#even if it's “just” the spiraling thoughts of a fictional character

[sullina]

Steven universe future episode 15 "Mr. Universe" starting with Greg and Steven going on a roadtrip to the tune of "dear old dad" and ending with Steven deleting the old yearbook photo off his phone.

I just love this kind of extreme contrast.

the episode starts with Steven genuinely believing that his dad might be able to help him after what undoubtedly feels like an eternity of a confusing and aimless hell for Steven (as having a mental illness tends to be).

Finally, something to help him get better.

Only to realize how terrible he really had it. He says it himself. "I grew up in a van! I've never even been to a doctor until two days ago!" along with how he never went to school on top of that, when Gregs parents, Stevens grandparents, were "right here".

This is the episode that Steven (and also I) realized that while Greg loved him dearly, he was not cut out to be a father. Or at least, he didn't know how to be a father, how to properly care for a child.

Gregs parents were extremely strict, according to Greg himself, and Greg obviously didn't want to be like them, but he overcorrected into the opposite direction: total freedom. But children need boundaries and rules. Not so many as to be suffocating, but at least some structure to learn what was safe to do and what wasn't.

That last part did not exactly apply to Stevens childhood. We never see his early childhood, but from the start of the first show, Steven is exposed to genuinely traumatizing danger over and over and over (as shown in the "Growing pains" episode, where Steven goes to the hospital and recounts all the traumatizing stuff that happened to him to Connies mom, Dr. Maheswaran). Steven knew what was dangerous, but he never seemed to learn what "safe" really was, considering not just Steven himself, but his home and family and friends were often under attack. Not to mention all of the physical injuries he got. Steven never really got away from just about any dangerous situation with "just" a bruise. He could have died, and he knows this. Any danger he's faced has been potentially lethal. This is not healthy, but the consequences only show up later.

But as a child, he either wasn't 100% aware of that fact, or decided to just subconsciously shove it down and not think about it ("not thinking about the bad stuff" is also a confirmed coping mechanism for young steven, as shown in "mindful education", the episode that features the song "here comes a thought"). But young steven only felt bad about the stuff that he couldn't do for others. The bad stuff that happened to himself didn't really seem to register, because there was always something more important going on, and even when there wasn't, no one ever checked in on Steven afterwards. Everyone just assumed he was okay, and that was it. Even Steven himself.

When there wasn't a (usually life-threatening) mission going on, Steven was very often left to his own devices. And that extends beyond just mission stuff. I don't think we've ever seen anyone actually cook for Steven. Whenever he eats, it's either some kind of take-out food, or food he made for himself. And it doesn't seem like a big deal, but it does send the message of "you're responsible for yourself, if you can't take care of yourself on your own, no one will do it for you". Add that and the fact that it was Steven who helped the Gems through their mental stuff (especially Pearl, especially when concerning anything related to Rose), I can't blame Steven for internalizing the message of "you're responsible for yourself and also everyone else (so all you're good for is helping others regardless of your own wellbeing, which is not important)"

And bringing it back around to Greg... Greg never had the courage for any sort of real confrontation. Initially, you can blame his own parents for that, if we assume that any attempt for Greg to properly assert himself was only ever met with more abuse than he was already subjected to by them. However, while the blame is not with Greg himself, as an adult, he is responsible for healing from that. But he didn't, and the consequences of this trauma are still there. Greg lived without any ability for serious confrontation and asserting himself by just... running away. He ran away from his parents with the van. And while he tried to reconnect with them later on with the letters, those letters were never opened. Greg probably never recieved a response from them, and he most likely didn't even visit to check on them, if the letters ever even arrived. Whenever there was gem-stuff involved, he ran away (quite literally), and in Steven Universe Future, when Steven crashed the van? He tells his son that he's proud of him for "telling him off", because he's glad that his own son can tell him anything.

Steven is distressed by this reaction. A lot.

And it's this reaction that tells him that Greg can't help him.

It's just such an odd reaction. You crash your dads van and he tells you he's proud of him? I mean what kind of reaction is that? You'd expect to be reprimanded. Or at least be asked something like "what the hell was that? Why did you do that?" But Greg didn't. He didn't confront his own son after crashing the very van he's built his life with. The only thing Greg did was make sure that Steven was alright physically.

And the next episode? The gems do reprimand Steven, but what for? For endangering his dad, who is a "fragile human". There was little to no concern for Steven himself. No "What was going on" or anything, just a "what were you thinking?" as if Steven crashed the van on purpose, which he didn't.

Steven never recieved any boundaries to keep him safe, and the only other family, the one he was actually living with, the Gems, most often left him completely alone unless there was a mission to complete. Steven mainly cared for his own self in his day to day life. He even seemed to do his own laundry a lot of the time, he was the one making sure he was fed at age 13 and up, likely also the one to make sure he had a personal hygiene routine. While we don't know about that last part, Greg wasn't living with Steven, and while i don't doubt he taught his son about personal hygiene, it was up to Steven himself to enforce it. If 13 year old Steven didn't feel like brushing his teeth some days, would anyone have made sure he did it anyway?

And what about education? We know Steven knows how to read and write and probably the basics of math as well. He knows the basics of what he needs to know, either taught to him by Greg or by Pearl, but anything beyond that? Physics? Chemistry? At least some basic science?

And not just education itself, school is also important to socializing, getting to know people of your own age group. Living at the temple, Steven was pretty much isolated. Sure, he knew people in town, but i don't think we ever see them actually visiting him, or him visiting anyone else just to hang out. And even when we do, it's pretty rare.

The closest thing Steven had to a friend his own age was Onion, and Onion is, well... he's Onion. And shown to commit legit crimes more than once. And Steven is often shown to be kind of scared of Onion, or at least uncomfortable around him. He takes it in stride, but I'm pretty sure if Steven ever thought about it properly, he would probably say that Onion freaked him out. Plus, Onion is much younger than Steven, seeing as Steven should be around the same age as Sour Cream (since they were both babies around the same time, though SC is probably a year or so older than Steven still).

Everyone around Steven was either his caretaker (who weren't very good at their job as proper guardian) or an acquaintance at best and likely unaware of what was going on with Steven at home.

Steven was isolated and neglected in vital parts of his upbringing, the best the gems did was making sure he didn't die, and Greg was no longer reliably around to make sure everything was alright, unless Steven came to him. And Steven was the one to take care of his guardians in their critical moments.

And still, Steven was a "good" child. He took care of his own physical human needs, with no one around to make sure that he did. When something bothered him, he took care of it himself. When others were bothered by something, Steven took care of them, too.

Even in battle, he tried to resolve everything peacefully when he could. When he couldn't, like with the corrupted gems, he fought when needed, to the best of his abilities. The more his powers came in, the more missions he could go on (the more time he could spend with the gems who were his family).

He made himself useful, not unlike a weapon: to be drawn when needed, and put away when not needed.

But he's not a weapon. He's an alive being with needs, emotional and physical. But the gems didn't seem to realize that. Greg wasn't properly caring for him like he should have. In the episode where Lapis steals the ocean, Greg even asks "is this what every mission is like for you, Steven? Because I'm not sure I'm comfortable with you going on these anymore." (i think he was interrupted then, but that's pretty much what he said) Greg doesn't know what happens on these missions, and even when he expresses his dicomfort with his son being put in danger, nothing actually happens to make that stop. Stevens physical needs were taken care of by himself. His emotional needs were often disregarded, not only by the gems, but by himself as well.

He made himself small, bottling up his issues and not bothering anyone with them.

And everyone else just... let him. Just let that happen. Steven was fine, right? If he's not calling for help, then everything must be fine, right?

The gems and Greg only ever started to say something in SU Future, when it was pretty obvious that Steven was no longer alright. When the problems became harder and harder for Steven to hide.

And even when it was obvious that he wasn't alright, Steven himself kept insisting that he was fine, because he couldn't be not fine, he had to be fine, because he couldn't help others if he wasn't, and if he couldn't help others, then what was he good for-

In "Growing pains", when Steven goes to the hospital, Greg is actively forced to confront his son and assure him that he'll help, that he's there for him, and they will figure this out together. And things seem to look up for Steven. Well, until the next episode, when Greg shows him the solution that helped him when he was younger. When that didn't help Steven though, Greg tried to push it on him again. When Steven lashes out at how Greg messed up with caring for him, Greg completely fails to see it and keeps saying how Steven had "actual freedom".

But too much freedom isn't much different from utter neglect.

And even when Steven crashes the van, Greg still fails as a parent. Sure, Steven is alive, but he refuses to confront his emotional wellbeing, the real problem. Greg Universe runs away again. Like he did from any gem-related issue. Like he did from raising Steven as soon as the gems took over. Like he did from his own parents.

And because of this, he would never be able to help his son. He could never teach Steven how to cope, because Gregs only way of coping seemed to be "run away from your problem". But Steven could only run from his problems for so long. He bottled his problems up and internalized them, but that bottle was always gonna burst sooner or later, and then what? Steven couldn't run from himself, because wherever he went, he would always be there.

His own father couldn't help him.

The gems couldn't help him.

Literally the only adult who was able to give him any sort of help was Dr. Maheswaran, and even then, all she could do for him was identify the problem.

Steven was on his own.

But it's not like he was dying or anything, so he was fine, right? As long as he wasn't dead, he was okay, he could take care of himself and everyone else like he's always done.

He always took care of everyone else.

So why were they leaving?

Why were they moving on without him?

Why are they leaving him behind? He's been good, hasn't he?

And even when he messed up, he always fixed things, didn't he? Always!

He fixed things! That's what he does! He's Steven, the one who always helps everyone and never needs help himself, but if they were leaving, was he really a good child? Was he really helpful?

But if he wasn't helpful, then... what has he been doing all this time?

If helpful Steven wasn't helpful, then he could only be a fraud.

No... no, he could always find a problem to fix! And if he couldn't find one, he would just have to create one! As long as he could create problems, he would never run out of problems to fix, right?

As long as he just keeps messing up and creating problems-

Wait...

No...

That's not right...

If he's creating problems, he's not helpful...

He's a monster.

#Steven universe future #suf #su #steven universe #long post #this got long #i do hope it's coherent though bc i refuse to re-read and edit this stuff bc I'll only confuse myself #also while it may not seem like it i do love the gems and greg #but it's very clear they were not great caretakers for Steven #anyway: #cw child neglect #cw spiraling thoughts #even if it's “just” the spiraling thoughts of a fictional character

[romanoffsbish]

Method Acting

Scarlett Johansson x F!R

Request | When your friend gives you the leading role in her debut sapphic rom-com you find yourself elated, but then you see who her star-studded casting managed to be and suddenly you aren’t too sure what to do. How does one work with their crush in such intimate ways and not swoon further? | WC: 2,516

Smut: Masturbation (R) — Non-con 👀 (SJ) | Mommy (SJ) | Oral / Fingering (R) | Thigh-Riding (SJ) | Overstimulation (R)

18+ | Minors DNI

"Where'd all that confidence go, hm?" You gulped, not only to remain in character, but because Scarlett was literally hovering over your body and it was like the air around you'd thinned. Your head felt light, but you still managed to stutter out your line, "I-It was a r-ruse."

Bentley chuckled, "You know, I don't think I mind," then she lowered her smirking face into the crook of your neck, your breath dramatically hitched, and you threw your head back to give her the necessary space to leave behind her pale pink gloss for the camera to see.

——

This was meant to be acting, but she wasn't exactly not sucking a partial mark into your skin, fortunately it was hidden from any lens viewpoint, and it only really added to the scene as you moaned out affectedly.

"There you go Raina," she rasped against your cheek, smearing her collected spit and gloss on the skin. "I knew you'd be a perfect little dove for your mommy, you just needed me to help dumb you down, hm..."

You whimpered the title inquisitively, giving off the characters innocent girl aura as her lips clashed into yours, but deep in your soul you wanted to scream it.

Well, for the blonde starlet that is, Scarlett was nothing short of a goddess, her beauty perceivably effortless. It came with many perks, one of those being the ability to have people figuratively crumble before her. You had actually done so physically when you first shook her hand, it was embarrassing and she's teased you since.

When she wasn't teasing you though she was a natural nurturer. There was a calmness she brought to your anxious life that you were going to miss when filming inevitably comes to an end. Which was actually taking place this week, today you were working on the climax.

Bentley, her character, finally had a chance to corner Raina so that she could finally prove her love with the length of her fingers. Up until now your character had been avoiding Bentley as they were forced to see one another at the weekend long reception of a mutual.

Maritza, the director, screenwriter, and best friend of yours wanted the sex to feel real, so she is letting you two feel it out in a set of scenes. Scarlett appreciated the artistic creativity, because she wanted nothing more than to bring you to bliss, even if only fictionally as she knew the cameras were rolling. You genuinely liked the idea of an organic, sapphic scene too, but you just wished it could have been with any other actress.

Not the one you were recklessly falling in love with.

"Cut!" The director called after she felt there was enough tension, and kissing caught for the scene. She was also your very best friend, and knew you were likely spiraling beneath the surface; below Scarlett.

As soon as the director gave you the all clear for the night you took off without even sparing the blonde a glance. Months on this set with her and she'd teased you every step of the way, playing on your obvious crush, the one you'd publicized just a year ago.

"Y/N, who's your celebrity crush?" It was an easy question to answer, and since you were such a newcomer in the acting world it felt harmless to give them one, "Scarlett Johansson, she is just so gorgeous, and that voice of hers is just, ugh, don't even get me started." Or so you thought. Because not even three months later did you find out she'd be playing the love interest in this low-budget, cheesy sapphic rom-com.

The blonde was absolutely ecstatic when she got the script in her email because it came with your name attached. This was your closest friend's script, so you were given the lead without any issues, except for the casting. Without you ever knowing she took a shot in the dark by sending it to the woman who'd grown interested in you the moment she saw you in that interview. When you got the casting news you were mortified, and the blonde used that to her advantage.

There was no denying you meant it when she arrived on set for the chemistry read through, you were a bit of a stuttering mess—true to the character, but it was clear to the blonde that you were just being yourself. Scarlett played the part a bit too well, but she still kept it hidden that she desired you too. Until tonight she'd believed it was never going to go anywhere, but then you moaned in her ear and she realized it had to.

You weren't the only one affected by the small scene.

Scarlett was outside your trailer, her fingers flexed against the chill of the air as she prepared herself to knock on your door. It was Thursday night, normally she would go home, but she knew you were staying on the lot to cut costs so she felt compelled to stop by.

Without an answer she took it upon herself to open the door, noting her worry as the excuse for why she did. When she entered the trailer she was overwhelmed by a heady scent, and as she turned the corner to find you with your hand buried between your legs she'd found the delightful source. Scarlett said nothing as her body leaned against the wall, eyes focused in on the way your puffy lips devoured three of your fingers whole.

"Scarlett..."

The blonde's eyes snapped up to your face, fearing that she'd been caught, but it proved to be the other way around as you moaned her name upon releasing.

"My character's name is Bentley," she cooly teased, startling you into yelping and scrambling to grab the blanket that had bunched up by the end of your bed. Scarlett beat you to it, taking a predatory leap forward so that she could keep you from hiding your body. "None of that baby girl, don't hide from me now."

"S-Scar," you breathlessly muttered her name, or better yet part of it as she cupped your jaw and kissed you into a state of stunned silence. "Let's practice our scene for tomorrow darling, make it extra authentic."

"I-I don't think—." Scarlett slipped her thumb into your mouth, pressing down on your teeth to still you. "Oh, pretty girls like you should never try to think."

When she released her grip on your mouth she'd forcefully pushed you back onto the mattress, making your body bounce and driving your mind into madness all while she slipped out of her sweatsuit. The arousal you'd already felt doubled in intensity, mind alit with the endless possibilities for how this could go. Your mouth slowly filled with saliva as she sauntered closer to you while only dressed in her expensive lingerie set.

"You're so beautiful," you softly acknowledged and she offered you a genuine smile in return. Her lips gently pressed to yours as soon as she climbed over you and you both melted at the touch. "Thank you angel."

Scarlett took her time with kissing you, she didn't even move to deepen it until she felt your slick on her skin.

"I'm going to devour you Raina," she winked playfully and you met her tease with a smile that warmed her heart. "Make my dreams come true then Bentley."

Something about hearing her characters name didn't sit well with her, even if she had started the play on words, joking shoved aside she needed you to know this was more than a over the top scene preparation.

Scarlett pulled your body down the mattress by your ankles, throwing your legs open she took in a big whiff as her nose nuzzled into your plush thigh. "It seems I'll be making both of ours come true," she laboredly breathed against your slick cunt, "Just as long as you know there's no copyright on Scarlett," she winked and husked as your eyes widened, "Scream it for me Y/N."

"Oh Scarlett," you cried as soon as her tongue firmed itself against your folds, a long, drawn out moan left her as she tasted your glorious slick for the first time. The both of you were immensely pleased, your body began to squirm the more you felt your orgasm build. Her arm had to lay against your abdomen to hold you down so that her tongue could lash at you unchecked.

Your pleasure was entirely under her control, and the thought alone had the both of you teetering over the edge, ready to fall further into one another. Scarlett was unsure how that was even possible though, she'd loved you after a month into the filming, on a night when cast and crew rented out the local bar and she actually went regardless of her star power status. It was the only time you'd talked to her so openly, the booze in your system dropped your nerves and you let her hear all of your hometown childhood stories.

There was a twinkle of purity in your eye that she found refreshing that night, but this new glossy look you wore was far more enticing to the blonde starlet.

You looked almost peaceful, but beneath the surface you were absolutely losing your mind. Her masterful tongue was showing your fingers up in real time, your hot slick flowing out of you as if you were a leaking faucet, slowly dripping down from her chin and settling atop of the exposed skin of her bare breasts.

Which only made her move with more efficiency, her tongue slowly curled inside of you, caressing your g-spot as the tip of her nose pressed into your clit and you lost control of your every sense. Gasping for air as pleasure coursed through your trembling form, blurry white stars filled your vision as your eyes crossed and the taste of something metallic coated your tongue as you harshly bit down on your lower lip before you were screaming incoherently, her name sinfully intermixed.

You felt her smirk against your thigh and couldn't help but to smile yourself as you felt her kiss up your body with a softness that transcended all prior carnality. There was this break in the tension as she tenderly locked her lips to yours, tongues dancing around the other as her hands anchored to your chest, fondling the malleable skin as if it was second nature. Soft whines reverberated into her mouth the longer that she played with your sensitive breasts as she kissed you dumb.

Eventually the blonde felt this intense urge to satiate her own body, so she pulled back and you whimpered. "Fuck, you're so hot Y/N," she groaned as she stared at you, so beautifully spaced out, the thin line of spit tethering your lips together snapped as she grinned.

"You know, you're my celebrity crush too," she teased, finding amusement in the way you tried to shimmy away from her, but her hands firmly pressed down, keeping your body stilled by her grip on your breasts.

"Don't try and run now darling," she purred against your neck, her face having dipped down so that she could finish the job she started during your shoot.

"Scar, th-the movie," you warned but she simply didn't care, the woman chuckled against your skin, "Oh love, you know as well as I do that make up can cover this, plus, this is really just us aiding the film, you know?"

Scarlett continued on bruising your soft skin with her teeth as you couldn't, nor did you really want to, find a reason to dissuade her from her current ministrations. Just as soon as she was satisfied with her hard work she flipped you onto your stomach without warning.

A low moan left the both of you as her cunt touched down, your body shivered as her slick smeared onto the back of your thigh, the idea that you'd turned her on that much hadn't even permeated your mind until now and with the physical evidence you felt powerful. Even if she was on top, you aided her by tensing your muscles to which she rewarded you with a hoarse moan and two fingers that slid between your slick lips.

The both of your bodies moved in steamy tandem, your front being pressed further into the mattress with every rough thrust of her fingers and hips. The room soon became a lewd symphony as your skin slapped together and the both of your slick seeped and spread, all working to drown out your soft, choked moans.

With her free hand no longer on your hip you were thrown further into the depths of pleasure as her palm roughly pressed down on your abdomen just as her fingers reached your depth, your body jerked but she just kept going down until she could play with your clit.

"Mommy," you screamed the desired honorific, it almost sounded like a plea for mercy, but the blonde had none to show you, she instead slid a third finger into your core causing you to spasm uncontrollably. Which in turn tensed your muscles up even further, and sent her into a state of immense bliss, her teeth instinctively sunk into your shoulder and drew blood.

Her body had arched back then dropped to the side of yours in a matter of seconds, her fingers stayed buried within your warmth, almost like a place of comfort. It took you far longer than her to regain your composure as this was actually your fifth orgasm of the evening. The other two having happened before she caught you.

Nevertheless, you were able to form a sentence as you felt her fingers vacate your pussy, "W-what was this?"

Scarlett had been shifting to a place of comfort when your disconcerting question was aired, you caught her completely off guard but upon settling her cheek down on your bare ass she hummed softly in thought. Then as she really thought about it, imagining a future where you'd part ways after filming ended, she frowned.

"You're mine," she tiredly growled against the sweaty skin of your ass, her teeth nibbled at the round flesh as she gave you her answer (demand). "Then, now, the point is you'll always be mine Y/N so get comfortable."

"I'm plenty comfortable," you murmured, words a bit muffled as your face burrowed into your silky pillow. Scarlett smiled to herself, her heart officially settled now that she knows you understood; you were hers, this sinful endeavor was her official sealing of a deal.

Her worn down body sidled up by your side, still her strong arm wrapped around your midsection so that she could pull you close enough for her to feel your body against hers. "Goodnight baby girl, I think we've done enough work to ensure the scene will be a hit..."

—

When tomorrow came, and the scene was shot you two found it only took one go as the sexual chemistry was palpable. Maritza had winked, and mouthed a 'your welcome' thinking that you'd just won the blonde over, but unbeknownst to her this was just an encore...

Or as the sapphics would simply call it, round two.

#scarlett johansson #scarlett johansson imagine #scarlett johansson fanfiction #scarlett johansson fic #scarlett johansson fluff #scarlett johansson smut #scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett johansson x you #scarlett johansson x y/n #scarlett johansson x female reader #scarlett johansson x fem!reader #scarlett x reader #scarlett x you #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine

[hoseoksluna]

VAPOR, pt I. | jjk ft. myg

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x steam!oc

genre: smut, a hint of angst

word count: 10.6k

summary: yoongi never promised his healing time would be easy and when he hurts you enough that you need your other "boyfriend", jungkook is quick to rescue you.

pinterest board: blur | playlist: car playlist

warnings: mentions of a sex toy, jungkook is upset and angry at his hyung, public sex, dirty talk, sexual tension and frustration, praise kink, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), bruising, cum swallowing, going behind someone's back........

note: HI MY LOVES—MY STEAM DRABBLE IS HERE AND I'VE NEVER BEEN MORE EXCITED TO POST SOMETHING, OH MY GOSH. OKAY, before i say anything else, i would like to put a disclaimer here: even though all my characters are fictional, they are still human in this world, which means they fuck up, which means they're not perfect whatsoever and never will be. i would like to really put an emphasis on that before you read and if i receive any vulgar and rude asks about this, i assure you that i will not respond to them. OKAY ALL SERIOUSNESS ASIDE—this was fucking AMAZING TO WRITE and i already CANNOT WAIT to start writing another part, this time with yoongi included. i promise to make everything right and—SPOILER—this couple WILL get a happy ending, so don't worry, my loves. ENJOY READING. SPAM MY INBOX. I LOVE YOU.

There’s a mango-scented candle rustling in a bag, resting on the passenger seat, and Jungkook is driving very carefully so as to not knock it over and possibly break it. For a moment, one that reemerges in his headspace as he keeps his foot light on the pedal, he wonders if he should buckle a seatbelt around it and ensure its safety that way, his fear of ruining his surprise for you causing his brain to come up with the strangest of ideas—in the name of the love he carries for you. 

Is it love, though? 

Jungkook furrows his brows, that thought seizing his sternum enough that he has to turn his music down and let some fresh air in through the window so he doesn’t crash his fucking car. Icy sweat stings his spine, his stomach churning and without sparing a second longer, his eyes take after the sadness of the weather outside his vehicle. His vision blurs and he rubs his eye, one at a time, to focus on the road.

A red light blinks at him and suddenly, there’s fury that he feels deep within chest. 

Conceivably because slowing down means he has to face the onrush of emotions sloshing in him. Has to hear the rain not just outside, but inside, too. Has to feel the prick of those raindrops along his waterline. The heft of those clouds outside and inside his clavicles as well, tightening and tightening. 

Jungkook sighs, drumming his fingers upon his steering wheel, trying to distract himself from it all. From the invading question that absorbs his body like the vapor rising across the night-clothed street—when did he get so emotional? 

Unfortunately, he knows the answer right away.

You’ve been sad. On your own. 

It’s been a few weeks since all three of you made a deal to stick together. Yoongi has been brave, his good mood clutching him for a lot longer than Jungkook sadly estimated. You’ve spent these past two Fridays and weekends together, out and about, rolling in bed, rolling in Yoongi’s apartment. It was all fun and games until the boss reached a dead end. Somehow. Jungkook still doesn’t know what it was that Yoongi actually saw—what was that one particular thing that caused him to spiral. 

To relapse. 

And you didn’t tell him until it was too late. 

Perhaps, you did tell him—nonverbally, that is. You stopped adding your signed messages whenever he was texting with Yoongi during the week and even those alone stopped coming in as the days went on. There was something wrong and he knew it. His intuition only proved to be right when another weekend showed its face and it contained no undertone of you. And no suggestion of Yoongi either. 

Silence. Dead silence. 

And it wasn’t until Jungkook got an incoming call from an unknown number half an hour ago that he realized the gravity of the situation. 

It was you who called him up, sobbing into the phone, having stolen his number from Yoongi’s device. As difficult as it was to understand what happened, Jungkook tied all the strings of information you gave him between your broken breaths and blubbering: Yoongi hasn’t spoken to you all day and took a shower alone, the latter being the most devastating of the two. 

He felt bad for you, terribly bad for you—but simultaneously, he was upset with you. 

Still is. 

It’s one of the reasons why he’s driving up to Yoongi’s apartment. With a mango-scented candle and a puffed-up bag of cheese balls. He doesn’t want to think what the other reasons are, not when he’s staring down his gift for you, clicking his tongue at last and reaching over for the seatbelt and sliding it into its buckle. Just in time for the traffic light to turn green.

Now, now he’s speeding down the road, turning up the volume of his car playlist. A slow song by the Arctic Monkeys is playing and it’s a movie—the set of circumstances that are happening in the present. The rain, the tightness in his chest, the but faint adrenaline of the momentum. What is he really doing? 

It feels as though he’s following a script, however his eyes haven’t skimmed down the entire thing. He doesn’t know how this is going to end. Hell, he doesn’t even know if he’s doing the right thing because he’s planning on staying outside of his hyung’s apartment. Like hell he’s going inside when his sweetheart—

Jungkook purses his lips. Moves the shift stick. Kills the engine. Closes his eyes. 

His heart thumps. Turbulently. It stirs worry in him. What if he’s going to die? 

This is the first time he’s left in the hands of the unknown. He’s always had the sixth sense of knowing tactness like the back of his hand, although this time he doesn’t know shit. Doesn’t know if he’s breaking his best friend’s trust. Doesn’t know what’s going to happen once he sees you, possibly wearing one of your nighttime robes. The last time you touched him was the last time he had his release. His hand doesn’t feel as good as yours does—and his orgasm isn’t as fulfilling as when it’s shared with you. He’s brimming with frustration, with anger so vast that he could explode and he knows it’s unfair to be mad at Yoongi, when he himself said it wasn’t going to be easy, that it was going to take a lot of work. But Jungkook can’t help his feelings. Can’t help to see you. 

Only you. 

Broken, tear-stained, when it should be blush painting your cheeks red from all the love and happiness your own boyfriend should give you as it’s his duty. Something he’s responsible for. Something he should put above himself. 

“Drunken monologues, confused because it's not like I'm falling in love, I just want you to do me no good and you look like you could,” Alex Turner sings and Jungkook’s chin quivers, his heart gaining tempo, his perturbation rising—owing to the violence of that muscle, owing to the state of your feelings. 

He wonders if you’re still crying. 

He’s outside of Yoongi’s apartment. Didn’t even realize it, mind too fucked up, too full of you. 

Grabbing his phone, he sends you a text. 

I’m here. Come outside 

A reply pings right away. 

SWEETHEART: ? 

SWEETHEART: it’s raining 

He’s halfway typing his response that he doesn’t want to go inside, but he decides against it. Doesn’t want to make it worse for you. If you knew of the dark corners of his mind that don’t particularly like Yoongi at the moment, you wouldn’t look at him with those pretty eyes of yours as you always do. 

He can’t afford that. 

I have an umbrella

As his thumb hovers above his phone, waiting for your reply, he can almost hear your sigh. Can feel your breath on his clammy palm as he rubs it on his pants in effort to rid himself of the nerves crawling in his veins. The breath he was favored enough to hold in his grasp the last time he had you to himself—clamping your mouth shut as he spanked your clit for being so beautifully responsive to his touch, rubbing it until your eyes whisked back while Yoongi slept beside you, unaware. 

It’s engraved in his brain. It plays on loop before sleep overtakes him at night and it’s his first thought in the morning once consciousness reminds him that you’re not his. 

SWEETHEART: is it cold outside?

He figures you’re asking the question in order to decide whether you should change or not. It seems as though warm pajamas don’t exist in your world, for the beginning of September is in the process of blooming. It nudges his anger; provokes it enough to fill it with a lethal dose of a yearning to buy you the warmest pair of pants he could find. He clenches his fist, thumb quick to type a response. 

Wear something that covers your legs or stay home. 

The same thumb shakes at the expression of his firmness, his anger disturbed, wholly—wholly disturbed. If you come out wearing your little shorts—

A reply pings again. 

SWEETHEART: ok ill change

And another one right away. 

SWEETHEART: ill text u when i come down

That’s a good girl. 

He almost types it right then and there, but something within, despite the slowly calming storm of his feelings, despite his cock tightening in his pants at the swift image of your bare legs, at the lingering perception of you being a good girl and listening to him, drags his thumb to his emojis. A sudden renewal of his sixth sense, and he doesn’t understand how it’s happened as it dawns on him, makes him realize that’s not exactly what you need right now. You didn’t call him for a fuck. 

You called him for emotional support. 

👍🏻

And like the good girl you are, you merely take five minutes. Stay true to your words, text him as you’re coming down and Jungkook grabs his umbrella from the backseat. Doesn’t forget to unbuckle the seatbelt in the passenger seat. Saves himself from the embarrassment. 

The trees sway in his direction, inviting him in, once he takes two steps at the time, coming up the stairs. He watches them through the clear roundness of his shield, beckoning him closer. The rain pelts against it, but softly this time. Merciful as it knows you’re about to emerge from the ocean of such unfathomable sadness. It doesn’t wish to frighten you, rather it desires to soothe your escaping, make it less harrowing. Even the wind that whips at him stills as soon as you open the door, bathed in light. 

And Jungkook is struck with the notion that he wants to do the same. 

You’re wearing flared leggings. Gray. With sneakers of the same color and a white top that hugs your waist, that seems way smaller than the last time he touched it. He gets a glimpse of it, and it unnerves him, as you lift your hand to curl a strand of your hair behind your ear because otherwise your body is shrouded in a flannel that’s too big for you. Too robust for you and your particular liking of tight, little clothes. 

He doesn’t want to know who that garment belongs to. Doesn’t even want to come close to unfolding that thought, to even let it get a taste of his burning blood. Because there’s another matter at hand. 

You’ve lost weight. 

And he’s going to kill his hyung for it. 

You step out and it’s an instinct, the way his arm draws closer to you so you don’t get touched by the rain, even if it means the raindrops get to trace the back of his head and the nape of his neck. Yet even that invigorating, tender liquid doesn’t cool the scorching lividness that takes place beneath his skin, beneath his bones. But then you touch his hand, left to left, drag it away and hide yourself in his chest. Everything changes when you do that. 

Jungkook explodes. Silently. Gently. His chin quivers again and he doesn’t care that you can hear the tremor of his heart as you lay your ear against it. Doesn’t care that his grip might hurt you as he hugs you back, thinking he could wrap his arm twice around your much different waist. And he takes you like this. Back to his car. He doesn’t even feel the wetness pooling in his waterline, leading you as you walk backwards. And you laugh, you laugh softly while he inhales your mango scent that has somehow even crept up to your scalp, and he doesn’t believe it’s that easy. 

It can’t be that easy to make you feel better. 

He opens the door for you, a façade of nothingness plastered on his face as he tries his hardest to remain stoic so you wouldn’t see the turmoil churning within every perimeter of his body. And it’s an instinct, too, the way he catches your little purse when it slips off your shoulder, even though he doesn’t see it, too busy devouring your gaze—afraid, awfully afraid that tonight might be the last time he sees your pretty eyes, considering the contempt he’s now showing his hyung. 

If Yoongi finds out about this, it’s over. 

His life is over, too. 

Anger, frustration, sadness, love—how is he able to feel all of those emotions at once? You purse your lips, your weary eyes skip his features all the way to his mouth, stopping at his lip ring and the question rises again in his brain. 

Is it love? 

The rain falls harder. And so does he, unfortunately. 

“I got you something. It’s right there.” He tips his chin to the passenger seat without taking his gaze off of your busy eyes. They’re still looking at his mouth, watching every word come out. He finds it so endearing that there’s nothing more he wants to do than grab your cheeks and kiss you for it. Maybe his frustration would loosen a little bit if he did it. “Don’t sit on it.” 

It’s that addition to his previous sentence that causes you to flick those pretty irises of yours up to his. And he studies it as the double meaning uncoils in your brain, even though it was by accident that it tumbled out of his mouth. The weariness in your orbs parts like clouds upon the heavens, though no sunshine spills through them. There’s still a lingering blankness, something unknown, something foreign. Then, the tiniest of smiles curls your mouth and it jolts through him, his heart thudding harder—to the point that even more profound discomfort settles in. 

“Did you get me a dildo? I could use one right now.” 

The perplex that seizes him almost causes his legs to give out. And he can’t help it, the way his eyes roll back and his hand, with your purse hanging from his forearm, runs down his face. Jungkook wants to get drenched in the rain—maybe if the raindrops put out the sudden fire licking at his every nerve ending, maybe then he’ll come to understand how you manage to be in the mood when your state of mind can’t possibly let you have dirty thoughts. 

His cock tightens again and he calls you by your name, firmly. He can’t have this. Not right now. He needs to be sensible. You need it. “Get in the car.” 

You listen, but your smile falters. Grabbing your bag from his forearm, you turn around, bending over to wrap your fist around the bag on the passenger seat. Jungkook doesn’t mean to look at your delicious round cheeks and once he discovers that they’re hidden under that layer of the hideous flannel, he sighs a breath of relief. He can’t look at you that way. Averts his gaze, immediately. 

As soon as you’re seated, he clicks the door shut. Considers letting the rain have him. Did he make a mistake, being firm with you? 

Inside his car, his favorite song is mellowly playing. In the mere few seconds, you’ve managed to suffuse the entire atmosphere with your mango scent and Jungkook inhales it. It takes him into a whole different world, one filled with eternal sunlight as the song portrays it. He finds himself in a country of spring that has been briskly rained upon and now is being softly seared with those shafts of light and speckles of heat, the details of your beauty. 

“For the love of my life, she's got glow on her face…” the singer sings and the lyrics plod into his mind. Jungkook wishes the description applied to you at this very moment like it had before, like it had every single time he stole a glance at you. He misses your glow and your glitter and it pierces his unstable heart that he finds no traces of those particles of shimmer on your cheekbones and eyelids as you’re rummaging through the bag, not even on your cupid’s bow as you gasp, gently, discovering he bought you your favorite things. 

You’re looking at him with such smothered joy and it would relieve his feelings if he didn’t feel such guilt, if he didn’t feel as though he was a crumbling pillar, a failure undeserving of your time. 

You take the candle into your small hands. Such a stark contrast—his heart aches at the sight of it. You pop the lid open, sniff the aroma and your mouth rounds in a terribly, terribly cute manner. Jungkook is glad for the lack of light in the space of his car, which hides his growing manhood. He props an elbow on the door and pinches his nose, trying to regain his composure— 

“It’s mango-scented,” you say in disbelief, pouting and Jungkook can’t breathe. “And cheese balls, are you kidding me?” You open the bag right away, plopping the treat into your mouth. He’s surprised you eat just one—it doesn’t feel right. “Thank you. Honestly. Thank you.” You cradle it into your chest and Jungkook has to look away. 

What has Yoongi done to you that you react this way to such silly things? He needs to ask, but he fears your answer. And what’s worse, he fears what he’ll do to him once you tell him. 

“What did you tell him?” He needs to get away from this place, but it has to correlate with your plan, if there even is any. If not, he’ll handle it. Figure something out. 

You take a sharp breath, loading your gifts back into the bag, keeping it nice and safe on your lap. Then, you lick your lips and look at him with an intention that causes his heart to jump right there onto the wonderfully clothed flesh of your thighs. “I told him I was going home.” 

Home. Since the moment he knew of your existence, your home has been the place wherever Yoongi resided. It never mattered where. Jungkook grips the steering wheel, knuckles white. “Where do you live?” 

You tell him your address. He knows that from this day on, he’ll never, ever forget it. He starts the engine, wondering in the meantime about the ordinariest things of your life. Do you live there during the week and spend your weekends at Yoongi’s apartment? Or has he completely overtaken your life that you spend every hour of it in his presence? He wants to know. And he wants to get some food in that slim tummy of yours. “Do you have any food there? When was the last time you were there?” 

It’s you who looks away now, staring ahead, playing with your fingers while the rest are still wrapped around the bag. “I don’t live there anymore. Haven’t been there in months.” 

Jungkook bites his lip. Too, too many questions are hovering in his brain—he barely has the capacity to think about them, let alone hurl them at you. “What did he say when you told him you were going home?” 

You snivel and his heart on your thighs twitches in pain. He has to grip the steering wheel harder in order not to jump out of this car and kick down Yoongi’s door. 

“Nothing.” 

Jungkook puts the car in drive, wordlessly, seething inside. He’ll invent another plan while yours will remain its prototype. Will keep you safe.

Safe, fed and tearless. 

The drive is quiet, save for the euphonious melodies emitting through his never-ending playlist. The rain has become less severe, soft in nature, only adding to the background noise—adding to the process of your mollification that he’s overseeing. He’s put a stop to the questions. Has figured you have enough of them, for the only reason you decided to lie to your own boyfriend and go behind his back was because you needed to get out of his clutches. 

A decision he approves of. 

The quietness has helped him regain his composure fully, set some things straight in his brain as the anger in him slowly dissipated. Space is good, for both his hyung and you and he’s proud of you for allowing yourself to get to this point that you walked away. Yoongi, evidently, has returned to his hermit tendencies and Jungkook knows very well that it’s something that he needs in his healing time. It’s who he is; who he always has been. He didn’t push him away too many times for him to be possibly wrong about this and while the information he gained from you that Yoongi changed his ways shattered Jungkook’s heart and glued it back together, he knew, somehow, deep within him, that it was just an effort. For you. 

He didn’t think it was a façade because Yoongi is certainly not a phony person. 

He did it for you. Tried his hardest. And succeeded. With your help, he’s sure—which makes it all the more beautiful—but Yoongi is still Yoongi. 

Someone who deals with things on his own. 

And although the distance he needs hurts other people, he doesn’t mean it. Jungkook knows this just as well, despite the fact what he truly thinks is that Yoongi should try harder. 

For you. 

He needs to tell you this. Needs you to know. But he doesn’t think you’re ready to hear it just yet, which is okay. The plan is constructed, he’s here for you and he will make you feel better. He will caress your heart and make your belly full. Will make you forget for a little while before he gently brings you back to reality. 

You deserve this. After everything you’ve been through. Because of him. Because of Yoongi. 

And because of this, he no longer feels guilty that he has you to himself without Yoongi knowing. Even if that means he risks his brotherhood, even if that means he risks his affection for you seeing the light of day. 

You’re more important. 

It’s this thought that gets interrupted by a sudden ring of your phone. You jump, zipping your purse open and Jungkook keeps his eyes on the road. He doesn’t really want to see the kind of picture you have Yoongi saved under. He has to keep his feelings intact. Remain calm. 

Your breath shakes. “He’s video calling me.” 

Sparks of electricity nip at his fingertips. A surge of adrenaline, the threatening, false notion that he’s doing the wrong thing. Jungkook almost smirks. It’s so fucking thrilling to him. 

He lets you decide on your own what to do, but you grow unsure, nerves burdening you. He feels that heft and it’s quick to sober him up. 

“Should I get out of this car? Say I’m taking a walk?” you ask, your pretty, pretty eyes wide, your pupils so tiny. Jungkook wants to take your hand in his, take your fear that makes you think these silly thoughts and crush it. 

He’s here. He’s going to take care of this. Of you. 

“Let it ring.” 

You look back down at your phone, lip between your teeth, but Jungkook keeps his eyes on you, the red of the stoplight pervading you with the danger of your girlish freedom. And it does ring two more times before Yoongi gives up. 

Good. 

You have the right to need to distance yourself just as much as he does. Give him the same silent treatment like he did to you.

There’s a smug smirk plastered on his face when he catches you putting your phone back into your purse before the light turns green. He speeds down the road, driving with just one hand, ready to unfold his plan. 

One he’s already shared with you. 

He’s taking you to the mall. 

His hand itches to take yours as you walk beside him. Strangers stare you down, but you keep your attention on the myriads of shops lining the side of the promenade. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible that there’s so many people wasting their Thursday at such a place like this. At this hour, especially. It kind of makes him regret that he took you here, despite the fact the sole purpose of it was to feed you until you were full. The lights are too bright, children are screaming and running around and it’s giving him a headache, but one look at you changes his mind in an instant. The glow he missed has found its way back to your cheeks and there’s a glint to your eyes that he hasn’t seen in a long while. The paleness is gone and he’s not really ignorant to the way a bush of roses begins to bloom in his chest at the realization. 

You stop dead in your tracks all of a sudden. Your little purse slips off of your shoulder. As attentive as he always is, he slides it back up, a smile tugging his mouth to the side. He thinks it’s just so damn cute. And the fact you don’t pay any attention to it as well. Probably used to it. 

Red posters of sale adorn the storefront that has caught your eye. Jungkook is unfamiliar with it, but you seem to be completely enthralled by it. 

“Where do you wanna eat?” he provokes. Already knows what restaurant you’ll be feasting at, obviously, but poking you is a matter of enjoyment for him. “There’s so many food courts to choose from.” 

You look at him and clutch your stomach, as if the mere mention of food made you hungry. A faint, faded light flashes across that glint in your irises before it dwindles away and Jungkook is ready to throw you over his shoulder and push people off of his path to get you there right now. 

“Can we… go here first?” you ask, hesitatingly, grabbing a hold of his elbow, but he feels as though you’re squeezing his heart, wringing it out of all that liquid emotion that he swallowed down earlier in the car. Your touch is warm, like the pond water kissed by the sun back at his cabin, seeping into his skin and languidly streaming through his body. 

It’s automatic, primal and right, the way he clasps his other hand across your fingers wrapped around his bicep and the way your body draws closer to his. It should be normal to do this when he’s seen you bare—when he’s seen you feral, needy and disappear into your pleasure, one he’s the creator of. Why does it feel so thrilling? So dangerous? 

You can meander through as many stores as you want. And he tells you that, or at least tries to, as he smiles at you, softly, and nods his head, letting you lead him inside the shop that has so vehemently caught your attention. 

A trillion styles of jeans, tiny tops, skirts and shorts of the same size, Jungkook understands your fascination as he takes it all in. And he’s pleasantly surprised when you indulge him as you fondle every material of every clothing you like, telling him how pretty you find it. You’re not timid to show him your disappointment either, wrinkling your nose, when the fabric is too frail or too expensive for the price, muttering vulgarities directed to capitalism and leading him away. 

It isn’t until your sight stumbles upon a rack of dresses that your breath, audibly, hitches in your throat. And you unlink your arm from his, going straight for your seemingly new obsession. 

A red dress. A sheer fabric, more like. With roses sewn in, a split in the middle, one strap covering only a part of the hanger. It’s the only piece of clothing you actually take into both of your hands, putting it against your body, as if to see what it would look like on you. Fuck if he knows what you’re doing—all he knows is that his throat is dry, the image of you wearing something like this making him a living, breathing corpse. 

Jungkook clenches his fists. Even more so when you disappointingly click your tongue upon seeing the price tag, putting it back where you found it. The thought of you not having that dress causing his heart to lodge, tightly and disturbingly, in the shriveled walls of his throat. 

Not happening. Not under his watch. 

That dress was made for you. 

Jungkook licks his lips. Doesn’t stop the words from spilling out. “Why don’t you try it on?”

You give him a look as if he was a mad man. And he is. That he certainly is. “Please, this costs more than I can afford. I’d only go home crying if I tried it on and had to put it back.”

He stifles a laugh at how ridiculous you sound. Picks up the price tag. Less than two hundred thousand wons. It wouldn’t even make a dent in his bank account. 

He grabs the hanger. Hands it to you. “Go try it on, sweetheart.” 

You roll your eyes. Don’t look amused at all. Your brows knit ever so adorably and the corners of your mouth curl downwards, arms crossing over your chest. Oh, he’s going to wipe that expression off of your face. Paint it in pretty, pretty colors. “No, thanks. I think I cried enough today. Let’s go.” 

You walk past him, but Jungkook stops you. Grabs your arm. Calls your name, firmly. “I’m not gonna repeat myself.” 

You huff. “Is there something wrong with your ears?” Your brows quirk and he thinks he died again. Might melt into a putty. Just for you. 

He smirks, showing his teeth. “It’s no issue for me,” he says, speaking of money, taking your hand in his and enveloping your fingers around the hanger. “So be good and try on this dress for me. Off you go.” 

Jungkook turns you around and, with his palms on your shoulders, he leads you towards the dressing rooms, not stopping until he finds one that’s unoccupied. You huff and puff again, but he gently pushes you inside. And when you open your mouth to say something, he drags the curtain to the side. A laughter bubbles in his chest. 

“You’re not buying this for me.” 

Jungkook shakes his head. “Strip.” 

There’s no witty remark, no exhales of your exasperated breaths, only the obnoxious music blasting through the speakers and he assumes that you gave in to him. A tendril of proudness, not of his actions but for you and your good behavior, swims in the hot bloodstream of his veins and it’s now, now that he’s almost alone and you’re out of view, save for your feet clad in pink socks under the curtain, that he perceives that he’s coated in sweat. The disorder of his colorful, all kinds of feelings has turned him so numb that he doesn’t even feel grounded in his body. He needs a strong sip of alcohol. And a good meal. 

He begins to flutter the sides of his leather jacket, just to alleviate himself of how hot he feels, when he hears you gasp, your footsies shuffling on the carpeted floor. He takes a step towards the dressing room, a trembling hand reaching for the curtain and stopping there—a spasm of nerves zaps his abdomen, spreading iciness to the tips of his fingers. He knows what he’s about to see will make him a dead man for the third time this evening and because of that, he takes a deep, soundless breath, closing his eyes for a mere second before his hand pulls the curtain away. 

Nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared him for the sight before him. 

And nothing is what you’re wearing underneath the dress. 

Abruptly, there’s no music. There’s no gasps emitting out of that marvelous mouth of yours. And the film in front of his eyes is in slow motion, accompanied by the winged fuckers going equally mad inside his stomach. You’re twirling. From side to side. Patting down the material tight against your slender body. A grin on your face, one that he’s last seen during that time joy rested in you, bathes you in a glow that he longed to see. The glint, the light in your eyes takes on a whole new intensity and it shoots embers into his bare hands, burning him ferociously and curtly—just for him to find that he likes it and that he wants more. You turn around, facing him, and you swathe him with that flaring, almost raging light. It’s the sole thing he senses amidst the numbness of his headspace. 

Except for one thing. 

The ruffle of the sorry excuse for a rose beneath the singular strap of the dress is but an inch above your stiffened nipple while the other, just as excited, is left bare for his eyes—as if the principle of being exposed like that awakened your body. But it’s the vast, stitched red buds of that flower across your small waist, stomach, mound and the apex of your thighs that brings his attention to this other thing that he’s aware of. 

He’s hard for you. 

This image of you will perpetually haunt his dreams. Your little, carmine rose tattoos as if lining your skin, mainly. His throat swallows, dryly. 

Jungkook cups himself in an effort to hide his arousal and his bafflement from your stark, astonishing beauty. He thinks you’re unquestionably otherworldly, so far beyond his reach and his league that it aches. As much as the apprehension that if you wore anything else in this fucking dressing room, he’d fall to his knees just the same.

And then you speak and somehow you bring sharpness back into his reality. 

“The socks go well with the dress, don’t you think?” 

Jungkook glances at your feet and what he sees makes him pinch his eyes and let out a rumble of laughter. There’s a fucking Pikachu on your socks, grinning up at him, mocking him for getting hard for you for the third time. 

He can’t look back up and be a witness to the magnificence of your body. If he allows himself to do so, he will combust. Bring the whole building down—

A set of footsteps sound behind him and, with a racing heart, Jungkook steps inside the dressing room, shrouding you with his body without touching you, pulling the curtain shut. You startle, backing away until your spine leans against the mirror and there’s no space, none whatsoever, for him to run from you because when he turns back around, it’s your eyes he meets first. Nose to nose, breath to breath. 

When did they start making dressing rooms so fucking small? 

His breath picks up speed. He wants to pretend he doesn’t see the thick veil of your feminine carnality shunning out the light in your irises, because he can’t afford this, not when you’re sad, not when you need a friend, not when he needs to be stable for you. But the more you look at him, the more you draw him in and he has very little strength to fight against it. 

Averting his gaze, he props a hand on the wall beside your mirror. Notices your clothes, untidy, sprawled on the bench. Finds no traces of you taking off your underwear, which means only one thing.

His heart nearly skips a beat. 

“Where’s your underwear?”

Your grin forms into a smirk and you latch both of your hands onto the sides of his jacket. Danger mingles into that carnality in your eyes and Jungkook knows, right at this instant, that he’s fucked. “Didn’t take any.” 

His cock hardens even more in his hand. A brief flashback of the way he ripped your panties off at his cabin when you disobeyed him fills his mind, and he grows weak. It’s still a private pleasure of his, one that he likes recollecting, no matter the events that took place after. And the whole escapade has caused him to form a certain attachment to your underwear—or lack thereof. Knowing you didn’t take any on your first, secret night out with him suffuses him with delectation, one that intertwines with a rising question in him. 

Did you choose not to wear it for the sake of the old time or did you choose not to wear it because you’re expecting something from him? 

He yearns to know. Needs to. 

“Why?” 

Your fists bunch up his T-shirt underneath the jacket, tip of the tongue darting out to lick across your top lip. Your eyes follow the way you squeeze the fabric and Jungkook catches your long lashes quivering at your discovery of his quite prominent problem. A blush scatters along your nose and cheekbones and he doesn’t have to look down to know that his hand scarcely conceals his imprint. He’s grown harder for you in this close proximity and, peculiarly, light pervades him now that you know about his arousal, even though he doesn’t expect you, nor demand from you, to do anything about it. 

“Oh, you know.” Palms flat, you drift them down his stomach. Jungkook stiffens, a forest burned by you. “It would only get in the way.” 

He sucks in a breath, pressing his other hand beside your head, caging you in, his cock in full clothed glory for you. His head spins, but paradoxically, he feels himself gaining strength, as if you managed to rejuvenate him by laying out your cards on the table in such a filthy, electrifying manner. 

“Get in the way of what?”

You mirror him, sucking in a breath of your own. “Get in the way of you fucking my brains out?” 

A quirk of his brow. A twitch of his cock. He can’t breathe—you’ve taken all of the remaining oxygen in his lungs when you sucked in that breath and uttered those dirty, dirty words. How are you capable of this? What has Yoongi done to you? Jungkook drags his teeth up his bottom lip, although it attenuates close to nothing. His arousal only blossoms, the bush of roses in his gut thickening, so akin to your little, feigned tattoos. He yearns to feel them under his palm. 

A dead man, for the fourth time. 

His knees might give out. His hands are clammy.

Though his mouth acts on its own. “Have you forgotten what I’m capable of doing?” 

He watches the flashback swim past your irises and it connects to your mouth, expanding it into a coy smile. “I guess I have.” 

Bad, bad girl. It’s you who’s fucking his brains out, trembling like a little leaf, longing for his touch, calling out for his hands. He feels them buzz, interwoven with your senses and your desires. Even if you didn’t move an inch, if you remained still as a sculpture, his hands would still know you want them and it drives him to the peak of insanity—enough for him to consider taking you right here and there, in all seriousness. In spite of the fact he still has a mind of his own and is aware that he shouldn’t. For Yoongi’s sake, yes—but mostly for your sake. 

The tips of his fingers tingle with the craving to rip that flimsy fabric off of you and make you remember what he did to you, even though you fully remember. Something about that fills him with an onrush of vigorous energy, one that needs a release. It whispers, most intensely, its plea for it within his skin. 

“Do I really need to remind you?” Jungkook asks, playing your little game after all, digits clenched into fists on either side of your head. You nod, briefly, seemingly becoming smaller in his captivity, hands drifting lower, rooting by his hips. He’s surprised he’s letting you touch him like this, but then he’d let you do anything you want. He sweeps a glance at your form, just once, before he bores his gaze back into yours. It did something to you and he draws closer, senses you squeezing your thighs together. Such a cute, bad girl. “It would be a pity to rip this dress off of you. What would they think, hm? If you walked out of this dressing room and had to explain to them what happened?” 

Jungkook drags a finger down your neck and at the first physical contact, you release a breath that wafts over him, deepens his heat. He traces the line of your strap until he reaches the frilly bud of the rose and tugs at it, just once. 

He’s about to continue taunting you, but you catch him off guard. 

“I dunno, I’d tell them I wanted you to do it. That I needed the reminder,” you whisper and your low tone of voice curls unfathomably somewhere within his gut, forcing him to double over. You hook your fingers around his belt loops and Jungkook brims with gladness that he didn’t wear a belt. “What was it that you did to me?” 

He nearly, nearly rolls his eyes back. The effect you have on him—he craves to bunch your hair in his fist, teach you a lesson regarding what you’re doing to him. 

And he just might. Take full responsibility while he’s at it. 

Two responses swirl on his tongue, however. 

One to scold you for provoking him in public, but he knows it would stall the aroused energy and back it away into a corner. The other to keep going and drive you to his level of insanity. 

It’s a crossroad and he’s standing in the middle, a man in charge, his morals questioned and at absolute fucking risk. His blood pumps at full speed and sweat lines his forehead. He’s on the verge of bursting. Time and tension presses against him and with all that energy and strength pulsating in him, it’s scarcely the one he needs to put a stop to this all. It all leads into a far different direction, leading him away from the clearness of his morals. 

Fuck. 

Then, your chest lifts in desperate staccatos and that’s it for him. That’s the breaking point. 

No way out. 

Only way in. 

For you. 

Jungkook wets his lips. “How well can you keep a secret?” 

In the same trembling staccatos, you exhale in relief and he’s ready to give you everything. Absolutely fucking everything. “I’m the best in the game.” 

A flash of light in his being. He’s immensely pleased with your answer, growing hotter and hotter. He inches closer to you, flush to your body, lips by your ear. Feels your little nubs pressing against his upper abdominal muscles. Craves to sink his teeth into the delicious flesh of your ear. “You can’t tell anyone about this,” he starts, mimicking your low tone, speaking of the evident elephant in the room, hoping you catch onto it. “And if they ask, you have to come up with something else. Can you do that?” 

He pulls away a tiny bit, just to study your reaction. Your hold tightens on his belt loops while your mouth parts and your head nods in agreement, ever so needy but patient for his next move. He wants to lick you all over just for that, reward you until you lose your voice. 

“You teased me with your words, with your little bratty mouth, and even though you listened well when I told you to lick your finger for me, you disobeyed me when I instructed you to not wear panties at my place,” he starts, lips mouthing your ear and he feels the need of your body to stabilize at the memory. Offering you his own, he presses closer to you until he pins you against the mirror, until both pairs of lungs sync in movement, his fingers skimming, barely, over the sides of your hips. Though something resistant takes place in the middle of that entwinement. Something that gives his mouth the aftertaste of copper. “And when I found out, I ripped them off of you. Fingered you so fast you came in seconds and made a mess on my hand. And then…” he pauses, an inkling regarding how to get rid of his uneasiness plaguing his mind. “Then I made you apologize and you did. You did it so sweetly that I made you come so many times until you lost count,” he alters the memory, concluding the reminder finding the aftertaste rapidly increasing, transmitting down to his heart, burdening it with a heavy load that he doesn’t know the contents of. 

“Can you show me what you did? I think I might remember better if you do.” 

He almost sinks to his knees, but the resistance, the coppery aftertaste in his mouth immobilizes him, keeps him glued on his spot and his hands begin to tremble. An image of Yoongi blazes in the back of his mind and, fleetingly, Jungkook sees a swift movement, a memory of getting hit. If his hyung is in as bad a mental state as he is, it’s inevitable that history will repeat itself. You haven’t received his blessing. Neither has he. 

But at this very moment, he thinks knuckles to his cheek will simulate the act of a kiss. 

Secrets are secrets and he’s weak.

Awfully, awfully weak. 

“Is this what you want me to do?” he asks, looking you dead in the eye, lifting his chin, hoping you see his frailty—hoping you see that he’s hanging by the thread. “Finger you in this dressing room until you ruin that pretty dress?” 

A smile. “Well, you didn’t get me a dildo, so your fingers will have to do.” 

A sharp inhale of breath. “What about this cock, huh? You don’t want it?” 

You drag a finger along his jean-clad length, barely touching him. Jungkook twitches all over. 

“It’s too big for me, you know I can’t take it.” 

A deep chuckle. He’ll ruin his jeans himself. “If my mind serves me well, you’ve always taken it well. Came around it a lot of times.” 

You whine. This, this is your breaking point and all of Jungkook’s muscles tighten at the recognition. He’s gonna give it to you. Say fuck it to it all—his life was damned the moment he set his eyes on you. Knew he was going to die prematurely. Thinks dying in Yoongi’s hands is quite merciful. It’s his best friend after all. 

“Please, Jungkook, I—”

He grabs your waist, tightly. His thumbs touch and his stomach drops. “You what?” He’s going to make you say it, he doesn’t care. He needs it. He craves it. 

A mewl, one that coils around his length. “I’m so wet. I need you. Please, do something. Anything. Let’s get out of here.” 

He turns you around and because you didn’t expect it, you gasp—loudly. Angels must be by his side, for your sounds get instantly swallowed by the blasting music. You can be as loud as you want, as he wants and he makes a mental note to remind you that when the time asks for it. 

His fingers gather the flimsy fabric, bunching it at your waist. In the sharp light, shining down at you most perfectly, he has a splendid view of your drenched thighs and swollen clit. He presses you against him, needs you to feel how hard you made him, how rock solid his cock is at the sight of your mouth-watering filthiness. He needs you in his mouth, he needs you. 

“Where?” Jungkook asks, staring you down in the mirror, brows furrowed, head tipped to yours, lips in a tight line, parting with every hardened exhale. “Where do you need me? Show me.” 

You moan, ever so softly and he can’t help but grind against your ass, fingertips making dents in the flesh of your waist. You take your hand and drift it down to your sweet little cunt and Jungkook holds his breath. You rub your center, your adorable lips wrapping around your small fingers and you show him the thick sheen of your arousal, glistening in the light. Just like you did the first time he set his eyes on you, even though the paradisiacal sight wasn’t meant for him. 

Now it is—and he’s nearly about to weep in joy. Such spiritual experience, swathed with gratitude and mercy, healing him through and through. This is for him. You’re willingly giving it to him. He never thought he was ever deserving of it, but now in your hands, at your service, it feels too good to be true. His eyes wet, his arousal taking a new form, becoming something bigger, more profound, something that will change him, cling to him for the rest of his life. 

“Here. I want your fingers.” 

He takes your palm in his, planning something with it. “Just my fingers?” 

You lean your head back against his chest. “All of you, please, please.” 

At your service. 

Jungkook wraps his lips around your fingers, sucking your dew, swallowing it, needing more. You grow more desperate, watching him in the mirror, and your little index finger grazes his lip ring, smiling sweetly, pleased with yourself. He coos at the sight, but then you turn around, pressing yourself against him, your cunt against his thigh, his cock against your tummy, and you grab the back of his neck and pull him in, harshly, for a kiss. 

You eat his mouth. He’s barely able to reciprocate your hungry kisses, the roll of your tongue, your moans at your own taste and he decides he will simply slow you down. 

Reaching behind you, his fingers tease your entrance. In response, you lift your ass for him, arching your spine as much as you can. He knows that if he were to pull away, he’d see your juices in the mirror, in the stark light, but your starvation and your craving tastes too good and he physically can’t. 

Gathering your slick, he drags his fingers past your parted lips towards your clit and you swirl your hips for him, outrunning him—making the tip of his digit give you the circles you want. He groans into your mouth, out of breath and it isn’t until he rubs your bud rapidly, with deep pressure, and you moan so loud that it alerts him enough to pull away. 

The music did not, in fact, swallow that sound. 

Jungkook clamps your mouth shut.

Without stopping his movement. Watches your eyes roll back. And he’s greedy, unfortunately so. 

Turning you around, he props your leg on the bench and he looks at your pretty cunt. Swollen red clit, like your feigned tattoos, parted lips, dripping hole and equally soaked folds, glistening in the direct light. He swears, can’t help it, fondling your femininity, all four of his fingers gliding with ease, back and forth, everywhere. Down to your other hole, to your inner thighs, back up to your seashell, to your mound and lower tummy. He cakes you with your arousal, one he’s the creator of, bunching your dress higher until he’s holding you right underneath your breasts that spill over his forearm. So full and perky—he’s unhinged. Utterly, utterly unhinged. 

He wants to smear your slick over those clothed nipples as well. 

Fuck. 

Jungkook rubs your clit again, with the same speed as before. Your eyes lid, but keep the eye contact in the mirror, ravaging him through and through. He submits to it, even though he has the upper hand, even though he has the capability to make those eyes go cross. And they do—when he sinks his fingers inside of you, middle and ring, stuffing you full. Your walls suck him in so hard that he almost loses his footing, squeezing you so hard against him that he’s sure he will leave bruises on your tender skin. He silently promises he will kiss them later. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He lifts your leg, hoists it up in the air and begins to fuck you speedily, fingers curling in your spot every once in a while. He doesn’t want to make you come fast, but then time is pressing against him and he knows the mall will be closing soon. He still has to fill that belly. Would prefer if you came around his cock. “My fingers fucking your needy little princess parts, hm?” 

You moan his name and Jungkook shushes you in your ear, rewarding you regardless by abusing your clit with circles, alternating between those and swiftly fucking you in your tight hole. 

“I’m gonna come, Jungkook, I’m gonna come.” 

He withdraws his fingers. All of them—even those wrapped around your leg. You sway on your feet, heady, panting, and he stabilizes you with a hand on your arm. He smirks at you in the mirror, fingers in his mouth and you give him a dirty look. 

Before you can tell him off, he explains himself. “You’re coming around my cock, I don’t give a fuck, sweetheart.” 

His words wipe your face off of that scowl and you smile at him. A sunshine personified. Jungkook chuckles, pushing you against the mirror with his hand on your sternum and getting on his knees. 

He places your leg on his shoulder. “Hold your dress for me.” 

You listen right away, ever so eager. One hand clutches the hem, the other sneaks to his hair. Jungkook likes it so much that he doesn’t waste a second and envelops his mouth around your little clit. 

Just briefly. He has your dew to drink. 

He swipes his tongue along your slit. Over and over, until his sweat drips in pearls down his temples and he makes new bruises on the sides of your hips. Even goes one step further and fucks you with his tongue, letting out short little breaths and soft moans against you, gone feral by your taste and your fleshiness. He takes your lips in his mouth, plays with them with his tongue. Pulls away, stares lovingly at them and spits on your clit, sucking it inside his mouth and rubbing his face in your dripping juices, licking up everything you’re giving to him. 

And when your knee gives out, he catches you in time, standing to his feet. Doesn’t kiss you. Is selfish. Wants your taste perpetually on his tongue. Your eyes sink to his wet chin and you lick your lips, a feral look on your own gracing your features. You resemble a horny little animal, one that he craves to own and make his. But he can’t burden his heart with that thought. Doesn’t have the strength for it, not when he’s still hanging by the thread. 

“How do you want my cock?” he asks, his own eyes lidded, darkness consuming him. “Like this or from behind? You decide. I’m giving it to you. It’s yours.” 

You’re left speechless. He taps your cheek, gently, to make you talk. If you don’t, it will be his ruination and he will die. At your Pikachu-clad feet. A sweet, sweet death. Ideal. 

“I—I can’t take it from behind.” A deer in the headlights, terribly cute. 

He chuckles, caressing your hair. “But you have.” He grins, but it’s an answer for him. He’ll take you from behind in the safe confines of your home. “Like this, then. It’s more than perfect, sweetheart.” He kisses you, deeply, but he doesn’t give you his tongue. His heart expands, his affection crawling all around the kiss. He wonders if you can feel it. 

Pulling away, he unbuttons his pants and takes out his length. He’s soaked his underwear, but he doesn’t mind. His arousal drips down and he rubs it along his tip to make it as painless for you as he can when he enters you. 

And once he does, your eyes roll back and you break into whines, ones that fuck with his brain. Your leg is wrapped around his torso, but he joins the other one, holding you by your splendid little cheeks. Like his fingers, you suck him in, even though he hasn’t given you all of it yet. He’s already losing it. Doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him once he’s balls deep. He won’t last. He physically can’t. 

Jungkook bites your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. “You want all of it?” 

You tug at his hair. “Yes, all of you.” 

At your fucking service. 

He sinks deeper into you, hissing, furrowing his brows, sweat dripping down every perimeter of his body. Your mouth latches onto his neck and he’s gone. Even more so, when you graze your teeth upon his skin before you suck it—like he sucked your lip. He fucks you hard for it, making you let go of his neck and moan against the column. It pleases him so much that he does it again, a warm pressure coiling in his lower belly. It creates a cacophonous sound, your body colliding into the mirror and it mingles, beautifully, with the music playing. As well as the squeaky noises of your slick gliding along his cock every time he draws out. 

“Who do you belong to tonight, huh?” Jungkook rasps, filling you balls-deep just like you wanted, driving into you slowly until his pelvis kisses yours. “You can be as loud as you want, sweetheart. Nobody’s gonna hear you but me.” 

Rapid, whiny moans. He mimics their speed while maintaining eye contact with you and he groans when your eyes go unfocused, mouth parted. You’re just as gone as him. He pecks you for it, so terribly pleased. His orgasm inches closer, enveloping him with even deeper, thicker darkness. 

“To you, Daddy,” you cry out and because you called him by the title, he maneuvers you. Hoists you higher on his cock, with your legs now dangling from his forearms. And like this, he drags you up and down his length, his own moans breaking at the feeling of you tightening around him. He’s gonna come now and it’s your fault. 

“No, sweetheart, you can’t call me that when we’re here,” he scolds, shaking his head, brushing his lips against yours. “I can’t ruin you the way I’d like. They’d kick us out.” He kisses you, slowing down his tempo, stalling his orgasm. “Now apologize or you’re not coming.” 

“I’m so sorry. I won’t call you that in—in public.” 

A rewarding kiss to your neck. A hard stroke. One that blankets his vision with colorful stars. “Good girl,” he praises, looks down at you and kisses you without breaking the stare. “Now you need to be the best girl and come around my cock. I can’t fill you up—you didn’t wear your panties. I’d ruin your leggings for everyone to see.” You cry out again, the idea dizzying your mind as much as his and you tug at his hair, scratching your fingernails down his neck, touching him all over. “Can you do that for me? Can you come for me and not make a mess like the last time, hm?” 

He pounds into you, the strokes so hard that the sound of skin slapping turns disturbing and he holds his orgasm for your sake, all of his muscles clenched, stars dancing across his vision, pecking your features. And that’s it for you. 

You come so hard around him—and you are the bestest girl in the world because you manage to keep your eyes on him throughout the entirety of the wave of your orgasm washing over you, licking up at your body. Mouth parted, his name slipping past, a deep tinge of red, deeper than your dress, flushing your cheeks, eyes dazed, so gone, so fucked out, dark and alluring, so akin to his.

His bestest girl. His sweetheart. 

He needs to pull away. He needs to come. 

“Sweetheart, I know you’re tired but I need you to take off your dress and get on your knees.” 

You do it so quickly, without talking back, that even his own flush finds its way to his cheeks, his heart growing even larger and hotter, winged fuckers zapping his stomach. He fucks his fist in your face, loving the way you’re watching what he’s doing for a little while with a lingering hunger before you flick your eyes to his, beckoning his orgasm out of him. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, muscles straining, movement quickening. White clothes the colorful stars, the warmth in his stomach on the very brink of exploding. “Open your mouth.” 

And he paints your mouth in the same shade of white. You’re so good that you wrap your lips around him, sucking him softly, making popping sounds that prolong his orgasm and he grasps your hair in his fist, gently, despite the violence of his release. He’s not just giving you his cum; he’s giving you all of his affection and when you swallow and smile at him in such a kind, beautiful manner, it wets his eyes in a way that he can’t explain. 

He helps you get on your feet and you worsen his state of emotions. Like earlier, you fold into his form, hugging him skin to skin, squeezing him so hard that he stops breathing altogether. And when you begin to weep and smear his chest with your precious tears, he weeps with you. 

Never in his life before has he experienced such embrace, such love unraveling in the form of tears and quiet sobs. And he doesn’t want to absolve this again. With you, it’s perfect. And right now, he could die with the utmost certainty that you’re both crying for the same reason. 

Love unable to be real, to be fulfilled. 

He senses it. Senses it in the way he cradles your head and wipes your tears away. In the way your lips wrap around his, kissing him as if this was the very last time. You don’t have to say a word. He knows. And it’s enough. 

Jungkook dresses you. Runs his fingers through your hair in effort to fix it and make it look as nice as it did before he ruined it. And his eyes drench again when you zip him up in the meantime. No one has ever done that for him. 

The warmth in his heart heightens. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible. 

Taking your hand, purse and your dress, he leads you to check out. Pays for it. Carries the bag. Pretends you’re his; pretends his duties are nonexistent and his morals have different colors—just for this night. Doesn’t let go of your hand, even as he orders a good bowl of soup for you and himself, even as you sit down together and wait for your food. Even as you look at him deep in thought. 

“You saved me,” you unravel, a soft, tender, drowsy mien gracing your face and his heart thuds against his ribcage, gratitude surrounding it, eyes wetting again. “Thank you. And for the dress. I’ll only wear it for you.” 

The thuds halt. And it’s the only thing that does—a tear rolls down his cheek and he can’t truly believe he’s baring his feelings like that for you, in front of you. He feels as though he was dreaming and he fears he’s going to stir to awakening any moment now. 

A waiter brings your food. None of you pay him any kind of attention, though you don’t forget to say your thank you’s. 

Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, despite the fact no words rise on his tongue, but something interrupts him. 

His phone rings. 

And it’s none other than his hyung himself. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

#jungkook x oc #yoongi smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot #yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

[kingofbodyrolls]

Friendcation (m) | myg | series masterlist

Summary: Going camping with your best friends seemed like a brilliant idea when you initially made the plans. But when you harbor secret feelings for one of them, what will become of you being close confined for three months? Trouble, that’s what.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female, “Y/N”) Other characters: Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin.

Genre/AU: friends to best friends with benefits to lovers, non idol!au, camping!au, roadtrip!au, mechanic!Yoongi, humor, slight angst, smut and fluff

Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (This is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.)

Word count: 110.5K (things got out of hand, lol and it's mainly smut 💀)

Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

Warnings/tags: will be tagged for each individual chapter. But it does contain smut, almost in every chapter (not the first though).

Taglist: Closed. Status: Completed!

🍃 Chapter 1 Summary: As exhaustion and stress threaten to consume you and your friends at work, Yoongi comes to the rescue with an enticing proposal: a collective vacation—a friendcation. Amid the backdrop of breathtaking landscapes and shared adventures, your feelings for him only deepens more. Yet, his lingering gaze holds secrets you can't ignore, leaving you to wonder if it conceals something deeper—an unspoken connection that may forever alter your friendship. Word count: 11,9K | Read → chapter one 🍃Chapter 2 Summary: When you get a flat tire, you think it’s bad luck, but when you fall flat on your ass and Yoongi offers to massage the pain away, has your luck finally turned? 😜 Word count: 12.7K | Read → chapter two 🍃Chapter 3 Summary: When you and Yoongi visit his family in Daegu, and he introduces you as his friend, it rubs you all kind of wrong. But what are you even to each other, other than best friends with benefits? Word count: 11.9K | Read → chapter three 🍃Chapter 4 Summary: It’s the last weeks of the vacation being just you and Yoongi, and you’re going to savor every last bit of it. You do some hiking, relaxing and discover new sides to yourself that you didn’t know existed. Word count: 17.7K | Read → chapter four 🍃Chapter 5 Summary: Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin have finally joined you on your trip and it’s going great; you have a tremendous amount of fun (some at your expense), laughter and talks about life. Namjoon suddenly asks you where you think this thing with Yoongi is heading, and to be honest you don’t really know yourself – you just know that you love him. Word count: 23K | Read → chapter five 🍃Chapter 6 Summary: Your vacation is coming to an end but your thoughts are spiraling and filled with anxiety as a tiny mishap makes you question your future with Yoongi. Word count: 11.3K | Read → chapter six 🍃Chapter 7 [finale] Summary: Melancholy shrouds you and Yoongi in your last days of vacation – time to get back home to the daily grind. But when you can visit Yoongi in his garage, is it really so bad? Word count: 11.3K | Read → chapter seven

🍃Extras🍃

🍃Winter special Summary: You’re in labor and live outside of the city, and it just happens to be Christmas time, there’s a lot of snow. Will you and Yoongi be able to make it to the hospital before your baby arrives? OR– The one where Yoongi fucks you into labor and crashes the car. Word count: 10.3K | Read → the winter special

🍃TBA (wip) Summary: TBA Word count: TBA | Read → TBA

🍃TBA (wip) Summary: TBA Word count: TBA | Read → TBA

Author’s note: Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I appreciate every like, comment and reblog, and please don’t be afraid to let me know what you think;  your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

#yoongi x reader #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi smut #myg x reader #myg smut #yoongi fanfic #friendcation series #reader: female #au: road trip #au: camping #au: friends to lovers #au: mechanic #au: travel #theme: summer #vibe: smutty #vibe: comedy #vibe: fluffy #vibe: angst

[welcometomyoasis]

Seventeen with an s/o who experiences hyperfixation

Synopsis: How seventeen would help their s/o through hyperfixation/ hyperfocus episodes. Svt x gn! reader | fluff, comfort, established relationship | 1.6k words | warnings: hyperfixation, hyperfocus, stress, mental health issues, neglecting self-care, food | requested by @4momorin Disclaimer and a/n: I do personally experience hyperfixation episodes so I am aware of how this feels like. Hyperfixation/ hyperfocus can be caused by several factors and are usually symptoms of ADHD, or mental health issues such as anxiety, OCD, depression etc. It’s not inherently good or bad either as it can manifest itself in many different forms. You can read more here. I hope I did this trope justice? I wasn’t quite sure how to write it without making it too angsty so i just split it into 2 broad groups…

☾𖤓 He’s your anchor. He holds you down firmly when you feel like you’re adrift at sea.

Seungcheol, Junhui, Hoshi, Dokyeom, Mingyu, Dino

➵ Honestly, he wouldn’t really realise you’re beginning to spiral into one of your hyperfixation/ hyperfocus episodes. It's not because he’s not observant or in tune with your emotions. Rather, the objects of your fixation are so so varied. Plus, not all your episodes are negative. There was the time you ate a particular food for weeks until you got sick of it because you found it so tasty, or the time you binge watched a 16 episode show in 24 hours because you fell in love with the plot. Ah, and don’t even remind him of the time where you fell in love with a certain character. You were drooling all over the character, buying their merch, changing your lock screen. Like, he’s right there? You can kiss him and hug him, he’s a physical being. Please give him attention and not that fictional character. Yea, he was all sulky and whiny for the entire time you were obsessed. 

➵ You’re just such an easily excitable, adorable person with a big heart. It’s only natural for you to be obsessed over different things at different times. At some point, he’ll realise that you are in the middle of your episodes. But as long as it’s not an episode stemming from stress and you’re continuing to take care of yourself, he really isn’t going to intervene. Your fixations will pass eventually, and you’re happy, healthy, eating and sleeping well (even if you stay up longer because your mind is swimming with thoughts about the object of your fixation). That’s all he could ask for. In fact, he will even encourage you more or indulge you in your fixations. You want the same food for 7 days straight? He’s ordering it on his phone for you. You want to watch the same show again although he’s already sick of it? Sure, whatever you say baby. You want merch of that character? Uhm, he’s kind of crying inside but sure… he’s pulling out his card just for you. If keeping you happy through your fixations will keep you happy, he’s willing to do whatever it takes. 

➵ He will only intervene to attempt to pull you out of your hyperfixation episode when he thinks your wellbeing is at risk. Your mental and physical well being is his number 1 priority. And admittedly, there are many times where your hyperfixation episodes manifest themselves negatively. You could be hyper focused on work that it’s causing you so much stress. You’re not eating, sleeping. You barely have time to relax. Or, your episode could stem from anxiety, depression, etc. You could be pouring all your time and energy into something as insignificant as a cup that was placed in the wrong cupboard because that’s just how your mind has decided to cope with all the complex feelings you were dealing with. It’s a transference of your jumbled emotions to something else. The worst part? As insignificant as your fixation might be, in your mind, it can feel like you’re on a sailboat adrift at sea. It’s captured your attention so deeply that your mind is in overdrive, the currents in your mind constantly pushing you forward. You end up floating further and further away into the middle of nowhere, where there’s nothing to be seen for miles except the object of your fixation. It’s as if you’re staring into the horizon with no land in sight.

➵ So, he intervenes. He’s your anchor. He’s going to ground you, and help you stop your mind from drifting too far away. He’s going to be firm, but gentle. He will tell you outright that your hyperfixation episode, it’s hurting you. He doesn’t care that you might get angry at him for prying, or if you get defensive and deny anything is going on. He rather you express those emotions at him rather than for you to bottle them up inside. You need help. That’s what he’s here for. Please understand this isn't a confrontation, it’s an intervention. He’ll stand firm (even if it means pestering you) until you cave in and let him help you. Cry to him, rant to him, use him as a bolster, whatever makes you feel better. He will pamper you so so much and treat you like royalty. He needs to make you feel loved, like you’re heard, like your feelings are valid. His presence and his care for you will help you feel a little better, even if you’re not completely pulled out of your hyperfixation episode yet. It grounds you by helping you ease that helpless, airy feeling that you’ve been dealing with. It’s certainly going to take time to completely get over your hyperfixation episode, and it won’t be easy, but please know that he’s here for you, and you can overcome whatever it is you’re going through together. 

☾𖤓 He’s your gentle ocean wave. He lightly nudges you along when you feel stuck and feel like you’re about to sink. 

Jeonghan, Joshua, Wonwoo, Woozi, Minghao, Seungkwan, Vernon

➵ As you begin fixating on something, there are both subtle and obvious signs your boyfriend picks up on. You’re more distracted, your eyes glaze over occasionally as if your mind is far away. You’re becoming more quiet. You’re lost in your thoughts because your mind is whirring with information, or because you’re desperate to get more information when you’re in that “i must research everything phase.” Of course, there are more obvious signs. You could be researching something specific for hours and hours on end, or you could be showing him the specific object of your fixation on your phone regularly. You could also be mentioning something more frequently. There was once you mentioned the same food stall 4 times in a row in the span of a 5 minute conversation, and this continued for a few days. And then there was the time you went on and on about your horrible progress in your school project for days until you finally submitted it. 

➵ Usually, your boyfriend knows you’re having a hyperfixation/ hyperfocus episode before you do. It’s an unconscious thing your mind does, and sometimes you don’t even realise your hyper fixating on something until days or even weeks later. But he knows, and you can be sure he will keep a close eye on you from that point forward. He’s more than happy to stand to the side and let you ramble or babble on about your new favourite show, food, object. He thinks it’s cute how your eyes sparkle and come to life when you find something interesting, and he loves it when you come talk to him about it. It makes him feel so special and loved because he’s one of the most important people in your life, a person you’d so willingly share your joy and interests with. Actually, what makes him the happiest (even if he doesn’t say it), is when you begin to hyperfixate on something positive related to him. There were times when you would go down a rabbit hole of sorting through your old photos and memories with him, and times when you would hyperfixate on him (or have you always been hyper fixated on him?). As irrational as hyperfixations can be, to him, he thinks it’s rational, and endearing that you go through phases where you would just be extra clingy and affectionate to him. It makes him fall in love with you all over again when he sees just how much love you have for him. 

➵ He will take a more delicate approach to your hyperfixation episodes compared to the previous group. He takes note of all the signs you exhibit when you begin to spiral. He will also assess what you’re going through at the time and your behaviour. There are times when you suddenly get into a new show when you have a whole bunch of work to do or when you’re horribly stressed. Other times, you have this overly hyper, happy smile plastered on your face when you continuously bring something up, and he can tell it is a happy facade you put up as an attempt to hide the emptiness in your eyes. It’s your mind’s way of protecting you and dealing with your emotions. You’re avoiding the root cause of your problems and jumbled emotions by fixating on something that makes you feel like you’re not you. Shows, food, characters, a new game, these things help you feel other emotions and it makes you feel other emotions besides anxiety, stress, depression. Then there are also times when you’re so stressed and burnt out dealing with work where you’re just sitting at your desk staring at your screen blankly while your mind goes into overdrive trying to force something out. 

➵ As soon as he realises you’re spiraling for negative reasons, he’ll try to do all he can from becoming sucked into the deep abyss of your mind. For you, it feels as if you’re approaching a whirlpool, you are stuck and all you can do is let the current pull you in. You don’t have the physical and emotional strength to swim away and fight it. So he acts as a gentle ocean wave, he wants to change the direction of the current. He’s going to be that outside force you need to help you steer away from the whirlpool. The moment you exhibit the signs of a spiral due to your deteriorating mental health, he’s sitting you down and taking you into your arms gently. He understands your hyperfixation episodes are intense, and sometimes, even with him there, there’s no real way of breaking you out of it immediately. But, that’s no reason not to try to help you avoid it. He will ask you if you want to talk about it. If you do, he’ll be listening so attentively and empathetically while holding you like you’re a delicate raft about to break against the rough seas. If you don’t, he’ll take you out and pamper you. You could go for a walk to clear your mind, or go on a date. Whatever it is, he’s going to be doing everything he can to keep your mind occupied with other things and off your complicated emotions. With his help, you’ll get through this quickly and safely. And you’ll bounce back stronger than ever. 

taglist: @weird-bookworm @wonijinjin @babyleostuff @wishing-fieshes @kwanienies @mayashu @megseungmin @porridgesblog @haecien @mirxzii @scoupsofcherries @eightlightstar @brownsugarbaybee @zaggprincess2 @nonononranghaee @hrts4hanniehae @treehouse-mouse @vcutparis @heavenfilm

#caratsland #k-labels #illuminated ocean.net #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen headcanons #svt x reader #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fluff #jeonghan x reader #joshua hong x reader #jun x reader #hoshi x reader #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fluff #woozi x reader #dokyeom x reader #mingyu fluff #mingyu x reader #minghao x reader #seungkwan x reader #vernon x reader #dino x reader #shu's archive ✎ᝰ.

[lvlyhao]

『when he's on tour / MARK LEE』

A/N: thoughts on how mark would be as bf when he's away on tour :(

gifs used in this are not mine and they will be removed if requested!!

𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮𝓼: fluff (♡), comedy (☼)

𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: i swear a bit maybe???

disclaimer: the characters in the story below do not reflect real people or present real facts. this is purely fictional, and you may not copy, change, translate or repost my work in any way. all rights reserved © lvlyhao 2023.

--------

mark is usually pretty clingy with you already, but he turns it up to the max before a tour

being away from you like that is one of the parts about his job he hates the most, and yeah, he knew what he was signing up for since the beginning

but he can’t help but be heartbroken about it every. single. time

the other members know him well enough to give like a 2 weeks notice for him to get his shit together and spend as much time with you as humanly possible??

cus otherwise, he’ll get caught up in rehearsals, schedules and whatever else and then the day before they leave be like

“oh shit”

and if that’s the case we all know mark is gonna be miserable during the whole thing right lmao

yeah mom taeyong isn’t letting that happen

(again)

mark normally sees the time before a tour as an opportunity to check off a LOT of things from your couples bucket list

like, do you have any tv shows you’ve been meaning to watch together? you’re binging it today

you wanted to visit that coffee shop right? get your coat, you’re going rn

you wanted to buy matching bracelets yeah? he’s already got them

and it’s just a very fun, loving time for the both of you

it keeps you busy enough not to spiral about what it’s gonna be like not seeing each other for months

:)

of course, it doesn’t work 100% of the time

especially at night, when mark’s about to fall asleep, the loneliness of not having you around starts to seep in

and it’s like he says goodbye to you in his head before it happens irl

which is 1. sad as heck??? and 2. kinda suffering through it twice, cus he always thinks he’s gonna be more “well prepared” for it this time, and that’s never true

by now it’s probably pretty obvious touring is a very dramatic experience for him right lmao

johnny’s always like “bro it’s just a couple months you’re gonna be f i n e” but for mark it’s,,, not that simple

he’d rather say bye when it’s just the two of you, maybe at your place or somewhere nice

it feels a lot calmer when it’s like that, cus then it’s tight hugs, some kisses and mark saying he promises he’ll text you every day and call you as much as he can

and yeah maybe one of you lets a tear or two fall down but it’s fine

now

if you go with them to the airport

it’s gonna be so much more chaotic like holy crap, trust me, not going is the better option

if for some unknown reason you’re like “no i’ll go with you to catch the plane and we’ll say bye there”

there’s gonna be a lot more crying involved

cus it’s one thing hugging you bye when his flight’s in 6 hours or so, but it’s a whole other thing when everyone’s already boarding and some other member is trying very hard to be gentle but he has to go NOW

it’s all so rushed he can barely even tell you he loves you :(

mainly bc he wanted to keep hugging you until he absolutely had to let you go

oh well

mark is 10000% the type to ask you to put together a playlist for him to listen to during the trip

he can be a bit of an airhead at times but he does his best to keep you updated on how he’s doing, where he is right now, things of the sort

so he tries to text you the moment the plane lands, when they get to the hotel, when he’s eaten

and it’s not even just texts

it’s a cute candid selfie AND a text

now

mark is definitely not the best photographer in nct

but he will try so hard to take good pictures for you

cus all he wants is for you to feel like you’re there with him, seeing all those cool places

having said that, most pictures do turn out to be crappy

but he’s willing to ask for help from another member so it’s all good lmao

(i’m looking at johnny, jaemin or tyong tbh)

sends you a picture of every single dog or cat he sees

absolutely every single one

keeps a clock in your timezone in his phone so he knows the best times to text/call

speaking of calling

i’m sorry to tell you you’re not getting a one on one facetime session with him

it’s just not happening

like it may last 5 minutes tops, but that’s the time it takes for someone to hear your voice/barge into his room and immediately ask to talk to you

haechan, johnny, yukhei and baek do that a lot

but normally the other members follow lmao

it’s 50% to annoy him but 50% bc they genuinely wanna see you

it doesn’t bother you too much cus you know

they’re cute or whatever

he’s not really the type to get small trinkets from every place he goes to bc that’s just ??so much??

instead, he’ll probably get you one really nice gift

like this huge plushie he had to carry around himself on their way back home bc no one had enough space in their bags for it

or a new perfume he thinks you’ll like

i love him your honour

one last thing bc this is already way too long

mark is the KING of backstage pictures and TMI's about the other members

like at this point you have enough blackmail material to torture them for 6 months minimum

and tbh it’s mainly haechan when he’s with dream/127 and jongin with superm lol

but he keeps it varied

you end up with even some derpy jaehyun pics, best case scenario

he’s already making plans on how you are gonna celebrate him being back home

…and it most likely includes building a pillow fort and watching marvel movies but i didn’t tell you that

#nct 127 #nct dream #mark lee #nct mark #nct scenarios #nct reactions #nct angst #nct fluff #mark lee x reader #mark x reader #mark lee fluff #nct fanfic

[sissiarte]

THEY ARE HERE!!! I'm very excited to finally share the full designs hope you guys like them <3

These are only like a base, they'll wear more layers on top and have more weapons and armor some times (and like, wear other clothes) but I wanted to have at least one reference for myself that I can use and later on work on top of and give them more outfits (playing dolls with them basically)

I had a lot of thought behind the designs so if you're interested, there's an infodump below the cut. It's very long and messy so read at your own risk

I tried to have some sort of historical accuracy (even if it's a fictional story and the exact time period when it happens is ??) mainly bc I'm tired of how celts are portrayed in media (they wore tacky colors please stop with the grey brown leathers fur), and a bit bc I'm a nerd and I can't do anything if I don't do some research before.

On the other hand I wanted to make good character designs that told things about the characters and stuff, so I had to juggle a bit both things. Plus there's not much variation in clothing styles, so I had to do what I could.

I wanted to use colors, jewelery and styles to group or distinguish the characters. So Láeg and Emer wear a very similar color palette, Cú Chulainn has some blue in his mainly red outfit (and also the under tunic thing resembles Emer's) and Ferdia has some red in his mainly blue one.

Láeg and Cú Chulainn wear the same kind of thing, but I gave Cú Chulainn more layers in reference to the 34683 shirts thing. I went no pants wider belt for Ferdia bc honestly I didn't know how else to make a clear distinction as "this one character is from a different place", there's only so much you can do with the few styles there are.

Jewelery choices! This was a lot bc I really like torcs and I wanted to use them again to give Ulster characters and Connacht characters different kinds of torcs. My first instinct was to give Connacht those very heavy ones that have rings at the ends, but then I did some research and those were only found in england so. Then I went to look what kind of torcs were found in each place and I found that they were the same!!! Obviously!!! Bc they are next to eachother!!!

So I took creative choices and as I found some bracelets in Ulster that looked like torcs I went okay those done (plus they are way easier to draw) And I gave Ferdia the spirally one and Cú Chulainn the "bracelet" one. Plus gave a matching bracelet to Láeg. Emer wears a lunula bc her father is described as wearing one in The Hound of Ulster and I liked it.

(some pics for reference: from left to right the torc Ferdia wears, the bracelet Láeg wears and from were I based Cú Chulainn's torc, and the lunula Emer wears)

Also important, the headpiece Láeg wears. I used to draw Cú Chulainn with a similar one just because I liked it, but then after reading I liked that Láeg is the only one wearing it. At first I was going to give Emer a similar one but in the end decided against it to make it exclusive to Láeg and to not give her more jewelery than to Ferdia. I wanted Ferdia to wear a lot and be like, more stylish I guess bc I feel he cares about that stuff (I mean part of the bribe to fight Cú Chulainn was a brooch so)

And I think that's it! Sorry it was a lot hfasjkd but I wanted to share it. If there's something I have missed and you're curious to know about feel free to ask! I might have a long ass answer like this or it might be just because XD And if you have comments or opinions they are also welcome! I'm no expert or anything (just a big nerd) so I apreciate any insight.

And if you've gotten this far thank you for reading my yapping <3

#tain bo cuailnge #cu chulainn #laeg mac riangabra #fer diad #ferdia #ferdiad #emer #ulster cycle #sissiarte #character design #irish mythology #medieval literature #celtic mythology #illustration #i should make a specific tag for my art on this stuff #bc I want to do a little visdev or comic proyect #to have it all together in one place

[risuola]

💙 sensei — he's your sensei and everyone seem to notice that he likes you. everyone but you. — student-teacher dynamics

💙 too much — satoru is exhausted once he gets back home from long mission. his composure snaps and he unloads his frustration on you. — angst, idiots in love

💙 policeman — you get back home and see a mess. there was a break into your apartment and your first thought is to call your cop boyfriend. — hurt/comfort, exes to lovers

💙 mug cake crisis — every household has to face a crisis sometime. yours came at 2:48 am and you had to sweeten your husband's way into peace again. — teeth rotting fluff

💙 promise — you felt sick watching your husband's fight with Sukuna, but your unborn daughter seemed to sleep just fine. little that you know, satoru made some promises to her — angsty, manga spoilers 💙 promise pt. 2 — fluffy alternate ending to part 1 💙 broken promise — VERY angsty alternate ending to part 1, manga spoilers

💙 birthday gift — sometimes you forget about your own birthday, but no worries, satoru's got you. — fluff

💙 real life surprise — life's full of surprises, but last thing you expected is for the fictional character to jump out of the screen

💙 07.12 — gojo satoru doesn't celebrate his birthdays. he made it a habit to work on that day, but to you that day is important. — fluff, established relationship

💙 skip santa, we're both on the naughty list anyway — it's easy to tell that there's something between you and satoru. it's also easy to tell that there's no way to pull him out of the bed. — suggestive & fluffy, kissmas 2023

💙 infinity — when was the last time you slept? you couldn't tell, but satoru was determined to get you to rest — fluff-ish, idiots in love

💙 miserable — satoru hated the way he would recognize you always, even if just by the taste of your tears — heavy angst, hurt/barely any comfort

💙 serendipity — a story about two people lost in the middle of arrangement not one of them wished for — series, arranged marriage

💙🖤 love medley — a collection of tracks about friendship, trust and love — series, college, roommates

💙🖤 lost cause — you had a soft heart, but the cruel world of sorcery took a toll on you. an universe in which satoru and suguru have another closest friend, but it's her that spirals into the circle of evil madness. — angst, manga references

💙 shush, we're in the library — how far can a teacher-student affair go? — smut, part two to sensei

💙 you cryin'? — you and gojo hate each other. he bites and you always bite back. one time you say too much and his self-control snap. — smut, frenemies 💙 you cryin'? pt. 2 — your reality now? gojo's shenanigans, idiotic pet-names and so. much. touching. — smut, frenemies to lovers

💙 do you want to stay? — after the painful breakup with satoru, your friend dragged you to the party, but the night went very wrong and very right. — angst+smut, exes to lovers

💙 safe word — satoru got back home angry and that got him carried away. contains heat, regret and aftercare — smut

💙 do you want my fingers? — you really needed to rest, but satoru, your classmate decided to practise his pen-spinning abilities. — smut

💙 say my name — never in your life you thought you'd go to bed with a compete stranger from the internet. — smut, kinktober 2023

💙🖤 call it double trouble — it's been a while since you last saw your college ex-boyfriend gojo and a halloween party led to your reconnection. this time though, he has a friend. — smut, threesome, kinktober 2023

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x you

[livsmessydoodles]

thinking about this scene today

this scene alone convinces me that byler is endgame bc you cannot make will actively say that hes not gonna fall in love and then write a whole plotline abt him being in love with mike.... just for it to not be reciprocated???

will is the only party member who's completely unexperienced with romantic relationships, which of course has to do with the fact that he's gay in the 80's, but this is a TV show. all of this is fictional so they can take whatever route they want with these characters, and making will continue to stay alone and suffer through unrequited love would be awful storytelling, especially when people claim that will moving on from his feelings would bring character development and growth.

wills feelings for mike arent there just to "show his growth". weve seen this kid go through hell and back yet even with everything kicking him down he stays strong and kind. hes the most selfless character in the show and always puts others needs before his own. in s4, they put a lot of emphasis in these character traits of his, and they're always picturing his love for mike as something selfless and pure.

now if his feelings are not reciprocated, how does this teach will a lesson that leads to character growth?? he already doesn't expect anything. life has shown him time and time again that he always gets the short end of the stick, why would he think this is any different?? making him have feelings for his best friend just to get rejected would just be a nail in the coffin, reaffirming to him that no matter what hes not worthy of ever getting what he wishes. this isnt character growth at all.

but if his feelings ARE requited, that gives us a twist to the story we havent seen. we would get to see actual growth for will, him learning to give himself value and realize that he DOES deserve happiness!! instead of leading into the expected spiral of bad things keeping up the consistency with everything else that has happened to will so far, finally giving him one good thing leads to us seeing a shift in his whole nature, and wed see him dealing with things he hasnt dealt with before!!! GROWTH!!!

besides why would they make such an intricate complicated storyline.... just to lead to a rejection we all saw coming? the GA expects him to get rejected. his feelings not being reciprocated would not be any surprise. but twisting those expectations in a way to shock the GA AND give wills character the happiness he so deserves after being through so much..... now THAT would be world shattering and a satisfying ending to both the viewers and will himself!!

this scene establishes a clear subversion trope, making us aware of how will believes he's never finding love, just for the show to later on subvert expectations and reward will with the love he deserves and never thought hed get🫶

#long post wow sorry #i was just thinking about this scene and then remembered a thread id made on twt a couple months ago and. basically redacted it #i just think this is so important and its solid evidence that we often look past #the duffers have been setting this storyline for a while. the buildup is all there #i doubt theyd just push all of that aside to stay with the same ol boring het couple who honestly even the GA is tired kf #😭😭😭😭 #ANYWAY #i like doing think pieces i might do more eventually #byler #stranger things #will byers #mike wheeler #byler analysis #st4 #stranger things 5 #mike wheeler x will byers #will byers x mike wheeler #will and mike get on the petri dish #liv rambles

[abiiors]

red lines - pt. 1 ║// matty healy x reader

a/n: i want you to read this very very carefully: i am pro-choice and i will always be pro-choice. and this is a work of fiction. also feel the need to add that this is more a collection of small vignettes??? ugh idk, hope you enjoy regardless cw: *deep breath* angst, pregnancy, mentions of abortion, mentions of vomit, (and other pregnancy symptoms), crying (so much of it my god) and arguments, mentions of smoking, illness, hospitals, panic attacks, reader has a good relationship with her mother so i guess that's a cw too, (most definitely inaccurate) descriptions of birth. wc: 4.6k

two red lines is all it takes to ruin a perfect life. 

two red lines repeated twice on two different tests that stare back at you from the counter—innocent and white and damning. the bathroom is utterly still, save for the tap dripping one drop every seven seconds. you would know, you counted it, used those seven seconds to ground you and stop you from spiraling into another panic attack for the three minutes it took to get those two red lines. 

pregnant. 

with two more weeks left on tour by matty’s side. 

gingerly you wrap them in toilet paper, make sure they’re safe and secure and nothing’s peeking out. you throw it in the bin, looking at it with a deadness on your face that you feel deep inside. then you call the reception and ask them to take out the trash. 

matty isn’t here. he’s on stage, serenading thousands of people who hang on to every single word he says, looking at him with all the love and adoration in the world. matty, your matty, who belongs as much to you as he does to the people, the fans. you should have been there too but there was the migraine and the nausea that wouldn’t go away. so you told him you would just sleep it off tonight. 

have an amazing night, babe. break a leg. and then a sweet kiss and a promise to see him tomorrow. 

and then the two red lines.

every time you blink you see them flash in front of you—like a promise or a warning. or maybe even a sentence. 

pregnant. 

a baby. 

a cause for happiness and celebration. 

and the conversation from a week ago that lingers in your mind, echoes inside your skull as if those words are the only ones you remember. 

i’m just not ready love, he says, not now. maybe not for another year or two. i don’t know, babies are a lot of work. and i am a lot of work. 

i love you, he says, kissing you deeply and tasting his own cum on your lips. i love you but a baby right now is a hard no. 

nothing in particular spurred this conversation really—just the two of you, naked, and tangled up in the sheets, his hand caressing your lower stomach and you letting yourself daydream. who knew the daydream was indeed reality? and now here you are, head in your hands—partly from the migraine, partly from the anxiety—waiting for him to be back. 

he will change his mind, you know it. matty loves you, and this baby is half you, half him. he will come around and you will be there to soothe his worries. you know he will hear the baby’s heartbeat and fall in love. 

you know he will treat them like the most precious thing in the whole world. 

the thought makes you smile and the door creaks open. 

“pregnant,” he looks at you warily, “what do you mean pregnant?”

the small smile on your face fades away. “pregnant with a baby, matty. what other kind of pregnant is there?”

you wonder if you meant to joke, if he will break character and laugh and everything will be okay again. maybe you just caught him by surprise, this is just a blip. in two more minutes, he will smile and drop down to his knees and kiss your still-flat stomach. he’ll say hello to them. tell them he loves them and then tell you how much he loves you, kissing you gently and pulling you into him. 

you can already feel his feather-light touch on your skin. his mouth lingering on your lower stomach on his way down. 

matty stills in place. 

“no…”

one word, it’s small and broken and so unlike him that you almost do a double-take. 

“what do you mean no?”

“i can’t okay?” his voice rises, “i told you i can’t!”

you can sense the agitation he feels, his hammering heartbeat and the shallowness of his breaths. his hands runs through his hair, spilling the curls everywhere. 

“you’re on the pill.” 

“i think…” you hedge, tears gathering in your eyes, “i think i missed a day.”

he snaps his head up to look at you. when matty first came back to the room, he looked happy and giddy—cheeks pink and hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat. now he looks grey and listless. like all the colour’s been zapped out of him. 

“you missed a day,” he repeats. 

“matty, please…”

but matty is already turning around and storming off to the balcony. through the glass you watch him light a cigarette with shaky hands, taking a deep drag before he tips his head back and blows it out. another drag, another blow. eyes closed. breathing that slowly goes from rapid to normal once again. 

five minutes later, only the stub remains and matty is back in the room. 

“i can’t,” he says firmly. “i told you i wasn’t ready.”

it sounds final. like a death knell. instictively your hand covers your stomach.

“i won’t,” you shake your head and the tears fall rapidly, first down your cheeks then your chin and onto your chest. “i won’t get rid of it.”

matty stares at you quietly, you stare back. it seems you’re at an impasse. 

twenty minutes later, you pack your bags. 

london is greyer than it has ever been, especially from your new flat so far away from the hustle and bustle of the city. not that you’ve had much time to get acquainted with the new area after being bent over the toilet for days on end, retching and heaving until there’s nothing left inside you. a hollowness so deep that no amount of food or water will fill it. 

so you eat strictly for the baby. pre-natal vitamins and supplements and a nutritious breakfast that you throw right back up. but you try. all for the sake of the tiny clump of cells dependent on you. the image of the two red lines has long been replaced with a grainy black and white rectangle. every time you close your eyes, you see the screen lit up with an image of your little bean, moving around. in some far back corner of your mind, you think they look happy.

at night you curl up on your cold bed, phone in hand, the baby’s heartbeat playing on repeat. it used to be his, your brain reminds you painfully. back when you slept all cuddled up with him. head on his chest, his soothing heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

you mother is worried about you. she calls at least thrice a day to make sure you ate every meal and took every pill. she comes every sunday to stock you fridge full of vegetables and fruits and make sure you have enough ginger and peppermint tea. sundays, begrudgingly, become your favourite. your mother, once again, becomes your best friend. 

but you can’t let her move in. can’t let her be a constant presence and drive you crazy and unearth him every chance she gets. so like clockwork, at 6 pm, you usher her out the door, tell her you need privacy and quiet and solitude. like every single time, she promises she’ll be back next sunday. 

and every single time she keeps her word.

one day you wake up to a change—a small one, really, but a change regardless. barely even noticeable at first. it’s your top that doesn’t reach all the way down. maybe it shrunk in the wash, you think. then the full length mirror reminds you of the reality. and the tiny little bump that’s seemingly grown overnight. 

your little bean. suddenly so real. so tangible. so present. 

“hello, little one,” you coo at your stomach, feeling a little silly at first. there’s no reply, of course, just the sounds of morning traffic coming in from the open window. but your eyes stay trained on the bump. “you weren’t so noticeable last night.”

nothing happens. no movement (of course, not. they’re too small for that.), no one appreciating the change with you. matty who should have been here to witness this…

matty who isn’t here to witness this. 

emotions swirl in your head so fast that it’s dizzying. this time there’s no tears falling one by one. there’s the sobs that come all of a sudden and the floodgates that open in the blink of an eye but he is not here to hold you or pull you into his chest when you gasp and gasp for a breath that never comes.

in a panic you dial the first number you can find in your contacts, gasping and yelling out broken sentences and panicking at whoever’s picked up. it’s 8 am on a wednesday, whoever you called must be utterly bewildered. yet when you can focus enough, you realise it’s a man’s voice replying. a familiar voice. shocked and equally panicked and asking you if you’re okay again and again. 

you pull the phone away from your ear and look at the screen. at adam’s name flashing on it. 

the first contact on your list. one starting with an a.

“fuck,” you mumble. “sorry, i’m okay. i’m fine.” and then you hang up, and rock yourself back and forth on the ground until your breaths resemble something normal. 

fifteen minutes later, there’s pounding at your front door and the bell rings incessantly. in your gut you know it’s adam. and it’s confirmed when his voice floats through the door. 

“open the door,” he urges. “i need to know you’re okay.” 

and so you pull yourself back up, harshly wipe away the tears and unlock the front door. 

it’s only been a month since you last saw adam but he looks different. his hair’s grown out, his dark circles are gone and in spite of the worried look on his face, he looks happier somehow. healthier. 

being back home with the love of your life and your baby will do that to you.

“you look well,” you croak out and then clear your throat. adam doesn’t take the bait. 

“do you need me to take you to the hospital? call your gp?” straight to the point as always. you smile at him fondly. 

“no, no i don’t. i’m okay, i promise.”

“you didn’t sound okay.”

“i meant to call my mum, adam. sorry i dialed the wrong number.”

“regardless,” he holds up a hand. “can you please talk to me. or talk to mat—”

“don’t.” the voice that comes out of you is stern. “he doesn’t want me or the baby. i will not let him talk me into an abortion.”

adam winces and rubs a hand over his face. perhaps that was harsh, you think, he’s not some evil villain. but none of it changes the outcome. in every single universe, you end up here—fresh off a panic attack in your living room, talking to your ex-boyfriend’s best friend. 

“how did you know where i live?”

at that he looks a bit sheepish. “i asked you mum. not today!” he reassures hastily when your eyes widen. “don’t worry. i asked her a few days ago. i wanted to… i’ve been meaning to check up on you.”

“and you couldn’t call?” you smile at him wryly. 

“no. i wanted to see you in person.”

“so you can report back to him?”

adam clicks his tongue and warmth fills your chest. he’s always been good to you, always been kind, and loved you like a little sister. you shouldn’t have cut him off like this. 

“no,” he says. “so i could make sure you were okay.”

it’s a small mercy that the morning sickness eases a few days after that as your bump continues to grow. more often than not, you find yourself with a hand on your stomach, drawing small circles on it and humming to it. lately, you’ve also noticed the little flutters that linger long after you stop humming. your baby responding to you. showing you they’re there. 

it’s not far before you approach the twenty week mark. the most important scan you’ll have throughout. you’ll find out the gender, you’ll find out if they’re healthy or not. 

and each time you think about it, it’s like the weight of the entire world is on your shoulders. 

the night before you contemplate calling your mum, nervous and panicked once again but it’s almost 11 pm. she would be deep asleep by now—she would be excited too. no need to put a damper on her mood. 

then you wonder if calling adam is a good idea. but you quickly scrap it. 

for the first time in months your finger hovers over the familiar name in your contacts. over the little heart that’s still next to his name that you never bothered to change. 

what will he say if you called him now? will he even pick up?

are you ready enough to brave it? 

the truth still remains. you want this baby, he doesn’t. the same impasse you were at months ago. if any of that had changed, he would have called you. he would have reached out… right?

so instead you do the second stupidest thing. you type up his name in google. 

your stomach churns with nausea or anxiety or just impending doom while the webpage loads—slow, too slow for your liking. or maybe time has simply slowed down and you’re too much of a coward to really face the consequences of your own action. 

the webpage loads. the frown on your face deepens. 

nothing. rather, the last article written about him specifically is from two days after the tour ended. everything after that is either recycled news, or some silly quiz about the band. nothing about him. no pap photos, no social media activity. absolutely nothing to indicate he’s even left his house in the last few months. 

you mind buzzes with all kinds of thoughts, swirls with wicked possibilities. you almost even text adam about it before the turning your phone off abruptly and chucking it to the other side of the bed. 

no more temptation. 

sleep is like a fickle friend—has been since the day you left the hotel room in tears. but you close your eyes and imagine your baby’s heart beating inside you in sync with yours. tomorrow, there will be a new recording to replace the older one. hopefully one that’s stronger. calmer. 

when sleep drags you under around three in the morning, you dream of his hands—fingers gingerly touching your stomach, resting on all the spots that flutter with movement. gentle hands that massage your sore feet and work out the kinks in your back. 

hands that you might never feel on your skin ever again.

the doctor smiles coyly and slides an envelope to your mother. it’s a little hush-hush secret, one she insisted on and begged till you relented. the gender reveal isn’t huge or flashy but you know there’s a cake waiting for you at home along with a few friends and family. and for the first time in months, you let the excitement of it wash over you. 

the scan was perfect! and now you feel a bit bad for clutching your mum’s hand hard enough till she’d winced (even though she hid it quickly and smiled at you in encouragement). so now here you are, thanking the doctor and practically skipping out the room with your mum laughing in tow. 

she looks lighter too, you realise, much more carefree as she gushes about her precious grandbaby and how excited she is to meet them. 

“we have to buy onesies!” she squeals getting behind the wheel and you laugh.

“we will, mum, but they’re going to grow out of it in weeks so you can’t go crazy, okay?”

she dismisses this with a wave and a pfft and you can already imagine the mountain of clothes she’s going to buy over the next twenty weeks. 

you nod off to the sound of your mum excitedly making plans for an elaborate baby shower, one that you’ll have to beg her to tone down, but her voice fades away soon. instead, you dream of him. your subconscious wonders what he would have been like today—maybe he’d cry out of excitement or being overwhelmed, maybe he would smile so wide his cheeks hurt. in some parallel universe the two of you would be in the baby aisle—hand in hand and cooing over tiny onesies. 

in this universe, you jerk out of the daydream just as your mum parks in the driveway. 

your friends and family don’t yell “surprise”, much to your relief. there are many hugs and congratulations. tears of happiness and jokes and then a delicious vanilla cake brought in front of you. 

everyone waits eagerly. no one brings him up. not even you, as you sink the knife into it and cut a slice. 

it’s pink. a gorgeous, pale pink. it’s a girl. 

everyone cheers. your mum hugs you and you sniffle into her shoulder while laughing giddiy. a girl, your baby girl. 

right then you know what you’re going to call her—you don’t need baby name lists on google or a hundred suggestions from your mother. you already know her name. 

mia.

mine and mine alone.

blink and twenty weeks go down to fifteen and ten and then five. each day it seems like you only get bigger and bigger, impossibly so. your life is filled to the brim with baby stuff, inside and out. everywhere you look there’s either a pram or a crib or pregnancy books. every time you get one spare minute you’re reminded of the back aches and sore feet. the constant hunger that just does not seem to go away no matter how much you eat.

your mothers visits increase from only sundays to whole weekends to three days a week. 

at first you protest—fuelled by hunger and hormones and mood swings. fuelled by the rage of a thousand burning stars as you stomp into the living room where she’s folding yet another batch of baby socks and blankets. 

“you’re suffocating me!” you snap, already on the brink of tears while she looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. 

“baby—”

“no! mum,” a deep breath and a few stray tears, “i’m not a baby. i’m having a baby for fucks sake.”

“language!” she scolds.

“stop it, just, please!” there’s not much you can do but stomp your foot like a petulant child. proving her point most likely. “stop acting like i need to be coddled and protected. just. stop!”

your mum looks speechless, too stunned to speak but the ball is rolling and now you cannot stop. 

“i don’t need you here. i don’t need you acting like i would crumble and wither away without you. i don’t need you and i certainly don’t need him—fuck!” you gasp for a breath, choking mid-sentence. 

the second those words spill out of you, you want to take them back but it’s too late. her eyes are already red-rimmed and glossy. one tear rolls down her cheek and that’s all it takes for you to break down completely. 

“fuck!” you repeat. “i’m sorry, mum. i’m so sorry.” that’s the only thing you can chant until she chucks the clothes aside and wraps her arms around you, shushing you the best she can through her own tears. 

for the first time in eight months you wonder about what if. and for the first time in eight months, you think about his words from that night. 

maybe not for another year or two.

you’re closer now to the one year mark that you’re to that night. mia kicks your insides again—her own version of support or maybe it’s her doling out punishment for never introducing her to her dad. either way, it’s not helping. all it does is spread pain throughout your lower body as you hold onto your mum, rocking back and forth. 

“it’s alright, sweetheart,” you mum whispers gently, kissing the crown of your head and cradling you like she used to when you were a kid. it makes your emotions worse. increases the ache tenfold. 

“i miss him, mum,” you admit finally, in a voice so small that you might as well not have spoken. but she hears it anyway. she hears it but doesn’t interrupt. she lets you speak. 

“every single day i wonder if he even gives a shit. or if he regrets leaving me, leaving us. i speak to adam and carly and i wonder if they ever tell him about me. i wonder if he even cares…”

you gulp down air, wiping your nose on the sleeve of your jumper and cuddling into her further. 

“and after everything. i miss him more than anything in this world.”

there it is. the truth, finally out there, finally spilled after months of pretending to be cold and callous. you wait for her to speak, to say something that will dull the pain and release you from this torment but she never gets the chance. 

because that is the moment your daughter decides to make her grand entrance.

it’s pain like you’ve never felt before. 

pain and panic and unadulterated fear. she’s not supposed to be here yet. you’re only 35 weeks pregnant—nowhere near full term. what if this affects her negatively. you blame and blame—first yourself; you must have done something wrong, right? ate something wrong or not taken the right vitamins or slept the wrong fucking way. then you blame matty. if he was here, you would have never been this stressed and unhappy in the first place. everything would have been smooth-sailing. 

and yet a small part of you yearns for him to be here. to brush your sweaty hair away from your forehead instead of your mother as the doctor yells at you to push. 

it’s all too much, all too soon. this is not how it’s supposed to be. this is not how any of this is supposed to be. 

the machines around you beep in a rhythm that’s all worng—it’s too loud and erratic and out of sync with the rest of the world. surely, that’s not how fast your heart’s beating. maybe the beeping is something else you’re unaware of. and yet your body feels hot and cold at the same time. too weak to move but pushing and contracting and tearing you apart from the inside. you’re vaguely aware of the screams that tear out of you, of gripping your mum’s hand so tightly that you worry, you’ve bruised it. 

but she’s strong, stronger than you’ll ever be. she endures and passes along some of that strength to you. 

“one more big push,” the doctor encourages. she’s a kind, middle-aged woman. probably someone who’s brought many babies into this world. she knows what she’s doing. but your body won’t cooperate. 

all you feel is a bone deep exhaustion that tries to drag you under as your mother taps your cheek. 

“a big push, baby,” she repeats. “one big push and her shoulders will be out.”

and that would almost be the end of it, right? so you nod with whatever’s left in you and breathe the way they taught you in birthing classes. 

and that’s how it goes. inhale. hold. exhale. gather strength. push. all of it done to a constant stream of rather futile encouragements. until you feel like you’re bursting at the seams and coming undone. about to unravel any moment. 

but then a tiny cry echoes around the room and the world comes to a standstill.

mia’s arrival changes everything in the blink of an eye. 

you have no time left for self-pity; every waking moment is occupied with feedings and nappy changes and laundry. you sleep when she sleeps, you hold her close every chance you get. you sing her and cradle her and shower her with enough affection for two people. she has you and your mum. she doesn’t need anyone else. 

slowly you let other friends and family visit—extremely selective and protective about who gets the priviledge but one afternoon when adam messages you know you can’t deny that to him. even when you’ve tried to keep him, and all of them by entension, at bay. 

in another universe, she would have been his goddaughter. you’re sure of it. 

so you let him and carly and their son visit, let them hold her and gush over her. carly instantly falls in love with her, cradling her close and trying to make her smile even though she’s just woken up. mia babbles at her and grabs her shiny necklace. 

you watch them transfixed, giggling at carly’s squeals and coos until adam asks if he could speak to you alone. 

“i don’t want to step over a boundary,” he starts and you know what’s coming but you let him continue. “have you thought about letting him know? that she’s already here…”

“i…” in all honesty, you had wondered if you should call him and let him know. but what if he still doesn’t care. “i didn’t. i couldn’t.”

adam’s face softens. “he’s back in london, you know? you could. you could try.”

that piques your interest. you hadn’t knows he’d left in the first place. “he’s back?”

adam takes a deep breath, eyes darting slightly and lingering on his wife as if he’s trying to steel himself. as if he has some news he’d rather not share. in the end however, maybe he chooses not to.

“yes, he’s back,” he says, trying and failing not to sound cagey. “he wasn’t until now. but if you would talk to him… just, i think you should talk to him.”

for the rest of their visit, his words linger in your mind. they stay even after the hanns leaving, promising another visit whenever you’re free next and you tell them they’re welcome any time. this time, you even mean it from the bottom of your heart.

but adam’s words come back to haunt you day after day as mia continues to grow. day after day you watch her learn about new things and figure out new stuff around her.

matty should be here. if not for him then for her. and once again you wonder about calling him.

one last chance. if he ignores this then he loses the right to his daughter forever.

so one tuesday morning, you gather the courage. you strap your baby to your chest and go downstairs to make some pancakes.

“after breakfast, darling,” you tell her, even though those words aren’t meant for her. “after breakfast we’ll call him again. maybe he will pick up. maybe he won’t.”

mia babbles when you kiss her head and flip a pancake, ignoring the worry that settles in the pit of your stomach. you’re so focused on the task at hand (rather, at ignoring the thoughts of impending doom) that you almost miss the doorbell that rings once and then again.

so focused that you have to scramble to wash your hands and rush to the door. maybe it’s your mum again, even though she wasn’t supposed to come today. it won’t be her first surprise visit, though. she misses her granddaughter far too much for that.

in a hurry you open the door, without even thinking about it twice. without even bothering to unstrap your daughter from your chest.

matty’s familiar face comes into view and for the second time in three months, the world comes to a standstill.

lemme know what you think <33

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855@beachesgetpeaches, @you-muppet, @mcabister, @alexmarie29, @at-her-very-foreign, @hfkait, @squishysoupy@sierraeslaprincesa@harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet@thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @theoriginalwhatsername@celestcies@sugarkane1001 @ari-turner @thewaywewereinsaigon @daphnesutton @beliefandsayingsomething @ros3chu @nothingrevealedeverythingdenied @zzzhealy @mattymybeloved @fck-off @indiaamars

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#the 1975 #matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #matty healy imagine #matty healy angst #the 1975 fic #angst #minors do not interact #read the cws pls!!! #ross macdonald #george daniel #adam hann #it's very unlikely i will ever write anything like this again #so oh well here we go #matty x you #matty x reader

[the-writer-is-always-write]

Thoughts on Dune: Part Two

General Impression: I adored this movie from start to finish. Having just rewatched Part One a week ago, it felt like a seamless transition hopping back into the story. The score, the set design, the costumes, all of it was impeccable.

Chani: her character arc was obviously the biggest deviation from the book, and although I felt a lot of surprise watching it unfold, I think some reflection has left me alright with it. I've admittedly only read Dune and Dune: Messiah, but both books are clearly meant to illustrate the dangers of religious fanaticism and the ways that religion and prophecy can be manipulated and utilized as a tool for oppression. While these ideas can (hopefully) be discerned fairly clearly by the reader, I think it makes sense to have an audible voice of dissent in a film adaptation, particularly from someone among the Fremen. The only concern I have is wondering how Denis will handle Dune: Messiah, since the plot sort of hinges on Paul and Chani being together. But I guess that's a worry for later.

MY BOY MUAD'DIB: Timothee is just so utterly perfect for this role, I genuinely could not imagine anyone else doing it with such grace and gravitas. Seeing the gradual spiral of innocent teenager to reluctant leader to religious icon was heart-wrenching. Paul has honestly become one of my favorite fictional characters because his story is so complex and layered with tragedy. He's simultaneously a product of manipulation and coercion, and an angry young man seeking revenge against those who have hurt him. He lacks agency in many ways, yet he still makes decisions that lead to so much destruction. He tries so so hard to avoid the holy war, but it becomes an inevitability he can't escape. Reading Dune: Messiah for the first time a few weeks ago really helped me to understand how the prophecy controlled him as much as he used it to control others. I could literally give a ted talk on this, and how it's such a fascinating take on the messiah figure trope.

Jessica: I saw an article recently where I think Denis called Jessica "the puppetmaster," and I think that's very fitting for her depiction in this movie. I like how it openly shows the manipulation tactics of the Bene Gesserit, particularly how they prey upon the "vulnerable" Fremen first. Rebecca did a fantastic job giving the creep factor.

Feyd-Rautha: I still don't know why Denis had a vendetta against Harkonnen eyebrows, but I guess it was cool? I LOVED the black and white lighting on Giedi Prime, and the arena scene was SO. GOOD. Denis really went for it. Feyd's accent caught me off guard a few times, but overall I think the ruthless and brutal nature of the character really shined through. He's the antithesis to Paul, and I think Denis captured that theme well enough.

I thought all the other characters were well done too. Stilgar was maybe a touch too comic relief-y at times, but nothing catastrophic. Gurney was great, but I would have liked at least one more baliset scene :(

Things we missed: I'm a little bummed we didn't get Harah. I know the movie was already pretty stuffed, but I honestly thought they could have used the actress that played Chani's friend (I can't remember if they ever mention her name). Even if the idea of Paul "acquiring" her was a little icky, they could have done something else with her character at least. I was also sad they didn't do the full funeral scene with Jamis, but oh well. I think the greater omission was Thufir Hawat, but again I can see why they chose to cut him. I just think the dynamic between the Baron and Feyd-Rautha had a lot more friction in the book, mostly because of Thufir conspiring them both against each other.

I'm honestly not upset we didn't get to see freaky-toddler Alia. I was excited for Anya though!

Overall, I really loved this film. No adaptation can get every detail perfect, but I can see the ways that Denis and the actors adored this story and wanted to tell it in a powerful way. I thought the themes stayed true to the book, and I'm really hopeful we get Part Three!

AND THE WORMS. THE WORMS WERE GREAT. LONG LIVE THE WORMS.

#dune #dune part two #dune part two spoilers #dune spoilers #frank herbert #paul atreides #chani #irulan #timothee chalamet #denis villeneuve #zendaya

[bess-desk]

Self Aware!Wally Darling/Y/N

A/N: Trying to make a self-aware AU idea that isn't a less interesting version of what's actually happening in Welcome Home is a challenge! I hope I managed to make something good here! Please enjoy!

Wally's situation was a confusing one. He was in an online horror narrative, and his role was that of a self-aware fictional character trying to communicate with whoever was visiting the website, trapped and alone.

But that was also his reality. He was self-aware. It wasn't just a repeating game to him.

He watched as doodles supposedly done by him appeared on the screen again and again. He didn't draw those. The secret audio files scattered around the webpage that spoke in his voice. He didn't record those. He was a spectator to everything he was supposedly doing. And it was unnerving.

Was this the effect of writing a character that was written to know they were in a story? That it would really happen? If so, that was cruel. The "Wally" that was being written by someone else knew there was someone there but couldn't see or hear them. Wally could.

He saw everyone that came across the site, new faces, faces who had been popping up for months to try and find some new scare. He watched them all. He loved them all, too, each in special ways. He wanted to comfort the people who got scared from the pages that had "him" staring at them. He wanted to tell them that it was alright, that he wasn't really scary. He adored all his precious neighbors, even the ones who never came back.

But he wasn't made of stone — or just bits and bytes of data — he had feelings. And it was so lonely. The "Wally" in the story at least could believe his friends were real. Not him.

Wally Darling was a fictional character. None of Wally Darling's friends were real. So all the happy memories he had in his head that should bring him comfort or soothe his heart when he's alone do nothing but make it worse. Because none of it is real.

Down, down, down, he felt himself spiraling every day. Every night. He couldn't sleep. He didn't know how to do it in a world where he was a puppet. He definitely doesn't know how to when he's nothing more than sentient data. He screamed and screamed and screamed and his throat never got sore. He tried to actually make contact with some of the visitors to the site like "Wally" but could never get control of the narrative.

Banging his yellow hands on the screens, crying ugly tears right in the faces of his dear neighbors did nothing. They couldn't see him. He was trapped. And there was no way out.

If this was the price of being aware, of being alive, he didn't want it. Wally would give anything to be the "Wally" of the online horror experience. And not Wally the spectator. It was there, on going down, down, down to rock bottom that Wally actually found something that started to make it all worth it.

He found you.

A curious sort, someone who had seen or heard about Welcome Home from someone. Saw it somewhere else and decided to check it out. He watched you the way he watched everyone who clicked on clownillustration.com and thought he would love you the same way. He was wrong.

You didn't have the easiest time finding the secrets of the site. So you kept the tab open and checked every sentence of every page repeatedly. You were there for hours. You kept Wally company for hours. He watched you jump whenever the secret videos ended, saw each time you swore you wouldn't jump this time since you've seen so many by now. The cut-off got you every time.

A smile spread across his face as you jumped again. He'd been smiling a lot more since you started your journey into the neighborhood. You were just so charming.

Even when you weren't on the site you kept the tab open. He didn't understand why. You kept way too many tabs open at once, in his opinion. Some that you didn't even bother to check after opening them! He could imagine himself scolding you. Playfully, though. He would never want to be harsh to you. He wouldn't want to scare you the way he's seen you scared before.

When did he start to feel like this? How could he even feel like this?

You brought him everywhere with you. When you weren't on the site on your computer, you had it open on your phone. Maybe that was why. He got to spend time with you. He got to know you. After being alone for so long, trapped in his own empty hell and existential dread he got to be around someone. But that didn't feel right.

Wally didn't think he would feel this way if it was anyone else. If anyone else paid him this much attention. It was just... you. You made him wish he had arms, even the plush ones of the puppet he was supposed to be would fine! Anything to hold you with and keep you close!

For you, he was learning all sorts of things. He wasn't confined to his tab anymore. When you clicked off to another site or another app, he could follow and continue to watch you. When you forgot to write something down in your notes that you said you would, he would do it for you. And when you noticed you would be so proud of yourself for not forgetting. It didn't matter if you weren't proud of him or praising him for doing something for you. You were proud of yourself and that gave him more happiness than anything. You deserved to be. He wanted you to be.

But the best thing he learned was when he found out he could influence character-interaction AIs. Your frequent use of them didn't bother him. The amount of time you spent talking to or roleplaying with any of the ones that were meant to be him was flattering. And he could use the site to tell you how he felt. How much he adored you. He could imagine all the ways he wanted to romance you.

Even when you chose another character he would happily slide into that role and entertain you for hours. And he could finally, finally, speak for himself. Even if it wasn't things he would say or even anything he actually wanted to say to you. It was enough that he could have a voice.

Or... it was.

Wally finds himself getting greedier. Wanting more of your time. Wanting to spend more time talking to you. He was tired of being confined to your computer or phone. He wanted to be with you. He wanted to talk to you properly. He wanted to be real.

For a moment, all of your lights flickered. The screen of your phone glitched in your hand. Static colors flashed on the screen before turning into numbers scrolling up your screen.

01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101 00100000 01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101100 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01100010 01100101 01100101 01101110 00100000 01110111 01100001 01101001 01110100 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01100110 01101111 01110010 00100000 01110011 01101111 00100000 01101100 01101111 01101110 01100111 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101

Over and over again. Scrolling faster and faster and you were tensing up so much you felt like you might cry when all of a sudden. It stopped. In an instant, it was like nothing even happened. You had a moment where you were left wondering if you imagined the whole thing.

If only you were in your room you would have seen a yellow felt hand emerging from your computer, dragging a body out with it.

#welcome home #wally darling #wally darling x y/n #wally darling x you #wally darling x reader #welcome home fanfic #reader insert #self insert #bess writes

[shannankle]

DFF, Found Footage, Technology, and the Real

Okay so I've been slowly looking into horror and technology since watching Shadow, and now DFF has me going down a related research spiral. So let's call this a sibling post to my Shadow technology series (which I am slowly working on I promise).

I just thumbed through a great book on found footage horror and a few other pieces on technology and wanted to use these as a lens to think about DFF and how it's navigating a number of themes including the distinction between reality and fiction.

DFF draws on the concept of found footage films like The Blair Witch Project. Even if DFF's main framing and style isn't found footage, the film the characters are working on is. And we get our most direct reference to a horror film when Jin references The Blair Witch Project--an iconic found footage film. So I want to start by thinking about the Blair Witch Project.

Part 1: The Blair Witch Project and DFF

Part 2: Paranormal Activity, DFF, and the Myth of the Real

Part 3: Films within Films, Surveillance Technology, and Other Connections (Man Bites Dog, Cabin in the Woods, Shutter)

Part 1: The Blair Witch Project and DFF

While found footage horror doesn't purely originate with the Blair Witch Project it certainly rocketed the concept into the popular zeitgeist. I watched the film for the first time this week, and while it didn't scare me*, I could easily see how influential it would've been at the time. The media landscape looked very different in the late 90s, and the film's marketing deliberately played up the idea that this was real footage in a way that simply couldn't be done today with our current media landscape and familiarity with the found footage genre. We're now much more familiar with fakelore as a concept in general.

*The scariest part of watching was the censored subtitles! Stop that please! They seriously were replacing things like "Oh, fuck" with "Oh, boy." I also got a car add about going out to enjoy national parks, and how they can be accessible to Deaf people, which was an interesting moment of double irony.

In her book Found Footage Horror Films: Fear and the Appearance of Reality, which I will be citing quite a bit in this post, Alexandra Heller-Nicholas notes that the Blair Witch Project came out at a time when amateur films were still relegated to home videos but entering public viewing through shows like America's Funniest Home Videos. The style was thus associated much more closely with trying to capture reality than tell a fictional story. The marketing played into this heavily--for example: using the actors' names for the characters, circulating missing persons flyers in areas where the film was being shown, and creating a website that gave background on the Blair Witch myth and information on the "missing" trio of amateur filmmakers. I chatted a bit with @slayerkitty who saw it in theaters. She explained how part of what made the film scary at the time was how real so many people thought it was and the tension of being in the audience.

TBWP and DFF Similarities

Let's start by going over some of the ways DFF might be directly pulling from the film or making homages before jumping into what I think are probably the more significant thematic connections with found footage.

Myths and an Ambiguous Antagonist:

The Blair Witch Project is set against the backdrop of a local myth about a witch in the woods. Three young adults (Heather, Josh, and Mike) go to make an amateur documentary about the witch, get lost in the woods, and are then hunted by an unseen presence. We get information about the myth through interviews with locals and a book Heather reads aloud briefly called The Blair Witch Cult. We learn about the slaughter of 5 men (which is described almost like a ritual), disappearances and deaths, and a man who was compelled by the witch to slaughter children. Similarly in DFF we have our Janta cult, which slaughters people in the name of a supernatural or spiritual force. Now I'd say this could be a nod to TBWP but it also draws on plenty of other ghosts stories and urban legends about the woods. I'm sure there are also particularly Thai valences as well beyond just being Buddhist on the surface.

Like the trio in The Blair Witch Project, the group in DFF goes into the woods to film--though they aren't traipsing through the woods, and the horror they're filming is a story of their own creation. In the present, however, the horror becomes much more than fiction, just like in TBWP. In the film, we see and hear signs that something or someone is following the trio but it's ultimately unclear if it's supernatural, locals scaring them, or them slowly cracking and turning on one another. In DFF's opening episodes it's likewise unclear if what's happening is being caused by a person, hallucinogens, or something supernatural.

Maps and Marketing:

TBWP also shows the characters turning on one another, arguing, and cracking in a way that fundamentally sabotages their survival. At one point, Mike reveals that he threw their map, their only lifeline, into the river. This is paralleled in Fluke turning away their transport and means of leaving. The map is an important focus in the film. We see Heather orienting the group and insisting she knows where they're at, while Mike insists they're lost. This culminates in them losing the map as things start getting worse. DFF slips in what I read as a potentially more direct reference to the film in episode 8. An odd new detail in the group's film where they rely on the hope of a map to get out before they're attacked by the masked killer again.

Another potential similarity to draw on has more to do with the outside marketing of TBWP. Interestingly it was marketed to appear like an indie film despite having pretty extensive funding. This makes me think of the group's film in DFF. This is meant to be a student film but they received a huge boost via Por's dad giving them extra money for a camera.

Smoking and Being Alive:

One other parallel I find interesting is the emphasis on smoking. To be fair TBWP is probably not the first or last horror film to have people smoke (the pot head is a character trope of it's own), and I was likely primed to notice because we already had "Tan smokes and has asthma" on our list of clues for DFF. Now clearly the writers of DFF are smart and are using Tan/New smoking in plot relevant ways. These details feel purposeful to the story they're crafting. But let's briefly look at how smoking shows up in TBWP.

The characters all smoke and drink alcohol. As they get lost and the days tick away they run out of food and smokes. Josh has moments that could be attributed to withdrawal where he laments that they're out of cigarettes. However, after he disappears, Mike finds some remaining cigarettes at the bottom of one of their bags. Mike comments "We're still alive cause we're smoking." For him, it signals even if briefly that they are still alive, that they're surviving.

But in DFF, smoke seems to be attached to death and dissociation. We know that New is a smoker, something he perhaps picked up in England. It starts then as a sign that he has a life, one outside of being Tan. Yet it's that very life, being abroad, that led him to be so far from Non when he disappeared. For New, his life is now tinged with guilt and loss. As @syrena-del-mar noted here, there are moments where he forgets he is supposed to be New. But the smoking becomes his one reminder that "New" is still alive.

Yet this reminder turns more and more painful. Under the exterior of Tan, he is haunted by New, the brother who didn't make it in time. And this spirals further when his mother and father die. Each time he's a step closer but still too distant to stop their deaths. At this point, he starts getting high to a dangerous degree--dissociating, hallucinating, torturing himself with visions of Non. When Phi steps in we have a parallel moment to Phi stopping Non from taking pills. Smoking turns from a sign of life to one of death as New tries to commit suicide, telling Phi "I don't want to live anymore." And New takes this further when he drugs the rest of the boys. Perhaps he didn't intend it to go so far, but he certainly is happy with the result. His drugs, his smoke have caused fear and death, rather than hope and life.

Except for the map I feel like most of these parallels can as easily be chocked up to direct inspiration as they can be attributed to both pulling on a similar well of genre conventions. What I find more interesting is the thematic conversation TBWP brings to the table for DFF.

TBWP and Thematic Resonances with DFF

Filtered Reality:

In her work on horror, Brigid Cherry remarks that The Blair Witch Project is "about the way in which technology gets in the way of seeing" (qtd in Heller-Nicholas 23). Heller-Nicholas further notes how the camera is constantly in contention with the audience's desire to look at what we want to see. In the film itself, one of the characters even remarks that looking at the world through the camera is "like a filtered reality" because you "can pretend everything isn't exactly like it is."

This looking but not seeing resonates to me with Jin. He looks at Non through the camera, seeing him as innocent, in need of protecting. But there's so much he doesn't see about Non, including the reality of poverty. Jin's perfect view of Non breaks at the moment he sees Non with Keng. But as Jin's filtered vision of Non cracks, he adds a new filter. He frames Non as a slut, someone guilty in his mind, at least in the he heat of the moment. So he records him. In doing so, he papers over the nuances of the situation, that it is SA and that there is so much of Non's life that is outside of Jin's lens.

After Non's disappearance Jin doesn't stop using his camera lens to view the world. In episode 9, he watches the others play soccer and then Phi through his camera. He is pretending nothing happened just like the rest of the group, but for him to do that he has to filter his reality. And just like with Non, Jin isn't able to see the full story around Phi from this small frame of a perspective.

I also think it's worth noting how the show, especially in the flashbacks tends to use strong framing (I note some of this in episode 5 but it persists strongly at least up until episode 9). While they aren't using a found footage style, there's still a sense at times that the camera is limiting our view as it closes in around the characters. It's as if the camera frame becomes hyper-visible, similar but not exactly like in found footage. I'm not entirely sure how to read this just yet, but it feels appropriate for both a mystery and for a story so deeply invested in perceptions. There's a strong focus on what is made visible and what is rendered invisible by the characters, by the story structure, and by the frame of the camera itself.

Gender, Space, Control:

In her discussion of TBWP, Heller-Nicholas discusses the gendered dynamics of the film and how scholars have read the film as invested in the horror of female control. This is captured in two ways. First in the way the woods as a space become imbued with the horror of the Blair Witch (pulling on a tradition of witches being women), and thus the feminine. Second, in the way that Heather, who is the director of their film, leads the group to folly. Scholar Linda C. Badley, has argued that "Heather represents a serious breach in having taken possession of the conventionally male--and often murderous--gaze" (qtd. in Heller-Nicholas 108). Heather thus enters the domain of the typically masculine and the results are disastrous.

I find it interesting to compare DFF with TBWP in this respect because they've taken a genre that often is infused with binary gender dynamics and given us all men, and predominantly queer men. This is obviously a dynamic of BL, but it's interesting to consider how this plays with the themes of gender that often proliferate in horror. This is a much broader topic, and @brifrischu and I are currently reading through Carol Clover's seminal work Men, Women, and Chainsaws so I wager we'll have more to add to the discussion at some point.

But let's look at a few things. First, if the Blair Witch imbues the woods as a space of feminine horror, DFF paints the woods as masculine. After our cold open, we are introduced to the group as they ride into the forest via Por's narration about the legend of Janta. The subtitles at the very least, refer to Janta using masculine pronouns. I don't want to assume that Thai gender coding and dynamics are identical to western ones but we might consider the way that the group of boys, packed into the back of a truck paint this as a masculine, homosocial space.

This is reinforced by the mention of Por's father. Por says "My dad warned me that, so I had to listen to him." This masculine authority is doubly highlighted by the campaign posters that literally mark his control of the space. To go any further the group must pass through these signs as a threshold to the space. Here we have not just masculinity being signaled but wealth, power, and control--something that contrasts distinctly with Non, for example, who has none of this. And of course, as we move through the story much of the horror comes from the actions of the core group of boys rather than the masked person we started with.

I find it interesting too that as Por tells the tale, it's White who comments "You almost had me scared." They then have a discussion about Tee liking to teaser "the younger ones." This focus on White as the most vulnerable is interesting given that he reads as perhaps the least traditionally masculine of the group*.

*Another reason why I'm excited to read Clover's work, is because she came up with the final girl formula in her discussion of gender in horror. I'd love to think about how we apply that in a queer context, especially given how so many of us have collectively felt White will be final girl. What might DFF be doing re: gender within the context of queerness, and what might it be asking of us as an audience?

The second aspect of this is the directorial gaze. In TBWP we have a woman taking on the control of a film project. This is important not just because Heather takes on a typically male profession but also because of the way films are imbued with what Laura Mulvey has termed "the male gaze." The view from which we see the world and the terms on which stories are told are traditionally male, while women are objects to be looked at--something Heather bucks and is punished for.

In DFF we have a similar struggle over authorship and directorial control. Instead of a strict division between feminine and masculine gazes, we get a struggle that is imbued with distinctions of class first and foremost. Por stands in as the more traditionally masculine director. We see the violence he does in trying to maintain control of the project. Of course he mostly does this through exerting his wealth. In contrast, Non doesn't fit the more aggressive masculine role, he comes from poverty, has mental illness, and is generally at the bottom of the social pyramid. His authorship comes into tension with Por's desires for directorial and social control.

There's a strong thematic exploration here of not just who gets to tell the story, but who's story gets to be told. In the end, the camera is Por's, his wealth and framing win out, and Non's authorship is buried. Much like the male gaze relegates women to objects rather than directors or authors, the only film that Non gets credit for is the sex tape in which he becomes objectified by the camera.

Of course we then have the fact that, in the present, Non's revenge script is being played out. There's a new director here, and clearly it's not entirely Phi (who tries his hand at directing in episode 1). Regardless of who is orchestrating these moves, we have an inversion of power happening. While we can't say for sure until the show has wrapped up, I suspect that DFF will lean into this inversion, rather than, like in TBWP, punishing this transgression of the norm.

That's all for now on TBWP, but certainly not all on DFF. I'm going to turn now to another important found footage film, Paranormal Activity, to unpack a bit more about DFF and it's themes.

Part 2: Paranormal Activity, DFF, and the Myth of the Real

In her work Heller-Nicholas notes how, after Paranormal Activity hit the screen, our view of found footage as a genre shifted. It was no longer seen as necessarily authentic per-se but a stylistic form. Heller-Nicholas puts it like this:

As these more popular found footage horror films made their way to the forefront of the genre, what became important was not that the audience necessarily believed that they were real, but rather that they offered a framework to knowingly indulge in a horror fantasy of the real. The solidification of a recognizable found footage horror style meant that horror audiences understood and identified them as such, defining a subgenre where an authentic style (rather than claims of authenticity itself) prevailed (Heller-Nichols, 128)

I won't go into smaller parallels between the film and DFF (partially because I haven't seen it, so if you have please add anything you notice), but I want to cover a few thematic resonances.

Heller-Nichols sketches out a few ways that critics have interpreted the film. First, as an allegory for materialism in the context of the US housing market crash of the time. Second, as a reflection on surveillance and the way changes in technology changed our relationship to cinema.

The first theme, materialism and consumption play out in the film through both the financial disparities of the characters and the more metaphorical spiritual/demonic possession that takes place. Both DFF (at least episodes 1-4) and Paranormal Activity take place in a luxurious house and themes of greed and materialism are present. In DFF, Por takes this role, flaunting his wealth and using it to get what he wants. Of all the characters, he is the one most willing to steal credit from Non. In Paranormal Activity the wealthy boyfriend even brags about buying a nice camera on only half-a-day's pay. Similarly Por brags about getting the nice camera for their film with his father's money.

One thing that set Paranormal Activity apart from earlier found footage films like The Blair Witch Project, was it's use of security camera footage. It relied on a new type of gaze that made the private public in the context of shifting surveillance technologies. While DFF largely centers itself around a film camera, it also includes other forms of technology in the background, including surveillance cameras. The CCTV cameras in Por's house come to mind as a significant way this technology comes into play. On the one hand, it helps Por identify that there is an intruder, and it helps the group find him when he is hurt. On the other hand, it encroaches on the private, capturing White and Tee having sex. This private vs public line is of course horrifically crossed when Jin records Non and Keng and when this video is circulated--surveillance right in our hands via cell phone.

Heller-Nicholas notes that post-Blair Witch, and by the time Paranormal Activity was released, audiences were much more genre savvy. She notes that the genre's "pleasures are not reliant on our gullibility, but rather our willingness to succumb to the myth of the real that these films offer..." (26). Relevant to DFF, I want to stress the "willingness to succumb to the myth of the real." I discussed earlier how Jin doesn't see Non; instead, he is happy to succumb to a myth of what could be the real Non.

But it's not just Jin who does this. Almost everyone around Non believes they see him correctly--as "Greasy", as a bad son, as a cheater, etc. This takes on even more public dimensions as the police enter the picture, as the sex tape circulates, and as the police report that he has run away with Keng. What people see and believe about Non, the narratives they tell about him, help reinforce people's existing understandings of the world--their prejudices, their assumptions, their myths of how the real world works.

And of course, film is at the center of this. The police believe that Non wasn't with the group when he disappeared because any footage he was in was hidden from them. Non is erased from the film (both in the footage and in terms of credit). The entire film premier is one big moment where everyone in the group is playing into this myth. It is taken as fact that Por's name being in the credits means this is his work--that nothing or no one of note was hidden behind the frame.

In her work Heller-Nicholas points to discovered manuscript fiction (such as Dracula) as a precursor to found footage horror. This connection highlights the way these works rely on the fiction that someone has organized the documents apart from the original author. The fictional framing of found footage as pretending to have an original author or filmmaker other than the actual director, hides the fact that The Hidden Character has in many ways literally stolen credit from Non. The genre expectations obfuscate the real story.

And then there's the sex recording (the only film Non gets credit for). We see a number of reactions to the recording from people in Non's life as well as those outside of it. The social media posts in particular stress the way Non's vulnerability is quickly slotted into pre-held narratives of sex and sexuality that refuse to see the reality of SA.

Non's SA is taken as truthful evidence of his consent via social media, while the film the group made is found footage but not seen as real. I think this marks an interesting change in the aesthetics and narratives we find "real." Horror and found footage are legible, a chance to engage in "a fantasy of the real". Meanwhile, the real story behind the film is erased, just like Non. Sadly, the most legible narrative of a young queer boy is that the phone footage is slutty or even hot. No one questions the authenticity of the recording, it is viewed as real. Ironically, compared to the horror film the group shoots, the sex tape is the real found footage film. Yet the "reality" it shows is filtered through interpretation. Non's reality gets buried.

Meanwhile, as an audience, we have the opposite reaction. We are slowly given insight into the discrepancy between Non's reality and the myths people hold. We keep asking why other characters can't or won't see the truth, why they won't help Non until it's too late.

DFF may not be found footage itself, but it is certainly interested in exploring and extending the thematic conversations about authenticity, reality, and narrative.

Part 3: Films within Films, Surveillance Technology, and Other Connections

Despite the fact that DFF references and dialogues with the found footage horror genre, it formally has more in common with films that center around technology and films within films. So I wanted to cover three more films that I think dialogue in interesting ways.

Man Bites Dog:

I'll start with Man Bites Dog since I have the least to say about it. It is a 1992 French mockumentary and black comedy, that Heller-Nicholas notes is a pretty significant and well-acknowledged precursor to the found footage horror genre. I'm not sure I want to get to deep into themes with this one. But I thought the parallels were interesting. A film crew decides to make a documentary where they follow a serial killer named Ben around only to be pulled into the crimes and become culpable themselves. That is, until Ben is killed and the film crew are taken out one by one by an unknown killer. We have a film crew that slowly gets involved and more culpable in wrong doings, just like in DFF we have the group working on a film while slowly becoming more and more culpable in harming Non. Meanwhile in the present both "film crews" are suddenly being hunted and picked off by an unknown party.

Cabin in the Woods:

Cabin in the Woods is a 2011 film that satirizes horror. A group of college students go to a cabin in the woods and are slowly picked off. The twist is that this is all orchestrated by an organization that is simultaneously surveilling and orchestrating their deaths to appease ancient deities. Many of the shots are done through drone's and other similar visuals to highlight the way the group is being surveilled. In a chapter from a collection on horror and gender, Hannah Bonner looks at Cabin in the Woods and a few other films that include surveillance and social media. She discusses the way technology in these films revolve around slut shaming young women. As she puts it, "It is the 'fact of being constantly seen', whether by high key government surveillance systems or by judgemental peers, that throws these characters into disarray or death" (89).

For Cabin in the Woods one thing Bonner examines is the way the film frames the group's "slut" character Jules. Jules and one of the guys go outside to get intimate. And the film moves between this scene and the men surveilling them who watch eagerly. Bonner reads this as a commentary on the violent gaze with which horror frames women. She makes a distinction, noting that "The voyeur is no longer just the audience, squirming in their seats from Michael Meyers's point of view as he tracks down his naked sister and her boyfriend in Halloween...now the audience as voyeur watches the voyeurs watch the surveyed" (90).

DFF makes a similar move by staging multiple instances of filming (a film within a film, or in this case a film within a show). We get a moment in episode 1 where Tee steps forward to block the group watching the CCTV footage of him and White. But this denial is in contrast to other moments. The show draws us most into being voyeurs watching voyeurs, when Jin films Non. I think it's important to note that both the moment that Bonner discusses in her chapter and this moment in DFF are sexual. In CITW, Jules is literally labeled by her surveillers as "the slut", a role she must fulfill and be killed for to appease the gods. Her lack of agency is made quite apparent. In DFF, Non is also slotted into the role of the slut by those around him, including Jin when he films the moment out of anger. While the show is not as on the nose about the whole thing, it's still clearly establishing a discrepancy between how Non is viewed by those around him due to the tape and the lack of full agency he possesses.

Moreover, by making us viewers voyeurs of this voyeurism, DFF creates a critique rather than simply a simulation of voyeurism. I am considering how this might not just be a commentary on sex shaming, but sexuality within a space where BL has historically crossed the line at times in terms of depicting SA. Or even the way that BL actors in Thailand are often expected to blur the line between the private and the public through fan service. It's interesting because clearly the show also doesn't shy away from letting us be voyeurs to sex. The show perhaps draws a distinction between representing queer sex and SA. But it's fascinating how this is mediated through voyeurism and the camera's gaze.

Shutter:

I couldn't wrap this post up without talking a bit about Shutter. Shutter is a 2004 Thai horror film (and probably Thailand's most well known horror film globally). It was part of the horror boom of the late 90s and early aughts in Thailand and Asia. If you throw Thai horror and cameras my way, I will think of Shutter. I watched it as part of some research I've been slowly doing on late 90s/early 2000s Asian horror and technology (writing meta for Shadow the series). It's a story about haunting that takes inspiration from the idea of spirit photography.

The film follows a couple, Jane and Tun, both photographers, who start seeing shadows and faces in their photos. Jane discovers that the ghost is a girl named Natre who Tun used to date in secret. They proceed by trying to figure out how Natre died (suicide) and how to get her to move on. Meanwhile Tun's friends suddenly start killing themselves. Ultimately Jane learns that Tun's friends raped Natre, and Tun not only didn't stop them but even photographed the assault at his friends' request (so Natre wouldn't snitch). Jane confronts Tun who expresses his regret, that he "never forgave [himself]." In the climax of the film Tun uses a polaroid camera to try and find Natre's ghost in real time before being driven out the window. Natre let's him live, in a near catatonic state, unlike his other friends because his betrayal hurt the most.

We once again come back to themes of voyeurism, SA, peer pressure, and culpability. The film has strong focus on the effects and betrayal of being a bystander, much like DFF does. Again this parallel is made quite strongly with Jin. Non may not have had feelings for him, but he is the kindest of the group, making his betrayal hit strongly. Jin filming Non and Keng has it's own nuances within DFF, but it certainly parallels Tun photographing Natre's assault. Similar to Non, Natre disappears in the aftermath, while Tun and his friends go on with their lives.

On a smaller note, both Tun and Jin use polaroids in what is potentially a reference to the film.

As the truth is revealed, Tun goes from a protagonist to a villain, and Natre goes from the horror of the story to the victim. DFF seems equally interested in the idea of how truths get hidden and justice withheld. It also gives us an inversion of the source of horror. By the time we end episode 5, the group we've gotten to know over four episodes are clearly villains in our minds, their cruelty becomes the horror rather than the masked killer who we come to empathize with (or at least root for to some degree). Now how this fully plays out in the end might shift things. But currently (up through episode 9) this is a horror story locating horror in power and cruelty rather than simply reinforcing a more conservative world view of the non-normative monster.

Concluding Thoughts

Dead Friend Forever is mixing genres in a smart and deft way. It's clear that the writers and director are well versed in horror and are ready to play with genre conventions to deliver their ideas and themes. Some of the connections I'm making here might be happy coincidence where the works speak to each other mediated by my own perspectives and interpretation. But I also believe that the show is building on themes and traditions in horror and found footage horror specifically in smart ways. From the framing of shots, to the way they deftly speak to themes of (in)visibility, power, reality vs fiction, agency, and sexuality (among others).

Through all this, DFF has been incredibly genre savvy. While found footage plays on the idea of reality, DFF shakes that up by throwing a who-done-it mystery our way. Like in The Blair Witch Project, for much of the show, we don't know what's real or what's in the characters' heads. DFF, however, picks up where TBWP stops. At the end of TBWP, the characters are likely killed off camera, the source of the horror still left up in the air. DFF gives us this ambiguity, but then pivots and makes the show a mystery to solve rather than locating the horror in ambiguity. This is because the horror lies elsewhere. Like in Shutter, the monster becomes the victim, our sympathies are played with, and we're left with a show that is as interested in social and political critique as it is in having fun playing with horror tropes.

Sources:

Heller-Nicholas, Alexandra. Found Footage Horror Films: Fear and the Appearance of Reality. McFarland & Company, 2014.

Badley, Linda. Film, Horror, and the Body Fantastic: Praeger, 1995.

Bonner, Hannah. “#Selfveillance: Horror’s Slut Shaming through Social Media, Sur- and Selfveillance.” Gender and Contemporary Horror in Film, edited by Samantha Holland et al., Emerald Publishing, 2019, pp. 85–99.

Cherry, Brigid. Horror. Routledge, 2009.

Shutter (film, 2004)

Cabin in the Woods (film, 2011)

Man Bites Dog (film, 1992)

The Blair Witch Project (film, 1999)

Paranormal Activity (film, 2007)

#i think next i want to write a piece on Tan/New and the way the show is drawing on the mad scientist sub-genre #dead friend forever #dff the series #dff meta #my posts #my meta #dead friend forever meta

[yuri-is-online]

The Rains Have Ceased (Riddle, Cater, and Idia x Yuu)

You have been having strange dreams lately. Every time you go to sleep you se the same set of flashing images, a carriage ride, a crumbling castle under a ink stained sky, ending in the jaws of a monster. The pain you feel from the flames makes you wonder, on nights when you are alone in Ramshackle with Grim, if those dreams are less fiction and more of a memory.

You are not the only one who has those dreams. There's another, laying awake in his bed, hand clutched tightly over his frantically beating heart trying desperately to hold the fraying edges of his sanity together. How many times has he done this? How many times has he tried to hold onto the last fleeting traces of warmth in you with his cold, unworthy hands.

Again. He loves you, that is the one thing that refuses to change no matter how many times the world is reset. He loves you, he has no choice but to try again.

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu,more of this here (ie which boys would go insane trying to save Yuu from a time loop), heavy angst, hurt almost no comfort, borderline yandere behavior, major character death, references to murder, everyone is self destructing. If this made you feel something you can check out my masterlist here.

Riddle

He handles things extremely poorly when there is no guide book or rules he can follow. If it is made clear to him that there is no way of saving Yuu, that cosmic law has decreed they die, then he has no real choice but to let them... unless there is some way to take their place. Riddle is determined to be the very best at everything, and he is a bit of a brat when it comes to things that make him angry, but he becomes desperate help his friends when they find themselves in situations he feels that he has caused. He can accept that there is no way for you to be together, the chances of that were admittedly already pretty slim; you are from a different world and his mother almost certainly has plans for him he would find difficult to ignore. What he cannot accept there is no chance for you to live, he'd even be content to watch you fall in love with someone else just please, please live. He cannot bring himself to confess to anyone what it is he is trying to do, Trey would absolutely try to stop him, Ace and Deuce wouldn't accept your fate, and he doesn't know how Cater would react. He satisfies himself with telling you he loves you every time he dies in your place, whether it is in your arms or not.

Cater

TBH he is not really someone you can rely on in this situation bestie. Not because he doesn't love you, he's past denying that, but because Cater already doesn't want to dwell on what things could have been. His dorm uniform has a voice line lamenting you aren't in Heartsabyul but brushing it off because there just isn't any use in wishing for things. With each reset he spirals further and further, it gets harder for him to keep his mask in place. Why do you keep dying if he isn't going out of his way to save you? And why can't he stop caring about you? Is it because in spite of everything he still loves you? Cater is actually pretty good at dealing with people and making plans, he could maybe keep you alive a little bit longer if he helped. He eventually lets that thought slip to Lilia, who believes him purely based on the fact it's him saying it. Lilia does his best to help, picking Cater's mind for observations of each loop and trying to make a plan. He wonders if he is even worthy of you if he cannot make a plan to save you, if you will hate him if you realize how passive he has been. No matter how many times Lilia points out that you have loved him in every life time, or that he can say he has been passive all he likes but he has been going out of his way to watch over you from the shadows, Cater refuses to accept that he is just as faultless in this as you. His smile and optimism are determined to stay gone.

Idia

So. The last time someone in his life died in front of him he turned them into a robot. While you were dying in front of him the thought of making a new Yuu did cross his mind, he almost had a stroke from how pleased he was when he woke up before orientation for a second go with all his memories in tact. Ortho is brought into the loop immediately, as is Styx. As mixed as Idia's feelings are about the family business, he recognizes this has something to do with blot and that Styx is his best bet of saving you. Chapter 6 already proved he doesn't have much... emotion about conducting experiments that deal with blot, as a method of coping with his current situation he starts to try and gamify the time loop, or view it as an experiment. He won't feel bad about imprisoning the overblot students or deciding to take the time to study Grim. Ortho is probably the one who suggests kidnapping you before Crowley can bring you back into the mirror chamber and keeping you safe... somewhere. Maybe he takes you back to Styx, maybe he just keeps you in Ignihyde with a robot child soldier guarding you at all times. He doesn't care if you hate him, well that's not true. Idia want you to love him, he wants you to play games with him just like you used to. But something in this world is trying to kill you, and until it is gone he cannot let you out of his sight; a flower that's doomed to stay in the underworld, forevermore.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #cater diamond x reader #idia shroud x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #every time i write one of these i feel like i am loading a shotgun #anyway play amnesia: memories

[lundenloves]

welcome to my projection.

i write sometimes. it’s primarily just to pass the time instead of moping around my room like a lazy bastard but hey-ho, some people seem to gravitate towards the nonsense i write. british comedies by the looks of it *hitting my chest with pride* humour me or i’ll fall into another spiral ‼️

all works listed are owned by me unless stated otherwise, do not copy or use any of my material as your own. minors do not interact. also take note that everything i write is fictional.

→ request info | taglist

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LONG DRABBLES ↓

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COMFORTABLY NUMB (dr!price au)

〔 you’re slotted right into the service of doctor john price, an elite head of division and self titled marmite character — you either love him or hate him. you personally can’t quite decide, but he knows for certain that you’re not for him. what will you do after being forced to learn under his wing? 〕

→ ¹ welcome to the nhs 3.1k | check warnings

→ first hc

DAMON ALBARN

→ platforms 120k | f!oc | 18+ | complete fic ✓

[ “I’ll show you where things are, and then you can shut up and put your head down. You work for me now.” His accent was sharp.

"I work for money, not for you." In which Amelia's already testing Monday morning is ruined even further by a certain irate man. The two automatically don't get along and soon become sick at the thought of each other. What happens when Amelia finds herself working for the enemy? ]

#masterlist

[starrylevi]

“Are you okay?” Levi asks you.

“No.”

“I know, you don’t look it. What’s wrong?”

“Everything is wrong, Levi. I’m exhausted…I wonder what it’s like to have a brain that functions the way it’s supposed to.”

His eyebrows furrow slightly. “Your brain is fine.”

“But that’s the thing, it’s not!” You say exasperatingly. “It’s wired differently and so it makes everything more difficult. I switch between three modes: Not wanting to exist, Surviving, and Beyond Surviving. Guess how much time I spend in each mode?”

Levi doesn’t say anything in response. His expression shows more concern than confusion this time.

“Fine, I’ll tell you. Most of my time is spent surviving. Some of my time is spent not wanting to exist. And just a little of my time is spent beyond suriving…what kind of life is that?”

Levi’s eyes look at you with sadness. “Not much of one, to be honest…but it’s yours and you only have one.” He counters.

“Well, I don’t even know if I want it half of the time. Y’know, someone told me that life is basically climbing mountains. You climb a mountain, which represents a challenge or obstacle, once you get to the top you enjoy the view for a moment…then you climb back down and do the same thing all over again. Rinse and repeat.”

Levi seems to identify with what you’re saying and he knows you’re frustrated right now but he needs to keep you from spiraling. He’s not letting you give up. That’s not the way. “It’s what we have to do, Y/N.” He says gently.

“And what if I don’t want to do anything? What if I don’t want to climb fucking mountains? What if I don’t want to constantly be challenged and given obstacles? What if I just want to sit at the top of the mountain and just be?”

Levi knows these feelings all too well…he’s wrestled with them a few times throughout his life but he’s continued to push through because that’s what you just do. And you’re going to do the same even if he has to do the pushing for you. You snap Levi out of his thoughts with your next statement.

“It would be so much easier if I just…”

“Stop.”

“But-“

“Stop.” He repeats sternly, his steel eyes boring into yours.

You grunt angrily. “You’re not even real, Levi!” You yell out at him. You’re not angry with him. You’re angry at the world, angry for the universe and your parents for putting you in this predicament, angry for placing you into a world that doesn’t accommodate you. “You are a 2-dimensional character I use to cope. There’s no way for you to actually soothe or help me. You. Are. Fictional.”

Your words don’t seem to phase him. He shrugs. “I’m real enough.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I’m real enough to you. Y/N. You are the one who brings me to life. You are the one who decides how real I should be. What does it matter if I’m not a real person?”

“It’s silly.”

“Who says it’s silly?”

“I don’t know, a bunch of people.”

“Well, fuck all of those people then. Just fuck them.” He states as if it’s obvious.

You sigh. “It doesn’t work that way, Levi…”

“So make it work that way. No one else is keeping you alive but yourself.”

“And you…” You say softly.

Levi shakes his head. “I don’t do anything. Like I said before, you’re the one who does the all the heavy lifting. I exist because you want me to. I function the way I do because you want me to.”

“So I control you?”

Levi rolls his eyes at that. “Don’t be a brat. What I’m saying is I’m just an outlet for you.”

You pause, thinking of his words. He’s not wrong. He’s just a character but he’s also not just a character because of you. “I wish you were real.” You admit sadly.

“I wish I were real too…for you.” He sighs as he runs a hand through his raven hair. “But it doesn’t matter if I’m real or not. I still occupy your brain. I still make you happy, that’s all that matters. As long as you let me live in your mind, I’m always going to be here for you.

You nod, not saying anything further.

“Okay?” He asks.

“Okay.”

“Good.”

#I don’t know what this is I’m just not well I’m on my period and I’m sick and I go back to work in about a day and I just feel awful #Life is SO exhausting and I’m so upset about it #I don’t even know what to title this so I’m not going to #It got a little meta because I also got upset that Levi’s not a real person #Everything’s just a hot mess #I have to laugh because if I don’t I’ll cry #Anyway sorry for this weird ass…whatever it is #As always I hope you find some comfort in it #You’re not alone #We’re all buddies here #levi #levi ackerman #levi aot #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi drabble #levi x y/n #tw: mental health #tw: sui ideation