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anjaelle · 11 months

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I Think She Knows

Pairing: Tangerine x Black!Reader Warnings: Drunk!Tangerine, Needy!Tangerine, Jealous!Tangerine, (Kinda Toxic Behavior) Word Count: 2.4K Summary: In which Tangie starts realizing things and absolutely does not have the bandwidth to deal with it. Because babygirl is bad at most things, and feelings are at the top of the list. a/n: Something something... I don't advocate for getting drunk and being weird at your not-girlfriend's house. Thanks!

(gif source)

When it fully hit him, it was like being mowed down by a 10-ton truck.

He felt like he couldn't breathe. The way his chest suddenly rose and fell made him made him question if his heart was attempting to escape his ribcage just to be closer to you.

You were talking about...something. You came over wearing a skin tight red dress and you carried your shoes in your hands as you tiredly strolled into his kitchen.

Actually, he remembered what you were talking about.

You mentioned how tired you were of having to talk to idiot men, but that stabbing them in the head for your efforts was almost worth the annoyance. Ordinarily he probably would've just laughed or made a smart ass comment about how lucky he was that he could be around you without the threat of violence. But you mentioned fighting, did a small spin in a circle, and did something akin to a silly jig to show how secure you felt in your dress.

He felt his thoughts halt in their tracks, and he suddenly couldn't remember his own birth name, let alone how to form a coherent sentence.

You didn't even seem to notice. Or maybe he hid it well. Because the conversation continued like he hadn't malfunctioned right in front of you. Maybe he was running on autopilot. That had to be it.

He swallowed hard, ran his fingers through his mess of untamed curls, and shakily came back into himself with the heavily realization that he was deeply in love with you.

Did you even know? Was it evident on his face like ostentatious neon lights in the middle of a darkened street? You kept talking about your day and he tried to listen intently. But his own brain wouldn't shut the fuck up.

When he realized that he broke the one rule you two made (which he introduced), he wanted to walk into the Atlantic Ocean with rocks in his pockets. He loved you. You weren't even dating. You were definitely seeing other people and he realized he slowly cut out every other person he'd ever fucked just to spend more time with you.

God. He'd dropped SO many other people. He could remember canceling potential hookups just because you wanted to hang out. Of fucking course he couldn't tell you this now. He'd look like a massive idiot.

"Are you alright? You seem off." You suddenly asked. Your beautiful eyes seemed to roam his face in genuine concern. Death would've been easier to face. In fact, death has notoriously been much easier for him to face.

He forced an assumedly easy grin on his face and shrugged, "I'm just listenin', babe."

You quirked a suspicious brow at him, but continued on with your story of your mission. Every so often he could feel himself staring at your mouth and the way your nose seemed to crinkle at certain memories of the night. He was suddenly hyperaware of how much he seemed to be study your every move. Had he been doing it this whole time?

On some level, he was confident that he could tell you exactly how many birthmarks you had on your entire body.

God what a sick fucking freak.

Suddenly his mouth started moving as if it wasn't connected to his own goddamn brain.

"You stayin' over tonight?"

He'd cut you off mid-sentence with the question. Naturally, you shot him a look that screamed contempt.

"...Maybe." You cut your eyes at him in a subtle challenge.

He felt like he didn't sound the least bit convincing, but he straightened his back to force an air of confidence that he obviously didn't have, "Well I need to know, because I might have plans. With a girl. Tonight."

He wasn't sure what he expected your reaction to be. Maybe he wanted you to be jealous. Or maybe he wanted you to try and convince him to change his mind. It was childish, but he wanted you to give him...something. Instead you raised your brows in surprise.

"Oh, really?" You grinned, "Is she cute?"

Oh come on. He thought.

"Yeah, a real stunner." Stunner? What the fuck was he saying? He couldn't stop himself, "Rebecca's tall, blonde, a model. Fuckin' sexy. So gorgeous."

He watched you slip your heels back on and adjust the top of your dress to hide your bra. He wanted to grab your beautiful face and kiss you. Instead he was spiraling and you didn't even notice.

"Blonde?" You seemed skeptical. Yes, good. "Since when do you go for Blondes?"

"Since always, actually. You think I tell you about everyone I've shagged?"

You shot another cutting glare in his direction, and he fought the childish giddiness rising in his chest. When you looked away from him to tap away on your phone, he tried to figure out what else he could say to get your attention again.

"You're in a particularly bitchy mood today." You suddenly said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe you should leave, then." He responded, much harsher than he intended to. He winced the minute the words left his mouth and you looked like you wanted to throw something at him.

"Since you wanna be a dick, fine. I'm having Jamesy pick me up."

You threw your jacket on and started tapping on your phone again, which irritated him to no end.

"Jamesy?" He spat, "Who the hell is Jamesy?"

"You think I tell you about everyone I've shagged?" You threw back at him in an almost perfect accent. He deserved it. But he started to panic as you headed towards the door.

"Well fine." He countered, though it sounded akin to a whine, "Stephanie's probably on her way, anyway. I don't want to watch you two fight over me or somethin'."

"Nobody's trying to fight over you, shut up." You mumbled, shoving your phone in your pocket. You took a second to pull the door open, but hesitated, "And also who's Stephanie?"

"The model."

"You said her name was Rebecca."

He stumbled over his words but finally came up with, "I--it's...You just have to be right all the time, don't you?"

He caught the way your mouth twitched in an attempt to fight a laugh, and he really wanted to grab you by the waist and pull you back into his apartment. But your phone dinged again, and you pulled it out of your pocket, "Look, when you're done throwing this little temper tantrum, and you figure out what your problem is, text me. Otherwise, sort your shit out."

Tangerine was having a terrible night. His face sat in a permanent frown as he stared into the fake embers of his electric fireplace and nursed a mason jar of vodka. You were out there getting railed by some prick named James who's too fuckin' old to still be going by Jamesy. And you probably weren't even thinking about him and how he's absolutely piping a real person named Bethany. Stephanie. Rebecca.

♫ I wish, I could just make you turn around Turn around and see me cry There's so much I need to say to you so many reasons why You're the only one who really knew me at all♫

He'd lost track of how many times Phil Collins' miserable pleading played on a loop through his speakers. He felt like a goddamn loser. He scrolled through your Instagram noting that you truly had the prettiest smile he'd ever seen. And you were so funny. Maybe the funniest person he knew. Even the emojis you used were cute.

He wanted to jump in front of a train.

"'Maybe you should leave then' you fuckin' idiot." He mumbled pitifully to himself. "What if I just like...went to her house? What if that guy is there? What if she doesn't answer? What if she tells me to fuck off? What if I tell her and she never speaks to me again?"

He stared at his phone sending and unsending his texts to you over and over, trying to figure out what to say. Or if you'd even read it. Suddenly his phone vibrated and a text from you popped up:

You've sent and unsent me like 9 messages. What the fuck do you want?

It took him 8 minutes to find an Uber to your place and 20 minutes to get there. Was he drunk and irrational? Maybe. But goddamn it, you were his woman.

You just didn't know it yet.

When he got to your floor, he started knocking incessantly on your door.

"Babe," he whined, drunkenly, "darling, are you still mad at me? I'm sorry." When he pressed his damp forehead to the cool metal door of your apartment, he didn't even realize how much he was sweating, "I know I said I was fucking that model. Um. Sabrina! Rhonda? Whatever the hell. But I lied. I'm a filthy fuckin' liar."

He pressed his ear to the door, but he didn't hear anything through the thick metal.

"Please don't fuck that James prick--I'm not callin' him Jamesy. I reckon the man is nearly 40, BARE MINIMUM!" He pressed his palm to the door and called your name again, waiting for you to open it.

When you didn't, he slid down to the floor and cradled the half empty mason jar to his chest.

"So take a look at me now, there's just an empty spaaaace. And there's nothin' left here to remind me. Just the memory of your faaaaace. I'm not leaving 'til you talk to me!"

He felt the back of his head thud against the door but he was too wasted to really feel it. He'd definitely feel it come morning, for sure. His eyes drifted closed as his mind started to wander. Maybe you were asleep after being fucked into the middle of next week. Maybe the guy was telling you to ignore his desperate pleas for attention. He wanted to throw up everywhere.

"Fuckin' Jamesy." He mumbled, crossing his arms in childish disappointment.

The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and you stumbled out of the door with another woman, giggling uncontrollably. You both held bags of fast food in your arms and it was clear you'd had something to drink as well. The minute you caught a glimpse of him sitting slouched in front of your door, he noticed you exchanging looks with the red headed woman by your side.

"Tangerine, what are you doing here?" You carefully asked, clocking the booze in his lap.

"Nevermind that," he slurred, stupidly, "where's Jamesy?"

The tall, slender red-headed woman raised a hand and waved, "Hi, I'm Jamesy. Do we, like, know each other? Or?"

Tangerine groaned and rested his head against the door again, "Ugh! Jamesy's a lass? How the shit am I supposed to compete with that?"

The woman turned to you with a curious look on her face, "What is he talking about?"

"I don't know. Can you hold this please?" You handed the bag of White Castle to your friend and approached the sad, drunk assassin sitting on the floor outside of your apartment. He looked pitiful. When you brushed his curls from his forehead, you noticed that he was sweating vodka. "Okay, sweetness, you need to get up."

When he looked at you, and saw the concern on your face, he gently touched your cheek and frowned, "You're so pretty, baby. You're the prettiest person I've ever seen in my whole entire life."

"You're pretty, too. But you really need to get up. And you're heavy as fuck, so I need you to help me out here."

"Okay," he nodded sharply, shoving the jar of vodka into his leather jacket pocket. And it surprisingly fit. You didn't question it further. You took a step back and held your arms out in case he lost his balance as he rose to his feet.

It was like watching a 5'11 baby deer.

He leaned against the door, trying to keep his balance, as you grabbed your share of the food from your friend and kissed her goodbye as she left for her Uber.

"What kind of girl is named Jamesy?" Tangerine muttered, as you attempted to unlock the door.

You sighed heavily, "Her name is Siobhan James. But I couldn't pronounce Siobhan when we were little, so I called her Jamesy and it stuck."

"That's so cute. I reckon you were a cute kid." He mumbled, resting his damp head on your shoulder. "You're a cute grown-up. We'd make cute kids."

"Yes, sweetness. We would. And also you're soggy."

"Mhmm." He kissed the shoulder that was covered in his sweat and mumbled, "I'm so sorry I was so, so mean to you, angel face. I was just being a massive dickhead."

"Yeah, you were." You agreed, giving up on trying to unlock the door while he leaned onto you.

"I--I just love you a whole fuckin' lot and I don't know how to deal with that shit. Because, like, you could have anyone you want. So why would you want me, you know?" He grumbled.

"There are a lot of reasons why I want you, Tangerine. You never have to feel insecure about that. I'm just...confused. You decided that the answer to this was to make me mad?" You scratched his scalp, "Does that make sense to you?"

"I wanted you to tell me that you didn't want me to see other people."

"Why would I tell you that, if that's what you want?" You asked, sincerely, "I stopped seeing other people because I love just spending time with you--"

"Hang on. You stopped seeing other people? Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never asked." You finally managed to unlock the door, and you both stumbled over the threshold.

"Here I was thinking you were getting pounded by lumberjack-built twats named Jamesy. I was in my apartment crying to Phil Collins for nothing?"

"I guess so." You tossed your keys on the kitchen island as he stumbled to the couch and face-planted into the cushions. By the time you showered and changed, he'd fallen into a deep sleep beside the bottle of water and advil tablets you placed out for him.

"And for the record..." you kissed him on top of his head and turned the lights out, "I love you, too. But you probably won't remember this. So we'll revisit it tomorrow."

#aaron taylor johnson #atj x reader #tangerine x reader #tangerine x black!reader #tangerine bullet train #tangerine fic #I feel like I should just make a tangie tag at this point #jae writes

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lilyrachelcassidy · 12 days

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Middle of the Night

Felix Catton x reader

summary: Felix wakes Y/N up in the middle on the night for one particular purpose.

warnings: language

wc: 0.7k

xoxoxxoxoxoxxoxoxoxo

"Hey! Hey!" Felix shook Y/N lightly until she opened her eyes, marginally startled and alarmed to see her best friend standing at the bedside in the middle of--

She looked at the bedside table, her eyes still squinting, and in search of the clock. It was 4.13. 4.13! Was he demented?

"What, Felix?" Y/N issued a passive-aggressive question, while rubbing her eyelids. She wasn't sure whether she had enough bandwidth to put up with his rarefied ideas at this hour.

"You've gotta see this." He grasped her arm, as though thinking it would rev her up and suddenly make her run to the appointed destination. No effing way.

"Felix, I've the exams tomorrow. Let me be." Y/N pulled a duvet over her head, turning to another side of the bed.

"Oh, come on now, don't be such a baby."

"A baby?" Y/N scoffed, bemused. "How did you get here in the first place?"

"You gave me a spare key, remember? In case of the emergency."

"It's not this kind of emergency that I was thinking of... Go away. Please."

Almost convinced that Felix got a hint that her biological clock didn't want to be disturbed, for he didn't utter a word for another minute, Y/N sighed in relief and hoped to return to her sleep just as quickly. But all her wished clearly plummeted when she felt the duvet being yanked off of her with a force; all of the sudden she was met with the unpleasant nippy air of her room. She gasped lightly, her eyes darting open just to discern Felix standing there with a plastered smirk on his face of an accomplished child who managed to plunder a sweets cabinet without getting caught.

"What do you think you're doing?" asked Y/N, increasingly miffed. "I've told you I have the exams tomorrow, Felix."

"I know." He shrugged but then grabbed Y/N by her waist and threw her over his shoulder. First she tried to protest and fight him off, at this point just to stand by her stance that she was not up to venturing out of her dorm at this hour; she even so wished to yell at him just to let her to the ground but she remained quiet, not wanting to wake anyone up at this hour. And so she just gave up, dangling over his shoulder.

"Where are you taking us anyway?" she asked after they finally exited the corridor. Felix at least had enough brains to throw a blanket over hear body before exiting the room.

"There is something I wanted to you to see," he said, and in the next instant they were outside the building, the air frosty, despite it already being late June. He carried her for a few more moments before finally placing her on the ground.

"And what was that exactly that--"

Instead of answering, Y/N was interrupted by Felix's hand being placed on her eyes. So nonplussed with the gesture she was that she simply pipped down while Felix spun her around, eyes still covered, and dragged her closer to his body. With one his arms engulfing her figure, she was given enough warmth as not to complain about being woken up basically in the middle of the night.

They stood there for a few more elapsing seconds until Felix removed the palm from her gaze, and the vista sprawling before them was truly mesmerizing. It was the early sunrise setting in with all its hues on a full display; they were standing in their favorite break space underneath their willow tree.

Subconsciously, the grin made its way on Y/N's lips while Felix's sight transfixed on his friend with something between merriment and sheer amusement.

"So what, was it worth dragging you all this way up her?" Finally detaching her gaze from the view, Y/N glanced up at him, flushed all of the sudden. "Or are you going to slag me off for the rest of the day?"

Y/N considered his countenance, rising one of her brows quizzically at him. "Well... if you stand me a breakfast, I'm willing to forgive you."

Felix's grin ever so widened at that, and he drew Y/N's body closer to him, now both of his arms enfolding her frame. "Done."

#felix catton x reader #bestfriend!felix x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton imagine #felix catton x you #felix catton #saltburn #felix x reader #saltburn 2023

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xoxoavenger · 1 month

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In a Frame on the Highest Shelf

pairing: Steve Harrington x SingleMom!Reader

summary: James is getting smarter and Steve and Y/N are getting more comfortable with each other

word count: 2557

warnings: some self deprecating thoughts but they are assuaged

notes: big thank you to @ilovegerardwayd34d for having the perfect idea for the next part

previous part series masterlist

birthday celebration main masterlist

Their relationship is interesting, to say the least, after the party.

They don't change their daily life, except now Steve sleeps in the bed with Y/N. She hadn't known that his back was hurting, had felt bad when he popped it the first night in bed with a deep sigh and mentioned how much more comfortable it was. She had begun to apologize, but he told her to stop talking and took her into his arms. They both slept better in the bed together, James in the crib next to them.

Y/N realizes she made the right decision when she wakes up in the middle of the night to Steve not in the bed, instead laying on the ground with an arm in James' crib. Y/N knows this well, that usually James can't go back to bed without some sort of physical contact, and usually takes James into her bed. She thinks maybe Steve was worried about co-sleeping, which is kind of endearing, and she grabs her camera as quietly as she can. The flash is bright, but Steve just takes a sharp breath and rolls a bit.

"Steve," Y/N whispers, putting the photo and the camera down. She reaches over to shake his shoulder, because she doesn't want his back hurting even more. "Come back to bed." She watches as he unravels himself from James, who squirms before going back to sleep. She watches him for a moment, makes sure everything's okay, and then helps Steve back up onto her bed - or their bed? Could she call it their bed now?

"James woke up." Steve mutters, and Y/N looks at the clock. It's early in the morning, but early enough to go back to sleep. The perfect time.

"You did great." Y/N told him, kissing his cheek before laying against his chest. It's her favorite pillow, and Steve doesn't mind because he likes her pillow more than the spare one.

"Mhm." He nods, pulling her closer and pressing his lips to her forehead in a loose version of a kiss.

This life is perfect.

Until it comes crashing down and suddenly Y/N is at her lowest, lower than when she first found out about being pregnant.

It starts with James crying, and Y/N realizes pretty quickly he has a fever. She calls out of work, not able to leave his side. Steve picks up on the house chores, which makes Y/N almost melt if she had the bandwidth to care about anything but her baby. He washes the dishes, takes out the trash, does the grocery shopping and makes food. She lets him feed her while she rocks James the few times he's actually asleep.

"Today is day three." Steve tells her, and she just nods. If she looked up, she'd notice he has dark circles under his eyes that almost match hers, but she is too busy watching the rise and fall of James' chest. His mouth is open, nose stuffed.

She is terrified.

"I should take him to the hospital." She says, about to cry herself. She's so tired, and she would do anything to take this pain away from her baby. She doesn't understand what happened, because they hadn't been around anyone who was sick. She had always been so careful, never wanting to cause her baby harm. This had to be her fault. She must have missed something.

"I can drive you. We can go now if you want." Steve offers, and nods, starting to stand. She'll go in these stained, old, gross clothes, and she hopes there's something quick that can be done to help James.

"Yeah, let's go," She stops talking because James is shaking in her arms, eyes rolled back. "Steve," She has no idea what do, and she knows Steve won't either but her mind can't think.

"Let's go to the hospital now, come on." Steve seems freaked out, scared like Y/N but able to keep himself calm.

"What's going on?" She starts crying, holding James as tight as possible. He stops shaking, but her heart doesn't calm down. She wants to throw up and scream and somehow trade places with James. She feels so helpless, holding her baby as he breathes deeply through his mouth.

"We're gonna be okay," Steve leads her out, both of them without shoes. Y/N doesn't even have socks, but she can't feel the dead grass under her feet, only her baby in her arms. Steve helps her into his car before he runs around to his side, sliding in and starting the car as quick as possible.

"I think he's okay now, I don't know what happened." Y/N can't tear her eyes away from James, who is crying now. She doesn't want to put him in his carseat, even as Steve speeds out of the trailer park and onto the road. He's safe in her arms.

Luckily, the hospital isn't that far, and they pull up in record time. Y/N hops out of the car, looking over at Steve.

"I'll go park the car. I'll find you. Go!" That's all she needs, shutting the door and running into the ER.

Y/N lays in the hospital bed, James laying next to her sleeping. They've given him medication, told Y/N the seizure was only because of his fever and that they'll give him medicine but he'll get better eventaully.

None of that made Y/N feel okay.

Steve sits in the chair in the corner of the room, arms crossed as he watched Y/N smooth James' hair. She felt guilty that he was here, for pulling him into this whole mess. She felt her throat begin to tighten.

"I'm sorry." She whispers, looking up and over at him. He furrows his brows as tears begin to fall down her cheeks. "You can go home if you want." She doesn't even know what her words are supposed to mean.

"Hey," He gets up off the chair and moves to the bed, resting his arms on it to be close to her. "It's okay. Everything is alright. James is okay, it was just a scare. We are okay." He grabs her hand, and it breaks her. She starts crying harder, and then Steve gets on the bed, holding her around James just like he did the night they first kissed. That night wasn't that long ago, but Y/N thinks it might as well have been years.

"This is all my fault." She says quietly, shaking as the sobs rack her body. "I'm a terrible mom and a terrible friend." She tells him, and she truly means it. What kind of mother lets her kid get this sick?

"You're an amazing mother. The best I've ever seen. And a great friend. I'm not just saying that." Steve struggles to get out, not sure what to say.

"But ever since I came into your life, all I've done is mess everything up." She whispers, sniffling and trying not to wake James up. "Your parents kicked you out, Steve. And I have a baby. You shouldn't have to take care of him when I can't." She cries softly. Her eyes are closed, and nothing happens for a moment.

Then Steve reaches out and wipes her tears.

His hands are soft against her cheeks, and she keeps her eyes closed so she doesn't ruin it. They breathe silently, and she sniffles back her tears until Steve has dried her face.

"I wanted to leave." He whispers, and she finally looks at him. His eyes look sad in a way she hasn't seen before, even though they've had the discussion of him leaving his parents house multiple times. "My dad was a terrible father. And my mom wasn't much better. Before recently I didn't understand how parents were supposed to be. But you've taught me what to do. I know today was scary. But you can't push me away now. I'm staying because I chose to, not because I don't have another option."

She wants to say she loves him, but it feels like it's too much, so she reaches over and kisses him, James in the middle, just like their first kiss. She thinks it may be her favorite way to kiss ever.

"When we get home, our home, I'll go get groceries and make dinner while you clean the house and James naps. We'll get our shit together." He rubs her back and kisses her forehead.

"Stit?" James grumbles, because of course he had woken up, and Y/N glares at Steve.

"I'll get ice cream on the way too."

"So, what are you doing for Steve's birthday?" Robin asks. It's been a couple weeks since James went to the hospital, and he's feeling much better now, so Y/N and Steve were both excited to finally see the rest of the group. The adults are all at Eddie's, the kids at Y/N's. The doors are open at both, and Y/N is standing on the porch watching to make sure James is alright even though Max assures Y/N she's watched babies younger than James.

Y/N told Max she's more worried about Dustin.

"Steve's birthday?" Y/N repeats, pulling her gin and tonic from her lips. She hadn't heard anything from Steve about his birthday, which made her realize she didn't know when Steve's birthday was.

Check in the bad girlfriend column.

"Yeah?" Robin asks, sipping her drink with a smile. "It's next Monday. I thought you would have plans, since he hasn't told me any." Y/N's heart drops.

"Monday?" She whispers, turning to look at Steve. He's laughing with Eddie, beers in their hands. Y/N feels the need to smoke a cigarette.

"Did Steve not tell you his birthday?" Robin asks, and Y/N shakes her head, walking inside. Robin calls after her, but she pretends like she doesn't hear, downing her drink and setting the cup down on a table. She knows where Eddie keeps her cigarettes, so she walks past everyone and into the kitchen, grabbing a cigarette and walking out to the small porch.

Steve didn't tell her his birthday.

Why didn't he tell her? They've had a busy month, sure, but his birthday is important. Not everything can be about her all the time. She feels like shit.

"What's goin' on?" Steve is suddenly behind her, hand on her back as he stands close to her. She looks over at him sadly, handing him the cigarette. Every time she's had one, she shares it with him when he's around. She lets him take a long drag, and then she turns to him. She feels his hand move from her beck to her hip, and she tries not to let it distract her.

"Why didn't you tell me your birthday is in a couple days?" She asks, not breaking eye contact. To his credit, Steve doesn't try and act like he doesn't know what she's talking about. He doesn't look around and try to figure out an excuse. He keeps staring, even as he sighs.

"James was in the hospital a couple weeks ago and we just got back to normal. I didn't want to stress you out and I knew you would want to do something." He tells her, taking another drag from the cigarette.

"Because I care." She whispers, putting a hand on her on his chest. "We're all okay now, we can celebrate your birthday." She puts the other hand on his face, rubbing her thumb across his face.

"We don't have to." He tells her, putting the cigarette out and letting his other hand fall to her waist.

"Steve, come on. It's your birthday." She's sure his parents always belittled his birthday, so she wants to make sure he has an actual birthday party. "Tell me what you wanna do, and I'll take care of it." She leans against him, trying to get him to agree, but he shakes his head.

"I just want-" He doesn't tell her what he wants, because all the sudden the kids are all screaming. Y/N and Steve only make it half way across the grass when Dustin appears, holding two pictures in one hand and James in the other arm. Max and Lucas pop up on the other side, and they all clamber out of the trailer.

"What happened?" Y/N asks as she meets them, taking James into her own arms. Dustin lets her, but his face has a wide smile that matches the other kids, all of which who have started piling out. James seems to be fine, happy even with all the yelling.

"Watch this!" Lucas yells. Y/N expects James to startle, but he must be used to the noise because he squeals.

"We were trying to teach James our names, and then we were quizzing him on yours," Max starts, pointing at the pictures. The first is Y/N in the hospital with James right after she gave birth. A nurse had taken the picture, and it was the only one she had with both of them for months. She smiles at the picture. "Who's that?" Max points at Y/N, and James kicks his legs into Y/N.

"Mama!" He squeals, and Y/N kisses his forehead. He's been saying 'mama' for months, but it's still cute.

"Who's this, James?" Dustin asks as he moves the pictures to reveal the first picture of James and Steve; the one of James on Steve's chest. James looks so young Y/N wants to cry, even though it was just a couple months ago. She's studying the picture so closely she doesn't realize what James says.

"Dada!"

Everyone is quiet, heads snapping to Steve. Y/N's jaw drops as James continues to babble "dadada" and then wiggles to get out of her arms. She lets him down to the ground, her mind racing. Of course Steve being in James' life would be amazing, but she hasn't talked to Steve about this. They've been so busy, she's honestly forgotten about it. She watches as James toddles over to Steve, grabbing the leg of his pants.

"Dada?" He asks, and it breaks Y/N's heart. She can't ask Steve for this. She knows he said he chose this, but he can't say that he honestly chose an entire lifetime. She wants to know how James knew what that means, but clearly her son knows who it should be associated with.

"Steve," She starts, not sure if she should pick up James or not. She watches as Steve reaches down and grabs James up, turning so his back is to the kids and James can see them all. He's facing Y/N as the kids start to scream in happiness. Y/N watches as Steve clutches James, tears starting to leak from his eyes. She can see how much this means to him, and she doesn't want to take this moment from him. But he reaches a hand out blindly for her and she doesn't waste a second taking it. He pulls her in tightly, James in between them, just like it always is.

"I love you." She tells him, looking at him. She watches him blink some tears away, then kiss her softly.

"I love you both." He whispers, hanging on even tighter. She slots her head into his neck and keeps her arms around him. "So much."

Someone takes a picture, and Y/N knows it's going to be in a frame on the highest shelf for the rest of her life.

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @one-sweet-gubler @sadbitchfangirl @gloryekaterina @alexshaff2002 @m-rae23 @icequeen1371 @mcueveryday @parkershoco @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @peculiarwren @kenzi-woycehoski @multifandom-boss-bitch @freezaz123 @mads-weasley @johnricharddeacy @sweetdreamsshifter @param8re @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @wish-upon-a-star-1310 @fangisms @alicetweven @damon-loves-pie @gaysludge @l0v3e1i @luvrsbian @zulpix-blog @scarletwitchwhore @taylortheyellowlobster @ash5monster01 @nix-rose @param8re @loving-and-dreaming

#steve's problem #steve x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x singlemom!reader

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tealin · 11 months

Text

McMurdo Internet

Internet service is supplied to Antarctica via a geostationary satellite. This far south, the satellite is only a few degrees above the horizon, and unfortunately for McMurdo, it's behind Mt Erebus. So the signal is beamed to a receiver on Black Island, about 20 miles away to the southwest, and bounced over to the sheltered alcove at the end of the Hut Point Peninsula where McMurdo sits.

The Chalet, administrative hub, with Black Island in the distance

The Black Island telecommunications infrastructure was installed in the 1980s, long before the internet we know and love today. It was upgraded in 2010 to allow more data transfer, mainly realtime weather data to feed into global forecast models. For this reason, it's probably the only place I've ever been where upload speed is remarkably faster than download speed – 60Mbps for outbound traffic, but only 20Mbps for inbound. Most regular internet use is receiving, not sending, so that's an entire base running on a connection that's only marginally faster than the average American smartphone. As you can imagine, this is somewhat limiting.

The limits to one's internet access actually begin before one even reaches the Ice. At the orientation in Christchurch, one is directed to a URL from which one must download and install a security programme from the U.S. government. It may feel like a hippie commune full of nerds, but McMurdo is an installation of the American state, and as such its computer network is a target of whatever disgruntled conspiracy theorist decides to hack The Man on any given day. Computers that are allowed onto this network (such as the one on which I am typing right now) have to have an approved firewall and antivirus service installed, then this extra programme on top of them. I am not sure what it does. For all I know the CIA is spying on me even now. (Hi, guys!) But you need to install it to get on the McMurdo Internet, such as it is, so I did.

To be honest, I was rather looking forward to a month cut off entirely from the hyperconnected world, so I was a tiny bit disappointed that quite a lot of day-to-day communication is done by email, and I would need to be on my computer a fair bit to get it. Had I known just how important email would be, I'd have installed an email client that actually downloads one's messages instead of just fetching them; as it was, the cycle of loading an email and sending the reply, even in Gmail's "HTML for slow connections" mode, took about five minutes, not counting the time it took to write. Tending one's email was a serious time commitment; sometimes I felt like I was spending more time on the computer in Antarctica than I did at home.

Crary scientists waiting, and waiting, and waiting

In a way, though, I was lucky, because I was technically a scientist and therefore had access to the one building on base with WiFi, the Crary Lab. And don't think you can just waltz into Crary with your laptop and poach the WiFi – in order to access it at all, you have to get set up by Crary IT with your own personal WiFi login. If you do not have Crary access, your portal to the Internet is one of a handful of ethernet cables in each of the dorm common rooms, or some public terminals in the main building. You can hop on, download your emails, maybe check the news or Google something you needed to look up, and then leave it for someone else. When most online time sinks are either blocked or too heavy to load, it’s amazing how little internet time you actually turn out to need.

Things that we have come to take for granted in The World are not a part of McMurdo life. Social media is pretty much out – the main platforms are bandwidth hogs even before you try to load a video or an animated GIF. There is no sharing of YouTube links, and no Netflix and chill. Someone was once sent home mid-season for trying to download a movie. Video calls with family and friends? Forget it. People do occasionally do video calls from Antarctica, often to media outlets or schools, but these have to be booked in advance so as to have the requisite bandwidth reserved. Jumping on FaceTime does not happen – not least because handheld devices have to be in airplane mode at all times for security reasons. Your phone might be secure enough for your internet banking, but not for US government internet!

It is, unavoidably, still a digital environment, it just gets by largely without internet access. Nearly everyone has an external hard drive, mostly for media that they've brought down to fill their off hours. If you want to share files you just swap hard drives, or hand over a memory stick. When the Antarctic Heritage Trust wanted some book material from me, I dropped it onto an SD card and ran it over to Scott Base on foot – a droll juxtaposition of high- and low-tech, not to mention a good excuse for a hike over The Gap on a beautiful day. It took half an hour, but was still faster than emailing it.

There is also a McMurdo Intranet, which includes a server for file sharing. Emailing someone your photos will take ages, but popping them into a folder on the I: drive and sending them a note to say you've done so (or, better yet, phoning them, or poking your head into their office) is much more efficient. To conserve space, this informal server partition is wiped every week, so you have to be quick about it, but it's an effective workaround, and also a good way to get relatively heavy resources to a large number of people in one go.

The telecommunications centre on Black Island is mostly automated, but like anything – perhaps more than some things, given the conditions – it needs to be maintained. There is a small hut out there for an equally small team of electricians and IT engineers; Black Island duty attracts the sort of person who might have been a lighthouse keeper back in the day.

Towards the end of my time on the Ice there was a spell where they needed to shut off the connection overnight, to do some necessary work. Given that most people's workdays extended at least to the shutoff time at 5:30 p.m., this meant essentially no internet for a large portion of the population, and some amusing flyers were posted up to notify everyone of the impending hardship.

Someday, faster, more accessible internet will come to Antarctica. It's more or less unavoidable, as communications technology improves, and everyone's work – especially the scientists' – depends more and more on having a broadband connection at all times. It will make a lot of things more convenient, and will make the long separation from friends and family much easier. But I'm pretty sure that many more people will mourn the upgrade than celebrate it. One can, theoretically, curtail one's internet use whenever one likes, but even before the pandemic it was almost impossible to live this way with the demands of modern life: I know from personal experience that opting out of Facebook alone can have a real detrimental effect on relationships, even with people one sees in the flesh fairly regularly, simply because everyone assumes that is how everyone else communicates. Being in a community where no one has access to assumed channels, and is more or less cut off from the rest of the world in a pocket universe of its own, levels the playing field and brings a certain unity. The planned (and, unarguably, necessary) updating of the physical infrastructure of McMurdo will wipe out a lot of the improvised, make-do-and-mend character of the place; how much would free and easy access to the online world change it in a less tangible way?

I'm sure the genuine Antarctic old-timers would shake their heads at the phone and email connections we have now, and say that no, this has already ruined Antarctica. It's not Antarctica unless your only link to the outside world is a dodgy radio. It's not Antarctica unless you only get mail once a year when the relief ship arrives. Doubtless the shiny new McMurdo will be seen as 'the good old days' by someone, someday, too. Change may happen slower there than elsewhere, but just like the rust on the tins at Cape Evans, it comes eventually, regardless.

For my own part, I'm glad I got to see 'old' McMurdo, such as it was, all plywood and cheap '90s prefab. The update will be much more efficient, and tidy, but yet another generation removed from the raw experience of the old explorers. My generation is probably the last to remember clearly what life was like before ubiquitous broadband; to some extent, Antarctica is a sort of time capsule of that world, just as the huts are a time capsule of Edwardian frontier life. I hope they'll find a way to hang on to the positive aspects of that.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to waste an hour mindlessly refreshing Twitter ...

If you'd like to learn more about the Black Island facility, there's a lot of good information (and some photos!) here: https://www.southpolestation.com/trivia/90s/blackisland.html

And this Antarctic Sunarticle goes into greater depth on the 2010 upgrade: https://antarcticsun.usap.gov/features/2114/

#mcmurdo station #antarctica #internet #wifi #connectivity #antarctic blog

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incorrectfmaquotes · 8 months

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Today marks 6 years since I started this blog!

Thank you all for following! Whether you followed back in October 2017 or earlier today, I appreciate every single one of you.

And for some other things I wanna say, which I don't think affects anyone and isn't exactly news, especially to anyone who might be paying attention, but more just me acknowledging it: I haven't really been attending to this blog that much in the past couple of years, but especially this one. I've largely just let the queue run and fill it up with older quotes every couple of months. I made this blog when I was in high school and had more free time; I am now something that somewhat resembles an actual adult (if you squint maybe) with more Adult Responsibilities and Situations (but as I have unfortunately realized, adulthood does not erase feeling teenage emotions all that much). I've had less time and frankly less bandwidth to devote more time to this blog - especially to create quotes at the rate I did the first 3 years. And something that has hindered me even more in attending to this blog and is in part why I started to do so was that starting around 2020, a lot of times, I could not open my inbox, direct messages, or activity page on this site. I don't know if the culprit of that was my browser, my old laptop, or our famously well-functioning website Tumblr, but this would frequently happen and would do so for weeks at a time. I'm not saying this was the only reason why there have been unanswered asks and submissions for years (see above: increasing Adult Situations and the Toll they have taken on me), but that certainly played a heavy hand.

I'm in some new circumstances and over the past couple weeks, they have been a bit more stable and consistent - I've actually made about 85 new incorrect quotes and have put them in the queue, an amount I don't think I've been able to manage since the early months of 2020 before quarantine. Opening the inbox and DMs seem to be less of a problem lately, so I've also put in the queue a good amount of those submissions I've had sitting in my inbox for a while and will try to do more, though unfortunately some of the blogs that have submitted quotes have since been deactivated. I'm going to try to answer some asks in the coming days, but again, a lot of these are months and years old, and a part of me feels a bit awkward only just responding now and I'm wondering if it's respectful at all, but I still wanna do it.

That is to say, even though I am in a more manageable situation, I'm not promising that I am now going to attend to this blog like I did in the beginning, or even that much more than I have the past few years. I have learned that circumstances can change with no notice at all. I'm also not saying there's no guarantee that I'll be even less present here or won't stop running this blog altogether when the current queue runs out - not that I'm planning on it, but I can't completely rule that out as a possibility. But even if I ever stop attending to this blog, I don't think I'll ever delete it altogether, if you're worried about that.

So, thank you for sticking around with this blog for the past 6 years! And for sticking with this post that got a lot longer than I thought it would be. This post probably sounds like a whole lot of nothing, but I still wanted to say it, and I thank you for putting up with it. Hope you have a good day! 💕💕💕

#rosie speaks #not fma

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copperbadge · 9 months

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I am so close to being done with Royals/Ramblers I can taste it, and it's one of those frustrating situations where the last remaining work to be done is just annoying. I have to write one damn scene, which of course is the most emotionally fraught and difficult one, and then pick from the *counts on fingers* three separate versions of the epilogue I wrote, none of which are very satisfying. I'll probably slam them all together and then sort it out somehow.

And then I definitely have to give the whole thing one more pass before I think about posting, because it's going to clock in at right around 150K words, and I already have notes on continuity issues that need fixing.

Anyway, please enjoy this scene, in which I realized at the same time Gregory and Eddie did what a great joke their names make. (Some brief context -- Joan uses she/her but doesn't like the word "princess", so she chose the gender neutral Princeps as her title.)

Friday evening, when Gregory came on the air for the address, Eddie was sitting next to him, and Joan was leaning on Eddie's shoulder. Her excitement was almost a visible thing; she'd been fussed over that afternoon, Gregory helping her pick out clothing followed by Jerry doing her makeup for camera and Eddie doing a slightly less clumsy job of braiding her hair than she generally did.

"Good evening, Fons-Askaz, Askazer-Shivadlakia, our neighbors, and our viewers abroad," Gregory said. Behind the camera, Jerry mouthed the words along with him absently. "I'm pleased to greet you all this Friday evening and I hope you're well. I find myself, for the second time in a year, setting aside the usual issues of the day and questions from citizens to talk to you about family...."

His idea had been to talk about Joan's history just a little, then introduce her as the newest Royal, their daughter the Princeps. He could use that as a platform to present to the country his new funding package for adoptive families, meant to encourage adoption and support children coming out of the foster system. Each half of that would hopefully make the other half seem less random.

It went pretty smoothly; Eddie chimed in at all the right moments, and Joan got to say a few words of introduction at the end. After he signed off, he gave her a hug and a forehead-kiss and told her she'd done a great job.

And then Noah, standing with Monday and Jerry behind the camera in the little studio, said, "Well, you crashed the internet again."

Gregory sighed. "Can't blame Eddie this time, can we?"

"It was only the tourism website, and it wasn't on purpose," Eddie said.

"He was always breaking my stuff when we were kids," Monday said.

"Nope, this one's all Joan," Noah replied. "As soon as you introduced her as your daughter, traffic started spiking -- palace website, tourism website, and every royals' Photogram."

"Katie in Communications says told you so," Jerry said, already on the phone with her.

"Joan's Photogram is down, looks like bandwidth-suck. And there goes mine, and yours," Noah said, nodding at Gregory. "There's two hashtags trending, PrincessJoan and PrincepsJoan."

"Let me call my guy at Photogram," Eddie said, taking his phone out.

"You have a guy just like, at Photogram?" Monday asked.

"Yeah, he handles my requests, I send him sausages," Eddie answered.

"How is it you simultaneously live in the 22nd century and the 14th?" Monday asked.

"Have him kill the Princess hashtag," Noah suggested.

"It's fine," Joan said. "They can use it for now, it'll keep things, um." She narrowed her eyes, searching for the word. "Segmented. Spread out the discussion a little."

"Someone's been reading my data analytics memos," Gregory said.

"You leave 'em out," she pointed out.

"Good news is people seem excited," Noah continued. "The hashtag's glitching, it's moving so fast, but overall pretty positive," he added.

"Well, we knew this would be intense," Gregory said. Joan, studying her own phone, squeaked. "Joan?"

"Mas Corbin tagged me," she said, with possibly the most excitement they'd seen from her, at least since her first trip in the Jaguar.

"The footballer?" Gregory asked, confused.

"Who?" Noah and Eddie chorused.

"He's a Shivadh footballer, I think he's playing in Ireland right now," Gregory said, and his voice took on a slight edge as he considered some of the reasons a football player might mention his daughter. "What did he say?"

"Dedicating my next game to my new Princeps JoanMac, long may she reign," Joan read, and Gregory relaxed. "Congrats to Gin&Tonic, she's cute as a button. Mas Corbin thinks I'm cute!"

"Gin and Tonic?" Gregory asked, and then said, "Gregory and Theophile," right as Eddie and Monday both began to laugh. "How did neither of us think of that before?"

"You get used to it," Noah said to Joan. "All kinds of famous people are going to have opinions on you."

"What do I do?!"

"Gram him back," Noah said. "Comment and say thanks and that you're a fan and you'll be watching the game."

"I'm gonna have to do a video with some gin and tonic recipes," Eddie said, as Noah and Joan debated the best wording for her response. Gregory leaned back in his chair, exhaling, and let the chaos happen around him for a minute.

#shivadhverse

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jojo-schmo · 11 months

Note

Beauty and the Beast, but it's Metadede?

Ohohoho-!! This one really got me thinking!! :D If I had unlimited emotional bandwidth and time this could be a fun concept to explore a BUNCH! I'm a sucker for fairy tales! I'm not capable of fully developing this idea right now, but I did brainstorm a little bit!

There's some aspects of that story that I just can't think of good parallels for (Like Gaston, Belle's dad, Belle's character motivations and such). So this is more Beauty and the Beast inspired than being a perfect retelling.

Anyways, ENOUGH TALK. LET'S GO.

So when I read this ask, I immediately got slammed with a very passionate and explosive Brain Blast: Dedede as Beast!! BUT he's got an appearance inspired by King D-Mind (And Dark Mind by extension) and a beastly demeanor like his Primal form in Forgotten Land. So this is not Shadow Dedede!! Important distinction!

Like Dedede's personality in early Kirby games, he would be selfish and arrogant enough to be cursed by an Enchantress to find true love and compassion. (So the rose and its petals are still connected to this curse's time limit.) But at his core there is a being capable of love, compassion, and self-sacrifice! It just takes a bit of character development to get there!

Meta stumps me a bit more. He doesn't strike me as the kind of guy singing about how "there must be more than this provincial life..." And who would Gaston even be?? Beats me.

So instead of being a damsel from a small town with big dreams, maybe he's some kind of traveling knight or mercenary who has always worked alone. He's got a stoic demeanor that can even come off as cold since he doesn't make many meaningful connections with others. But those walls he's put up over his life are indeed capable of coming down with a little care!

You'll also have to forgive me for how little I changed Meta's design... I did this during my lunch break and all I could think of was adding some gold flourishes to his outfit- but there is definitely more potential there than I came up with!!

Why would he get stuck being Dedede's prisoner? Perhaps he bartered someone else's imprisonment for his own. Or he found himself in debt by chance to the King, or accidentally disturbed/destroyed/or damaged something important to him and has to pay with a prison sentence.

Whatever the reason, he's truly stuck living there. And they super do not get along at first. Dedede's fiery temper and Meta's colder exterior would be at odds a lot of the time.

Jumping ahead a bit, here's that scene from the original where Beast defends Belle from a bunch of wild wolves (but here they're Primal Awoofies!)

And from there, the character development continues.... Meta warms up a little and shows more emotion and vulnerability than he ever has before. Dedede cools down in turn and learns that he is worthy of affection and genuine connection... And so on and so on~

As for the supporting character roles filled by "Beast's servants," I figure most of Kirby's allies could be in this role! I just only explored Bandee and Kirby to start with.

I had trouble coming up with household object forms for them (granted I didn't invest that much time into it). So I thought about another time-sensitive form they could take that is high-stakes enough that they'd want to turn back to normal and break the curse. So I came up with the ghostly angel form that happens when you get knocked out in Kirby Fighters. :)

So there you have it! A few days worth of daydreaming for a metadede Beauty and the Beast-type story! Hehe. If anyone happens to find themselves inspired and wants to develop this further as an exercise in AU writing or just plain having fun with it, DO IT! This is my donation to the internet, lol.

...Just please share it with me. I love reading people's stories. <3

#metadede #Kirby au #ask #art #meta knight #king dedede #bandana dee #kirby #idk what to call this story haha but if someone thinks of a good name lemme know #thank you for the fun writing exercise <3 #I do like Dedede's “Beast” form a lot haha maybe I'll revisit it every now and then

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pallisia · 5 months

Text

various asks

my inbox is full of nice messages and i don't want to flood the tl so i'm going to answer a big batch of 'em! warning for spoilers:

thank you! this is great to hear. i've always loved the modern touches in ffs like 8, 13, etc., and it was a flavor i'd wanted to incorporate into a fantasy setting of my own. i still think about the part in ff8 where the president gets assassinated by a witch on live television.

even if their circumstances aren't realistic at all, i wanted the characters to feel down-to-earth, so i'm glad they came off that way. i only realized this after hearing from others, but "desperation" is a major theme throughout the story. she's gotta have "it"

thank you so much! to be fair, i was never planning to do fully rendered 3d backgrounds, only to use them as a foundation to draw over. it's something a lot of comic artists do these days, which i respect, but...i think it's not for me. i just don't like thinking about perspective unless it has an "atmospheric" in front of it. but i'm glad the approach i went with was a success! i also love "i felt like i was really getting mugged"

i'm not a musician in any capacity, and i'd never considered releasing any of my piddly little compositions until this. i'm lucky to have worked with such an encouraging friend.

i gotta look out for my clowngirls. thank you.

these two messages came one after another for a critical hit combo... thank you so much for letting my little freaks into your heart.

this is another thing i was hoping would happen! thank you.

ysme uses artisanry to augment her body. we'll get more into how that magic system works later!

thanks so much! i've never played any of the pmd games, but that's very high praise. and i'm honored to hear that i inspired you to make a vn of your own! it really is such a flexible and fun medium, so i hope you enjoy the process.

thanks! that was absolutely an inspiration. when i was outlining the script, i had the vague idea that i wanted ysme to coerce loic in a way that would make sense considering the magic at his disposal. personally if i were mugging a wizard i would simply not give him the chance to think about it .

thank you. i don't have the mental bandwidth to make an rpg, but i still wanted to make something that evoked the same feelings, so that's fantastic to hear.

thank you so much! i can only be myself, and thus there will be more titty.

#txt

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sidekick-hero · 5 months

Text

to the rhythm of eternity

(steddie | explicit | 16.8k | tags: Modern Setting, Meet-Cute, Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Smut, Christmas Fluff)

This was written for the STuad server gift exchange as a gift for @scarcrossdlvrs 💜 I hope I did your 'Long Distance' prompt justice, Bee!

December 2023

"I can't wait for you to get here, Stevie."

Eddie's voice sounds muffled through the headset, almost too quiet with all the noise around him. The video quality is shitty too, because while it's not even noon for Steve in Chicago, the sun has already set in London and Eddie is walking to the Phoenix Theater to start setting up the sound for the evening show. Steve can see the streetlights in the background casting shadows across Eddie's face. It's a busy street Eddie's walking down and people keep bumping into him, the chatter around him mixing with the sound of passing cars. From the looks of it, it must be Piccadilly, which means Eddie is almost at his current place of employment.

"Me too. God, I miss seeing your stupidly pretty face outside of a tiny screen with a shitty solution." Steve's sigh is tinged with longing instead of annoyance. It's not Eddie's fault that he had to cut back on the bandwidth for their video calls when he was out. The six-hour time difference only made it more difficult for them to both be home with decent broadband to talk. Or do other things.

Eddie grinned down at the screen, and even with the poor solution and bad lighting, Steve could see the pleased expression on his boyfriend's face. "Aww, you think I'm pretty? Stevie, I had no idea." Eddie coos, making it sound like a joke. Steve knows it's not, not really. Which is stupid, because Eddie is one of the most attractive guys Steve has ever seen, with his big brown doe eyes and full lips and interesting nose, tattoos littering the skin of his lithe body. If Steve were there right now, he would grab Eddie and kiss him silly, showing him exactly how pretty Steve thought he was.

"Baby, you know how beautiful I think you are. And how sexy and sweet and funny..." Steve teases, keeping it light, while reassuring his boyfriend that for Steve, Eddie is the best thing that has ever happened to him.

"Okay, okay, big boy, I get it. I guess I just need you to show me when you get here." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and winks, looking like the biggest dork in existence with his giant headphones and his nose red from the cold and that beloved toothy grin that Steve needs to kiss, like, yesterday.

He quickly scanned the hallway outside his office to make sure no one was coming in before lowering his voice to that deep, seductive tone he usually only uses when they're both under the sheets with their cocks on their hands. "Oh baby, believe me, when I finally get my hands on you, I'm going to show you as many times as you can take it. And then some if you're good."

His words have the desired effect, as Eddie pauses for a moment to put a hand to his face before pressing his phone to his chest and turning the screen black. Steve can make out the faint "jesus h. christ" over the noise, probably because he knew how Eddie would react after two years with him.

Eddie doesn't stop for long though, pushed forward by the crowd around him. "You're a menace, Harrington. A bloody menace, I tell ya."

"Oh, baby, I love it when you talk British to me." It's said in a teasing voice, but there's some truth to it. Eddie's accent had been one of the first things that had piqued Steve's interest when they first met. It's no secret that he loves it when his boyfriend uses it to rile him up even more.

"You've got some weird kinks, Stevie."

"Only for you," Steve says and then adds with a voice that is only for Eddie's ears these days, "I can't wait to show you all the dirty things I think about when I'm alone in bed with my hard cock in my hand, wishing it was your hand or your mouth or, fuck, your ass gripping it tight." He doesn't have to play up the moan that follows, because it's been five months since they last saw each other, and Steve is almost certain he's going to come in his pants the moment Eddie gives him a hug.

"Bloody hell, I'm in public! You can't just... There are rules, Steven. Rules." Judging by the edge of desperation in Eddie's voice, he's not alone in his need.

"Guess you'll have to punish me then, huh? Show me my place."

"Oh, look, I'm at the theater. My place of employment. Guess we'll have to table this lovely discussion until you get here and we have some privacy to talk this over more thoroughly."

"Can't wait, baby. Love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart."

Only one more day before he can hold Eddie in his arms again. Despite all the dirty talk, that's what Steve is looking forward to the most. He can almost feel the comforting weight of Eddie against him, the solid and warm body wrapped tightly in his arms, Eddie's breath on his neck and Steve's nose buried in his dark curls.

With another longing sigh, Steve looks at the clock on the wall before picking up his pen again to go over the remaining paperwork on his desk. Eight hours until his flight to London, he might as well get some last minute work done before he takes the rest of the year off to stay with Eddie.

READ THE REST ON AO3

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fanfic #stuadholidayexchange #my writing #Nsft

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jewishconvertthings · 8 months

Note

This isn’t a conversion question but I hope it’s okay to ask here. Is there anything I can do to support people living in Israel during this terrifying time?

Hi anon,

I wrestled with how/if to respond to this, because I try very hard to keep I/P politics off of this blog and have since I started this blog in 2017 or so. It is not relevant to this blog what my opinions are on this, and it's hard to talk about the topic at all (even in a neutral way) without people accusing you of being Zionist or Anti-Zionist if what you say does not perfectly line up with their viewpoint.

But in the end, I think that this transcends politics. It has to. Condemning the slaughter, torture, and sexual abuse of human beings, whoever they are, is the correct opinion. I don't care who is doing it, and I don't care why. This isn't a political debate; this is basic human decency.

As for what you can do right now? If you have Israeli or Palestinian friends (whether they are in your community or in Israel/Palestine, reach out to them. They may b'ezrat Hashem be safe, but they are not ok, so instead of asking, just let them know you are thinking of them, that you are praying for their continued safety and for peace to come swiftly and justly. They may not feel like talking, but if they do, hold space for them.

There are a lot of excellent organizations collecting funds to help with the great need that has been created by these atrocities. Find ones whose mission and goals align with your own, double check their validity, and then donate what you can.

Many Jewish communities (most, I assume) are currently organizing or have already set up community events to address the issues and to pray as a community. Look at your email - my inbox had no less than twelve different events (online and in person) within the next few days - and check the websites for Jewish organizations that you affiliate with for opportunities to gather and debrief.

And, perhaps, the most important thing from a social media standpoint: make sure that you vet *all* information before deciding to accept it as true and cross-check it with other sources, especially if you plan on sharing that information. Both Hamas and the Israeli government are masters of propaganda, and the Western media really likes to lean into this for a better story. Since Western media thrives on conflict and hyped up emotions to keep people interested and scrolling, there is a strong incentive to publish as much as quickly as possible, the more sensational the better. Use reputable sources, but don't rely on them to get it right 100% of the time. I would suggest looking at reputable sources that have a clear, known bias in each direction and comparing them both to media that at least attempts to be neutral. So far, it doesn't seem like too too many facts have been in dispute (most of the information about the atrocities committed by Hamas has been posted by Hamas as propaganda) but it's early. If you have the emotional bandwidth and have done the research, please correct the misinformation you see from friends, family, and followers. Do **not** jump in with assumptions or non-researched opinions, because that will only fuel the chaos and not help anyone.

Above all, be smart, be wary of disinformation, be compassionate, and (to the extent you are able) be generous. Remember that civilians are civilians, that neither group of civilians chose this, that plenty of them dream of a peaceful and just coexistence, and that intentionally hurting non-combatants is always wrong no matter the justification.

As for me, I will turn to Tehillim and to the words of the Prayer for Peace:

May we see the day when war and bloodshed cease, When a great peace will embrace the whole world. Then nation will not threaten nation, and the human family will not again know war. For all who live on earth shall realize we have not come into being to hate or to destroy. We have come into being to praise, to labor, and to love. Compassionate God, bless the leaders of all nations with the power of compassion. Fulfill the promise conveyed in Scripture: I will bring peace to the land and you shall lie down and no one shall terrify you. I will rid the land of vicious beasts and it shall not be ravaged by war. Let justice and righteousness flow like a mighty stream. Let God’s peace fill the earth as the waters fill the sea. And let us say: Amen

#jumblr #really hope I don't regret posting this #<<sigh>>

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daechwitatamic · 1 year

Text

X. So I Follow || KNJ

(banner by @itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love.

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

In light of the incident with Taehyung, you prepare to spend Christmas alone.

Section Warnings: language, arguing/fighting (just some shoving), angst!, but also fluff in this one wow, bar scenes and recreational drinking

WC: 7.8k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

You watch it cross his face as Taehyung decides to make you prove it, but you don’t have enough time to react before he’s doing the thing you’d day-dreamed of time after time after time - before you knew Namjoon. He’s closing the gap between you, his hand curling in the fabric of your jacket, his lips finding yours, searching for something that three months ago he probably would have found.

You shove Taehyung in the chest with both hands, and he stumbles away from you.

“You fucking asshole,” you growl. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“You said we’re the same as we’ve always been?” he spits back. “You’re a fucking liar.”

You’re so blindingly angry, suddenly, that you can barely think, can barely match up words to make a sentence. “Fuck you,” you manage, the words feeling like they’re torn from your chest, leaving a bloody, gaping wound in their place. “I can’t fucking believe you.”

His brows furrow; for a minute, he looks genuinely lost. Then, something hard replaces the look. “You’re that serious about him? Already?”

You’re ready to answer this affirmatively, but he presses on. “You’ve never dated anyone, never even got to a second date. Now you’re seeing this guy for, what, a few weeks, and I’m nothing to you? Just like that?”

Something changes inside of you; you go from boiling angry to pure ice in only seconds. The silence pulses and then flatlines between you, as dead as your friendship. All you can do is stare at him, the seething rage knitting itself into something metallic instead.

“I waited for you,” you tell him, deathly calm, like you’re explaining a math problem. At your sides, your hands are shaking. “I waited for you for years. I cannot - I do not have words for how deeply unfair it is for you to show up now and try to ruin this for me.” You spit the words, clipping your consonants hard.

Neither of you has ever said it out loud. But it’s out now. No take-backs.

He stares at you, chest heaving, eyes wide. There’s no going back to how things were, now. That option is well and truly buried, nails in the coffin.

“Goodbye, Taehyung,” you force yourself to say, and you turn and take the steps at a clip, letting the door shut behind you, leaving him out in the cold for good.

You stop on the staircase, nearly at your floor, and slump against the bannister. What are you going to say to Namjoon? Hey, by the way, the guy you knew I had feelings for just kissed me. Maybe not quite like that. But you definitely have to tell him.

Honestly though, you don’t feel like you have the bandwidth for that conversation right now. You feel like… you feel like you’re grieving.

You need the space and time to mourn, to accept that you’ve walked away from something that you’ve lived in comfortably for years. To accept that you’ll never have back the friendship you once had - even if you and Taehyung manage to land somewhere okay when this is all over, the truth is things will never again be how they were between you. It just isn’t possible.

You don’t want to cry over Taehyung in front of Namjoon. He’s already given you so much grace, so much understanding and patience. This… this would be too much. At least until you can calm down, get your head right, talk about it rationally. So, when you enter the apartment and find his door closed, you leave him be. You head for your own bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind you.

–

Namjoon feels tortured and trapped in his room; he paces, he tries doing sit-ups, he takes a shower just to hold his breath under the spray of hot water.

None of it helps.

Finally, like a dog with its tail between its legs, he flops on his bed in defeat and picks up his phone.

[11:24 PM] Namjoon: you guys wanna say i told you so now, or later

[11:24 PM] Hobi: uh oh

[11:25 PM] Yoongi: what happened

Namjoon sighs, rubs a hand over his face. He doesn’t want to tell them. But he can’t shoulder this alone, he knows himself well enough to know it.

[11:27 PM] Namjoon: just caught her kissing him

[11:28 PM] Namjoon: literally right in front of the apartment

He closes his eyes, resting his phone on his chest. He can feel it buzz with the reactions rolling in, but he feels like he can’t make himself look at them.

Something niggles in the back of his mind, stirs in the pit of his stomach.

Something about how your hands had been balled into fists at your sides.

[11:29 PM] Hobi: what the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

[11:30 PM] Yoongi: dude i’m sorry

[11:31 PM] Hobi: bro that’s a dick move by taehyung

[11:31 PM] Hobi: like thats legitimately not okay he owes you a huge apology

[11:32 PM] Hobi: if i were you i’d go to his place and talk to him. like right now.

[11:34 PM] Yoongi: forget talking to taehyung, that can wait

[11:35 PM] Yoongi: have you talked to HER yet??

[11:37 PM] Hobi: wow double question mark. Mr Min is serious

[11:37 PM] Yoongi: shut up hoseok

[11:39 PM] Namjoon: i dont think i can even look at her right now tbh

[11:39 PM] Namjoon: let alone talk…

[11:42 PM] Namjoon: wtf would i even say to her?

[11:45 PM] Namjoon: ‘was it everything you ever hoped for?’

[11:45 PM] Namjoon: fuck

He sets his phone on the mattress beside him and closes his eyes. Stupid… stupid… stupid… It echoes through his head, harmonizing nicely with Hobi and Yoongi’s voices telling him he gives people - women - too much faith, lets them take advantage of him.

But you’d told him you were in this.

You’d told him you wanted to be with him, not Taehyung.

You’d told him this thing between you was real, and that it deserves to be.

He’s told you he trusts you. Did that change? Was he wrong to?

Or are things not adding up?

He picks up his phone again.

[11:52 PM] Hobi: might be nice to have some answers

[11:53 PM] Yoongi: that’s true… we all know this wouldn’t be the first time taehyung has shown his ass…

Namjoon considers this silently. He starts to get up, then stills. This repeats twice more, before he finally throws himself out of bed and leaves his room before his nerves can fail. He crosses the living room to find your bedroom door shut – rare, these days. He knocks, calls your name quietly. When you don’t answer, he tries the doorknob.

It’s locked.

“Hey,” he calls. “Let me in.”

You don’t answer.

He knows it’s not the same, not what’s happening now, but he’s picturing you on the day you’d gone silent, laying in bed, facing the wall, unmoving, unblinking. His chest clenches with the need to make sure you’re okay, despite what he’d seen, despite the conclusions he’d drawn.

He leans his forehead against the cool wood of the door. “Baby,” he says, voice so hushed it’s practically a whisper. “Please, open the door and talk to me.”

He waits a long moment, one hand against the door, and then the doorknob clicks. As soon as he can see your face through the crack, it’s clear you’ve been crying.

His brain starts running possibilities as fast as a bullet-train. You’re crying because you know you did something wrong, and you feel guilty. You’re crying because you’re conflicted about who you want, and it’s hurting. You’re crying because you’ve decided to be with Taehyung after all, and you know you have to let Namjoon down. You’re crying because…

“What happened?” he manages to ask, feeling like there’s glass in his throat as he tugs the words out of his stomach.

He resists the urge to reach out and touch your face, wipe a stray tear away.

You take a deep breath, avert your eyes. Then you seem to steel yourself and say very clearly, “Taehyung just kissed me.”

Then, you rush ahead, the rest of the words tumbling out of you so fast that Namjoon almost misses some of it. “But I pushed him away – I called him an asshole, I told him he missed his chance.”

You take another breath, eyes filling with fresh tears. You still haven’t looked up at Namjoon. “I’m sorry,” you finish in a whisper.

Namjoon doesn’t remember moving, doesn’t decide to move, but his arms are suddenly around you as you bury your face in his shirt, shoulders still trembling a little under his hands.

He’s so overcome with relief that it almost makes him go boneless – relief that he hadn’t been wrong to trust you, relief that you’d chosen him after all.

But as he holds you, as he feels your shaking slowly ebb away, he remembers the times you’d called Taehyung family, the stories you’d told of having no one else. In that moment, he truly feels your sorrow down into his own bones.

“You have me,” he thinks, then realizes he’s said it out loud. You shift in his arms to look up at him, eyes big and red-rimmed. He gives you a little squeeze, struggles to wade through how protective he feels with you. “I know that maybe it’s not the same… but for as long as you want me there,” he promises, “you have me.”

Tuesday December 11th

You lay in Namjoon’s embrace, chest to chest, his strong arms locked behind your back. You’re not sure how long you’ve been encased like this, one leg tucked between his, listening to his heart beating next to your ear. Long enough for the sweat to cool.

You shiver a little, and Namjoon runs a hand reverently down your arm, chasing away goosebumps with the warmth of his palm. Behind him, you can hear your phone vibrate on your nightstand.

Again.

You try to pretend you don’t hear it. You try to distract Namjoon by reaching up to kiss his jaw sweetly. He looks down at you, eyes narrowed, seeing right through your bullshit.

“Is that him again?”

“I don’t know,” you say innocently. “I haven’t looked at it.”

But you both know it is.

He’s been calling - and texting - since you left him on the sidewalk two nights ago. You’d turned your phone off on Sunday night, as soon as you’d cottoned on that he wasn’t going to give up. When you’d gotten brave enough to turn it on Monday morning, it was to three voicemails, unending missed calls, and a series of texts that blurred before you as you teared up over their desperation.

[12:18 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: please pick up

[12:31 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: pick up the phone [12:32 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: talk to me

[2:52 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: i’m so sorry [2:52 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: i’m such an asshole [2:52 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: fuck i’m so so sorry

[3:22 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: please talk to me [3:23 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: you’re probably sleeping so i’m gonna stop [3:24 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: but if you decide you want to talk please call me

[9:04 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: good morning [9:05 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: can we talk today?

You hadn’t answered any of it, and he’d continued Monday afternoon.

[4:46 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: please, talk to me so i can apologize for real [4:52 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: you’ve never not talked to me for this long before [4:54 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: even that time i backed into Lin’s car and let her blame you… [4:54 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: did i fuck everything up that badly?

Yes, you want to tell him. But you don’t have the heart. It’s hard enough, takes enough of your self-control, to resist answering. To resist telling him it’s okay.

It isn’t. You know it isn’t.

As the texts roll in through Monday night and Tuesday morning, you feel like Namjoon’s steadying gaze on you, or his hand solid in yours, is the only thing that keeps you from skittering back into safe, familiar old habits. And to his credit, he barely leaves you alone while you’re both home. He stays in your space, quiet and calm, watching you carefully, searching for signs that you might need more from him.

The phone buzzes again, insistent - a phone call.

You sigh in Namjoon’s arms. “Maybe I should answer him,” you muse. “If for nothing else, then to tell him to knock it off.”

Namjoon rolls to pick up your phone and places it, still buzzing, in your hands. “It’s your decision,” he says carefully.

You watch Taehyung’s name, with the stupid emoji after it, scroll across the top of your screen. You don’t pick up.

“I don’t think I’m ready,” you admit. “I don’t even know what I’d tell him. I have nothing to say.”

“Then don’t,” Namjoon advises gently. “Turn it off for a while. Let’s get something to eat.”

“Yeah,” you say absently, pressing your finger to the power button. “You’re right.” You watch, feeling utterly hollow, as your screen goes black.

Thursday December 13th

It’s hard for Namjoon to watch, honestly, though he does his best to bite his tongue and just support you. But you float through the apartment like a ghost, and he can’t help but feel guilt over the fact that you chose to be haunted for his sake.

You’re staring at your phone, which - despite being powered off - is sitting by your elbow. Like, even though you pressed the power button yourself, you're waiting for the next call.

“You should do something for yourself tonight,” he hears himself suggest. Problem-solving mode again, like he just can’t help himself. But maybe it’ll be for the better. “Like a bubble bath or something. Why don’t you go run one? I’ll pour you some wine.”

The look you give him nearly knocks his knees out - you turn to him with a look of pure adoration, disbelieving wonder. You look at him like he’s too good to be true.

It breaks his heart. It breaks his heart that a simple act of kindness feels so large to you - because no one, not your family, or fucking Kim Taehyung, or any of your other friends, had ever done it for you.

“You should leave your phone out here,” he suggests. “Bring a book.”

You give him a different sort of look, then, one that says don’t tell me what to do.

“I’m just saying!” He smiles innocently. “It’ll ruin your inner peace if you turn it on.”

“Inner peace,” you grumble at him, but you head into your bathroom, your phone face down on the breakfast bar. A minute later, Namjoon hears the bathtub water running.

He brings you in a glass of wine as promised, also carrying in the poetry book you’d bought him at the antique shop a few days ago.

“Don’t get this wet,” he warns jokingly. You smile up at him, most of you hidden beneath an aggressive amount of bubbles.

“I won’t,” you promise. “I have a tray.”

Namjoon backtracks to the kitchen, recorking the wine and wiping down the counter. He’s humming absently, lost in thought about what he’d been writing, when he hears footsteps stop outside the front door.

His intuition kicks in with a quick slap of adrenaline. He opens the front door roughly and immediately shoulders Taehyung backwards into the hallway, closing the door behind him and crossing his arms, physically putting himself between Taehyung and you.

Taehyung gapes at him, eyes wide, mouth dropped in indignation. Then, his pride catches up, and his eyes narrow. “What are you, her bodyguard?” he asks sourly. “Did she tell you not to let me in?”

“No,” Namjoon admits, willing himself to stay logical, not to let his temper take over. “But I want to talk to you.”

“I just bet you do,” Taehyung mutters.

Namjoon breathes in for four, holds it for four, lets it out for six. He’s known Taehyung for years, sees him as a nuisance of a little brother in a lot of ways, has a lot of affection for him. But watching you hurt, and hurt, and hurt - it isn’t going to continue.

“I’m sorry you found out about us the way you did,” Namjoon says, hoping that beginning with his own apology will help soften the rest of the conversation. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I wasn’t trying to be… it would have been better for her to talk to you about it on her own terms. I didn’t mean to take that away from her. Or you.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this with you,” Taehyung says, voice low and dangerous. “I want to talk to her. Move.”

“You need to back off,” Namjoon says carefully. “You’re breaking her fucking heart, bro. Give her some time.”

Taehyung laughs in his face, the sound ugly and echoing in the empty hallway. “Fuck you,” he says. “If it’s breaking her heart to stay away from me, doesn’t that tell you something? She wants to talk to me, she misses me. Move.”

Namjoon shakes his head, clings to reason, tries desperately to make Taehyung see reason, too. “Try to understand,” he begs. “You’re messing with her head. Do you even want her? If she came out here now and said she wanted to be with you, would you even know what to do with that?”

Taehyung’s eyes narrow even further, if possible. “What are you talking about?” he asks, the question like a hiss between his teeth. “You’re pissing me off, Namjoon. She and I need to talk - get out of the way.”

Namjoon’s temper flares. “Taehyung,” he says, just one of many times in their friendship he’s felt like he had to talk sense into the younger man. “You don’t love her, so let her go.”

Taehyung freezes, then raises his chin, face flat and impassive. “Who says I don’t love her?” he asks, bone-chillingly cold.

Namjoon breaks eye contact, takes another steadying breath. “Feeling like she’s yours,” he says quietly, like he’s trying to explain, “doesn’t make it love.”

Taehyung makes a disbelieving tch noise, but Namjoon pushes on.

“Feeling like you have a claim on her doesn’t mean you love her. And you know what? Even if it did, even if we agreed that you love her… this is not the right way. She deserves to be loved the right way, and this isn’t it. And if you don’t want to lose her completely, then you need to wrap your head around that.”

Taehyung is spared having to respond to this. Behind Namjoon, you’ve been listening from the doorway. You step into view, your face flushed from the warm bath and the glass of wine, flushed from what you’ve overheard.

Immediately, Taehyung moves closer, trying to dart past Namjoon to reach you, saying your name like a prayer.

“Please, let’s talk,” he begs, the words all a rush.

Namjoon keeps his body between you, but glances over his shoulder at you. Taehyung’s intended dig about being your bodyguard doesn’t feel too off, right now. “Do you want me to make him leave?” he asks, feeling so worked up he thinks he could probably carry Taehyung out of here by the back of his neck if given the okay.

“No,” you say, your voice tiny. Namjoon tongues his cheek, but steps aside. Taehyung shoots him a cutting, victorious look, but then you speak again, your voice still so little. “But… will you stay?” You creep into the hallway, looking entirely unsure, and Namjoon welcomes it happily when you press against his side, one of your hands resting over his diaphragm, the other curling into the material of his shirt over his back.

“Taehyung,” you whisper, and Namjoon’s heart breaks again at the look of betrayal and hurt that you level at your best friend. “What are you doing?”

“I –”

“Taehyung,” you say again, so broken, and it stops him in his tracks. “You don’t love me. You never did. So what the hell is happening here?”

He looks back at you, a look of absolute devastation crossing his face. For a second, Namjoon feels bad for him - just for a second. “Please, let’s talk by ourselves,” Taehyung begs.

You shake your head. “After the shit you pulled last time? Absolutely not.”

“I’m sorry,” he blurts. “I shouldn’t have - I know I shouldn’t have - it’s just -

“What?” you snap, suddenly pissed all over again.

“I can’t lose you,” he says plainly.

You look at the ground, then - inexplicably - up at Namjoon. Like you’re deciding something. Like you’re calculating. Then, you look back at Taehyung, your body language changing as you stand up straight again. When you speak, your voice is firm and even.

You grounded me.

“I don’t want that either,” you say, finally. “But I’m not going to be with you - not like that. And let’s both be honest - you don’t actually want that, either. You only went there because you thought someone else was winning. And frankly? I refuse to play. So you know what, Taehyung? When you can grow up and figure out what you actually want, you can call me to talk about it - not until then.”

You disentangle yourself from Namjoon and stalk back inside. Namjoon pauses. Taehyung is staring at the ground, unblinking.

“You’re my friend, too,” Namjoon says quietly, feeling like he can’t even look Taehyung in the face right now. “I hope we can figure that out, too, when you’re ready.”

Taehyung’s response is his middle finger over his shoulder as he stalks down the hallway towards the stairs.

Friday December 22nd

Through cobbled streets in tiny towns Through suffocating crowds on city sidewalks Down dirt lanes and past silent, towering silos

I follow you

Through pathless forests, over tripping roots Beneath canopies of black and green Over fallen trees whose rings tell of being felled

I follow you

To mountains bathed in sunlight’s glory Up slopes that want to pull me down To views of winding rivers - strips of ribbon below

I follow you

To ocean waves that crash and scream Tantruming relentlessly against packed sand shores The line of the horizon ebbing with the moonrise

I follow you

My feet are meant to follow yours My heart is meant to follow yours The world is mine, but I want only yours

So I follow

I follow you

–

You close the notebook before you can scratch anything out. That one needs to marinate a little. It’s not like you to forgo a rhyme scheme, and you’re not sure how you feel about the flow.

You haven’t heard from Taehyung in almost two weeks. But you haven’t reached out, either.

When you hear Namjoon come through the front door, you slide your notebook back into your backpack, leaving no incriminating evidence.

“Hey,” he says, stopping by your side and giving your shoulders some affectionate squeezes. “What are you up to?”

“Was writing,” you tell him. “Sort of.”

He laughs at sort of. “What a mood,” he says with a smile. Then, he drops himself in the stool next to yours at the breakfast bar, drumming his knuckles where your notebook had been just moments before.

You know that tic - he’s anxious.

“What is it?” you ask, instantly worried. “Did something happen?”

You’re imagining all sorts of scenarios - Taehyung confronted him, Elyse texted again, he failed an assignment, he’s breaking up with you -

“Nothing bad,” he assures you, stopping the spiral in its place. “I just had something to ask you. I guess I’m nervous. I know I shouldn’t be.”

“Oh,” you say. “Okay. Well - what is it?”

He glances at you shyly, and you feel your heart swell with affection.

“What are your Christmas plans?” he asks.

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this.

“Oh,” you say again, deflating. “I was… just staying here, I think.”

The I think is a lie. Your plan was absolutely to stay, alone, in the apartment. You had no intention of going home for the holidays. It would mean over an hour in the car each way with Taehyung, whom you haven’t spoken to in ten whole days. Plus, Lin is working. Normally you’d go to Taehyung’s house and let his parents try to pretend you weren’t imposing, but that’s not an option this year either.

Honestly, the idea of your first Christmas without them - Taehyung’s mom and dad - is kind of depressing. You’d sent a gift in the mail, but it won’t be the same.

Namjoon raps his knuckles again. “Um,” he says, so uncertainly that it makes you smile a little bit, “how would you feel about coming home with me? To my parents’?”

You’re stunned into silence. “I - Do - Would your parents be okay with that? It’s not too last minute?”

“They’d be thrilled,” Namjoon tells you seriously. “They thought I’d never get ov- I mean, they’d be happy to meet you.”

You smile to yourself at his slip. “When were you going to leave?”

“I’m taking the train in the morning. Plenty of time to pack.”

“I need to do laundry,” you muse out loud, already in planning mode.

“So, you’ll come with me?” he clarifies.

“Yeah,” you say slowly, still mentally writing a to-do list. “If you’re sure I’m not imposing… they have to feed me and everything. You’re sure it’s okay?”

He laughs, kisses the top of your head. “I promise,” he says.

Later, as you and Namjoon sit side by side on the couch, folding laundry together, your phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Your heart leaps, hoping it will be Taehyung, caving just in time for the holidays, wanting to talk it out before Christmas Day.

It’s Lin.

Your heart sinks, your throat gets tight. You push the hurt and disappointment aside and avoid Namjoon’s knowing gaze as you open the text.

[6:22 PM] Lin: i just ran into taes family

[6:22 PM] Lin: they said hes coming home tonight

[6:23 PM] Lin: will you be here tonight? We didn’t talk about it

You purse your lips.

[6:25 PM] You: sorry, i should have called you. I know you’re working so i wasn’t planning on coming home

[6:26 PM] Lin: oh. Are you going to be alone?

You type the start of an answer - “no, staying with my -” and pause, looking over at Namjoon.

“Joon?” you ask, and he looks at you, surprised. “I don’t know - I mean - Should I say we’re -?”

He leans to read over your shoulder, smiling when he sees “with my -” and your cursor waiting patiently for you to finish the thought. Your what? Friend? Roommate?

You glance up at him, feeling your face flush. “Do I say boyfriend?” you finally ask in a whisper.

His smile almost splits his face. “Is that what I should tell my mom?” he counters, his own phone in his hand.

You grin at him. “I will if you will,” you tease.

His smile turns cocky. “At the same time, then?”

[6:31 PM] You: no, staying with my boyfriend’s family

[6:34 PM] Lin: your WHAT?????????

Namjoon brings his phone to his ear, still smiling at you. When someone picks up, he says, “Eomma? Listen, I know it’s last minute - my girlfriend will be alone for the holidays, would it be okay if she came home with me instead?”

On the other end of the line there’s a series of unintelligible shrieks, and Namjoon’s playful smile only grows. “Yah, I know, I know, I’m sorry!” he laughs. “You’ll meet her! I know! I’m sorry!”

You giggle quietly.

“No, no, Eomma, you don’t need a gift for her, just send us home with leftovers, that’s more than enough,” he says, eyes widening. “It’s last-minute for her, too, no one knew about this ahead of time. It’s okay. No, the guest room is perfect. Eomma, the guest room is fine. Let me talk to - Dad, hi.”

Giving him a reassuring pat on the knee, you stand, taking the folded laundry with you.

–

You’re essentially packed, your suitcase closed but still unzipped on top of your bed when Namjoon sticks his head in the door, that playful, up-to-no-good smirk on his face.

“What?” you ask him, smiling. It’s contagious, you can’t help it.

“Yoongi and Hoseok want to know if my girlfriend will come get a beer with us tonight,” he says, his smile growing sideways.

You laugh. “News travels fast.”

He gives a sheepish chuckle. “I tell those two everything. I can’t function without them.”

You eye him suspiciously. “Is this going to be an interrogation?”

He considers this. “Probably,” he admits. “But I’ll keep them in check. They’re just… protective. Especially after the Elyse debacle.”

You sigh. “You’re asking me to handle the best friend interrogation and meeting your parents all in the span of twelve hours, you realize that, right?”

Namjoon’s face falls a little. “You’re right,” he says. “Sorry. It’s okay - I’ll go by myself tonight -.”

“No, I want to go,” you say quickly, holding up a hand to stop his backpedaling. “I’m just saying. I think you owe me some cookies or something.”

His smile returns, tentative. “Let’s start with I’ll buy your beer tonight,” he jokes.

“Deal,” you tell him, but when you find yourself on a sticky barstool in a mostly dark hole-in-the-wall, a pitcher deep with the three guys, you’re wishing you’d demanded cookies after all.

Hoseok gets up to get a second pitcher, and Yoongi leans forward on his elbows, eyeing you carefully.

Here we go, you think. Namjoon shoots you an apologetic look and you shrug him off.

“So, it’s official now, huh?” Yoongi asks, voice a touch too casual.

“Apparently,” you say dryly, eyes on Namjoon. He’s kicking at Yoongi under the table, as subtle as an elephant.

Hoseok returns, carefully placing the new pitcher of beer on the center of the table. Namjoon reaches desperately for a refill.

Yoongi tilts his head to the side, eyes still on you, calculating. “You don’t want to be with Taehyung?”

“Hyung!” Namjoon protests, spluttering over his beer. Beside him, Hoseok frowns and murmurs Yoongi’s name reprimandingly.

You will yourself to stay calm, not to get defensive. “I don’t,” you say evenly. You hope the truth of it will be enough.

“You did though,” Yoongi points out.

“Hyung!” Namjoon barks a second time, starting to actually look pissed now.

But it’s a fair point. And Namjoon has never once through this whole thing asked you to explain yourself, has never asked you to defend or examine the way your feelings have changed since he met you in August.

So maybe he deserves to hear this answer, you think.

“Yeah,” you say, because it’s true. Yoongi’s entire demeanor changes with this admission - like he’d expected you to lie, or deflect. Like he’s ready to take you way more seriously now that he knows you’re willing to be honest.

You rub your hands down the tops of your thighs, trying to dispel the sweat collecting on your palms. “I guess I learned…” you say, thinking as you speak slowly, “I know that Taehyung loves me, but… I didn’t have anything to compare it to, before. I had never felt anything for or… received love from anyone else. I had nothing to put his… fragmented version of loving me into perspective.”

“Yah, you writing people are so well-spoken,” Hoseok sighs over his beer. Namjoon glares daggers at him.

Yoongi presses forward. “But now?”

You give Namjoon a tiny smile across the table. “Honestly… now I’m not sure how I could have ever been so wrong,” you say to him, not to Yoongi. You know he needs to know.

Saturday December 23rd

“Explain to me why I’m nervous,” you complain, your foot bouncing as the countryside rolls past the train’s window outside.

Namjoon smiles at you indulgently, and then places a large hand over your knee to quell the bouncing. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’m scared out of my mind.”

“So what you’re saying is, this is a bad time to tell you that my parents hated Elyse?”

Your blood runs cold. “They what? You’re fucking with me, right?”

He grimaces. “Unfortunately, no. I mean, they were never rude to her. They just… never warmed up. Each time we’d fight and get back together, my mom… well, she made sure I knew how she felt about it.”

“Great,” you say dourly, eyeing the window.

He gives your knee a squeeze. “You’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

You’re a jumble of nerves for the rest of the ride.

When the train slows to a stop in Namjoon’s hometown, he leads you by the hand down the steps and out into the cold.

“That’s my dad’s car,” he says, pointing to a dark green sedan. “You ready?”

“No,” you joke, but you follow him towards the car, hoisting your duffle bag higher on your shoulder as you go.

Namjoon’s father exits the vehicle and comes around to hug his son; it hurts to watch, for some reason. Something inside you aches at it.

When he turns his attention to you, you greet him respectfully, and then Namjoon helps move your duffle bag into the car.

The drive to the house from the train station is quick - if it weren’t December and carrying luggage it would be walkable. Inside, Namjoon hugs his mother as well, towering over her. You greet her formally, and she gives you a tight-lipped smile, welcoming you to their home.

“Thank you for letting me join Namjoon here for Christmas,” you say, glancing sideways at him for reassurance. “I know it was last-minute.”

“No one should be alone for Christmas,” she tells you, her voice soft and even, and Namjoon squeezes your arm affectionately. “May I show you the guest room?”

You follow them both through the house and to a small room with a narrow single bed, a nightstand, and a small chest of drawers. In the corner, in a beam of morning sunlight, is a tall, leafy plant. This makes you smile; it feels like Namjoon’s touch.

“How long are you staying?” Mrs. Kim directs this question at her son, and you turn to look at him as you place your duffle bag on the end of the bed.

Namjoon hums, considering. “I’m not sure yet,” he tells her, leaning comfortably against the doorframe. “We’d planned for the 27th, but I was looking at the weather forecast while we were on the train and there’s a storm coming through. We might have to try and get back before that, so maybe the 26th. We can play it by ear.”

She shakes her head, swats playfully at his elbow. “You know I’m no good at spontaneous decisions,” she chides.

“We’ll keep an eye on the weather and figure out the plan,” he soothes.

She turns back to you, casting a playfully sour look at Namjoon over her shoulder as she does. “If you want to use the drawers for your clothes, you can,” she tells you. “The bathroom is straight across.”

“Got it,” you say, trying to sound breezy and cheerful. “Thank you again for taking me in. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

She nods at you, smiling. “I’ll let you get settled in,” she says, and brushes past Namjoon on her way back down the narrow hallway.

His gaze on you is suddenly heavy.

“What?” you ask.

He opens his mouth to speak, then looks over his shoulder, seems to think better of it. “Want to go for a walk?” he asks instead. “I have a place I’d kind of like to show you.”

Everything inside you that’s been held tight like a breath melts into something soft. “Okay,” you tell him, reaching for your coat, which is shoved under your duffle bag on the bed. “Let’s go.”

As you pass back through the kitchen, Mr. Kim is seated at the table, buried in an open newspaper. A cup of coffee sits, untouched, near his elbow. Mrs. Kim stands on a step-stool, searching a high cabinet for something, muttering under her breath.

“We’re going to walk down to the pond,” Namjoon says. His father lowers the newspaper and smiles at him a little absently. “Gotta show off the geese.”

He steps out the kitchen door that leads to a sloping backyard and you follow. Once you’re halfway across the yard he reaches back for your hand, not turning to watch you take it.

“Geese, huh?” you ask.

He turns to grin at you. “It’s my favorite place. Come on, keep up.”

“We don’t all have long legs like yours!” you protest. At the end of the property, there’s a small space between two hedges, the grass in the gap long worn away by frequent foot-traffic, only dirt remaining. He leads you through the gap and down the rest of the hill, where you can see the ink-dark water of a still pond waiting below.

When you arrive at the water’s edge, you notice that there is - as promised - an entire flock of geese, as well as a large swan.

“I heard swans can be nasty,” you say, a little apprehensive.

Namjoon puts his arm around you, looking out over the water. “Ah, that’s Clarence. He won’t mess with you. The geese might, though, especially when their babies are around.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Clarence? You named the swan?”

He laughs, the sound low and melodic, warm and welcoming. “He’s been around for a few years. We have an understanding.”

This startles a giggle out of you, and Namjoon looks down at you, smiling.

“I love having you here,” he admits fondly. “This is my favorite place - I’d come here to think, to read, to write. Sometimes, to clear my head.”

“You like to go outside when you’ve got shit going on,” you agree.

“There’s a Welsh saying,” he says seriously, “that means to kind of get your head on straight, to sort your thoughts out. But when you translate the words literally, they say to return to my trees. That always spoke to me.”

“Wow,” you say lightly, running the words through your mind again. “To return to my trees. I like that.”

He stands quietly next to you for a minute, both of you watching Clarence and his geese friends cross the pond at a snail’s pace.

“You know what I like about you?” he finally says, as a small breeze picks up enough to rustle his hair, to blow yours around your face. “I can say shit like that to you and you take me seriously. I’ve never had anybody like that in my life before - not even with my friends.”

You get it - you never really had that, either. You smile up at him. “I like pretty words.”

His smile goes crooked for a second. “I like pretty words and pretty girls.” He gives you a squeeze.

“What a line!” you laugh, but you can feel your face flushing. “Did you look that one up on the internet?”

He laughs too. “I was inspired, what can I say?”

You lapse into comfortable silence again, watching the edge of the dark water lap at the muddy shore. “Can I say something?” you ask after a minute, and Namjoon looks down at you, surprised.

“Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

You think for a second about what you want to say - the points you want to hit, how you want to word it.

“I just wanted to make sure you knew,” you start slowly, “that I see and appreciate how patient you’ve been. How understanding.”

Namjoon’s eyes go wide and he actually leans away from you a little, like he wants to look at you better. “What?” he asks hollowly.

“Seriously,” you insist. “When it comes to everything between us, you’ve been in a shitty position from day one. You never held it against me, never got mad, never made me feel like I wasn’t… worth wanting. You never demanded anything of me - not an explanation, not an answer. You just… stayed by my side and let me figure it out. And I… it’s not lost on me that that’s extremely fucking rare. That’s all.”

Namjoon’s chin is jutting a little, his jaw clenched. He keeps his eyes on the pond and clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice is a little rough.

“Well, uh,” he says, then coughs to clear his throat. “Thanks for saying that. It’s all really… not that big of a deal.”

You lean against him, and he squeezes your shoulder.

“It is,” you whisper. “I know you don’t recognize it… but, it really is.”

–

Back inside, you somehow find yourself in a situation where you are way out of your depth: alone in the kitchen with Mrs. Kim.

Namjoon told you he’d be right back and went to - you assume - talk to his dad in the other room, and here you are.

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to talk to mothers. You don’t know how kitchens work.

Mrs. Kim saves you from yourself by placing a large, yellow onion in your hand. “Will you chop this while I start the –”

You don’t even hear the end of the question over the panicked rush of white noise in your ears. You hold the onion like it might explode in your hand.

Her back is to you as she pulls out a cutting board from a lower cabinet. When she turns and sees you standing there like you’re holding a grenade, she freezes.

“You certainly don’t have to if you don’t want to –” she backtracks quickly.

“The thing is,” you say, face flushing, “I don’t… exactly… know how.”

The sigh of disappointment she lets out is almost comical. You cringe, feeling terrible, when she says, “Aish, no wonder my son likes you - you two are just the same.”

This makes you laugh out loud, and the tension breaks just like that. With a playfully chastising look, she takes the onion back from you, placing it on the cutting board. Then she cuts it in half and shows you how you’re meant to slice it before passing you the knife.

She watches carefully as you slowly and clumsily try to mirror her movements with the blade. And even though you’re slow and clumsy, she still smiles at you and says, “Very good.”

“I never really had the chance to learn,” you try to explain, your eyes on what you’re doing. “My, um, my parents passed away when I was really young. And my grandmother… she didn’t ask me to help, she didn’t try to teach me. I think because… she wanted to let me be just a kid in as many ways as I still could. But, yknow. Now I’m an adult who can’t cook.”

You’re not sure what reaction you expect from her, but all she does is hum quietly, an affirming, understanding listening noise, and lean just a little closer over your shoulder to watch the knife.

You’re about to say something else - anything, just to move on from the moment - when she speaks.

“His last girlfriend was a genius in the kitchen.” She cocks her head to the side sharply, almost as if flicking away an annoying bug. “But she certainly had her failings outside of it.”

Elyse. You’re suddenly picturing her here, at this counter, making her way effortlessly around the kitchen.

Mrs. Kim moves beside you, turning the sink on and grabbing a colander to wash some more vegetables. You keep working slowly on the onion, keeping your eyes on your fingers.

She looks sideways at you as she rinses whatever she’s holding. “All I’m saying is, sometimes change is good. And it’s never too late to learn,” she tells you.

Change. Like Namjoon letting go of his past. Like you letting go of yours.

“He told me you and Mr. Kim didn’t like her,” you admit, pushing the onion to the side and setting down the knife, ready for new instructions.

Mrs. Kim shakes her head, exasperated. “What did he say that to you for? No wonder you’re nervous. For such a smart boy, he just has no sense.”

You smile and hurry to defend him. “I think he just wanted me to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” she grouses. “We liked her fine until she broke his heart. We’ll like you that long, too.”

“I don’t think I ever could,” you say quietly.

Next to you, she softens. She touches your hand for just a second in a gesture that feels somehow like gratitude, and then removes it to plop whatever she just washed onto your cutting board.

“Chop,” she instructs. She watches, reaching over once to adjust your hold on the knife, then nodding in satisfaction when you carry on correctly. Her eyes on your hands, she asks, “So your grandmother raised you? Where did you grow up?”

You tell her - about your hometown, about your Grandmother’s strict upbringing and how it led into Lin’s barely-there parenting. She listens as she works, eventually moving over to the stove and starting the base of the sauce while you finish peeling and chopping the pile she’s left for you to handle.

“So, your aunt is working for Christmas?” she asks, stirring as you gently add the onion to the sauce when prompted.

“Yes, and she works nights and sleeps days,” you explain. “So I decided to just stay home.”

“You wouldn’t have seen her at all?” she asks, no bite or judgment to the question. Just asking. “Even Christmas Eve, or the day after?”

You think about this. In all honesty, you would have been home and awake with Lin for at least some of break. But you two didn’t really spend time together, never had. Plus it would have meant asking Taehyung for a ride, since he brought you to campus back in late August, and he isn’t currently speaking to you.

“Maybe in passing,” you say, which isn’t entirely true. But suddenly, you feel weirdly guilty - like you’ve done something wrong to Lin by leaving her alone for the holiday.

“That’s a shame,” she says. “Here, come stir this.”

As you finish the meal together, she asks you more questions - mostly about school and your major. It’s nice - calming. You feel like this is a place you could get used to.

“I think it’s good for him to have found another writer,” she muses. “Sometimes our Namjoon just has his head in the clouds. It’ll be nice for him to have someone who… understands.”

“Yeah,” you say, continuing to stir, as directed. “That’s nice for me, too.”

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what are we thinking?! am i in less trouble or more compared to last chapter? lol

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