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gguksgalaxy · 5 years

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Bulls Eye | JJK | Bottoms Up

A summer weekend isn’t complete without Jungkook coming to seek you out at your job at the beach club to bless you wish his smile. A smile that quickly fades to anger one night, when he catches your ex trying to get your attention.

›› Bottoms Up Masterlist ›› AU: Friends to Lovers ›› Genre: Smut / Fluff / Angst ›› Rating: 18+ (sexual content) ›› Pairing: JJK x Reader ›› Word Count: 9.4k Warning Include: Mild violence, swearing, minor injuries, alcohol, toxic past relationship, toxic ex, sex, fingering, cunnilingus, lots of smooching.

Jungkook: Okay but when do I finally get to meet u irl? [19:23]

You: You're legit going to see me like, tonight [19:25]

Jungkook: Meeting u when ur at work doesn't count :((( [19:34]

You: Jungkook, you see me every weekend, the entire summer [19:36]

You: How much more of me do you want to see? [19:36]

You: Nvm dont answer that [19:38]

Jungkook: Ur just scared imma beat ur ass in mario kart [19:38]

Jungkook: Ill let you win though if that means we can hang out :(( [19:40]

Jungkook: Hello? [19:45]

Jungkook: ARE YOU IGNORING ME? [19:59]

Jungkook: I am: H U R T [20:10]

You chuckle at your phone as you’re doing your make-up sitting at your vanity. Jungkook’s been like this for the short time that you’ve known him. It was a little under a year ago when he’d left his phone number on a napkin at your work. Normally you know better than to pick up random number from semi-drunk strangers but his smile had been too good to deny. That, and he had been more friendly than the normal party-goer.

From working at a beach club in the summer, you’re not unaccustomed to receiving numbers that you truly do not want.

When you met Jungkook, he was arguably a little bit tipsy, but he made no attempt at flirting with you as he dropped down onto the barstool in front of you.

You’d been dating someone, something you’d made very clear and it hadn’t mattered to him. You’d be lying to say you hadn’t been a little curious about him. He’d smiled, wide-eyes and wholeheartedly, and you might’ve been whipped ever since. So you’d taken his number under the pretence of sending him the dumb picture you’d taken of him. At his own request.

Here you are, nearly a year later and one boyfriend less. Jungkook has kept texting you but you’ve never really been sure about taking your relationship past your work. According to him, he became a regular just to see you. But it’s easier to not fall too deep in your crush as long as work is the only place you see him.

For him, it seemed to be more of a struggle. When the club closed for winter you truly had expected him to grow bored of you and stop texting. Especially because last year, you were still dating your ex. Also known as the demon who made you last autumn a living hell.

Jungkook, on the other hand, is an angel. Or well, he might be a bit of a brat from time to time but you’ll take it in stride if you get to enjoy his presence a little more. His daily texts at least.

It’s because of his sheer kindness and unabashed behaviour that your ever-growing crush developed past a small infatuation. You catch yourself smiling in the mirror just thinking about him. His sweet smile and soft lips. His sharp jawline and broad shoulders. His hands that — you really need to get your head out of the gutter.

That’s how you knew your crush had taken a … ‘bad turn’. When he’d sent you a Snapchat of his Starbucks drink and your first thought was; ‘I wonder what that hand would feel like on my body’. Or when he’d sent you a video of him working out — obviously as a joke — and all you could see what the bulging of his arm muscles.

Truly, you’re whipped for him and you’re afraid to admit it. His flirting has never passed the line of playful, it’s just there to tease you. Guys like Jungkook — caring, sweet, good-looking — don’t go for you. You’d rather keep your friendship with him, than take a risk and lose everything.

Your phone chimes again, not aiding you in your thoughts. It only makes your smile widen.

Jungkook: I will come whoop ur ass tonight if u don't text me back! [20:31]

You: Oh stop crying will you? I was getting ready [20:31]

Jungkook: Did u think about me? [20:31]

You: Jungkook, why in the lord would I be thinking bout you? [20:33]

Jungkook: Oh I dunno, cuz Im cute? cuz u love me? :(( [20:35]

You: Do I tho? [20:36]

Jungkook: D: [20:36]

You: See you in a few hours kook [20:36]

Jungkook: yiss [20:36]

The club is bustling, the air warm and humid as soon as people start to trickle in. The weather is calm, after a few rainstorms it’s good to feel the ocean breeze. It’ll be busy tonight, and you’re prepared for it.

It takes an hour or two for the club to be filled, music on blast and beer flowing like water. You’re behind the black wooden bar, dressed in a red off-shoulder blouse that hangs loosely around your frame. The dress code at work is jeans and anything red, so you invested in a pair of red sneakers just to match.

The dance floor is crowded, people moving, dancing as you mix drink after drink upon request. Cocktails are your specialisation, that is your corner of the bar. By the time your two hours in your hands are sticky with liquor.

As you’re washing your hands, you find yourself searching for that one familiar face. The fact that Jungkook is about as handsome as they come hasn’t helped you fall for him any less in the short time you let yourself. The second you stopped withholding yourself from thinking about him like that, you found yourself thinking about him like that — all of the time. To the point where you almost drunk dialled him, twice.

Truly, you hope to see him. A night at the club is not complete without Jungkook gracing you with his smile. You remember he said something about dying his hair recently, and you’re curious to see as to what he’s done.

A girl walks up to you with an order, and you’re amidst making her three cosmopolitans when Jungkook finally shows himself.

The glass almost drops out of your hand when you lay eyes on him. “Jungkook,” you stammer out.

He’s wearing a thin white t-shirt, neckline showing his collarbones that are covered in a faint sheen of sweat. The fabric clings to his chest a little, not leaving much to the imagination. He’s more muscular than you thought. You wonder if he —

“Hello, eyes up here,” he chuckles, smiling widely.

You blink at him, realising his hair is a few shades lighter than its usual black hue. It softens out his features, yet the side part reveals his forehead and makes him look more mature at the same time. The way in which he looks both sweet and sexy is odd — confusing is perhaps a better word.

“Hey,” you manage to blurt out, trying to focus on your work again. You pour the girl her drinks and garnish them with a piece of orange zest.

“Did you just get here?” you ask Jungkook.

He shakes his head. “No, I got here about an hour ago.”

“And you didn’t come say hi? I’m offended.”

He chuckles again, nose scrunching up. “Let me give you a hug as consolation?”

Your eyes widen at the request. It’s not that you haven’t hugged him before. He’s managed to ensnare you enough times when you were out collecting glasses. Though, this is the first time he’s so openly asked for it and your stomach jumps at the thought. For your own sanity, you want to protest but you find yourself unable to.

“Please? I haven’t seen you for eight months. Give a guy some love.” Jungkook cocks his head to the side, a gesture that makes his hair fall over his forehead. The light catches his eyes — you can’t say no to those eyes.

“Fine, fine,” you sigh with a roll of your eyes as you sling the towel over your shoulder.

Jungkook grins so widely you blush as he envelops you into a bone-crushing hug. He is warm, smelling like an odd mix of beer, sweat and a light perfume. Strangely, it works but you can’t help but wonder how nice he’d smell when he’s not in a club. The perfume you caught definitely matches him.

You can just withhold yourself from literally inhaling him as you rest your chin on his shoulder. His shirt is so thin that you can feel the dip of his spine as your hand grazes his back. Your stomach flutters again.

He lets go too soon, and you have to stop yourself from pouting. “The usual?” you ask.

“Yeah, Tae and Jimin are hanging out somewhere, so two beer too.” He looks over his shoulder to where he must assume his friends are. You don’t seem them, but you doubt they’d stray far. He usually comes with them, though he’s shown up alone too. Every Saturday in the summer like clockwork.

Jungkook always orders the same cocktail. You step back behind the bar as he watches you carefully. His eyes follow you as you move — you’re hyper-aware of it, but too afraid to look up and meet his gaze.

Bulls Eye is not a drink that’s order often, but you’ve started to associate it with Jungkook. As you pour the lemon juice into the shaker, you mix it with light beer, ginger ale, and some sugar. It’s stirred, not shaken. The drink is not your thing, but you’ve tried it on his recommendation. Sadly, anything with beer has a tendency to make your tastebuds cringe.

It’s poured over ice, cold in your hand at you pass it to him. “Here, not too heavy on the lemon juice.”

“You remember?”

“How could I not?”

Jungkook seems taken aback by your comment, silent for a few beats too long. He doesn’t shake out of his trance until you give him the two beers. “Thanks! The others must be wondering where I went. I’ll see you around!”

You smile at him, giving a short wave as he walks off with the drinks crammed in his hands. He turns back to look at you once before he disappears into the crowd. You hope he didn’t catch you staring.

Seeing him again — hugging him — has truly confirmed that you’re in over your head. Your heart is thrumming just from the sight of him. It’s been eight months and yet you swear he matured. The purposely odd-angled Snapchats truly didn’t do him justice.

You remember a few months ago when he’d started sharing his workouts with you. Apparently, he’d been held up by a shoulder injury, but now he was back on his regular regime. Also known as the regime where he spends most of his free time either working out of playing video games. Either of which you receive excessive clips of.

The thoughts make you chuckle. You’ve never been much of a gamer, but Jungkook's excitement about it has pushed you dangerously close to getting yourself a console. Who knows, maybe soon.

His offers to play Mario Kart with you are tempting. It’s the thought of what could happen that make you hesitate every time. The chance of this ending in shambles becomes more and more likely the deeper you fall for him. You’re not sure there even is a way out anymore.

“Hey, miss whipped!” your colleague calls out, waving a hand in front of your face.

“W-what?” You shake yourself.

She chuckles. “Legit, are you still not dating him?”

You frown. “Who? Jungkook? No, we’re not dating.”

“You’re willing to tell me that you two are out here looking at each other like you’re about to walk down the aisle and you’re not dating? Girl, get a grip, the boy’s all over you. Has been since the first time he saw you.” She’s washing out the dirty glasses, hands moving quickly.

You’re unsure of what to tell her. It’s the second year you’re working together but you wouldn’t really consider her a friend. “I’m not sure about that.”

“Wait.” She stops. “Don’t tell me you’re still dating that douche from last year? I know we’re not close but he was a dick and you need to get rid of him.”

“No, no. I broke up with him a few months ago.” You think back of your ex. Last summer when you’d taken this job he’d been displeased. But it’d worsened when he came to see you and decided that every guy who ordered from you was either flirting with you or out to take you from him. He’d always been a little possessive, but after summer he’d just crossed the line with you. Though, breaking up with him wasn’t as easy as you’d thought it’d be.

Despite him being possessive, you really thought you loved him. You didn’t want to lose him and it caused you to be stuck in an unhappy relationship for three months. Until you finally decided to cut him out — a messy breakup to be honest.

If it wasn’t for Jungkook showing you that you were so unhappy you’d still have been moping around.

“Well then,” your colleague says. “What are you waiting for? If I had a guy that hot smiling at me like I’m the sun his earth revolves around I would jump his bones any chance I got.”

“Nina!” you squeal.

“What?” she answers wide-eyed. “Oh please, you must’ve thought about it. Did you see his pecs?”

You blush furiously. “Okay! That’s enough lusting after my friend for tonight!” You push her towards the sink and get back to taking orders.

If she’d been wrong you doubt you’d be this flustered. But she’s not. You hate yourself for thinking about him like that. Jungkook’s a nice guy, he’s not out for more than a friendship. Surely he’d have said so if he was. Right?

You see Jungkook three more times that evening, each time a little more drunk and with a little bit of a wider smile. Though, when he comes to you for his fourth drink he asks for water. His t-shirt sticks to his skin and he giggles out something about needing some refreshment. You tell him to go for a swim in the sea. He replies with a wiggle of his eyebrows, asking you to join him. For skinny dipping.

You blush; your mistake. He sees right through you, eyes narrowing but no commentary following. Instead, he purposely brushes his hand against yours when you hand him his drinks — you now this because he lingers a tad too long. His gaze settles on you before he walks away and you want to blame it on the alcohol in his system but it feels like he knows.

Nina leans over to you. “Girl, your boy is giving you bedroom eyes. Are you really out here telling me he doesn’t want you?”

“Stop!” you shriek.

“Listen, it’s easy. You want him, he wants you. Nobody says you have to bed him, though I’d advise you to. He looks good.”

You roll your eyes at her again, walking into the back to get something to eat and take a breather. The night is warm, but the breeze that trickles in from the open back door is nice. You wish you could swim actually. It’s been a long time since you actually went to the ocean, even if you live so close. Life’s been busy.

When you walk into the club to collect empty glasses and bottles, you spot Jungkook. He’s with his friends, laughing and dancing without seemingly a care in the world. He doesn’t see you, but when he smiles particularly wide your own lips twitch.

You wonder whether being with Jungkook would be as bad of an idea as you thought. Being stuck in this crush for the rest of your friendship might be the end of you. He is too good to be true, yet he’s right here within reach and you’re letting him slip between your fingers.

Would kissing him be as good as you’ve imagined? Because you certainly have imagined it — his lips on yours, soft and maybe a little demanding, smiling into it even.

A hand wraps around your arm and you’re pulled around before you can truly register what happens. “Hey, babe.” You recognise the drawl of the pet name immediately. Your ex.

He smiles at you, fingers smoothing down your arm with a slight tilt of his head. His grin is glazed over with the effects of alcohol in his blood. He’s drunk, about to start something.

You take a tentative step back. “What do you want Hyunwoo?”

Instead of answering immediately, he moves closer with fingers trailing your waist. “I’m just wondering if you’ve had enough time to think? Did you realise you miss me yet?”

The scoff that slips past your lips is probably a mistake — the twist of his face shows his displeasure.

“Babe, don’t be like that. You said you needed space, didn’t I give you that?’

“No,” you spit. “That was months ago Hyunwoo. Before I broke up with you.”

He licks his lips and you hold your breath. Hyunwoo is mostly bark and, usually, no bite, but won’t hurt you but starting a scene is not past him. “People change their minds, don’t they?”

You push his hand off your hip. “Listen, you and I are done. I don’t want to be with you anymore, we don’t work. It’s better if you just leave me alone.” He’d better leave your sight soon. You’ve closed this chapter of your life and this just brings back bad memories you don’t need. Unwilling to grant him another second of your time you turn away to go back to the bar.

He grabs your hand again, pulling you against him. “Babe, come on.”

“Hyunwoo, let fucking go of me!”

Someone pushes him away from you, pulling you back.

“I think you need to back off,” Jungkook snarls suddenly from beside you. Hyunwoo reaches for you but Jungkook stops him with a shove. “I said back off man.” His voice is laced with anger and when you finally gather yourself enough to look up at him you’re surprised to see the furious look on his face.

Jungkook’s eyes are dark, brows set — it’s almost scary.

Your ex merely scoffs. “Who the fuck do you think you are, kid?”

“Someone who’ll treat her much better than you ever did. Now fuck off before I rearrange your teeth.”

The way Jungkook speaks is so out of character, you barely recognise him. Never have you heard him this angry over anything — it’s pure disgust coming out of his mouth. You suppose he’s never liked Hyunwoo, but you sure hope he can keep his hands to himself.

“Jungkook,” you try, touching his arm that’s coiled tight.

“I cared for her when no-one would and what?” Hyunwoo’s eyes run up and down Jungkook’s body. “She cheats on me with a highschooler.”

Jungkook scoffs. “You call isolating her from her friends, caring?” He steps towards Hyunwoo with a puffed-out chest. Your attempt to pull him back by his shirt only fails. “She didn’t cheat on you, have a little self-respect and leave her alone.”

“Self-respect? She’s the one going around fucking randoms.”

“That’s it,” Jungkook barks, shoving him back two steps. “You manipulative fuck, you have thre—“

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Hyunwoo’s fist connects with his cheek.

“Jungkook!” you exclaim, but he doesn’t hear you. Instead, he retaliates before you can do anything. Jungkook hits him back and you flinch upon the impact. You’re nailed to your spot as you watch Jungkook’s fist collide with his face again, not even stumbling. Everything around you slows down, you try to pull at Jungkook’s shirt, call his name, but he keeps pushing Hyunwoo further back.

“Stop!” you yell. People around you take notice, and someone tries to pull you back as Hyunwoo tackles Jungkook to the ground. He hits him in the face again and you cry out.

Suddenly, two security guards rush in. They just manage to stop Hyunwoo from hitting Jungkook again. Jungkook scrambles up from the floor and wipes the blood from his mouth as the guards force Hyunwoo out of the club. He yells something you can’t hear over the thumping of your heart.

Jungkook pushes at the third guard that comes for him, swaying on his feet.

“Hey!” you splutter out. The man from security recognises you, stopping with a firm grip on Jungkook’s upper arm. “It’s alright, he was protecting me. I’ll take him outside.”

“Are you certain miss?” He gives Jungkook a sceptical look. One of Jungkook’s eyes is watering, and there’s a bit of blood running from his nose.

You nod. “Yeah, I’ll get him some ice and send him on his way.” Jungkook is rubbing a hand over his eye, and you shakily grab his elbow to stop him. You look around, hoping to find Jimin or Taehyung so they can take him home, but they’re nowhere to be found. “Let's go.” Your voice falters, laced with nerves as you try to steady your own legs.

Jungkook sets his jaw. You shove him forward but he won’t budge. “Go Jungkook, to the bar.” Your legs feel like lead, body heavy with what just happened. He grumbles something when he finally starts walking to the front. The fear of what could’ve happened to him won’t stop running circles through your mind.

You guide him behind the bar and Nina perks up at the sight of him. “What happened?!”

“He punched my ex in the face,” you scoff.

She shoots Jungkook an approving look. “Good riddance.”

“Listen,” you say, grabbing a glass full of ice. “I can’t find his friends so I’m taking him to mine. Will you guys be okay without me?” Jungkook’s slumped against the bar behind you, still not having said a word.

Nina nods. “Yeah, you look pretty shaken up yourself. We’ll be fine. Do you need me to call a cab?”

You shake your head. “It’s okay. I don’t live far.”

Jungkook huffs at you when you sit him down on a chair in the back. He really overstepped himself, and you want to be angry at him for making a scene at your work. But then again, he wasn’t the one who started throwing punches and the fact that he did it to protect you…you can’t just get mad. He could’ve gotten so much worse, you’re just glad he’s okay.

“Wait here.” You shuffle around the cabinets to find a washcloth and dump the ice in there, trying it up and giving it to him. “Here, for your cheek.”

He doesn’t take it, he just keeps rubbing his eye and blinking aggressively. “I think I’ve something in my eye.”

You sigh, slapping away at his hand from his face and tipping his head back into the light. “I think you just have a serious case of stupid.” Surprisingly, he lets you examine his eye, gently rubbing the skin under it. “It looks fine, just stop rubbing it.”

Jungkook blinks up at you. “Thanks.”

“Where are Jimin and Taehyung?”

He frowns, trying to think. “Uh…I think they were going out for food. I was going to join them after I said bye to you when I saw — what’s his name — talking to you.”

“Okay, well…I live one subway station away. I have a spare mattress, you can stay over for tonight. Come on.” You pull Jungkook up and he stumbles but manages to stop himself from completely falling over. He’s less drunk than you thought, probably just shaken up like you are. You’re not sure if he’s hurt past bruising, but at least his nose has stopped bleeding. At home, you’ll get to take a better look.

You exit through the back door, grabbing your coat and bag and pushing Jungkook towards the subway. He doesn’t say much, on his way there, just silently holds the ice against his face — it’s not going to last long in these temperatures.

You think back, the way that Hyunwoo went from nothing to full-on fist fighting within seconds. It flashes before your eye — Jungkook on the floor under him. Though he too had seemed pretty adamant on giving Hyunwoo a permanent facial.

Once you reach the station Jungkook grabs your hand, ice-cold and wet. You look up at him, his cheek red and a little swollen. “You okay?”

He looks at his feet. “I’m sorry.”

You sigh, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay, let’s just go to my place.” When the train arrives you realise his nose is bleeding again, and motion for him to hold the washcloth up.

Jungkook looks defeated as he sits down next to you. It takes him two entire seconds to lean into your side and nod off. His hair smells nice like he washed it just before he went out. It’s soft, floral maybe even.

As you sit here next to him you realise his hand is still loosely encasing yours, laying in your lap. You never expected Jungkook to just protect you like that. The way Hyunwoo just attacked him, you just hope that he really doesn’t have anything aside from a future bruise. The thought of Jungkook getting hurt because of you is not something you think you can stomach. Even if your ex totally deserved it — maybe you should’ve seen it coming. After all, it had been Jungkook who’d shown you that you deserved better.

When he nuzzles his cheek into your shoulder you realise that better might be him after all. Jungkook has always offered you warmth, a shoulder to cry and lean on.

You gently shake him awake at your stop, and he blushes when he opens his eyes to see you so close. It’s endearing, and you find yourself no longer caring to hide your feelings. You brush the hair out of his face. “We’re here,” you whisper.

Jungkook stumbles after you, sleepily dragging himself up the stairs where he bumps into you again. He’s finally stopped rubbing his eye but it remains a little red. You push him ahead when he wavers and spot scuff marks and a cut on his elbow. It’s worse than he’s letting on.

“Kook, you’re bleeding.” You stop him, twisting his arm to look at it. It doesn’t look to deep and you sigh in relief. The way you’d pulled him has him close to you, almost nose to nose when you look up. “A-are you okay?”

He nods slightly, eyes skimming over your face.

“Okay, we’re almost there.”

Your stomach keeps twisting with the realisation that he got hurt because of you. If it hadn’t been for the guards…Jungkook he’s more than just a friend to you. Even if you never hung out, the steady presence in his life is so important to you. You don’t want to imagine it without him. He texts you almost every day if he can, and maybe it was a good place to start. You feel that you know him as you watch him slump against the wall of the elevator. He knows you. There was nothing physical before you fell.

Jungkook hesitates on your doorstep, looks inside the hall as if something is going to jump out at him.

“Get inside Kook.” You look at him over your shoulder. “I’m going to get a warm towel and some stuff to clean the cuts on your elbows and we—“

You’re muffled by Jungkook pulling you into a hug. Your heart jumps as your cheek is pressed against his chest while he holds you. The washcloth is cold against your back where he still holds it. He rests his chin on top of your head, holding you tight. His chest is warm, and you find yourself pressing even closer — you want to feel this forever. He holds you as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Tears sting the corners of your eyes as you wrap your arms around his waist. All the tension releasing itself it seems. “Kook.”

“I’m sorry, okay. I just — I saw him grabbing you and I saw how uncomfortable you were. All I could think of was protecting you and I should’ve stayed out of it. I only made it worse and I — I can’t imagine what you must think of me now. I got so angry, I didn’t know what I was saying.”

What you think of him? If only he knew.

He presses his nose into your hair, his next words muffled. “Please forgive me.”

Forgive him? That was never a question on your mind, you were never mad at him. Maybe a little upset, but it was nothing he’d need your forgiveness for. Not in your eyes. You’re more upset about him getting hurt than anything else.

“It’s alright. Just sit down so I can make sure you’re okay.”

He hums and affirmative into your hair and plops himself down on the chair after. You quickly return from the bathroom with a clean towel and some antiseptic. Jungkook sits slouched forward a little, it makes him seem smaller than he really is — cuter. There’s still some blood running from his nose and by the small stains on his fingers you know he’s been rubbing it.

“You’ve got to stop touching your nose,” you mumble. “You’re going to get blood all over the place.” You fill a glass with water for him to drink, and knock your knee against his as a gesture. He parts his legs so you can get a closer look at his face.

“Squeeze the bridge of your nose and lean forward.”

“Everyone always says backwards.”

“Forward, Jungkook. And give me your hand.” You grab his free hand and twist it up. This way you get a good look at whatever caught his arm. The cut shallow, mostly dried by now. “You know,” you drawl as you gently clean the wound. “You really shouldn’t do stupid shit like that.”

You clean away the blood from his arm and fingers. He’s shockingly pliable in your grip. “You could’ve really gotten hurt Jungkook.”

“I wouldn’t have let him,” he answers nasally, still leaning forward.

“I’m serious, Hyunwoo would’ve ripped you to shreds.” Jungkook’s other arm is less wounded, but you clean it anyway.

He winces a little when you twist his wrist to check the cut again. “Do I look like I’m going to let an asshole like him just talk to you like that?”

You remove his hand from his nose, tipping his head back to clean his face too. His hand is warm and you find yourself wishing you could hold it for longer. “Still, you can’t just do stuff like that because you care about me. You don’t have to prove it.”

Jungkook grabs your hand again, pulling it away from his face so roughly you gasp and drop the towel to the floor. “Care about you?” he snorts. “You think I did that because I just care about you?” A soft chuckle leaves his lips as he shakes his head. “I don’t know if I haven’t made it obvious enough but…I wake up and go to sleep thinking about you.”

You stare at him, standing between his legs in the light from your kitchen. Jungkook looks at you with so much determination you’re unable to move or even speak. Was that a confession? You purse your lips together.

He sighs deeply. “All I think about is wanting to wake up next to you and make you breakfast and you think I care about you. You’re a fool.”

A fool for him. “Kiss me,” you whisper.

He falters — stops with parted lips and a change of gaze that is so gentle you’re not sure if he heard you properly.

You shake your hand from his grip and place both on his shoulders, leaning in close enough to touch noses. He hiccups, tiny breath puffing out against your lips. You smile. “I said, kiss me fool.”

He needs to hear no more. His lips come up for yours like he’s coming up for air after a long time starved. Jungkook kisses with fervour, gently but with purpose and you sigh into him. You’ve thought about this for so long and it surpasses all your expectations. Your legs dare buckle at the first graze of his teeth against your bottom lip.

Jungkook catches you, manoeuvring you into his lap and taking advantage of your gasp to deepen the kiss. You moan, surprising even yourself, but the sound he lets out in return is worth it. His hands paw at your hips, sliding under your top to touch your skin after yearning for so long. Everywhere he touches, every little sound you make — it’s like it sets him free. He grows bolder with every move.

Every swipe of his tongue into your mouth is devilish, a stark contrast with his previous words. This beats all imagination. Jungkook is too good to be true. His kiss is a little inexperienced, a little experimental, but you take it in stride because he is so eager.

You want him. “Jungkook,” you moan into his mouth that is parted against yours. He pants heavily, hands played out over your back to keep you against him. You feel steadied by him — you need it when he ruts his hips up into yours without warning.

He’s not hard yet but God you’re already feeling the pleasure pool in your own stomach and you don’t want him to stop. You kiss him even deeper, tongue wet and warm and so good. “Fuck.”

Jungkook pulls at your hips and when you settle over his lap properly, you feel him. The jeans-on-jeans contact doesn’t do much for you but the sheer thought of having him underneath you is your undoing. He breaks the kiss to lather kisses down your neck. Open-mouthed and with a little tongue, your fists tighten into his shirt when he grazes his teeth over your pulse point.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he speaks into your skin. His nose is pressed against your neck, paused to take you in. As if time is going too fast.

You can’t blame him, you would stay like this forever if you could. It’s the burning between your legs that won’t let you. “Don’t stop.”

He laughs, a puff of warm air that fans out over your chest. When he looks up at you his eyes are darker, the stars in them dimmed to dusk. “Are you sure?”

“Jungkook,” you whine, grinding your hips over his. He stutters and you grin at the feeling of his hardening dick. “I’m already on the verge of soaking through my jeans — yes, I’m sure.”

Strangely, his cheeks flush at your commentary but it doesn’t faze him in the slightest. He kisses back up to your mouth, claiming it as his and kissing you with a little more ease. It’s as if he already learned from two minutes ago. He slows down, hands ghosting all the way down your mode to squeeze at your thighs.

You gyrate your hips, circling him until you’re certain he must be uncomfortable in those tight jeans. Yet, he seems more than satisfied just occupied with your mouth. You could kiss him for days, but you’re so frazzled by him you have to come up for air. Everything he does makes it hard for you to function, and he sniggers as you nuzzle along his jaw to kiss softly at his neck.

“You good?” he muses, fingers combing through your hair.

“Hmm, perfect.”

“Can I eat you out?”

You frown, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. Did you hear him right? Did he ask to eat you out — as if it is the most normal question in the world? As if he just asked you if you like pancakes. You do, and the thought of having his mouth on you…“If you want to.”

“If I want to,” he mocks. Without any warning, Jungkook hauls you up and you squeal when you tip over backwards. You cling to him, gripping at his back and making his shirt ride up. “If I want to, she asks me. I’ve been thinking about it for months — yes I want to.”

Jungkook deposits you on the kitchen table and you‘re not willing to let him go just yet. You seek out his mouth again, warm and comfortable and your kiss-swollen lips want nothing more than his for the rest of the night. Yet, you can already see the sun rising through the curtains behind him.

“I thought about it too.” Your words get muffled with the kiss but you know he hears you from the groan he lets out. A sound that vibrates in his chest — his chest which you feel rise and fall beneath your fingers. He is muscular, and your mouth waters at the thought of seeing him. “Take your shirt off first.”

He obeys, pulling the white material off with one hand. You marvel at him once he’s shirtless, fingers seeking out his skin and trailing down his abs. They’re defined in the best way, just enough for you to feel them move under your touch as his breath hitches. Jungkook really is gorgeous and you find yourself kissing down his chest.

“Hey, hey,” he chuckles again, stopping your fingers that had slipped down to the buttons of his jeans. “I’m eating you out first, so hands off and back on the table.”

You raise your eyebrows at his half-assed command, a snicker on the edge of your lips. “Oh?”

“I said,” he grins, coming nose-to-nose with you. “On your back.”

You stomach flutters but you listen as he parts your legs. The table is cold against your back and it’s not an unwelcome contrast against Jungkook’s hands sliding up your now spread thighs. He squeezes your flesh and you can’t help but thrust your hips up with a whine. “Kook.”

“Impatient are we? Lift your hips for me.” He pops the button of your jeans and slides them down as you lift. There’s a bit of a struggle shucking them off your legs but it brings some laughter when he finally manages. “Damn tight jeans.”

You huff, still on your back. “You’re one to speak, I can practically see your dick outlined from here.”

Jungkook brushes your shirt up a little to kiss right under your belly button — your stomach dips at the soft touch. “It’s fine right where it is. For now, I wanna know what you like.” He waits for your answer, ticking off the time with little kisses and nips around your hip-bones that make you whine in the back of your throat.

“I — I don’t know?”

He looks up with a frown. “He really sucked didn’t he?”

“Well technically, he didn’t… “ You bite your lips in shame.

Jungkook rolls his eyes at you. “You can guide me as I go then.” He resumes his kisses down your stomach, sucking the faintest bruises on top of your thigh. “I want to make you feel good.”

You nod, laying back and enjoying the feeling of just him. The brush of his fingers as he hooks his thumbs into your underwear, the press of his lips to your skin. It seems like he’s mapping you out, tracing your sweetest spots as he pulls off your panties. The cold skin hits you and you shiver.

The first brush of his lips is tantalising, you hold your breath. It’s not a feeling your unaccustomed too but that it’s him is enough to undo you at the first touch. He spreads your folds, a little hesitantly. The tremble in his fingers gives him away and you fight the urge to lean up and look at him. “Keep going.”

He hums, breath warm against your mound. You can feel him staring and it’s exposing, but you can’t close your legs with his shoulders spreading you apart. Jungkook kisses your clit and your muscles tense, again and again until he licks and you let out a soft cry. He has the nerve to smile against you. The pull of his lips is obvious against your core and you lick yours in anticipation.

For a bit, he keeps at it like that, gently licking your bud until you’re certain you're going to break your toes from curling. “I need more,” you whimper. He obliges, wrapping his lips around the bundle of nerves and suckling. It’s tender but so so good and the little breathy moan he lets out when you tangle your fingers in his hair echoes through your core. You sigh, it’s heavenly. He’s patient, taking his time to learn you — unfold you — as you urge him on bit by bit.

His hair is silky smooth between your fingers and you pull lightly. “A little more to the — ah — left — yes!” you cry, head thudding against the wooden surface. You’re moving so much Jungkook has to slide your back up the table a little. His mouth picks up, figuring out what makes you scream and using just that against you. Your stomach is tingling and you’re moaning without shame now.

“Fingers?” he mumbles, looking up at you through his lashes. The sight of his head between your legs, lips shining, eyes dark — it’s too much.

“Yes, gently.”

He chuckles against you again, a little chiming sound as he circles your entrance with the tip of his finger. “Relax,” he whispers, other hand coming down to press your hips to the table. “I’ve got you.” When he slides in you feel every knuckle and you practically suck him in. You’re so wet it takes him little effort to wriggle in another finger. He starts up a slow pace, kidding your thigh in random intervals as he observes your reaction. You can feel his unwavering gaze on you. “Good?”

“Yeah, just — don’t stop.”

“More?”

“N - No. Ah.” You gasp when he curls his fingers up and deeper. He’s so attentive you’re certain he needs no more verbal affirmatives. Right now you’re putty in his hands, shaking and trembling for him. His fingers glide along your walls, rubbing until you clench him tightly. “Jungkook,” you moan.

He knows. He knows because he starts sucking on your clit again like no tomorrow and it’s enough to make you feel the edge of your orgasm. It builds with his movements, tight, languid, just right — you come hard and he edges you through it until you twitching in his grasp. He keeps his fingers inside of you until you finally open your eyes to look at him.

Then, he withdraws them and sucks them clean. His eyes are even darker if that was possible. You know he isn’t done with you yet.

Your chest heaves as you try to grasp reality again. Jungkook looks ravished, standing between your limp, parted legs with two fingers in his mouth. His hair is a mess, right side sticking up from where you’d gripped it so hard. You open your mouth to say something, but it dies on your tongue.

“Are you still with me?”

“Yeah,” you pant, running your fingers through your hair. “When you said you were gonna make me breakfast, this was not what I thought you meant."

Jungkook laughs, lips spreading into a gorgeous smile as he grabs your hands to pull you up. You come chest to chest, mouth to mouth. His tongue parts your lips and you keen at the taste of yourself in his mouth, arms winding around his neck. Your legs wrap around his waist, coarse material of his jeans rubbing against your sensitive centre. Jungkook’s chest is sticky with sweat already and the muscles in his back dance under your fingertips as you caress them.

He is so good, touching every inch of your body while he takes his time kissing you. There are groans dying in the back of his throat and you can feel the twitch in his hips when he brushes against you. Your hand snakes down his chest to his jeans, palming and drawing a curse from him. You trace the outlines of his cock and he caves, forehead falling to yours.

“God please tell me you have condoms because I’m not done with you yet.”

You don’t want him to be. You’re getting wet again just at the thought of having him inside of you. From what he’s shown — from what you can feel right now — he’s not going to disappoint. “In the bedroom.”

He lifts you up, legs around his waist and his hands on your bare ass. With a grunt, he squeezes, manoeuvring you to the bedroom with your guidance that is drowned out in a kiss. You yelp when he bumps you into the corner and he soothes it with a soft caress, laughter erupting from the both of you. He presses you against the wall and you notice the skin of his left cheek is warm. A hiss passes his lips when you grace it.

You pull away to look at him, brushing his hair away from his face. His cheek is swelling a little but the lustful look in his eyes is enough for you to continue. Kissing him, you lightly pull the hair at the nape of his neck. He likes it, you note.

Jungkook lowers you down to the best, carefully so as he lays himself over you. “Take off your top,” he whispers, sitting up on the bed to undo his own jeans. You slide the fabric off your body, discarding it haphazardly along with your bra. He sits and you sling your legs over his lap as you push him back into the covers.

“What — ah.” He sighs deeply as you start kissing down his chest, fingers grazing his nipples. Jungkook is so pliant, chest heaving underneath you as you crawl down his body. He’s straining against his boxers and you appraise his self-control. “Baby,” he drawls, fingers carding through your hair as your lips stop at the edge of his underwear.

You chuckle, teeth nipping at his skin before you draw his boxers down slowly. His cock slaps up against his stomach, the tip wet with precum that had stained his underwear. You curse at the sight of him, fingers coming up to wrap around the base.

He stops you before you can get your mouth on him, hand around your wrist. “Fuck I — I want to come inside of you. Another time.” His breathing is laboured and his flushed state somewhat cute as he looks at you between his legs.

Yet, you can’t argue with him, you do want him inside of you. Sooner rather than later. You crawl back over him to kiss him more, hips settling over his dick. So heavenly, that first skin on skin contact. Both of you moan, heads thrown back as you rub him up and down, wet with your juices now.

“Stop,” he whines. “I really, really want to fuck you.”

You let him flip you over, your back pressed into the mattress. Jungkook’s muscles stand outlined by the faint light in the room, twisting as he reaches for you. His skin is soft and warm and you want to feel it, everywhere.

“Condoms?” he asks again.

“Drawer.” You point and he reaches beside him to retrieve a packet and throw it onto the bed. It seems that neither he not you can get enough of kissing. The soft nudge of him against your thigh is a reminder of what’s about to come.

You’ve fantasised about this so often you should be ashamed. But what can you do when Jungkook looks like half a god, half an angel all the time. You want him to ravish you, to make you his, now.

He falters as you touch him between your legs, stroking him and fumbling to find the condom. “Here,” he grabs it and wastes no time ripping it open. You help him roll it on, eyes trained on the way he twitches at the feeling. He’s hot and heavy in your hand as you guide him down to your entrance. Jungkook has other ideas however, because he pulls your hand away from him to secure it above your head.

You whine when he nudges his tip against your folds but leaves it at that. “Jungkook!”

“I know, fuck, I know. I just — you know this is not just about sex right?” His eyes lighten, brow smoothing out as he searches your yes.

You trace the seam of his lips with a sigh. “I do, but you can tell me everything over breakfast. Actual breakfast. Right now, I really want your dick inside of me, please.”

He smiles, capturing your lips as he presses closer. You feel him collect your wetness, teasing your clit with the tip of his cock. The anticipation gets to you and you fingers slide over his back to pull him closer. His chest brushes yours when he gently kisses down your neck.

The first breach of him stings, and you tighten your legs around his waist. It’s been so long, but it’s so good and you moan at the stretch of him filling you up slowly. You hiss at the delicious burn — Jungkook hears it and withdraws so quickly you yelp. “Hey!” you splutter, pulling him back to you.

“Was I hurting you?” His eyes are wide with concern.

You snicker. “You’re not that big Jungkook, get a grip.”

He whines. “I’m serious!”

“Silly,” you grin, kissing his cheek. “It was good. It’s just been a while, go slow hmm?”

He nods, pushing back in hesitantly. His eyes won’t leave yours, making sure that you’re feeling good. And boy are you feeling good. The way he stretches you is so delicious you can barely keep your eyes open. When his hips are flush with yours he moans, fingers of one hand tightening around your waist. His bottom lip is drawn between his teeth, brow furrowed in concentration.

“You feel so good,” you whisper hotly.

His cheeks heat up and you can’t help but find it endearing. He’s balls deep inside of you and he still manages to be cute and you love it. It’s uncharacteristically him and —

“Oh,” you gasp when he withdraws a little and pushes back in.

He feels so good, the press of his hips against yours every time he bottoms out. Your nails press into his shoulders, keening at the smooth slide of him inside of you. Jungkook moans, a sweet little sound he tries to hold in.

You touch his face, making his eyes snap up at you again. “I want to hear you,” you say.

“Fuck.” He shifts his legs under you. With a new-found goal he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and he all but folds you in half as he slides even deeper. “God, you’re so tight.” His voice strains as he starts up again, a steady in and out that has you building up fast.

Jungkook keeps thrusting, making sure you feel his hips on yours every time. A tiny little pause to feel himself fully inside of you and it makes him reach so deep your toes curl.

“Faster,” you moan.

He picks up his pace, groaning into your skin as he does. You try to meet his thrusts. His chest vibrates with his moans, they’re delicious and beautiful and you can’t get enough of it — enough of him. The way he draws out and pushes back in has you clenching him tightly, especially when he grazes that spot inside of you. He lurches forward at the feeling.

“There,” you moan, “right there.” He zeroes in, pulling out all the way and slamming back in with so much force you scream his name. Your mouth falls open as he leans up and starts a punishing pace. He’s relentless now what you like, fingers scrambling to get a touch of your chest. A tweak of your nipple, a squeeze of your breast — he gets it all the while you’re coming apart around him.

“Tell me,” he groans after a particularly hard thrust. “When was the last time you were fucked properly.”

You whine, shaking your head. “Haven’t — ah — so long — you’re doing so good — don’t stop.” Your sentences are broken with every thrust of him inside of you. Your tipping closer to the edge, yet not close enough. It’s been months since you’ve had anything and this is almost too much, you’re paralysed with pleasure.

He laps up your neck, supporting himself on one hand. “Nobody? For that long? Fuck, that’s why you’re so tight.” His words are muffled against the hot skin of your throat as he bites down and soothes the sting with his tongue.

“All I wanted was you.”

He snickers, pace not faltering as he kisses you again. It’s hot and open-mouthed and sloppy as his tongue seeks out yours. You’re overwhelmed with him. He seems to get deeper with every thrust, every sound he makes sending a shiver down your spine.

“I’m close,” he groans. “You?”

You suck the pads of your pointer and middle finger into your mouth — his eyes darken upon the sight. All you need is the slick slide of your own fingers against your clit, quick circles to get you on that edge. “Wanna feel you come,” you whine. “Please.”

Jungkook doesn’t stop, he pushes your leg even closer to your chest and watches you rub yourself as his dick disappears inside of you over and over again. Your stomach is tightening, walls clenching him in tightly.

His hips stutter, falling back over you as he comes undone with a deep groan. The feeling of him twitching against your walls is enough to give you that last push. You shudder apart around him, clenching down hard with eyes rolling back into your head. It seems to last forever as he holds you, gently rolling his hips to ride out his peak with you.

You’re both panting, still entangled as you come down. His hair sticks to his forehead, sweat dripping down his neck and your fingers slip on his skin. You’re stuck to the sheets, looking up at his ravished form as you feel him soften inside of you.

A foreign feeling erupts in your chest as he kisses you softly, just once. A small peck that makes you want to giggle with the overflow of feelings.

Jungkook pulls out carefully, and you know that you’re going to be sore tomorrow. He soothes your skin, rubbing your thigh before letting it down from over his shoulder. It’s so sweet, the way he looks at you and asks you if you’re okay.

You laugh at him, startling him a little. “To be blunt with you. I’ve never came that hard from sex and I want to do it again.”

He scrunches up his nose but blushes regardless. “Again?”

“Again.” You confirm with a yawn.

Jungkook discards the condom, pulling the soiled sheet from under you as you point him towards a clean one in your dresser. He drapes it over the both of you as he settles down beside your still numb form. You can’t believe he made you come so hard that you’re still seeing stars now.

You snuggle into his side despite the warmth of the early morning. “Your cheek’s going to bruise.”

“Worth it,” he grins. “We should’ve done this much sooner. “

“I agree.” You kiss the cusp of his shoulders, drawing tiny little patterns on his chest where his heart beats quickly.

Jungkook shifts, looking at you with hopeful eyes. “So?”

“So?”

“What now?” He bites his lip.

You giggle as you realise his shyness. “Is this your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?”

A small kiss is pressed to the tip of your nose. “Maybe,” he whispers. “If you want to.”

“Well…” You trail a finger down his stomach. “Maybe I do.”

“Maybe?”

You lean up, kissing him firmly, just once. “Definitely.”

Special thanks to: @lapysllazuly @jeonkookd @bubypjm @sunshineangelhobi

Let me know if you guys liked it! <3

@mooniva @flowerymoonlight @lunyua @chimycthulhu @lilacdreams-00 @biblionerd @nininek12 @mrcleanheichou @pakovahayhuha @burgeoninggirl @faithsummers11 @angeltothecore @burntrain @ylevolretsnom01 @lachicayolo @cvbachacbitch @kxkth @d-noona @thethiathang Sorry to those who I couldn't tag <3

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aaknopf · 4 years

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Today we present a preview of a major new biography of Sylvia Plath, Red Comet, coming this fall. Through committed investigative scholarship, Heather Clark is able to offer the most extensively researched and nuanced view yet of a poet whose influence grows with each new generation of readers. Clark is the first biographer to draw upon all of Plath's surviving letters, including fourteen newly discovered letters Plath sent to her psychiatrist in 1961-63, and to draw extensively on her unpublished diaries, calendars, and poetry manuscripts. She is also the first to have had full, unfettered access to Ted Hughes's unpublished diaries and poetry manuscripts, allowing her to present a balanced and humane view of this remarkable creative marriage (and its unravelling) from both sides. She is able to present significant new findings about Plath's whereabouts and her state of health on the weekend leading up to her death. With these and many other "firsts," Clark's approach to Plath is to chart the course of this brilliant poet's development, highlighting her literary and intellectual growth rather than her undoing. Here, we offer a passage from Clark's prologue to the biography, followed by lines from one of Plath's celebrated "bee poems."

from Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath

The Oxford professor Hermione Lee, Virginia Woolf’s biographer, has written, “Women writers whose lives involved abuse, mental-illness, self-harm, suicide, have often been treated, biographically, as victims or psychological case-histories first and as professional writers second.” This is especially true of Sylvia Plath, who has become cultural shorthand for female hysteria. When we see a female character reading The Bell Jar in a movie, we know she will make trouble. As the critic Maggie Nelson reminds us, “to be called the Sylvia Plath of anything is a bad thing.” Nelson reminds us, too, that a woman who explores depression in her art isn’t perceived as “a shamanistic voyager to the dark side, but a ‘madwoman in the attic,’ an abject spectacle.” Perhaps this is why Woody Allen teased Diane Keaton for reading Plath’s seminal collection Ariel in Annie Hall. Or why, in the 1980s, a prominent reviewer cracked his favorite Plath joke as he reviewed Plath’s Pulitzer Prize–winning Collected Poems: “ ‘Why did SP cross the road?’ ‘To be struck by an oncoming vehicle.’ ” Male writers who kill themselves are rarely subject to such black humor: there are no dinner-party jokes about David Foster Wallace.

Since her suicide in 1963, Sylvia Plath has become a paradoxical symbol of female power and helplessness whose life has been subsumed by her afterlife. Caught in the limbo between icon and cliché, she has been mythologized and pathologized in movies, television, and biographies as a high priestess of poetry, obsessed with death. These distortions gained momentum in the 1960s when Ariel was published. Most reviewers didn’t know what to make of the burning, pulsating metaphors in poems like “Lady Lazarus” or the chilly imagery of “Edge.” Time called the book a “jet of flame from a literary dragon who in the last months of her life breathed a burning river of bale across the literary landscape.” The Washington Post dubbed Plath a “snake lady of misery” in an article entitled “The Cult of Plath.” Robert Lowell, in his introduction to Ariel, characterized Plath as Medea, hurtling toward her own destruction.

Recent scholarship has deepened our understanding of Plath as a master of performance and irony. Yet the critical work done on Plath has not sufficiently altered her popular, clichéd image as the Marilyn Monroe of the literati. Melodramatic portraits of Plath as a crazed poetic priestess are still with us. Her most recent biographer called her “a sorceress who had the power to attract men with a flash of her intense eyes, a tortured soul whose only destiny was death by her own hand.” He wrote that she “aspired to transform herself into a psychotic deity.” These caricatures have calcified over time into the popular, reductive version of Sylvia Plath we all know: the suicidal writer of The Bell Jar whose cultish devotees are black-clad young women. (“Sylvia Plath: The Muse of Teen Angst,” reads the title of a 2003 article in Psychology Today.) Plath thought herself a different kind of “sorceress”: “I am a damn good high priestess of the intellect,” she wrote her friend Mel Woody in July 1954.

Elizabeth Hardwick once wrote of Sylvia Plath, “when the curtain goes down, it is her own dead body there on the stage, sacrificed to her own plot.” Yet to suggest that Plath’s suicide was some sort of grand finale only perpetuates the Plath myth that simplifies our understanding of her work and her life. Sylvia Plath was one of the most highly educated women of her generation, an academic superstar and perennial prizewinner. Even after a suicide attempt and several months at McLean Hospital, she still managed to graduate from Smith College summa cum laude. She was accepted to graduate programs in English at Columbia, Oxford, and Radcliffe and won a Fulbright Fellowship to Cambridge, where she graduated with high honors. She was so brilliant that Smith asked her to return to teach in their English department without a PhD. Her mastery of English literature’s past and present intimidated her students and even her fellow poets. In Robert Lowell’s 1959 creative writing seminar, Plath’s peers remembered how easily she picked up on obscure literary allusions. “ ‘It reminds me of Empson,’ Sylvia would say . . . ‘It reminds me of Herbert.’ ‘Perhaps the early Marianne Moore?’ ” Later, Plath made small talk with T. S. Eliot and Stephen Spender at London cocktail parties, where she was the model of wit and decorum.

Very few friends realized that she struggled with depression, which revealed itself episodically. In college, she aced her exams, drank in moderation, dressed sharply, and dated men from Yale and Amherst. She struck most as the proverbial golden girl. But when severe depression struck, she saw no way out. In 1953, a depressive episode led to botched electroshock therapy sessions at a notorious asylum. Plath told her friend Ellie Friedman that she had been led to the shock room and “electrocuted.” “She told me that it was like being murdered, it was the most horrific thing in the world for her. She said, ‘If this should ever happen to me again, I will kill myself.’ ” Plath attempted suicide rather than endure further tortures.

In 1963, the stressors were different. A looming divorce, single motherhood, loneliness, illness, and a brutally cold winter fueled the final depression that would take her life. Plath had been a victim of psychiatric mismanagement and negligence at age twenty, and she was terrified of depression’s “cures,” as she wrote in her last letter to her psychiatrist—shock treatment, insulin injections, institutionalization, “a mental hospital, lobotomies.” It is no accident that Plath killed herself on the day she was supposed to enter a British psychiatric ward.

Sylvia Plath did not think of herself as a depressive. She considered herself strong, passionate, intelligent, determined, and brave, like a character in a D. H. Lawrence novel. She was tough-minded and filled her journal with exhortations to work harder—evidence, others have said, of her pathological, neurotic perfectionism. Another interpretation is that she was—like many male writers—simply ambitious, eager to make her mark on the world. She knew that depression was her greatest adversary, the one thing that could hold her back. She distrusted psychiatry—especially male psychiatrists—and tried to understand her own depression intellectually through the work of Fyodor Dostoevsky, Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung, Virginia Woolf, Thomas Mann, Erich Fromm, and others. Self-medication, for Plath, meant analyzing the idea of a schizoid self in her honors thesis on The Brothers Karamazov.

Bitter experience taught her how to accommodate depression—exploit it, even—in her art. “There is an increasing market for mental-hospital stuff. I am a fool if I don’t relive, or recreate it,” she wrote in her journal. The remark sounds trite, but her writing on depression was profound. Her own immigrant family background and experience at McLean gave her insight into the lives of the outcast. Plath would fill her late work, sometimes controversially, with the disenfranchised—women, the mentally ill, refugees, political dissidents, Jews, prisoners, divorcées, mothers. As she matured, she became more determined to speak out on their behalf. In The Bell Jar, one of the greatest protest novels of the twentieth century, she probed the link between insanity and repression. Like Allen Ginsberg’s Howl, the novel exposed a repressive Cold War America that could drive even the “best minds” of a generation crazy. Are you really sick, Plath asks, or has your society made you so? She never romanticized depression and death; she did not swoon into darkness. Rather, she delineated the cold, blank atmospherics of depression, without flinching. Plath’s ability to resurface after her depressive episodes gave her courage to explore, as Ted Hughes put it, “psychological depth, very lucidly focused and lit.” The themes of rebirth and renewal are as central to her poems as depression, rage, and destruction.

“What happens to a dream deferred?” Langston Hughes asked in his poem “Harlem.” Did it “crust and sugar over—/ like a syrupy sweet?” For most women of Plath’s generation, it did. But Plath was determined to follow her literary vocation. She dreaded the condescending label of “lady poet,” and she had no intention of remaining unmarried and childless like Marianne Moore and Elizabeth Bishop. She wanted to be a wife, mother, and poet—a “triple-threat woman,” as she put it to a friend. These spheres hardly ever overlapped in the sexist era in which she was trapped, but for a time, she achieved all three goals.

They thought death was worth it, but I Have a self to recover, a queen. Is she dead, is she sleeping? Where has she been, With her lion-red body, her wings of glass?

Now she is flying More terrible than she ever was, red Scar in the sky, red comet Over the engine that killed her— The mausoleum, the wax house.

from “Stings” by Sylvia Plath

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath by Heather Clark

Learn more about Heather Clark

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#poetry #poetry month #poem-a-day #sylvia plath #red comet #heather clark #National Poetry Month

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ghost-in-the-hella · 4 years

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19 with Victoria Chase and Chloe?

For whatever reason, I can’t seem to keep chaseprice stories short! Sorry this took so long, but I hope it’s worth it. I also immediately thought chaseprice when I saw that prompt (“According to this survey, most people agree you are, in fact, a gigantic asshole.”), so thanks for being on the same page with me there :) Unbeta’d and virtually unrevised despite how long it took me to write it, so please take it with a grain of salt.

Content warnings for misogynistic insults, underage drinking and drug use, and implied attempted sexual assault. Because teens in Arcadia Bay are awful to each other.

---

Chloe hasn’t seen Rachel since the first hour of the party. She stopped even getting texts from her about twenty minutes ago. She can already feel the familiar shapes of the argument they’re going to have tomorrow morning. Chloe will accuse Rachel of ditching her and ignoring her texts. Depending on how pissed she is, she might trot out the old dead horse about being abandoned by Max and flog that for a bit while Rachel fails to keep from rolling her eyes. Then Rachel will remind her about their agreement, that they’re both free agents and maybe if Chloe acted more like a free agent and less like a cuckolded wife she wouldn’t be so pissy all the time.

It’ll go back and forth for hours with Chloe whining about her abandonment issues and Rachel claiming that Chloe’s suffocating her, and at the end of it nothing will have changed. They’ll kiss and make up like they always do, but as soon as the next Vortex Club event comes around Rachel will insist on dragging Chloe and then she’ll ditch her in a crowd of people she hates and the whole cycle will start over again.

The whole thing is fucking exhausting, and Chloe’s sick of it.

Not as sick as Victoria Chase is, though; damn. It’s a hell of a sight: the Queen Bitch of Blackwell teetering drunkenly on ill-advised high heels - possibly only still on her feet because of the bodies of people dancing around her - and looking like she’s contemplating puking in her purse. She looks awful.

It would be more amusing if Rachel were there to make fun of her with Chloe. It would also be more amusing if it weren’t so painfully pathetic. Chloe’s way too sober to enjoy the sordid spectacle. Being the designated driver sucks ass, especially when the literal whole point of these parties is to get wasted.

Chloe almost jumps out of her skin when her phone suddenly - finally - buzzes in her pocket.

Rachel: U still at the party?

Chloe scowls at her phone.

Chloe: of fucking course i am

Chloe: where else would i be??

Chloe: im ur fucking dd

Rachel: o right! Srry I already caught a ride

“Are you fucking kidding me!?”

Rachel: c u 2morro tho

Rachel: 2 whales date? Not 2 early tho

Rachel: this hangover’s gona be a biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch

Rachel: luv u <3 <3 <3 xoxoxo

Rachel: xxx

Rachel: ;P

Chloe buries her phone in her pocket, fuming. She can actually feel the anger rising off of her skin like steam. Obviously there’s no reason for her to continue being a designated driver if Rachel’s already fucked off with whatever Blackwell jock or cheerleader she’s decided to rail tonight. Chloe’s free to crash on the couch tonight with the rest of the drunk losers. Pass out in the bathtub maybe. There’s tons of booze in the kitchen; she should start there. Stoners are usually in the basement; they shouldn’t be hard to sniff out. Maybe if she’s lucky she’ll find the folks who’re always doing coke in some random bedroom or office and score a noseful. It’s not like she’s got classes in the morning. She can afford to live a little, as long as she’s not actually paying for it.

Chloe starts to push her way through the crowd to the kitchen.

“Watschh where yrr fffuckin goin…” slurs a messy but recognizable voice as a hand grips Chloe’s upper arm.

Jesus Christ, Victoria’s even more wasted than Chloe thought at first glance. Her hand on Chloe’s arm might be the only thing keeping her upright at the moment, which is the only reason why Chloe doesn’t immediately tear herself away.

“Careful, Vicky; poverty might be contagious.” Chloe attempts to pry Victoria’s fingers from around her arm to no avail.

The idiot jock standing behind Victoria laughs at that, but Victoria just looks confused. And drunk. So very, very drunk.

“Ffffug you, Chhhloe,” Victoria slurs out.

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “Wow, you must be shitfaced. That was practically my real name!” She carefully shoves Victoria back off of her arm as the jock moves to steady Victoria by holding onto her waist.

“C’mon, babe,” he says, leaning close to her ear. He grins at Chloe and winks like he thinks she’s in on some kind of conspiracy with him, which immediately pisses Chloe off. “I’ve got it from here,” he informs her.

Victoria groans something inarticulate and tries to push the jock away, but she ends up just stumbling back into his stupidly broad chest. She really shouldn’t get so drunk and wear such high heels at the same time; clearly, it’s a dangerous combination.

“Dude, I don’t think she wants to go with you,” Chloe says as calmly as she can. She really doesn’t want to get involved. She wants to get drunk and stoned and so blitzed out of her mind that she forgets all about being pissed at Rachel. She doesn’t want to get sucked into whatever drama Victoria’s got brewing tonight. But she also really doesn’t want to watch a drunk girl get mauled by some entitled meathead, even if said drunk girl is a royal pain in her ass.

“Nah, she’s good. Just needs some fresh air. C’mon, Tori, let’s go for a walk.”

“Don’ ffffuggin call me Tori,” Victoria growls, tugging her arm out of his too-firm grip and nearly falling right off her ridiculous and undoubtedly overpriced heels. “Iss Victoria.”

The creep ignores her and tugs on her arm again, toppling her into his body once more. “It’s cool,” he attempts to assure Chloe. “We’re friends. I’ll get her home safe.”

“She definitely doesn’t want to go with you. Let her go.”

“Dude, be cool! She’s just being a bitch. You know what Tori’s like.” He holds Victoria’s wrists to curtail her squirming.

“Fuggoff!”

Chloe cracks her knuckles loudly enough to get the jock’s attention. “I’ve got better things to do with my left hand tonight than break it on your nose, but if you don’t unhand her in the next five seconds I’ll do it anyway.”

That gives the jock pause, but he doesn’t look like he quite believes her. “You wouldn’t.”

Chloe shrugs. “If you don’t believe me, why don’t you ask Logan why his nose slants to the right? Although he’ll probably lie. Ask his ex-girlfriend; she’ll tell you the truth.”

---

As Chloe guides a stumbling and incessantly bitching Victoria through the dark toward her truck, she silently curses every decision in her life that led her to this moment. It’s actually not that different from drunk-walking Rachel home after a party, except that when Victoria keeps touching her boob it’s probably accidental. Probably.

“Where’ss Nathan?” Victoria whines, head lolling onto Chloe’s shoulder and smearing a healthy quantity of expensive makeup into her favorite Firewalk shirt. Which is fine. Not like Chloe can’t just steal another one next time they have a 2010 tour. Time travel’s a thing, right?

“I have no idea where Prescock is. Surprised he’s not doing shots out of your cleavage.”

Victoria’s trying to text, but she keeps almost dropping her phone. “Where are theese bisches?” Victoria grumbles as her manicured fingers jab and swipe at the screen of her phone with the dexterity of a toddler with two handfuls of butter. “Sposdt to be my frens…”

Victoria’s entire focus is on her phone when it should really be on walking. Chloe tugs her upright and tries to steer her for the umpteenth time. “Can it wait til we’re in the truck at least?”

Victoria grinds to a halt and finally tears her eyes from her phone. “M’not gedding into that… that…” Victoria flails at Chloe’s truck and nearly falls over. “Deathtrap.”

“You had to get a tetanus shot to live in the dorms, right? You’ll be fine.” Chloe grips Victoria’s elbow with one hand to keep her upright and wrangles the passenger door open with the other. “Go on, get in.”

Victoria glares at Chloe foggily. “Are you khhidnappng me, Price?”

“...That’s a joke, right?”

Victoria whacks Chloe solidly in the sternum with her phone. “B’cause I’ll haf you know, my frens will put your assss in jail like that.” Victoria tries and fails to snap her fingers, then stares at them as if she cannot comprehend why they are not obeying her.

Chloe rubs at her sore sternum in annoyance. “Yeah, well, maybe your ‘frens’ should be the ones getting your drunk ass safely back to the dorms instead of abandoning you and letting random creepers paw at you. Then maybe I could get my drunk on in peace instead of wasting my weekend cleaning your puke out of my truck.”

Chloe’s expecting some pushback. Victoria hasn’t even touched her truck, much less puked in it. What she isn’t expecting is for Victoria to shove her phone in Chloe’s face. “You texx thm.” Victoria reaches for the door handle, yanks the door open, and unsteadily clambers into Chloe’s truck.

“Ow, what the fuck! You want me to text your friends?”

“Tell’m yer kidnappin me.”

“Uh, okay, no, I’m not doing that. But I can text your friends if there’s someone you’d rather get a ride with.”

Chloe carefully shuts Victoria’s door and walks around her truck to the driver’s side, thumbing through Victoria’s message history. She tries Nathan first, even though she can see that Victoria’s last ten messages to him have gone unanswered.

Victoria: hey victoria needs a safe ride back to the dorms. can you come get her?

Nathan: whothFUCKisthis

Victoria: a good samaritan. seriously tho your friend is halfway to passed out, can you help?

Nathan: fuckoffBITCH

Victoria: god why does victoria even like you?

She tries Courtney next.

Victoria: hey victoria needs a safe ride back to the dorms. can you come get her?

Courtney: I don’t know, can Victoria not call my boyfriend a MAN WHORE?

“We’re 0 for 2, Victoria. What’s the name of that blonde girl you’re always hanging around with?”

“Sweetie…”

“Um, what?”

“Goddddd you’re fuckn incomph-- incump-- incompetant. Sweet. T.”

“I have no idea what you’re-- Oh.” Jesus, the girl is literally in Victoria’s phone as Sweet-T. Gaaaaaaayyyy.

Victoria: hey victoria needs a safe ride back to the dorms. can you come get her?

Sweet-T: Victoria? Victoria Chase?

Sweet-T: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

Sweet-T: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Sweet-T: Tell that bitch good luck.

Sweet-T: Actually wait don’t.

Sweet-T: Tell her to choke.

Sweet-T: Btw Taylor lost her phone.

“Uhh, looks like ‘Sweet-T’ lost her phone. And it’s fallen into the hands of someone who completely hates your pretentious ass; no big surprise there.”

Chloe starts texting Victoria’s contacts at random as Victoria sulks. Most people don’t even respond. The responses she does get are… not encouraging.

Zach: sup biiiiiiiiiiitttcccccccchhhhhh yeah i’ll give vicky a ride ON MY DICK

Hayden: new fone who dis

Brooke: Who is this and how did you get my number? Don’t ever text me again.

Dana: I gott a ride w Jules srry

Juliet: Already back at the dorms. Good luck I guess.

Logan: fukk that bisch wut

“Well, Victoria, looks like none of your friends are coming to help. So you can either let me give you a ride back to campus, or you can pass out on a couch inside and hope for the best.”

“What th hell djou say to them??”

“Just that you needed a safe ride to the dorms. That’s all.”

“Bullsshhhitt. You pissed them off.”

Chloe laughs out loud at that. “I pissed them off?? You pissed them off by being a gigantic asshole!”

“M’ noddan asshole.”

“Oh, no? Well…” Chloe holds up Victoria’s phone and waves it in front of her face. “According to this survey, most people agree you are, in fact, a gigantic asshole.”

Which is how Chloe ends up comforting a sobbing Victoria Chase in a stranger’s driveway and wishing she’d never been born.

---

Chloe: dude. Srsly. Fuck u for abandoning me at that fucking vc party.

Rachel: chloe?

Rachel: wat timesit?

Rachel: w happnd?

Chloe: its 3am

Chloe: and victoria FUCKING chase is passed out on me

Rachel: ur joking

Rachel: omg

Rachel: pls take a pic

Chloe: this isnt funny rach

Rachel: it’s fucking hilarious!

Chloe: its SAD.

Rachel: Wait so

Rachel: did you fuck her?

Chloe: WHAT????

Chloe: NO!!!!!

Rachel: Oh good bc I don’t think there’s enough bleach in the world to clean your soul after fucking victoria chase

Chloe: she’s drunk AF

Chloe: her friends ditched her

Chloe: and i kinda called her an asshole

Chloe: so she cried on my shoulder until she passed out

Chloe: and now i’m trapped

Rachel: Poor baby.

Rachel: Chew your arm off?

Chloe: not funny.

Rachel: Again, totally funny.

Chloe: Srsly tho, what should i do???

Rachel: idk

Rachel: sneak out?

Chloe: we’re in my truck

Rachel: hahahahahahahaha

Rachel: of course you are

Rachel: so wake her bitch ass up!

---

Victoria Chase snores. Nothing in the world could have prepared Chloe for that knowledge. She also drools, which is unfortunate for the state of Chloe’s jacket. Not that it’s the cleanest thing in the world anyway, but still. It’s the principle of the thing.

Victoria’s normally immaculate hair is in a state of total chaotic disarray. At least half of her makeup is gone, and what remains is smeared artlessly all over her face. She smells like a brewery. Chloe’s arm has fallen asleep under the weight of her head. Chloe envies it. The sweet release of sleep would be infinitely preferable to the intense awkwardness of being conscious right now.

The moonlight paints Victoria’s face in delicate shades of pale, highlighting the refined angles of her cheekbone, her jawline, her nose. She’s snoring and drooling and messy and the most utterly awful person; it shouldn’t be possible for her to be beautiful in this moment.

And yet. And yet.

Chloe should shove her awake. She should push Victoria off her shoulder, buckle up both of their seatbelts, and deposit her safely back at the dorms (because even though Victoria’s an objectively horrible person, that doesn’t mean that Chloe is). Chloe should abandon ship, let Victoria sleep it off in the front of her truck while Chloe returns to the party and drinks until she can’t remember what Victoria looks like in the moonlight. Maybe if she drinks enough, by the time she’s sober enough to drive Victoria will have sobered up and found her own way home.

Victoria makes a sleepy sort of grumbling sound and shifts against Chloe’s shoulder, draping an arm over Chloe’s middle and snuggling close. Her hair tickles Chloe’s neck and jaw as it sticks out at peculiar angles, and Chloe wants to laugh or possibly die. There’s really nowhere else for Chloe’s arm to go, so it ends up wrapped around Victoria. Victoria lets out a sound that’s disturbingly close to a contented sigh.

“Hey... Vic?”

“Mphgmhm?”

“Um… Are you aware that you’re cuddling me like I’m your long-lost childhood teddy bear?”

“Grhmphgm.”

“Uh. ‘Kay. Long as you know.”

“Mphkm.” Victoria nuzzles into Chloe’s shoulder, squeezing her tighter. Chloe awkwardly pats her side and Victoria sighs again.

“Hey, uh… I’m sorry about what I said before. I mean, not about you being an asshole, ‘cause I’m not gonna lie. But about your friends. I’m… sure your friends do like you, really.”

Victoria shrugs a little, frowning delicately. “Dsnmttr. Sleeb.”

Sleep. Okay. That’s theoretically possible. Chloe’s slept in more uncomfortable positions in this very truck, after all. So she closes her eyes and rests her head against the back of her seat, and she listens to the steady rhythm of Victoria’s breathing until the world begins to fade into a comforting void.

Shit’s going to be awkward in the morning. But, well. That can wait until the morning.

#writing prompts #prompt fill #chaseprice #life is strange #LiS #background amberprice #chloe price #victoria chase #rachel amber #fanfic

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calumbringbackthewatermelonshirt · 4 years

Text

800. follower. celly.

(celly is like celebration)

800 Sleepover Celebration

as it has recently come to my attention that I have hit 800, Im gonna do a sleepover for the weekend. this entire blog has been like one collective acid trip, but I still love all of you for putting up with me (so far), and that deserves to be not only recognized, but celebrated. I want to celebrate this achievement with you guys because I clearly wouldn’t be here without you

basics:

Reblog so that everyone can come have a (hopefully) good time

A follow would be cool. thats it Alexa send tweet.

shoot me an ask with what your sleep schedule has turned into over quarantine and questions for me if you have em

also, if you want a ship please send me a short description of yourself or how to find an about me page

What will you get for different emojis:

🚢 = Ship ( c | a | l | m )

How you met

👫 = Best friend ( c | a | l | m )

💋 = Secret Admirer ( c | a | l | m )

🎹 = 5 song mini playlist from my own personal music library

(disclaimer: you don't actually have to put the fucking emoji. just tell me what you want, and that'll be fine.)

I can also roast you. be warned tho, I spit nothing but PURE FUEGO

yeah, I just really wanna say thank y'all for letting be dumb in front of all of you and out up with my attempts at writing.

I will be accepting asks until 12am on Monday (4/20)! or not. lets be real, you could send me an ask in January or 2021 and ill probably still answer it.

Love y'all! 🤠😘💕

+i will be using [#jills super mega awesome the best ever sleepover ] if don’t want to see these!+ (or unless I forget lol)

(also, I stole this idea from mysticalhood, but she's great so you should follow her)

#jills super mega awesome the best ever sleepover #it'll be fun #for me #I make no promises for the rest of you fools

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citrinekay · 4 years

Note

Hi! I’d love to see bill properly apologize to holden (and viceversa) post-season2. Maybe holden has to call in sick bc he has a bad episode and bill goes to his house to check up on him even tho they left things weird...

Thanks for the prompt 💕 Enjoy!:

At eight o’clock in the morning, the July humidity and baking sunlight are already making for an uncomfortable day of temperatures hovering somewhere in the high eighties. Bill rolls down his window on the drive to work, hoping that the bluster of the wind will ease the perspiration trickling down his temples and hold exhaustion at bay.

The past month since they returned from Atlanta has been rocky to say the least. It feels like he’s still jet-lagged from running back and forth between Georgia and Virginia, staying up late into the night for bridge surveillance followed by trying to stay on his feet during normal hours when he was home on the weekends. Now that he’s sleeping alone, a situation that doesn’t look like it’ll be changing in the near future, he isn’t getting much more rest than he was in Atlanta.

When he arrives at work, Holden’s desk is vacant for the second day in a row. It isn’t like him to not come to work, but Bill had brushed aside his concern yesterday. Everyone is allowed a sick day. Two days in a row is enough to roust that logical explanation from his mind.

Knocking Wendy’s door, Bill pokes his head into her office.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.” She says, looking up from her paperwork.

“Is Holden not coming today?”

“He called in sick again.” Wendy says, her expression reserved yet quietly concerned.

“Oh,” Bill says, frowning. He hesitates a moment before pressing, “Do you know what it is? The flu, or …?”

“I don’t know. He sounded tired.”

“Okay.”

They share a worried gaze for a moment before Wendy sets down her pen, and waves for him to shut the door. Bill slips inside, and approaches her desk.

“You think it’s more than that?” He asks.

“It could be some physical illness, but …” Wendy says, shaking her head. “He wouldn’t tell us even if it wasn’t. Have you noticed anything different about his behavior since you came back from Atlanta?”

Bill sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “No, but to be honest, I’ve been a little wrapped up in my own issues.”

“That’s understandable. But, I have to say, I’m concerned.”

“You think one of us should check up on him?”

Wendy’s head cocks slightly, her gaze growing more decisive. Leaning back in her chair, she loosely folds her arms.

Bill sighs. “You want me to check up on him?”

“I tried to talk to him. He wasn’t interested.”

“Why do you think me talking to him would be any different? We had our fair share of disagreements about Atlanta, and he was never happy with how the case ended. I’ve tried to tell him - there’s nothing else we could have done. He doesn’t want to hear it.”

“Have you tried listening?”

Bill glances away, clenching his jaw against a hasty retort. He isn’t one to dwell on the past. Most of the time, their energy is better spent looking to the future and learning from mistakes. But Holden hasn’t wanted to hear any of that since the cases of the dead children were officially closed. His idealistic belief system had taken a beating down in Atlanta, and he can’t let anything go.

“Fine.” Bill says, at last. “I’ll try to talk to him.”

“Try?”

“What do you want me to do, Wendy? Go knocking down his door and make him prove to me whether or not he’s really sick?”

Wendy gazes coolly at him, and the answer is already clear.

“Jesus.” Bill mutters.

“Sometimes people require more than a light touch and distance.”

“I’m not his parent. It’s not up to me to teach him about tough love.”

“But he does respect you and wants your approval. Don’t try to tell me I’m wrong.”

Bill gazes at her for a long moment. He wants to argue, but her somber gaze tells him it might be about as worthwhile as beating his head into a wall.

“Okay. I’ll go over there tonight. Happy?”

He turns to leave the office, but her voice, softer this time, makes him pause.

“Bill. Please, try. I mean really try.”

Their gazes hold another moment before he gives a slight nod and slips out of the office. He knows she’s right, but a part of him wonders if it’s too late - if the damage is already done, and everything he might think to say could tear the chasm between him and Holden even wider.

For several hours, Holden watches the sunlight slanting through his blinds stretch across the carpet, shrinking and growing as it dials its way across the sky. He only moves from the couch to go to the bathroom. He ate breakfast, then forgot about lunch and dinner; he isn’t hungry anyway. Watching the television play commercial after commercial, rerun after daytime soap opera rerun, he can’t find the will to move, not even to get up and take a shower.

He’d started out the day with a valiant attempt at going to work, only to be struck by a vicious panic attack the second he started looking through his closet for something to wear. He didn’t want to call off a second day in a row, but the way things stood, he saw no choice. He couldn’t face the thought of going to work, and having another attack in front of Bill, Wendy, and everyone else.

As the sunlight creeps longer and more golden across his apartment, he wonders if this is what the rest of his future looks like. Crippled by anxiety, reduced to a mere shadow of himself by torments he can’t anticipate or control. Unable to get up off the couch because he can’t breathe without thinking, and how is he supposed to work if he can’t think or breathe?

It’s sunset when the shrill ring of the telephone jolts him out of half-asleep dissociation. He hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. The apartment is almost entirely dark as he stumbles off the couch and into the kitchen to grab the telephone.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, Mr. Ford. I have a man here who says he’s a friend of yours, wants to be let up to your apartment?” The doorman replies.

“Who?”

“Bill Tench.”

Holden clutches the phone tighter, his heart suddenly hammering when it had only been slogging through the motions moments ago. His thoughts rise up out of the lazy, disconnected marshland of depression as he realizes just how badly this looks - two days straight of not working, lying on the couch, not showering, and not eating.

“Should I let him up?” The doorman asks after several beats of silence.

“I, uh …”

“He said to tell you he brought you something.”

Holden frowns. “Oh, uh … okay?”

“Should I let him up?”

“Yeah.” Holden breathes out.

He hangs up the telephone, and leans against the kitchen counter for a long moment. When he called off a second day in a row, he figured Wendy would be speculating to Bill about the reasons why, but he hadn’t ever believed Bill would show up here. Their relationship has been strained to say the least since they got back from Atlanta. Bill doesn’t openly resent him and their professional balance has maintained despite the stress, but it’s the little moments of silence that Holden notices. When they don’t have anything work-related to talk about, it’s like Bill doesn’t know how to interact with him anymore. And now he’s here, at almost nine o’clock at night, invading Holden’s private space with what? Convoluted concern? Some awkward attempt at pretending he cares?

Holden breaks away from the counter when he hears the knock at his door. He pulls the door open, and Bill is standing on the other side with a Tupperware bowl in his hands.

“Hi.” He says.

“Hi.” Holden replies, slowly, frowning as he notes the bowl. “What’s this?”

“Wendy said you were sick. I brought you soup.”

“Oh.”

Holden doesn’t exactly open the door; but Bill walks into the apartment, and Holden doesn’t try to stop him. Handing the Tupperware bowl to him, Bill shuffles into the entryway where he pauses with his hands tucked in his pockets, undoubtedly surveying the state of the apartment - the drawn curtains, the coffee table littered with day-old water cups and dirty plates, the couch piled with wrinkled blankets.

“Thanks for this.” Holden says, holding up the bowl.

“You’re welcome. How are you feeling?”

“Uh, better.”

Their gazes hold, and Holden can see Bill quietly analyzing him, picking apart the lies to get to the truth.

“Think you’ll be back tomorrow?” Bill asks.

“We’ll see. I thought I was coming this morning, but I … I got sick as I was getting ready so …”

Bill nods, slowly.

“I better put this in the fridge.” Holden says, gesturing to the soup.

He escapes into the kitchen where he momentarily holds the refrigerator door open to cool the rising sweat on his brow.

“What was it? The flu?” Bill says, the proximity of his voice making Holden whirl around.

Holden leans back against the refrigerator as Bill wanders farther into the kitchen, and leans against the adjacent counter. His eyes are pale blue in the faint, dusky light of sunset, the scarce yellow glow of the bulb above the sink.

When Holden doesn’t answer, he glances away, his jawline rippling with tension.

“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better. We miss you at work.”

“You miss me?” Holden asks, and it comes out more strained than he’d meant.

“For what it’s worth, yeah.”

Holden nods, sizing up the small frown on Bill’s brow and the discomfort in the set of his shoulders, the twitch of his hands at his sides.

“Well, uh .. I better get going.” He says, finally. “I don’t want to keep you from resting.”

Just before he turns to leave, Holden sees a flicker of something gentler in his eyes, something far more flinching and internalized - guilt?

“Bill.” His name jumps from Holden’s mouth before Holden can reconsider.

“Yeah?” Bill asks, quickly turning back to meet his gaze.

“It wasn’t the flu.”

Silence settles over the kitchen as that admission hangs in the air. Holden clenches his hands into fists at his sides, battling back a rift of anxiety. He’s not sure why he feels compelled now to tell Bill the truth when he’s been concealing the severity of his struggles ever since Atlanta. Maybe because no one has ever brought him soup when he’s sick before, or because he misses Bill’s company. Maybe because he’s just too fucking tired to keep up the facade much longer.

Bill’s throat shifts with a thick swallow. He takes a slight step closer to Holden’s, his eyes clinging softly to the tremor working its way through Holden’s body.

“It wasn’t?”

Holden shakes his head, biting at his lower lip to suppress the sudden clutch of emotion lumping in the back of his throat.

Bill moves slowly, but before Holden knows it, the space between them is closed. Bill lowers his head and closes his eyes for a moment before turning them back to Holden with fresh resolve.

“How bad is it?”

Holden feels tears prick the corners of his eyes. “Well, I laid on the couch all day so …”

“And yesterday?”

Holden nods again, his throat knotting harder.

“Fuck, Holden. Why wouldn’t you tell me it was this bad? I could have-” Bill stops suddenly, as if he can hear how critical his tone is becoming.

Holden lowers his head. Part of him wants Bill to yell at him. Tell him how stupid he is for trying to handle this on his own. Force him to break down. But another part, hidden somewhere deep inside him, doesn’t want to be touched or shoved into daylight. It just wants to be heard, acknowledged as real beyond the hollow area of his skull.

“I’m sorry.” Bill says, finally, his voice a low, tremulous tone that Holden doesn’t recognize.

“It isn’t your fault that-”

“No. Holden, I mean … I’m sorry about everything. I had a lot of shit going on personally in Atlanta, but I … I wasn’t there for you, not like I should have been.”

“Bill, no. You had your family and-”

“Would you stop? Just let me say this?” Bill says, frustration bleeding into his tone.

Holden carefully meets his eyes. He hardly believes he’s hearing Bill apologize, but he can see the evidence - the real, internal, visceral evidence - gleaming in his eyes.

“I was a shitty partner.” Bill says, “Okay? I think you and I can both agree on that. No matter what I had going on at home, I wasn’t honest with you. I left you in the dark. I don’t fucking blame you for being upset or not trusting me anymore.”

“I do trust you.”

“Really? Then why am I here, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on with you?”

Holden presses his fingertips to his tear ducts, and lets out a shaky sigh. “Because …”

“Look, I can’t understand what you’re going through, but I wish you felt like you could at least tell me. I’m your partner, but more than that I’m your friend - at least I used to be. I’d like to think that you can rely on me.”

Holden nods, swallowing back the rising emotion. “I’d like that, too.”

“Good, I’m glad we agree.”

“I should say something, too, though.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a two-way street. I wasn’t the best partner either.” Holden says, “I was convinced of my profile. Maybe I got tunnel vision, or … Either way, I didn’t want to listen to advice, and now I’m not sure if we really caught the killer or not.”

“We did everything we could.”

“I know. It was out of our hands. But maybe if I hadn’t been so focused on my original profile, we could have explored other avenues while we had the time. Now there really isn’t anything we can do. That’s part of what’s making all of this so …”

He gestures vaguely to his disheveled appearance with a weary sigh.

“You can’t lay all the blame at your own feet.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you?”

“I don’t know, Bill. I try not to think about it, but I wake up every morning and it’s right there - the first thing I think about when I open my eyes. Did we do enough? Is some child killer still out there, and what if another kid dies because of how we handled - or didn’t handle - the investigation?”

“Okay, so you made a few mistakes.” Bill says, “I don’t think that means you should crucify yourself. They had fiber evidence from Williams’ house. He did at least two of them. I refuse to believe we put an innocent man behind bars.”

“But what about the rest of them?”

“You can’t save everyone, Holden.” Bill says, gently putting a hand on Holden’s arm. “You’re not beholden to the entire world. We do the best with what we have, and hope it makes a difference. And if that means putting away one more guy than what was on the streets yesterday, then we’ve done our job. We have to take the victories as they come, and learn from the mistakes. That’s how we get better in life.”

Holden lowers his head, quickly clasping a hand over his face as tears rush abruptly and hotly to his eyes. He’s been telling himself the same thing for weeks now, but his own mental attempts at assuaging his guilt only seem to echo falsely back at him. Bill’s words sound revolutionary even if they aren’t new. They’re proof outside of his own mind that he isn’t the terrible person his anxiety has made him out to be.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Bill says, clutching his shoulder reassuringly.

Holden sucks in a breath, trying to stem the surging emotion, but Bill’s touch on him only encourages it to break free. He leans forward, pressing his forehead into Bill’s chest as the tears come, squeezing forcefully from his eyelids. He does his best to swallow them down, but a few manage to spill down his cheeks and drop to the tile at their feet.

Bill quietly rubs his back. He doesn’t say anything, but Holden can feel the way his chest staggers with anxious breaths beneath his forehead. Neither of them had been expecting this honesty, this raw excision of stifled, festering emotions.

“Come on, it’s gonna be all right.” Bill says, at length as Holden’s crying abates. “You’re resilient, more than a lot of people I know. You can get through this.”

Holden slowly lifts his head, wiping at his cheeks and succeeding only in smearing the tears around. He nods, drawing in a hitched breath.

“Thanks, Bill.”

“I mean it.”

Before Holden can stop himself, he rises on his toes to wrap his arms around Bill’s neck in a tight hug. Bill gives a surprised grunt before gingerly putting his arms around Holden’s waist. Holden squeezes his eyes shut, clinging onto the contact for as long as he can. When Bill gives his back a reassuring pat, he rescinds the embrace.

“What are you doing after this?” Holden asks, wiping at his cheeks.

“Nothing.”

“Do you want to stay for a little bit?” Holden asks, hopefully.

“Sure.” Bill says, a smile tugging at his mouth. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You take yourself to the shower first. No offense, but I can tell you’ve been home sick for two days straight. I can smell it.”

Holden gives a choked laugh. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just go take care of yourself.”

“Okay.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Breakfast.” Holden says, managing a sheepish smile.

“Jesus.” Bill says, shaking his head. “Go get a bath, and I’ll warm up the soup for you.”

“Thank you.” Holden murmurs.

Bill leans against the counter, his mouth tugging with a wry smile as Holden sidles past him toward the hallway. When he slips into the bathroom, he leans back against the door to push it shut, and squeezes his eyes closed with a bubbling sense of relief.

Worse than the threat of a wrongful conviction and his own self-doubt had always been the fear that he’d go into work one day and have a panic attack in front of everyone. Not just everyone, but Bill; and not only did he fear losing Bill’s respect, he feared that Bill might never understand his condition. Of course, Bill can never really know what living with this constant anxiety feels like, but he’s here now, offering his support. His presence can’t entirely mitigate everything that’s happened, all of the wounds, all of the damage, or all of the guilt, but it’s all Holden had ever wanted; and it’s a start.

#bill x holden #mindhunter #my writing #Anonymous

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callboxkat · 4 years

Text

A Little Nightmare (part 2)

Author’s note: Here it is! The next installment of this new story in the world of Infinitesimal. I hope you guys like it!

Again, you do not need to have read Infinitesimal to read this story!

Warnings: fear, miscommunication, illness, injury, nonsexual nudity, death mention, censored swearing

Word count: 3372

Infinitesimal Masterpost!

...

Joan was on their phone, looking through emails and texts for anything important. Despite trying to get some work done, most of their attention was still focused on something else entirely. They certainly felt that that distraction was understandable, though, given the circumstances. Occasionally, they couldn’t help but look up towards the coffee table and the blanket folded on top of it. The tiny person within hadn’t woken since they’d brought her home, and Joan couldn’t help but worry. They knew that the long-term success rate of CPR wasn’t exactly as high as a lot of TV shows would have its viewers believe, and Joan had no idea how long she’d been in that bucket before they arrived. They were hopeful, though. She seemed to be in good shape, other than the whole almost drowning thing. They believed she would pull through.

Joan glanced up again as a soft sound came from the table. As Joan had found out shortly after getting the tiny person settled in, she snored. It was very quiet, which didn’t surprise Joan given the woman’s size; but in the absence of their car’s engine and the roaring in their ears, they could hear it. They’d been a bit worried at first, slightly adjusting how her head rested to see if that helped, but it seemed that she just snored. They decided to view it positively. As long as she was snoring, they knew she was breathing. That was good.

If only she would wake up, so they could know she was okay.

“You’re probably pretty tired, huh?” Joan murmured into the quiet. They imagined that nearly drowning would take a lot out of a person. “That’s alright. Take as long as you need.”

…

A new message popped up on Joan’s phone, drawing their attention away from the borrower, or whatever she was, for the time being. They would have ignored it, but….

Talyn: What time are you picking up Marco?

Joan swore under their breath. In all the excitement, they’d nearly forgotten about him. Marco, their own dog. That just went to show how distracted they were, that they could forget that lovable furball for even a moment. They tapped on the message and typed a response.

Joan: Not sure. Later?

The reply popped up within moments.

Talyn: Are you still pulling weeds? Isn’t it dark out?

Joan glanced out the window. The sun had in fact gone down, but the sky was still fairly light.

Joan: Not much longer

Talyn: Damn, must be a lot of weeds.

Talyn: Don’t trip over a rock and die, dumb*ss.

Joan: There go my weekend plans 😥

Talyn: What a shame

Talyn: Seriously tho, I’ve got work at 7

Joan: Gross, late shift?

Talyn: Yeah. :P Come get yo dog.

A photo popped up. Marco was curled up on the floor at Talyn’s feet, looking up at the camera with his big brown eyes. His ears were pricked in a way that made Joan think that Talyn had absolutely just called the dogs name to get his attention for the photo.

Talyn: Look at him, he misses you :(

Joan sighed, glancing at the time. They couldn’t make Talyn late for work, but there were other factors to consider. One in particular, they thought as they looked to the tiny woman asleep on the table in front of them and grimaced. What if Marco tried to bother her once they brought him back here? Would she be safe? Aside from that, they really hated to leave. It would take only a short amount of time to get their dog, but enough to worry Joan. What would happen if the tiny woman woke up while they were gone?

But if Talyn decided to come here to drop off Marco… that could be bad. If Joan knew one thing about borrowers, it was that they wanted as few people to know about them as possible. Granted, that number was generally 0, but the cat was already out of the bag for Joan. Joan assumed that whatever this girl was, borrower or not, probably wanted the same secrecy, given that they had thought that tiny people were nothing but a fairy tale only a few hours ago.

They thought for a moment, fingers tapping uncertainly on their phone case.

Joan: Ok, five min

And so, reluctantly, Joan got ready to leave.

They made sure that the curtains and blinds on the windows were firmly shut, preventing anyone from peeking in and spotting the tiny person—one of the drawbacks of living in a first floor apartment was that this was a distinct possibility. Thankfully, people were generally not that creepy, but it would be just Joan’s luck for today to be the one time some weirdo decided to snoop around. And, as they had established, they were not taking chances.

“Sorry,” Joan said, looking towards the coffee table as they put on their jacket and grabbed their keys. “I’ll be back soon.”

The tiny woman, of course, didn’t answer. The only response they received was another soft snore.

“Okay,” Joan sighed, turning away.

They triple checked the lock as they left the apartment, glad that there was virtually no chance that anyone else would go barging in while they weren’t home. They lived alone; and they were, in fact, the landlord of this building. So, no one had a key to this apartment but them, which was honestly very reassuring.

Satisfied, or as close to satisfied as they would get, Joan hurried out of the building, planning to return as soon as possible.

…

Remy drifted into consciousness slowly.

She knew that she was warm, that it was dark, and that she was lying down on her side with something soft wrapped around her. It might have been nice, had it not been for the fact that her chest felt like someone had yeeted a brick at it, or the fact that she felt so weak that she was pretty sure she couldn’t get up even if she wanted to.

Her eyesight came gradually into focus, and her gaze fell on her own hands, curled in front of her on the fuzzy, dark blue surface of the… what? A blanket? She didn’t know what else it would have been. But why was she wrapped in a blanket? Remy loved herself a good blanket burrito, but she had no idea where she was or how she’d gotten there.

She turned her head, feeling dizzy at the motion, and tried to look around. It looked like there was some sort of ceiling far above her, but it was hard to tell in the darkness. Was she in a house? What the heck?

Remy thought back, trying to piece things together. She’d been looking for a new home, she knew, because those pricks in her old house had called an exterminator. She remembered being outside, the storm, and the tomatoes…. She swallowed against her rough throat. She’d been trying to get down from the work bench, she remembered. And… her dumb foot had slipped. And then… she’d fallen.

Oh.

Remy narrowed her eyes. Why wasn’t she dead? She should have drowned in that bucket. She had drowned in that bucket, hadn’t she? She remembered the time passing, passing, passing, her attempts to stay afloat growing weaker and weaker until it simply became too difficult. She remembered feeling terrified as her head started to dip below the water, the exhaustion overpowering her, her heavy, waterlogged clothes only helping to pull her down faster.

So… why had she just woken up here? And why did her chest hurt so bad? None of this made any sense.

“Am I dead?” she wondered aloud. Her voice was so rough and quiet that if she hadn’t known it was her own, she wouldn’t have recognized it.

Unsurprisingly, no one answered her.

Remy coughed, then hissed at the fresh stab of pain this caused.

No… she didn’t think she was dead. Maybe heaven, or whatever, if there even was such a thing, really was like being wrapped up in a warm blanket in the dark, but Remy felt too much like crap for that to make sense. Any reasonable afterlife would have given her a cup of coffee by now, too. Decent coffee. And if hell was real and she was there, Remy was pretty sure it would be much worse than this. No, she was definitely still alive.

Remy thought harder, trying to focus her sluggish brain.

Oh. Oh. Sh*t.

That human. She remembered now. A human had been there… saying something… And Remy had said something back? She remembered being scared. She’d wanted to know what the human was doing there. She remembered feeling weirdly detached, like the didn’t care what happened, which was so not like her. But she couldn’t recall any more detail than that.

The human must have taken her, she realized, working her fingers into the fibers of the warm blanket. That wasn’t good. She should probably do something about that.

Remy breathed, in and out, then started to move. “Come on, girl, get off your butt,” she urged herself in that painfully hoarse voice. She struggled to push herself up on shaking limbs, but they wouldn’t hold her, and she collapsed back down almost immediately. Her breath left her in a rush.

“…After a nap,” she conceded.

…

“Good boy,” Joan said, closing the bedroom door with a click. “Sorry, bud. It’s just for a little while.”

The corgi on the other side of the door barked once unhappily. His clawed paws tapped anxiously on the wooden floor as he paced back and forth.

“I know, I know,” Joan sighed. “I want to let you run around, too, but I can’t right now. Good boy. We’ll play later. Go lay down.”

Marco whined in response, but Joan could already hear him laying down beside the door. They could clearly picture the pout that the dog was undoubtedly directing at Joan through the wood.

Marco was a good dog. He was three years old, and Joan had owned him for only two of those, but he was already pretty well-trained. He also had a very low prey drive, and was so short that he had trouble even reaching the edges of the coffee table. So, really, the totally-not-a-borrower was probably completely safe even if they did let the dog roam freely. But Joan wasn’t taking any chances.

Besides, she’d probably freak out if she woke up to a comparatively gigantic, unknown dog in her face. Joan knew they would, in her place. She had no way of knowing that Marco wouldn’t hurt her, and Joan couldn’t 100% guarantee that she would have no reason to be afraid.

Even without the dog around, she’d probably be freaked out enough already when she saw Joan there, alone. They winced at the thought.

There was always the chance that things would go smoothly… right?

Whatever would happen, Joan decided to just settle themself back into their chair and wait. There wasn’t much else left to do. The tiny person wrapped in the blanket was still asleep, snoring softly, and Joan wasn’t sure how much longer it would be before she woke. It looked like she might have moved while Joan was gone, but they couldn’t be sure. She really was very small, and it wasn’t as if they’d taken note of her exact position before they left. Plus, she was almost completely covered by the blanket.

Joan reached forward and poked at the clothes that they had laid out off to the side. They had dried by now, thankfully.

They retracted their hand, intending to go back to checking emails on their phone and to trying not to think too much about their unexpected companion; but a soft groan came from the table. Joan paused, their eyebrows lifting.

The tiny woman shifted in the blanket, her eyelids fluttering.

Joan opened their mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. They figured they should probably stay quiet.

Her eyes opened. Joan leaned back, hoping to let the tiny woman gain her bearings without their interference.

She blinked, her eyes travelling slowly around the room. Then, she sighed, almost in a resigned sort of way. Like she was thinking, “Oh, great. I really am here.” Perhaps she had woken up while Joan was gone after all.

She pushed herself up on an elbow, wincing, and looked down at herself.

“What the hell,” she muttered, probably noticing she wasn’t wearing any clothes. Joan winced again.

The faint movement drew her attention, and she seemed to see Joan for the first time. Her eyes went wide; and she froze, her hand gripping the blanket tightly.

“Um…. Hi,” Joan said awkwardly.

It was like the noise unfroze her. She shrieked, scrambling backwards on all fours with the blanket still clutched around herself. Her movements were stiff and sluggish, like she still hadn’t fully recovered from her ordeal. But the alarm on her face was clear to see.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Joan said. “I’m not gonna hurt ya, promise.”

The woman stopped, breathing hard, then slowly turned to stare up at them, her skeptical expression hard enough to scratch diamond. A long moment of silence passed. It was only seconds, but to Joan, it felt like hours. Finally, she cleared her throat. “Maybe I’m wrong,” she said, her voice hoarse, “but to me, it kiiinda seems like you already hurt me, b*tchboy.”

Joan blinked, taken a little off-guard by her words, then found their voice again. “I’m sorry,” they said, willing her to hear the honesty in their words. “I had to do that. You were drowning; it was that or let you die.” They rubbed a hand through their hair. “And, uh… I’m actually not a boy. I’m Joan. They/them pronouns.”

The tiny woman blinked, looking them up and down. “Still a b*tch, though,” she muttered.

Joan laughed, more out of surprise than amusement, not noticing how she tensed. “Maybe,” they agreed, before leaning forward marginally. “Really, though,” they continued more seriously. “Those bruises on your chest? They’re from CPR. You weren’t breathing when I found you.”

The tiny woman stared for a second, unconsciously putting a hand to her chest.

“You’re okay now, though,” Joan said. They hoped. “And—look, I’ve got your clothes right here.” They reached forward to grab them, and the woman flinched back. Joan froze. “Oh… sorry.”

A beat passed, and then Joan slowly reached for the clothes again. They brought them nearer to the tiny woman and set them beside her. She didn’t flinch away this time, which they counted as a win.

“How are you feeling?” Joan asked.

The tiny woman just stared at them warily.

“Come on, please? If something’s wrong, maybe I can help.” Was she really okay after nearly drowning like that? After all, they had no idea how long she had been in that bucket before they found her. And had they hurt her when they did CPR? They’d bruised her, yes, but they hoped they had done nothing more serious. What if they’d broken one of her ribs or something? Could Joan even do anything about it if they had?

The woman scoffed.

Joan frowned, drawn from their worried thoughts. “What?”

She glanced at her clothes, her fingers tight around the blanket, then looked back up at them. Joan could clearly picture how, if she had had sunglasses, she would have lowered them to stare at them over their frames. “L-look, babes, I don’t know what your deal is, but this ain’t cute. I know you’re not some sweet, kind guardian angel sent to like, save me or—or whatever. So you can just cut the sh*t.”

Joan opened their mouth and shut it again. The tiny woman glared at them as they tried to come up with a response.

“There, uh… there is no deal,” they said. “I just found you, and I couldn’t leave you there to die. I don’t have a plan or anything. Honestly, I don’t know what the f*ck I’m doing.”

“Right,” she drawled, clearly trying to seem aloof and unfazed; but Joan could hear the fear in her voice. Great. “And was undressing me part of this totally non-existent plan of yours?”

Joan groaned internally and rubbed at their eyes. “You were soaked to the bone and freezing,” they said. “You already drowned, I didn’t want you dying from hypothermia.”

The tiny woman coughed, wincing, then continued to glare at them. “So, what, girl, I’m just supposed to believe you did all this to help me?”

“Why else would I do it?”

“Gurl, how should I know? For all I know you’re planning to like, kill me or whatever.”

Joan looked down with a slightly frustrated sigh. “Okay, well… uh…. Believe it or not, I guess, but I want you to get better. I’m sure as hell not going to hurt you. It’s… I don’t mean to be, like, harsh, but if I wanted to kill you, all I had to do was nothing. And… well, obviously I didn’t do that.”

She swallowed.

Joan glanced at the time on their phone. They should probably give Marco his dinner, or he’d start whining. “Look, um… I’ll be back in a second. Just, I don’t know, get dressed, try to relax. I’ll be back with some water for you.” They got to their feet, noticing how the girl’s eyes widened as she craned her neck back to see them.

Joan scrunched their eyes shut for a fraction of a second, then sighed, opened them again, and left the room.

This was going about as smoothly as they’d expected.

…

As soon as the human disappeared into the other room, Remy grabbed for her clothes and got dressed as fast as her tired and sore limbs would allow. She didn’t bother with the shirt, just pulling her jacket around herself. Her clumsy fingers fumbled to tie the belt at her waist. When she was done, she probably looked like a disaster. She was pretty sure she even had the wrong boots on each foot; but whatever, right? Why not let her outside reflect how she felt on the inside?

She didn’t see her backpack or her hook and rope anywhere, which in retrospect was probably too much to hope for. It was a waste of precious time to even consider trying to find them. Why would the human have brought home her stuff? It wasn’t like they could use them.

She staggered to her feet, nearly sending herself crashing back down as she tripped over the folds of the blanket. Away from its warmth, the cold air washed over her and made her shiver. She took a deep breath, swaying, and hurried to the edge of the table she was on. That’s right. Of course, she was on a table. She didn’t have a hook or rope, and she was a full foot and a half off the ground. It sure would have been nice of her “rescuer” to leave her on the floor where she had a better chance of getting away. But it couldn’t be that easy, could it?

She looked around, her head spinning at how fast she moved, and her eyes fell on the heating pad underneath the blanket she’d woken up in. It was electric, she realized. She could see the cord attached to it. Finally, something she could use.

Remy hurried over to where that cord reached over the edge of the table and down towards the floor, and she made quick work of shimmying down its length. Which had nothing to do with the fact that it was mostly a barely-controlled fall. Shut up. She was trying, here.

Regardless of her now splitting headache, the crushing pain in her chest, and the throbbing in her ankle and hip that she may or may not have hurt in that fall climb down from the table, she was on the floor. But Remy didn’t have time to feel triumphant. She had to find a way out. She was not waiting around to see what this human wanted with her. No, ma’am.

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adhdvent · 4 years

Text

10/21/2020

Hello. In pure, potential-adhd fashion, I made this blog and then forgot/didn’t attempt to actually post here haha;;;

I have multiple updates for y’all

After a really shit week two weeks ago where I was crying every day and hella stressed, I had my first therapy appointment on Oct 7th! It was just me explaining my symptoms and now I need to book an appointment for an in-person psychological test for adhd and to rule out other things! (Although I’m a bit worried bc I was supposed to get a call from them and never did;;;; and then tried to call them and they didn’t pick up :)) we’ll see what happens)

Then the following weekend, I had the most relaxing weekend ever. I started talking with my first friend at my college n stuff. Maximum self care. So much so that I forgot about my responsibilities and then broke down Sunday night while doing assignments :D

And fun fact: I help out with my brother’s classes on top of doing college which can be a major stressor, but on Monday I didn’t have to because he was off school. I thought it’d be easier since I’d only have my schoolwork to work on but Boy Was I Wrong™️

I had barely any sleep the night before trying to catch up on an art assignment to only get one singular part of it done that took 4 hours

I was beyond frustrated and disappointed with myself. So the morning of the 12th I faced my teacher and she said I could have more time to finish but points would be taken off. I sat through the rest of the zoom while trying not to cry and then broke down after it was over while trying to hide how I was feeling from my siblings which was fun

After that, I had had enough. I’ve been reluctant to even call the issues I’ve been having mental health issues because I still feel like I’m lying to myself. I don’t have a diagnosis or anything so I didn’t feel like I could call it that, but the way the past two weeks had been going had been the most draining of my whole life. Every day was so hard. So, I faced my fears and emailed my teacher and explained what was going on.

She actually listened to me.

She was so understanding and kind about everything, and now I have more time to complete my art assignments and show my full potential. I cried tears of joy after reading her email because she told me I was one of the most talented students in the class. It really meant so much to me that she saw what I was capable of through all my struggle to do just the bare minimum.

The rest of the week got much easier. I cheered up in the second half of it and decorated my house for Halloween :) I made cookies and watched hocus pocus with my brother and got back into the autumn mood which was really nice 🍂🍁🌻

The weekend was just as nice, which brings us to this week of the 18th.

Somehow my sleep schedule’s gotten pretty fucked up so now I stay up until 4 catching up on art assignments while watching unus annus and then nap when I don’t have classes (I accidentally missed one doing that tho;;). I’ve been working several hours every night on school assignments as I try to stay on top of everything and get caught up on my art assignments now that I have more time to fully finish them. I’ve been in a pretty good mood and am easing up on helping with my brother as I get myself together. Things are starting to look up as I finally get my bearings on everything and I’m so glad bc these past three weeks have been SHIT (although I’m kinda questioning the validity of my symptoms bc things are looking up even though I know you don’t have to be suffering all the time to have a disorder/mental illness)

So now what I have to worry about is (this doubles as a lil to-do list):

• dedicating this weekend to working on my Halloween costume

• writing a paragraph for my writing class

• practicing music for orchestra

• working on a birthday drawing for my best friend :)

• finishing up/starting art assignments (Drawing I, 2D, 3D)

• calling the therapy place to see wtf is goin on (or potentially look for a new place)

I’ll keep posting updates when I remember! And I’ll post some art stuff here to show off some of my hard work UwU

#adhd vent #adhd inattentive #adhd #adhd in women #adhd combined #adhd things #mental health #adhd artist #undiagnosed adhd

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bettiesbullshit · 5 years

Text

let’s talk about the recent events leading to me wanting to end my shit, shall we?

what i’m about to write is not me talking shit on either person involved. i love them both dearly and i hope they’re okay and doing well. this is just my take on what happened over the last weekend and how it affected me emotionally and how it affected me as far as my mental illness is concerned.

i could also use some advice from my tumblr pals. either drop it below in the comments or send me an anon (please no angry ones saying i’m a shitty person because i did the best i could in both situations). anyway, hit read more.

SO i broke up with my girlfriend (we’ll call her cici?) on Friday bc she wasn’t on the same level as me (the way i phrased it, we’re on two different paths in life) and wasn’t attempting to better herself. obviously, i was still hurt over this less than two days later as, even though i broke up with her, it was still the end of an almost 2 year friendship and a few month long relationship (longest one i’ve had since i was fourteen lol).

( the rest of Friday, Saturday, and most of Sunday aren’t really important to the story but they were good days. i went to dinner with my mom, her bf, and her bf’s roommate and the roommate bought me dinner--he rejected me the other day tho lol--and then saturday we had a cookout and sunday was just a good day in general BUT ANYWAY, back to the story that no one is going to read )

on the same day i broke up with cici, i messaged my ex boyfriend bc... tbh, i missed him. a lot. we’ll call him peter ig? he drove from about seven hours away to come see me (two days after i broke up with an in person relationship w cici, who i had gotten very close to and loved very much) and i was expected to get over cici and begin a relationship with him. when it was obvious i couldn’t, he left. on his way home, he blocked me on almost everything (and what he didn’t block me, i blocked him on, especially after the exchange between him and my best friend where he told her he wouldn’t ever talk to me again, which is fine btw).

i was extremely suicidal and angry in the three-four hours following this. i called cici out of desperation and she rejected me, claiming i was being suicidal to force her to get back together with me (despite me saying multiple times that i thought that was disgusting but i couldn’t tell her i was suicidal because of peter). i decided that i was going to drive to a town near mine where one of my old friends lived and pick up some weed. on my way there... i had a revelation (i’m manic, leave me alone). I’M OKAY. like, yeah, i had a mental breakdown and every time i would pass a telephone pole i would have the intense urge to wreck my car into it BUT

i realized i did the right thing for the cici relationship. i’m going to miss that relationship as we got along really well romantically and physically (not talking about sex, she just knew how to hold me and treat me etc). but she was not right for me. i’m in college and working full time, i cannot be with someone who is not at least doing one of those things. i also did not have the gas money to make our relationship work with my limited hours. i loved her and i still do. i think had it been better timing, things between us could have gone on for a lot longer.

i did mess up with the peter situation but i did make it clear that i still had feelings for cici. my exact words were “i love her”. it was unfair for him to expect me to get over those feelings so quickly but it was also unfair for me to put him in the middle of that when i was so clearly still invested in her and my relationship with her. however, this experience did give me closure on my relationship with him. i realized that, even though we get along extremely well, we are not a match physically or romantically. the relationship felt small and childish compared to the intensity i had with cici. i still love peter and, if for some reason he stalks my tumblr: i’m really sorry. i did not mean to hurt you again. but i hope reading this gave you some perspective.

i have had no desire to contact either of them since monday. i have felt a lot better after speaking with my therapist yesterday. she made me set up an emergency appointment with my psych and we played around with my meds to help with the mania. i’m not sure when the mania started but i know the lack of sleep (while peter drove here) and the burst of emotion and suicidal ideation caused to escalate if not cause it in general.

if anyone actually read this long ass post, lmk what you think of if you have any questions regarding the situation? idk, get involved, i need someone to talk to.

#bettie.txt #tw suidice #tw suicidal ideation #tw drugs #tw marijuana #tw weed

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machudson · 6 years

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tumblr deleted the ask but heres a vague attempt at answering it despite that

anonymous sent an ask about whinter and clem’s relationship and how it sort of felt ‘forced’, like a high school fling or something. basically just a comphet relationship. im so sorry i dont remember it exactly and i didnt get the email notif for it :(

and honestly YEAH their relationship does seem lowkey like. not a natural relationship i guess. its hard to explain cause ive had this 'rushed' perspective of their relationship kinda simmering on the backburner for like a whole year without ever like.. trying to articulate it so it might be difficult to explain BUT:

in cct whinter and clem got together after about a day of knowing each other and then meeting up the next weekend at splatfest. which honestly is really Not realistic. like they should barely know each other at that point? their first kiss was less than a minute after he told her his name. like in comparison, arnick and tetrox in oe were taking their sweet time! this is moving way too fast! and like.... honestly? if thats how its gonna be in canon im lowkey fine with that (under conditions ill explain in a bit lol).

straying off topic for a sec to talk about her and jonquil. because my personal view of how their breakup went is basically that he decided to break up with her soon after she was hospitalized “for her sake” - he knew he would end up sleeping around/cheating on her and wanted to just.. get that sort of thing out of the way right then. and he never really properly breaks up with her. he just does it over text because he doesn’t have the guts to do it in person. This Of Course leaves clem fucking heartbroken! like first you nearly die, then your boyfriend just up and leaves you??? so this leaves her kind of fucked up. she acts like she’s high and mighty, a tough girl who doesn’t need love or a man to support her. but thats lowkey just her lying to herself to get over him, bc shes at her lowest point for a lot of obvious reasons and she really just cant deal with that! ive always seen her as a romantic type (tho she doesn;t want to admit it) and not to say that having a s/o is an automatic fix to all ur problems, but even if she doesnt want to say it thats how her subconscious thinks it works!

and then hoi happens. and here she is, forced into saving the world with this guy she’s barely met. obviously she think’s hes annoying at first, but through the course of the afternoon (?) they have to work together more and more and they open up to each other more and she probably starts finding him cute in a sort of dorky/oblivious way. and i think when she starts really actually being In Love is on the last stage or so. the ufo stage in blackbelly. when she gets knocked off the ufo in midair, and whinter superjumps to save her from basically falling to her death. i think that having basically her whole team just... disintegrate after the incident + general depression and stuff just like. having him save her life showed that he actually cared about her and i think she had kind of gotten into a hole where she thought that nobody gave a shit about her. so thats a Big Falling In Love Right There thing. and when she splats octavio and whinter nearly falls into the Endless Void, that like instant devotion she developed for him came into play. it’s basically certain death, but she superjumps to him anyways cause in her mind he’s the only damn person on this planet who cares about her and it’s not like she feels like she has anything to live for anyways. might as well go out in glory. (and no better way to die than in the arms of the guy you just met today and don’t even know the name of but are deeply in love with anyways AMIRITE)

so basically to conclude that massive amount of text. the aftermath of the incident (depression, breakup, etc) put her in an emotional state where she fell in love with whinter, despite barely knowing him, because he’s cute and showed a basically expected amount of care for her. she fell hard and fast and thats why they got together after just a day of knowing each other

now the CONDITIONS i mentioned earlier. obviously they barely know each other and they’re more or less just jumping into this blindly. and that is Not Really A Healthy Relationship. so i think that they definitely have to get some serious space from each other at least once or twice just to make sure they actually love each other beyond the initial bond they made as ‘blue’ and ‘orange’. thanks for coming to my ted talk

#and THATS why im honestly not happy with the idea that theyre actually gonna take their time with a relationship this time #cause while thats like... much healthier and how it should be it's not really as interesing character-wise #tt #ramblins #anonymous #even tho its not rly an ask just a messy paraphrase of one . f

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chubbysewcialist · 6 years

Photo

With any luck, I should be home from Gencon by now, and had a nice time on my Nerdcation :-) The weekend before that I finally finished a very practical project. Ordered some nylon “sailcloth” online and made a liner for my shopping cart. These are useful contraptions to own in NYC, and even more useful when you have a chronic illness to deal with while shopping. Sadly my cart of 13 years finally broke, and then the replacement broke a few months after that. A friend kindly found me a new one for my b’day that’s HUGE. The only downside was that it was too huge to find a liner for online. Attempting to package my Costco groceries in smaller liners (from previous carts) didn’t work at all, because it left everything very unbalanced and threatening to break down again. Can’t just go without a lining because smaller items would fall out the sides anyway. Plus rainy-day shopping would get icky, and its even more difficult to keep the cold-storage stuff cold. And sadly, none of the stores in my area offer grocery delivery in my most unfashionable neighborhood of Queens, b/c I guess that’s a yuppies-only thing around here? Luckily I’m a sewcialist, so I just made a new one. I also had some leftover self-adhesive velcro in my notions stash, will wait and see how that holds up. Would like to go over the inner seams a second time tho, to reinforce everything. The fabric was too thick for something like french seams, and I just didn’t think to try flat-felled. I didn’t care much for being fine or fancy with this, so I just drew the panel sizes and labels directly on the wrong side of the fabric with magic marker, nbd. Should probably change the blade on my rotary cutter tho. Flashier projects to follow, promise :-), or at least muslins on the road to flash. Tho it may take me some time to recover my spoons post-con.

#shopping cart #nyc problems #practical #projects #sewing #sewcialist #sailcloth #nylon #grey #gray #sewmylife #chronicallysewn #spoonie problems #spoonie

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survivor-mesopotamia · 4 years

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Ep. #2 - “Shit ain’t over till the fat lady sings and I didn’t warm my pipes.” (Cameron)

Day 4: Well. I survived my first tribal council of the season, and even though it went exactly according to plan, while I slept my entire day away, I'm still really hesitant to tell myself that I'm doing well on my tribe. I'm really nervous that my tribe mates are playing me, and that I'm really boo boo tha fool here. I called Megan post-tribal, and I was finally able to get some closure on something that happened between us in our personal lives, which felt really good. After that, she asked me about the idol, to which I had responded "Wait, Julian didn't tell you?", which hopefully sows some seeds of doubt in Megan about Julian. Ideally, if the Enlil tribe has to go back to tribal council, the four of us can bear witness to a Megan vs. Julian war. Because unfortunately, the connections I have outside Enlil, are shared with either Julian or Megan. If Megan and Julian are going after each other pre-merge, or during a swap scenario, I don't have to share those connections anymore. After that, Megan and I just talked about the nudes we received during quarantine ~ I then promptly ran to Will to tell him about the potential crack I just formed between Julian and Megan, which was met with genuine excitement. I think I'm really gaining Will's trust, and I think we vibe so well together. Love that guy! Overall, it wasn't a very productive day because I woke up at 4:30p PST. Love that for me, thanks for shading me @ Tribal Bodhi.

going into this scavenger hunt as the tribe that went to tribal last is worrysome. It's a challenge that's fully dependent on our activity, so we are at a serious disadvantage against the other two tribes that get to choose someone less active to sit out. We don't have that luxury. The point/life system eases the blow, however, since we can get less active players 1 life while more active players can get 3. In case we lose, I'm trying to connect with everyone on the tribe. I really don't want to vote anyone out though. I have an alliance with Julian and JJ, and one with Will on the side. Chrissa wants to work with Julian, JJ and myself, and I think Megan and JJ have something on the side. I'm nervous for who would be the target in the vote, and any vote would hurt all of our games collectively. Hopefully we win because the next vote will not be easy AT ALL.

Done w typing this sheet

youtube

jj and zachary are so fucking annoying to this challenge and if i vote for you first at the swap, its probably because youre typing too much during this challenge sorry not sorry xoxo - sincerely johnny a month from now

let me be clear with andrew I was not calling his hosting unfair i was calling the fact that a majority green item giving him a point unfair not the hosting but lack of yellow, also i have a headache i don't feel that good. and I just don't think zach should have had a point for it nothing against hosting obviously i watch a movie trivia thing where literally they have a challenge to challenge any questions that are unfair, that doesn't mean they are calling the question writers or the answer writers unfair.

Zach just won the tribal challenge for us which is fantastic. We can maintain the illusion of a unified tribe longer, which keeps us together in a swap situation, and Zach has clearly painted a challenge target on himself over the last two challenges which will make him go before me if our Triforce ever becomes the minority. I'm really happy with my position in the game right now

youtube

me and monty trying to find the idol and decode this annoying ass video https://imgur.com/a/lu7sbMu

Forgive me father for I have sinned it's been approximately three days since my last confession so far can't complain really we be winning they hating we be riding pretty damn clean I've got a majoritu alliance I didn't start so odds of it falling around me and being the first voted out slim to none thank the sweet baby jesis and all that good shit. Oh well that's all for now

JULIAN’S HOST CHAT GUEST, ZEE:

I am filling in a confessional because you told me to. I am in front of my fan because it's hot. I'm thinking that it seems pretty stupid to ask me for a confessional. Julian's prod chat isn't very interesting because he's distracted.

youtube

also just threw out madison's name to johnny. if this shit backfires on me ill be ):

https://youtu.be/Pqck1gayfJU

https://youtu.be/FMay7NycsPw

yo yo yo homies!!! fuck the scavenger hunt and the mobile Skype app !! Lowkey scared but I think I’m close with everyone on the tribe except madi soooooooooo that’s probably who will go tonight. I’ve connected a lot with Monty and am hoping we can work together closely moving forward 💕not sure how useful my relationship with Zach is going to be come swap/merge bc it seems like he’s ALREADY making himself a target like the big doof he is. More later 💋

https://youtu.be/Qg47yupj1bQ

https://youtu.be/vUK8A1qWVoA

Hello tumblr survivor world! Sorry I didnt confess for episode 1, I was going to but i accidentally exited out of the page when i almost finished writing it. Anyways, it was just a cast assessment for my tribe so tl;dr everyone on my tribe is great and its really sad that we have to vote someone out now. So this whole weekend I was away so I was REALLY worried that I would be voted out since I sat out of the challenge. But after talking to Johnny and Isabelle, it seems like Madison will be voted out tonight. Which is so bad bc this her first game in a year, but hey it's our first vote and it's not me so it's not really the time to make a stand. _________________________________________________________________________________________ Okay I took a break from writing this confessional and there's moreeeeeeeee so part 2 I guess. So I had a call with Johnny and we came up with an alliance of me, him, Isabelle, and Benji. What an iconic alliance, right? But also while Johnny and I talked we got onto the topic of idols and why it is that there hasn't been an idol post yet. I brought up that wayyyyyy back when in Malaysia and some other games around that time, some of the idol hunts were less clear cut. We ended up looking at the blog and clicking the "idol system" tab and it brought us to some weird crab video with audio that sounds like a pokemon cry? Idk part of me thinks its just a joke but I also have to consider that it might be SOMETHING. It said remember to like and subscribe so I sent a screenshot of me liking and subscribing to see if that would do anything but nope. Johnny said he'd do some thinking about it and get back to me later if he figures something out. Also tribal seems super clear cut so I'm a bit less worried now but y'know how it is I can't not worry about tribal.

i just spent $8 on a spectogram and STILL cant find this fucking idol im gonna kms... monty im sorry im steam rolling ahead looking for this thing without telling you, but thank you for the first clue xoxo... if i get stumped in the future ill reach out for SURE (but idt you trust me that much so this seems kinda valid to me) ((FOUR HOURS LATER: i told monty lololol)) ALSO FOR FUCKS SAKE I think madison is gonna go, and truthfully, im fine with it because it's the easiest thing to do due to her poor performance in the past few challenges and just being the least AROUND the tribe, but i know that it'd probably be better for me long term to get rid of abby because i just dont see her as a long term ally for me. i think she's close to JJ and Megan on the other tribe, and she's becoming much more acclimated to the tumblr survivor community that i just BET that she maybe has an additional connection on the rookie tribe. If I can attempt to break that up before we get to a swap, I think that's what im going to have to do figure out if we lose another challenge before a swap... i dont really want to see ANYBODY else go besides abby if im thinking about a second boot. i bet it wont be easy to take her out tho also, if madison goes, this is like...... lowkey vindication for game changers???? last night i talked about this with monty and i was like hmmmm "is it ugly to bring up past game history?" and his response was "not if it's within the same series" .... so. vindication

---

omg i just told madison how to find the idol system thing i hope she doesnt tell anyone i told her about it LMAO........ this almost seems too easy.i got added to two alliances today. why do i not feel safe? is it me going? WTF IS GOING ON

excited to be first boot because no one will TALK TO ME!

Things haven’t changed much since my last confessional! As far as I know the tribe hasn’t started into alliances and we’re all riding some excitement at having so far avoided tribal. I think the rest of the tribe and I are all feeling good and just focusing on making the tribe switch without losing any members.

from round 2 https://youtu.be/fk002uG2HoI

Hi sorry I forgot to do a confessional this round so this will be short imma just say a few things 1. I don’t trust julian one bit he can stop being shady to me 2. I can’t believe we aren’t going to tribal I’m so fkn happy i was able to pull out the win for our tribe because I didn’t want to lose anybody else 3. I love and adore will with all of my being and he’s my number 1 ally right now 4. I find it highly doubtful that there’s only one idol in this game and that you can’t find it until merge but that’s as far as I can get in the idol search for now so I guess there’s nothing I can do about it 5. I’m still having fun can’t wait to fuck up another flash game yay!!!

My Purple edit is amazing right now. But having played more games than most of these newbies, I have decided to take on the role of teacher and becoming more of a "role model" for these newbies. I feel like I have the closest bond with Zach, and I need to get a little closer with Collin. I have Grace from past games, and then there are the others who I do not really have any strong bonds with at the moment. I guess I need to start going to them more and show that I want to work with them.

https://youtu.be/yhwXzqrTcsA Confessional 2 for round 2

https://youtu.be/TVnpwqc8XLY

Madison voted out 6-1

#nomorethings

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warmau · 7 years

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could you write the got7 maknae line neighbour!au,,,,i love your writing btw

sure!find the other members (here)

Youngjae:

specifically chose an apartment with enough space for a piano,,,,,,,which means his living room is just his piano and like a rug there isn’t any room for anything else,,,,,,

but that’s fine with him because he has his computer set up in the bedroom so he can play games and that’s all he really needs in his life youngjae is a simple man with simple hobbies

he also won’t admit it but he spent more money on coco’s bed than he did on his own (definitely waited for ikea’s end of year sale or something for that)

keeps everything pretty minimal in style, beige’s and whites. tries to keep his place tidy because he knows it would make his mother proud and he wants to leave as much open space for coco to play around

more dog toys in his apartment than there is furniture

the neighbors all know him as ‘debussy boy’ because in the spring/summer when youngjae has his windows open the neighbors can hear him practicing clair de lune and it’s such a relaxing melody that someone will shout “encore!” just to hear youngjae play it again

he’s also just a really sweet, mannered guy so most of the neighbors don’t mind his music and some of the moms keep asking him to offer piano lessons so they can bring their kids over to be taught by him

and that’s exactly what he does because hey, rent is getting higher and making some extra money on the side is never a bad thing

but most of the time he can’t even bring himself to take the neighbors money,,,,,,,,,he ends up teaching on donations that the parents have to literally push onto him

and you’ve never been really interested in learning to play the piano,,,,,but you’ve lived across from youngjae for half a year now and every time you hear him play it’s like ,,,,,, it’s like stepping into a fairytale

not to mention that when you see him, with that eye smile of his and that adorable innocent aura,,,,,,,like ok ok you might maybe have developed a little crush or whatever,,,,,,,,

so one day you as you’re taking the elevator up with him, talking about the weather, you suddenly go “i heard you teach piano lessons - can i possibly sign up for one?”

and youngjae seems a little surprised, mostly because his students are all children

but even with his cheeks getting more red he tells you that sure, he’s free this sunday

and before you ring his doorbell on sunday afternoon you check your hair and straighten your shirt like one hundred million times but when you finally do, youngjae opens the door and apologizes in a stutter for the mess (there isn’t any mess tho lmao)

and you follow him to the pretty piano in the middle of his living room and you’re like “where’s your tv? o:” and youngjae is like “no ,,,, room,,,,,,,,,,, i watch whatever i can on my laptop!” and you’re like “you must really love playing the piano, it’s like this apartment is dedicated just to this instrument”

and you don’t even mean to make him embarrassed, but youngjae has to hide his face for a bit because he’s blushing and once you both sit down on the bench you confess you don’t have the first clue about what you’re doing

and youngjae finally seems less shy, smiling and putting his fingers on the keys and teaching you slowly what sound each one makes

and the time passes so fast as you two sit side by side and youngjae’s voice is so gentle and his laugh makes your heart beat a little faster

and then you try to play something on your own, but you’re clumsy and suddenly youngjae puts his hand over yours, guiding your fingers along the keys

and only when you’re done does he realizes that you’re basically holding hands and he’s like “aH IM,,,,,,,,SORr,,,,,,y,,,,,,,,”

and he moves his hand away but you’re like looking down trying not to hide the fact that you’re really happy ,,,,,,,, plus his skin had been so warm

two shy cute people that obviously think “they’re so cute” about each other but can’t even look into each others eyes

and you thank youngjae for the lesson when coco starts weaving between your feet, nudging youngjae and asking him to take her on her walk

and youngjae is like “it’s no problem,,,,,if you want,,,,,,,,,you can come again,,,,,,,next week,,,,,,,,,”

and you’re like “i’d love to!” and then you look around in your pockets for the money you had brought but youngjae stops you and he’s like “i won’t,,,,,,,,,,,think of these as lessons more like,,,,,,,d,,,,,,,,da,,,,,,,”

and you’re like omg does he want to say dates?????

and youngjae can’t bring himself to do is he’s like “like d,,,,,,da,,,dat,,,,” and you giggle and say it for him and he’s like yES,,,,if that’s ok,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

and you’re like that’s more than ok and you’re like if you won’t take cash payment then can i kiss you on the cheek instead??

and youngjae would melt into a puddle if that was humanly possible but he nods and when you press your lips to his cheek you pull back fast and youngjae wants to say something

but coco’s barking cuts you two off,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

it’s cute though you both lie in the bed that night thinking about how you could go from being neighbors to being much more,,,,,,

BamBam

gets in trouble with the landlord because he throws parties every weekend

but he always gets away with it because the neighbors are like “he’s a young boy, let him live!!!!” and also bambam has killer puppy dog eyes. they’d work on just about anyone,,,,,,,,,,,,,,minus like jinyoung

his apartment is a Mess. like im talking a real m e s s. his bedroom is just an assortment of clothing thrown into piles with shoes and accessories everywhere,,,,,,,half the time he ends up sleeping using an t-shirt as a pillow

the only thing he keeps clean is a Buddhist shrine he keeps in his room as per request of his mom and if anyone even tries to go near it he’s like “i WILL chop your hand off” ,,,,,it’s really important to him

but yeah his living room is just,,,,like no one is sure what’s going on,,,he’s got like weird art on the walls and a neon sign he bought on impulse and like ,,,,, empty bottles from drinks and take-out cartons and underwear hanging off a lamp ???? glitter on the floor who even knows

his kitchen is even worse like when does he even do the dishes. does he even own dishes? nope bring your own dishes if you plan to not eat off like a frisbee when you come over

you know bambam at first because you hear about his parties, literally like you hear the party through your wall

and ten minutes later there’s a ring at your doorbell and some dude named jackson is inviting you over since there’s free drinks and food

and you’re like you know what ill go and that night you get introduced to bambam, who is apparently trying to attempt some kind of high speed dab balancing a bottle of water on his head and you’re like “why he’s doing that”

that jackson kid is like “oh, he’s doing it for instagram”

and as you continue being neighbors with bambam you find out he does a L OT for instagram

which is fine like,,,,,,,,,,,kids and their social media these days but before you know it you end up being asked by bambam himself for some help

and so you’re standing in his living room, holding up his phone and you’re like “are you sure this is a good idea?”

and bambam, who is attempting to do a handstand is like “anything for the internet is a good idea”

and you’re sighing like ok but if you come tumbling down im not going to catch you

and you start recording as he tries to lift both arms up at the same time to dab “upside down” which of course is a total failure like you predicted

and he goes falling legs, something sounds like it cracks and you’re like

“…………..bambam don’t move i think you might have broken your arm” and bambam whose just laying there motionless is like,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, “i can’t move,,,,,,,,,,,it hurts,,,,,,,,”

and you don’t want to be an asshole and just leave him all alone once the ambulance comes so you tag along and the EMT is like “so what exactly happened?” and you’re like “he ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, fell while working out.”

and you’re not sure if he believes the lie you’ve just told but the EMT shrugs and is like “it looks like nothing is broken, your boyfriend just has a fracture.”

and you want to be like boyfriend??????? since when excUSE me

but bambam makes a sound of pain and you’re like “ok ok don’t worry, you’re not dying”

and somehow you find yourself staying by his side in the emergency room and after the doctor has patched him all up you go out and get the two of you some coffees from the vending machine

and bambam is sitting up in the bed and you’re like “let me the first person to sign your bandage” and you scribble something like “don’t ever dab upside down again” and bambam laughs

but also,,,,,, he looks up at you and there’s something sincere in his eyes when he tells you that he’s really thankful for you staying with him and that you’re really a good neighbor

and you’re not sure what’s gotten into you, but bambam looks so handsome,,,,, maybe because you’ve never been so close to his face before but his features are so gorgeous

that you have to look away and conjure up a laugh to hide your embarrassment from locking eyes with him

but knowing bambam he’s sly and he’s caught on

and you feel his free hand wrap around your waist and pull you closer and you’re like “oh!??” and he’s like

“you took care of me, so how about i pay for our dinner tonight?” and you’re like “bambam can you even get your wallet out with one hand?” and he’s like “i can try, for you.”

and you have the urge to like pinch him for being greasy all of a sudden but also like maybe this goofy guy who actually loves your attention a lot,,,,,,,,,,,,,is really cute and worth it to go to dinner with,,,,,,,,,

Yugyeom

if the neighbors cat gets stuck in the tree, everyone knows to call him: the living giant of the apartment building, Kim Yugyeom

the neighborhood kids adore him because they always beg him for piggy back rides or to sit on his shoulders

and he always stops whatever he’s doing to play with them and just be an overall cute angelic human being that we as people do not deserve

has that kind of personality that makes people give him stuff for free and when he thanks them they’re just like “oh wait there’s something else i need to give you wait here a second-”

anyone who meets him instantly wants to take care of him,,,,he’s soft

his apartment is really well organized which is surprising for his age,,,,, like his closet is color coded and he matches all the patterns with each other

and he cutely hangs his laundry out on the balcony like his mom taught him

and just like,,,,,,,he’s so sugary sweet and simple

buys fresh flowers for his living room whenever he can. that’s the kind of person he is

and you’ve been pretty good friends with him for a while. he even helped you paint your apartment where you had to get on a stool to reach the ceiling and he just,,,,,,,,well stood there

and you know yugyeom has a passion for dancing, he’s always telling you about what song he’s practicing and who he met up with from different dance crews

but one night as you’re going up to the roof to just sit and think,,,,something you do every now and then

you’re surprised to hear the faint sound of music beyond the door and when you open it

you can hear a song on full blast, and the sound of someones sneakers against the floor and you’re surprised to see the tall, lean, but familiar figure of yugyeom

and although you usually see him wearing some kind of long coat, turtlenecks and shirts from popular brands

you see that all he has on is a pair of old sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt, sweat visible around the neck.

his movements though,,,,,,they’re far more smooth than you could have ever imagined. you can tell he practices a lot, he’s so good that you can barely see any mistakes

and yugyeom doesn’t notice you until the song ends and you (embarrassingly) unconsciously clap

and it startles him to the point that he lets out a small yelp, but with the faint light from the streets below he makes out your face and smiles

and he’s like “why are you up here?” and you’re like “no reason, i didn’t know you used the roof to practice?”

and you can see him get sheepish, scratching the back of his neck and he’s like “my room doesn’t have enough space, plus i don’t want to be loud with my music. it’s so nice and free up here.”

and you nod looking at him with a still mesmerized expression and yugyeom laughs a bit and he’s like “don’t gape like that, im nothing special” and you’re like no what?? you’re so amazing???/ i never knew you were THIS talented

and he laughs again, but he’s really happy to hear you say that and you go over and pass him a napkin from your pocket and you’re like “your sweat!!” and he gets blushy again but thankfully you can’t see it

but you’re also like “ill go, i don’t want to disturb you”

but yugyeom grabs your wrist before you turn and he’s like “if you want,,,,,,,,you can watch me some more,,,,,,,i don’t know if it’ll be entertaining though-”

but you’re already saying you’ll stay, sitting down comfortably by the portable speakers and yugyeom is like “pick a song!”

and you shuffle through his music, settling on a chris brown song that makes yugyeoms eyes light up

and it’s really adorable,,,,,,the way he’s so passionate while dancing and then so cute when he’s just talking to you,,,,,,

very how should i put this,,,,,,,BOYFRIEND material

#got7 scenarios #got7 scenario #youngjae scenarios #youngjae scenario #bambam scenario #bambam scenarios #yugyeom scenario #yugyeom scenarios #choi youngjae scenarios #kunpimook scenario #kim yugyeom scenarios #sfw #got7 #youngjae #yugyeom #bambam

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