of them around 2013, and by early 2014, I had migrated to DeviantArt, then to Tumblr. I met so many wonderful people there, too. I was allowed to be myself – the weird, geeky, annoying middle schooler that I was made fun of for in real life.

I had friends.

I had fallouts.

I deleted my first blog in 2017 after a nasty argument with a former friend.

I have a lot of regrets.

Most of my friendships fizzled out. I don’t have anybody I talk to from before 2018, save a few I occasionally check in on.

Their ghosts linger, though.

Sometimes I stumble across some of my old art on abandoned blogs. Sometimes I’ll scroll back through old Discord messages. I’ve brute-forced old passwords into old accounts, just to see what I left there.

I occasionally cross paths with old friends. Someone who was a follower of mine in 2013 ended up being an artist I started looking up to again in 2019, and I didn’t even realize it until recently.

I reach out sometimes. More often than not, I don’t get a response. That’s fair, I suppose. For those who are inactive, it makes sense, and for those that are still online, most want to bury that phase in the ground. Nostalgia isn’t for everyone.

I think back, though, back to that October day in 2012.

Who knew what kind of snowball it led to?

It was before so many things went wrong in my personal life. It was before I had any real responsibilities or worries. I was happy then. I was “cringe” maybe, still into Warriors and Skrillex and quoting asdfmovie in an attempt to make people like me. I was free, though.

I often fantasize about going back to then with what I know now. Academically I’d do great, of course, and I’d logically grow into a much better artist with an extra ten years of practice under my belt. I’d have a much better grip on what I wanted to do with my life and how to achieve it. I’d be able to brace for what was to come in my family.

Socially though? Fuck.

I’d know who to avoid. I’d know who I needed to be more careful around. I’d know who to become friends with a lot quicker. Who to keep in touch with longer.

I could hold onto those memories again.

The Skype calls, the rabb.it rooms, the stupid GoAnimate memes I would make with my group of best friends. The art trades. The memes quickly made in MSPaint to upload to imgur. The hours upon hours of chatting and roleplaying.

It’s not really productive to fantasize like this, but who doesn’t want a do-over?

I’m not really sure what the point of this extended ramble is. Maybe it’s a cry for help, or a love letter to all the friends who will never read it, or maybe it’s a treatise to my preteen self.

Maybe I don’t want to be her.

If anything, I’d like to give her a hug. Maybe a few warnings. Tell her that ultimately, everything is going to be okay. We’ll make it out alive, even if it kills us.

I would have liked that, back then.

If you read this, thanks, I suppose, for putting up with this shambolic mess. I’ve always been into memories and keeping the person I once was alive. It’s not healthy, I know.

To all my old friends - Vin, Larry, Ned, Inky, Kat, Dez, all of you that won’t see this – thanks for shaping pieces of me. I can only hope I did the same for you.

To my enemies – the old friends – I’m sorry.

To my child self – take care of yourself. Get your homework done, study for your science test, draw something for Duck (you don’t know who they are yet… or, well, you do, but that’s a different story for a different day), don’t worry about how people look at you. They don’t matter nearly as much as you think they do.

This is nearly a thousand words, fuck.

Guess I’ll sign this off, then, with a old few usernames for old times sake.

Love,

pxachfxzz, santropezpeach, twosidesofkeithmoon, exactly-who, squeeging, magicdoughnuts, blahblee7.

Love,

Me.

#personal #long post #i'm nostalgic and mentally ill

[broken-balance-baby]

forgotten idols and their intertwined destinies (chapter 2)

Chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26

Luz De Sol

Bhadra left the homestead early in the morning. Her travel to Banapur was quicker than she’d expected, but nothing had prepared her for the breezy breath of the heights they were in, the simplicity of its terraces and the village that once used to be her home.

Though she’s glad it isn’t anymore.

Swallowing away the sick feeling of nostalgia, she spotted the familiar color palette from yesterday— there stood another one of Modern Shangri-La’s soldiers, by the stairs. She approached the girl.

“Modern Shangri-La?” Bhadra asked. The girl’s eyes widened, mouth curved into a grin.

“Sakshi! Come, you have to follow me.” she said, strapping her rifle to her back. She led the way to an ATV, their path travelling down the mountain and into the main roads, but to Bhadra she realized this path was more foreign than she had remembered. Following the slope,  the road slowly curved from dirt into the grass, meeting with a stone wall.

As Bhadra followed the girl up with a grappling hook in hand, a cave system within the mountain became visible. Upon closer inspection, the cave was only small, but that wasn’t the end of it. The soldier used her grappling hook, throwing it to a ring attached to the stone ceiling, gesturing for Bhadra to follow.

Light came into view on the other end, and Bhadra’s eyes widened, realizing that what was before her was a built-in camp full of soldiers, training and fighting in the dark, illuminated only by candles and torches that were banned long ago. As she hopped down from the rope, the girl lead her to a man watching the others train, three make-shift straps tied to his uniform. As he turned his head, despite it being dark, it was easy to see that the man had shorter cropped curly hair. The hair at his back was long and tied into a loose braid, hanging over his shoulder. His eyes were lined with mascara and eyeliner, making his eyes seem bigger. Unlike the others, his shirt had been unbuttoned down to the chest, and the high waisted line of his pants were shown.

He looked rugged, really, but he was cheerful. The girl had left Bhadra for awhile now, and so the man had approached her instead.

“Sakshi Bal, correct?” he held his arm out, and Bhadra had mirrored his movement, gripping by the forearm, then letting go.

“Yes. You are…?”

“The leader of Modern Shangri-La. I am Adhrit. It’s an honor to meet you, sister.”

Bhadra smiled. “An honor to meet you too. I’m impressed with the work you’re doing here.”

Adhrit sighed, “It could always be better. We found that the caves of long ago tribesmen would have been useful to us as base camps. Pagan Min would have been searching high and low for us if we were out there.”

Bhadra bit back the need to say that it was actually Ajay who would be looking for them. This new generation, considering Adhrit’s young face and this revolution being full of young enough faces to make Bhadra feel old at 32— they probably wouldn’t even remember Ajay Ghale. To them, he disappeared from the face of Kyrat, never to return, plundering the country back into the chaos that it had been in for decades.

“I know,” she replied, “I grew up during the Golden Path’s time, you know.”

“As did I. My father was a soldier under Sabal.” he said. “Things weren’t the same when the Tarun Matara died; many of his people perished, so did he.”

“Well… Do you aspire to be like him? Sabal, I mean.” Bhadra asked. She had to know this early. Adhrit gave her a puzzled look, then he smiled and shook his head.

“I simply want to free Kyrat off its shackles.”

She chuckled, “Good.”

“Adhrit!” One of the soldiers called. Both their heads whipped to where the call was, followed by another who carried a flashlight from behind. “We caught sight of the new soldiers heading south of Meh Teh Airport!”

“Have you laid out the mines?” Adhrit asked, moving past Bhadra to lead the way for the rest of the soldiers. Bhadra followed after him.

“Yes! We need someone to get there to set off the first one.”

“I’ll do it.” Bhadra interrupted, standing between the soldiers and Adhrit.

“Sakshi, be careful.” He said, glancing down to where her belt was. “We’ll be tracking you with your radio so we can find you for your getaway.”

Bhadra nodded. Climbing up the rope and running outside, she saw the nearest pathway to Meh Teh Airport and spotted a car, making a run for it and driving all the way south of the field.

As she noticed the growing cluster of soldiers in the airport, her heart began to pound a little faster at the notion that this was going to be the biggest group she’s handled in awhile.

“Sakshi!”

Though at least she wasn’t alone. She pulled her radio out.

“I’m here, I’m here!”

“How close are you?”

Bhadra moved behind a bush, crouching down. “Close enough to count the trucks. I see 4, 5, 7, 9 of them. Is that going to be enough?”

“Yes! Throw a rock at the first mine that you see on your left, it won’t set off a chain but it will catch their attention.”

Bhadra took a peek, staring into the plains before reaching out for the heaviest rock in her vicinity. She threw it to the glint of white she spotted, and just like that, the bomb had gone off, alerting the soldiers nearby.

“Sakshi, you’re going to need to find a rope somewhere close by. When you do, don’t touch it.”

“Hey— who’s there!” A voice shouted from afar. Bhadra covered her radio and tucked it back into her belt, moving to the next bush in the foliage as the truck had driven over to where the mines were.

Find the rope, but don’t touch it.

Bhadra clenched her jaw. Taking out her knife to prepare, though, a rustle in the trees caught her off guard, making her look up to find the rope that went into a downward angle, digging into the dirt. She realized what exactly it was going to do. The other end of the rope was what she couldn’t see, but as soon as the car rolled into the field with several others, it exploded.

Bhadra scrambled away, avoiding the shrapnel that would come her way.

“—kshi—Sakshi!” The radio cried out.

“Adhrit?!” she shouted, sliding down the hill.

“We heard the explosion! Get ready to find the road, we’re coming to get you!”

A car pulled up. She was about to hit the passenger’s seat until gunfire was heard, and suddenly the driver in the seat was shot dead. Bhadra cursed, kicking the body out of the car and moving into the seat, stomping on the pedal.

The car went as fast as it could, bolting through the roads with Bhadra’s recklessness. The shooters from before were following her, but all she could make out was the familiar sight of a fortress nearby and a lake.

Then another car came into view. She stomped on the brake, only for the car to hit something along the way and causing it to take off from the road, meeting eyes with a man with long hair and a uniform that screamed general—

And landing hood first into the water.

For once, Bhadra was lucky to not wear a seatbelt. She kicked open the door, scrambling upwards to the surface. As she swam towards the shore the cars were already rolling up, and the same man from earlier had come to her. As soon as Bhadra was about to open her mouth, though, a kick to the head sent her vision into black.

#my fics #far cry 4 #far cry 6 #crazy old tyrant au #diego castillo #bhadra #bhadiego #bhadra x diego #fc4 fanfiction #fc6 fanfiction #far cry

[lambourngb]

“It was supposed to be a regular, boring morning shower”

First line tag

A million years ago, an anon sent me this ask for the first line meme. I woke up possessed and wrote “stuck in gravity, clawing for some bravery” in 10 days.  This story is complete, 23,000 words. I put the first two chapters up on AO3 early in honor of the news of our show coming back. The rest goes up tomorrow.

beta thanks to the wonderful @tasyfa

Pairing: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Alex Manes/Forrest Long, Michael Guerin/Maria Deluca (past) Kyle Valenti/Maria Deluca (implied/mentioned)

Tags: Starts Forlex ends in Malex, Getting back together, Nebulous Season 3, Angst,  Pining, Alien Soulmate Bullshit, Emotional Infidelity, Communication, Emotional Hurt/Comforot,  Explicit Sexual Content, Dirty Talk , Telepathy, Handprint Sex

Summary: A year after Crashcon, Michael knows three things for certain. 

1. He loves Alex and he probably definitely always will.

2. Having Alex as his best friend makes everything in his life better.

3. Knowing, thanks to his bullshit alien biology, that Alex still fantasizes about his body regularly while dating someone else for a year, well, that is a little more difficult to navigate. 

It’s fine. It is all just fine. 

Author Notes: This content is probably not appropriate for review by a college writing class on tumblr, just saying but you’re welcome to leave a kudo if you like it. 

*****

It was supposed to be a regular, boring morning shower for Michael. 

His first Sunday off in over three months deserved a little self-care, he had decided. The summer had brought an abrupt uptick in work at the garage with increased summertime driving leading to more careless accidents and stranded motorists to tow to safety. While Walt would deny it to the end, Michael couldn’t help but notice the old man had slowed down in his work. Between doing his best to keep Sanders’ in business and taking shifts at the Crashdown to fill in for the still-absent Liz so Arturo and Rosa could have their own break, taking the time for more than a perfunctory late night wash down felt luxurious to Michael.

There was a point to staying busy, with filling every hour inside an engine or on a different project around the junkyard with his trailer and that point was distraction. Distraction from the awareness that everyone was thriving. Max and his new-found ‘cousin’ Jones were reconstructing the history of their people’s language and literature together. Isobel had recently celebrated her three-month anniversary with Monica, an artist who shared the same studio space as Rosa. Maria had made exploring her alien-rooted abilities the focus of her life outside of the bar, combining her knowledge of yoga and meditation to crack the ability of moving forward in time. With that success, she had managed to bring back the answer to saving her brain from damage from the future. Her work with Kyle in developing the treatment for her and Mimi had led a new romance there. Then there was Alex, the true focus of Michael’s need for distraction, marking a one-year anniversary with Forrest. 

It was fine. All Michael had ever wanted was for Alex to be happy. The distractions he had filled his life with helped soothe the edges of knowing who was at the root of Alex’s new-found peace.

In the last year, Michael had built a permanent wooden deck out in front of his Airstream, transforming his fire pit into an outdoor brick barbecue oven, before moving on to recycle discarded auto glass into window panes for a small greenhouse complete with a rainwater cistern off the rear of the trailer. The actual interior boasted its own changes, an expanded shower stall and more of a kitchen set up than a hotplate and kettle with a small split-level stove and expanded countertop. The next task was building a canopy to shield the deck from the elements. At some point, Michael had acknowledged to himself that each piece he had worked on had turned his portable, transient can-go-anywhere Airstream into a stable fixture at Sanders’. 

A home with roots. 

A home without Alex and he had accepted that, respecting Alex’s choice of partner. They were the right people for each other, but were always meeting at the wrong time. For a while, he had waited patiently for things to end with Forrest. He had been happy enough to work on being Alex’s friend in the meantime. Then, once they were truly friends sharing every stupid moment of their days via a text message or over a beer at his trailer, he had felt the betrayal of his selfish thoughts keenly. What kind of friend would root for a break-up? What kind of friend would wish heartbreak on the other?

The asshole kind, he had concluded. 

As the hot water from the shower head poured over his head though, the acceptance he had about Alex moving on was just a little farther from his reach because Alex was currently thinking about him. They weren’t platonic friend-thoughts either.

A ghost sensation of a hand skirted down Michael’s body, lingering over his chest hair, and fuck, Alex had really loved to card his fingers through it. His mind was awash with impulses not his own, hot anticipation and the thrill of pleasure dropped down his body like the free-falling crest of a rollercoaster. Michael closed his eyes, soaking in the feelings. A gasp escaped his mouth, heard by no one in his trailer. Good God, Alex was really ready, waking with morning wood or to someone — Wrapping his own hand around his hardening cock, Michael stroked himself in time with Alex’s thoughts, pushing aside his own. It was best to just give into temptation and enjoy the moment. 

It was something he had learned to embrace with varying degrees of eagerness over the last few years. 

The connection with Alex had formed apparently sometime after the shed, but it had taken him over ten years and Alex moving back to Roswell to realize what was going on between them. The summer they had turned eighteen, they had barely been able to keep their hands off each other in the desert, and when Michael was alone, all he could think about back then, was Alex. His head had been a complex swirl of emotion, slingshotting him from the highs of seeing Alex to the lows of facing his own aborted future. There was the longing for Alex, the sadness that he knew their time was limited because Alex was going to go places, and he was stuck in Roswell watching over Isobel, but in the background, of what he thought was a relic from Jesse’s attack, was always a sense of sick fear, of being caught. Again.

Then over the last ten years, Michael would experience this awareness, and suddenly all he could think about was Alex. How it felt to touch him, the wickedness of his mouth, the burn and the stretch to accept Alex’s cock as he took him inside with a bitten lip- Michael thought it was just his mind, giving him a touchstone to happiness and the remembrance of being loved briefly by Alex. Nostalgia. Afterwards as he caught his breath, with his chest splattered with come, the sadness would seep in again, stealing whatever light that was made by those memories.

It wasn’t until after the drive-in, when Alex had spent almost two months avoiding him in person, that Michael had realized that those moments, late at night or early in the morning, were tied to Alex. It took falling into his bed one night, after visiting Isobel in her pod to finally piece it together. His face had hurt from crying on the drive home and the urge to sleep and never wake up again had been so incredibly strong that it took a moment for him to realize he was thinking about Alex. His cock hadn’t even been on his radar, but suddenly all he could think about was getting sucked off. 

Fuck, he hadn’t wanted it then, too sad and scared about Isobel to feel much connection to his body for the purposes of pleasure, but the sensations and feelings that had overtaken Michael were too intense to fight that night. Later as he panted, open-mouthed and staring at the ceiling of his Airstream with distant thoughts of cleaning up, his phone rang once. Only the once. Then a ding of a text.

Alex -is home: Sorry pocket dialed.

The rush of self-loathing that hit Michael as he read the message had been so strong he had dropped the phone on the floor of the trailer. That’s when he knew it wasn’t his feelings in his head because in all the years of knowing Alex, of loving Alex, he had never once felt disgust toward himself for his feelings for Alex. From the moment across a borrowed guitar, Michael had accepted the tilt of his axis toward Alex Manes as a fundamental fact, like force equalling mass times acceleration.

Alex hadn’t shared that comfort, and the more Michael tuned into what was going on in Alex’s head, the more his heart broke. Two things became clear to Michael over time; the occurrences were sporadic enough for him to know that he only felt them when Alex was specifically thinking about Michael when he jerked off, and the post-orgasm feelings of disgust and self-loathing were not isolated incidents for Alex to feel afterwards.

“Sometimes things end in a whimper, Guerin-” and Michael had numbly accepted that as proof that while Alex might enjoy thinking about his body, about the ways he had pleasured Alex in the past, Alex had no desire for anything more from Michael. The sex was epic, fodder for a late night fantasy, but Michael himself? He was not someone that Alex wanted to want. 

He had changed Alex’s name in his phone from “Alex -is home” to “Alex -is a bad idea” after that and then cursed himself for the trick of alien biology, doomed to be forever aware that he was an example of backsliding to Alex. When Maria had reached for him that night in Texas, he had welcomed her because she seemed at least self-aware of the fact she didn’t want to want him. There was zero chance of a misunderstanding between them that night, even as he kicked himself for still following after people who swore to him that it would never happen again.

For a long time after Caulfield, he had thought perhaps the grief of losing his mother had broken the link with Alex, setting them both free in the wreckage and dust of the prison. The dying psychic screams of his people had rolled over him, scorching his thoughts into cinders as that last connection to love and hope burned out in his mind, his mother’s life extinguishing under the thunder of Semtex and C-4. Then one night shortly after moving his trailer to the Wild Pony, it had happened again. The same overwhelming feeling of need, of longing, but this time the self-loathing afterwards had been accompanied by a crippling feeling of guilt. He had laid there in the twilight of the Wild Pony’s loft, having silently come into his palm while the sound of Maria’s breathing brushed against his ear. For the first time, he had joined Alex in that feeling of self-hatred. 

It was past the time for him to flip the switch from ‘tortured lust’ to some semblance of friendship with Alex, if he could and so tentatively, he agreed to work on uncovering his mother’s past together with him. He updated his phone again with that decision in mind to “Alex -sup bro”.

After Maria had learned the truth about Rosa and sent him away with betrayed eyes, he experienced a moment of weakness for Alex after the visit they had made to the Long Farm. There had been a lightness in how Alex had moved that day, his steps had been considered but committed as they had explored the last place his mother had felt at home on earth. Inside of Michael’s heart, he had been able to feel the pieces moving together while he had stood in a place where Nora had had a family, next to a man who had always represented that promise to Michael. The openness of Alex’s smile as they had waited for Forrest Long to reappear had had Michael thinking dangerous thoughts again about a future with him.

What if.  What if Alex were ready to take a step toward him without the weight of the past? 

That tenuous hope had lasted until the night after Alex had given him the piece of the ship’s console. Standing in his bunker near two am, he had been examining the new piece of his ship, of his past, puzzling over why it wasn’t bonding with the rest of the console when he had felt the awareness of Alex creep into his cells, into his DNA. Eagerly he had opened his jeans with both hands and had fisted his cock, letting himself go with the pull of Alex’s desire. In the aftermath, he had found himself on the floor of the bunker, with come dripping off a fallen drawing of a ship’s engine, but near tears with the knowledge that nothing had changed for Alex. It had still been the same fear flooding his veins, still the same anchor of tortured longing and deep shame weighing his limbs down even as he had been left wrecked by how good his body had felt.

It had been madness for Michael the next few months as he had fallen in deeper with Maria, while the connection with Alex had kept tugging at his soul. There had been little rhyme or reason to when it had happened. Weeks would pass where he apparently hadn’t crossed Alex’s mind once, and then there had been a week when every night Michael had been hit with the same mix of love, lust and bottomless need. Thankfully it had matched with the week-long retreat Maria and Mimi had taken together, saving Michael the work of explaining to her why he was wearing out the washing machines at the Fluff N Fold with his dirty sheets.

The self-torment Alex had felt about him had slowly lifted, to the point when Michael had found out the truth about Walt Sanders, he had called Alex without hesitation. The contact in his phone had changed to ‘Alex- best bro’. If he had finally become a measure of comfort for Alex to remember in his most personal moments, then perhaps Alex could also become a comfort to him, without the mire of their trauma holding them frozen in place. 

He had been fooling himself completely in the aftermath of Alex’s abduction that friendship would ever be enough for him. The wounds from his breakup with Maria had still been bleeding below his skin when he had stepped into the Wild Pony to hear Alex singing about him. About them. Then he had been hit with the connection, blossoming open for the first time ever in Alex’s actual presence under the spell of his song. 

There had still been a ghost of darkness in Alex’s feelings for him, as he had sung about fighting battles but for the first time in a long time, Michael had felt that there was hope that Alex was finally finding peace with Jesse dead. Despite Isobel’s prodding him to stay and make a move, he had known that it wasn’t their time yet. There had been too much grief and regret swirling in his head, and not just from Alex, but he could be patient for them both for the right moment. The connection had never felt more alive between them that night on the promise of a future.

At least that was what he had thought, until time had kept passing yet here he was, standing in his shower with his hand on his dick a year later, while Alex was across town in someone else’s bed but clearly thinking about him.

Michael watched as his seed dripped down the fiberglass walls, the shower spray sending it down the drain in an eddy of his own frustrated longing. His body was calm, at least, and his mind was buzzing with happiness from Alex. He concentrated on the euphoria floating between them in particular. Alex had soaked up pleasure this morning, pursuing it with a greed that Michael couldn’t help but admire, and then he had let himself go without any hint of shame. God, it felt good to know that Alex had finally found that comfort with himself.

He breathed in and out, counting the seconds down until the connection faded. Once it was over, he gave himself five more minutes under the hot spray, letting whatever was welling in his eyes, slip unseen down his face. He cursed his stupid alien biology in the same breath that he clung to it for giving him Alex again, if only briefly. 

After he was dressed for his brunch plans with everyone, he checked his phone before he left, to find a text from Alex. The contact had been updated one more time, six months after the Crashcon, from “Alex -best bro” to “Alex -bf”. Isobel had been way too excited to see that notation, until Michael had patiently explained it had stood for ‘best friend’. Maybe in another universe it was ‘boyfriend’, just not this one.

This wasn’t crumbs, he had argued to her, Alex was still a feast for him in whatever way he could have him. He read the text with his mind still working to box up the feelings that lingered for Alex, “Tell everyone we will be late- overslept”. The ‘we’ was what puzzled Michael the most about the whole situation over the last year. Why was Alex still thinking about Michael the way he did while he was with someone else?

AO3 link for more

#malex #malex fic #roswell new mexico #getting back together #season 3 #set a year after the crashcon 2x13 #not forrest long friendly #alien soulmate bullshit #publishing this ask and posting a link is self-indugent but wanted nonnie to see it #Anonymous #alien soulmate shenanigans #cosmic soulmates

[bewitching-elizabeth-olsen]

Press: Elizabeth Olsen’s 20/21 Vision

The Marvel star takes us inside her transformation to a new kind of hero

GALLERY LINKS

Studio Photoshoots > 2021 > Session 002

Magazine Scans > 2021 > Grazia

  GRAZIA: Elizabeth Olsen is a trooper. We are in a field in Surrey on the outskirts of the Marvel studios; it’s a biting minus one and she is standing in a Chanel broderie anglaise sundress and increasingly soggy UGG boots. Her feline cheekbones face skywards, but Olsen is slowly sinking into the mud, trilling out high notes to keep herself warm (possibly distracted) and of course with spirits high. “It was the wind I think, that was worse than the sideways rain,” she jokes as we trundle back to the soundstage hangar that we are using as a studio. It’s the kind of moment that could go viral on Instagram, that is, if Olsen were on social media. Yet one of the biggest stars of our current cultural moment is completely offline – and that surprising fact might just be the least interesting thing about her. If anything, it is a sign of how Olsen has come into her own as a confident, decisive star with the power to create her own universe.

On the cusp of her 32nd birthday, Olsen is fastidious and professional, yes, but also bright, engaging, creative, and collaborative. Born and raised in the California sunshine, she is surprisingly at ease in the blustery conditions that deluge the English countryside in late January – or, it’s that she’s very good at acting. “It was one of the ugliest days of this winter – just hilarious – but I knew we wanted the shot,” the 31-year-old actress says.

Since October, Olsen’s been living in the leafy British countryside with her “man-guy-partner,” musician Robbie Arnett, just a short drive to the Surrey compound where Doctor Strange is being filmed. It’s a closed set, masked in secrecy as much as the socially distanced masked crew dotted all over the 200-acre studio. “It feels right being in a small city right now,” she says.

Indeed, Olsen is a modern-day Renaissance woman. Learned and dedicated to her craft, she studied at New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts, with a semester at the Moscow Art Theatre School studying Stanislavski. (Surely, no matter how much of a genius the Russian theatre master was, he never could have conceived of the Marvel universe.)

Approached with the concept of WandaVision, “I thought it was perfect for television, and a very original idea that made me excited,” Olsen says. Also, she was happy she would get to work with Bettany again: “He’s very precise, like me.”

In many ways, WandaVision is a love letter to the first American television heyday. Olsen, who stayed up late watching Nick at Nite reruns as a child, says it’s a bit of a homecoming in that way. “I was a very hammy, performative child,” she explains. “So, I do think I got to live out some sort of childhood dream doing the show.”

“The highlight was really getting to tell a story about these superhero individuals told in different decades of American sitcoms, trying to match the tone of those sitcoms in order to help orate the story,” she says. “But keep it playful and fun.” Little did she know just how much we’d need that.

Half-filmed pre-pandemic in Atlanta and half post-pandemic in LA – with a six-month hiatus in-between “until all the unions figured out to work safely” – WandaVision was released almost a year into the pandemic. In many ways, it is an artifact of its time: centered upon a yearning for the simplicity of earlier days, yet shot through with the creeping realization that such days may never return, and perhaps never existed to begin with.

Indeed, the weekly story of suburban superheroes Wanda and Vision has played out like a parable of our times: Wanda living in her chosen bubble, her trauma resonating in the world we find ourselves in today. Olsen appreciates a good metaphor, but feels people may be projecting a bit much. “I see Wanda as a victim of extreme trauma, who does not understand how to process it,” she explains. “She has been a human experiment.” (Not to belabor the point, but haven’t we all?)

Being summoned by Marvel is like being called to a parallel universe for an actor: thrilling, yes, but not without a tinge of terror and a dash of the unknown. Six years in, though, it’s become like family in some ways. As a member of two dynasties – Olsen and Marvel – family is key to Olsen. She checks in on her mom (who still lives in California) and, like many American daughters, is researching which vaccine mom should get.

The performative gene runs strong through her family, of course – and no, we don’t mean her sisters. Olsen’s mom was a ballerina. Still, when she first started auditioning, Olsen took special care to carve her own path – one far from Full House. “Nepotism is a thing and I’m very aware of it,” she says. “And of course, I’ve always wanted to do it alone.” She did just that, her acting credentials consistently rising as her sister’s cemented their fashion kudos. Olsen bears a noticeable resemblance to her fashion-designer older sisters and her sartorial DNA is similarly low-key. She loves The Row (of course) and NYC label Khaite’s denim and cashmere.

For Olsen, her day job is like playing dress-up. This time around, she walked away from WandaVision with the girdle worn underneath her 50s wedding dress, laughing, “I mean, to have a custom undergarment like that, I felt like it was necessary!” Her WandaVision co-star, Kathryn Hahn, also became her shopping cohort when filming.

“She’s dangerous!” Olsen says. “She has the most exquisite, minimal but expensive taste.” It was Hahn who led Olsen to the independent boutique where she found the belted Julia Jentzsch trench that she wore to our shoot.

At the rail of samples compiled by the stylist, Olsen gravitates towards a spacious linen boilersuit and longline cashmere cardigan. Has she always been a tomboy, I ask? “I think I felt uncomfortable being a child being told they were pretty,” she says of her early auditions at age 10, adding that her love of ballet and musical theater could leave her “feeling exposed” at a young age.

Speaking of over-exposure, Olsen is distinctly offline in a time when so many are defined by their social media presence. Among celebrities and regular digital citizens, the perfect balance of online and off is up for debate, but Olsen is clear: social media saturation is a choice for all of us, and everyone needs to draw their own boundaries.

“It has to be a personal decision, right?” she begins. “So, my opinion has nothing to do with what anyone else does or doesn’t do with it.” Her own journey began when she momentarily dabbled with Instagram (since deleted), while filming Ingrid Goes West, director Matt Spicer’s frightening and funny debut feature about a social stalker, co-starring Aubrey Plaza.

Up until that time, she says, “I had never touched it before. I thought, ‘This is an interesting social experiment for myself, to see if it is a good source to talk about charities or a good source to talk about small projects, or to share something goofier about myself.’ But I think at the end of the day, what I discovered was one, I’m really bad at creating a perceived identity!”

“I didn’t find it very organic to who I am as a person,” she continues. “I found some joy in putting up silly videos, but I think the main reason I stopped – not I think, I know the main reason why I stopped – was because of the organization in my brain.”

“Lots of horrible things happen all the time. Or, lots of great things happen all the time. Whether it’s something terrifying, like a natural disaster or a school shooting or a death, there are so many things that happen, and I love processing information. I love reading articles. I love listening to podcasts. I love communicating about things that are happening in the world to people around me. And what I don’t love is that my brain organization was saying, ‘Should I post about this?’ That seemed very unhealthy ….”

“And to then contribute to these platitudes that I don’t really love, you have to subscribe to two different ways of thinking,” she says. “So, I didn’t like that, and there was a lot of it that was just bothering me for my own sake of what value systems I have.”

That’s not to say that there’s any inherent value system – pro or con – in using Instagram. Olsen is clear that like any other method of expression, it’s up to the individual to use it as they see fit. “I do see a use of it and how you can use it well for work,” she says. “But I don’t think that I would like to use that tool to promote myself.”

She’s private for a millennial yes, but not prim. On the photoshoot, lockdown experiences were shared, and Olsen recounted her (hilarious) first at-home bikini wax: banishing her husband upstairs “for an extended chat with his therapist,” her trusted waxer on speed dial, and microwave set to ping! (Yes, Olsen is a trooper, as I mentioned.)

We catch up over Zoom a week later, her hair once again pulled up in a casual topknot, her cashmere turtleneck simmering in a dark claret, and her entire being suffused with covetable understatement. She chats buoyantly against an unexpected backdrop of pirate ship wallpaper in the playroom of a house she shares with Arnett, who proposed with an emerald and diamond ring in 2019.

“We first started to try to make it the gym, but it was so cramped,” she says of the jolly space. The home gym was instead awarded a larger room, where Olsen loves to maintain a varied fitness regime – running, yoga, dancing, more – though after all the intense Marvel filming, she jokes, “maybe it’s time to give up on my body?!” Being comic book fit does sound grueling or “time-consuming fun” as she anoints the “strenuous physical demands.”

Like most of us, she is longing for the spring, but she still takes a regular constitutional walk in a nearby Richmond park, whatever the weather. “The deer are incredible; every time I see them I feel alive,” she says. “We have been lucky to have nature around us in lockdown.” It’s a marked difference from her paparazzi-populated home in the Hills. “They know our walks, where we get coffee, work-out…,” she trails off.

Her haven in Los Angeles is her backyard, complete with a mid-century swimming pool and an edible garden. “It’s crazy the blackberries grow like weeds! I love watching a kid’s first reaction to an edible garden,” she gushes That has been the part of the pandemic travel restrictions she’s found hardest: missing her friend’s children growing up, and others who have been born this past year that she’s yet to meet. They will no doubt all be treated to her homemade blackberry sorbet on her return stateside.

Yet, her time on British soil will likely be prolonged, with a prospective indie commencing filming here when Doctor Strange wraps. Prompted for more detail, her firm charm kicks in. “I can’t jinx it!” she insists. Still, she will share that she’s heavily involved in the creative, and that funding smaller productions in the current climate has been a challenge.

Through it all, Olsen has remained determined and calm. “I feel patience is my superpower. But my weakness also,” she says. “I feel like it gets tested more than others who don’t have a lot of patience. If someone learns you’re easygoing or that you’re relaxed, sometimes it gets taken advantage of.” While she waits for the green light on that film, she is busy producing a new children’s cartoon with Arnett, “about loving and caring for our world,” and has also written a children’s book about to be published by Random House, all while the demands of Marvel life continue to surround her.

Indeed, Olsen is a superhero for the modern age: Multi-hyphenate, but fiercely devoted to the craft that she loves; instantly recognizable, yet thoughtfully protective of her private life; a woman with style, substance, success, and deep rewarding relationships with those around her; focused on a vision of a better world for us all.

Press: Elizabeth Olsen’s 20/21 Vision was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen

#Elizabeth Olsen #WandaVision #Avengers #Scarlet Witch #Wanda Maximoff #Sorry For Your Loss #Avengers Infinity War #Avengers Age of Ultron #Captain America Civil War #Ingrid Goes West #Godzilla

[missn11]

First Line Meme

So @badass-at-fandoming tagged me for this really fun meme, and I’m excited since I do have exactly 20 fics, lol!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Tagging @devil-latte , @robotslenderman, @vampemoqueen, @lost-toreador-in-la @midnight-musings-at-venturetower, @ryttu3k, @iravaid, @helenedenothing

1. A Traitorous Affair https://archiveofourown.org/works/21617743/chapters/51548065  Sebastian LaCroix impatiently tapped his fingers on the bar top and looked down at his wristwatch for what felt like the hundredth time.

2. Kiss me we’re out of time https://archiveofourown.org/works/30578201  Nines looked over his shoulder for what felt like the fifteenth hundredth time to confirm that he was truly alone in the back alleys of Chinatown.

3. Kiss me to shut me up https://archiveofourown.org/works/30577568  Ming Xiao was shaking as she made her way out of Downtown, her mind reeling from what she had just done. It would be considered pure insanity telling the adopted childe of Prince Sebastian LaCroix about everything, the alliance, and their framing of Nines for the murder of Grout, but the most ludicrous of it all, she had also told them about the key to the sarcophagus.  

4. A kiss without motive https://archiveofourown.org/works/30577241  Nines watched the gentle waves wash over the sandy shore from the cliffside perch where he was sitting with Sebastian next to him, his head resting on his shoulder and their fingers linked together.

5. These Nights of Regret https://archiveofourown.org/works/22794310/chapters/54472147  The sound of the slow pounding bass playing in the nightclub and the light chatter of the mortals at the bar filled Nines Rodriguez’s ears, taking little of the edge off of his troubled mind.

6. Sweet Corruption into Enlightenment https://archiveofourown.org/works/29584833/chapters/72715608  The stars shone so bright in the night sky tonight that Sebastian LaCroix was able to see the constellations that covered Nuit’s body, Nuit the Queen of Infinite Space, the Sky Goddess, Mother of all the Gods including his favourite God and Father of his clan, Set.  

7. Tender Entrapment by the Brujah and the Ventrue https://archiveofourown.org/works/28883775  Ming Xiao sighed under her breath with annoyance as her cell phone vibrated insistently in her dress pocket.

8. Submitting to the Priestess and the Rebel https://archiveofourown.org/works/28150188  Sebastian LaCroix idly swirled the champagne in his glass as he half-listened to the Mayor’s idiotic son prattle on about the latest party he had hosted on his father’s new yacht.

9. Capernoited https://archiveofourown.org/works/27929524  Pushing around the last piece of her chicken tarragon and cream sauce with her fork, Ming Xiao huffed with boredom.  

10. In the dark passions rise https://archiveofourown.org/works/27598469  Sebastian’s posture appeared painfully straight, his movements completely stiff and formal in the blaring lights as he led Nines by the hand through the back hallways of the Nocturne Theatre.

11. New Beginnings and Tickles https://archiveofourown.org/works/27089251  Nines could feel his shoulders relax as he stepped through the doors of the entrance hall of the Skyline apartments.

12. Hindsight is a Bitch https://archiveofourown.org/works/25990186  The heavens poured out heavily onto the streets of Seattle, as they did regularly, unlike in California.

13. The Beginning of the Wrongs Committed https://archiveofourown.org/works/24183637  October 14, 1984 “I’m coming for you, LaCroix!”

14. Through the Eyes of Nostalgia https://archiveofourown.org/works/24007096/chapters/57753787  The moon was shining its silver rays through the window into Barbara’s darkened bedroom, illuminating the delicately decorated jewellery box on the nightstand, the golden flower accents turning into white gold in the moon light.

15. Drawn in by a Kuei-jin and a Prince https://archiveofourown.org/works/23437015  Nines’s night of going from bar to bar wasn’t as relaxing as he’d hoped.

16. Movie Night https://archiveofourown.org/works/22886368  The pouring rain hitting the windows and the blaring sirens off in the distance were the only sounds that Nines Rodriguez could hear on this quiet night.

17. The Chippendale Vampire Legend https://archiveofourown.org/works/22685032  It had been going so well for Derrick, he had just been having fun at Petey’s early Halloween party.

18. (is it cheating when I’m using a essay I posted on A03?” The Motives and Goals of Ming Xiao https://archiveofourown.org/works/22469839  One of the things I’ve had a hard time with when writing Ming Xiao is understanding her motives and goals for taking over LA.

19. (12 year old fic here and first vtmb fic and of course its a smut fic, lol) Who's in control? https://archiveofourown.org/works/20923253  Wet, Cold, chasing a goose in the wrong river, sent by the jester, he probably thinks this is funny, sitting all nice and snug and warm, snug as a bug in his den, wish I’d brought a fly swatter to smack him with!

20. (Lol finally a non vtmb fic!) The Pursuit of Science https://archiveofourown.org/works/20922653  The pursuit of knowledge was always important to Rose, or Dr. Rose, as she always preferred to be called, knowledge of the sciences, electricity, chemistry, gunsmithing, all the sciences she was proficient in.

It’s really interesting to see how most of the opening lines of my fics start with an action and a sense of emotion of what the character is feeling. Though I wished I could do more atmospheric openings since I think it just builds the mood of the fic real quick.

I enjoy the first line of both  Sweet Corruption into Enlightenment and Who’s in control? the most since they build a mood instantly and leave you wanting to know more imo. These Nights of Regret’s opening line is good too but Nines angsting is always good, lol! Over all I do like most of my opening lines.

thanks again to @badass-at-fandoming for tagging me in this, it was a lot of fun to have a look at the first lines of my fics so far! :D

#vampire the masquerade #Vampire The Masquerade Bloodlines #VTMB #Arcanum: Of Steamworks and Magick Obscura #Arcanum #tags #badass-at-fandoming

[thebiasrekkers]

Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Plot: “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: Series | Mafia!AU | Crime!AU | Angst | Romance/Fluff | Smut

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC

Warnings: Graphic Violence (bloody violence), Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,480

Tag List: @prisczero​, @pinkpjmin​, @btsaudge​, @flowerwrites06​, @unoriginal-username15432, @halussali​, @shrimpmsg​​,

Chapter 45: 21st Century Girl

“Whatever other people say, whatever this world tells you, you’re the best to me just the way you are.”

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

“Isn’t it early where you are?”

“No, it’s only nine.”

“You look tired though.”

“A lot’s been going on with my new job.”

“I’ll admit, I was a little worried when you said you were quitting your other job. Is that even allowed with the visa you currently have?”

“It’s fine. I applied for another visa through my new company.”

Anastasia sighed, attempting a smile for Jacob. The Skype call had only been going on for about twenty minutes, but it felt like they were talking for hours. She tried to check in about once a week, but with all the hustle and bustle with the company and the ever-blossoming relationship she was in with Seokjin, it was hard to maintain contact in the way she would have liked. Add on the extreme time zone difference and that was how things wound up.

“Is it harder than working for your old job?”

“No,” she said while shaking her head, “it’s about the same workload. I have more responsibilities because I technically got promoted when they hired me.”

Jacob nodded, brushing some of his hair out of his eyes. It was getting a little longer than she was used to. He would have cut it by now, but he seemed set on trying out a new image.

She watched him take a drink of water. “Are you happy, Ana?”

Blinking, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of his question. Had she given any indication that she wasn’t happy? She hoped not. She didn’t want him worrying unnecessarily.

Again, she smiled. “Yeah Jake, I’m happy.”

Anastasia watched her brother’s eyes furrow from the computer screen. She knew it wasn’t because he didn’t believe her. He just worried a lot and tended to fuss over her unnecessarily. It was the role Jacob chose to play since he was the second-born. They were only two years apart, but they were thick as thieves and she appreciated how close they were despite her being the oldest of her three siblings. Their baby brother, Phillip, was still just starting college while Elena just graduated from her university. Their parents were still harping on about practicality when it came to their futures, something that both Anastasia and Jacob despised. They should have all been allowed to choose the paths they wanted to live, regardless of the outcomes.

“Well,” he finally said, shrugging one shoulder, “as long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”

Relief washed over her and she sank back in her chair a little more, cradling the mug of green tea in her hands. Her hand slid from the handle to press a palm to her stomach, a warmer smile touching her features. She must have looked a little silly because the sound Jacob clearing his throat loudly startled her from her thoughts. When she peered back at the screen, his face was a little closer, as if he was leaning forward to look directly into her eyes.

“So, are you finally dating someone now?”

She coughed loudly, sitting up and quickly setting her mug down on the desk by her keyboard. “W-What?” Anastasia attempted to wrangle the words that were escaping her. “What’s with the interrogation anyway?”

Again, Jacob shrugged. “I know you dated that one guy, but that’s it.” He leaned back in his chair, lounging lazily. “Just figured you were seeing someone new.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm, her hands fidgeting until Anastasia started twirling a few locks between her fingers. It was a nervous tick that she hadn’t been able to break and there was no sign of it stopping anytime soon. She’d be an old woman pulling at her thinning gray strands until they put her in the ground.

Jacob laughed, realizing he’d caught her in his cleverly laid trap. If he was within arms-reach, she would have shaken him like a rag doll. “Your face gives away everything. It’s why you suck at poker.”

“Shut-up,” she muttered.

Another window suddenly popped up, notifying her that she had another call. She stared at the screen as Seokjin’s name and picture appeared in the window. Her eyes lowered to the corner of the monitor, spying the time, and she wondered why he was calling. He’d given her the rest of the week off so she could adjust to all the hormonal imbalances that came with her pregnancy. Talking with her brother was part of the whole routine check-up bit, but she really wanted to talk to him about her being with child.

“Hold on, Jake. I have another call.”

“Sure.”

She put her brother on hold, answering Seokjin’s call. When his face popped up on the screen, Anastasia could only stare at how uncomfortably close his face was to the camera. Neither of them said anything. She was too startled to speak and he apparently was trying to read something about her. He did this often when he was trying to catch her in some kind of lie or if she was secretly up to something.

“Seokjin,” she finally said, blinking, “what are you doing?” Anastasia looked over his shoulder to see if he was in his office. “Shouldn’t you be, oh I dunno, working or something?”

“Why are you on the computer?” he asked suddenly. “I gave you the rest of the week off to rest. Not so you could stare at a monitor.”

Anastasia sighed. “I’m talking to my brother. Why?”

“You can’t talk on the phone?”

“Phone calls are expensive. Skype is free.”

He gave her a dissatisfied look. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious! Why are you calling me on Skype if you’re worried about me being in front of a monitor?”

“Because you won’t answer your phone!”

“My phone’s dead and I’m charging it!” Anastasia puffed out one of her cheeks. “Geez, you’re impossible.”

He frowned, brushing some of his hair out of his eyes before leaning back in his chair. “…are you hungry?”

“Am I hung—what?” She looked back at the clock to make sure of the time. “It’s still early!”

“You should at least eat breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Anastasia rolled her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be working? Go back to work!”

Without waiting for his response, she hung up the call and went back to the window her brother was on. Jacob was busying himself with scribbling some notes on a notepad.

“Sorry about that.”

He looked up at the screen, setting his pen down. “Who was that?”

“A potential headache.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Just a headache.”

Jacob smirked. “Yeah? Sounds like a boyfriend to me.”

“Jacob Martin!”

He laughed loudly, holding a hand up as he patted the air. “Okay, okay. I get it. Dropping it now.”

Anastasia smiled as she sighed, realizing how much she missed her brother being around. He mentioned coming to visit from time to time, but between working and trying to find his place in the world, she knew that it was almost impossible. Air fare wasn’t cheap and while she could afford to fly him out if he wanted, there was the internal worry about him judging her ties with former gangsters. Their home life wasn’t peaches and cream, but it was far from unsavory. What family was perfect?

Even so, she still wondered what her brother would think of her if she told him she was having a child out of wedlock.

Once the heavy topic of her work environment was no longer the focus, the two of them were able to engage in lighter conversation. Again, Jacob mentioned coming to visit her in South Korea, mostly because he wanted to see the country she’d called home for the last three and a half years. The place was full of beauty and splendor. There were many things about the land that helped heal her from the horrible fall she’d had over her broken dreams. While she may not have been a chef and restaurant owner like she wanted, her current occupation brought her to this place.

The path she walked led her to Seokjin, the man she loved.

Half an hour passed and she realized that it was getting late. She worried that she was keeping Jacob up longer than normal.

“You should probably get some rest,” she said, noting the tired look in Jacob’s eyes, “you have the overnight shift this week, don’t you?”

Jacob stifled a yawn. “Yeah, but it’s fine. I need to make sure that Phillip did his homework.”

“Let Elena worry about that.”

He nodded, waving a hand back and forth to her. Anastasia wished to ruffle his hair like she often did when they were teenagers. A painful wave of nostalgia overtook her and she did her best not to cry, cursing herself for all the pregnancy hormones throwing her out of whack. Jacob didn’t seem to notice as he finished off his bottle of water.

“Mm, alright. I guess I’ll try to get some sleep. G’night, ‘Stasia.”

Anastasia rubbed at her eyes to keep the tears from falling. “Goodnight, Jake.”

The blip noise sounded after the call ended and Anastasia was left with only silence. She curled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs as she buried her face into her knees. A weak sob was all she could muster, mourning the lack of family around her to tell her that everything was going to be okay. That her worries would be for nothing and that she would be happy. That she deserved to be happy, despite all of her failures.

For a moment, all she could do was sob quietly to herself. There were so many missed opportunities to empty her soul to her brother. He would have understood and encouraged her. Jacob would have told her that she was strong, that she was one of the strongest people he knew, and that this little bump in the road was just one pothole on the way to glory. Their parents would have told her she was shameful for carrying another man’s child when she hadn’t even so much as been introduced to his family. That it was a disgrace to have a child as an unmarried woman. People did it all the time, but not her family. Not the D’Angelo’s.

Anastasia didn’t know how long she was curled up in her chair. She was pretty sure that she’d drifted off at some point. Her limbs ached from scrunching herself up into a ball and they protested as she tried to straighten herself out. A hand rubbed at her stomach while the other wiped the moisture from her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Baby,” she whispered, rubbing circles over her belly, “I didn’t mean to cramp you up like that.”

She stretched her legs out, then her arms, before standing. Grabbing the mug, she made her way downstairs. She’d barely made it into the kitchen before the front door burst open and in walked Seokjin, looking flustered and haggard. The mug slipped from her hands and fell into the sink with a loud clatter as she spun around the moment he stalked into the kitchen.

“W-What are you doing?!” Anastasia managed to stammer out, taking a step back as Seokjin quickly closed the distance between them. “You’re supposed to be at work!”

“You hung up on me!”

“That’s because you were acting crazy!”

Anastasia peered around him, hoping that Jimin had the wherewithal to at least follow so she could drag Seokjin back to the office. She frowned, ducking under his arm and bolting from into the living room. He was practically on her heels.

This was insane!

Stopping short, she whirled on her heels and Seokjin had to raise himself up onto the balls of his feet to keep from crashing into her. She stuck her hand out.

“Phone. Now.”

He blinked down at her. “What? No!”

“Gimme the phone, Seokjin!”

His eyes narrowed, issuing his silent refusal. Anastasia didn’t care as she took a step forward, her hands lunging out to reach into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He wasn’t fast enough to move out of the way and her fingers quickly found the item. When he tried to snatch it back from her, she twirled so that her back was facing him.

Her thumb slid over the dots to form the pattern needed to unlock his phone and she immediately dialed Jimin. As the phone rang, Seokjin tried to take the phone back but Anastasia was already half running, half jumping up the stairs toward the loft. Jimin answered before the second ring could finish.

“Hyung! Where did you go?!”

“Jimin-ah, you tell your boss to take his ass back to work!”

“A-Ana Noona? What are you—?”

“Do you hear me?” Her feet landed on the top step and she turned around to stick her foot out, her heel planting itself against Seokjin’s chest to keep him from moving any closer to her. “He has fivemeetings today and one of them is in twenty minutes. How could you let him leave the office in the first place?!”

“I’m sorry, Noona. I tried! But Seokjin Hyung hit me. He hit me in the chest and I was horrified!”

She shot him a glare. “He did what now?”

“He’s never hit me. I didn’t know what to do! I was caught off guard! I’m sorry. I’ll come over right now.”

Anastasia hung up the phone and tossed it back to Seokjin. She then pointed downstairs. “Out.”

He pouted. “Anastasia, come on…”

“Go back to work!” Her eyes narrowed. “If I end up having to take you backto the office, I’m going to work and I’m gonna make every second of your life a living hell while I’m there. Do you understand me?”

Seokjin gave her the once over, as if trying to surmise if she really would do it. He knew better. At least she hoped he knew better. She was as stubborn as a mule and if he thought, for even one second, that she was playing around, then he’d rue the day he ever hired her. She wasn’t going to back down from this and an angry pregnant woman was not a variable that Kim Seokjin would be in a hurry to deal with.

After a moment, he sighed and leaned against the wall. “…alright, you win.” He held his hands up, turning to head downstairs. “I’ll go.”

She stayed upstairs, waiting to hear him put on his shoes and open the door. When she didn’t hear it close, however, Anastasia smiled and shook her head. “I’ll see you tonight,” she called down to him, “have a good day.”

“…love you.”

Her cheeks flushed slightly and she walked down a few steps so she could see his pitiful face.

She laughed.

“I love you too.”

#hyunglinenetwork #btsbookclub #networkbangtan #btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fanfics #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfics #bts mafia au #bts mafia!au #bts crime au #bts crime!au #bts angst #bts x angst #bts x romance #bts romance #bts ot7 #ot7 bts #thebiasrekkers #bts thebiasrekkers #make it right bts #bts make it right

[astrology-with-charu]

Gemini Season & New Moon in Gemini June #Astrology #Horoscope

Bike riders are out on the roads with a devil may care attitude - you know Gemini season is here.

Socially distancing, the neighbours are celebrating birthday screaming from one balcony to another cute wishes, you know Gemini season is here.

Something inside you doesn’t let you sit - you pace, you tweet, you read, you tweet again, you have to have to tell someone that thing you might have heard & might be true or not - you are 60% sure it’s true, ok 50% sure, ok who is ever more than 30% sure of anything anymore & subtract 10% cause it was told by my aunt to my other aunt, you know Gemini season is here.

Silly antics & a bit of belly laughter - it was a joke, a bit of tall tale - but it made you laugh didn’t it - when we are able to joke a little bit even in middle of a pandemic - you know Gemini season is here.

This is one of those rare years as 2020 has decided to be on all accords, where Gemini Season is beginning with a new Moon - Sun & Moon in Gemini - oh that’s not all Mercury, Venus, North Node in Gemini !!! That’s a lot of exclamation marks & it deserves it so.

Gemini heavy energy keeps things light within even when we don’t know if this is hope or delusion - there is no way to tell right now. Gemini season brings overload of information but there is no discretion in that - we don’t know what’s false what’s true.

It’s information - unprocessed, raw - all for our quick consumption & action. But we mutate, grow mentally in Gemini season - we are able to use all of that information coming our way to create something meaningful. We always walk off wiser, learning, reading, writing, selling, creating something of real commercial value after Gemini season - our mind grows as does our knowledge. And reskilling is what I feel we must dedicate this season to.

We will have the stormy summer of eclipses which I spoke of in my Eclipse note

(https://www.facebook.com/595133057621535/posts/847026582432180/)

but we will have Sun in topical zodiac sign of Gemini till 20 June - giving us flexibility, agility to mutate to new life situations. But things aren’t going to be fixed in stone - expect speed, too much information / news coming our way, things changing quickly but trust also your capacity to respond to it.

This new moon in Gemini which will have strong influence on us for next two weeks - walks the thin line of hope & delusion. At 2° Gemini it prompts return to State of Innocence, to never loose that child like belief in marvel of life - imagination, play, possibly bringing us back to books & games we enjoyed as a kid.

This is a bit of discovery process - discovery of new & of what looks impossible. We to some extend are prompted to not poke holes in our imagination - not shoot darts of reality at the moment. Sometimes hope in current moment is more important than thinking about larger life plan - small victories are more important than waiting to win the larger scale life battle. There is a bit of self indulgent denial of uncomfortable truths in this moment.

2° Gemini in Sambian astrology is depicted as “Santa Clause furtively filling stockings hanging in front of the fireplace” - there is a deliberation in creating optimism cause this journey of discovering the impossible that we are on requires a bit of faith, just pure child like faith in life. And the new moon at this degree of innocence is trying to gently wake that back up in us - through play, through reminder of the past, even through this lovelorn nostalgia doing circles in our mind. We are being reminded that we dream, we hope & we create from a place of possibilities not from a place of lack. It’s reminding us possibly of happy times so we can start working on creating happier ones.

You and I both know there is a whole lot of misinformation & sometimes unfounded optimism which is doing rounds. But within limits is that so bad ? Neptune is a strong influence right now & will be till mid June - that breeds deception, misinformation but it also rules miracles, faith, solidarity, higher octave of Venus - selfless love & compassion for others in the common boat. But it’s not the music of sinking titanic that Neptune is blaring, though many of us would be strongly hearting the blues cause the cocktail of Venus retrograde & Neptune square usually ends up in nostalgia or worst romantic mistakes. Neptune creates the fog of hope too - helping us walk beyond our current existence & our current limitations. Helping us do things that are frightening sometimes even heroic. Beautiful things come out of loss sometimes with Neptune faith cause it dissolves what’s not real in our life.

Conjunct the fixed Star Alcyone - known for Mercury of Freud - this is opportunity to plant a new seed devoid of judgement cause there is possibility of real insight provided we don’t yet - not yet - poke holes in the possibility by making a list of all the reasons why it won’t work. Return to state of innocence requires more than just laughing with your friends again - it requires us to create hope against hope. Collectively it puts the responsibility on all of us to put our thinking caps on, leaving the wallow of the past behind to create for the future. This is the star of Leonardo da Vinci - inventive, artistic, visionary. It’s linked with blindness to what’s in front of us but it’s also linked to third eye opening - there is potential for a visionary idea, real insight provided we stay off our own rushed judgements against our own possibility of success.

But this is your vision - not of a cult leader - that’s where we need to be careful of the deception element of this season. Easy test is to know whether you are working on your imagination & idea or another man’s dream that was sold to you. This star is also linked to Jim Jones - you know the spiritual leader that led a flock of 500 followers to mass suicide on the basis of his “spiritual” vision - yes one of those we gotto stay off.

As I mentioned in North Node In Gemini & South Node In Sagittarius note -

(https://www.facebook.com/595133057621535/posts/849354288866076/)

road to success till early 2022 is to learn to see world in simpler terms & making life decisions using facts not philosophy - no cults, manipulators of information calling themselves “guru or Teachers or worst saviours”, staying in present - here & now, not a 2030 plan but a now & here plan, empty mind of old information / learning / philosophies- reskilling, staying local versus globe trotting, flexible, media savvy, staying off extreme belief systems & extreme philosophies, staying far off from people peddling those as well. Rahu will continue to manipulate & exaggerate information - think of time post 9/11 when north node was last in Gemini - think of information/ misinformation spread post that as well as impact on our belief system, faith & on mundane level how globalisation and travel was changed forever.

While you sift, sort absorb information overload, stay on a plan - don’t get distracted by theories of people peddling them for click baits & views. Your time is precious & this period is crucial for you to reskill, learn, get more involved in your local communities, become a student of life - that feeling of being a student who hasn’t yet chosen his or her specialisation - he/she is confused yet full of possibilities cause anything is possible & there are multiple options cause everything is being recreated in some ways.

Both Mercury & Venus in Gemini are out of bounds till early June - this is our mind & heart together in uncharted territory. It’s great for developing new ways of thinking, hearing those imaginary noises in our head 😉, lateral thinking, learning information on things we didn’t think possible before. Shocking talks with no way of knowing validity of the tall claims by people, our talk till atleast 9th June will have no censors, no limitations. It will lead to the diplomatic issue on global relationships in first ten days of June which we spoke of in Venus retrograde videos & notes. We would say things we haven’t said before but we would also open ourselves to possibilities we haven’t opened ourselves to - out of norm bold expression of unique. If you listen to Howard Sterns - he has Mercury out of bounds! It gives creative talent for dissolving boundaries of what is normally possible - we are able to go unorthodox and with Mercury zooming ahead of Sun it’s the time to try the untested.

This will happen in love & intimacy too with Venus out of bounds - but remember Venus is retrograde - experiment but don’t get attach to whatever quirky pleasure or relationship you are trying out. It may not fit post the retrograde so don’t overextend financially or emotionally or in fashion / dramatic change in looks - we are bound to go for the ne real tried before fashions & styles.

In this out of bound period - you would find yourself or yours taking the risk to go for a job or career or project never tried before but more to their liking.

Next week 25-27 May we would see a display of exaggeration or hyperbole unfortunately & it will escalate tensions. There is need for adjustments on these dates - need to be flexible to see things from others perspective as our compulsive side or of others we deal with can get out of control. Arguments are possible as anything that’s being created contrary to what we want can bring up fears or rule us up while our mind & heart is out of bounds. We would need to consciously stay humble in our talk but still communicate what we need.

On 28th May North Node in Gemini will meet Mercury first time in 19 years - unicorns won’t fly but we would get amped up to talk & a chance discussion or messaging or thought can give a hint like boulder to a growth opportunity. Next 6 months we are going to be growing it & perfecting over next 18 months with North Node here. If you miss it don’t worry - we can’t really miss our destiny - we would have Sun make the same aspect right before summer solstice in June. But make an effort on these days to listen to signs, to yourself, as you would be just beginning to develop awareness to what growth opportunities north node in Gemini will bring to us. 28 May, 19 June & 5 August are exact dates when our personal planets would make first contact with nodes - support required to respond to upcoming opportunities usually comes on those days so listen in.

On 29th May all the way to end of month - Saturn with Virgo moon will guide us to partition our big ideas into actionable steps. Words may not come out in the way we want - I won’t choose this time for external communication but more for a step by step plan & to create real ways to create gains from those out of bound ideas.

While eclipses will bring storms & fated changes - Gemini season always reminds us to not forget to play, connect & laugh.

https://www.facebook.com/595133057621535/posts/860613727740132/

After a bit of panic attack, I played Candy land today - we are never too old to play, never too old to learn new skills - many brilliant ideas came from play!

#astrology #horoscope #zodiac #freehoroscope #aquarius #scorpio #taurus #virgo #aries #cancer #gemini #leo #sagittarius #pisces #capricorn #june 2020 astrology #june 2020 horoscope #aries june 2020 #taurus june 2020 #gemini june 2020 #cancer june 2020 #leo june 2020 #virgo june 2020 #scorpio june 2020 #libra june 2020 #sagittarius june 2020 #aquarius june 2020 #pisces june 2020 #capricorn june 2020 #new moon gemini 2020

[officialcherubcampus]

CHERUB at Christmas

The following events take place on December 24th 2004, in-between Class A and Maximum Security.

1. The Old Neighbourhood

Friday December 24th 2004, 10:37 a.m.

James knew exactly what he’d see as he turned the corner into Holloway Villas: six-storey housing blocks, built around a courtyard, with a vandalised playground in the centre and the stench of rubbish as you walked past the giant steel bins.

The only thing James didn’t recognise was the graffiti. PIG41 was the new spray can supremo on James’ old estate. His bright red tag adorned walls, doors, billboards and even the pavement itself.

“You OK, James?” Bruce asked as the two boys walked side by side.

“Yeah,” James said, swallowing a lump in his throat.

But he wasn’t OK. Memories of the night when his mother died fourteen months earlier still had the power to sting.

Bruce handed James a tissue. “It’s a bit crumpled, but there’s no snot on it.”

“Ta,” James said, feeling a little embarrassed as he took it and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know...I mean...I just remembered the ambulance men carrying my mum out and Lauren holding my wrist. It all came flooding back.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Bruce said. “Nobody’s gonna get over their mum dying in any sort of a hurry.”

The boys headed up a concrete staircase. A bitter gust of wind hit them as they stepped out on to the second-floor balcony. James’ sadness was replaced by nostalgia as he remembered his mum yelling down off the balcony with a finger drumming against the face of her watch.

“Eight o’clock, James. You’ll catch hell if I have to come down there and get you.”

James stopped when he reached the living-room window of his old flat and glanced inside.

“Looks like a young couple moved in,” he said as he peered in. “It’s all been done up. Wood floors and that.”

Bruce nodded. “Looks pretty smart.”

“It does,” James said. “But I wouldn’t have paid two hundred and twenty grand to live there.”

“How much!” Bruce gasped.

James grinned. “Property prices round here are insane. Mum owned the flat and her mortgage was paid off by the life insurance when she died. Me and Lauren get to share the loot when we leave CHERUB.”

“You’re jammy,” Bruce said. “My parents died when I was a baby and they owed three grand on their Barclaycard.”

James stepped away from the window and rang the bell of a flat six doors further along the balcony. He waited half a minute, but there was no answer.

“We came all this way and the geezer’s out,” Bruce spluttered angrily. “I’m gonna kick his arse...”

“Keep your wig on,” James grinned. “This isn’t Alan’s place. My old mate Sam lives here. I was just gonna say hi, but it looks like he’s out. Alan lives in the one up the end; he’ll be waiting for me.”

When the door of Alan’s flat opened, James got engulfed in the arms of a grubby-looking man with a mass of black body hair down his arms and a giant beer gut.

“Hey, Alan,” James grinned, pleased to be reacquainted with a friend, but slightly less pleased at being hugged into a white vest that smelled of three-tins-for-a-pound body spray from Holloway market.

“You look good,” Alan gasped. “Quite a handsome young man now. You’ve got taller and thinned out. Come inside. Where’s the little lady?”

“Lauren couldn’t come. She’s back at our foster home with a stinking cold,” James lied. “This is my mate, Bruce. He’s gonna help me carry all the gear home.”

Alan led them down the hallway. “That’s a shame. I was looking forward to seeing Lauren. I hope being sick doesn’t spoil her Christmas.”

“I reckon she’s over the worst of it,” James said, as the boys stepped into Alan’s living room.

There was no space to sit because the entire room was stacked up with bags of stolen items. Only the tip of the Christmas tree was visible behind a stack of X-Boxes and PS2s.

Alan had been James’ mum’s number two before she died and now he’d taken over her shoplifting racket. James had grown up around the business and wasn’t impressed by what he saw.

“You want to be careful, Alan,” he said, as he spun around looking at the piles of stolen goods. “My mum would never have anything freshly nicked in our flat. If the police see all this lot, they’ll lock you up and throw away the key.”

“I know, I know,” Alan said defensively, sounding like he’d already heard this advice from other quarters. “But you know how mental everything gets at this time of year, James. I’ve got so much coming and going. I’ve got two lock-ups piled with stuff. There’s nowhere else to put it all.”

James nodded. “Mum used to tell everyone to get their orders in early, but it still went mad every Christmas.”

“You boys look half-frozen, would you like a hot drink? All the stuff you ordered is in those three bags over by the door.”

While Alan headed out to make tea, James dragged the bags into the centre of the room to check that everything he’d ordered was there. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Alan, but with the place in a state of chaos he could easily have made a mistake.

Bruce read down the list, “Burnout three, five copies, Gabrielle’s make up, PDA for Kerry, Lauren’s clothes, my extra-large nunchakus, Predator footy boots size six, Dior perfume set for Kerry, FCUK stuff for Bethany, two pairs of ...”

The bags contained most of the stuff James, Bruce and their pals were getting each other for Christmas.

When Alan came back holding two steaming mugs, James had a roll of fifty-pound notes in his hand.

“Half the shop price for this lot comes to five hundred and eighty quid,” James said. “It’s all there.”

Alan snatched the money and started counting it. Every seat in the room was covered in shoplifted goodies, so James and Bruce had to squat down on the carpet with their hot tea.

“So, what are you up to over Christmas?” James asked.

Alan shrugged. “Gonna visit my sister and her ‘orrible offspring, same as always.”

“Cool,” James nodded.

Alan held out three hundred from the money James had just handed him. “There you go boy, split that lot with your sister.”

James waved his hands in front of his face. “Don’t be daft, Alan. I told you I had the money to pay for this stuff when I rang up. I’m not asking for charity.”

Alan smiled. “James, your mother was very good to me over the years. She would have wanted me to look out for Lauren and you.”

“No,” James grinned.

But Alan dropped the money in James’ lap.

Bruce laughed and made a grab for it. “I’ll have it if you don’t want it.”

James reluctantly picked the money off the carpet. “You’re a good geezer, Al,” he grinned. “My nan always said she couldn’t understand how my mum ended up marrying that idiot Ron when you lived just down the balcony.”

Alan burst out laughing. “Old missus Choke, I haven’t thought about her in ages. She was a tough old bird, your grandmother. Didn’t stand any nonsense from anyone.”

James clambered off the carpet and reached out to shake Alan’s hand. “I’m gonna take a piss, then we’d better be going back to cam... erm, our foster home.”

“Oh,” Alan said, sounding a touch disappointed. “You can stay a while if you want. I’ll take you down the shops and get you both McDonalds or something.”

James shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, Alan, but we’ve got a fair journey back and you know how mental the trains get if you leave it till last thing on Christams Eve.”

2. Muddy Pups

12:08

In the main building on CHERUB campus the bell had rung for the end of lessons and the kids were free until the second of January. Some had gone off to the dojo to watch the Christmas Karate tournament, some had gone out to play football, but most kids headed off to their rooms to dump their schoolbooks and change out of CHERUB uniform into normal clothes.

Everyone was in high spirits at the prospect of a week-long break, except for eight kids inside the basic training compound and two others who were serving a punishment over on the far side of campus. Kyle Blueman was being punished for smoking cannabis, Lauren Adams for battering CHERUB’s head training instructor with a spade.

***

Lauren lost her footing as she clambered up the side of the ditch. Her wellington slid down the muddy embankment and she collapsed forward, unable to save herself because she was holding a bundle of branches in her arms. Kyle ploughed through the thirty-centimetre deep sludge and put out his hand.

Lauren could feel cold water trickling inside her waterproof trousers as Kyle hauled her up.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

Lauren was a picture of misery as chunks of mud slid down the front of her waterproof jacket. She gathered up the branches she’d dropped around her feet and began lobbing them up on to the embankment a couple at a time.

“I’m so knackered,” she said, breaking into a yawn before glancing at her watch. “And there’s still five hours to go.”

Kyle pulled his shovel out of the slurry. He scooped up a load of soggy leaves and dropped them into a heavy plastic sack.

“At least we’ve got the next two days off,” he said.

Lauren nodded. “Yeah, but you can forget about enjoying Christmas. I’m just gonna go to bed and sleep. I don’t even care about my presents.”

Kyle felt sorry for Lauren. They’d landed the same punishment, but it was tougher on ten-year-old Lauren than on Kyle, who’d turned fifteen a week earlier.

“I reckon we deserve a break,” Kyle said.

“It’s not one o’clock yet.”

Kyle turned backwards and looked at the section of cleared ditch behind them. “I reckon we’ve done a good morning’s graft, don’t you? I dug out all those leaves, you stripped down all the branches and chopped up that tree trunk.”

Lauren smiled in agreement. “Maybe you’re right. There’s nobody around and we deserve an extra fifteen minutes’ lunch after all that.”

They were in a particularly deep section of ditch, so Kyle clambered up the muddy embankment first, then gave Lauren a hand up so that she didn’t slip over again. The dining hall was over a kilometre away and they wouldn’t have been allowed in without stripping off their overalls and washing, so packed lunch was their only practical option. Lauren slumped down with her back against a tree, pulled off her gloves and wiped her muddy fingers on a damp flannel.

She grabbed a flask filled with hot soup from her backpack, poured soup into the lid and dipped in a hunk of bread. The extra-thick soup was made in the CHERUB kitchens and Lauren was starving. Kyle dunked his soup with a ham and tomato roll as a man’s voice came out of the trees.

“What’s this then, slacking off?”

Ken Crane was the CHERUB groundskeeper supervising Lauren and Kyle’s punishment. Lauren thought about jumping up and pretending to work, but Ken was close by and he was a decent bloke as long as you didn’t muck him about.

“Is it early, Ken?” Kyle said weakly. “My watch must be fast.”

“Must be,” Ken smirked, as he squelched up to the edge of the ditch and looked at what they’d done.

“Not a bad show,” he nodded. “You two make a good little team. I’ll be sorry when your punishments are over.”

Lauren smiled. “We certainly won’t be.”

Ken laughed. “Anyhow, I came over here to tell you both to scoot off.”

Kyle grinned. “You serious?”

“Yep. Take your tools back to the shed and hose the mud off your boots and overalls. I’ll pick up the branches and sacks of leaves with the tractor later on.”

Lauren interrupted. “But Dr McAfferty’s very strict. He said...”

“Do I look concerned about Dr McAfferty? It’s Christmas Eve and I’m telling you to buzz off. Go and have a good Christmas and I’ll see you back here in a few days.”

Lauren chucked away the last of her soup, screwed the lid back on her flask and stood up, grinning.

“Thank you, Mr Crane. Have a good Christmas yourself.”

3. A Final Look

12:40

Ancient memories washed over Marcus Thompson as the taxi wound down the road leading to CHERUB campus’ single entrance.

In particular, he recalled a summer’s day nearly fifty years earlier. Back then he was a newly qualified CHERUB agent, walking along this very stretch of road in plimsolls and cotton shorts, with a couple of young pals for company. They were heading for a nearby lake that was the closest thing CHERUB had to a swimming pool in those days.

Everything, except the twisting outline of the road itself, had changed. The dirt track that got churned into mud every winter had been widened, tarmacked and fitted with street lighting. The small farms that had surrounded campus back then had gradually been bought up. Where Marcus remembered a view over open fields, there was now a ten-metre breeze-block wall, topped with razor wire and CCTV cameras. Every twenty metres there was a yellow warning sign:

          DO NOT ENTER

          Any attempt to climb this wall may be met with deadly force.

          By Order Ministry of Defence.

“Gives me the spooks this road,” the taxi driver said, as he took a sharp bend slightly too fast, pressing Marcus against the car door. “It’s like the X-files, or Area 51, or something. Everyone goes on about it in the pubs and that. I even know a couple of ladies who work in the kitchens, but they never say a word about what goes on inside.”

Marcus allowed himself to smile. Fifty years hadn’t changed some things: the locals still wanted to know what CHERUB campus was all about.

“It’s probably better you don’t know,” Marcus said.

The driver laughed. “You’re probably right, old-timer. I’ll give you lot one thing though, this place is good for business. The run between here and the station is one of my biggest earners.”

The taxi took another bend uncomfortably fast, and when they were round it the metal gates of CHERUB campus were visible. The cab driver pulled up in front of the gate and walked around to the boot to grab Marcus’ suitcase. His elderly passenger was struggling to get out of the car, but turned down an offer of help.

“That’s six-eighty, guv.”

As Marcus fumbled in his wallet, the chairman of CHERUB emerged through a riveted door at the side of the main gate. He spread his arms out wide and the two men hugged.

“My god,” Mac shouted. “Marcus Thompson, I haven’t seen you since...”

Marcus smiled. “I was here for the fortieth reunion, back in eighty-six.”

13:32

Gabrielle O’Brien knocked on the Chairman’s door and got called in immediately.

Dr McAfferty - commonly known as Mac - sat at his fireplace holding a tumbler of whiskey. Gabrielle didn’t recognise the black man sitting opposite. He had a few wisps of grey hair on his head and a can of Heineken in his hand. He turned to Gabrielle and gave her a gap-toothed smile.

“By gum, you’re beautiful,” Marcus grinned, standing as quickly as his frail body would allow and kissing the back of Gabrielle’s hand. “Will you marry me?”

Gabrielle backed off uneasily, sensing that the man was a little drunk. “I think thirteen is a bit young to be getting married.”

“Thirteen, but you’re a giant,” Marcus smiled. “You look at least fifteen. Is it me or are you kids getting bigger these days?”

Mac laughed. “They’re bigger. That’s why they eat so much and grow through so many clothes. I got a letter from the Intelligence Services Procurement department last week. They wanted to know why I’d spent over sixty thousand pounds on footwear over the last year.”

“Sixty grand,” Marcus spluttered, shocked. “In our day we had hob nail boots and white plimsolls that got handed from one kid to the next till the soles wore through.”

“Tell me about it,” Mac grinned. “The combat boots these kids wear for training are a hundred and twenty pounds a throw. And every kid these days has to have designer gear for their casual clothes.”

Gabrielle smiled guiltily. “Well, kids on the outside wear that stuff and we have to blend in when we’re on missions.”

Dr McAfferty nodded. “Gabrielle, Marcus here is one of my oldest and dearest friends. We were both CHERUB agents together back in the nineteen-fifties. He’s been living in Barbados for most of the last twenty years, but he’s caught the nostalgia bug and asked if he could visit us for Christmas. I’m afraid I have some paperwork to finish up before the holidays, so I’d like you to treat Marcus to the grand tour. Show him all our new buildings and facilities. Access all areas, I think we can trust him.”

Gabrielle would have preferred to hang out with her mates, but Marcus seemed a nice enough old bloke and you can’t really say no when the Chairman asks a favour.

As Marcus walked slowly towards the door, Mac whispered in Gabrielle’s ear. “I appreciate this, Gabrielle. Take Marcus round in one of the golf buggies, he’s a very sick man and I’m led to believe that he’s only got a few months to live. He just wants to take a last look at the place where he spent most of his childhood.”

4. GMT+8

16:03 UK time

It was past midnight in Tokyo, but Kerry was jet-lagged and couldn’t get to sleep. She threw back a corner of her bedding and looked at the digital clock on the bedside table: 00:03, Christmas Day.

It was a miserable feeling, being trapped in a hotel room with only a snoring mission controller for company. Kerry’s first big solo mission was a golden opportunity to establish her reputation amongst the elite corps of recently qualified CHERUB agents.

She’d spent weeks polishing up her Japanese language skills, hours reading mission briefings and detailed texts on the Yakuza. She wanted to succeed more than anything else in the world; it was just a shame that she couldn’t have flown out a couple of days later and spent Christmas with her friends on campus.

Kerry closed her eyes again, but quickly realised that she wasn’t even close to feeling sleepy. It might have been dark outside, but as far as her body clock was concerned it was four in the afternoon. She stepped up to the window and opened a tiny crack in the curtains. The room was fourteen storeys up and the streets below glimmered under a mixture of streetlight and neon signs. Flocks of ant-sized people moved along the pavements and the traffic remained solid, even at this early hour of the morning.

If the room had been larger, Kerry might have flicked on the TV or bedside light to read by, but the two single beds were separated by less than half a metre and she didn’t want to disturb her mission controller. Instead, she stepped into the bathroom and pushed the door closed quietly before turning on the light.

The cramped space had a slight disinfectant smell. There was barely enough room between the shower, toilet and sink to take two steps. She sat on the toilet lid and noticed that there was a telephone attached to the wall beside the tissue holder.

***

James had been picked up at the station nearest to campus by mini-bus, along with a bunch of other cherubs who’d managed to wrangle Christmas Eve as a shopping day. He was waiting for the lift up to his sixth-floor room, holding two big bags of presents, when his mobile rang.

He flipped it open. “James Adams, super stud speaking.”

“Super what?” Kerry giggled. “Super idiot more like.”

“How was the flight?”

“Ten hours, economy class. Two days before Christmas, so you can imagine. Heathrow airport was a nuthouse, the plane was packed. It’s already Christmas Day over here. Well, we’re ten minutes into it anyway.”

“I’ve just been down to London with Bruce,” James explained as he stepped into the lift. “I’m holding your present in my hands actually.”

“You know this is a really long mission, James. It’s gonna be at least April before I get to open it.”

“I’ll tell you what it is if you like.”

Kerry thought for a second. “Nah, it’ll be a nice surprise when I get back.”

“I just hope I’m not on a mission when you do. We could end up not seeing each other for yonks.”

The lift doors opened at the sixth floor and James stepped out.

“Well,” Kerry said, “I only rang to wish you a happy Christmas and I bet this call is costing a packet. I’d better go.”

James made a kissing noise. “I wish you were here, Kerry. Christmas is gonna suck without you around.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Kerry said sadly. “Goodbye, James. Tell Gabrielle and everyone else that I wished them a happy Christmas.”

James flipped his phone shut and put the two bags down on the carpet outside his room.

Bruce grinned at James and blew him a kiss. “Bye bye Kerry, smooch,” he grinned, mocking James’ voice. “I miss you sweetie cakes, smoochy, smoochy.”

James tutted as he pulled his room key out of his tracksuit bottoms. “Shut up. Just ‘cos you haven’t got a girlfriend. You’d better help us sort out all this shopping. I’ve got tons of wrapping-up to do.”

As James headed into his room, he heard his name being yelled out from Meryl Spencer’s office at the end of the corridor. He knew it couldn’t be Meryl herself. She was at a TV studio in London.

He realised it was her assistant, Christine.

“James Adams,” Christine repeated angrily. “Get your sorry butt down here right now!”

“Crap,” James muttered to Bruce under his breath.

“Busted,” Bruce giggled.

“Clearly,” James shrugged. “I’m just trying to think what I’ve done.”

He pushed his shopping in the doorway and headed towards the slender woman standing at the end of the corridor.

“Into the office, James,” Christine said tersely.

James headed in, Christine followed. The door clattered shut as she sat down behind Meryl’s desk.

“James, Meryl allowed you to take a Christmas shopping day on the understanding that you were up to date with all of your homework.”

“Yeah,” James nodded. “I am.”

“I had Mr Grwgoski up here looking for you earlier, James. He doesn’t seem to agree with you.”

James looked a little shocked. “Oh.”

“A short essay, written in Russian, on the history of Moscow. I believe it was due to be handed in more than a week ago.”

“Yeah, um...I forgot.”

“James, if I had a pound for every time you’ve conveniently forgotten a homework assignment...”

“Sorry, Chris; but I’ll do it right after Christmas, I swear.”

Christine slowly shook her head. “Oh no, you won’t. You’re going to do it right now.”

“But...”

Christine pointed at a small wooden desk in the corner of her office. It was a really old-fashioned one with an inkwell built in and a place for storing your books underneath.

“James, I took the liberty of going into your room while you were out. I found your Russian books and your pencil case and put them on that desk ready for you to start work.”

“But...”

“No ifs, no buts, James. You’re going to sit at that desk and complete that homework while I’m sitting here watching you.”

“It’s gonna take hours though,” James whined. “It’s Christmas.”

“Then you’d better get a move on. As far as you’re concerned, Christmas doesn’t start until you’ve finished that assignment.”

James reluctantly slumped down at the desk. “So much for the season of goodwill,” he said miserably as he opened his textbook. “Can I at least watch Meryl when she’s on TV later?”

Christine looked at her watch. “James, her show’s not on for another two and a half hours. If you get your act together, you’ll be finished long before then.”

5. Celebrity Madness

18:58

It had been more than five years since Meryl Spencer appeared on television. She’d always had a reclusive streak and rarely made public appearances, even when she was at the pinnacle of her career. She’d told everyone that she’d accepted the offer to appear on the show because it was for charity, but she was also quite flattered that people still remembered her more than six years after retiring from athletics.

Meryl felt self-conscious, sitting behind a neon-lit counter with two other sports personalities for company. She had a buzzer and bank of small screens in front of her. The hot studio lights were pushing up beads of sweat on her neck and a young man leaned in and dabbed them away with a cotton wool ball.

A roar came up from the audience as the warm-up comedian rounded off his spiel.

“Ladies and gentleman, let’s have a big cheer for tonight’s host. England’s all time number one international goal scorer and winner of three premiership titles, Martin Monroe.”

The balding ex-footballer stepped in from stage left in a snappy suit as the audience began cheering. He signed a couple of autographs, before stepping on to the set and taking his seat at the centre of the stage. Meryl heard the director speaking into her earpiece.

“OK people, look happy. Remember, you’re going out live to seven million people so let’s keep it sweet.”

Meryl’s face got another dab with the cotton wool and her glass of water was refilled while the opening titles rolled. The audience went wild as the camera panned in on the host.

“Hello and welcome to this special Christmas charity edition of Sports Quiz. Two teams of three contestants battling it out and, for one night only, every correct answer wins five hundred pounds for charity. Joining our regular team captains Rhys and Susan tonight are four outstanding sports personalities from around the world.”

Meryl stifled a gasp as her face filled up the monitor. Seven million people.

Monroe continued. “Joining us tonight in a rare public appearance, Meryl Spencer.”

The audience broke out into another bout of wild clapping.

“Meryl was the red-hot favourite for a one-hundred-metre gold at the 1992 Olympics in Barcelona but tragically pulled up in her heat. But it all came right in Atlanta in 1996.”

The monitor cut away from Meryl’s face to a scene recorded in the Olympic stadium eight years earlier. A close shot opened out to show a line of muscular women on the starting blocks. The pistol fired and the women sprung up. Meryl was first out of the blocks and continued powering away from the field, passing the finish line ten and a half seconds later, three strides clear of the field.

The commentator’s voice, “The Jamaican simply blew the rest of that field away...”

Meryl had seen footage of her victory thousands of times before, but still looked proud as the director cut back to her face.

“Meryl,” the genial host grinned. “That run still stands as the Olympic record and as the third fastest hundred metres ever run by a woman. A truly phenomenal achievement.”

Meryl nodded. “Thank you, Martin.”

Martin smiled sneakily as the audience clapped. “And we understand you went to Japan and made some TV commercials shortly after your victory?”

Meryl covered her face with her hands and shrieked with nervous laughter. “Oh no, you’re not going to show that.”

Meryl knew they were going to show that, because they’d done it in rehearsals a few hours earlier. She heard the director’s voice in her earpiece.

“That’s a great expression, Meryl. You look really shocked, now give the audience a smile just to make it known that you’re not really upset - that’s perfect.”

***

There were more than a hundred and fifty kids gathered in the CHERUB dining hall watching Meryl Spencer dressed in a chicken suit being fired out of a cannon, while an array of incomprehensible Japanese slogans flashed across the screen.

James was laughing as hard as anyone else. “Oh my god!” he snorted. “I wonder how much they paid her to do that.”

Kyle replied, “Meryl did OK, judging by the gold Rolex and that fancy Mercedes she drives.”

James and Kyle sat around their usual table with Bruce, Callum, Connor, Gabrielle and Marcus Thompson. The sixty-two-year-old had turned down the opportunity to join Mac in the staff dining-room. He’d downed a bottle of red wine while he struggled through a plate of fish and chips, and entertained the kids with anecdotes from the early days of CHERUB.

Marcus told the kids that he enjoyed their company because they made him feel young. The kids didn’t mind because most of the stories were funny and Marcus was happy to dish out dirt on some of CHERUB’s most senior staff.

6. Lessons About Driving and Alcohol...

When Sport Quiz ended, the kids had to clear out of the dining-hall so that the kitchen staff could come in and get set everything up for Christmas dinner the next day.

“What are we gonna do now?” Kyle asked. “Someone upstairs must be having a party or something.”

James shrugged. “I’d better go back to my room, I’ve got loads of presents to wrap.”

Gabrielle spoke. “I’m taking Marcus over to the Junior Block. The little kids are doing a nativity play.”

“I’m up for that,” Bruce nodded. “Remember last year when that little shepherdess fell off the stage?”

Kyle nodded. “I felt sorry for her, but it was hilarious.”

Everyone else decided to go over and see the play.

“Come on, James,” Connor said. “Let’s all stick together, it’s Christmas Eve.”

“I can’t. I’ve got presents to wrap.”

“Who cares?” Kyle said. “They’re all gonna be unwrapped in a few hours anyway.”

James had bought labels and wrapping paper in town the previous weekend, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised the prospect of sitting on his floor with scissors and tape wasn’t going to be nearly as much fun as hanging out with the gang.

“OK,” James nodded. “I’m in. Lauren should be over there anyway and I wouldn’t mind seeing her for a bit.”

Marcus led the way towards the exit.

“To the Batmobile,” the grey-haired man shouted, taking a swig of rum from a hip flask that had appeared from inside his jacket moments after he’d drained the last of the wine.

As they stepped out into the chill air, Gabrielle was alarmed to see Marcus taking up the driver’s seat of the electric golf buggy she’d been using to shuttle him around campus.

“Marcus,” she said sternly. “I don’t think you’re in any fit state...”

Marcus broke into a big grin. “Hogwash, girl,” he grinned. “I’ve been driving all my life and I’ve not had so much as a scrape. Come on, kids, climb aboard. Next stop the junior block. Have your fares ready to pay the conductor.”

“Shotgun,” James shouted, as he dived into the front passenger seat of the little buggy. Kyle, Bruce and Callum crammed themselves into the back, while Connor and Shakeel had to perch on the small cargo shelf with their legs dangling over the rear of the vehicle.

Gabrielle placed a firm hand on Marcus’ shoulder. “Mr Thompson, I really don’t think you should be driving.”

Marcus shot her a mischievous grin. “I don’t want to marry you any more, Gabrielle O’Brien. You’re starting to sound just like all of my ex-wives.”

Marcus hit the accelerator and the overloaded buggy began whirring away without her.

“Frankly, I’d rather walk,” Gabrielle shouted bitterly after them. She was angry at the way Marcus had treated her after she’d spent half the day chaperoning him around campus.

The little buggies were good for thirty kilometres an hour, but not with seven passengers aboard. Marcus lurched the steering wheel sharply to the right as the buggy edged off the gravel path on to the grass verge.

“Watch it, dude,” James yelled.

“I can hardly see where I’m going,” Marcus said, as he pulled back on to the path and began picking up speed.

“It might help if you turned the headlamps on,” James said. “The switch is on your right, below the steering wheel.”

Much to James’ alarm, Marcus took his eyes off the road and began looking for the switch. All six passengers simultaneously realised that Gabrielle had been right about their elderly pilot being in no state to drive.

James grabbed the steering wheel as the vehicle lurched off the road. Marcus flipped the headlamps on in time for James to see that they were going way too fast to make it around a sharp bend less than twenty metres in front of them.

“Oh my god,” James shouted, wrapping his arms over his face as Marcus hit the brake pedal.

The braking did little to stop them careering off the path into one of the combed gravel beds at the front of the Dojo. There was a horrific grinding noise as the buggy ploughed into the loose stones, sending them firing off in all directions.

The battery cut out and the headlamps failed as the buggy nudged a low wall and ground to a halt. James heard the flying gravel settle and breathed a mouthful of dust as they were plunged back into darkness.

“Is everybody OK?” he gasped.

“I think we’re gonna live,” Kyle said dryly, as he clambered out the side of the buggy. “Just.”

Bruce and Connor had both fallen off the back when the buggy as it juddered over the gravel, but it only seemed to be pride that was hurt as they dusted themselves down.

Marcus Thompson began to giggle drunkenly. “You think I should have let young Gabrielle drive after all?”

Kyle whispered in James’ ear, “If I didn’t know the old soak was already dying, I’d kill him.”

7. Goodnight Sweetheart

By the time they’d hauled the golf buggy out of the gravel and reset the fuses to make it run again, James and his friends had missed Mary and Joseph setting off for Bethlehem and the little baby Jesus was dilated to seven centimetres. All the seats were gone, so they had to stand up at the back of the hall..

“I can see the head,” a seven-year-old Joseph squawked from the gloomily lit stage at the front of the hall.

Mary yelled out in pain as an attentive shepherd mopped her brow.

“Come on, Mary, put your back into it.”

“I can see it,” Joseph screamed as he grabbed a plastic doll off the floor and launched it high above his head. “It’s a boy.”

“We’re going to call it Jesus,” Mary said.

James went up on tiptoes and tried to spot Lauren in the darkened hall. He whispered to Kyle, “Can you see my sister anywhere?”

Kyle looked at his watch, “It’s gone nine and she looked pretty beat when we finished digging. Maybe she went to bed early.”

James nodded. “I’ll go check out her room.”

He crept out of the hall and passed down a deserted corridor. He knocked gently before sticking his head inside the door. The room was dark, but he could make out Lauren’s outline rising and falling beneath her duvet. One arm dangled over the side of the bed and her fingertips touched the floor.

James stepped inside and stood watching his sister for a moment. He felt sorry for her, knowing that she faced five more weeks of digging, followed by the horrors of basic training. He wished there was a way he could take some of the burden off his sister, but he knew that the only thing he could do right now was let her sleep.

“Goodnight, sis,” James whispered as he backed out of the room.

At least he knew Lauren would be happy in the morning when she saw what he’d got her for Christmas.

#CHERUB #cherub books #Robert Muchamore

[nanasdevil]

nostalgia [n.jm]

warning: profanity genre: angst, (fluff if you look close) || gender neutral prompt: fame always brought the worst out of people. word count: 998 na jaemin x reader

you: nana, i miss you, the old you.

jaemin: i'm still the same person though?

you: jaemin, you know fame did something to you.

jaemin: yea it made me rich.

you: and entitled. jaemin you're ruining us, why can't you be like jeno? humble, kind, never forgets the people in his past. we grew up together and us two were always close but now it feels like all i have left is jeno and nostalgia.

jaemin: i don't know what you're talking about y/n.

you: stop playing dumb, stop acting like you haven't changed. if you don't want me in your life then say it jaem, just fucking say it so i can finally walk away.

jaemin: forget it, we always argue about this y/n, and you're the one who comes back crawling. but yea, please do walkout of my life.  

you: let's see who the one crawling back now is. seen 17:49

[nct dream p.o.v]

"jaemin you keep messing up the same moves what's up with you today." jeno shouts at jaemin as he kept messing up one of the most crucial dance moves.

jaemin always had back problems and a hard time with some dance moves considering he was the most likely to mess up a dance. but today something was off, he seemed stressed, and his mind was in a way different place than work.

"nothing is wrong, let's just keep practicing." jaemin brushes off the concern of his members and they keep going with practice.

it was breakdown and jaemin immediately grabs his phone, no missed messages, no missed calls, just instagram notifications.

"hey, you good jaemin?" jeno asks once again very very concerned.

jaemin sighs and shakes his head, "y/n and i fought last night, again, and this time i really think i lose our friendship."

jeno sighs and rolls his eyes, "what'd you tell y/n?". "i told y/n to get out of my life." jaemin sighs heavily in defeat and shuts his eyes. "i'm dumb right? i truly lost y/n, right?"

jeno puts his hand on his younger's shoulder, "i'll talk to y/n about it and see if you really did lose it, you need to start communicating better and facing the problems y/n points out because most of the time their true, we can't live in denial 24/7 na." jeno walks away and takes out his phone to text you.

jeno: heard what happened, you good?

you: oh, i could be better.

jeno: he thinks he really lost you.

you: good, because he did.

jeno: you guys love each other.

you: no jeno, this is one sided, im the one here hurting caring for him and giving him my all when all he wants to do is underestimate the amount of love i have for him and watch him break my heart.

jeno: i know you don't want to tell him because for whatever reason, but is this how you want to end things with him?

you: of course not jeno, but i don't want to be the one begging for him again.

jeno: i get it, he never likes to face his problems.

you: it hurts jeno, it hurts so much to see him hurting because of me.

jeno: you're both so fucking naive, you both hurt each other.

you: i got to go jeno, ill ttyl.

jeno: alright y/n, feel better. seen 10:54

"jaemin-ah!" jeno shouts trying to get his attention. jaemin looks at him with curiosity. "you need to apologize this time, i'll distract the managers so you can get out of here, but you really need to go see y/n and talk to y/n about this, and maybe, do that one thing that's been holding you back." jeno walks up to the managers and starts babbling about random things.

jaemin finds his way out of the sm building and he calls a taxi to drive to your condo you lived in alone.

[2nd person p.o.v]

you pour the cold water into the cup and almost drop the glass cup onto the tile floor when you hear someone knocking on the door eagerly.

it was early, just turned 11am.

you open the door surprised to see who was standing in front of you.

'jaem- oof!" you exclaim when you get pulled into a needy hug from the boy. "jaemin what're you doing here?"

"i'm so sorry y/n, you were right about everything, i put you through so much because the numbers took over me y/n, i'm sorry." jaemin apologizes continuously. you wrap your arms back around him finally softly.

"we always come back to each other y/n, and i understand if you fully want out, but before i can let you go, i need to let go of this thing i've had in my head for a while." jaemin pulls away and looks at you in the eyes.

the way the light from your kitchen bounced off his eyes, and the way you could see the vulnerability in jaemin that you've never seen before. the way you could just tell, this was either end game, or something that would last a life time.

"y/n, i love you, and i didn't want to tell you because i felt that you don't feel the same way so i used fame and money as my way of running away from my feelings and emotions." jaemin tears up and your heart cracks a bit.

"jeno was right, we are naive. na jaemin, you should've told me sooner, and maybe we'd be having our 5th year anniversary." you stand up on your tippy toes and kiss him passionately.

jaemin pulls away confused and you smile, he smiles back, in that moment it was as if your hearts were in sync, as if clouds were above your heads, as if it was only you guys, forever and always, jaemin plants his hands on your lips leaning in for another kiss, but this time, this kiss was it, the kiss that led you to your future.

#na jaemin #jaemin #nana #najaemin #jaemin imagines #na jaemin imagines #jaemin fluff #jaemin smut #jaemin angst #jaemin na #nana imagines #nct dream #nct dream images #kpop imagines #nct imagines #nct jaemin #kpop #nct #nctdream #nct ot21

[kristarocksyourworld]

Quaranthings: Korean Dramas

It’s been a while, Tumblr. LOL I haven’t posted in a while – but we are living in a time of pandemic. I have never thought such day would come but here we are.

It has been 41 days since Enhanced Community Quarantine (ECQ) was implemented in Manila – and I have managed to catch up on my Korean drama backlog.

Thanks to streaming sites like Viu and Netflix, I have spent countless hours just catching up on the latest dramas (The King: Eternal Monarch, Itaewon Class) and the ones I have not finished watching (Mr. Sunshine, Reply 1997, Go Back Couple, Kill Me, Heal Me, My Love from the Stars). I also found time to rewatch my favorites (Secret Garden, Innocent Man).

The last one I watched was Mr. Sunshine. The writer, Kim Eun Sook, tells the story of a Joseon slave-turned-American soldier named Eugene Choi and a noble named Go Ae Sin – and the people around them: the mysterious samurai Go Dong Mae; the rich playboy Kim Hee Seong; and the beautiful, rich heiress/double agent named Hina Kudo. Set in the early years of the Korean Empire (led by Emperor Gojong), the drama depicted the political turbulence of the time: the traditional Joseon ways clashing with that of imperialists as well as the personal struggles of each character. Then there’s storge, eros, philia, and agape - I’ll probably write another review of that because in terms of writing, I think this is the best Kim Eun Sook drama. 

 I have been meaning to write something like this, but I guess I was inspired to share with the world why I love Korean dramas – like it really is a hill I would die on anytime.

Some weeks ago, a Filipino director openly tweeted his disdain for Korean dramas. In his words, he said that Filipino movies and tv are “doomed” because of “K-drama galore: faux Cinderella stories with belofied whiter than white actors. And it’s all about love in the midst of pandemic.”

 LMFAO. I had to laugh.

It came from a director with reputable filmography – I mean I loved two (2) of his films for their social commentary but I have to ask.

How many Korean dramas have you watched – LOL don’t tell me you only watched Crash Landing on You.

HELLO, ITAEWON CLASS WAS IN THE TOP 10. DID YOU WATCH THAT? Did you watch the rags-to-riches story of Park Saeroyi and his quest for justice to defeat the biggest food company, Janga Corporation?

Have you watched Sky Castle? The compelling story of rich families and their schemes to get their children into the best universities?

 How about the Reply series? A nostalgic drama that tells the story of families, youth, and the times they lived in – 1994, 1997, 1988 – the nostalgia was fucking rich. I especially enjoyed 1994 and 1997.

Did you check out Another Oh Hae Young: a woman struggling to come into terms with her personal insecurities? Or have you picked up on It’s Okay, That’s Love: a romantic drama that properly tackled mental illness (the lead had schizophrenia).

From personal experience and the vast filmography of Korean dramas I have seen, let me point out why Korean dramas are the best – and why they’re so fucking addicting. I would have to say that this is not a research paper but rather a lengthy analysis based on my 12-year experience as a Korean drama enthusiast.

 1.      Creative value

Every drama starts with a great plot.

Sure, many Korean dramas are romantic. In fact, most of the Korean dramas I have seen in the early 2000s are romantic: Autumn in my Heart; Stairway to Heaven; Winter Sonata; Full House; My Name is Kim Sam Soon; and Princess Hours. There’s also Memories of Bali; I’m Sorry I Love You; and Coffee Prince. These dramas actually launched the Hallyu (Korean wave) that we know today – and their plots have the typical Korean drama romantic equation: guy meets girl – they don’t get along at first – then they fall in love – misunderstandings (or separation) ensues – reunited – fall in love again – they get married or end up together (or a lead dies). Then there are the non-romantic ones (historical): Jewel in the Palace and Jumong.

But as time went on, you see that the genres become varied – we started seeing action dramas (one of my favorites was Time Between Dog and Wolf) and medical dramas. Then there were dramas that also featured how Korean dramas were made (The World We Live In).

Korean dramas have varying plots that get recycled in many instances but with great plots also come characterization. The characters we see in dramas remind us of real people – we always relate to a character and we all get frustrated when they make stupid decisions (the Noble Idiot Syndrome) that really do not make sense. At the end of the day, we want happy endings for those who deserve happiness – we want justice served, we want closures, etc. because that’s how humans are.

In many romantic dramas, plots are reused but no character is the same. They would have similar traumas but never the same, carbon-copied character. There are villains you want to kill and then there are villains you sympathize with – because you realize that humans are multilayered, complicated creatures.

 2.      Production value

Another observation I have with Korean dramas is their careful attention to details. When writers create the script, they somewhat have actors in mind to play the character. In Korean dramas, they don’t really care about love teams. In the Philippines, we produce dramas based on the hottest pairs. In Korea, they don’t give a shit about that. Dramas are produced with the intention of creating a meaningful production so actors are chosen based on whether the writers and producers think they can bring their characters to life, not because they are the hottest commodity. In some dramas, actors have to audition, but in many instances, scripts are sent to actors with potential to perfectly portray the character.

Prior to filming, writers, actors, and production staff would spend a day or two in story conferences – actors would have the opportunity to discuss with everyone how he or she thinks his/her character is like. The directors and writers would provide their input on how the characters should talk, act, etc. Actors would also take the extra mile to learn a skill or two for the characters they played. They would have dialect coaches, language instructors, etc. Writers would consult with professionals – for instance, in many medical or legal dramas, they would hire doctors or lawyers on board to verify accuracy of terms. During broadcast, you would even see the jargon on screen to simplify them for the audience. In historical dramas, you would also see the terms used (in Chinese characters) and explain them in hangul.

During filming, you’d see how the staff has placed much attention on details – from the wardrobe to the set. You would also see themes, symbols, etc. The production aspect is really like how movies are: vivid, deliberate, beautiful. Who would’ve thought red pinwheels would make me tear up? 

Each drama has a particular soundtrack – can I just say that Korean dramas have the best soundtrack. Each song played in a specific scene perfectly conveys the mood and feelings of the character. I have cried so many times listening to Park Hyo Shin’s “Snow Flower” (I’m Sorry I Love You) or Ji Sun’s ”Goodbye Without Saying Goodbye) (My Name is Kim Sam Soon). On my Spotify account you would see I have played Goblin, DOTS, and CLOY OSTs countless times.

In the past, dramas are not really pre-produced (meaning script came a week or two before filming). There are dramas wherein halfway through the broadcast, they had to switch writers because the earlier writer had a falling out with the production – so you’d see that the quality suffers (story plots would go crazy lol). There are dramas wherein they had to replace the actors because of scandals or accidents. In the last 5 years however, Korean dramas have become pre-produced: meaning the dramas will be filmed 6 months-2 years before being broadcasted. I guess this aspect has contributed to the fact that many Korean dramas are already available on streaming sites.

 3.      Cultural value

Each drama gives us a slice of the Korean culture – food, drink, skincare, attraction, and history. And noraebang (karaoke). Every romcom Korean drama has to have a scene at the noraebang...or jimjilbang (sauna). 

Modern and traditional Korean dramas have to feature food: Korean barbecue, stew, side dishes. LOL you name it. There’s also soju, beer, and makgeoli. BEER AND CHICKEN. 

In most modern Korean dramas, makeovers are a must. You would see product placements of known Korean products: Laneige, Etude House, Nature Republic, etc. The characters would go shopping in a particular shop like The North Face. Their coffee dates would be in one of these (Caffe Bene, Dal.Komm, HOLLYS, Zoo Café, Mango Six). They would buy their cakes or bread from Paris Baguette or Tous Les Jours.

Then there are road trips – many Korean dramas would feature a particular attraction, province, or city. Who can forget Nami Island (thanks Winter Sonata) or Namsan Seoul Tower (Boys Over Flower) or Petite France (Secret Garden, My Love from the Stars)? Of course, you can’t forget Busan (Reply 1997) or Jeju (Warm and Cozy) or Gangwon-do. It is definitely a K-drama fangirl’s dream to be able to visit in one of these places so we can relive our favorite Korean drama moments.

All of Korean dramas I have seen put emphasis on family – the importance of filial piety is always highlighted. The characters are often portrayed as dutiful daughters or sons. Conflicts often ensue when the character is challenged to choose between the parents or the love of his/her life (well in most Korean dramas that’s the case lol). Many dramas portray characters who try to be the good daughter-in-law and yet nothing is ever good enough. Then there are subtle flexes on Korea as an emerging superpower as seen by drama characters (chaebols) who head conglomerates. There is always a character who is filthy rich and can afford a billionaire lifestyle. Product placements include big companies like Samsung, Hyundai, etc.

Slice-of-life dramas also depict the realities in Korean society. Because This is My First Life and Something in the Rain aptly depicted the realities of harassment in the workplace from a woman’s experience. Many Korean dramas also relay harsh realities: meritocracy in the workplace; young adults juggling multiple jobs to make ends meet, etc.; even real estate situations are featured. Often you would find characters renting a small room because that’s all they can afford. From the dramas you would also notice that Koreans are not very kind towards single mothers or orphans. Then of course, there’s the North and South Korea situation: Crash Landing on You, Doctor Stranger, Spy Myeong-Wol, Descendants of the Sun are a few dramas that discussed this theme. The Reply series is a nostalgia drama featuring families that lived through some of important events in South Korea like the Seoul Olympics (1988), Asian financial crisis (1997), Sampoong Department Store collapse (1995), and the historic World Cup (2002).

Korean historical dramas are also interesting on their own – I guess until now, the Japanese occupation of Korea is still a sensitive matter for Koreans. Many of the dramas that feature such themes always depict the resilience and resolve of Koreans as they try to fight off the enemy. Yes, the scenes are depicted artistically, and the thought lingers long after the episode is over.

In terms of marketing, the government has also been proactive. With the Korean Wave (Hallyu), Korean dramas, as well as films, music, food, etc. have become an important commodity overseas. In 2016, Korean Culture Center wrote that Descendants of the Sun was sold to 27 countries, posting a profit of over KRW 10 billion (Php 412 million). The government acknowledges the important contribution of Korean dramas in tourism. Numerous papers have already been published showing the effect of hallyu in the South Korea tourism industry.

 To make the long story short:

Korean dramas have gone beyond “faux Cinderella stories with belofied whiter than white actors”.  I mean, if you want to produce a quality drama, it takes time and effort. Personally it has become a great escape from the realities I face. I do not welcome opinions that clearly spring out of snobbery and disdain for another person’s craft. Perhaps the director can look beyond the Top 10 (since that’s what he mentioned) and check out the wide selection on Netflix. Viu is also a great platform (I’ll start on World of the Married – been hearing and reading about it lol)

Hallyu did not flourish overnight, and the Korean drama industry – while a great model to cite – is also not perfect. There have been numerous cases and instances when staff are overworked or not paid long after the production is over. The #MeToo movement has also exposed some actors who have harassed fellow actors. If we want Filipino dramas to enjoy the same spotlight as that of the Korean dramas, we should be frank about the outputs we have had. We have potential, but it really is up to the decision-makers (at least from the network perspective since it’s all about profits and star value rather than quality production in the Philippines) to come up with a formula that would revitalize Filipino dramas. I can’t say the same for Filipino films because we have great films – the dramas need much work to be profitable. I mean, are we really satisfied with a few dramas being sold overseas? When will we produce dramas that are at par with our Korean chingus? If you want Filipino dramas to be streamed on Netflix or Hulu or Apple TV – maybe we can look at genres beyond police brutality or infidelity or hacienderos harboring a secret child somewhere.

 Anyway, Korean dramas are awesome – and that’s the tea.

[randomvarious]

S Club 7 - “S Club Party” Now That's What I Call Music! 6 Song released in 1999. Compilation released in 2000. Pop

We love the overly transparent crass commercialism of the 90s and early 2000s, don’t we folks? S Club 7 were the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed septet of British teens and 20-somethings that were concocted in a lab and thrust upon hordes of impressionable tweens across the world. The story of S Club 7 is a rather gross one that consists of young and attractive, moderately talented people being taken advantage of by their manager and his company to churn out gobs of content without just compensation. If you’re an American of a certain age, you probably know a little something about S Club 7. Their ballad, 2000′s “Never Had a Dream Come True,” peaked at #10 and #8 on the Billboard Hot 100 and Billboard Mainstream Top 40, respectively. Two of S Club 7′s other biggest global hits, the Jackson 5-inspired “Bring It All Back” and “S Club Party” never charted in the US, but lots of Americans still seem to be familiar with them.

S Club 7 was the brainchild of Simon Fuller, one of history’s most successful music  managers, who had managed the Spice Girls. Fuller was known for manufacturing a bunch of British boy and girl bands throughout his career and, at the time, also managed Annie Lennox of the Eurythmics and athletes, too. After helping the Spice Girls skyrocket into global superstardom as a brand that sold itself on a gimmicky blend of “girl power” and quirky British-ness, Geri Halliwell (Ginger Spice) orchestrated his firing. Citing his unbearably controlling nature and his marketing schemes, the Girls decided to proceed without Fuller.

But the day after his firing, Fuller was back at it. This time, he decided he would start a new band, but rather than it being a boy band or a girl band, it would be a boy-and-girl band, modeled after an idea put forth by another British group, Steps. Steps are a quartet, and while they’ve achieved little to no success in the US, they have enjoyed wild success in Europe, especially in the UK. And they’re still around. After a five year hiatus that followed a twelve year hiatus, Steps released an album in 2017 that reached #2 on the UK charts. 

But they weren’t a Fuller group. Fuller seemed to have the connections and gravitas that Steps’ managers didn’t. To start his new group, Fuller held an audition of an astonishing 10,000 people, which eventually was culled down to seven. These seven would then be formed into a group and be dubbed S Club 7. None of the members had known each other prior, but according to all the articles I could find, they hit it off and they all became close friends.

With this crop of kids, Fuller saw dollar (or pound or Euro) signs. S Club 7 were going to be way more than just a pop group; they were going to be a marketable brand. And to achieve that goal, the first thing they were going to do was not get into the recording studio, but instead shoot a fictional TV series to air on CBBC (Children’s BBC) to introduce themselves to British pre-teens. Each character would have their own personality, which would be loosely based on their true selves, and together the group’s adventures would strengthen their bond. And each episode would consist of a choreographed song performance, too. The first season, set in Miami, would depict the seven constantly being exploited by a seedy hotel manager and made to perform housekeeping duties.

Unfortunately, these fictional circumstances were loosely based on their own reality. Over twelve weeks of shooting in Miami, the group worked tirelessly for eighteen hours per day, and after a long day’s work, would have to take care of their own cooking and laundry. Fuller and his company, who were flush with cash, didn’t provide S Club 7 with any of these needed amenities. The S Club 7 TV series would become an immense hit in the UK and ended up being sold to 120 different countries. As a result, each group member pulled in 52,000 Euro; a total pittance compared to the total sum of all the TV contracts the show received.

Seven months after its UK debut, the S Club TV series would make its way stateside on kids’ TV purgatory, Fox Family. Formerly The Family Channel, which was founded by horrible and insane Christian shitbag grifter, Pat Robertson, it would be acquired by NewsCorp. Fox would control the network’s programming, save for some hours in which Robertson’s daily spoonful of Christian conservative nonsense, The 700 Club, would air. Admittedly, for a time, I was an avid viewer of Fox Family (except when 700 Club was on), but I’m pretty sure I was rare. Year after year, Fox Family would try to replenish its lineup with new shows to attract new viewers, but they failed to peel many eyes off of the likes of Nickelodeon, Cartoon Network, and the Disney Channel.

The release of the S Club TV series in the U.S. coincided with the group’s debut album. And maybe it was the fact that they only managed to get on Fox Family that led to them peaking at an unimpressive #112, but back home, they topped charts. The TV series-first formula more than paid off (for Fuller, though. Not so much for S Club 7). “Bring It All Back,” the group’s first single, which was released two months after the TV show’s debut, went to #1 in the UK. Its follow-up, “S Club Party” topped out at #2. And their debut album reached #2 as well.

And along with the TV show and the music came all the merchandise. Dolls, makeup, perfume, clothes, school supplies, a PC game, you name it. If there was an object that a kid could use, Fuller wanted it to bear the S Club name. There were also more seasons of TV and movies, too. And Fuller would reap great profits from all of it, but once again, S Club 7 saw minuscule returns from their name and likenesses being marketed and sold. 

Fuller’s cartoonishly-evil-yet-real-life-record-executive persona became more than apparent during a meeting between he, S Club 7, and some of the members’ parents. Asking how they could receive such little compensation as Fuller and his company made millions off of their efforts, Fuller told the members that he could replace them on stage with cardboard cut-outs and it wouldn’t make a difference. Fuller would also be publicly shamed by a radio DJ when it was revealed that while the S Club kids were traveling the world and making him literally millions, he flew them in economy class. Only after his miserliness was made public did he bump them up to business class.

And although Fuller knew the right people to get his band spoonfed to British kids, it didn’t mean S Club’s songs were bad for what they were. They were well-produced bubblegum pop. Five songs on the debut album ended up being produced by a Norwegian duo called Stargate. Total unknowns at the time, Stargate went on to write or produce for some of the pop world’s most successful groups and artists, including Michael Jackson, Mariah Carey, Lionel Richie, Jessica Simpson, Britney Spears, Beyoncé, Rihanna, Selena Gomez, Janet Jackson, Shakira, Jennifer Lopez, Sam Smith, Mary J. Blige, Ne-Yo, Katy Perry, Coldplay, P!nk, Sia, Kylie Minogue, Carly Rae Jepsen, and Charli XCX. Throughout their careers, Stargate have managed to rack up a whopping seventeen Grammy noms, including four wins  But before building up that long list of accolades, they began with S Club 7. 

The first single Stargate ever produced was “S Club Party”. A piece of sunny and breezy, anthemic kids’ pop, this song is a natural earworm. Underneath mostly loud and shouted vocals, Stargate weave a celebratory, feelgood g-funk whine throughout the choruses as a series of electro-funk synths and string and horn stabs predominate the rest. The first verse, sung solo by member Jo, proceeds from relative sparseness to an addition of hand claps and a simmering choir of backup vocals, before launching into the undeniably catchy chorus. The four female members soothe in unison as the boys contrast with revelrous chants. In the post-chorus, the girls get in on the chanting, too. The second verse, which packs more energy than the one that precedes it because it’s sung in unison, introduces each member of the group with a simple rhyme. Following the bridge, the song undergroes an unexpected key change, which raises the enjoyment, and as the song fades out, Bradley, the group’s lone black member, does some light scatting. 

You know, Fuller admitted that since he was fired by the Spice Girls, there were some ideas he had had for them that he wasn’t able to use, and instead used for S Club 7. Maybe musically, he wasn’t quite finished with that g-funk infused pop sound. The Spice Girls’ “Say You’ll Be There” has that summery g-funk pool party vibe much like “S Club Party” does. Just a thought.

Here’s the music video, which shows the group transporting back to a California desert in 1959 to race a bunch of people. A choreographed song and dance seemingly materialize out of thin air, too: It comes from the movie they shot called Back to the ‘50s.

For the next few years, S Club 7 continued to release high-charting hit after high-charting hit in the UK, but in 2002, band member Paul decided to leave. This ultimately resulted in possibly the worst sentence ever written on Wikipedia:

Talking about his former musical venture three months before he left S Club 7, Paul Cattermole described his school nu metal band — called Skua— as having a "Limp Bizkit vibe" as well as comparing their style to Rage Against the Machine.

Wat.

Following Paul’s departure, S Club 7 shortened their name to S Club and continued to make hits. However, their star was clearly fading, and in 2003, they agreed to a mutual split. In 2008, some of the members got back together and formed S Club 3. In 2014, they expanded by a member and became S Club Party. Eight months after that, all seven members regrouped for a reunion tour to cash in on some nostalgia. Needless to say, Simon Fuller was involved, and hopefully, the contracts weren’t as exploitative this time around. In the meantime, Fuller would continue unabated, amassing management deals with the likes of Carrie Underwood, Amy Winehouse, and Kelly Clarkson. In 2001, he launched Pop Idol, which would be imported to the States as American Idol.

Now you know more than you thought you’d ever know about S Club 7. It’s tragic how Fuller treated them, but the group is responsible for some great turn-of-the-millennium pop hits, despite how manufactured and seemingly preordained their success was. Oh well, we can’t help what we listened to when we were kids and nostalgia has a way of making us love things we definitely wouldn’t as adults. Nothing wrong with coming to terms and embracing that fact.

Stay the fuck inside you freaks.

#pop #pop music #bubblegum pop #music #90s #90s music #90's #90's music #90s pop #90's pop #90s pop music #90's pop music #90s bubblegum pop #90's bubblegum pop

[painandpleasure86]

Sequel of Lazing of a Sunday Afternoon: News of our World

Hiii people!! Sorry if where u live its 20 already. I have a problems to publish before. But, i hope that you enjoy my story anyways!Prequel it's here:

https://painandpleasure86.tumblr.com/post/185954894848/im-continuing-the-story-that-kate-aka

Words: +2.1K

Warning: My inexperience and my broken English lol. Oh and its fluff af.

Pairing: John x Fem!Reader

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Part 1

It's been a few weeks since you told him. It's still too early to tell about this to the rest, even if it's your parents.

In order not to get excited, they have agreed that the best thing to do is to have a blood test, in case there is really a pregnancy.

Your gynecologist must give you the order for this. So, you have an appointment on August 15.

It’s a beautiful morning, the sun shines. Spring feels closer and closer. This morning you have your children at home, Miguel is recovering from a flu-like illness and Rodrigo simply didn't want to go to the school. They don't usually let him decide that kind of thing, but that day they let him. He's six years old now. When you go to the kitchen, already dressed, you can't help but think "how big Rodri is. It seems like yesterday when he came in my arms and it was a little bean, hehe".

You arrive at the kitchen, your children having their chocolate with oatmeal cookies, your husband with his scrambled eggs, toast and a tea with milk. You go to the fridge and take out the jug of water. You serve yourself a glass full of water. Your babies see you and say "why don't you have breakfast with us mommy?" "Mommy has to have some medical check-ups and can't eat anything." He looks at you with a smile. You answer his smile with a bigger one. You go to him and hold him tight. "I love you, huh?", "Me too" he answers in your ear. They give each other a little kiss. Your older baby says "what's going on? Is there going to be a little sibling?"

You look at him surprised, because you don't know why Rodrigo says that... but your husband, seeing your puzzled face, says "I told him yesterday a little about you know what. And I think that whenever he sees us kissing, he's going to say that. Get ready," he says with smiles. That smile...

"Well, I gotta go. They will stay with Daddy. I promise I'll be back soon," you tell them. You get your handbag and your keys. You go to the door. The three of them go to you and hug you. He gives you many little kisses on the cheek. Your little ones hold your legs tightly. "Well guys, I'm not leaving forever," you say with a smile. "Well..." and they let you go unwillingly. Of course it hurts to leave Rodrigo and Miguel, but they're not alone. You close the door and behind you you hear. He says “Well... Men’s time.  How about... a lot of music to dance to?" "YAAAAAAAAAAY" your kiddos say. Then you hear him play his favorite song, but you can't hear his words anymore, because you're in your car...

Before you start the car, you check the time.  You're on time. Turn on the car, also the bluetooth of your car to go listening to music.  You select the entire library of your cell phone and press shuffle.  Dancing Queen sounds.  Your smile is immense.  With that joy, and the memory lived of your husband dancing on stage, backtrack and start your journey.

There is normal traffic, no traffic jams.  It's 9 o'clock in the morning, so everything is quieter.

Fifteen minutes of driving, you arrive at the office.  You park the car, you take the cell phone that was playing a song, you get off.  You go to the corresponding waiting room, waiting to be called by your doctor...

Almost ten minutes after the agreed time on the shift, he calls you.  You walk into the office.

After filling out the paperwork, he says, "Madam, the results of your annual check-up gave normal values, what happened?"  You say "I think that i’m pregnant".  He looks at you and says "I always told you to use the condom from the beginning" in a tone that simulates anger.  He writes your order.  You laugh at the discomfort and says "the thing is that I forgot... one thing led to another". He, extending the order to you, continues simulating his anger and says "later please, don't say the baby came by accident, eh!" and smiles. When you have the results, mark an appointment with me; if it's positive I'll refer you to the obstetrician".  You nod and say, "Thank you doctor, see you later.”

You're very anxious to know that you're ready for testing.

As soon as you leave the office, you go to the laboratory, which is half a block from there  You go into the center, withdraw a shift number.  You wait a few minutes.  They call you.

"Good morning", says her. You respond "Good morning" and you give her the order.

It's 10:15 in the morning. The laboratory is open until and 30. "Well, ma'am, it's still lab hours. If you have the 8-hour fast, you can wait and do it right now." Nod. After the paperwork of the health insurance, the receptionist gives you your turn and you wait for a call. Not even five minutes after you've sat down that the receptionist calls you. You enter the cubicle, you sit down. The professional would be on the side of your right arm. He asks you routine questions before a pregnancy sample (last intercourse, if you take pills, last menstrual period). Then he asks you to put your arm in the right place so he can do the extraction. Tie a rubber band over your elbow cavity. He asks you to clench your fist and squeeze hard. You do it. You look away, you're impressed to see a needle. You feel it inside you, annoying but tolerable. Moments later he says "Ready, you can open your hand..." and you turn your head in his direction again. He says "the results will be available from this afternoon, come with this order". Assentis, greet him and return home, having that cotton of your arm very strong.

You starve. So, it’s time to go home. You send a message to your husband "I'm going home! I love to everyone.😘❤️". You go to your car, get in, and put the music back in random. Don't let me down sounds, a song you once dedicated to your husband (but it's another story). You smile because of the nostalgia it gives you. And with that vibe, you start driving home.

You arrive. Your men hold you tight. "We miss you sweetie," he said, kissing you. Miguel looked with a disgusted face. And Rodrigo began to ask, "Is Mommy okay? You smile and say "yeah my love, I'm fine..."

It's nap time and you make your kids sleep, though reluctantly. It's a chance to talk to him about what happened without being suspected.

They are both sitting on one side of the bed. He looks at you, hugs you with his right arm and says "how are you?" You say to him, with his head a little low and without looking at him "I've already done the tests, I sincerely can't wait to go and get them... this is consuming me, hehehe", you say with a certain amount of anxiety. He lifts your face with the other hand so that you can see your eyes. He tells you, even having his hand on your chin, "don't get nervous. You're going to hurt the baby”. He laughs a little and continues "that home analysis for me didn't fail in this case... so, just pretend that there's a little living being among us".

You smile, with tears in your eyes "well, all right, I'll calm down... it's just that this has happened so many times, but I still can't help but get nervous. He caresses your cheek, smiling in the sweetest way. "That's my girl," he says and kisses you on the forehead. Then he hugs you, while you lay your head on his shoulder. You hug him too, very tight. “I love you, huh? You know that my feelings are truth...". He kisses your head, saying "I know it honey, I know it..." without enduring tears falling down his cheeks. Tears of happiness, not pain. Tears of feeling at home with you another day.

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Part 2

The fate wanted that until the next day you couldn’t go to withdraw the result before. You went last minute on Friday.

You arrive hurriedly to the laboratory to remove it, the receptionist sees you with a strange face. "I've come to pick up some results. She still looks at you in surprise and says "in the name of...". You tell her your name and she looks for you in a pile of results. He finds it. She puts it in an envelope and extends it to you. "Thank you" you say a little nervous and smiling. "You're welcome, have a good night. You almost ran to the door.

When you leave the lab, you’re so eager; so you take out the paper with the result. Positive. And you have a two months pregnancy. Your husband was right.

You get home. All three receive you. "Mommy's okay?" asks Rodrigo. "Yes, my love... very well," you say, looking at your husband and smiling. Then he hugs you much harder than usual. He says in your ear "I told you so, baby...". They both endure the crying. Miguel then says "they seem very happy. I like see a happy mommy and daddy" and he hugs you even stronger. But Rodrigo suspects that there is something strange...

August 19th. The big day.

He's still sleeping in bed, very deeply. You and your children approached him very slowly. You sat on the edge of the bed, trying to be stealthy. But your children jumped energetically towards him, shouting "Happy birthday daddyyyyyyy!" You can't help but smile. He wakes up surprised, he doesn't understand the situation for a few moments. Then, hug your babies "thank you little children", as he smiles and a few tears slip out of his eyes. He looks at you and you say "Happy birthday my love" with a big smile.

After a warm family time, he says "well, I have to get up". Your babies get a little sad out of bed.

It was time to make preparations. Many of your husband's friends will come to celebrate his birthday, so you ask the three of them for help to speed up the work.

After two hours leaving everything in order, they were ready to receive the guests. Catering came on time, you didn't want your husband to cooking on his birthday. There were options for all tastes, including vegetarian snacks for that friend of your husband's with whom he always discuss.

The music began to play from that very loud moment.  Both your husband and your kids started to dance with Super Freak.

The guests start to came. Your house its full of joy, music and the smell of food.

Rodrigo and his little friends were playing hide-and-seek. He can't think of a better place to hide in your study, where your analysis results were over the desk. See that strange paper for him and he runs towards you.  He forgets the game. This was more important.

"Mommy! Mommy!  Mommy! What does it say on this paper? Come on, tell me!

After five minutes of insisting, you take him aside with your husband and say "you're going to have a little brother or sister soon." You didn't finish telling him, that Rodrigo begins to shout very loudly "my mommy is going to have a baby!"

Silence. Your guests saying "is it true?"

"Mommy, Daddy. Tell them," insists the boy.

You didn't want to tell them before because you've already lost a pregnancy, before Rodrigo. And that made you very bad. They preferred to wait until the fourth month was up.

But apparently things happened in a way that had to cut the tradition.

Your husbands look at you with an immense smile, hug you with one arm and with the other he goes to your belly. With that hand he touches the belly and says to everyone "Rodri is right. We didn't want to tell you yet... but good. This is the best birthday present I can have." Look at the guests. "As much the presence of all of you as that of my children, my wife and this little one who comes to change our routine," he says, looking towards your belly and caressing it gently.

After the hubbub and everyone's congratulations, the birthday then passes with great normality, with lots of loud music, screams of children playing and adults smiling. Obviously, it was not perfect... James, Rodrigo's little friend, threw soda on the floor. And Felix stained the carpet with cake. Things happen.

It gets dark and the guests start to leave.

After making your children bathe and sleep with your husband, you take showers. The shower has relaxed you a lot. Honestly you just want to sleep.

But when you get to the room, there is the light on the bedside table. He was sitting with a soft pillow on his back, against which he was leaning. He was reading a book. When he hears the door, he looks up and puts a bookmark in the book.

"Oh I was waiting for you... my beautiful girl", as I closed the book and left it on the bedside table. All without stopping looking at you.

"Yes, of course, you say that because I don't have a belly yet," you say smiling.

"You're always going to be for me," he says, with a warm smile.

You lie down. He then turns off the light and accommodates your side. "Come" he says to you softly. You lie your head on his chest, while he hugs you. He looks up at the ceiling and says "the best birthday I've ever had, thank you for taking care of everything... although Rodrigo ruined our surprise about the pregnancy," he smiles. "You close your eyes and say "maybe that's how my love had to pass. And of nothing, you know that I do it for you", you say hugging him strongly. He kisses you on the head and caresses your hair. You fall asleep. And he, too, after a few minutes.That night would be one of the last to sleep well in a long time. And internally both knew it. But, it doesn't matter... Christine is worth it.

Tags: @warriorteam1924 (bc you asked for this) @theworksgaga (bc you read the prequel recently and u loved it) @sweetgcreature (with this one I'm being risky lol)

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[ryewi]

Trip Down Our Memory Lane - pjm

Summary: As if compiling clips from different points of your friendship in a short video wasn’t a good enough rollercoaster of emotions, you decided that after leading the man of your dreams through nearly twenty years of footage, a confession seemed like a perfect way to end it.

Genre: Best friends to lovers!au , F L U F F

Words: 3k

Warnings: none!

Early A/N: The summary bloody sucks but I don’t even know how to summarize this,,, help

Planning and implementation of amazing and innovative surprises, were always considered as your specialties. Although your friend circle and family tree weren’t huge, you took that as a chance to put additional effort and work harder to make each surprise better than the last one. Whoever was blessed to get a present from you, would turn into a gasping and astonished mess in a matter of seconds. Sometimes, they were extremely emotional, causing a few tears to fall here and there, but usually, that kind was intended only for those who you’ve known for a long time.

Today marked the 13th of October, also known as one of the most important dates throughout the whole year. It was Jimin’s day, the day of your best friend of nearly two decades. The only problem was, Jimin knew you inside and out, knew how observant you were and was often next to you during creative times. That usually led to his surprisingly accurate predictions of gifts/surprises, which frequently caused trouble with planning Jimin’s own present without being found out.

This year, you decided to do something special and amongst two other beautifully wrapped boxes, prepared a twenty-minute video. Jimin mentioned a thousand times how your regular midnight birthday texts were his most favorite part of the day. Deciding that it was time to step up your game, you created a more powerful version of a birthday, recalling-the-history-of-our-friendship, message.

“Now, miss excuse me, who are you and what did you do to my best friend?” As if on que, Jimin carelessly walked through the door, knocking a long-forgotten act between the two of you. For a quick moment, you pondered what his statement was about, when Jimin decided to bring up the answer himself. Holding up his new iPhone, he let you read a painfully short dialogue of four sentences that were exchanged between him and a person nicknamed “no.1 hypewoman ✌”.

no.1 hypewoman ✌ - 09:42

⇢ Happy birthday! You free today?

You – 09:55

⇢ Hey, thanks, and uh, depends when

no.1 hypewoman ✌ - 09:57

⇢ 5pm? I’d like you to come over?

You – 10:06

⇢ Sure

Jimin was slightly taken aback to say at least, you acted distant the last few days, the last two texts that you sent were three days ago. Quick and short ‘good night xxx’ and ‘ew I’m never using x’s again’ delivered a few minutes before midnight. But it was okay, Jimin was an extremely considerate person, yet, he couldn’t help feeling slightly annoyed at the lack of communication on such a special date. Of course, you hadn’t forgotten, but such a vague message when all he was used to were paragraphs and paragraphs of adoration sent the moment the clock ticked twelve.

Surely, he could only be overreacting, but there was also a certain amount of interest lacking from your side. Or was there?

“Your best friend is right here, flesh and bones, Mr. Park” your hands ran over your body, as to emphasize the words and their effect. “Now I’d please you to move to the living room, I have something to show you”. You disappeared into your room, letting the boy seat himself on a white sofa, placed right before your television. Jimin’s eyes lit up at the indirect mention of a present, you actually had something for him, therefore your apparent lack of attentiveness was only an act. Gosh, of course that it was, you’re so naïve to your own deceiving Jimin.  

Once you came back, and the USB was safely connected with the huge screen of your new TV, you switched a couple of channels, finally finding the one connected to the detachable object. Jimin’s eyes were firmly fixed on all the colors flashing before them as your fingers fumbled with black buttons on a small television remote. He wasn’t aware of what you were doing, nor what kind of present you had for him, but he let you be, nervously anticipating whatever was to come. Finally locating the video amongst thousands of others, you pressed play and watched as all shades faded away.

Suddenly, an extremely old picture of the two of you appeared, making you smile. Just like now, Jimin’s eyes were transforming into thin lines while laughing at the sight of your beautiful face and soft, tiny hands covered in mud. You were wearing a thin summer dress that was thoroughly covered in dirt, while Jimin seemed to be entirely clean, not even a drop of mud decorating the expanse of his fancy summer set.

“I’m pretty sure that the both of us wouldn’t be able to describe what was happening if it wasn’t for our mothers that would repeat it on every single family gathering”, your voice suddenly rang throughout the room, slightly scaring Jimin. He turned to face you, still unaware that the sound wasn’t live, it was pre-recorded and put in as a continuous part of this beautiful video. Motioning for him to avert his gaze back to the TV, you smiled, noticing that he was vaguely mouthing each and every word.

“This was nearly two decades ago, when we were little kids, as obviously shown on the picture. I used to have a special hiding place in one of the playgrounds in our city, that no one really bothered to explore, hence I took it as my own prized piece of land. Until you, Park Jimin, didn’t walk in through the bushes and began arguing that it was your own space. Frankly, our argument was a casual exchange of “I’m going to tell this to my mom!” and “I got here first!”, without any action actually taking place. That’s when I decided to sit down on the ground, refusing to move from my territory and completely ignoring the fact that my bottom was positioned deep inside a puddle of mud. I tried to scratch the itchy spot on my nose, which resulted in my face becoming a muddy canvas. You were such a snake and began laughing, loud enough to draw the attention of your mother that was apparently nearby and always carried a camera around. Shortened, this is our first picture and place in which we met”

Jimin’s wasn’t blinking, eyes wide open and fixed on to the disappearing pictures. You moved closer to hug him, watching as the screen faded away into pitch black, only to reveal the next part.

Once again, it was a video, although this time, you were nowhere to be seen, while Jimin was in full shot. It was a recording taken the night of your graduation. Being best friends for the longest time ever, both of you were obviously each other’s choice for prom. That night, Jimin looked like the most beautiful angel, which could be an ironic statement because of his fully black attire. Jimin wore a black button-up shirt that was neatly tucked in his black dress pants. Equally as dark, but shinier than the rest, Jimin’s shoes were polished to true perfection – you could swear it was possible to see one’s reflection in them. His hair was side parted and freshly dyed, an ashy-silver shade now covering his previously dark strands.

Through the beginning of the recording, it wasn’t possible to see the way you were dressed, but you could still remember being the most flattering female on the whole party. Your dress was perfect for your figure; a pitch black, floor length piece, lace decorating the top of it, while also creating thin, but long sleeves. The patterns on those sleeves were beautifully detailed roses, which were always one of your favorite flowers.  

“Jimin”, your voice once again sounded through the speakers, “are you ready?”. The man had his back turned in your direction, slightly bending over and fixing something on his shirt. Upon not receiving an answer, you let yourself walk further in, peeking around to see what he was up to. Jimin noticed you approaching, and after realizing that he will need some help, decided to ask you for it (in the end really, who else was there to ask?).

“I need help with my tie” Jimin replied, turning around and audibly making you gasp. The sensitive microphone attached to the top of your DSLR, caught even the smallest of shallow breaths that left your lips. He looked like God and Devil combined. So pure, but so sinful at the same time.  

Setting the camera on your bed-side table, you turned it around, still letting it record the small pre-prom interaction that was promised to have much meaning in the future. At least to show your kids how nice it was to have someone like Jimin in your life.  

“You’ll never learn how to tie them, will you?” You asked, laughing while untying the tight knot Jimin somehow managed to create.  

“Well then, I wouldn’t have the pleasure of you doing it for me, would I?” He bit back in a cocky manner, biting his lip and raising an eyebrow. Just in that moment, through the sudden glint of your eyes, when they found Jimin’s, it was possible to note the moment in which you fell into an abyss. The exact second when your brain connected the dots in a quick impulse, sounding an alarm that screamed danger obnoxiously loud.  

Although red lights were going off before your eyes, demanding immediate action and distancing from the Devil himself, you smiled and with shaky hands, continued to tighten the material around Jimin’s neck.  

And although it was supposed to be wrong, it didn’t feel like it.

You could swear that there was a thin layer of tears painting Jimin’s eyes, but to be honest, you were holding back from letting your own tears fall. Even though you were the one who hand-picked these clips and put them together, they always managed to bring back the feeling of nostalgia. That kind of emptiness that makes you miss every second from the past, that makes you realize how old you’re actually getting, how all those moments you’re looking back as memories now, were taken for granted.  

You wanted to reach out and wipe his tears, to kiss his cheeks and tell him it’s not supposed to make him cry. You wanted to hold his small hand in yours, to trace calming circles and assure him that the video was only meant to be throwback material. But way too soon, the screen was fading to black and then fading in to another clip once again. A series of short videos that were taken through snapchat played one after another, showing different scenarios with random and “quirky” captions.  

“He believed me this was an exotic and special cocktail, when it’s ketchup mixed with tequila,,, someone pick this drunk man up” The shot was shaky, your laughter barely audible in the background, muffled by exceptionally loud music. Jimin was drinking some thick red substance from a transparent plastic cup - how convenient for an after-prom party.

“One devastatingly sad and one extremely attractive skeleton” In this one, Jimin was leaning on your shoulder, smiling into the camera as both of you showed off the messy but special Halloween makeup. Honestly, being so last-minute, Jimin had to come up with a very original “couple” costume, aka usual skeleton makeup and black attire that was spray painted in shapes of bones (more like stick figures). Somehow, your best friend managed to wear your own artistic creature way better than expected, while on the other side, he kind of failed paying you back. You had a lot of fun, that’s what mattered the most.

“She helped an elderly woman pass the street, then came running back and asked “will God accept me now?”” Jimin was holding you so tight and recording from a weird upper angle (that somehow worked out for his handsome face), while you were laughing quietly, face buried into his chest, enjoying the fluffy fabric of his hoodie.

“Someone audition him up, because this man is such a pussy” The recording angle was once again, strange, your body comfortably positioned on the sofa, while holding your small device way too low. Jimin was playing Just dance 2017, chasing the unobtainable megastar in Scream & Shout. Although every time, Jimin rocked your ass, you still challenged him often. Being competitive didn’t help neither of you in this situation.

Many more videos rolled in quick, reaching the last one relatively fast. Now, the doubts about it arose again, anxiety bubbling up and second thoughts pilling inside of your mind. It seemed like a great idea a few days ago, but is it really?  

The video didn’t have any caption, plus whatever was on the screen was barely visible. It was 2am, if to believe the analog clock that was caught in the shot for a short moment. Obviously, it was from your point of view, and soon enough it was clear why. Jimin was snuggling close to you, under the covers, hugging your waist tight, eyes closed. Just then, as if reserved, slight peek of the moon through thick clouds allowed its shine to light up a small portion of your room. Jimin’s hair was all over the place, cheeks puffy while nose red. It was the night of his extremely hard breakup. He remembered now.

“She might’ve not loved you, but believe me, my angelic boy, I always will” you whispered quietly, turning around and kissing his forehead; taking a second to stare at such a divine prescience next to you. Gosh, you loved him with your everything.

“And whenever someone crushes your heart, mine will always be there to mend it”

At that line, Jimin’s tears fell, quiet and unnoticeable, for some unidentified reason. Was it because of the flashbacks to the most heartbreaking moment of his life? Was it because he knew your love was platonic, and that whatever was about to happen will only hurt you? You couldn’t tell and the suspension was holding your heart in a choking hold. It was only a good idea to let him know you’ll always be there, always next to him if needed, but also how much you cared while doing so. On the other hand, it wasn’t a good idea to confess if all that you’ll get in return are empty words of pitiful comfort.

Yet, Jimin’s hand found yours and without any hesitation, held it tight. Then, he turned around, locking his teary eyes with your lost ones, letting the clip, and with it the whole presentation end. He bit his lip, uncertain which words to use in his expressions, hell, he was even uncertain about his feelings right now.

“Why?” He asked, scared that one wrong word could ruin everything, when he really didn’t want to. “Why me? I’m not someone you deserve, I-”

That was your yellow light, the one that you’ll rush through before it turned red.

“I got so used to having you next to me, it just felt so right to not want anyone else but you”, starting, your words began to jump over each other, creating the slightest bit of trouble for your tongue that tried to emphasize each of them perfectly. His eyes, although glassy, provided so much comfort, even in crucial or important happenings like this; they once again served as a remind as to why your heart beats only for him.

“Holding your hand is an extremely familiar feeling that’s always somehow new each time it happens” shrugging with your shoulders, you smiled, motioning towards his hand. “Much like now, your hand has been in mine hundreds of times, but has it ever been like this? No”. Jimin smiled, tightening his hold and nodding along. That actions once again gave you a slight rush of confidence, the previously yellow, now green on the next street light.

“I’ve always thought that you were the best thing that has ever happened to me, you know? It’s a really cliché thing to say, but where would I be if I hadn’t met you?” Truly, this was a serious statement, there were so many things that have happened in your life in which you just felt so, lost. Lost and afraid. Yet, Jimin was there, to redirect you to the right path and always bring up the “you’re not alone” mindset. “Who knows when I would’ve given up trying to stand up, if you weren’t there to pick me up and remind me it’s okay to fall, that bruises will heal?”

“For all these years, I was nothing else but content with being in love with you”, you stated, immense amount of courage washing over your body in a matter of moments. With the way Jimin attentively listened to every vowel and consonant that rolled off your tongue, you chose to pick words carefully, taking time to find perfect terms for description.

“I fell in love with the special way you sing when you think no one is listening, or the foolish way you drag vowels when we sing together. How your eyes turn into thin lines while truthfully laughing, or how you take into account every little detail before creating an opinion of something. How considerate and understanding you are, wanting to hear everyone’s thoughts before making a decision. Your 6th sense of identifying what’s wrong in a of a quick snap of fingers. Gosh I-”

There were so many little, but also big things that made Jimin this whole lovable and divine creature. And really, you were about to continue on for days, only if the speech wasn’t rudely interrupted by -

Jimin’s lips on yours.

“As much as I’d like to hear more of my great qualities, kissing you seems so much more attractive to me”

“Yeah? But I was spilling my heart out to you and you interrupted me, that’s rude-”  

“But you love this rude boy”

“Yeah I do”

“That’s cute”

“Say it back you coward”

“I love you, I always have and I always will”

AN: So I was supposed to release this for Jimins birthday but wasn’t satisfied with it so I edited it and released it today (way too late fk),,,,,, anyway I had something else in preparation but that kind of flopped so,,,, we aint releasing that lol,,, see you guys next time, ily!

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