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#must get lonely ignoring the problems he created
otomempress · 5 months
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Incongruence.
Pairing: Neuvillette, Wriothesley, and Zhongli x GN!Reader (separately)
Summary: He agrees to a friends with benefits arrangement with you, only to fall in love with you in the end.
A/N: Angsty in tone but not really angst. Open-ended.
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Neuvillette
Curiosity is reason enough for you and him to explore. It makes it easier than you’re not from Fontaine, for that means your arrangement has no strings attached in every aspect. Technically, it’s not personal relations is what he said. But even if it is, you’re an outsider and this shouldn’t affect anyone else.
Neuvillette is always careful around you. Before he acts he must always have your consent, and it must be crystal clear to him that you’re not being forced. He’ll heed your every request as long as it brings you pleasure, for your pleasure is his.
After your every rendezvous, he ensures you get home safe, even asking the Melusines to keep an eye on you. They know what goes on and they’re saddened that your relationship never goes beyond what you and the Iudex have right now.
It’s supposed to be easy, but recently it’s been a touchy subject and a sore spot, even for Neuvillette who is as detached as he needs to be. But the Melusines can truly see how affected he is already. Even the hydro dragon would naturally long for a mate. Stubbornly, he states that before anything else, he’s the Chief Justice and going any further would only cloud his judgement.
He gives it a lot of thought, only come to the conclusion how much of a hypocrite he has become. It’s no longer about being entangled with you, it’s now about him. He wonders, is he still qualified to judge others, if he himself ignores the blaring truth in his heart?
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Wriothesley
This is smooth-sailing for the Duke. The majority of his life is all about transaction, after all. He’s used to that, and your arrangement is no different.
It gets lonely in the underworld. Not only do you not see the sun, but the cold also creeps up on you and consumes you whole when you’re left to your own devices. No matter how much Wriothesley claims to be fine, he has needs that only you can fulfill.
It doesn’t matter who visits who. You get a pass to the Fortress, and he’s free from his sentence, whoever needs it more can just tell the other.
Wriothesley almost always has something pent up within him that seems to only be relieved when he buries himself inside of you. He doesn’t hold back either, except for when you tell him to slow down or stop. If you don’t say anything, he’ll turn you into a moaning mess to his heart’s content.
It’s one morning when he suddenly finds everything difficult. Your bed is cozy, your body next to his feels right, and the sunlight peeking through the curtains of your window warms his heart. He’s tempted to never return to the Fortress.
Your sleeping form is so peaceful, and he hates to disturb it, so he patiently waits for you to wake up. For the first time in a long while, he is able to trust again. He wants it to be you. He needs to be with you. It’s only a question now of whether you’ll let him stay or not.
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Zhongli
Humans are curious creatures. Several millennia have passed and the relations of humans have evolved. Zhongli, despite being knowledgeable in almost every subject, still ensures he is modest enough to accommodate any learnings that come his way.
So when you proposed a unique kind of arrangement with him that involves only being purely physical, he spends his time crafting the perfect contract that stipulates the kind of relationship he is entering with you.
Following the contents of the contract is not a problem. Zhongli has an impressive memory. He knows what to avoid when he takes you to bed, and he knows what he needs to do to make you feel good. Ironically, he didn’t put a lot of rules for him. As long as it won’t bring either of you harm, he’ll allow it.
It’s just another contract, so he thinks. But the more that he sees you, the more that he wonders if you’ll be willing to create another contract with him - one that is entirely different than what you and he established.
He has had a long life already, and he just wants something permanent for once. He now knows that he desires you in a way that old-fashioned lovers desire each other.
And so he creates another contract, one that he intends to adhere to forever. He signs it and prepares to present it to you. Your name is already legibly written at the bottom of the parchment, all it awaits for is your signature.
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yandere-sins · 3 months
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So... Honkai Star Rail... have you met Dr. Ratio yet? I have literally seen him twice so far and he has my whole being in a vice grip. Man has either put me in direct danger or towered ominously over me and acted completely dismissive the entire time. I am not okay.
I have met him! (However brief that was because I'm not sure if there's more of him when you defeat the boss (and I struggle with the bosses because I don't build support characters, yes >-<)) I saw him and I knew this one is also going into my pathetic yandere shoebox with Argenti, and I wish I could see more of him because I so wanna get into his personality and yandere-fy him lol
All I can say is... since Argenti I am really into pathetic yans and Ratio just fits sooo good in that category.
Don't get me wrong, he probably started out pretty scary! He has that manipulative, confident, cocky attitude that will make everyone turn on you for being rude and conceited when you try to go against what he's preaching. He'll absolutely try to separate you from you friends and coworkers until he's that saint that still allows you to tag along with him. No one will really mind if one day he just doesn't bring you back to work. Keeps you snug and locked up and terrified in his private hideouts, enjoying that he gets to lord over you. He'll be so enarmored with the thought you now need him, you can't say anything against him, Ratio is the one you have to submit to if you want to survive in the paradise he's creating for himself.
The towering over you probably happens a lot (at night as he watches you sleep and trying to understand you) because he wants so desperately to be acknowledged by you, not even caring if it means he has to be creepy or a stalker watching the camera feed of your room. And when you don't do what he wants you to, he tries, he really tries to ignore you, lock you up and leave the whole planet if he must, but his thoughts are always circling back to you, his heart always wondering what you're doing and if you are lonely and thinking of him.
But the thing is, the situation is scary and all, but he's not exactly an example punisher from the beginning.
So yeah, I see him to a 180 after he has aquired a darling, no more pondering about science or math (I don't even know yet what exactly he is into even) but about how to make his darling like him because they really don't. Darling is just sitting their reading their book, throwing in a "mhm" - "yeah" - "sure" while he's talking, and Ratio is getting really desperate over the lack of acknowledgement and the kind of connection he wants with his darling. It's his own fault, considering he completely ignored all the reasoning and pleading you did in the beginning. And when there weren't as many awful punishments, you just grew numb to the fear of his presence.
I can just see him throw a damn fit about his darling ignoring him. Either in their presence or out of their sight, but this man hates hates hates not being in the center of his darling's attention when he demands it and he's being really pathetic about it.
The problem is just that he really expects too much from his darling. He'll be good and feed them and give them books (reluctantly even one that the darling wants and not only the other five he wants them to read so they can talk about his interests) and expect praises and teary eyes and so many thanks that honestly, he'll just be so heartbroken when the darling is "okay, thanks" and goes back to not acknowledging him or his good deeds.
And yes, he has his scary moments where he takes his darlings out on "dates" into situation that frankly would not end well for them without his presence. But he does not understand why they are angry and crying from stress and fear after he took them out and even defended them from dangers.
Ratio has times where he punishes his darling or forces them to do something they don't want to do mercilessly. Where he uses them as needed for experiments or puts them in dangerous situations, knowing it's wrong, but using these moments to put him into a better light with his darling. He might be cunning, but once he realises that really, what is the darling supposed to do except shutting down when they meet deaf ears with every other reaction? Ratio begins to panic and that makes him into such a sweet, pathetic yandere, desperate for his darling.
Anyhow, I'm sure he can be scary temperamental, but I also like to think he's just not entirely made for having the upper hand in a relationship. (Sorry, I had these thoughts for such a long time, hope it was okay to jump on yours! I know they are a little different but your thoughts about him are super valid as well ♥)
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mikuni14 · 2 months
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Love For Love's Sake - Ep 7-8
Korea delivered again.
I watched these episodes a few hours ago, but I'm only writing something now because I have so many thoughts in my head. I don't know what to write anyway, my thoughts and feelings are a mess. I don't even know if I understood everything correctly. But it doesn't matter because I vibe with this series so hard 🥳 I cried through both episodes, and I spent the end of the finale in an incredible euphoria, as if I was high. This series is pure art because it can reach the depths of your heart, make you feel the story told deeply, and finally experience catharsis. And what's important - all your feelings turn out to be important, each of them meant something, none of them were wasted (which sadly happens to me often in BL series, especially lately, like, why do I get so invested, when in the end it turns out that it was for nothing..).
I was genuinely curious how the series would overcome the fact that it is a game and in the end I rate the result and execution as 10/10 for innovation and professionalism in breaking my heart. Also a special award for creating the character of a "god", who, like all gods, is a dick who enjoys tormenting ordinary people and putting them through some werid, difficult, harsh trials to make them "better" (why is it never a form of a gentle therapy, only kick in the balls and "learn from it" lol)
Myung Ha went through hell in this life, after going through hell ending with suicide in his previous life, becoming some kind of mythical, biblical figure in his suffering. This is a trope that I have never liked or accepted (growth through suffering), but I accept it here because of a) a very good execution that really moved me b) a happy ending 🙂 I won't analyze Myung Ha more because others will do it definitely a lot better. I just want to write how much I love this lonely, broken, kind man. How much I felt sorry for him when he did everything for Yeo Woon and nothing worked and he despaired because he didn't understand what he was doing wrong. Because, keeping your problems and fears a secret from your loved one, keeping him at a distance to protect him, making noble sacrifices, never asking for help, is an expression of love, right? RIGHT? Oh my poor summer child, and my poor heart 💔💔
I love Yeo Woon for how honest he is with his feelings. When he is happy - he talks about it, when he is unhappy - he also talks about it. I love how he says precisely what he likes and doesn't like. How he sets boundaries - even if he crumbles in the end, panicking when he might actually lose Myung Ha. Yeo Woon has his own demons, his own problems, his own fears of being alone and being abandoned. But I really like how hard he tries and how much he wants their relationship to be equal and how he NOTICES THAT IT'S NOT. I liked it so much that he didn't ignore what Myung Ha was doing after he collapsed. That he confronted him because he had spent the whole day looking for him, only to find out that he was sick and in the care of someone else, and his "rival" at that. How else could Yeo Woon feel other than hurt, rejected, jealous and not worthy of being Myung Ha's carer?
There were so many scenes in these episodes and each deserves a separate analysis, a separate post, but I don't even know where to start, I have so many thoughts in my head! What a series, WHAT A SERIES.
Hmm, what could be easier to write? For example, how many tropes were used in this show, like the hand-holding, dragging by hand, running through the city and on the beach to your crush, sexy drinking from a water bottle, going to the beach with friends together at the end 💯
Final kisses: what can I say, it must have taken a lot of practice kissing, right Yeo Woon? 🤭 Korea often does this thing where the first kiss is stiff and in the next kiss the guys go to town lol
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Sang Won deserves a special mention, he's just a great character. And the actor playing him is incredibly hot.
Each of these boys was 10/10, the series is 10/10. The series perfectly balanced comedy and tragedy, a beautiful and romantic love story with difficult and heavy elements, also feelings of joy and sadness in the viewers (at least in me). I love this series because the main couple was always present, their love was constantly visible, they still had lovely scenes together even when everything around them was falling apart. The series did something amazing when the surprising plot twist in the form of what actually happened to Myung Ha DID NOT DOMINATE the finale. That it became its important, but not the most important element, and the finale itself brought only smiles and joy. I didn't expect that a BL series could again make me feel things as The Eight Sense did, but here we are 💖
I plan to rewatch the entire series again. And I'm very saddened by the choice of distribution method of this series, if it were aired every week, it would probably have the same popularity as The Eighth Sense - but now, after a week, it's over...
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esther-dot · 3 months
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There’s foreshadow that makes sense in the books, but I didn’t really saw Jonsa in the show. Sansa’s jealousy made me raise my eyebrows a bit, but their interactions were very sibling coded, the bickering and everything.
(about this ask)
I wasn’t actively shipping Jonsa when s6 - s7 aired, but all the same, I don’t think I ever once got “sibling” vibes from them. Like, Yara and Theon had that vibe (if we ignore that one incident 😬), but Jonsa…it was a very awkward yet sweet combo of feeling like they did know this person and kinda repeatedly realizing they didn’t. From the get go, they felt they should and could trust each other due to the other being family, but they then had to work on actually learning to trust each other and creating their own bond.
What made it seem less familial and something quite distinct imo was the emphasis they placed on how they kept challenging, surprising each other, offering understanding, affirmation and safety to each other. Relationships have arcs the way characters do, and theirs involved, well, I'd say emotional intimacy in a way that J/D simply didn’t. Jon and Dany's convos revolved around power (bend the knee, I’m the queen blah blah blah), Jon and Sansa's convos often were about what the person felt about them, and what they could offer, what they kept offering each other. Jon and Sansa were struggling desperately with each other, evolving to something, there was no “Siblings! End of” moment, that was the starting place that was insufficient for them. Until their last moments together, they were always searching for more.
That wasn’t at all what I got from say, the Sansa and Arya s7 story which also had conflict between siblings. Those two actors have great chemistry as well, but D&D didn’t give them emotional intimacy either. Scenes with candlelight or flames, heavy breathing, the eyes watching wherever the other person touched them…. Compare the emotional heft of Sansa telling Jon he is a Stark to her, of Jon giving Sansa the North, of Sansa giving Jon a cloak, any of it, to the scene of Arya’s lone affirmation to Sansa on the battlements. There’s a huge discrepancy in what was driving the two different relationships (one sibling-esque, one not imo) because while both were technically about learning to trust the other person, Jon and Sansa’s had an underlying warmth and care for each other, and a unique tension, that Sansa and Arya did not. S7 ends with Sansa and Arya on good terms, but even in s8 when Jon and Sansa are still wrestling with their differences, there’s an intimacy in their scenes, through dialogue as well as setting, lighting, acting, that conveys how essential they are to each other. Arya remains wholly independent of her siblings, Jon may make his own decisions that Sansa disapproves of, but emotionally, he’s quite dependent on her.
Watching s7, Arya had greater loyalty to Jon and was willing to frighten and even kill Sansa for it. Watching s6 (and then s7 - s8), Jon’s greatest loyalty was to Sansa, and he was willing to kill for her. When we have such a strong contrast between the two, one actual siblings, one…something else, the sibling one about whether they can trust each other or must kill each other and the non-sibling one about going to war for each other (Jon in s6, Sansa threatening it in the GoT finale), and who they’ll kill for threatening the other (Sansa killing LF, Jon killing Dany), in many ways throughout the two seasons, it feels like the writers were saying different things about the nature of the relationships.
But as I’ve said before, we all ship Jonsa in our own ways, book shippers said crap about show shippers, show shippers were uncomfortable with the book characters ages….everyone had their reasons why they liked or disliked each version, so I don’t mind if show Jonsa isn’t your thing. I’m well-aware it isn’t for everyone. I have one anon whose brother looks like Kit which means our degeneracy about show Jonsa is a real problem for them, but they’ve forgiven us….I think? Or maybe they’re still dodging our posts in the tag like,
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jerzwriter · 1 year
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Accidental Friendship
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Book:                   Wake the Dead
Pairing:                Eli Sipes, Troy Hassan (friendship)
Rating:                 Teen
Category:            Fluff w/ a little angst
Summary:           A rare day of fun at an abandoned carnival leads to several discoveries.  
Words:                 857
A/N:                     Participating in @choicesficwriterscreations Let’s Hear it for the Boys event. Also participating in @choicesmonthlychallenge - Falltober - Festival
Once again, I’m tagging my Perma list – but if you don’t want to be on future Wake the Dead fics, let me know, and I’ll put you on OH only.  Thank you!
CHARACTERS BELONG TO PIXELBERRY STUDIOS
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Today was a rare treat.   While the world and its problems never fully disappeared, but for once, they melted into the background and gave the friends a little reprieve. But dusk was beginning to fall, and like all good things, everyone knew this must come to an end. Still, Angel wanted to hold on just a little bit longer. After hearing about the cotton candy Shannon and Zoe had shared, she needed to have some for herself. When would she have the chance again? So, as the ladies headed back for one last hurrah, Eli and Troy waited near the exit.
The worn wooden bench creaked as Eli sat. A foreign whimsical look on his face. The day had been especially poignant for him as childhood memories brought the past into the present, and just two carnival rides with Zoe at his side made the possibilities for his future vividly clear. Comfort, sadness, elation, fear… each emotion coursed through his veins, but for now, he was living in the moment... allowing himself to bask in the wonder of it all.
But his time alone with his thoughts was short-lived with Troy nearby. The bench crackled a little more when he plopped down, but not enough to give either man any pause. Troy folded his arms behind his head and gazed at the setting sun.
“Today was some day,” he stated, his voice even more euphoric than usual.
“It sure was,” Eli agreed. “I know I thanked you before, but really… giving me that roller coaster experience… it meant more than you know.”
“Ah, it was nothing,” Troy smiled.
“No,” Eli insisted, “it was something. My brother and I...” he paused, voice cracking with emotion. “We dreamed about the summer when we’d both finally be tall enough to ride it. I even promised that I’d wait until he was tall enough, too. I wouldn't go on it without him….”
Eli bit his cheek and stared into the distance, trying to quell the storm stirring inside. He took a deep breath as the silence hung. Troy knew Eli had more to say, and waited patiently for him to continue. 
“Who would have thought…. It was such a simple wish… who would have thought….”
“Yeah,” Troy responded thoughtfully, “In the old world, they lived with a certain ignorant bliss that we don’t get to have, but the flip side is people took so much for granted. Now, we all know that we can’t put things off because tomorrow is never promised.”
He turned to Eli with a satisfied grin. “That’s why I was getting you in that cart today, one way or another. I’m still floored that you can actually smile!”
Eli chuckled softly and pat Troy on the back. “Thanks again, man. I’ll never forget that you did that for me.”
“Hey,” Troy replied. “Don't mention it… that’s what friends do.”
Eli stalled at his words. Most of his life had been spent alone, his family his sole companions. Once they were gone, he could count the number of people he saw on one hand. Now, here he was, part of this rag-tag group he never expected to find. They came together accidentally, created a bond out of necessity, but it was just now dawning on him…
“Friends…” he said, more a question than a statement.
“Yeah,” Troy replied without hesitation, "I know you do the whole lone wolf thing quite well, but like it or not… you have friends now.”
He watched as Eli gave into the little smile forming on his lips and laughed. “I hope you aren’t disappointed!"
Just then, the sound of footsteps walking on the graveled path turned their heads. Shannon and Angel were engaged in a lively conversation as they shared their sugary treat. Ever vigilant, Zoe walked beside them, peering around their surroundings to ensure they were safe. As her eyes swept over the area, they locked onto Eli’s briefly, and her expression softened. Even under the darkening sky, he could see the soft rose color rising on her cheeks.
“No,” Eli responded. “I’m not disappointed at all.”
Troy followed Eli’s line of sight, looking back and forth between his old friend and his new, and his eyes widening as realization began to hit.
“Not disappointed, eh?” He chuckled. “Are we still talking about me, though? I have to wonder, are we still talking about me?”
Eli turned with a stern glare.
“Yeah, I'm talking about you,” Eli smiled. “You,” his eyes shifted back to Zoe, “and everyone else. Now, don’t you dare repeat this to anyone. But it’s nice to have friends.”
Troy looked between his friends once again, then patted Eli on the back as he rose to his feet. “Don’t worry, pal. Your secret is safe with me….”
“Hey guys, did you miss us?” Zoe asked.
Before either answered, Troy leaned over and whispered in Eli’s ear. “They’re safe with me… all of them.”
"There's nothing else to keep," Eli grumbled.
"Keep telling yourself that, buddy," Troy laughed. "Keep telling yourself that."
Perma All: @a-crepusculo @aishwarya26 @animesuck3r @annfg8 @annoyingmillenialnewbie @bex-la-get @binny1985 @bluebelle08 @bluerosesbloom @cariantha @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @danijimenezv @different4strawberry @differenttyphoonwerewolf @doriopenheart @fayeswiftie @forallthatitsworth @genevievemd @inlocusmads @jamespotterthefirst @jennieausten @kingliam2019 @liaromancewriter @lilypills @lucy-268 @mainstreetreader @mysticalgalaxysstuff @ofmischiefandmedicine @onikalover @openheartforeverinmyheart @peonierose @peonyblossom @potionsprefect @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @schnitzelbutterfingers @secretaryunpaid @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @toadfrog26 @trappedinfanfiction @uneravine @youlookappropriate @zahrachoices @jerzwriter-reblogs-asks
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Text
Of marshmallows and bad ideas
Summary:
A heatwave has Jim Gordon sleepless, so he decides to take a nightly walk, during which he runs into a certain someone.
Notes:
@gobblepotgazette
I wrote this for Gobblepot summer 2022! My main prompt was ‘full moon’, but I also added ‘fruit’, ‘broken AC’.
Summer in Gotham is a curse.
The heat lingers over the city like the fog does in winter, even at night.
The tall buildings standing close to each other add to this problem, by making any thought of a fresh, cool breeze nothing more than a silly fantasy.
During the nights, the merciless sun is replaced by faint stars, barely visible through the electric glow of the city.
Even then the warmth lingers, clings, stubbornly refusing to dissipate.
Seeping from thoroughly sun-warmed stone so that not even an open window provides much of a relief.
None of that would have been much of a problem for Jim Gordon, he’d grown accustomed to it by now, after living here for so long.
…Had the wonders of modern technology not forsaken him by allowing his air conditioning to be broken on the hottest night of the year.
As it is, he is tossing and turning in a bed already barren of any pillows or blankets, windows ajar in the vain hopes that it might at least offer some illusion of fresh air.
This cheap and quite useless try at fooling himself has a price though, as through the open windows there is bright moonlight streaming in, burning his tired eyes and threatening to give him a headache.
To make matters worse, his attempts at blocking it out or simply ignoring it have proved to be of questionable success at best.
In fact, all his efforts proof completely useless, as sleep keeps eluding him expertly.
When he changes position for what he feels is the hundredth time this night, he decides to give up entirely.   Instead, he hastily throws on some clothes, grabs his keys and heads for the door, feeling eager to leave his stuffy apartment.
If he can’t sleep anyway, he might as well stop trying and enjoy the night instead.
He hesitates for a moment, before grabbing his gun and badge too, almost as a second thought.
Better safe than sorry, even though he’s not planning to visit the truly dangerous parts of the city.
Even though the heatwave has criminal activity on an all time low, giving off the impression that not even criminals seemed to be resistant to the drowsiness and listlessness that comes with the heavy heat.
Even though the full moon and warm wind create such a peaceful and serene atmosphere, illuminating the empty streets in an almost ethereal glow.   Once outside, he wanders around aimlessly, enjoying the excuse to get rid of his restless energy.
It’s… nice honestly. The, if not exactly cool then at least less warm, night air feels soothing against his flushed skin.
He comes across what he suspects is a drug deal, but for once he just passes by.
He doesn’t feel like making an arrest tonight, and one more stupid kid hoping to  make quick money won’t make much of a difference.
Besides, if they’re out “working” in a night like this, instead of partying with their friends or making an effort to escape the heat, they must truly be desperate, and having to pay for a lawyer won’t exactly do anything but make their situation worse.
Other than that, the streets are completely empty.
There’s the occasional stray cat, sure, and sometimes a lone car drives by, but for the most part he walks alone.   So when he hears the rhythmical clicking of a cane, and notices that the shadowy figure a few streets ahead limps in a very particular way, he already has a strong suspicion as to who it is.
He speeds up his steps to catch up, resisting the urge to break into a jog.
That just might come across a little threatening, especially since Cobblepot doesn’t seem to have noticed him yet. When he is finally close enough, he reaches out to tap the gangster’s shoulder, only to have him suddenly swivel around, teeth bared.
The unmistakable flash of a knife has him stumbling back in surprise, holding his empty hands up in a non-threatening gesture.
“Easy now, it’s just me. And I really wasn’t planning to get stabbed tonight, so if you don’t mind…?”
Cobblepot’s almost manic expression immediately shifts to embarrassment as recognition flits across his face.
The knife vanishes as quickly as it appeared. Impressive slight of hand as he has to admit.
“Jim! I apologise, I realized someone was following me, and I thought… had I known it was you, I would never have been as rude.”
Now it’s Jim turn to be embarrassed. Of course Oswald had noticed him approaching, he would be long dead if he didn’t have a talent for such things.
“Lesson learned, don’t try to sneak up on a mob boss. Got it.”
“Not that I don’t appreciate your company, but what are you even doing here, at this hour?”
“Couldn’t sleep. Too warm. You?”
Despite making his inquiry deliberately casual, he’s pretty interested in the answer. Because Cobblepot still seems overly tense, his pleasant smile more strained than usual.
There seems to be anger bubbling beneath the pristine surface, and he can’t help but wonder why a man of his standing would walk along Gotham streets alone at night, instead of being driven in one of his fancy cars, or at least protected by lackeys.
“Ah, you know,” the smile he receives now is faker than the Gucci handbags they’re sometimes trying to sell on main street.
“Just a trivial old business meeting. Nothing for you to worry about.”
If he were one of Cobblepot’s Business partners or lackeys, he’d worry for his safety.
“And you just.. felt like going for a walk? Alone?”
The man’s smile sours.
“Their incompetence annoyed me, so I sent them away.”

Great. Apparently, his spontaneous hunch has been completely right.
Penguin’s mood must be pretty bad, if he’s angry enough to send the entirety of his men away in order to walk somewhere by foot, despite the obvious pain in his leg.
God bless the poor devils he has “trivial business” with.
At least he tells himself that the gnawing worry he feels is merely for the people Cobblepot meets, not for the man himself.
He can’t deny though, that it’s not a great sign, to see the penguin so seething with rage that he becomes reckless.
He looks like he’s just itching to make rash decisions that will end badly for everyone involved, most of all himself.
For a moment he considers simply arresting the mafia-boss to stop the blood bath he suspects would follow otherwise.
All he has to base an arrest on though, is him threatening an officer with a most likely illegal to possess switchblade. Even if the obvious claim of self-defence wouldn’t work, Cobblepot’s lawyer would have him out by tomorrow morning.
Free to go wherever he likes, only considerably more angry.
That’s not worth straining their already tense relationship more for.
But he can’t just let things unravel either.
That’s when a, part brilliant, part idiotic idea hits him.
“If the business is so trivial, maybe you’d like to accompany me on my walk instead?”
Perhaps that would at least give him time to calm down a little, before he went to unleash hell on whoever managed to enrage him so.
He seems conflicted now, obviously contemplating the offer, yet loath to give up his initial plan.
“As much as I’d love that, I’m afraid being seen together at this hour wouldn’t be good. I’d hate to tarnish your integrity.”
He’s not going to give up that easily.
“Didn’t think of that. My apartment’s  A/C is broken, so I can‘t really invite you there, but… you could join me on the roof.”
Seeing that Cobblepot doesn’t seem entirely convinced yet, he uses his ultimate ace.
“Besides, wouldn’t you rather spend such a nice summer night with a friend instead of wasting it on business?”
By the way the mans expression changes from slight suspicion to shock, and then to honest joy, he can tell that he’s got him now.
Even his anger and frustration seem to be momentarily forgotten.
“If you insist, I suppose I could make some time.”
Jim has to supress a smile.
******
Once they’re on his apartment’s roof, which almost definitely isn’t supposed to be used as a hangout spot, Cobblepot looks almost comically out of his depth.
Standing on the dusty and barren flat roof with his fancy three piece suit, perfect eyeliner and elaborately styled hair, he looks like Jim felt whenever Barbara had dragged him to some fancy restaurant with too many forks and too small portions of food.
“Why exactly did you want to come here again?”
The obvious confusion yet careful politeness makes Jim chuckle. What a subtle and painfully Oswald way to say “this place is a dump, why the fuck did you make me come here”.
“I know it’s not exactly fancy, but it’s tradition.”
That certainly manages to catch Cobblepot’s attention.
“In my youth, in nights like this, me and a few friends used to sneak out. We didn’t feel like sleeping or staying inside. Not when the moon was bright, the air was warm, and you could sometimes see fireflies.”
Jim doesn’t entirely know why he’s sharing this private piece of memory with the king of the mob of all people. Maybe he wants to defend his choice of place, or maybe he just likes the way Oswald’s eyes light up at the freely shared memory.
“We lived in the suburbs though, which essentially meant if anyone saw us, our parents would know by morning. So we found a place where no one would see us, which just happened to be the roof of an abandoned factory.”
Oswald smiles, although it seems a bit melancholic.
“That sounds wonderful. I wish I had stories like this.”
That gives Jim another ridiculous idea. And when he already gave in to the first one, he might as well do so with the second.
He does have to try and keep the man here long enough to calm down. “Wait here, I’ll be back in a minute.”   Unknown to Jim, Oswald’s anxiety is getting worse by each second ticking by.
He just can’t help but worry.
What if Jim wouldn’t return at all, and it was simply a cruel joke, something to embarrass him? Or worse still, what if it’s a trap? He’s certainly thrown people off the roof before, so what would stop Jim from doing the same?
His morals, idiot, his brain helpfully supplies, not easing any worries with its admittedly truthful remark.
What could be taking Jim so long? And why did he even invite him in the first place? It’s not like he expressed any desire to spend time with him before.
He’s not coming back.
He should just leave. Spare himself the embarrassment and hurt of not being wanted.
What a silly idea, to accept such an obvious ruse in the first place. A rooftop? Seriously? There’s nothing here. Nothing but dust and dirt.
As Jim returns, he finds Oswald pacing restlessly, obviously uncomfortable.
He politely ignores the obvious relief on Cobblepot’s face as he sees him, instead showing off what he brought.
“Blankets and candy, some fruit too, in case your tastes are too refined for dollar store twizzlers.”
He lays down the blankets, gesturing for the other man, who seems to be at a loss for words for once, to sit down.
Then he sits beside him, before taking out the twizzlers and munching on one of them. He offers them to Oswald, who indeed seems more inclined to go for the fresh cherries he brought.
“Fraternising with the enemy by offering them snacks? Shame on you!”
“Never saw you hesitating to offer me a drink either. That’s what they say, right? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”
“Believe me, the things I do to my enemies are very different.“ he lightens the remark with a cheeky grin that makes Jim feel slightly uneasy.
“I offer you drinks because I hardly see you as an enemy, old friend.”
“Alright, “old friend”, he says, opting for a lighter mood. “You complained about not having memories like mine, so I decided the time has come for your first ever legendary rooftop hangout.”
Only when Oswald laughs in surprise, lifting one impeccably styled eyebrow, Jim notices that he let the old, quite embarrassing name slip out.
“That’s, uh, that’s what we used to call it. Back then.”
“Adorable.”
“Shut up.”
That’s when he remembered that he brought something else too.
He takes out the items from his bag. A candle, matches, toothpicks and mini marshmallows.
The puzzled looks he receives from the other are very satisfying.
He does eventually take pity on him though.
“Another tradition. You can hardly make a bonfire on a roof, so we had to improvise in order to eat marshmallows. This is what we came up with.”
He sticks one of the mini marshmallows on a toothpick, before lighting the candle and handing it to Oswald, whose confusion seems to have turned into intrigue.
“How do you do it?”
“What, don’t tell me you never had marshmallows?!”
“As you might be able to imagine, I didn’t really have friends in my youth, so it just never came up. We weren’t all football stars and homecoming kings, Jim.”
Perhaps Jim would feel bad for him, were he not wearing a tie that probably cost more than his entire apartment.
He bites back the comment though, instead aiming to share his sparse knowledge of marshmallow grilling.
“It’s simple, really. You just have to hold it close enough to the fire to melt, but not close enough to burn.”
It’s amusing to see the grown man so out of his element, working with the same precision you’d expect from a surgeon, as if the marshmallow might explode in his face at the smallest mistake.
“Personally I just light them up and blow out the flames though. They end up a bit charred, but it gets the job done.”
Oswald chuckles in surprise, and Jim can’t help but notice how beautiful he looks like this. Genuinely happy and unguarded, exited about something so trivial.
“You always did lack patience and foresight.”
“Careful, I’m about to revoke your candle privileges, and then you’ll have to eat the marshmallows raw.”
“Raw? Seriously? It’s not meat James.”
“I’m never inviting you anywhere again if you keep criticising me.”
“Oh no, please do reconsider Jim, how could I possibly survive without the luxuries of this barren roof?”
It’s surprisingly easy to joke around with the man who calls himself king of Gotham.
Although right now he seems more like a court jester, with his affectionately mocking quips.
“Pray tell, what else does one do on a “legendary summer night rooftop hangout?”
“We used to talk about all kinds of things. Stuff like, how would our three dimensional world look like to a being of the second dimension? Would it be some cosmic horror trip?”
The nostalgia has gripped him full force now, and it feels like these nights long gone are once again close enough to reach out and touch.
He can almost hear the laughter of his friends, feel the thrill of going against his mothers rules to just get away from everything for a while, from the oppressive atmosphere and the glaring emptiness his father left.
He wonders how his friends from back then are doing today.
Better than him, he suspects. Certainly not roasting marshmallows with a ruthless killer.
Whatever.
“It’s fascinating to hear such things. I suppose my own youth wasn’t as normal, in hindsight. I spent most of my time poring over books, reading every book about strategy and war I could get my hands on.”
“Sounds lonely,” Jim can’t help but blurt out, which he immediately regrets.
He really isn’t in any place to judge.
Still, the image of a younger Oswald, sitting alone in his room while the others met up with friends or went to parties, desperately reading book after book, hoping to get somewhere, some day: it hurts.
He wonders if it was a voluntary choice, or if had simply been his way of coping with the fact that none of the others wanted to talk to him.
Okay, definitely enough of that train of thoughts.
Oswald brushes away his concerns easily, if not completely convincingly.
“I was simply too far ahead of them. And it paid off, didn’t it? Here I am, powerful and wealthy, respected, while they have their pathetic nine to five jobs and little domestic fantasises.”
“But enough about me,” he exclaims, cheer returning to his voice, “please do tell me more about that youthful ritual of yours, I find it terribly fascinating.”
“One time we ended up giving the constellations new names. Believe me, they were terrible.”
It looks like Oswald wants to know more, so he quickly continues on. He isn’t about to confess that he made up a constellation called ketchup dancefloor.
“Other times we just talked about life, or exchanged secrets.”
At the mention of secrets, Oswald perks up, before asking all too non-challantly: “Oh, secrets? What kind?”
The trap is awfully obvious, however Cobblepots terrible impression of innocence is so amusing, that Jim still decides to indulge him on a whim.
“Something like this: I lied earlier. I don’t… “ he tries to make his voice sound light, hoping not to betray the weight of what he’s admitting. “I don’t actually see you as an enemy. I try, but I’m not very successful.”
For the fraction of a second, shock is visible on Oswald’s face, before he elegantly covers up any and all true emotions with a thick layer of sarcasm once again.
“Aww James, how touching. It’d be an honour for me to buy us matching shirts with the inscription “I don’t actively want you dead”. It’ll be so sweet.”
Jim’s retaliation consists of threateningly moving his hand towards the candle, as if he were truly planning to take it away from Cobblepot, who, by the looks of it, had been enjoying the marshmallows immensely.
Seeing the obvious warning, he relents, smirking.
“Alright alright, I’ll stop making fun of you. Now, I believe I do owe you a secret too?”
What a surprise! Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin, not making use of the fact that he didn’t make any promises in the first place? Willingly surrendering private information? Truly unusual.
“You don’t have to. I was just explaining how the game works.”
“Oh I wouldn’t dream of breaking the sacred rules of summernight rooftop secret trading.”
He certainly isn’t too shy to embarrass Jim by continuing to use that silly name.
“I believe it has to be something you’ve never told anyone, something close to the heart?”
He nods, although he would like to deny that his secret had fulfilled these specifications.
He has a feeling Oswald would look right through his protests anyway.
“Then I have the perfect secret. I hope you’re aware though, that I will have you killed should you ever tell anyone.”
Alright, now he’s curious.
“Unless you’re about to confess a murder or similar crime, I festively vow to stay silent.”
“I’m not unhappy with my past or choices, it brought me to where I am after all. But sometimes I wonder how it would be like to kiss someone.”
He certainly wouldn’t have expected that. In fact, it hits him like a freight train.
“You’ve never..?”
“Of course I’ve had sex, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not some blushing virgin. It was just never paired with the kind of attachment that warranted kissing.”
And if he sounds slightly bitter about it, Jim certainly won’t call him out for it.
It’s shocking enough that a man so private, so careful not to show weakness, so worried about his reputation would offer such a private detail.
But then again, this is such a typically Oswald thing to do. The man is a tactical genius, a master manipulator. He even uses his vulnerability as a weapon, subtly forcing Jim to step away from his black and white thinking and recognising him as something else than a heartless criminal.
It’s impressive, really. And it’s working.
And fuck, the peaceful atmosphere, the silver moonlight, and the warmth these old memories brought to his chest have him considering something incredibly stupid.
“If you really wanna know what it’s like, I could kiss you.”
Oswald’s head snaps up with so much force that Jim is worried he might have pulled a muscle.
He seems to be completely flabbergasted, before his delicate features contort in anger. There’s a slight blush too though, which implies that he seems to have considered the idea at least for a moment.
“What?! How dare you make fun of-”
“Relax, it’s not that at all,” he hastily tries to explain. “I’m actually serious. You see, when me and my best friend were 17, we were wondering that too, so on a night exactly like this we just kissed each other. We were only that, friends, and there were no other feelings involved, but I don’t regret having my first kiss with someone I cared about instead of some random stranger at a party.”
“And I wouldn’t mind being that someone for you, if you’re interested,” he adds carefully.
“I don’t need your pity.”
“It’s just an offer. Take it or leave it.”
Honestly, he has no idea what possessed him to make such an offer in the first place. It’s ridiculous, idiotic, and totally shouldn’t make his heart rate speed up.
“Besides, I do still owe you a favour, in case you’re more comfortable with a trade.”
He gives his best roguish smirk, hoping against all odds that it will be enough to convince Oswald.
If he doesn’t, he can still play it off as a joke.
Oswald just stares at him for what feels a lot longer than seconds, calculating gaze making him squirm.
He gulps, wondering exactly how obvious his nervousness is.
Whatever Oswald had been looking for, he seems content, as he finally looks away.
“A trade then. I accept your conditions.”
Jim’s confidence is fading fast now, as he realises just how crazy what they’re about to do is.
Oswald seems calm as always.
Annoyingly in control, mischievous glint in his eyes.
Oh to be that collected. Instead, his palms are sweaty, his heart is racing, and his breath is coming short.
It’s not because of Oswald, he tries to tell himself. It’s just been too long since I’ve been close to someone like this.
Either way, he certainly feels something as Oswald reaches up and pulls him down to his height.
Resistance doesn’t even come to mind, he just obediently follows along.
He looks directly into Oswald‘s eyes now, piercing and green, long dark lashes accentuated by subtle eyeliner.
He‘s close enough to see the little golden specks in his iris, and oh god was this a stupid idea, it feels way too intimate to be this close. To share his breath and smell his perfume, to feel his warmth.
He should break away now, should try to laugh it off.
Instead he closes his eyes his eyes as Oswald pulls him closer still, closing the gap by leaning in and pressing their lips together softly, in a chaste kiss.
Functioning entirely on instinct now, Jim’s hands fly up to pull Oswald closer, to deepen the kiss, chasing the lingering note of sweetness the marshmallows left.
The silky suit feels so good under his fingers, smooth and cool despite being entirely unsuited for the warm weather.
Body warmth is seeping through the layers, and feeling entirely too hot in his own shorts and shirt, (even more so right now), he can only imagine how it is for the other man right now.
He would be all too happy to help him with that, peel him out of the many layers until his searching hands find skin to caress.
But he can’t. He’s not allowed to, he isn’t a lover.
He is forced to be content with the hand on his cheek, a caress that sets his nerve endings on fire and leaves him craving more.
Too soon Oswald pulls back, letting go of his face in the process.
He is surprised by the intensity of his desire to pull him back, kiss him again and don’t stop until they both forget why this could never work.
Until he manages to forget that it’s not him Oswald wants to kiss, but anyone. That it’s all just because of another stupid trade. Although this time, he can’t deny that it was him that initiated it, and not Oswald.
Speaking of which, he seems a tad bit out of breath and deliciously disheveled, but otherwise annoyingly collected.
If it weren’t for the blush covering his cheeks and nose Jim might even have thought he was completely unaffected.
“That was certainly… interesting.”
Anytime, he wants to say. He doesn’t.
“Sure, you’re welcome.”
You’re welcome? What an astonishingly stupid thing to say after a kiss.
Oswald takes it in stride, as he always does, simply continuing the conversation as if Jim didn’t want to fold in on himself in embarrassment.
“Quite a surprising night it has been, hasn’t it?”
Hoping not to embarrass himself further, Jim settles on a noncommittal grunt.
“I’m afraid I have to go now though. Even though it has been so wonderful.”
“Trivial business?” He allows his voice to sound a tad bit taunting, pretty sure that Oswald is well aware he didn’t exactly buy into the story.
The crooked little smile he receives makes him want to punch a wall, because fuck. How could he do this to himself? How the absolute hell did he think it was a good idea?
He presses his fingernails into his palm with force, willing his hands not to reach out and pull Oswald in for another kiss, not to find out wether he can taste some lingering note of cherry too.
“No James. I’ve decided that my ”trivial business” might benefit from a little more careful strategic planning.”
“Good to hear.”
“I do appreciate you helping me realise that. And I appreciate you sharing this legendary rooftop hangout with me. It means a lot.”
Then stay the night, or at least another hour, he bites back, using up all his effort not to let it spill out.
Ignoring this line of thought, he jumps up, offering Oswald a hand.
It wouldn’t be very gentlemanly to keep him here against his explicit wish to leave.
And if he doesn’t exactly let go of his hand after pulling Oswald up, who are these gentlemen anyway, to criticise his behaviour? They’re dead.
“You… need to get back to the club, huh?”
Another one of these soft, unguarded smiles Oswald seems to have only for him.
“A nightclub doesn’t run itself James.“
Then, after a moment of consideration, he adds: “Not even if I really want it to.”
“Maybe we could do it again sometime? I know some nice rooftops, and I’d love to introduce you to some of the snacks my mother used to make for me.”
That’s almost certainly a bad idea. But it seems to be a night filled with those anyway, so what is one more?
In fact, he has plenty of bad ideas on the back burner, and the night is temptingly long still.
“Sure, I’d love to.”
In a spur of the moment decision, he takes up the bag of marshmallows, pressing them into Oswald’s hand.
“Here, take these.”
“Don’t you want to eat them yourself? I can easily buy my own.”
“You have plenty of marshmallow eating to catch up on,” he says, before giving a lopsided grin and adding “besides, they taste better on you anyway.”
And if Oswald hadn’t been blushing before, now he definitely is.
“Careful Jim, lest I jump to conclusions.”
Even now, his tone is controlled and even. It drives him crazy. Just what would it take to shake up this insufferably irritating man?
“About that kiss earlier. I’m afraid I did it wrong..”
Another one of these calculating looks, carefully weighing the possibility he might be telling the truth, before breaking into a smirk.
“Really? We did have a deal though. So perhaps you should try again.”
“Perhaps.”
This time it’s him who makes the first step, pulling Oswald closer, and going in for a passionate kiss.
Oswald isn’t shy either, if anything, he gives as good as he gets, hands wandering up and slipping underneath Jim’s shirt, all too eager to explore.
“See James, I’ve just decided that for all I care the club can run itself for a night.”
Jim smiles into the kiss, finally letting his own hands roam freely.
“That’s great to hear.”
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quatari · 2 years
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Steve Harrington is a Knight of Heart and in this essay I will tell you why I am the smartest person on earth and have the right to classpect the shit out of my blorbos from the media that is not homestuck.
Let's start with a character overview to better cover our base, and even better - from the first season. Over the course of four seasons, Steve goes through an incredible character arc, growing from an unlikeable asshole and a borderline bully to the main defender of the whole party. However, I want to note that Steve has never been a real bully, even in the first season. Such a completely false impression is created due to the fact that at that time his two best friends are bullies, and he himself is a popular jock boy from a wealthy family. But this is one of his not quite conscious masks, which can be seen already in the very first season and is especially well revealed through his relationship with Nancy. As we know, Nancy is by no means a popular prom queen, on the contrary, she is an all-A’s overachiever, and her best friend Barb embodies the loser and outcast archetype (omg just like heathers). If Steve was a real jock, he would start dating someone like Chrissy, who is a popular beautiful cheerleader doll who could pose more as a trophy than a romantic partner. But Steve is genuinely interested in Nancy, he really likes her as a person, and he seeks to help and protect her. This applies not only to studying, but also to people around: when Jonathan demonstrates frankly stalker behavior and secretly takes pictures of Nancy changing clothes, Steve acts thoughtlessly on emotions and in an attempt to protect the honor of his girlfriend. And please note that he always sees when his actions upset Nancy, and he always apologizes and tries to make amends. I’m talking about such moments as when he tries to climb into her window because he is worried (to find her there with Jonathan), and when he washes off offensive words from the theater. He cares deeply about her feelings, and he does everything in his power so that she does not get hurt, even though he makes mistakes. Well, who the hell doesn't, especially at that age? This dynamic is further developed when Steve makes other friends. He is always careful and attentive to the feelings of others: he is caring towards children, he does not hesitate to accept Robin as a lesbian (which is a mindblowingly  amazing move for a "popular guy" from the 80s), he lets Nancy go despite the fact that it pains him to do so, and does not make a huge drama or even cause a small scene out of this - mind you, for an 18-year-old, this is insanely mature! And the background for all of this is him losing himself even more than in the first season - yes, yes, I didn’t mention, but under the mask of a popular guy, there was absolute confusion about who he really was. He does not have a clear understanding of himself, he does not know what he wants from life, he is lonely and cold. We can guess from everything we've been shown that this, much to out surprise (/sarc), comes from the family - Steve's parents are almost never there, most likely they not only paid little attention to his son, but also for sure made him feel like a disappointment. And so it leaves him confused, having a great personality (evident to us viewers), yet not able to realize it.
What does all this tell us?
Being led by his emotions, a conflict of self, evolution from the most self-centered character to the most selfless, caring for other characters' *feelings* and romantic relationships all point to the Heart aspect from beginning to end. Textbook stuff, really. At the same time, the lack of an aspect at the beginning of the arc and mastering it in the course of his development, ignoring his own problems and hiding behind masks, whether conscious or not, indicate a class. The Knight class, obviously. However, this is only a psychotype and an arch, but I must say that I saved the most obvious evidence for the end - this is Steve's behavior as a typical Knight. Classes are often compared to roles in games. Like mages, bards, rogues, all that stuff. Knights in this classification are ALWAYS tanks. They are the first to rush into battle so that their team can deal damage from afar, from a safe distance. Tanks (Knights) carry the team, holding its full weight on their shoulders, even not always being the strongest players. They are able to take on all the damage from the enemy, to allow their team to win. What can I say :) Steve :)))) A person who is ALWAYS on the frontline, protecting the rest of the party. Who always goes first to check how dangerous the path ahead is. Who charges at the enemy, acting as bait, even if he knows he cannot win. Classic Knight, really.
And so we came to the conclusion that Steve Harrington is a typical Knight of Heart. We wish him good luck and someone who will help him take a break from a heavy burden such as carrying a whole party. Please give Steve a day off and a shoulder to cry on (Robin im looking at you 👀)
Thank you for coming to my ted talk
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dendrite-blues · 3 years
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For a relatively short exchange, this scene is jam packed with characterization for Loki. 
It’s also our first reliable look into what Loki was like before Thor 1. Not as described by others, but first hand and from his own mouth. I think that deserves a closer look, to see what we can learn about Loki and how he thinks.
This scene is significant because it tells us what Loki’s personality is like when he’s not running for his life. It tells us who he was before his trauma and what his core beliefs are underneath those layers of humor and bravado.
Better yet, since he’s alone we can assume that every line in this scene is presumably true, or at least Loki believes it to be true since he has no audience but himself. 
The dialogue centers mostly around the statement “You deserve to be alone, and you always will be.” I’m not going to focus too much on the “alone” motif since I already dedicated an entire meta post to it.
What I think is more interesting about this scene is actually the looping, and the stages Loki goes through in trying to deal with it. There’s a lot of really interesting character traits on display in that progression.
Loop 1: A Warm Bath and Glass of Wine
The first loop entails Sif lecturing Loki about cutting her hair, kicking him in the balls, and storming away. Loki kneels on the floor and he gives us this great line:
“A bad memory prison? How quaint. Some punishment. I remember exactly what I did after that. I went and had a nice, hot bath and a glass of wine, and I never thought about it again. Because it was just a bit of fun.”
So we can take this to be Loki’s default reaction to pain and criticism. When put into an unexpected conflict without any forethought or outside influence, this is what he says/does.
1) Downplay the damage/threat. How quaint. 2) Dispel/soothe the emotion. Nice hot bath. 3) Minimize the impact. Never thought about it again. 4) Deflect responsibility. Just a bit of fun.
Keep those in mind as we move forward, since we’ll be using them to make sense of what else Loki says in this scene.
Loops 2 and 3: Okay, Sif, Hang On
This bit is about Loki realizing just how bad his predicament is.
L: Okay. Okay, Sif. Hang on. S: No, you hear this. You deserve to be alone... And I always will be. L: Alright, I get it. Listen. You are a reconstruction of a past event created by the organization that controls all of time. So you need to trust me and you need to help me escape. Yeah? S: Pathetic. (she kicks him again) L: (winces and groans)
As we all would expect from him, Loki’s first impulse is to try and talk his way out of it. What he says to achieve that goal is pretty revealing though. Because he doesn’t try to ease Sif’s upset by apologizing or explaining or offering to magic her hair back. 
Any of these would have been more likely to save his nads in the given circumstance, right? The present threat is Sif, and she’s mad about what Loki did to her hair. But Loki doesn’t really see that. Rather, he treats her as a means to an end.
“So you need to trust me and you need to help me escape. Yeah?”
To me, that choice reveals something of a blind spot Loki has to the feelings of others. Even if he doesn’t actively like hurting people, he does prioritize their problems below his, and quite shamelessly. And at least on his first impulse, he doesn’t seem to feel much remorse or empathy for them.
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Usually in fanon we attribute this callousness to his trauma. He’s learned that no one can be trusted and no one cares, and so he doesn’t allow himself to care for others. 
But between his Loop 1 sentiment of “It was just a bit of fun” for an event which caused real hurt to Sif, and his Loop 2/3 behavior of “you, stop being mad and help ME” I think it’s reasonable to say that selfishness/low empathy are traits Loki possessed pre-trauma.
Loop 4-????: Happens Off Screen
It’s unclear how many times Loki loops while the camera is following Mobius, but the implication is clear that it was been many, many repetitions. Somewhere in this his denial and deflection must break, because we come back to a much humbler, more pleading Loki.
The Final Loop: I Crave Attention
S: You conniving, craven... L: Sif. Sif. S: ...pathetic worm. L: Please, please, no more. Please, I beg you. I'm a horrible person. I get it. I really am. I cut off your hair because I thought it'd be funny. And it's not. Uh... I crave attention... because I'm... a narcissist. And I suppose it's... It's because I'm scared of being alone.
HOOO BOY, so this is quite a tough bit to analyze. There’s a lot of interpretations you could make, and a lot of topics to delve into. For the sake of focus, I’m going to ignore the narcissism question. That one really needs an entire post, and I want to focus on something else here.
That being, Loki’s way of processing conflict/punishment.
I’ve always found it strange how Loki takes such pride in being called a liar and cheat when he simultaneously has this chip on his shoulder about how nobody likes him. 
Those two traits don’t seem to play well together, and I always scratched my head over how they coexist in his character. If he wants people to be nicer to him, maybe he should stop antagonizing them? Yeah?
Well, here we’re finally given a clear reason. Loki craves attention, he hates being alone. So how does he avoid it? Pranks and mischief. 
Fair enough.
But then, if all his pranks lead to this outcome--outrage, retaliation, insult--why doesn’t he ever learn? How is it that after 1000 years of this behavior, he hasn’t found a better way to get the attention he craves? 
Loop 1: Downplay, dispel, minimize, deflect. He accepts zero accountability for the impact of his actions, and doesn’t think at all about how they affect other people. Just a bit of fun. I had a hot bath and a glass of wine, and never thought about it again. 
The only reason he reaches the level of self awareness on display in the Final Loop is because the looping forces him to contemplate his actions and the impulses within him that lead to that behavior.
This is projection on my part, but to me he acts as though this kind of deep reflection is a new thing for him. He sounds like someone sharing a revelation that he’s just had about himself. We’re being shown that Loki is a man of action. He will always move forward if he can, possibly because looking back to so painful that he can’t bring himself to do it.
Circling back around to the pride Loki has for his knavery, let’s suppose that he’s been on this negative reinforcement cycle since childhood. He’s always acted out to get attention, then received retaliation and insults for it, and then pushed the bad feelings out of his mind with creature comforts and mental gymnastics.
What happens over time, when you’re being constantly told that you’re a pain in the ass and no one likes you? Most of us would take it to heart, but Loki doesn’t. He has a big ego, big enough to resist that constant barrage of hate coming at him.
So how does he marry these two conflicting realities? 
He turns it into an identity, the God of Mischief. 
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In his head, Loki excuses himself of blame by shifting the culpability to his moniker. It’s not that he’s immature and petty, he’s just a “trickster.” It’s in his nature to cause trouble, so he can’t help it. You wouldn’t dangle a steak in front of a tiger and blame the tiger for striking, would you? And if other people can’t take a “joke” then that’s not his fault, that’s on them for not having a sense of humor. It was just a bit of fun.
Here we see the union of these two halves of Loki, the lonely ice runt and the mischievous scamp. (And a little bit of the original Loki who Thor accused of being incapable of growth!) 
By refusing to think about others, and excusing himself from responsibility, Loki successfully preserves his self worth and insulates himself to most of the negative emotions he experiences.
Pain, embarrassment, and grief aren’t pointless emotions though. They are vital feelings that serve to regulate our behavior, and that push us to conform to the ways of our social circles. Without them, we annoy and upset others. Be annoying for long enough and you will eventually find yourself, well, alone. As Loki is.
Thus “Mischief” is a self-defeating loop, and Loki is just as caught in it as the cell Mobius trapped him in.
In order to be free of both traps, Loki has to stop running. He has to take a deeper look at himself and realize how much he is getting in his own way. The entire scene is one big parallel between these two “loops.” Pretty neat, huh?
Sadly these kinds of thought loops are really difficult to break, they’re buried so deeply in our personalities and habits that we usually don’t notice them until life forces us to address them.
The cell is Loki’s wake up call, and thankfully he does seem to rise to the occasion. He tells Sif quite clearly what his problem is, and he does it with beautiful, painful honesty.
Which is why it’s so fucking awesome for Mobius to acknowledge that, and to finally give Loki a taste of positive attention. 
You don’t deserve to be alone. I believe you can be anything, even something good. Whatever you two did, it was powerful enough to bring this whole place down.
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It’s a beautiful scene. Well written, meticulously acted. The clarity of vision in the pacing and shot selection, it’s really something special.
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stellocchia · 3 years
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Since I really enjoyed yesterday's stream I decided to do one of my overly long analysis on it
So, here's my analysis of (DSMP LORE) Healthy Competition
Dialogues will be color-coded as usual, so here's what I used: Phil, Wilbur, Ranboo
As always I am incapable of brevity, so everything's under the cut
The stream starts with a conversation between Phil and Wilbur in which Wilbur admits that he hasn't been to visit Phil in a while, which makes Phil's later threat about throwing him out feel that much more ridiculous since Wilbur clearly doesn't really live with him either way...
"Alright, it's got one for Phil, one for Ranboo, and one for Techno. Is that all that live here? Just you three?" "Yep, just us three, just chilling"
The only reason why I'm singling this out is that it was right after the mention of Techno's birthday and Wilbur was pointing at the seats occupied by the 4 members of the Syndicate so it feels slightly weird that Niki wasn't mentioned at all. But also it's technically not a lie, she doesn't live there and she only comes around for the Syndicate meetings.
Another thing to add is that Wilbur did notice the chest Ranboo left for him and consciously decided to ignore it.
"I must admit I've come to you with a bit of a- a bit of a proposition. You're into propositions Phil? Are you a bit of a 'propositions' kinda guy?" "Oh, depends, depends. You- you've had some pretty... let- let's just say, uh- not- not a great track record on propositions that you've had in the past" "Alright... I mean, I'm trying to move past that"
I wonder what exactly Phil is referring to here. Because, like, Wilbur did bad things, don't get me wrong, but what's his track record with "propositions" in particular? Because he isn't talking about "Tommy, let's be the bad guys" here since he doesn't know about that. Is he talking about Wilbur founding L'Manburg? But then again, I don't think Wilbur interpreted it that way. I think that, from Wilbur's reaction, he clearly interpreted it as a jab at him exploding L'Manburg (which is the one thing he's trying to move past) which would be extremely hypocritical from Phil since he did the exact same thing but worse.
Also, I really do think that Wilbur is trying to move forward. He's lonely and he has the lowest possible opinion of himself so it doesn't feel weird that he'd want to move on. He isn't putting the work in it right now and he hasn't really changed, but he does seem to want to (though I think he may not know how).
"He [Quackity] didn't seem afraid of me, which is cool. Not many people- I mean you don't seem afraid of me. You aren't afraid of me, are you Phil?" (little look into Wilbur's mind and his fear of isolation once again. And this is fear of isolation, he's worried that other people are afraid of him and therefore are only waiting for him to step out of line so that all their fears would be confirmed)
"'Cause I'm not afraid of you [Phil]" (bold words for someone who spent who knows how long lying to his dad because of a crippling fear of disappointment...)
"Technoblade spent his entire time taking down the establishments, what he left is, as predicted, a power vacuum for a new establishment to come in" (in case it wasn't obvious, Wilbur is not the biggest fan of anarchy. And he actually got this one criticism spot on, indeed all taking down L'Manburg did was getting 4 new governmental-like structures to sprout in its place)
"Phil, I want to make a burger van" *Phil sighs and walks away* (I'm more sure now that Phil really meant "creating L'Manburg" as Wilbur's bad track record with propositions)
Wilbur repeating 4 times that he has no ulterior motive with the burger van managed to make me think the exact opposite. That said that ulterior motive may just be to create a safe little home for himself and Tommy for all we know honestly. Also, the whole thing with Phil trying to convince his grown-ass kid to go play with the neighbor kid and Wilbur throwing a tantrum in response was hilarious...
"If he's [Ranboo] shit you gotta come help me okay? If he's shit you've gotta come be burger boy with me, okay?" (he still is mistrustful to an extreme and pretty childish admittedly)
"Why is he [Phil] treating me like a kid?! Why is he treating me like a little baby?" (remembering how Wilbur treated Fundy I think it may be a family problem)
Another interesting thing to point out is that Wilbur was openly scared of the spider attacking him here, and fights it off, but he doesn't move away from the explosion later on and he didn't move away from the exploding creepers last stream. Other people already made this connection, but I do think it may be a sort of way to punish himself. Specifically, it's brought up later on that he thinks he got off easy for what he did, so he's using what he hurt others with (explosions) to hurt himself now as a sort of punishment for that. Which is another indication of just how much his stay in Limbo didn't help with his mental health.
"Am I being- is this [Ranboo having both cows and wheat] a setup?" (the paranoia never left)
"Ranboo I'm gonna go out on a limb here: do- do you wanna be friends?" "Su-sure yeah, I don't see why not" (I think that at this point it was still just Wilbur following along with what his dad told him to do and trying to find out more about Ranboo. That does seem to change later down the line)
"And then we decided that it [the 'cookie' outpost] was too much trouble so we kinda just left it" (So we have confirmation that the cookie outpost was abandoned)
"We're not gonna annoy Quackity" "That's good" "We can't annoy- we can't annoy him because we're simply put- we're simply put gonna be making...- I got the real estate! He's giving me the area and we're gonna be making a competing business"
Wilbur says this as if he wasn't perfectly aware that this would annoy the sh*t out of Quackity. As if the point of it wasn't exactly to annoy Quackity. Or well, annoying him isn't the end goal, it's just the means to an end. We don't know the actual end goal (though I think Wilbur still wants to either be let into Las Nevadas or actually instate a rivalry between them as he said, one of the two).
"We [he and Quackity] were a part of the same cabinet during New L'Manburg or whatever" "Cabinet?" "Yeah a cabinet is like-" "Was this- was this with Tubbo?" "Yeah yeah" (...) "So you were part of the old L'Manburg? I didn't know that actually, I thought you were a bit of an independent"
Once again: Wilbur is missing A LOT of knowledge. He wasn't aware that New L'Manburg had a cabinet and he wasn't aware that Ranboo was ever part of the country either. He has a lot of misconceptions about what happened during the time he was dead so it really shouldn't be a surprise to anyone that his views on a lot of things are as warped as they are. Wilbur is getting to his conclusions with an incomplete and sometimes wrong set of data.
"Do you dislike anyone Ranboo?" "Not too much I don't think. I mean there are other people I don't, like, agree with what they've done of course, but I think that everyone is just a product of what they've gone through and everything so if you understand that then you understand the person!"
There is nothing inherently wrong with Ranboo's reasoning here. It's true that most people are a result of their environment and, once you understand what they've been through you can understand them better as a person. It's also fine that he personally doesn't want to hold grudges. But that way of thinking isn't applicable to those who have been hurt by others, sure they can reach an understanding, but an understanding of a person doesn't justify shit and doesn't change shit unless that person works towards repairing old broken relationships. It just all sounds like a nice way of thinking about things in theory, but in practice, it just takes away responsibility from those who have wronged others to fix things and moves it to those who have been wronged. (Ranboo isn't advocating for everyone to think that way though, but I know the fandom will).
Either way, they arrive in Las Nevadas and Wilbur talks about how their place doesn't benefit the consumer and puts down 3 signs.
"I've been trying to think of a name for it [his and Tommy's area], I'm thinking about 'Paradise'"
There are two possible reasons for the name that I can think of:
1) It's in reference to Las Nevadas itself and how Las Nevadas is based on Las Vegas, the famous city of sin
2) It could be a reference to Tommy insistently calling Las Nevadas Paradise in the last stream and Wilbur trying to convince him that their place is the true Paradise
Wilbur does decide to make the Burger Van right at the border which really feels like a very obvious provocation. The other thing is that he makes it clear that he wants the van to be red and white which could be a random choice, but really feels like a reference to Tommy (since they are famously his colors) or an imitation of their opposition. Or both considering how much Tommy liked the restaurant of the opposition and the fact that Wilbur is still trying to convince him to stay.
"I'm not very fond of blue" (at this point it's obvious that Wilbur has quite a bit of pent-up animosity against Ghostbur. I wonder if it is because it still feels like people liked the ghost more than him...)
"Like, the Cookie Shop, I don't even know if it was a cookie shop, to begin with, because it was a little... fortified if I'm entirely honest, I realize that now" "Really?" "Yeah did you not see- oh wait- that giant stone structure?" (Ranboo really did fail to realize that the cookie shop was actually a military outpost, huh?)
"See, I like Tubbo. He's strong-headed, he doesn't let people push him around, you know?" (this is both an interesting change in what he thinks of Tubbo if he actually thinks that and further confirmation that Wilbur isn't a fan of people he considers to be 'followers')
"Why do you claim that you're so 'peaceful' and 'neutral' and yet somehow appear in almost every conflict this server's had since I died?" (since I saw people claiming this is manipulation already, just know that it isn't. He's just confused because, admittedly, Ranboo is a confusing guy and Wilbur doesn't really know him at all)
"Ranboo, why did you come to help me?" (...) "And then also I just think, you know... you can, you know- I think- I think you're an alright person, you know? So I wanna- I did kinda wanna get off on a better foot with you then what happened-" "Why?" "Just because I don't really like having the thought that people don't really like me" "Nonononono not the bit about the right foot, the 'why don't you think I'm a bad person'" "Well I mean, I think that you did bad things, but like, I think that you also went through things that made you that way and then I also think that you've changed now (...) but I think that now you've- apparently you've been away long enough that I think that if anyone goes away for that long eventually they'll have a thought about their morality and everything and maybe become a better person because of it"
I know this quote was absurdly long, but it is one of the most interesting conversations of the whole stream and it is really important and it tells us quite a bit as well. For one thing Wilbur was left quite emotional from someone simply admitting that he's an "alright person" and that they think he's capable of changing and this does bring him to open up to Ranboo right after. What Ranboo says to be exact is that anyone would have changed after going through what Wilbur went through and that change could be positive and while I completely disagree with it, it's clearly something that Wilbur needed to hear.
Now as to why I disagree with the notion that 13 years of semi-complete isolation could change anyone for the better should be rather obvious. But if it isn't, well, that's torture to put it simply. Psychological torture. Just like abuse it's one of those things that only cause trauma and a worsening mental health state and we see this with Wilbur because he didn't change, he only became more self-deprecating. Hurting someone doesn't make them become a better person all of a sudden, that's really not how it works. Hurting someone makes them become more traumatized.
"I think I scare people" ( as I said, immediately opening up about his insecurities)
"I think that a lot of people share your idea, but they share your idea in trying to- trying to keep me from hurting them" (for a bit here Wilbur talks about how he feels like everyone else is just waiting for him to step a foot out of line, which does really show that he's still interpreting all his interactions with people through the lens of his paranoia and self-deprecation, because no one is really interacting with him with that objective in mind)
"Dream's had his comeuppance and I've not" (this seems to be the crux of Wilbur's insecurity. This idea that he got off scot-free for his crimes, the idea that the only difference between him and Dream is the punishment that's been bestowed upon them which, of course, is wrong, but he doesn't know this, because he doesn't actually know why Dream's in prison)
"I've been investing into the wrong areas Ranboo, I've been investing into the wrong people" (This is either a reference to Tommy, to Phil, to Quackity, or to all of them)
"We're kindred man, we get each other" (the reason why he thinks that is because he seems to think that Ranboo has a similar type of paranoia to what Wilbur experience himself and he's not entirely wrong. Ranboo is deathly afraid of conflict and of being disliked so much so that he never stands up for anything in fear of angering others)
Little definition of "neuroticism" for you all since Wilbur kept mentioning it: neuroticism, one of the Big 5 personality traits, is typically defined as a tendency toward anxiety, depression, self-doubt, and other negative feelings.
I'd say it's quite fitting for both characters...
"I feel like life dealt us the same cards and the difference is that you built your trust by showing people your cards whilst I- I keep them close to my chest and I feel like that may be the big difference" (I felt like this was interesting. Especially knowing how much Ranboo actually doesn't share and how much he actually also keeps close to his chest)
They talk about tubbo in general for a bit and about what's been going on the server in general. Ranboo also that he's part of both Snowchester and the arctic commune (mostly the latter though).
"This has been chill, this has been good, I'm excited to show Tommy. What's your opinion on Tommy?" "Oh, he's- he's great. Tommy's awesome" "I agree I agree" "Definitely gone through a lot but I think that it's made him a good person" "Well you seem to think that everyone going through something at least gives them some merit you said" "I mean, yeah. I mean if- if no one- the only really bad people are the ones who are just evil because- just because and they don't have any reason why"
Included the whole thing here because if I stopped at Ranboo saying that Tommy going through trauma is what made him a good person it would have sounded really bad. As things are I think that that was just poor wording on his part and that this mostly goes back to the mentality he expressed before about how people sometimes do bad things because of the environment they're in pushing them and this idea he seems to have that actual hardships (like 13 years in Limbo or whatever he knows about what Tommy has been through) can encourage people to be better which is... sort of naive honestly. Again, trauma isn't a catalyst for the betterment of a person, and any improvement Tommy has made came from his self-reflection, not what he's been through.
After they're done with the van Wilbur brings Ranboo to their competing establishment and asks him to smash the windows, which Ranboo does with no hesitation whatsoever. After that Wilbur proceeds to place down one single block of TNT in a corner and Ranboo starts being a little more hesitant.
"You trust me right?" (I feel like that was a trick question considering how their common paranoia is the thing that Wilbur praised in Ranboo before)
Wilbur hands Ranboo the flint and steel to detonate the piece of TNT which Ranboo does, albeit with some hesitation.
"You passed the test, good job man, you go back to the van (...) Ranboo- Ranboo... I'm proud of you man. You've taken a side, you've proven that you can choose a side"
Quite a few people have already pointed out how similar this scene was to the time Wilbur tested Tommy in season 1 to decide if he was fit to be his right-hand man. In both situations, Wilbur gave someone a chance to cause some destruction against someone on the opposite side. Tommy passed the test by refusing to do so and showing that he was willing to uphold his morals and what he believed in. Ranboo passed the test by doing the exact opposite, by showing that, as much as he talks about how he chooses people and not sides, he's not willing to prove that even when all he would need to do to do so is doing nothing.
And it's an interesting scene to analyze as a parallel to that, but it's also interesting to note that Wilbur knows about Ranboo and Tommy griefing George together. He knows that Tommy was the only one to face any consequences for it (not that exile was actually the consequence for the griefing, but this is from Wilbur's point of view). Now putting this in the context of Wilbur seeing himself in Ranboo and thinking that he himself got off scot-free explains this next part perfectly in my opinion.
It explains why he made sure to leave this sign:
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To me at least. This is only a theory honestly, we don't have an actual full explanation. But I do think that Wilbur may feel like the both of them never got the comeuppance they deserved, which is why he did something that's sure to get a reaction from one of the most powerful people on the server. Though considering that he also left 2 diamonds as retribution + a chest with all the materials he picked up it could have also been Wilbur's idea of a bonding moment and he could actually really be proud of Ranboo.
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wrenhyperfixates · 3 years
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My Heart is Your Canvas
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Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: Loki hadn’t been planning on confessing his love for you, but he’s glad he did. Warnings: a whole lot fluff A/N: For my bestest best friend @lokistan! Hope you all enjoy :)
Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02​ @frostedgiant​ @lunarmoon8​ @twhiddlestonsstuff​ @lokistan​ @lowkeyorlokificrecs​ @gaitwae​ @whatafuckingdumbass​ @castiels-majestic-wings​ @kozkaboi​ @cozy-the-overlord​ @birdgirl90​ @myraiswack​ @mythicalgarlicknot​ @what-a-flammable-heart​ @marvelouslovely​
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Disclaimer: Gif not mine
“It is useless, brother,” Loki lamented, shrugging off his tuxedo jacket and dropping the bouquet of roses on Thor’s bed. “I will never be able to tell them how I feel and playing dress-up like this is ridiculous.”
“It is not playing, nor is it ridiculous. You want to woo them, right?”
Loki frowned, feeling like he was about to almost be sucked into yet another of his brother's hair-brained schemes to get him to confess his true feelings to you. And this latest one had barely even ended! Still, he did want to, as Thor put it, woo you, and his brother’s intentions were pure. So, the trickster god sighed and nodded.
“Then trust me; all you must do is don this tux, hand them these flowers, and have confidence in yourself.”
Loki looked in the mirror. He looked ridiculous, he was sure. Then again, Thor did know more about Midgardian culture than Loki did. Unless he was just trying to get revenge on Loki for the countless pranks he’d played on the older Odinson in their youth. But no, the brothers had turned over a new leaf and were truly supportive of each other, even if Loki still had to remind himself of that often. After feeling lonely and ignored for so long, it was easy for him to forget he actually had family to turn to, looking out for him.
“That is easy for you to say,” Loki finally responded. “Everyone practically threw themselves at your feet when you arrived. Everyone has always wanted to be your friend. Me, not so much. No one has ever really liked me, especially not here. Even you took a while to come around.” They both winced at his unintentionally harsh words. “Forgive me, brother, I did not mean it like that. I only mean I cannot afford to lose them. They are my best friend.”
“But they could be your beloved.”
Loki’s face went scarlet. Even if, by some miracle, you liked him back, there was something about that word, about calling someone his beloved, that felt so intimate to him. What would you think of it, he wondered? It didn’t really matter, considering he made up his mind. With a snap of his fingers, Loki was once again dressed in his Asgardian tunic. He saw his brother slouch in defeat.
“They could, in theory... But not today. I am sorry.”
“Brother, there is nothing to apologize for,” Thor reassured, clapping Loki on his back. “I am in your corner. Just promise you will think about it some more?”
After a promise to do just that and a sincere thank you thrown his brother’s way, Loki headed back to his rooms to wallow in his failure by his lonesome. That plan was quickly tossed out the window when he saw you standing outside his door, art supplies in hand.
“Darling?” he said. “Is everything alright?”
“Oh! There you are,” you said, spinning around. “It is, thanks for asking. I was just looking for you, and here you are. Do you, um, think you can you do me a favor?”
“Of course,” he nodded, sensing some sort of anxiety from you. He didn’t care what the favor was. If it helped you calm down, he’d do it. He opened the door for you. “Will you come in?”
“Thanks again,” you said, as he followed you in.
“It is no problem, darling,” he replied, brow furrowing a little at your perpetuating nervousness. “What may I help you with?”
“See, so you know I’ve been painting a lot recently, right? Well, I ran out canvases and Tony says I can’t paint on the walls. This is probably kind of stupid, but can I paint on you? Like just on your back?”
“Is that all?” he chuckled. “Of course you can. It would be my honor to be of service.”
Loki felt a light blush coat his cheeks as he took off everything covering his top half. At least you were busy setting up your paints, so he didn’t think you noticed. Sitting down with his back to you, he kept his face turned down just to be sure you didn’t see. Still, he knew the exact moment you realized your plan involved him being half-naked because you let out a little squeak. He would have laughed if he wasn’t so flustered himself.
Loki held as still as possible as you rested your hand on his shoulder and began to paint, the strokes of your brush on his skin tickling a little. Eventually he calmed down and relaxed a bit, though he was still hyper-aware of every time your skin made contact with his.
“Hey, Loki?” you hummed after a while of companionable silence with some small chitchat sprinkled in.
“Yes, darling?���
“Just... thank you so much for doing this. Even if you don’t, err, like the finished product, I still really appreciate it.”
“Of course, darling. It is no trouble, really,” he promised. “Anyway, I shall love whatever masterpiece you create.”
“M-masterpiece? You really mean all that?” you squeaked out in flattered surprise.
“Naturally. After all, it is made by you. How can it be anything less that wholly amazing? I love everything you do,” he sighed in content. “I love you.”
Loki’s eyes suddenly went wide once he realized what he’d just confessed to. Darn you always being on his mind and making him feel all soft and squishy inside. But more importantly, darn him for not having a grip on his emotions and his mouth. And now he was going to lose you, his best friend. He would have stood up and pulled away, but you were still painting, and he didn’t want to ruin it.
“I-I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expect that,” you giggled. “But I love you, too.”
“No, darling. You do not have to say that to make me feel better,” he reassured you. “Truly, we can just forget the whole thing if you like.”
“Loki, I’m not faking it, I swear. And I can prove it,” you said, stepping back and taking one final look at your handiwork.
Taking Loki by the hand, you led him to the full-length mirror he kept on his wall. He craned his head to look at his now colorful back reflected at him. You’d painted a heart in his colors, with a few sunflowers around the border and his helmet in the center. At the bottom were words that made his heart stutter. Even though they were reflected backward, he could read them. My beloved. You’d written, “my beloved”. That was him. He could hardly fathom it, but a huge smile spread across his perfect pink lips.
“Believe me now?” you shyly looked up at him.
“Yes, my clever darling,” he replied, realizing this had been your plan all along. Seems like you were just as shy as he was. “I do.”
With an impossibly wide grin, a perfect match to his, overtaking your own features, you cupped his face and brought him in for a kiss. As you both stood there, sealing your confessions with locked lips, Loki didn’t even care that he’d have to listen to Thor gloating about how right he was for the rest of his life. No, that didn’t matter now. In fact, the rest of the world and his problems drifted away, as the only thing that mattered was you. Because if he had the honor to be your beloved, he most certainly knew you would want to be his too.
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m-ieleeh · 2 years
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Pillow talk: Talking about how MysMe hits close to home now and feels so real.
Okay, I wanted to start a sincere discussion about it, I think it's interesting to see how y'all interprets this game: if it's just a game for fun, a lesson of life or a comfort zone. I don't know if what I'm going to say about this game might appear a bit "over the top" for you (like I go too far in my appreciation at the limit of excess) but please understand that I don't play a lot of games and MysMe got my attention for a long time which is why I'm considering it as an excellent game on which I relate a lot.
As said in the title: It's a "Pillow Talk" (I thought that term is super cute instead of "story time") so I'm going to write a lot about sensitive things that are a bit depressing. If you feel uncomfortable with this subject then please don't read >< also I'm going to talk about my own life so if you're not interested you can just ignore it and talk about your own experience lol
I'll just expect those who wants to talk a bit about this game to express themselves on this post and to have a maximum of respect for each others please. ^^
Well, my interpretation:
I was in high school when I first started this game (6years ago), (maybe) like you I got quite addicted to it: the gameplay was super original and I felt really close to the characters (calls, interactions and the fact that it's a messenger made the game feel more real.) My favorite was Zen, I thought he was super handsome, outgoing and warm and his story was super interesting. I also liked Yoosung for the same reasons meanwhile I just couldn't really grasp the struggles of Jaehee, Seven and Jumin, their problems kinda felt "unreal" to me (I mean that I didn't get their struggles because I didn't experienced it) I could be sympathetic with them but I couldn't relate.
But I didn't realized that it was because I could relate to them: I had a really low self-esteem like Zen, constantly questioning myself thinking "I don't deserve this or that" or "Am I even going to make it?" and was constantly relying on people and waiting for someone to tell me how I should do things. I would feel lost when I was all by myself like Yoosung.
So basically I was kinda a low self-esteem coward LOL
And there was also those two girls with whom I'd go out with a lot and who considered me as their "best friends". They didn't helped me at all and just pushed me down, making me feel even worse. So yeah, my surrounding weren't the best...
Anyway, after High School I got to experience a lot of things: extreme exhaustion (due to certain circumstances I worked 7/7, 16/24), I lost trust in a lot of people I held really dear, I experienced the weight of being under someone's authority and the frustration of not being able to make my situation any better and I always tried to look the other way when I had a problem and acted like everything was fine as long as I appeared happy.
I lost motivation for everything, did what I had to do and well... I just fucked up my life. I kept that to myself, I thought that it was useless to talk about it to my friends and also that my problems where mine so I'll keep it and just behave like the "me" I've always shown.
In a nutshell: I tried to conceal and kill my negative emotions but that just made me more depressed and lonely.
Now, I sorted out all my problems during quarantine, I quit my toxic job, blocked all the vipers from my life, went back to school (my loss of motivation made me stop my studies after college when I could go to university) and I am now taking things in hand and my life is way better now.
So after living all that, it's been 2 weeks I decided to play at MysMe again and I can now relate to Seven, Jumin and Jaehee. Seven's now my favorite, I don't think I am exactly like him but I do think our way to deal with life is kinda the same: creating a character in which we found comfort and comforting to others, concealing our feelings and most importantly that lonely feeling. So knowing that, I feel really close to this character which must be why I like his route since taking one's route in MysMe is helping this character to overcome their problems.
Voila, that was my personal take on why this game felt real. Ofc I am not delusional: I know they don't exist even if it would have been great if they did but I am just affectioning them a lot because they are really interesting, well developed, they give a lot of positive vibes and they represent the average human being's struggle.
I think Mystic Messenger helped a lot of people find a way out of their misery by showing them how to do it.
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snackhobi · 4 years
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pairing: jungkook x (gender neutral) reader / word count: 20k / genre: fluff (author!reader, florist!jungkook)
summary: “You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.” or: the story of how you meet a pretty florist with soft hands and warm eyes, how he mends your broken heart, and how he helps you realise some other things along the way.
warnings: use of a few curse words, reader is self-deprecating and suffering from heartache towards the beginning (v mildly angsty ig? but dw it passes), but otherwise this is a Very Soft fic!
--
“It’s time to get up.”
“It absolutely is not.” Your voice is muffled under a layer of pillows and blankets, material pressing down on your body and head, covering you. A protective cocoon. “I’ve become one with my duvet and we shall never be parted.”
You yelp when the blanket is ruthlessly ripped from you. Your curtains have been thrown open and you can feel how the sun is streaming in through your windows, warming your skin, even if you can’t see it; there’s a particularly fluffy pillow smothering your face right now to keep the world outside at bay.
“This has to be against the Geneva convention,” you whine as your collection of pillows is similarly stripped from the bed, leaving you entirely bereft from their comfort and protection. You curl into a tight ball around your Pusheen cushion and try to protect her from Jimin’s grasping fingers— your final bastion of defence against him. “No! Not Pusheen! Please! Take me instead!”
Jimin rolls his eyes before stealing Pusheen right from your arms, ignoring your dramatic sob as she’s pulled from your desperate hands. He tucks the plush grey cat under his arm before fixing you with a stern gaze. “I said it’s time to get up,” he repeats, ignoring the chaos of pillows and blankets and toys now littered around him. “You know the drill, Y/n.”
You suck in a deep breath, filling your lungs with air before letting out a long, weary sigh. All your theatrics disappear with your escaping breath, strength seeping out of you. “A week of wallowing,” you say in a small voice, eyes squeezing shut. “I know.”
You don’t have to look up at Jimin to know what expression is on his face right now. You feel the mattress dip and then soft fingers are gently stroking the hair out of your face. “A week and then we get up.” His voice is soft as he repeats the mantra.
Your cheek drags across the cotton of your sheets as you open your eyes and turn your head into the hand that Jimin’s still drawing down your face. “You’ve always been better at getting back on your feet than me,” you say, and Jimin affectionately pats your cheek.
“You’re being melodramatic,” he says kindly. “You’ve seen me at my worst and you know that’s not true. I’m only good at getting back on my feet because I have you to lift me up, and I’m here for you too.”
“Can I have Pusheen back?” You sound hopeful as you pout at him, pushing your bottom lip out.
“You can have her back once you’ve showered and had breakfast,” Jimin says. 
Your limbs are leaden weights as you drag yourself out of bed. The cold water of your shower shocks some life back into them, and you’re almost back to your regular self once you pull yourself from the bathroom, thoroughly scrubbed and refreshed. Jimin greets you with a fruit smoothie bowl, the most wholesome meal you’ve had in the past week; it’s infinitely healthier than the ice cream and snacks and junk food you’ve been shovelling into your mouth.
“I didn’t realise I had half this stuff in the fridge.” You use your spoon to swirl the oats and fruit into the yoghurt, muddying the pretty rippled effect Jimin had created with it. “I’m guessing you brought it with you?”
Jimin is eating eagerly from his own bowl and swallows down a spoonful of banana and berries before he responds. “No, it was already in there, actually,” he says. 
“Oh, yeah.” Your free hand goes down to Pusheen, who’s safely in your lap, and you dig your fingers into her soft velvet skin. “Of course.”
Your face is twisted into a wince as you look down and continue to knead the cushion on your knees. Seokjin loves fresh produce, taking you to the farmer’s market for organic strawberries and blueberries and raspberries, lifting them up for you to breathe in their bright scent before laughing at how you go cross eyed at how close he brings them to your face. Your fridge must still be full of these reminders of him, food you’d bought for him, things he’d made for you.
“Well!” Jimin’s voice is loud and bright, cutting through your thoughts with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. “You better finish up— we’re going out soon and you’ll need all the energy for today!”
You’re immediately on guard, eyes narrowing at him. “Going out where?”
“Shopping, duh,” he says, raising his eyebrows at you. “You said you’d come with me and Namjoon to pick out stuff for our new apartment, remember?”
“Oh yeah.” It’s only been a week and it’s like you’ve forgotten that the world is still moving on around you, taking no notice of how your own world has been upheaved and irreparably fragmented. You know Jimin is being cheery and upbeat in an attempt to distract you from this, and it’s working, but it’s also highlighting exactly how much you’ve been wallowing. You normally never would have forgotten. “Alright, let me finish up and get my shit together and then we can go.”
Getting your shit together takes longer than it should. You have to wade through the piles of blankets on the floor to get to your wardrobe, and the desk in your office is in similar disarray, notes and stationery strewn across its surface from your week long stint of wallowing and writing about said wallowing. 
You’d never planned on the romance in a novel about magic in the modern world to be so depressing, but hey. They always say write what you know and all you know right now is heartbreak.
(“I’m sorry. I just… don’t feel the same.” Jaerim’s voice is soft and gentle, even now, even as he’s breaking Lily’s heart, so tender as it falls apart in his hands. “You’ll always be my best friend, Lily, but nothing more.”
Lily’s smile is pained. “I know,” she says, her own voice small and weak. “I know. I just couldn’t hold it in any longer. I— I had to tell you or I felt like it was going to burst out of me. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll always love you, Lily.” Jaerim sounds sorrowful. “But not the way you want.”
Why had she ever expected anything different?)
You’ve been feeding all of your sadness and heartbreak into your most recent heroine, using your latest novel as a way of catharsis, but the problem is that your stories always have happy endings. Right now Lily may be heartbroken after a failed confession, but at the end of the story she’s going to be happy. You, however, will still be sad and lonely once the book is finished and for all that you project your hopes and wishes onto your main characters, you know your own story will never go so smoothly— real life is never as neat as that.
You pause when you catch sight of one of the Polaroids scattered on your keyboard. Seokjin’s beautiful skin is washed out and there's a glint of red in his eyes from the bright flash of your camera; it's a terrible photo and the focus is all wrong, but he still looks radiant as he smiles at you, ever beautiful. 
The heroes you write are soft and kind and lovely; fierce and strong and admirable; talented and smart and impressive. You, however, are clownish and sarcastic and nonsensical. Just an absolute mess of rough edges and endlessly tangled thoughts. Unwanted. Undesirable. Unlovable.
(No wonder Jin— bright, brilliant, beautiful Jin— doesn’t love you back.)
You swallow and steel yourself before opening the top drawer of your desk to sweep all the littered bits and pieces of your life into it before slamming it shut, trying to ignore how metaphorically fitting it is, and then grab what you came here for in the first place: your camera. You loop the strap of the Polaroid around your neck so that you’re ready for the day ahead. 
You know that Jimin thinks you should just stick to using your phone, considering the piles of film you get through, but there’s something about the whole instant photo process that just works for you. Maybe it’s just a writer/artist thing. Maybe it’s just a you thing. Either way, you like to take your camera everywhere so that you can take photos of things that inspire you and incorporate them into scenes of your stories.
(You have so many photos of Seokjin, and he’s reflected in so many parts of your books— from the jokes that characters tell, to things they eat, to hobbies they have. You may not have ever been so transparent as to project him directly onto the love interests of your main characters before now, but he’s ever present in other ways. There's a part of him in every thing you’ve ever written, even before you fell for him.)
(Your love for him must have been obvious from the start, and yet he’d never mentioned it at all.)
(What made you think it would be a good idea to confess?)
“Y/n?”
You look up from where you’ve been staring at the same bowl for the past three minutes, the leaf pattern stamped into its edge blurring together into eyes that are staring back at you. “Huh? Yeah? What?”
Over Jimin’s shoulder you can see Namjoon trailing around the small store, staring at some pretty wall-hangings with appreciative eyes. For all that Jimin had claimed to be concerned about his boyfriend’s taste in decor, they’ve asked for very little input from you, so you’ve been left alone to zone out for most of the morning and afternoon. 
“I was saying Joonie has a suit fitting he needs to get to, so we were going to get that done before lunch,” Jimin says. “You’re welcome to come along as well if you want?”
“So I can watch someone ask your boyfriend which side his penis hangs down so they can tailor his slacks accordingly? I think I’m good.”
You sound almost like your usual self which is why you think Jimin lets this pass without comment— you’re very happy being independent but it’s true that you’re somewhat more delicate than usual so you understand Jimin’s worry.
“I’ll drop you a message when we’re done.” Jimin smiles at you. Behind him, Namjoon picks up a large ceramic crab, only to immediately drop it onto an incredibly fluffy shag carpet— which fortunately saves it from breaking. “It shouldn’t take too long.”
“Eh, take your time.” You keep hold of Jimin’s attention as Namjoon sheepishly attempts to pick up the crab, only to immediately drop it back onto the rug. “I haven’t been out for a while so I could do with a walk in the fresh air and sunshine. I’m sort of like a dog. Or a plant, I guess. Just with slightly more complex emotions.”
Namjoon has just put the crab back into place by the time Jimin turns around, though his hand lingers on it. “Baby, can we—?”
“You’ve already filled the quota when it comes to crab-themed decorations, Joonie,” Jimin interrupts.
When Namjoon looks at you with imploring eyes, you raise both your hands and step backwards. “Don’t involve me, I’m just an innocent bystander,” you say, before escaping so that Namjoon can (unsuccessfully) try to persuade Jimin to up the amount of sea-life themed decor allowed in their new home.
This part of the city isn’t one you get to often, but it’s really beautiful. You know Namjoon likes it around here, near the river, because there are a lot more offbeat and avant-garde shops than you’d find more centrally, a warren of curiosities and pretty places around each corner. You pass by shops selling antiques, fabric, jewellery; you pause to take photos of the eye-catching doorways into each of the shops, the mismatched bunting fluttering overhead, the utterly eclectic nature of it all. 
You pass by a tiny baking shop and pause in your tracks, peering into the window at a collection of rolling pins— the wood is embossed with different designs that get pressed into the pastry when it’s rolled out, all sorts of pretty patterns on display.
Jin would love these, you think, and then you tear your eyes away.
Stupid. 
You continue to wander through the maze of shops but now you’ve sunk into your own thoughts. Kim Seokjin. A close friend whom you’d been harbouring feelings for, for so long now; it had been getting so hard to try and keep that love at bay, to try and shove it down inside you, keep it hidden and safe. But it had been bleeding out of you at every turn, in the way you moved and spoke and wrote, every sharp edge of you softened by your tenderness for him, impossible to ignore.
And so you’d finally let go. You’d let it out into the world, spoken the words you’d been holding onto for so long— and for a moment, just a moment, you’d had hope. Jin is bright and kind and lovely to everyone, but surely what the two of you had was a little more, a little different; all those hours spent together, the friendship you’d built, the language you’d created with each other of jokes and references that other people didn't understand. You’d thought it was something more.
You’d thought that maybe you could get your storybook ending. That maybe, for once, rather than having to imagine a mutual love and pouring that quiet desire into your books, it could be real— that the cheesy, embarrassing daydreams you’d always kept to yourself and only expressed through your writing could finally come true. 
But no. Jin only loves you as a friend. You know he still considers you a friend, even now, for all that you’ve ruined things by opening your big dumb stupid idiot mouth; you’ve spent a week wallowing after his gentle rejection but you know he’ll still be waiting for you once you come back to yourself. 
You’re just not sure how long that’ll take.
You’re finally pulled out of your reverie when a burst of colour catches your eye. There’s a soft blue bicycle which has been adorned with flowers and trailing leaves, part of a display in the front of a store that’s brimming with blooms, buckets set up in a cascading rainbow of colours. The windows are similarly full of plants, all enjoying the sunshine of the afternoon. Your eyes trail across the flourishing bouquets and then up to the sign, lovely and pretty, in what seems to be a hand-painted cursive: Spring Day.
You have a single, tiny cactus in your office— the only thing you trust yourself to keep alive— but screw it. You’re itching to buy something for yourself and everything seems so pretty in here. You might just buy yourself a fuck-off huge arrangement of flowers, as a sort of metaphor for the death of the hope you’d held in your chest, that your love for Seokjin might be returned. 
That ship has sailed. You’ve cast it off from the shore and set it ablaze. You’re not sure they had bouquets at Viking burials, but it’s the 21st century now. You think you’re allowed to mix it up a bit.
A bell lets out a tiny, crystalline tinkle as you swing the door open, announcing your presence to anyone inside. The front counter is covered in plants, some larger, some smaller, with a few pots of flowers that you would be hard-pressed to name; there’s a glass bowl of water, too, that has unlit rose shaped candles floating in it. Cute.
You peer behind the large leaves of a ficus plant to see if there’s anyone behind the counter but it looks deserted. The only evidence that someone has been here is the book that’s open and resting face down on the wicker chair there— The Language of Flowers, okay, that makes sense, you guess. You take a sneaky photo of the set-up, something about it resonating in your chest; although there’s no one here right now their presence is still undeniable. It’s poetic, in a way. You love visual poetry.
You wave the photo about in the air to help it develop as you make your way towards the back of the shop. Spring Day seems surprisingly big, extending back farther than you had initially thought. It’s hard to gauge the actual size, with displays of flowers and plants everywhere and even hanging from the ceiling above. You meander through the store and pause to touch a hanging glass planter, which slowly spins and scatters light across you. It’s like every spare inch inside is covered, but somehow it doesn’t feel chaotic. It’s so pretty and peaceful here.
There’s clearly some sort of order to things even if you can’t tell what it is. Each display is labelled with the names of the plants and how to look after them, but just as you’re leaning forwards to read one, a noise catches your attention. You pause and tilt your head. Drifting closer to the source of the sound, you realise that it’s someone singing, a soft melody that you don’t recognise. You find that you step lightly, almost enraptured, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment with heavy footfall as you step into a greenhouse; you round the corner to find who’s singing and stop in your tracks. 
There’s a pretty doe-eyed boy bent over a selection of blooms that he’s watering, white and yellow and purple and pink flowers softly trembling at the touch of the drizzle that runs over them, and it almost seems like they’ve turned towards the lilting tones that slip from his lips. You watch as he draws the watering can in a sweeping arc, the motion causing his earrings to move, catching your attention when the sunlight cascading in through the glass of the greenhouse shines off the glinting silver; his hair hangs a little in his eyes, eyelashes fanned across his cheek as he keeps his attention cast downwards, smiling at the flowers on display near his feet.
His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you can see the definition of his arms, the flex of his muscles under a tattoo as he moves the heavy watering can without effort— and yet he looks like he belongs here, surrounded by flowers and plants and sunlight, soft and neat in his loose shirt, narrow waist cinched in by the ties of his apron. He turns the watering can a little further and you can see that the tattoo looks like a lily, petals unfurled over the soft skin of his inner arm.
You love visual poetry. And this man is poetry in motion.
It seems like he’s finished watering the flowers because he straightens up with a smile, song finally coming to an end. “All done,” he says to them in a quiet voice, and then he finally looks up.
He immediately startles when he sees you, water sloshing audibly in the watering can in his hands. You jump too, surprised at his surprise, the two of you like startled rabbits when you spot each other. Skittering around and trying to recatch your balance.
“Sorry, sorry!” You lift your hands in apology, holding them in front of your face as you wince. “I didn’t want to interrupt, you seemed really focused!”
The florist is blushing. He looks absolutely mortified, a pink flush stealing across his cheeks and the tips of his ears, betraying his embarrassment. “I, uh. It’s fine!” He stammers. “I wasn’t busy. Um. Can I help you?”
Your hands fall back to your sides, your heart immediately going out to this poor boy, who looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up. “I was just looking around, actually, when I heard you singing,” you say. “I didn’t mean to be like— a sort of weird voyeur, I guess? Sorry. Your voice is lovely, by the way.”
The flush has crawled down his neck. “Um, thank you?” You get the feeling he’s only saying this because you’re a customer, and if this were any other circumstance, he would have turned tail and bolted by now. Unfortunately he’s trapped by the fact he works in a retail job and he can’t escape. He shuffles a little from foot to foot as he resolutely avoids your gaze.
You take pity on him. What can you ask to change the topic? Hm. “Can you give me some advice about plants, actually?”
This seems to be the right thing to say. He carefully sets the watering can down, fingers plucking at the ties of his apron as he readjusts them, but he seems a bit more comfortable now that you’ve moved away from complimenting him and onto work related talk. “Sure,” he says. “What would you like to know?”
“I was wondering what sort of plant would be good for someone who’s only good with cactuses. I mean cacti,” you correct yourself. “I’d like something different, but I’m worried about killing it if I forget to water it. You know, the bane of every novice gardener’s existence— their own forgetfulness and ignorance. Of which I have a lot. I am spectacularly ignorant.”
The florist blinks but then he gives you a little smile, finally glancing at you. His eyes are so lovely and deep, sunshine refracting from the greenhouse reflected in his eyes, points of brightness against that endless, warm brown. “I think everyone is guilty of under-watering plants,” he says, apparently unperturbed by how unsuitable you are to be a plant parent. “I think a peace lily might suit you. Would you like to come have a look and see if you’d like one?”
A peace lily. Lily. The name of your most recent novel’s heroine. How weirdly apt. “Sure, I’d love to see the lilies.”
As you follow him you notice that there’s still a little tinge of pink on the back of his neck, evidence of how he must feel embarrassed at being caught singing and talking to plants. You find it endearing, actually, but you’re not about to say this to a stranger, especially as he clearly wants this entire interaction over and done with as quickly as possible.
The peace lily turns out to be a pretty white flower, emerald green foliage curling out from the simple unglazed pot the florist hands over to you with an infinite amount of care. He holds it delicately— it looks so small in his careful hands— and makes sure you’re fully supporting its weight before he finally lets it go. Your fingers brush his as he does and you notice how he draws back immediately, shy.
“You don’t have to water her regularly, you can just touch the soil to see if it’s moist and give it a little top up if it’s not. Even if you forget, as long as you water her when she starts to droop a little she’ll be fine. Just make sure she gets a little sunlight and you wipe down her leaves once or twice a year so dust doesn’t stop her from getting enough light, and you’re good to go.” He’s smiling, but you notice he’s still looking away from you, resolutely staring at the plant in your hands instead. “Peace lilies are incredibly forgiving.”
“Oh, that’s good, I’ll probably be asking for a lot of forgiveness,” you say. “I can guarantee I’ll forget to water her so it’s good to know she can take it.”
When you refer to the plant as ‘her’ and ‘she’— just like the florist has been— it seems like he only just notices that he’s been doing that. He looks a little embarrassed, yet again. “She’ll be— I mean, it’ll be fine, I’m sure,” he says.
“I promise I’ll do my best to look after her.” You tighten your grip protectively around your newly adopted plant. “I’d take a bullet for her.”
The florist lets out a little laugh, revealing a slip of his white teeth before his mouth clicks shut. He looks almost surprised at the fact he’d let out a chuckle and tries to cover it up with a cough. “Hopefully you won’t have to.”
You watch as he draws a ribbon around the pot, looping it against the patterned, unglazed ceramic before tying it into a neat bow. His hands are sure and his motions are practiced, fingers deft as he finishes the knot and tucks a business card into the bag alongside your plant. You can’t help but watch him, magnetised— he’s absolutely fascinating. Cute and soft, but with an undeniable strength to him, underlying each of his movements, almost hidden under the clothes that envelop him.
“Is there anything else I could help you with today?”
He’s blinking at you with those large, pretty eyes. His mouth is still a little open and you can’t help but reminded of—
“What song were you singing earlier? It was so lovely, but I didn’t recognise it.” You want to find that song immediately and keep it close forever, listen to it on a loop, even if it won’t be the same if it’s not being sung in the dulcet tones of this pretty florist. It’s such a beautiful song, whatever it is.
His mouth snaps shut again and the blush returns full force. “Nothing,” he squeaks. “It’s nothing.”
You squint at him. “Is ‘Nothing’ the name of the song?”
“No! It’s. Um. I mean, it doesn’t have a name yet.” His voice is so high right now. You pause before you light up, eyes widening.
“Wait, are you saying it’s your own song? You wrote it? Oh, wow! That’s so cool,” you say. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I didn’t know. My bad. Totally understand wanting to keep your work private.” You quirk a smile at him. He doesn't know that you're a writer, one who publishes under a pseudonym for privacy; only your close friends know the truth. You totally get it. “Guess you probably want me to pay so I can get out of your hair now, huh?”
“N-no, it’s fine,” the florist stammers. He’s still so polite, even when he’s obviously flustered.
“Ah, you don’t have to be polite just because I’m a paying customer.” You wave your hand dismissively. Before taking off as an author you’d worked back-to-back retail jobs and it had sucked. “I’m being a pain, I know. How much do I owe you?”
He stays silent as you give him money and he hands over the change, dropping the coins into your outstretched hand. You give him one last smile before lifting your bag from the counter and turning to go, finally leaving this poor man in peace. He must be glad to see the back of you.
But then.
“Magic Shop.” His voice is quiet from behind you.
“Hm?” You pause and glance over your shoulder, confused. “Pardon?”
The handsome florist is looking down at the counter, wrapping an offcut of ribbon around one of his fingers, staring down at it as he does. “Magic Shop,” he repeats, a little louder. He tightens the loop of ribbon around his finger. “The song. I was thinking of calling it that.”
“Oh.” You continue to look at him for a few moments longer before a wide smile crosses over your face. “That’s a really beautiful name for a really beautiful song.”
He glances up from where he’s been staring at the end of his finger flush deep red, almost purple; the ribbon goes lax in his loosening hold and blood rushes back into his fingertip. “Thank you,” he says, bashful as he smiles back at you. “I’m glad you liked it.” 
--
The peace lily takes pride of place on your desk once you’ve cleared it of the crap you’ve let pile up over the past week. She watches as you bend over your keyboard and mutter to yourself, pruning back a lot of the raw hopelessness of your most recently written passages before starting a new chapter.
Lily’s escaped to the neighbouring city to get away from Jaerim and her broken heart. She gets lost as she’s wandering through this new, mysterious place, trapped in a maze of alleyways before she stumbles across a mysterious building with roses climbing up the trellis by the door. The front garden is full of flowers and tended by the prettiest woman she’s ever seen, eyes wide and dark as she startles at Lily’s sudden appearance over the small stone wall. Lily might not know it now but she’s just met someone important and special, a future friend: Yunhee, a witch who can speak to plants and sells dried bundles of herbs and flowers and spells to anyone who finds her.
It’s cheesy and cliché and you know it.
“It’s cheesy and cliché but it’s cute!” Your agent, Hoseok, is as upbeat as always, and he seems genuinely onboard with the snippet you’ve just sent him. “Especially after how sad the chapters were before this one. I think it’s a nice change of pace, considering how heavy your last novel was too.”
“Haha, yeah,” you say. 
Hoseok has no idea about your botched confession to Seokjin and how it had fuelled the subsequent heartbreak you’d put Lily through; you’d put your heroine through the wringer to let all your feelings out, because if you have to suffer, she does too. Especially if she’s going to get a happy ending after all of it. Lucky her. 
“Your fans will love it.” Hoseok continues, oblivious. “Where did the inspiration suddenly come from, though? I thought you said you were struggling with where to go with this one.”
“I don’t know really.” You sound absent as you stare at the neatly tied ribbon that’s still affixed around your lily’s pot, Spring Day’s business card still nestled into it. “It just came to me, I guess.”
You have to resist the instinct to take a photo of the peace lily to ask Seokjin what he’d name her. (He’s always so good with names.)
You know you’ll have to see him eventually. That’s the problem when all your friends are friends with each other; it might still be a while off but once Jimin and Namjoon have moved into their apartment and decorated it, they’ll hold a housewarming party and everyone will be invited. You can’t avoid Jin forever. You don’t want to, either, but right now you still feel like your heart is an open wound, and you need to give it time. Seeing him right now will just peel back the bandage you’ve tried to lay across your weeping heart to try and hold it together until it heals.
And you still feel awkward as fuck, too. Rejection hurts but it’s also embarrassing. Struggling through ten layers of repression to be sincere with someone and open yourself to pain, only to be let down? Ugh. Awful. Terrible. Never again. You’re gonna stick with repression from now on and just live vicariously through the stories you write. It might be lonely but at least you can keep your heart safe. (Not that anyone wants your heart, anyway.)
You start to play music to your plants. You can’t sing as well as the florist, but at least your lily and cactus can benefit from the sound of music, even if you’re probably off-key when you sing along to the soft songs you choose for them. 
(“Plants grow better when they’re spoken to.”
“What? Really?”
“Really,” Yunhee says with a small smile, fingers curling tenderly around the petals of the deep red tulip. “They respond to love and affection just like we do.”
Lily stares at the bloom and watches how the witch touches it so gently— with so much love and affection— and for a second she wishes was a flower, too.)
You have very little faith in your abilities to keep a plant alive, but your peace lily seems to flourish under your care. It’s only one plant but alongside your cactus it seems to bring light and life to your office, and there’s a bubbling sense of satisfaction in your chest each time you see them, still alive despite your ineptitude. It’s a brief distraction from the lingering sadness that still dogs your heels, opening up each time you find yourself thinking of Seokjin before having to quiet those thoughts.
The lily and cactus are fine but it doesn’t take long before you find yourself wanting to add more members to your green coterie. Plus, you never did buy that fuck-off huge bouquet, so maybe you’ll treat yourself to one this time around.
When you step into Spring Day you’re greeted by the sight of someone actually behind the counter today, barely visible behind the large leaves of the ficus plant; when the bell rings they pop up and it’s the same florist as before, eyes wide as he peeps over the counter and only growing wider when he spots who it is.
“Hi,” he says. He’s not as squeaky as he was last time but he still seems a little flustered at your appearance, fumbling with The Language of Flowers as he drops the book onto the chair and stands up straight; his hoop earrings have small chains today and they’re jostled by the motion. He looks away from you to brush his apron down. He’s wearing a loose button-up underneath it, sleeves rolled up like before, revealing the thin bracelets he has on each wrist. “You’re back.”
“I am.” You smile widely, surprised he's remembered you and weirdly happy at the sight of him. You’d half expected to see someone else; there’s no way this guy is the only person who works here, but you’re glad it’s him. “I was worried my lily would get lonely so I thought I’d get her a friend. Can I pick your brain for another recommendation?”
He takes you to the succulents. There’s a menagerie of terrariums to choose from, bursting with different shapes and sizes of plants, bright greens and soft teals and muted browns. 
“I think you’ll like this one,” he says, lifting up a dodecahedron of glass, each geometric plane trimmed with metal. He holds it up for you as you peer inside, small succulents nestled in a scattering of pebbles and soil. “They like bright light, but keep them out of direct sunlight because the glass can magnify it and burn them. And water them really sparingly, because there’s no drainage.” He taps the base of the terrarium. “It’s really easy to over-water succulents.”
He’s always so careful when he handles things, even if he lifts them like they’re weightless. No wonder the plants and flowers bloom so prettily here. They know they’re loved and looked after.
“They’re so cute.” You smile at the collection of contrasting plants that somehow live harmoniously together in such a small space. “And there’s more than one! So my lily will have plenty of friends.”
You’re too busy looking down to painstakingly accept the terrarium to notice the small, shy smile that flits across the man’s face as he watches you, your hands so cautious and protective as you accept more members into your growing family. “You’re right,” he says. “She won’t be lonely.”
You have the glass ball hugged against your chest as you trail behind the man, but then you come to a stand still by a selection of floral arrangements and realise that there’s no way you’ll be able to carry both the terrarium and a bouquet; at least, not one the size you’d been planning for. The florist notices the sound of your footsteps disappearing and stops to look over his shoulder. He seems concerned.
“Sorry,” you apologise, staring at one particularly large collection of flowers and foliage all gathered together in brown paper, soft pastel colours surrounded by greenery and smaller pale blooms. “I was just thinking about how nice your bouquets are. They’re so pretty.”
“Would you like one?”
“Of course, but I only have so many hands.” You laugh as you glance down at the terrarium you’re clutching onto. “I wouldn’t trust myself to hold a bunch of flowers at the same time as this. That would be a disaster waiting to happen, honestly.”
The florist pauses. “How about if I make you a boutonniere to pin on your shirt?”
You look up from the terrarium, blinking. There’s that tinge of pink stealing over his cheeks again and you find the sight surprisingly endearing. “You can do that?”
“If you’d like.” He’s looking away from you again, staring intently at a bucket of sunflowers. “So at least you have some flowers to take home.”
Something twinges, deep down in your chest, right at the bottom of your ribcage. Something you can’t put a name to. “That sounds nice. Yes, please? If it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”
You carefully put your succulents down on the counter and lean against it as you watch him select flowers for the corsage, pausing before he chooses each one; he keeps his gaze averted from you the whole time but you think it’s because he feels awkward about the attention you’re giving him. You’re not pretending like you’re not watching him intently, wanting to take everything in, intrigued. He keeps his eyes cast down as he starts to bring everything together but there’s still a flush on his cheeks. It’s… adorable. He’s adorable. 
“Feel free to say no, but can I take a photo?” You point at the camera you have looped around your neck. “Not of you! Well. Not all of you. Just… your hands as you make the corsage? I swear I don’t have a hand fetish, I just like to take photos of things I think are cool. Totally get if you don’t want me to, I—”
“Sure.”
He’s staring down at the tiny floral arrangement in his hands as he interrupts you, but he seems resolute despite the blush on his face. You pause for a second and then smile. You lift the Polaroid camera up to peer through the viewfinder and take the shot, but before you have the chance to take a proper look it seems like the florist is finished.
He only looks up at you now that he’s done and holds his work shyly up for you to inspect, as if it’s not the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s framed a soft purple rose with small blooms of lilac and white baby’s breath, offset by a burst of greenery, delicate and perfectly balanced. 
“Oh, that’s so beautiful,” you breathe. You reach out to touch it with reverent fingers, lavender petals of the rose so soft against your skin. “You did that so quickly, too! How did you choose everything? Did you just go for things you thought would match?”
“Um.” The florist has turned red. “Yes?”
You decide not to press further, even if you wonder what it is that has him so embarrassed right now. Probably because you complimented him on his floristry skills. “You have a really good eye,” you say, smiling. “It’s so lovely.”
He somehow flushes an even brighter shade of scarlet when you struggle to pin the boutonniere on and ask for his help; he’s so careful as he secures it in place, staring at his hands as he settles the flowers gently against your chest.
“Perfect.” You beam at him and feel triumphant when he gives you a small smile in return despite how shy he seems, but then he seems to realise that he’s still got his hands resting against the fabric of your clothing and rips them away like they’re on fire.
“Um.” He has his head turned away from you but there’s a wide smile on his face, teeth on show as he looks down at the ground. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”
You’ve just finished paying when you realise— “I don’t think you’ve charged me for the boutonniere ?”
The florist seems like a rabbit caught in headlights. “It’s a, uh, promotional thing. An incentive to come back and buy a full bouquet or arrangement. You… uh, you actually get a discount on your first bouquet if you get a boutonniere or corsage first. I just— I need your name to make sure you get the discount. Next time you come. If you come back,” the man says in a rush, before sucking his lips in and looking away from you. “If that’s okay?”
Of course you’re going to come back. “Oh! Sure! It’s Y/n,” you say. 
“Y/n,” he repeats. He’s staring at you, lips parted, soft around the shape of your name. You wait for a beat, looking back at him, before one of eyebrows rises.
“Um… do you have a book to write it down in? Or do you just memorise all of your customer’s names straight off the bat?”
The florist blinks and then his eyes go wide and his cheeks flush again. “A book! Of course, um.” He scrabbles around behind the counter, flustered, but seems to come up empty-handed. You watch as he grabs the only book he can find— The Language of Flowers— and cracks it open to the title page to scribble your name down in pencil before shoving the book under the counter and out of sight.
“I feel bad that you’ve just, uh, defaced a book because of me,” you say. “You didn’t have to write it down, I was just kidding? I know not everyone is as forgetful as me.”
“No, no, it’s alright,” he says. “It’s my book. I can write what I want in it. The, um, the logbook seems to have gone missing,” he continues, staring at his hands as he scratches his palm. “Yoongi-hyung must have moved it. I’ll, uh, write your name when he comes back with it. Yeah.”
“Yoongi? Is that your boss?”
“Hyung? Sort of. He owns Spring Day but he basically treats me like a co-owner, I guess.”
“Oh, wow, that sounds so cool, even if it must be a lot of responsibility.” You smile softly at the florist. “He must really trust you.”
He glances up from his hands, eyes warm when he spots the expression on your face. “Yeah,” he says, smiling back. “I owe Yoongi-hyung a lot.”
“Oh!” Your fingers tighten around the handles of your bag, terrarium safely encased inside. “You know my name, and now I know Yoongi’s name, but I don’t know your name…?”
He flushes again, imperceptibly, the tiniest spread of pink on the apples of his cheeks. “I’m Jungkook,” Jungkook says.
“Jungkook,” you repeat. His eyes flicker and he looks away from you. You’ll have to work on that shyness— but you’ve always been good at coaxing people out of their shells. You’re unapologetically yourself, and that helps other people feel comfortable being unapologetically themselves, too. “Alright, Jungkook, thank you for the help again today. And the beautiful boutonniere.” You wiggle your shoulder so the flowers affixed to your chest shift a little. “I’ll see you around?”
“Yeah.” He sounds a little breathless. “Yeah, I’ll see you around.”
Once you get home the terrarium is carefully unpacked and placed on your desk with your other plants; you’ve had to relocate some of your general filing clutter to another table to make space (the plants make you feel better than staring at a rose-gold in tray with letters that you need to get to, so whatever). You finally have a chance to look at that photo you'd taken earlier and fish it out of your pocket.
The background is a little blurry, not the focus of the shot, but you can see the neat pile of offcuts on the table, a small scattering of equipment. Jungkook’s hands, however, are in perfect focus. He has such lovely hands, from the pronounced knuckles to the subtle flex of his tendons to the pale blue veins that are visible as he holds the tiny bunch of flowers together and wraps them in ribbon. You stare at the picture for a little longer than you probably should before resting it against the peace lily’s pot, in eyeline as you begin to write.
(Lily watches, enraptured, as Yunhee prepares the sprigs of herbs and flowers that she hangs from the kitchen’s low ceiling. Her pretty hands are so fast as they bring the dried flora together, encircling each bunch with twine, quick and delicate. Careful. Reverent.
“Would you like a go?” Yunhee has seen her watching and holds up a spray of dried lavender rosemary, colours muted from their usual brightness, but no less pretty. “I can teach you, if you’d like.”
Lily smiles. “I would love that.”)
--
“What do I want in my bouquet? Hmm… that’s a tough one. What’s your favourite flower?”
You’re back at Spring Day the day after buying your terrarium, and once again, Jungkook is there. You’d caught a brief glimpse of another man on your way in, his hair a bleached-blond mess, but he seems to have disappeared— although his apron has been cast haphazardly over the back of the wicker chair behind the counter so you don’t think he’ll be gone too long.
Jungkook pauses. “I don’t know if I could choose just one,” he says. “But if I had to, I’d say the tiger lily.”
“Oh!” You point at his arm. His t-shirt today seems to be as baggy as the rest of his clothing choices but it leaves his lower arms visible. “Is that the tattoo you have?”
Jungkook turns his arm towards you so you can see it properly, the delicate lines of the lily blooming across his skin, and you can see the scratched lines of some words silhouetted behind it, ones you hadn’t spotted before. “Yeah.” He’s smiling. “It’s my birth flower.”
“That’s so pretty,” you say, awed. “What do the words say?”
Jungkook’s been less shy today, but when you ask this, he seems bashful. “Please love me.” He traces the words with his finger, the letters hidden behind the large petals of the flower. “It’s what the tiger lily means.”
He keeps his gaze averted from you, staring at the black and grey lines that bloom across his skin. You’ve barely scratched the surface of Jungkook, but there’s something so… so fascinating about him. Undeniably powerful and masculine, yet still so soft and considerate. Romantic.
“It’s beautiful,” you say, truthfully. “Both the tattoo and its meaning.”
Jungkook smiles shyly. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad you like it. I, um, drew it, actually.”
You’ve been staring at his arm but when he says this, you reel back. “You designed that tattoo? Jungkook. Are you telling me you can sing and draw?” When he doesn’t respond, still shy, you giggle. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I know the truth.”
“So what would you like in your bouquet?” Jungkook’s clearly trying to change the subject and you laugh.
“I have no idea. I’m a dunce and you’re the expert, so I’ll let you do the heavy lifting,” you say. “How about something with some tiger lilies?”
The tiger lilies are beautiful, vivid oranges flecked with brown; Jungkook lets you select the ones you want, accepting the flowers from you carefully as you pluck them from the buckets and then laughing at yourself when you end up with water spattered over your shoes, dripping down the long stems. After that you let him take over and he chooses the other flowers to bulk out your arrangement, mulling over each decision before he seems content with his choices.
“I can recognise the roses and lilies, but what are the others?” You ask, intrigued.
“Roses, hypericum berries, tiger lilies, orange lilies, goldenrods, and some greening for filler.” He lifts each flower up as he lists them off for you, a cascading gradient of red to cerise to orange to yellow. “Do you want me to change them?”
“No.” Your voice is gentle. “It’s perfect. It’s just like a sunrise. I love them.”
Jungkook’s responding smile is wide enough to show his teeth and squeeze his eyes.
There’s something soothing about watching him work. His eyes are entirely focused as he puts everything in its place, uncompromising when it comes to his perfectionism; things will look fine to you but he’ll seem to think differently and shift things around until it passes his rigorous standards. You want to take a photo. Not just of his hands, but of all of him— the little furrow of his brows, the intense look in his eyes, the tiniest pout on his lips; the softness of his hands, the tenderness of his fingers, the relaxation of his shoulders. Someone who’s intent on perfecting his craft but finds joy in its practiced motions.
You're just considering risking it all to ask him if you can take a photo when you're (thankfully) interrupted.
“That’s a pretty bouquet,” someone drawls. “What’s the occasion?”
The other man has appeared out of the back room. His eyes are fox-like but his mouth is soft and his fluffy white jumper seems even softer, fuzzy against the dark apron that he loops back over his head.
“Hi, Yoongi-hyung. Um.” Jungkook glances up at you. “Is it… for… a partner? Or someone else?”
“Nope, just thought I’d treat myself. Is that weird?”
Yoongi looks at you consideringly, clearly thinking something, before he shrugs. “Nah. You should tell your partner to step up their game, though. You shouldn’t have to buy yourself flowers.”
You laugh, trying to cover up your sudden awkwardness as Seokjin’s face flashes in your mind. Partner? You? Haha. “I’m single, so this is the only way I’ll be getting flowers, I’m afraid.”
Jungkook drops a handful of goldenrods. Yoongi’s eyes flicker over to him, watching as the younger man scrabbles to pick the yellow flowers back up. “Huh,” Yoongi says. “I see. Well, as long as you’re paying, I’m not complaining.”
You already like Yoongi, as forthright and blunt as he is, an utter juxtaposition to Jungkook’s unassuming shyness; he plops himself down and watches Jungkook finish putting the arrangement together, arms crossed as he leans back in the wicker chair. He looks a little lazy and a little sleepy. A cat reclining in the sun.
Jungkook finishes the bouquet by wrapping it in layers of brown and white paper, layering orange and yellow and white ribbons around the stems, pulling the sunrise of plants together with more bursts of bright colour.
“It’s so beautiful,” you say. 
Yoongi makes a small grunting noise of agreement. “Good work, Kookie.”
Jungkook seems almost overwhelmed by the praise and holds a hand over his face, a shy curve of his fingers over his nose and mouth as he coughs and pretends he’s fine. “It’s alright, I guess,” he says. “Do you want anything else?”
“No, that’s everything for today, thanks.” You beam at Jungkook, who smiles back; he’s so cute. “How much is that?”
Yoongi’s mouth opens but Jungkook speaks over him to tell you the price, which is lower than you thought, but— “That must be from the boutonniere discount, right?”
Yoongi squints at you. “Boutonniere discount?”
“You know, hyung, the boutonniere discount.” Jungkook’s voice is a little high. “The promotion.”
Yoongi stares at him. Jungkook stares back. You think Jungkook’s about to break in the face of Yoongi’s blank pokerface, but then he nods. “Oh, yeah, that one,” Yoongi says, slowly. “I forgot. The boutonniere discount. Absolutely.”
Yoongi lapses into silence during the rest of the transaction, and though he looks sleepy, his eyes are sharp as he watches the two of you. Not that you notice, too busy carefully accepting the flowers from Jungkook and hefting the huge bouquet in your arms, mindful not to jostle them too much.
“Thank you so much, Jungkook!” You tilt your head forward to breathe in the soft floral scent, smiling. “It’s so lovely. And it was nice to meet you, Yoongi.”
“Likewise,” Yoongi says. “We’ll see you again?”
“Of course!” On your way out you go to take a hand off the bouquet to give them a jaunty wave, but unlike Jungkook you can’t keep the whole thing steady with just one hand and settle with giving them a nod instead. “I’ll see you again!”
As the door settles shut behind you, bell tinkling as you go, Yoongi raises an eyebrow at Jungkook. “Boutonniere discount?”
“Shut up, hyung,” Jungkook mutters, embarrassed. 
Once you get home you unearth the vase Namjoon made you in his last ceramics class, unwrapping the bouquet and easing it into the water. You watch as the flowers come a little loose from the tight presentation and jostle lightly against each other as they settle into the vase. It’s a bright burst of colour on your breakfast bar, eye-catching and beautiful. 
These flowers should last longer than the corsage from yesterday, which had already started to wilt; you know practically nothing about preserving flowers but you’ve sandwiched the purple rose and lilac and baby’s breath between layers of tissue and squashed them between some books on advice from the internet, wanting to press them and keep them close. (Maybe you’ll frame them or something. That would be cute.)
You pause. You pluck out a tiger lily, disrupting the careful balance Jungkook had strived to create, spinning the flower slowly between your fingers. Your friends send you congratulatory flowers after each new book publication, but this is the first bouquet that’s ever been made specifically for you— not the you that’s hidden behind a pseudonym. You. Even if you’d asked for this yourself, Jungkook had been the one to choose everything for you. He'd been the one to put the thought and time and effort into it.
You stare at the tiger lily for a few moments longer before slipping it back into the arrangement, turning it so it rests just as it had before you’d pulled it out.
(Spring is turning to summer and everything is starting to bloom, the garden alive with a riot of colour, full of the buzzing of bees and other insects— drawn here just as Lily had been. But Yunhee finds Lily in the greenhouse, away from the noise and activity, quiet and contemplative as she stares around her.
“What are they?” Lily points at a plot of flowers that have yet to bloom. The yellow and orange buds are long and heavy, weighted towards the ground. 
“Tiger lilies.” Yunhee squats down and touches one of the furled flowers. “They’re shy to start with, but once they start to blossom, they’ll be some of the prettiest things here. Yes, that means you,” Yunhee laughs as the plant in her fingers seems to twitch. “They’re always so bold once they’re in full bloom. You just have to wait until you can coax them out.”)
--
“You seem to be doing better.” Jimin puts his coffee down. “Have you spoken to Jin yet?”
“Good god, Jimin,” you laugh. “Straight in there, aren’t you?”
Jimin fixes you with a stern gaze and you wince a little.
“Sheesh. No, not yet.” You fiddle with your napkin, curling it around the end of your teaspoon. “I’m starting to feel… like… kind of okay about it, I guess, but I’m worried that it’s going to be weird when I see Jin again.”
It’s been over a month since your confession, and it’s the longest you’ve gone without talking to Jin since you’ve met him. It’s… weird. You miss him so much. But you don’t know if it’s too soon to try and reintroduce him into your life, even if Jimin clearly disagrees.
“It’s only going to get weirder the longer you go without talking to him,” Jimin says, and you hate that you know he’s right. “You keep asking how he is, and he keeps asking how you are, and it’s obvious you both miss each other. I’m not saying you have to jump back to how things were straight away, but you can ease back into it, you know?”
You sigh. “I know,” you say. “It’s just hard, Minnie.”
Jimin, your oldest friend, had been the first person you’d called after your failed confession. You’d been tearful and honest when you’d said that it felt like you were going to hurt forever. But it’s weird how quickly that’s ebbed away, even if you still regret opening your mouth in the first place; most of the hurt you feel right now is from missing Jin, not from lingering pain about unreciprocated feelings. You miss your-friend-Jin, not your-crush-Jin. 
“You seem to be doing okay, though.” Jimin raises his eyebrows at you over his latte. “Anything to do with whoever’s sending you those pretty bouquets that’re all over your apartment, hmm?”
You splutter into your coffee. “What? No, don’t be ridiculous, I’m buying those for myself,” you say once you’ve wiped the coffee off your chin. “Me? Getting sent bouquets? Pfft.”
You never planned on becoming some sort of manic flower hoarder, but Jimin isn’t exaggerating when he says that they’re all over your apartment. You’ve even had to buy extra vases to hold all the bouquets and arrangements you have, every hue and shape and size of flora imaginable on almost every flat surface— only your desk remains untouched, sacred ground for your potted plants. You’d bought a rubber plant a few days ago, but beyond that, nothing new has been set on your desk recently.
It’s just… whenever you’re in Spring Day it’s like there’s no space in your brain or heart to think about Seokjin. It’s a place of respite for you, now. Somewhere you can go that’s untouched by the outside world. Somewhere you can go to be surrounded by beauty and life. Somewhere you can go to talk to Jungkook, the sweet, soft florist who’s slowly opening up to you, a blossoming flower, petals unfurling further with each visit.
He’s not always there. Sometimes it’s just Yoongi, and you like Yoongi and enjoy his company, but… it’s different with Jungkook. He’s growing bolder, less shy, and every conversation with him is so riveting; you eagerly gobble up every tidbit of information he feeds you. He sings. He draws. He paints. He takes photos. He dances. Everything he finds interesting, he tries, and everything he tries, he tries voraciously— he never settles for anything less than 100%. He puts himself entirely into everything he does.
He’s incredible.
Anyway. You can’t come away from Spring Day empty-handed, hence all the flowers that are filling your apartment. Even though Jungkook says it’s okay for you not to buy things, you’d be a supremely awful customer if you just distracted him by talking and then leaving again, so you always make sure to buy something. Even if it’s just a tiny flower themed bookmark that you don't need.
“I’m all for retail therapy, but why not buy stuff for yourself that doesn’t eventually die and wilt?” Jimin seems mystified. “That many flowers can’t be cheap.”
“I’m a relatively successful author, I can afford to blow money on flowers if I want.” You wave your hand dismissively. “Besides, my latest novel involves a lot of flower and plant related stuff, so I’m basically investing in my writing. I’m killing two birds with one stone: research for my novel, as well as filling the gaping hole in my chest by buying flowers for myself because I’m destined to die alone and no one else is ever going to buy them for me.” You finish brightly.
Jimin looks equal parts frustrated and sad. “You know that’s not true, Y/n. Just because Jin—”
“It’s fine, Jimin, I’m kidding! I’m kidding,” you insist. “The reason I’ve been single for the past billion years is because I’m just too much of a catch and people find it intimidating, I know.”
You’ve used fake, inflated narcissism and mocking self-deprecation as ways of protection for years. Most people take your confidence at face value. However, Jimin knows you too well to be fooled by it; not to mention he’s one of the few people who knows about your books and has read every single one so he’s well aware of all the schmoopy daydreams you keep close to your chest.
Ugh. This is why you write under a pseudonym. Autumn Lovett is allowed to enjoy clichés and have unrealistic and dumb romantic fantasies. A lot of their platform is built around it. Meanwhile the real version of you tries to pretend that you’re not obsessed with the idea of true love and yearn for it almost every waking moment despite how utterly impossible it is that you’ll ever find it. Because it’s embarrassing.
“I’m going to kick you,” Jimin says lovingly. “Right in the shins.”
“God, please don’t.” Jimin’s kicks are lethal. “If I say I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll, will you promise not to hurt me?”
Jimin takes longer to think about his answer than you’d like. “Okay,” he says eventually. “You have to really mean it.”
“Alright, I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll. I just haven’t met the right person yet.” Your words seem to pacify Jimin, even if they ring a little hollow in your own ears.
The truth is that, on a deep level, you do feel unlovable. It’s maybe a bit self-pitying, because you have friends who adore you and you know you’re worthy of love, but… it’s kind of hard to really believe that when you have yet to have your feelings genuinely reciprocated. There have been a few moments in the past, a few brief, fleeting connections, but never anything wholesome and real. You feel like you’ve been waiting for something that’s never going to happen. 
Besides, if it does happen, it’s never going to be as soft and loving as the relationships you write into your books, right? You’re a sucker for clichés. You love the idea of someone bringing you flowers, watching the sunset with you, dancing together in your kitchen to a song on the radio— every overdone and overused formula that’s shoved into every romantic film ever. You want all of it. (You’ve never been on a ferris wheel but god do you want to have a date that involves one.)
Maybe you’re still alone because you’ve been asking for too much. Not everyone is as lucky as Jimin and Namjoon; you doubt you’d ever be so fortunate to find someone who loves you as much as they love each other and express that love, too.
You’re still brooding over these feelings when you visit Spring Day later. Jungkook’s singing again, something smooth and lovely and mellow, and when he sees you he brightens— he cuts himself off, but not because he’s embarrassed, but because he’s happy to see you. 
Something inside you goes soft and warm at the sight. He’s so nice.
Still, despite Jungkook’s soothing presence you’re far more distracted than you usually are and he seems to notice this; you end up sitting cross legged on the floor of the greenhouse under the leaves of a monstera while Jungkook keeps flicking you looks between watering plants.
A few weeks ago, he would be too timid to say anything, but by now he’s grown far more bold. You’ve been encouraging him to speak his mind. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah.” You’ve had your head tilted back to watch the fluttering leaves of the monstera plant but you look down to turn your attention to Jungkook. He’s wearing a dark plaid shirt today, loose sleeves rolled up past his elbow as he hefts his blue watering can; he looks soft and approachable, eyes warm with concern. “Yeah, I just have some stuff on my mind, I guess. Sorry. I’m not exactly a great conversational partner at the best of times, so I’m being even worse right now.”
“It’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.” Jungkook hesitates. “Do you… want to talk about it?”
You let out a light chuckle. “Ah, you don’t want to hear about the nonsense I’ve got in my brain, but thank you. It’s very sweet of you to offer.”
“No.” Jungkook’s voice is surprisingly firm and you internally startle. “If there’s something on your mind, it’s not nonsense. I’m not saying you have to tell me if you don’t want to, but— please don’t think I don’t want to listen to you.”
You blink. He’s not looking away from you like he normally does— there’s a hard set to the line of his mouth, like he really, really means what he says and he wants you to know that.
“Oh.” For once you’re the one who breaks eye contact, glancing down at your lap. You’d found a lone daisy on the floor and you’ve been cradling it in your hands, rolling the stem between your fingers, and you watch as the petals fan out and shiver at the motion. “Okay. Thanks, Jungkook.”
“Don’t mention it,” he says. His voice is gentle. You keep your eyes fixed on the daisy, and you can hear the slosh and drizzle of the watering can as he goes back to the plants. You take in a deep breath.
“What’s your opinion on romance, Jungkook?”
There’s a splashing noise as Jungkook fumbles with the can and drops it. Luckily it stays upright and doesn’t spill over the floor. “I, um, what?”
You look away from your daisy and stare at him earnestly, as embarrassingly open and raw as you feel right now. “What’s your opinion on romance? You know, love and all that.”
Jungkook pauses. 
“I know it’s a weird question.” You wince. “You don’t have to answer it. I’ve just been thinking about it.”
Jungkook stares at the watering can by his feet before he stoops over and picks it back up. He’s not looking at you. “How come?” His voice is a little strained, but you don’t notice.
“Ah, I don’t know,” you sigh. “I think about it a lot, honestly. Sometimes I just wonder if it’s realistic? Like, of all the people in the world, what’s the likelihood you’re going to meet someone that you really… really resonate with? And they’re going to feel the same for you? Part of me has always believed in fate, or like… serendipity, I suppose. Bumping into someone that turns out to be so much more important than either of you could imagine. A soulmate? In a way? But as time goes on I… I guess I’m worried I’ll never actually find that and it’s all a ridiculous pipe dream.”
You feel small and defenceless after admitting this. You might be a loudmouthed sarcastic clown, but underneath all your theatrical buffoonery and snark, the truth is that you’re an utterly hopeless romantic. It’s the world’s worst kept secret, sure, but you’ve never laid it out so plainly to anyone before. 
The longer Jungkook stays silent, the more awkward you feel, and you desperately need to break the tension.
“Bweh.” You make a little noise. “I get nauseous whenever I express real emotions. I didn’t mean to word vomit all of that at you, sorry—”
“I believe in soulmates.” Jungkook’s back is to you as he stands in front of a collection of osteospermums, but he’s stopped watering them. “And romance. And true love. I don’t think it’s always going to be easy, and it might hurt along the way, but… I think there’s love and happiness waiting for us at the end of it. Yoongi-hyung always calls me a hopeless romantic.” He laughs a little and glances over his shoulder at you, his expression warm and sincere. “I always cry at sad scenes in romantic films and books and he likes to tease me about it.”
He doesn’t seem ashamed about being open and vulnerable with you. It’s terrifying and yet Jungkook seems unafraid. Honestly, you admire it. “Me too,” you admit, your voice a quiet hush. “Everyone keeps arguing about if Rose could have let Jack onto the door with her but I’m always too busy crying to pay attention to how big the piece of wood is.”
Jungkook lets out a breath of laughter, nose scrunching as he smiles at you. He’s not judging your sappiness at all. “Titanic is such a sad film,” he says. “It makes my heart ache every time I watch it.”
You hit your knee with a fist. “I know! Why couldn’t they just be happy? Ouch,” you say. “Wow. I punched myself harder than I thought. I just get very passionate about happy endings. Sad endings— well, they make me sad, especially if the rest of the story has been sad too. What was it Guy Fieri said? I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.”
Jungkook blinks. “Guy Fieri said that?”
“Now that I think about it, I think it was actually Haruki Murakami.” You rub a soothing hand over your knee. “But yeah. I’m not saying sad endings don’t have a place, and sometimes it’s right for the story that’s being told, but… I’m more of a happy ending person. If I were James Cameron I’d have to let Rose and Jack end up together. I’d be too soft to write the ending he did, even if it was appropriate. You know?”
Jungkook turns away from the osteospermums, his eyes as soft as he looks at you. “Yeah, me too,” he agrees. “I think everyone deserves a happy ending.”
The monstera plant above you patiently listens as you and Jungkook have a long, quiet conversation about love and romance, and it’s… weird. You never thought you could have a conversation like that without wanting to cringe so hard you collapsed in on yourself and imploded into a black hole. Submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known is usually a lot more… well… mortifying, but somehow with Jungkook, it isn’t.
Maybe it’s because he’s so open himself. Maybe it’s because you can tell he’s not judging you at all. He doesn’t think your desperate yearning for love and romance is anything to be embarrassed about— and he clearly feels the same yearning. You find it baffling that someone as lovely as Jungkook doesn’t have someone special in his life, though. Wild.
“Monsteras are actually nicknamed Swiss cheese plants,” Jungkook informs you, running a hand over one of the leaves and trailing a finger over one of the holes in it. You're adding it to your steadily growing plant collection. “Because of these. They look like the holes you find in Swiss cheese.”
You laugh. “Oh, that’s so cute! I love that.”
Jungkook smiles. “I knew you would.”
He’s just finished tying a ribbon around the plant’s pot when he pauses. “Oh,” he says. “If you like happy endings, can I recommend something?”
He stoops down to get something from behind the counter and you can tell when he’s found what he’s looking for by how his face lights up. You’re hyped to see what it is, what’s gotten Jungkook so excited— but then he flips the book over to hand to you and you nearly choke on your own spit. 
Jamais Vu. Your most recent novel.
“I really love this author,” he says as you try to swallow down your coughs, eyes watering with the effort. Luckily he’s looking down at the book and doesn’t seem to notice. “No matter how difficult things get, or how awful things seem, the endings are always happy. Or at worst, bittersweet. They’re never completely sad? Watch out for the plot twist in the middle, though, that’s a rough one.”
“Hahahaha, alright, I will!” It was the first time you’d incorporated a murder mystery in one of your books, but damn, it had gone over really well with the critics. And Jungkook too, apparently, judging from the excited look in his eyes. “This looks, um. Interesting.”
He beams at you. “If you like it, I have the rest of their books at home. You can borrow those as well. I, uh, I've been reading them from the very beginning,” he admits, with a tiny, shy laugh. “The earlier books are skewed mainly towards romance, but the plots are always good too. If, um, you like that sort of thing.”
You feel faint. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Jungkook.”
Once you get home, you very carefully and delicately place the monstera on your desk, turning it a few times until you’re entirely happy with the position of it.
Then you lie face down on your bed.
Your breaths are fuggy against your pillow but you keep your face buried in it, even if it’s getting progressively harder to breathe. Jungkook reads your books. Jungkook reads all of your books. Jungkook is apparently an avid fan of your books— the copy of Jamais Vu he’s lent you is a hardback copy and the design on it is one you recognise as a pre-order exclusive. 
Oh, shit. Is it a signed copy?
You scramble out of bed to grab the book and flip to the title page. There it is, staring up at you: your own signature. Well, Autumn Lovett’s signature, complete with a tiny scribbled leaf. 
To Jungkook, you’d written. Thank you so much for all your support! you’d written. Autumn Lovett, you’d written.
You muffle a scream into your hands.
Even if Jungkook doesn’t know who Autumn really is, there’s no way he’s going to read your next book and not realise the truth. The tiger lilies. Yunhee’s dark eyes and dark hair and swift hands. Her strength and softness. Lily, magnetised by her, drawn in by her gravity.
(You haven't realised until now just how much meeting Jungkook has changed the development of your novel. Why?)
You’re at a loss for words. You honestly don’t know what to feel. Part of you feels flattered that Jungkook loves your writing so much. Another part of you feels like you’ve been lying to him the whole time you’ve been talking— pretending to be someone you’re not. Somehow. Autumn has lied to him by not being real, and you’ve lied to him by not letting him know the truth. Sure, you’ve only found out today, but.
The one person you’d talk to— the one person who’d help you muddle through your emotions on something as complex as this, as flippant and blasé as he might seem to people who don’t know him like you do— is someone you haven’t spoken to in over a month. 
Your eyes slide over to your phone. After your conversation with Jimin earlier you’d genuinely been planning on messaging Seokjin tonight; nothing major or big, just a dipping of your toe back into the waters of your friendship. But you need to hear his voice. You’re not going to offload on him, of course. You’re not going to make the first conversation you have after your confession to be all about you. But you just need that familiarity right now.
He picks up after one ring. 
“Hi, Y/n,” he says, and you feel like you could fold in two.
“Hi, Jin.” The sound of his voice fills you with warmth and tender affection, and you love him so, so much— but you know in an instant that it’s platonic. This cresting wave of tenderness crashing through you and making your knees want to buckle is for one of your best friends, Kim Seokjin. Your friend. “Hey. I hope you’re doing okay. Been up to anything interesting?”
You end up curled in your computer chair as you talk, your hand resting on the book that Jungkook has entrusted you with. It’s funny how talking to Seokjin comes so naturally; a month feels so long, especially after such a huge revelation from you to him, but it’s also like no time has passed at all. You think maybe you could go years without talking but the moment you came back together again, it would feel the same way. 
It’s like you exist on the same level. Like there’s some sort of unbreakable, connective membrane between the two of you. It’s why you’d fallen in love with him. It’s only now that you realise that you’d mistaken that closeness for romantic love, when it isn’t really, at all. It’s just different to your other friendships; deeply and emotionally intimate, but not romantic. 
“It sounds like you’ve been doing well,” Jin says. There’s the sound of sizzling in the background and you glance at the clock; he’ll be cooking dinner. He always cooks around now. “How’s the novel coming along?” Are you still in love with me? Are you writing about me?
You pause. Your flip Jungkook’s book open again, staring at his name written in your handwriting— months before you’d known who he was. Some tenuous, inexplicable connection before you’d even met. 
“It’s good,” you say, truthfully. “It’s not what I’d been planning, but it’s really good.” I love you, but I’m not in love with you. I’m writing, but not about you. Not really.
“I’m glad.” Jin’s voice is so warm. “You’ll have to send me what you've got so far at some point.”
“So you can point out all the inconsistencies whenever characters are cooking or baking anything? No thanks, already fallen into that trap too many times,” you say, and Jin laughs.
“If you’re going to write a character who’s a baker, you need to do your research batter,” he says, and you laugh in return.
“Did you say batter instead of better? That’s terrible. I love it, even if I wasn’t bready for it.”
“Your puns are so crumby,” Jin replies.
“Are you trying to get a rise out of me?”
You both end up dissolving into laughter at your increasingly nonsensical and awful baking puns. The puns are weak and not even good in a bad way (as in, so bad that they’re good), but they don’t need to be. Jin takes longer to finish laughing than you. His squeaky wiper noises are a familiar sound through your phone speaker and you’re still smiling once it eventually trails off.
“I missed you,” you say suddenly. “I’m sorry. Not sorry about the confession, but— sorry it took me so long to come back around afterwards. I was just worried it would be weird.”
“I understand. It’s okay. I missed you too. You know I love you, right?”
“I love you too. Not romantically. Don’t get it twisted. I realise now that I’m way out of your league, anyway, so it’s a good thing you turned me down.”
“It was for your own good,” Jin says. “As the two most beautiful human beings alive we’d been too powerful if we were together, so it’s for the good of humanity.”
“We’re just so altruistic,” you sigh dramatically, and then you both giggle. “Can the world’s two most beautiful human beings get together for lunch? That wouldn’t cause a vortex in the space time continuum, right?”
“I think the fabric of the universe can handle it.” You hear the sound of Jin taking his pan off the stove, the clunk of metal. “Let me check when I’m free, sweetheart.”
(“You seem happy.” Jaerim’s smile is a soft, hesitant thing, but Lily’s responding smile is bright and wide.
“I am,” she says. Pinned to her breast pocket is a corsage of sweet pea, soft purple and pink and white, its gentle fragrance filling her senses. A reminder of Yunhee even when she’s not here. “I’m really, really happy. But I’m always happier when I can share things with you.”
Jaerim reaches out for her hands. His touch is familiar and warm, and Lily feels as loved as she always has— the way she loves him, too. 
As a friend.)
--
“You know, at this point I’m pretty sure you’re bankrolling the entire shop,” Yoongi says, and you laugh.
“I can always go somewhere else if you’d like?”
“Please.” Yoongi snorts. “I’m not complaining. Besides, Jungkook would be heartbroken if his favourite customer stopped coming.”
The way Yoongi assembles bouquets is different to Jungkook. He’s no less skilled and lavishes the same amount of attention on each one, but his arrangements always seem a little wilder, freer— not in a bad way, just different. He’s surrounded by an increasing collection of carnations and dusty miller, the silver leaves curling around the immaculately white blooms; simple and elegant arrangements for a small bridal shower.
“That’s good to know,” you say, ignoring the warm flush that spreads through your chest at the idea of being Jungkook’s favourite customer. Sometimes you worry that you’re overbearing, actually, with how often you visit, even if Jungkook never seems to mind. “I do buy a lot, though, so that’s probably why I’m his favourite.”
Yoongi’s just finished tying a trail of silver and white ribbon around the collection of flowers in his hands, eyes flicking up at you as he eases it into a small vase. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to keep throwing money at this place,” he says. “You’re welcome to come whenever you like. Without needing to buy something.”
You feel weirdly chastened. “Um, okay.” You laugh lightly. “Kind of a weird business you’ve got running if you’re not telling customers to buy things, though?”
Yoongi snorts again. “You’ve spent more money in the past few months than most customers might spend in a year.” He reaches for another bunch of carnations. “I think we’re good.”
The bell tinkles above the door. You glance over your shoulder to see who it is and your face lights up when you see it’s Jungkook, clutching a small cardboard tray of coffees. He looks boyish and cute today, his hair is a little windswept from the breeze outside, and there’s a smile on his face that only grows wider when he spots you. You smile back. You’re always so happy to see him.
“Is that my coffee?” Yoongi says, without looking up from the bundle of flowers he's holding. “Bring it here.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes and you stifle a laugh behind your hand. Any shyness Jungkook might have had originally seems entirely gone now, and he’s unabashed when he pretends to disrespect his hyung, even if you know there’s a lot of love there.
Jungkook puts the cardboard cup out of the way of Yoongi’s work so there’s no chance it might accidentally get knocked over. “Here’s the decaf caramel cappuccino with extra sweetener and whipped cream that you asked for, hyung.” Jungkook gives you a conspiring smile and you stifle another laugh at the expression that flits across Yoongi’s face at the word decaf.
“Die,” Yoongi says mildly, before taking a sip of his bitter and untouched black coffee. “Perfect. Now, shoo, I’m busy. Go check on the herb display, I think they could do with some fertiliser.”
You keep hold of Jungkook’s cup as he mists the herbs, a tiny spritzer in his hands that he carefully aims at the stem of each plant. Unlike Yoongi’s black coffee, Jungkook’s opted for something iced, a creamy yellow blend with shavings of chocolate on top.
“If I’d known you were here, I would have gotten you something as well,” he says. You glance up to see Jungkook’s paused in his motions, hands engulfed in bright green basil leaves. It seems like he’s noticed you peering at the drink.
“Don’t be silly, I don’t expect you to buy me coffee! I’m just trying to work out what this is. It looks really tasty.”
“It’s a banana frappe. You can try some, if you want?”
You beam. “Can I?” You take a sip before Jungkook changes his mind, pursing your lips around the straw as the coldness hits your tongue and nearly gives you brain freeze— but then you register the sweetness on your tongue, the flavour of banana and vanilla and honey, delicious. “Oh, this is so good,” you breathe. “Where did you get this? I need this in my life.” You take another cheeky sip, eyes on Jungkook’s reaction, but he seems unfazed at the fact that you’re greedily slurping up his drink before he’s even had a chance to have any.
“There’s a small café a few streets away from here,” he says. “I, um.” He looks away from you, back towards the basil, before he pulls his hands out of the leaves and starts to mist the soil of the mint plants. “I could take you there, if you’d like.”
You haven’t seen him blush for a while, but that familiar tinge of pink is starting to steal over his cheeks as he looks away from you. Something churns low in your stomach, something almost like butterflies; a shifting of their wings, ready to take flight. “Oh,” you say. “That would, um. That would be nice.”
For the first time since you’ve stepped foot into Spring Day, you leave without buying anything. Instead, you leave with a day and time, hastily typed into your phone so you don’t forget. (Not that you would. How could you forget anything about Jungkook?)
You still haven’t told Jungkook who you are. Well— who Autumn is. He’d been so excited when you’d ‘finished’ Jamais Vu and had accepted another book from him, wanting eagerly to hear your opinion on it; it’s hard to not blurt out the truth to him, but you don’t know how to broach that topic. You’re worried that it’ll change this friendship you’ve built up with him and you don’t want to lose Jungkook. Even if you haven’t known him that long, he’s already so, so important to you, and you don’t want to let go of that.
But if you’re starting to become real friends, the kind of friends who get coffee together, who spend time together outside of Jungkook’s work— he deserves to know, right? You just need to find the right time to tell him.
When the day rolls around, you’re early. You’re always early for things. You skulk around the front of Spring Day, where you’d agreed to meet; you make sure to keep just out of Yoongi's eye line, ducking out of sight when it seems like he might spot you through the front window. You’re staring at a bucket of coral-coloured blooms when you hear Jungkook calling your name and you glance up, lifting your hand in a wave.
You almost choke on a breath. You’ve never seen Jungkook out of uniform, his plethora of loose, oversized shirts under a dark apron, nondescript trousers and plain shoes.
“Hi, Y/n.” The smile on his face is bright and wide, eyes squeezing into crescents. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long?”
He’s in such a simple outfit, but it’s devastating. His hair is arranged neatly under a cap, a leather jacket over the dark, tight shirt tucked into his jeans, blue denim nipped in by a plain black belt; there’s large rips at the knees, flashes of skin visible as he walks forwards, feet steady in black boots. It’s undeniably Jungkook, but it’s so different from the version of him you’ve gotten used to over the past two months, catching you completely off guard.
“Y/n?” He repeats, concerned at your silence, and you snap to attention.
“Oh, sorry! I was just thinking about, uh,” you glance at the flowers you’d been looking at, “peonies. No, I haven’t been waiting long at all, don’t worry. You, um, look really nice today,” you add lamely, unsure what else to say. 
“You do too.” Jungkook sounds like he genuinely means it, even if you’re just wearing a pretty regular outfit, similar to the sort of thing you usually wear when you visit him at work. “Peonies only flower for about a week, actually, if you wanted to get some?”
“No, no, that’s fine! Today’s not about flowers, today is about coffee,” you say. Your heart is hammering in your chest for some reason. A single butterfly lifts off in your stomach, taking flight with a flutter of its wings, flitting to and fro. “Take me to the coffee?”
He takes you to the coffee. He leads you confidently through the maze of alleyways, past more places you haven’t seen; he waits patiently whenever you ask to stop and take photos, watching as you stare in awe at an arch built out of precariously balanced tomes that leads into an old bookshop.
“It’s just so pretty around here,” you say, flapping your hand about to try and speed up the development process of a photo. “I’m sorry I’m taking so long.”
“It’s okay.” Jungkook’s voice is soft. “We’re not in a rush.”
He’s not just saying that to be nice, either. At one point, after you’ve apologised yet again, he steals your Polaroid from you and runs; you laugh at him when he refuses to give it back, taking shots of you while he dances just out of your reach, a cascade of photos that somehow turn out distinct and unblurred. Curse his photography abilities. 
You slap him lightly on the arm when he eventually surrenders the camera back to you and he just chuckles. It’s a long, looping detour on your way to the café, but you’re having so much fun that you don’t mind— in fact you end up having to be the one to get you back on track, tugging Jungkook’s elbow when it seems like he’s about to take you down another alleyway and towards the river, which you know is the wrong direction for the café.
“Coffee, Jungkook.” You try to sound stern but you end up dissolving into giggles when he pouts at you. “Okay, how about a compromise? We can get coffee to go and then come back this way so you can show me that market you were talking about.”
He brightens. “Okay,” he says. “We can do that.”
You almost regret saying this when you eventually turn up at the café; it’s actually a few stories up a building, a narrow set of rickety steps that opens into a light, airy room, naked lightbulbs hanging in constellations overhead, the entire wall behind the counter a massive chalkboard that’s covered in art of different styles and designs. The wall facing out onto the road outside is glass— the perfect place to unwind and people watch.
“Oh, wow,” you breathe. “Jungkook, this is so cool.”
“I know,” he says, smug and cheeky, and he laughs when you huff out a little breath at him. “The drinks are good, too.”
He’s not lying. He opts for another banana frappe, and after much deliberation, you decide to try the iced honeycomb latte. He refuses to let you pay and hands his card over to the barista before you even get a chance to reach for your bag, which has you narrowing your eyes at him.
“I feel like you prepared that in advance,” you say.
“Not telling.” He taps the side of his nose, which is scrunched from his smile. Inside you another handful of butterflies take flight.
More and more take wing as the afternoon goes on, each time Jungkook laughs or smiles or looks at you; he leads you through the market and shows you his favourite stalls, excited each time he gets to show you something he likes and enjoys, stealing sips of your drink when you’re distracted— but you laugh in his face and do the same to him, so it’s okay. 
Time flows by as easy as quicksilver, liquid and bright, and before you know it it’s turned from afternoon to evening, sky softening in deepening shades of blue and purple, the smattering of clouds a pastel palette of pink; you come to a stop by the edge of the river, Jungkook a few steps ahead of you by the time he realises you’re not walking beside him. He smiles at you as you lift your camera and take a shot of him surrounded by the sunset.
“I didn’t realise how late it was getting,” you say, and Jungkook blinks. It’s like he’s coming around to himself, like he didn’t realise either; he glances around and notices the shade of the sky before he pulls his sleeve back to look at the watch on his wrist.
“Wow, me neither.” He sounds surprised, and then he looks guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you busy for so long.”
“Oh my gosh, Jungkook, don’t apologise.” You tuck your latest photo into your pocket to look at later. “I’m having so much fun, I just didn’t notice the time go by. It’s not like you’re forcing me to be here,” you laugh. “I like spending time with you.”
The lampposts have yet to turn on and it’s hard to make out Jungkook’s features when he’s turned away from the soft light of the sunset like this. But you can hear the sincerity in his voice when he speaks. “Me too,” he says. “I’m really glad you found Spring Day.”
Your heart squeezes in your chest. Jungkook looks towards the river just as the first lights switch on, finally dark enough that the streetlights come to life; there're trailing bulbs between each lamppost that flicker on moments after, points of brightness that flood the path below them. Jungkook’s face is shaded by the brim of his cap but he takes it off and shakes his head, running his hand through his hair now that it’s freed. Another breath catches in your throat at how utterly mesmerising he is. 
The sound of his voice breaks you out of your trance. “I was wondering,” he says, staring at the rippling mirror of lights on the water, the fading colours of the sky overhead cast in undulating reflections that shift from moment to moment. “You like photography, right?”
“I do,” you say. “Even if I’m not that great at it myself.” 
“I have a friend who’s a photographer and some of his work’s been accepted in a local gallery.” Jungkook’s running his fingers over the hard brim of his cap, running them along its edge. “The opening night is in a few days, and, um. I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?”
He finally turns away from the river to look at you. Jungkook’s eyes are so big and dark. For once you’re the deer caught in headlights, and you don’t even know why; it’s like this simple, innocuous question has reached inside you and stolen all the air out of your lungs. 
Even so, your answer is immediate. “I’d really, really love that,” you answer honestly, and Jungkook’s responding smile is so, so wide.
You forget about that final photo until you get home. It falls out of your pocket as you shrug your coat off to hang it up, and you stoop down to pick it up, fingers stuttering and going still against its white edges as you take it in.
Jungkook’s silhouetted by the evening sky behind him, in stark contrast to the gentle colours and yet just as soft. The shadows are a little blurred, and the colours are a little muted— but Jungkook’s face is clear, his eyes warm and his smile gentle as he looks at you. 
No one’s ever looked at you like that before.
At last the final butterfly flaps its wings and joins the others, your stomach full of fluttering.
--
Your friendship with Jin has miraculously gone back to normal. If anything, it’s even better than it was before your confession— you don’t feel the need to think twice about your actions, like you’re tiptoeing around him, desperate to keep your love a secret. It’s as easy as it used to be and you’re glad.
But you still remember how much it hurt when he’d looked at you and turned you down. You’ve moved past it, sure, but it had just cemented something you’ve known your whole life: how utterly unlovable you are. How wrong you’d been at reading signs, how you’d been in over your head. How every crush you’ve ever had has come to nothing.
You’ve kept that picture of Jungkook resting against your peace lily. His lovely eyes watch as you struggle at your computer, hours of typing stilted words and phrases that you read back and furiously delete. You bury your head in your hands, frustrated. 
Why can’t you write?
By the time Friday night rolls around, you’ve added a grand total of one (1) sentence to your novel. But right now you have more important things to worry about; it’s almost time for you to meet Jungkook at the gallery downtown and the maps app on your phone has been playing up. It’s not that you’re going to be late— you don’t actually live that far away— but you’re not going to be early, and you hate that.
You can see the small groups of people trickling into the gallery, the lights shining out by the entrance cutting across them as they step inside, but your eyes are immediately drawn to Jungkook. He’s been looking down at his phone but as soon as you start to approach it’s like he can sense that you’re there, eyes rising from his screen and zoning in on you immediately. 
You stop in your tracks. His face lifts and splits into a wide smile and you smile helplessly back. He’d said the dress code for tonight was smart-casual, and he looks so good dressed like this. You love his turtleneck jumper.
“Hi,” he says. “Wow, you look good.”
“Hi,” you respond, breathless. You feel winded from his compliment and from the blush that’s rising on his face, even if he’s keeping his gaze locked on yours. “You do too.”
You stare at each other for what feels like eons when someone brushes past you and it snaps the two of you out of the moment, and Jungkook coughs. “Um. Should we go in?”
It’s busier inside than you thought. The gallery isn’t exactly small but the layout isn’t entirely straightforward and people keep clustering in certain areas and getting in the way, distracted by the photos on display. You have to wade through one particularly large group of people to get back to Jungkook, who’s been waiting for you on the other side; he looks concerned on your behalf, and when someone makes a move to walk between the two of you he reaches out for your hand, cutting off their path. Your hand feels so small in his, so warm in his grasp.
“I didn’t realise there’d be so many people here,” he mutters, looking around. You entwine your fingers with his and he startles, glancing at where your hands are joined, like he hadn’t noticed that he’d reached out for you. 
You abruptly feel embarrassed and you’re about to let go when Jungkook squeezes your hand. You glance up and he’s looking away from you, back of his neck red, but he’s not letting go.
“I think Tae’s stuff is a bit further in,” he says. “Let’s go.”
You trail after Jungkook, who keeps his pace matched to yours. It’s a little quieter back here so it’s easy to find who you’re looking for; when you spot a man with bright blue hair he waves wildly in your direction and Jungkook brightens.
“Kookie! Hi!” 
Jungkook lets go of your hand when he’s swept into a hug, and before you can introduce yourself, you’re swept into a hug, too.
“I’m Vante,” the blue-haired man says once he lets you go. “But you can call me Taehyung. Vante is my photographer name. I think it sounds cooler. Don’t you?”
“I think Taehyung is a lovely name,” you say, unphased by how full on Taehyung seems to be. “But Vante sounds really cool, too.”
Taehyung beams at you. “I like you,” he announces. “Y/n, right? Jungkook mentioned you.”
You cough into your palm, trying to act like you’re not supremely flustered right now; when you’re not looking, Jungkook hits Taehyung on the shoulder. “Yeah, that’s right,” you say, looking up. Both boys have innocent expressions on their faces. “Can I have a look at your photos?”
Taehyung is an incredibly talented photographer. You don’t need to be an expert to know that. He has a series of scenic and nature shots, some in colour, some in black and white; he enthusiastically answers your questions about each one, about the background of them and why he takes photos of what he does. Jungkook walks quietly behind you and is content to watch as the two of you talk, chest warmed by how well you’re getting on with each other.
You round a corner to another wall, and Taehyung gestures dramatically at the collection lined across it. “And these are my portrait photos,” he says. “There’s even one of Kookie up here, even if he gets embarrassed whenever I mention it.”
Sure enough, Jungkook is blushing. 
“Take me to it,” you say firmly, and Taehyung laughs out loud before he does just that. It’s a black and white shot, Jungkook in profile as he looks towards the camera, endless ocean waves and sky behind him. “Jungkook, you’re such a good model,” you say, smiling softly at it. 
Jungkook’s gone bright red, and you’ve honestly missed this sight, even if you’re glad that he’s not shy with you any more. “Taehyung’s just good at taking photos,” he says, voice high with embarrassment.
“I have a lot more photos of Jungkookie that aren’t on display,” Taehyung pipes up, and Jungkook looks like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him. “You’ll have to visit my studio some time so I can show them to you.”
You have Taehyung’s business card carefully stowed away in your bag as you walk home, arms swinging by your sides; you unintentionally brush your hand against Jungkook’s, but before you can say sorry he’s taken it as an invitation to hold your hand again. The apology dies on your lips as he slots his fingers between yours and you smile at him instead.
“Taehyung is so cool,” you say. “And talented, too. I love his photos.”
“I’m glad you both get on so well,” Jungkook says. “Sometimes people seem to think Taehyung is… I don’t know. He can come on a bit strong, I guess.”
“He’s great.” You frown. “I’m going to fistfight anyone who’s mean to him.”
Jungkook laughs and squeezes your hand.
He insists on walking you up to your door, keeping hold of your hand as he follows you inside your apartment building. You feel somewhat abashed at how wide his eyes go at how nice it is inside here. You’re not on the same level as, say, Stephen King or George R.R. Martin, but you make a pretty decent amount of money from your books and it shows.
Jungkook doesn’t actually know what you do. You’ve vaguely alluded to the fact that you’re a writer, but that could mean any number of things; for all he knows you could pen the agony aunt column in a magazine (you imagine that would be pretty fun, actually). You keep waiting for the right opportunity to come clean about your pseudonym but nothing’s presented itself yet.
“Do you want to come in? My friend Seokjin makes killer brownies and I’ve got a box of them still in the fridge,” you say. “He always makes way more than I can eat myself.”
Jungkook seems torn. He wants to see inside your apartment, you can tell, but he also probably doesn’t want to seem intrusive— even if you’re offering.
“I hate wasting food so you’d be doing me a real favour,” you add, and Jungkook relents.
“Alright,” he says, and you smile to yourself as you unlock your door.
You’ve been giving flowers to other people, too— Seokjin and Jimin and Namjoon and even Hoseok have been receiving the gifts of your bounty— but only the premade bouquets. The ones that Jungkook puts together are ones that you keep for yourself. It’s far less overwhelming now than it had been a while ago, only a few floral arrangements here and there, but it’s obvious from Jungkook’s expression that he recognises each bouquet.
He ends up sitting at your breakfast bar as you dig the brownies out of your fridge, and he smiles in delight as you warm up some milk. It’s getting late, and you know Jungkook doesn’t like coffee, anyway.
(You’ve learned a lot about Jungkook in the past few months.)
“Which one is Seokjin?” He asks around a mouthful of brownie. You’ve retired to your living room and Jungkook is peering at the strings of fairy lights you have on the wall, Polaroids of your friends and family clipped along its wire. “This one?”
“No, that’s Namjoon,” you say. You stand up from the couch and scooch next to Jungkook so you can point. “He’s Jimin’s boyfriend— which is this guy here. That’s Seokjin,” you point. “All my favourite people. Ah, don’t look at this one, it’s me and Jimin when we were back in school. We look like such dorks. Look at our hair.”
“You look cute,” Jungkook says, and you try not to blush. “Wait, is that me?”
Your collection of Jungkook photos has been growing exponentially over time. The one he’s looking at is a picture of himself in Spring Day, bent over a bucket of roses, fingers cupping the pink flowers as he smiles at them; he’s said he’s okay with you taking photos, but maybe he meant when he was actually aware of you taking them.
“Um, yeah,” you say. You feel weirdly embarrassed. “I can take it down if you want? Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” Jungkook’s staring at the glowing light next to the photo, avoiding your eyes. “I just didn’t think I’d be on the wall with the rest of your, uh, favourite people.”
Your mouth falls open. You don’t know what to say. Normally you’d scoff at him and say duh, of course you are, but for some reason you can’t summon the courage right now. The words catch in your throat.
Luckily, Jungkook seems to notice another photo. “Oh, is that from your school prom? Wait. Are you on crutches?”
You laugh, glad for the distraction. “Oh, yeah! Jimin persuaded me to sneak out of my house a few weeks before that because I was under curfew but there was a party we were both desperate to go to. Needless to say, climbing out of my window didn’t go so well. I was on crutches for ages after that. It wasn’t so bad, honestly. People felt sorry that I couldn’t dance so they kept sitting with me and feeding me cupcakes out of pity. They were delicious,” you say with a smile. “Never did get to do that end of school dance I’d planned with Jimin, though. That’s the only thing that was bad about it.”
Jungkook’s face twists. You’re too busy looking at the photo and reminiscing to notice, but you do notice when he steps back. You turn, confused as Jungkook holds his hand out and looks at you expectantly.
“What?”
“I know it’s a bit late, and I’m not Jimin, but you can have that end of school dance.” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I promise I won’t step on your feet.”
You giggle, but you can feel a blush threatening to fight its way onto your cheeks. There’s a storm of butterflies in your stomach. “But there’s no music,” you say. “How can we dance without music?”
Jungkook shrugs. “I’ll sing for us,” he says. He steps forward, hand still proffered, and you slide your hand into his, unable to deny him. 
It’s been years since Jimin’s taught you the basic waltz, and you’re a little stiff because of it, but your body seems to remember the steps as Jungkook slowly leads you. You’re staring at your feet while Jungkook hums, but once you have the rhythm down he opens his mouth and starts to sing; you look up from the floor, your eyes helplessly drawn to his. 
His voice is soft and honeyed, words sweet as they hang in the air. You’re so entranced by the deep, warm brown of his eyes that it takes you longer than it should to recognise the lyrics of the song: 10,000 hours, transformed by Jungkook’s mellifluous voice.
He leads you into a turn, and when you come back together it’s a little clumsy and you giggle. Jungkook smiles at you as he continues to sing. The laughter leaves you feeling light and sparkling, like there’s a fountain bubbling inside you, and all the stiffness finally falls away from your limbs. The waltz becomes more of a swaying dance as you let your arms drop, Jungkook’s arm sliding around your waist as you step closer to him, and you end up turning in small circles in the middle of your living room as Jungkook murmurs a love song into your ear.
You suddenly realise that you’ve never been happier than you are right now: dancing in your living room in the circle of Jungkook’s arms as he sings to you, a romantic cliché that’s somehow become true for you. For you. With someone as incredible as Jungkook.
You’re never happier than when you’re with Jungkook.
Holy shit.
You’re in love with Jungkook.
The final note of the song lingers in the air as he comes to an end, the resonance of a bell that slowly fades. He smiles at you as you slowly come to a stop, still nestled in each other’s embrace as your feet finally become still.
“I’m so glad I broke my leg,” you say suddenly, and Jungkook laughs outright, face squeezing up in the way that you love so much.
You’re in love with him.
You watch as he slips his shoes back on. You feel helpless and untethered in a lot of ways, but at the same time, you’ve never felt more sure about anything. When he flashes you a smile, you can’t help but smile back— but that’s always been the case, hasn’t it?
“Hey,” you say suddenly, just after Jungkook’s finished shrugging his coat on. “I know you’ve just, um, gotten ready to go and everything, but can I quickly show you something?” Your heart is thudding in your chest. 
Jungkook blinks. “Sure.”
You give him a jerky nod before turning on your heel and walking down the corridor to swing the door open to your office. Jungkook follows behind you, waiting in the doorway as you flick the light on; he makes a noise when he notices the frame hanging on your wall, the flowers of the corsage that you’d dried and pressed safe behind the glass.
You don’t respond. You’re too busy taking a moment to suck in a deep breath and steel yourself before you open your filing cabinet to pull out a stack of papers, sheaves of writing that are stapled together— the very first, unedited drafts of each of your novels, kept for posterity.
“I, um, don’t really know how to say this.” You stare at your hands as you shuffle through the booklets. “I haven’t told anyone new in a long time, so I guess I’m out of practice, but, uh.” You’re so nervous that you’re light-headed. “Autumn Lovett is actually my pen name. These are drafts of my novels if you think I’m lying,” you say, shoving the paper at Jungkook’s chest; he grabs them before they fall to the ground. “Um. So. Yeah. Taa-daa?”
You feel like you’ve run a marathon. Your heart is racing and your lungs are struggling to take in air. You can’t look at Jungkook. You’re staring at the ceiling instead, dreading his reaction.
When he makes a noise, however, your head snaps down. He’s crouched in the middle of your office with your drafts held over his face.
“Jungkook?” You say, panicked, and he makes the same noise again.
“Oh my God,” he whines, muffled behind the paper. You squat down to grip his hands and pull them away from his face, worried; when it’s finally revealed he’s bright red and he looks mortified. “I can’t believe I recommended your own books to you,” he all but wails. “And I gushed like a fanboy in front of you about them too. Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
You don’t mean to but you laugh. Jungkook tries to hide his face again but you pull the drafts out of his hands and send them scattering to the floor. “Oh, Jungkook,” you say, overflowing with affection. “You don’t have to apologise. I found it flattering, actually.”
He doesn’t seem bothered that you hadn’t told him sooner. He doesn’t care that you’ve been keeping it a secret. He’s just embarrassed. He stays embarrassed as he helps you gather up the papers, and he stays embarrassed as you return your own book that he’d let you borrow, and he stays embarrassed as he heads towards your front door for the second time that night. 
“I do, um, really like your work,” he says, shy as he fiddles with your door handle. “I’m really looking forward to your next novel. I’m not just saying that to be nice because I know who you are now.” His eyes are wide as he looks up at you. “I mean it.”
Your heart feels full to the brim with fondness. “I know,” you say. “I believe you. I— you can have a read through it before it’s published, actually, as long as you promise not to leak it.”
Jungkook’s eyes widen even further before he holds his hand out. “Pinky promise.”
You giggle as you hook your finger with his. “Pinky promise.”
Once Jungkook’s left you immediately sit down at your computer and write and write and write— it’s like the words just won’t stop. They come pouring out of you, and endless torrent that you don’t try to rein in. You write for so long you end up crashing at your desk, face smooshed against your keyboard as you drool in your sleep.
(“I don’t know how to dance,” Yunhee says, and Lily just smiles.
“Me neither,” she says. “We can learn together.”
They keep stepping on each other’s feet. It’s clumsy and messy and they keep dissolving into laughter between apologies to each other, but it’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee. 
It’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee, with Lily: because it’s them, together.)
--
“I’ve finished my novel,” you announce, and all the men at the table sit up.
“Wow.” Namjoon blinks at you. “I thought you weren’t due to publish for, what, another six months?”
“What can I say? I’ve been inspired.” You smile down into your glass before taking a drink of your orange juice.
Seokjin stares at you before he leans back in his chair. He’s always been able to read you through and through, and that perceptiveness doesn’t leave him now. “Ah,” he says. “You’re in love.”
You’re in the middle of swallowing your juice and nearly choke, spluttering. Namjoon pats your back with concern while his boyfriend looks askance.
“You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.”
“I wasn’t lying,” you wheeze, finally coughing the last remnants of orange juice out of your windpipe. “Well, I guess it was kind of a half lie? I was buying them, but, uh, he made them.” You fiddle with the napkin in your lap as Seokjin coos at you.
“You fell in love with a florist,” he says. “You’re literally living in an AO3 fanfic. That’s adorable.”
“Shut up,” you hiss, and Jin just laughs when you try to kick him under the table and nearly hit Namjoon instead.
“It sounds romantic,” Namjoon agrees, apparently unphased by how close he was to getting nailed in the shins.
Jimin slaps his small hand against the table. “You haven’t answered any of my questions, snake. I know what you’re like, Y/n— get the Polaroid out of your bag. We need to judge your new beau.”
Jimin’s right. He knows exactly what you’re like, the helpless romantic that you are; the three men shuffle their heads together to peer at the photo of Jungkook, the one where he’s surrounded by the sunset.
“He’s fucking cute,” Jimin decides immediately. “I’m almost offended you haven’t introduced him to us yet. You should invite him to our house-warming party. Namjoon agrees.”
You look at Namjoon, who nods despite not being consulted. “You’re so whipped,” you mutter at him. He just shrugs. “Anyway,” you continue, raising your voice over Jimin’s and Jin’s muttered conversation as they continue to stare at your photo of Jungkook. “I’m going to hold fire on the house-warming party invitation for now, because, um, I haven’t actually said anything to him yet.”
Your eyes are cast down as you say this, affixed to the sight of your hands in your lap. You’ve still been visiting Spring Day, of course, and you’ve started to see Jungkook more and more outside of work as well; each time you meet him you fall a little bit more in love. It’s almost terrifying how easy it is to fall for him.
“Y/n.” Jimin’s voice is sober and you glance up from your lap to take in the worried look on his face. “I know it must be scary—”
“Oh gosh, Minnie, I love you, but it’s okay, you don’t need to give me a pep-talk on how I’m a 10/10 and anyone would be blessed to have me,” you interrupt. “I haven’t been putting off confessing because I think he’s going to pull a Jin and turn me down—”
“Hey,” Jin says mildly. He knows you’re joking. You got over that ages ago.
“—but I, um, emailed him my book yesterday, actually,” you finish. “What he does once he’s finished reading it is up to him.”
Jimin is right. It is scary. But Jungkook is worth the potential pain and heartache. He is. He’s always so lovely to you, always so considerate; he sings for you and dances with you and he’s even painted for you, a small canvas covered in favourite flowers, ones that won’t die. Last week when he’d dropped you off at your apartment, he’d brushed his lips across your cheek before practically sprinting away, and your heart had exploded in your chest. 
You have no idea how someone as amazing as Jungkook sees something worthwhile in you, so it's hard to come to grips with, but there’s no way you’re reading this wrong. There’s no way.
The table goes quiet and then Jin leans forward and takes your hands in his. “I can’t believe you’re confessing to him with your book,” he says. “This really is an AO3 fanfic. Hashtag slow burn.”
This time, when you kick him, you don’t miss.
You spend the rest of the day with your coterie of doofuses and by the time you get home you’re ready to relax. You’ve just finished getting into your pyjamas, flopping down onto your sofa when there’s suddenly a hammering at your door. You sit up, startled at the noise. The knocking doesn’t let up as you approach the door and you’re wary, but once you look through the peephole you immediately swing it open.
“Jungkook? Are you okay?”
He’s wild-eyed and windswept and his chest is heaving as he sucks in air. You stare at him with concern as he catches his breath.
“Yoongi let me have the day off,” he says. You blink at him.
“Okay? Did you want to go out somewhere? Now? You’ll have to let me change, though, my pyjamas aren’t exactly great evening wear.”
“I’ve spent the whole day reading your book,” Jungkook says, and your heart goes still in your chest before it starts beating at double time.
“Oh,” you say. “Um. What, uh. What did you think?”
Jungkook’s face has taken on an expression that you’ve become intimately familiar with, a similar look to the one he’d been giving you that night by the river, soft and open and warm and— you can see it now, as time has gone by— full of love. He cups your face in his hands and rests his forehead against yours, dark eyes drinking you in, the smile on his lips so lovely and sweet. Just for you.
“I love you,” he says, and then he kisses you.
He keeps cradling your face in his hands, his lips moving against yours in a way that’s so tender that it makes you want to cry; you’ve never felt so wrapped up in someone’s touch like this, like you can feel exactly how precious you are to him just from the touch of his lips against yours. You know it’s a cliché to say that it feels like fireworks going off in your chest, but it does, every single one of the butterflies that have been nestled in your ribcage exploding into flames and brightness, sparkling heat that shines out of you every second Jungkook keeps kissing and kissing and kissing you.
Kissing Jungkook feels like every romantic fantasy you’ve ever written into your books is coming true all at once. You’re not unwanted, undesirable, unlovable: he wants you, he desires you, he loves you. 
(He loves you.)
It feels like every flower he’s ever given you is flushing to full bloom all at once, spilling out of your chest, brightness and colour and life curling around your heart. All those years spent quietly hoping, culminating in this moment: Jeon Jungkook pressing his lips against yours, keeping you steady as you lean into him, and you feel like all that waiting and yearning and wanting was worth it if you got to meet him at the end of it all. You’ve finally got your storybook ending.
No, actually— it’s just the beginning. 
You’re still standing in your doorway when you part, Jungkook’s hands splayed across your jaw as you give him a smile so wide it almost hurts. 
“I love you too,” you say. “If that wasn’t already obvious.”
Jungkook chuckles and you can’t help but lean into the sound, eyes slipping shut as you turn your head and rest your forehead against his jaw. “I had to reread some parts because I didn’t think I was reading it right,” he admits, and you keep smiling. “I thought there was no way it could be real.”
How could Jungkook ever have any doubts? How could Jungkook think that there was no way that you could love him? Does he not realise how amazing he is? How wildly lucky you feel that somehow— with all your flaws and blemishes and imperfections— he loves you back?
“What made you come around?”
“Yoongi-hyung took one look at the last page and threw a roll of ribbon at my head,” Jungkook says, and you laugh, and Jungkook laughs, and the two of you are laughing and laughing and laughing. You feel like you could float away, buoyant with happiness; only Jungkook’s presence is keeping your feet on the ground. “I hope you don’t mind that I let him read it.”
“It’s okay.” You tilt your head back to look at Jungkook. He’s staring at you like you’re the sun and he’s turning towards you, a fierce and beautiful tiger lily blooming in your light. “I wouldn’t mind if you sent free copies of the book to everyone in the world if it meant I’d have you at the end of it.”
Jungkook smiles at you. It’s bright and wide and his eyes are crescents as his nose scrunches and he flashes his teeth, and you love him. “Purple rose, lilac, baby’s breath,” he says, and you recognise the flowers of the corsage he’d given you, all those months ago. “Love at first sight, first love, everlasting love.”
You stare at him in disbelief. “Shut up,” you breathe. He'd seen you as worth loving, even then? “Shut up. You did not— you did not confess that you had a crush on me with flowers? After we’d only met twice?” 
“Maybe I did.” Jungkook’s smile turns cheeky and you love him.
“I can’t believe you. I can’t believe me. You were literally reading a book about flower language, how did I not— god. I love you,” you say helplessly, and he laughs before he kisses you again.
(“I love you.”
Yunhee freezes in place and looks up at Lily with wide eyes. Lily is terrified of being hurt again, terrified of Yunhee not returning all this endless love that she has in her heart— but Yunhee is worth that terror. She’s worth that pain. Even if she doesn’t feel the same, she needs to know how loved she is. How brilliant and lovely and wonderful she is, her Yunhee, her love.
Yunhee opens her mouth to reply, and says:
-
How this story ends is up to you, Jungkook. I’ll be waiting. - Y/n)
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k-s-morgan · 4 years
Text
The Evolution of Will Graham’s Darkness
This meta is mostly written for new viewers who find themselves confused by Will as a character. I’ll incorporate some bits of analysis I’ve written before into it. Let’s start with a thesis of a sort: Will is a dark character who had this darkness from the very start, even before his encounter with Hannibal: he was terrified and disgusted with it, but after meeting Hannibal, slowly, he began to embrace himself, getting bolder and bolder in his violence.
**Before the show**  
Will initially tried to get into the FBI but he didn’t pass the tests. It’s revealed in E1 of S1 when he’s ambushed by Beverly.
Beverly: Never been an F.B.I. Agent?
Will: Strict screening procedures.
Beverly: Detects instability. You’re unstable?
At the same time, Will became a police officer, working in the Homicide department. These decisions show that he's been stubbornly and rather hopelessly drawn to darkness, seeking ways to interact with it while remaining on the side of law. However, he had to leave the police, too, because he was incapable of pulling the trigger even when his life depended on it. He preferred to allow himself to get stabbed rather than to fight back and kill someone, which points to him having very serious issues with his violence. He knew that once the door in him opens, it might not close again, that if he kills or harms another person, he might be unable to stop (this is proven when he shoots Hobbs and then immediately tries to kill Stammets).
And still, Will chooses to stay close to darkness, only in safer ways. He becomes a teacher in the FBI Academy, letting himself delve into the ugliest cases from a theoretical perspective. This constant pull and struggle leave Will lonely and hostile to everyone. He avoids eye contact with people; Jack’s first impression of him was that he’s rude and arrogant (when they clashed about the name of the museum). Will is rude and haughty with his students, too – but more about it later. Alana refuses to stay alone in the room with him, thinking his instability is too fascinating and she might want to dissect it. Will has no friends; he lives in isolation with his dogs, someone who would never judge him. There are a lot of rumors about him going around, and most people don’t like him (based on Price’s and Zeller’s initial reactions as well as their later conversations on this topic). Will is lonely and pretty miserable.
S1
The first real words we hear from Will are:
Will: Everyone has thought about killing someone.
It is very demonstrative of his personality. We also get evidence right here that Will is drawn to darkness primarily, not to the idea of saving lives (although the latter helps him feel better about his urges). He delves into the minds of killers even when he isn’t involved in the investigation. He had no other reason to explore the Marlows’ murder like he did at the start of the episode, when he was simply teaching students. It’s proof that he willingly craves contact with violent and disturbed minds — it’s not like he actually tries to solve this case for real, he just imagined himself there.
Will’s first conversation with Hannibal speaks volumes about who he is — because Hannibal senses it seconds after meeting him.
Hannibal: Do you have trouble with taste?
Will: My thoughts are often not tasty.
Hannibal: Nor mine. No effective barriers.
Will: I make forts.
This exchange has Will confess that his thoughts are often dark and that he dislikes it. To hold this darkness at bay, he literally builds forts around it, not letting it spread to other parts of his mind.
Hannibal: Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.
Hannibal almost directly calls Will out on his struggle with his inner darkness. He’s saying that he sees it, that he knows it’s there, in Will, in his mind, and Will is very disturbed by this — because Hannibal is right. The script even explicitly backs it up:
Hannibal has just described Will Graham to a letter.
Will is immediately wary and hostile, and he ends the conversation with snappy,
Will: Please don’t psychoanalyze me. You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.
What does it mean? It’s simple: Will assumes that Hannibal is a typical psychiatrist who wants to dissect him, so he says that once it happens, Hannibal won’t like what he finds (darkness and ugliness Will carries inside).
His hostility to Hannibal lasts up until the moment when Hannibal acknowledges him as a predator and shows approval of it. This is how it happens: Hannibal tries to subtly tell him that it’s all right to be who he is, hinting that they are the same.
Hannibal: You and I are just alike. Problem free. Nothing about us to feel horrible about.
He’s obviously talking about their darkness, but Will doesn’t react, so Hannibal continues. He tells him that Jack views him as a fragile tea cup, and Will genuinely laughs, amused by this (which is also very telling). Then Hannibal says:
Hannibal: [I see you as the] mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.
Will grows quiet after this, and then his interactions with Hannibal become much more relaxed. Will takes him to search the property and even bothers to explain how they reached their conclusions and what they are about to do. Him grumbling, “What are you smiling at?” shows a much higher level of familiarity they now share. Something in Hannibal’s words made Will open up a bit, and everything indicates that it’s the acknowledgement of his predatory nature that played its part in it.
Will kills Hobbs by shooting him 10 times. This is his first kill, one he’s been trying to avoid for so long, ever since his police work. It’s not surprising that Hobbs haunts him later because his death became a breaking point for Will. A door did open in him, and he was unable to close it again.
In E2, Will is distraught. But first, we get a glimpse into how rude and insensitive he generally is. Look at how he treats his students. He tersely thanks them for clapping and then snaps for them to stop. He devises a little malicious test for them.
Will: It’s [Hobbs’] resignation letter. Anybody see the clue?
A few hands go into the air. Will ignores them.
Will: There isn’t one.
He looks so long-suffering with them, as if they are idiots. The fact that he asks a question, waits for people to think and raise their hands, and only then he tells them there is actually no answer is petty at best. He also admits to Jack that he doesn’t consider lessons socialization because he doesn’t have to actually talk to students, he talks at them. Not good for a teacher or even for a person who works with other people like this.
But Will has more serious problems. He keeps imagining Hobbs, and after his messy kill, Jack becomes worried about him. He makes Will go visit Hannibal for one-time evaluation. Will is naturally not fond of the idea, but he and Hannibal have a pretty personal talk. Hannibal ends it with an even more explicit hint at Will’s own darkness:
Hannibal: And Will… the mirrors in your mind can reflect the best of yourself, not the worst of someone else.
Hannibal is talking about Will’s personal brand of violence again. He’s trying to tell him that it’s fine to be a murderer in every way he can, that Will’s darkness might be the best part of him. He also gives him a fake official approval to work in the field, showing that Will can trust him. But their obligatory session ends and Will leaves — only to return after he tries to kill Stammets and misses (their talk about it was cut from the episode but is echoed in the conversation below).
Hannibal: [You are here to] prove that sprig of zest you feel is from saving Abigail, not killing her dad.
Will: I didn't feel a sprig of zest when I shot Eldon Stammets.
Hannibal: You didn't kill Eldon Stammets.
Will: I thought about it. I'm still not entirely sure that wasn't my intention when pulling the trigger.
This is a huge evidence of Will struggling with his violence. It proves that he had it before becoming actively involved with Hannibal — all Hannibal did was recognize it and coax it to come to the surface. Will has always been like this, and after finally killing a person, he found himself unable to stop because he liked the feeling too much.
Hannibal: It wasn't the act of killing Hobbs that got you down, was it? Did you really feel so bad because killing him felt so good?*
Will: I liked killing Hobbs.
Hannibal is pleased to receive the confirmation of what he sensed in Will. Seeing that Will is terrified about his own confession, he comforts him.
Hannibal: Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time, and are we not created in his image?
Let’s be honest, every sane person would have run for the hills after hearing this. Hannibal literally justifies the fact that Will liked murder by drawing a parallel with God. That’s such a narcissistic, serial killer thing to do, and yet Will welcomes it with open arms. He’s happy to find someone who doesn’t think he’s a monster — he’s relieved to be able to finally discuss his darkest impulses freely. This is the reason why Will started coming back to see Hannibal on a constant basis, to Jack’s surprise.
The next huge proof of Will’s ever-present darkness is found in E5 (actually, every episode has some bits, but I’ll cover only the major ones). The Angel Maker, a killer-of-the-week, has a unique gift of being able to see if a person is good or evil. First, Hannibal tries to tell Will that he doesn’t have to self-destruct because of his darkness like he’s been doing.
Hannibal: Angel Maker will be destroyed by what’s happening inside his head. You don’t have to be.
When Angel Maker dies, Will suddenly sees himself through his eyes. And he sees a demon. He sees himself as evil. It proves that Will’s darkness is inherent since he hasn’t done anything really bad at this point. It also proves that he’s perfectly aware of who he is and the darkness he has. He has the following conversation with the imagined Angel Maker.
Angel Maker: I see what you are.
Will: What do you see?
Angel Maker: Inside. I can bring it out of you.
Will: Not all the way out.
So, Will acknowledges that his darkness is rooted so deeply inside him, it can’t even be extracted fully. It’s an inseparable part of him.
Will is shown admiring the Ripper’s murders, calling them elegant and referring to them as art. Meanwhile, he’s trying to half-heartedly flirt with Alana, but they don’t have a meaningful connection because Will can’t be happy with a person who doesn’t know him. He wants to be normal but he just isn’t. If you’re interested in my opinion about their relationship, it’s here.
Will’s next morally gray action happens when he agrees to cover murder for Hannibal and Abigail in E9. He agrees quickly and then he’s shown being fiercely devoted to it. He doesn’t seem to care that Abigail killed someone much — in fact, he basically threatens Freddie, another person who sees him for who he is, to make her write a book favorable toward Abigail.
In E13, Hannibal says what he wants from Will directly.
Hannibal: If you followed the urges you kept down for so long, cultivated them as the inspirations they are, you’d become someone other than yourself.
Will remembers this phrase (he later throws it back into Hannibal’s face), but for now, he’s too angry and bitter to listen.
S2
Will is healthy again and he struggles with realization that Hannibal betrayed him. He starts a dark game of his own: he pretends he’s vulnerable, moving Alana to tears in the process, and asks Hannibal for help. He’s still drawn to him, but he also wants to take him down — for himself and for Abigail.
In E1, Hannibal tells Will the purpose of all their past meetings, how they were aimed at helping Will Become.
Hannibal: Our conversations, Will, were only ever about you opening your eyes to the truth of who you are.
Alana tries to hypnotize Will to help him remember what happened.
Alana: Imagine yourself in a safe and relaxing place... safe and secure here, safe to relax completely...
What does Will imagine? He sees Hannibal’s room and them sitting at the murder table together. He’s freaked out by it, but it proves how twisted his perception is: regardless of the betrayal, a part of him understands that Hannibal is the only person who’s ready to accept him, and he feels safe with him. @bloodsmile wrote a great meta about it here.
Will coldly manipulates Beverly, refusing to help her save lives unless she helps him as well. In E5, he engages in yet another manipulation. He gets Matthew Brown to try to kill Hannibal. This is the first premeditated murder attempt Will is responsible for. That is why we see him growing horns, that is why he sees a sink full of blood — his darkness starts progressing in noticeable ways. By E7, Will has figured out that Hannibal really did everything to open his eyes to the truth of who he is and that he wants to be his friend, but as he still wants revenge, he decides to honey-trap him with Jack.
In E8, Will is dealing with his complex feelings for Hannibal and explores his darkness further. He admits that Hannibal made him feel less alone and that he doesn’t hate him, no matter what; that he has no idea what he feels for him. Then Will tries to kill Ingram in cold blood as revenge for Peter. He asks him to pick up the hammer, indicating that he plans for the murder to look like self-defense. Hannibal tries to talk him out of it, but Will still pulls the trigger. It’s by a miraculous accident that Hannibal manages to stop him. This is the second conscious murder attempt by Will.
In E9, Will has a dream about Hannibal, love, and darkness.
Dream Hannibal: Must I denounce myself as a monster while you still refuse to see the one growing inside you?
Meaning: Will is fully aware of both the presence of this monster inside him and his attempts to ignore it since this is his dream.
Dream Hannibal: No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them. By that love we see potential in our beloved. Through that love we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved's potential comes true.
So, a part of Will realizes that Hannibal loves him, and that he really wants him to Become, to realize all his potential.
Will is shown as feeling bitter at Hannibal for not letting him kill Ingram.
Will: I regret what I did in the stables.
Hannibal (thinking Will means murder attempt): Then you were lucky I was there.
Will: Being lucky isn't the same as making a mistake. Mistake was allowing you to stop me.
Hannibal: So it’s not pulling the trigger that you regret. It’s not pulling it effectively.
Will: That would be more accurate.
Hannibal: I want you to close your eyes, Will, and imagine a version of events you wouldn't have regretted.
Will obeys, and he sees himself murdering Ingram. It proves that every word he says to Hannibal is true — he really does regret not killing him. But there is an even creepier dialogue ahead.
Hannibal: What did you see?
Will: A missed opportunity… to feel like I felt when I killed Garret Jacob Hobbs. To feel like I felt when I thought I killed you … a quiet sense of power.
This is disturbing. It proves once again that Will isn’t just a righteous killer, he enjoys the act of murder itself, and like many serial killers, he craves the feeling of power that comes with it.
He and Hannibal talk about the intimacy of murder, how Will was hiding behind a gun when he tried to kill Hannibal back in E5. Will takes note of it. Hannibal, remembering Will’s complaint about a missed opportunity, sends Randall to him as a gift. When Randall breaks into Will’s house, Will is shown thinking and then deliberately throwing the gun away. He doesn’t want to hide this time — he attacks Randall with his bare hands. This isn’t about self-defense or justice, this is about Will trying to experience a more intimate kind of murder. He beats Randall up until he’s incapacitated and then he snaps his neck, even though there was no reason to do it. He could easily call Jack and have Randall arrested at this point (since he was barely conscious and not fighting back). This could help him in his plan to catch Hannibal. But Will isn’t particularly concerned about it, he’s more interested in realizing his darkness.
He takes the body to Hannibal. This moment got deleted, but Will actually had to stick a note to it:
A piece of paper is pinned to his chest. On it is written: "Return to Sender."
Which excellently shows Will’s dark humor. He laughs with Hannibal a little as they talk about murder right above the corpse. Then Hannibal is treating his hands, and he says:
Hannibal: Stay with me.
Will: Where else would I go?
Nowhere — because Will understands that Hannibal is the only person who can understand his darkness and accept him for who he is.
Will: I've never felt more alive than when I was killing him.
This is, once again, huge. Will is a murderer who can get dangerously high on the act. The moment when he felt most alive is the moment when he took a life from another person — and he was vicious about it. Will is very, very dark in these scenes — and it’s going to get worse.
Will mutilates the body and places it in the museum. He keeps Randall’s suit in his house as a trophy, and he keeps his butchered parts of meat in his fridge. In the following discussion, Will confirms that he enjoyed doing all that. When Hannibal suggests that Randall’s killer felt disdain for him in front of Jack, Will disagrees.
Will: He isn't mocking him. This isn't disdain. He's commemorating him.
Hannibal: This killer has no fear for the consequences of what he's done.
Will: No guilt.
Then Will retreats into his mind to talk to Randall’s corpse.
Will: Hello again.
Randall: Come closer … Can you see you?
Will: Clearer and clearer.
This proves Will’s honesty in all his discussions with Hannibal. He really is exploring his violence, not just pretending to do it, coming to the realization of what kind of monster he is.
Will: You forced me to kill you.
Randall: I didn't force you to enjoy it.
This takes place in Will’s head, so every word is genuine.
Will: I gave you what you want. This is who you are. What you feel finally matches the reality of what I see.
Randall: This is my becoming. And yours.
Will shakes his head, this is not his becoming.
Will: This is my design.
So, what do we have here? Will calls murder, mutilation, and storage of Randall’s meat his design. It’s not his Becoming, not yet, Will isn’t ready to fully embrace himself, but this is a start. He understands his design now.
In the same E10, Will attacks Freddie when she discovered his trophies. We know he didn’t kill her, but would he have done it if she hadn’t called Jack? We can only guess. Will sure took his chance to be creepy and physically violent with her. At the end of the episode, he brought Randall’s meat to Hannibal and they cooked as well as ate it together. This was not about getting Hannibal to trust him. Hannibal already did, especially after thinking Will killed Freddie, so there was simply no need for it. Bryan Fuller confirmed Jack had no idea this happened, so Will was acting on his own, out of his genuine curiosity. This is where he willingly became a cannibal.
In E11, Will dreams of burning fake Freddie and hears himself screaming. It’s easy to interpret this dream: he feels guilty for betraying Hannibal. Alana comes by and Will is being deliberately creepy again. He gives her a gun for protection, but later, it almost becomes her undoing. Will is equally creepy during the funeral. He enjoys being dark, and he feels free to act like this because technically, he has an excuse.
In E12, Will is freshly angry at Hannibal. He fantasizes about murdering Hannibal in the most violent way possible. Then he makes three deals. The first one is with Mason: they agree to kill Hannibal together. The second one is with Hannibal: they tentatively agree to target Mason together. The third one is with Jack: they agree that when Hannibal tries to kill Mason, Will is going to arrest him. Will goes with his and Mason’s plan at first. Hannibal is kidnapped and presented in front of Will just like in his fantasy. But instead of acting on it, Will chooses Hannibal and frees him, getting all Mason’s people killed in the process. Later, he watches Hannibal mutilate Mason, approach him to kill him, and snap his neck. He does nothing: he ignores his deal with Jack completely and covers for Hannibal. Yet another proof that Will is siding with Hannibal more and more, and that his initial honey-trapping plan is almost a formality at this point. At the end of the episode, Will offers Hannibal to kill Jack.
In E13, Hannibal and Will are getting ready to kill Jack while Will and Jack are getting ready to arrest Hannibal. Will doesn’t seem to know on whose side he is until the end. At the same time, he lies to Jack about where the attack is supposed to take place. He helps Hannibal burn all evidence, even though he could have easily preserved some of it to use it later. He burns the evidence related to himself as well. Will doesn’t take Hannibal’s chance to run away before dinner, but he does hesitate and wonder about it. When the final moment comes, he calls Hannibal to warn him — he chooses him above everyone. Justice for Abigail, justice for himself, the desire to save other people — none of it matters to Will now. He made his choice, he chose his side, but he did it too late. When he goes to Hannibal’s house, Alana tells him that Jack is still inside, and Will takes out his gun. He doesn’t even try to point it at Hannibal. When Hannibal accuses him of lying, Will implies that he’s wrong.
Hannibal: I gave you a rare gift… But you didn't want it.
Will isn't so definitive.
Will: Didn't I?
Because yes, Will wanted it. He was ready to accept it. But he did so too late.
S3
Will’s thoughts are only about Hannibal and Abigail. He breaks into Hannibal’s empty house and sits there in silence. When Alana comes to find him and tries to talk to him, he coldly sends her away. He’s repairing a boat to go after Hannibal. When Jack comes to him to ask about his motivations, Will is very open — he doesn’t care about hiding any more.
Jack: Do you remember when you decided to call Hannibal?
Will: I wasn't decided when I called him. I just called him. I deliberated while the phone rang. I decided when I heard his voice.
Jack: You told him we knew.
Will: I told him to leave. Because I wanted him to run.
Jack: Why?
Will: Because he was my friend. And because I wanted to run away with him.
In Italy, Will is full of regret over his actions. He blames himself for what happened, admonishes himself for lying to Hannibal. E2 shows his state of mind perfectly – Hannibal is his everything and he admits he wants to be with him. He doesn’t care about justice at all.
Will: I do feel closer to Hannibal here. God only knows where I would be without him … He left [me] his broken heart. He misses [me]. [I] still want to go to him? Yes.
He admires the corpse twisted into a heart, touching it and then lying at the place where it was located. He intimidates Pazzi who tries to talk sense into him and indicates that he’s not here to catch Hannibal.
Will: You couldn't catch him when he was just a kid, what makes you think you're going to catch him now?
Pazzi: You.
A small, polite scoff from Will, unable to take his eyes off the small stairwell to the catacombs.
Will: What makes you think I want to catch him?
Later:
Will: You shouldn't be down here alone.
Pazzi: I’m not alone. I'm with you.
Will: You don’t know whose side I’m on.
Pazzi stares at Will, cautious.
Pazzi: What are you going to do when you find him? Your Il Mostro?
Will: I'm curious about that myself.
Pazzi: You're already dead, aren't you?
Other people realize how dark Will is, too.
Then we move toward Will’s trip to Lithuania in E3. His reverent attitude to Hannibal begins to change once he meets Chiyoh, but he admits the following:
Will: I’ve never known myself as well as I know myself when I’m with him.
Will learns that Chiyoh has been staying here for all these years because she doesn’t want to kill another person. He notes that they can’t be sure whether her prisoner really killed Mischa because Hannibal is the only person who knows the truth. Despite all this, Will sets Chiyoh up to kill or be killed, releasing her prisoner secretly. Chiyoh rightfully accuses him of it:
Chiyoh: You said Hannibal was curious if I would kill. You were curious, too.
He was, if he is honest with himself.
What Will did was cruel and violent. Hannibal just left Chiyoh be, he openly and boldly risked her life, not caring about her safety or about whether her tortured prisoner deserves this. Will stays behind to make the body into art in Hannibal’s style, in accordance with his own design from when he killed Randall. This Will is dark and confident, and very in touch with his dark side. He dreams of killing Chiyoh and keeps asking her whether she saw what a monster she was, unable to accept the idea that only he has real darkness while Chiyoh doesn’t and that murder didn’t make her feel good. He repeats to Jack that a part of him will always want to be with Hannibal. Sadly, he then sees Bedelia as his replacement, grows even bitterer, and tries to attack Hannibal with the knife.
In E7, Will bites into Cordell’s cheek and tears a piece of meat out of it. Then he looks at Hannibal to see his reaction, waiting for his pride. He shows zero reaction to the news that Jack is alive — he doesn’t care about it. He rebukes Alana and shows that he still sees himself and Hannibal as a team, referring to them as “we”.
Will: You helped Mason Verger find us.
Alana: I helped Mason find Hannibal. We followed Bâtard-Montrachet when we should have just followed you.
Will: Almost as ugly as what Mason wants to do to us is the fact that he can do it with the tacit agreement of people sworn to uphold the law.
Alana: I was trying to get to Hannibal before you. I knew you couldn't stop yourself. So I had to try.
Will: By facilitating torture and death.
Alana: I can abide the thought of Hannibal tortured, not necessarily to death. I'd say he has it coming, wouldn't you? Or maybe you wouldn't.
Alana can no longer deny Will’s twisted morals. Will tries to push Alana to a darker side, manipulating her into releasing Hannibal, by telling her almost exactly what he and Hannibal were discussing in S2.
Will: Then you have to evolve, Alana. You have to spill blood. By your own hand or someone else's.
After the escape, Hannibal says the words that define Will perfectly:
Hannibal: You delight in wickedness and then berate yourself for the delight.
This is exactly what Will does — he acts on his darkness again and again, but then he gets scared and makes two steps back. He’s not ready to fully let go of the idea of a normal life yet.
Will sends Hannibal away. When Jack arrives, Will doesn’t even bother to pretend he tried to arrest him — he just says that Hannibal is gone. Jack clearly has zero trust in him at this point since he sends people to break into Will’s house without asking his permission. Will has completely discredited himself, proving himself as someone dark and twisted.
But Hannibal gives himself up and 3 years pass. After the epic Europe failure and his new insecurities, Will tries to retreat again. He decides to try being normal one more time, despite his previous failures at suppressing his darkness and his feelings for Hannibal. So he marries Molly, and it goes as well as expected. Their relationship is shown as weak from the start. The first time we see them, they are apart: Molly and Walter have gone fishing, which is what Will loves and dreamed of sharing with Abigail, yet he stays behind. He didn't let go of the past. He subtly manipulates Jack into talking Molly into urging him to come join the investigation — he deliberately leaves them alone under a weak excuse, knowing very well what Jack is about to do. Will is bored with his normal life and he misses Hannibal, even if he isn’t ready to fully admit it yet.
His treatment of Molly deserves a separate mention: this is the woman he lies to through his teeth, the woman whose “I love you” he doesn’t bother to return and who he doesn’t want to interact with the second she raises the topic he finds personally uncomfortable, someone he leaves her at the first opportunity. He never told her the truth about himself. The way Molly tries to joke about him having a criminal mind proves that she knows nothing of Will's dark struggles, and the way Will immediately shuts down demonstrates their incompatibility and his unwillingness to be honest and open with her.
On the very first day, Will demands to see Hannibal, lying about having to restore his mindset. We know it’s a lie because we’ve just seen him reconstruct Francis’ murder perfectly. He just wanted to see him because he missed him, and both Hannibal and later Bedelia call him out on it.
E9:
Hannibal: You just came here to look at me. Came to get the old scent again. Why don't you just smell yourself?
E10:
Bedelia: Have you been to see him?
Will: Yes.
Bedelia: Haven't learned anything, have you? Or did you just miss him that much?
This is what Hannibal says about Will’s marriage — and another reference to his darkness:
Hannibal: How did you choose yours? Readymade wife and child to serve your needs. A stepson or daughter – (off his look) – a stepson absolves you of any biological blame. You know better than to breed. Can’t pass on those terrible traits you fear the most.
This is very accurate and Will doesn’t bother to deny it. He’s more concerned about stalking Bedelia and asking her about her relationship with Hannibal than anything else. He makes zero efforts to preserve his family, which shows how irrelevant they are to him. This makes him a very cold and cruel person. Also, the way he acts with Bedelia is very different from how he acts with others. With her, he can be himself. He’s dark, relatively confident, and dangerous — which is likely why he keeps coming back to her. With others, he still puts on a rather meek mask.
There is quite a solid idea that a part of Will knew Hannibal might target Molly and Walter and send Francis after them (it’s up to interpretation, though). Hannibal gives Will very clear hints.
Will: Tell me who [the killer] is.
Hannibal: I don’t know who he is. When you close your eyes, Will... is that your family you see?
[Will scoffs at this.]
Will: Do you know who they are?
Hannibal: Yes. 
Will: And you're willing to let them die.
Hannibal: They're not my family, Will. And I'm not letting them die. You are.
These are huge hints, and since Will is supposed to be an excellent profiler — more than that, a profiler who understands Hannibal intimately, it’s strange that he didn’t even suspect anything. Maybe a part of him subconsciously wanted proof that Hannibal is in love with him — since he goes to Bedelia with his question right after the attack. Maybe he wanted reassurance that the passion is still there. Maybe he even wanted an excuse to abandon Molly and Walter (and he does it very easily an episode later).
Ultimately, Will seems genuinely infuriated by the attack, but it’s possible that “the enemy inside him” secretly hoped for such outcome. He spends about a minute being truly angry at Hannibal — then he becomes concerned that he’s competing with Francis for Hannibal’s attention, which underlines the irrelevance of his family to him once more. When talking to Walter, Will doesn’t try to hug him or actually comfort him. They are like strangers, and Will shows resentment about having to explain some facts about himself to Walter later.
Will: He read about me in a Freddie Lounds article. I had to justify myself to an eleven year old.
Not “to my son”, but an indifferent and impersonal “11 year old”. Another reminder that Will is a cold person.
This attack made Will realize Hannibal is in love with him, and it finally started the process of his Becoming. Will is shown as full of resentment toward Jack and Alana. He callously sets up Chilton, an innocent person, for torture and death in E12. He explicitly says that he did it deliberately and doesn’t regret it.
Will: Damn if I'll feel … The divine punishment of the sinner mirrors the sin being punished. Chilton languished unrecognized until Hannibal the Cannibal. He wanted the world to know his face.
Bedelia: Now he doesn't have one.
At first, Will makes a half-hearted attempt at denial.
Will: I put my hand on his shoulder for authenticity.
Bedelia: To establish he really told you those insults about the Dragon? Or had you wanted to put Dr. Chilton at risk? Just a little?
Will: I wonder.
Bedelia: Do you really have to wonder?
Will: No.
Bedelia: You were curious what would happen, that's apparent. Is this what you expected?
Will sounds very ironic.
Will: I can't say I'm surprised.
Bedelia: Then you may as well have struck the match. That's participation. Hannibal Lecter does indeed have agency in the world. He has you.
Considering the timing, Chilton looks like Will’s courtship gift to Hannibal. This is the second time Will harms an innocent person, which makes him far darker than a righteous killer should be. And why? Just because. His darkness is really evolving.
When Will visits Chilton with Jack, he openly lies to him (Jack) and tells him Hannibal is responsible for what happened.
In E13, Will stages another deadly game. He plots with Francis to break Hannibal free — the immediacy of his plan makes it look like Will has already been thinking about it before. He lies to Jack and Alana. He hides the fact that Francis is alive from them, and when they discover it by themselves, he offers a plan: to use Hannibal as a bait and stage his escape. Jack begins to plan everything. If Will had actually followed this plan, it would have gotten Hannibal and Francis killed. But Will doesn’t care about justice — he wants Hannibal free and he doesn’t give a damn about the consequences. He shares his true intentions with Bedelia and threatens her.
Will: I don't intend Hannibal to be caught a second time.
Bedelia studies Will. Sensing where he might be going. Hoping she is wrong. A flicker of alarm plays in her eyes.
Bedelia: Can't live with him. Can't live without him. Is that what this is?
Will: I guess… this is my Becoming . I'd pack my bags if I were you, Bedelia. Meat's back on the menu … Ready or not… here he comes.
This is a crucial moment because while in S2, Will called Randall’s murder his design, now he’s finally Becoming. It’s the climax of everything. He leaks info about Hannibal’s transfer to Francis (who, if you recall, has attacked Will’s wife and her son). He gets many officers murdered by proxy; he sets up Jack and destroys him professionally again; he endangers Alana and her family as well as Molly and Walter. Without showing even an ounce of regret toward the dead officers, Will climbs out of the car. We don’t get to see it, but this is what he does according to the script:
Will takes the gun off the dead cop.
Still with no care, he watches how Hannibal throws another body out of the car and offers Will to take a seat. Will looks long-suffering and fond, even though he has just gotten about 5 people killed. He goes with Hannibal.
In the cliff house, he admits he’s not sure if he can “save” himself by killing Hannibal.
Will: I don't know if I can save myself. And maybe that's just fine. 
He intends to try, though, but when Francis attacks, Will naturally chooses Hannibal because he can’t see him killed. He reaches for his gun and the fight begins. Seeing Francis strangling Hannibal, Will pulls out the knife from his body and rushes to protect him. He and Hannibal kill Francis together, and Will plunges the knife into him with obvious relish. Then he admires the way the blood looks on his hand.
Will: It really does look black in the moonlight.
This is proof of how Will remembers everything Hannibal has ever said to him. He reaches out to embrace Hannibal, finally allowing himself this weakness, finally accepting that this is who he is and that there is no way back.
Hannibal: See? This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us.
Will: It’s beautiful.
These words have a tremendous worth. Hannibal’s dream for them, the one he has been hoping for since early S1, has just become realized, and Will found it beautiful. The script confirms it additionally:
A moment as Will considers the brutal pack hunting he shared with Hannibal Lecter. He genuinely feels it is beautiful.
Upon this realization, Will gives the fate the last chance to stop himself and Hannibal, knowing that if they live, they’ll unleash their mutual darkness on the world. He pushes them off the cliff that has been confirmed to have no rocks by Hannibal, giving them a chance to survive. And they do — and they stay together and hunt. Will threatened Bedelia with being eaten and he kept his promise. The deleted epilogue to the series shows him and Hannibal in perfect harmony with each other.
Note that this is far from the only moments and details of Will’s long Becoming. There are many more, but if I addressed them, this meta would be even longer. However, here’s a quick analysis of Will’s softer sides — because they also aren’t as simple as it might seem at first. Will seems to sympathize only with people he can relate to personally, who remind him of himself in some way, and most often, they are murderers. He’s bitter about not being able to save killer-children in E4 because like them, he struggles with understanding what family means; he feels close to Georgia because he also thinks he’s losing his mind and no one can understand him; he’s gentle with Peter because he sees him as his fragile mirror; he’s soft with Reba because like Bryan said, they are both people in love with serial killers. With everyone else, Will is indifferent or cold. These traits were less visible in S1, but after he started to Become, they began to come to the surface. His softer sides still have a degree of selfishness to them.
So, Will has always had darkness in him. He has always been a rather cold person despite his genuine struggles, confusion, and the desire to be normal. Hannibal changed his life, helping him embrace himself and find unconditional love and acceptance. Will’s journey was very long, it had many setbacks, but in the end, he made it. They both did, and now they are free to enjoy their new life together.
Tagging some old fans who might be interested! @typicalher @hannibalized @bloodsmile @victorineb @he-s-dead-jim
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Text
Madness Part 1
Bellatrix Black x Female reader
You enter the Slytherin Common Room for one of their famous parties. The lights are dim, there are strobe lights in the corners of the room, and loud rock music pounds from somewhere within the room.
You smile to yourself as you slide into the anonymousity of the crowd. You could be anyone in this crowd and no one would know otherwise. You let loose and dance any way you please. The crowd shifts easily around you and offers no judgment. You move as you dance and end up dancing with several groups and sometimes lone strangers.
Then you experience something you have never experienced before- a hand on your ass. You jump in surprise at the new experience, but smile thinking it was your girlfriend. You turn and your smile plummets as you're sorely disappointed. Behind you is a sickeningly drunk guy getting handsy.
"Excuse me," you bite out.
He smiles a crooked smile and the stench of alcohol rolls off of him. You recoil, but catch sight of something out of the corner of your eye. While looking beyond his shoulder, your eyes widen. Standing behind this ignorant asshole is a very pissed off Bellatrix Black.
She grabs the wrist of the offending hand that for some reason was still resting on your ass cheek. She lifts it as she forces her sharp fingernails into the soft skin of his wrist. The guy's mouth makes a perfect O as she smiles at him. The smile has no trace of kindness or mercy.
"Is that your hand on my girlfriend? Oh, I wish you'd do it again. I'll watch you leave here in pain," she hisses.
She drops his hand, but her eyes stay locked onto him. He cradles the injured hand to his chest while rubbing soothing circles with his free hand.
"Okay, okay, you crazy bitch..... Madness....." he mumbles drunkenly.
You don't catch most of it, but Bellatrix must catch the gist. She grins wickedly at him.
"I created the sound of madness."
He stumbles away and becomes another person's problem. You reach over and wrap your arms around her waist.
"Thanks Trixie," you breathe into her curls.
"Anytime princess," she replies as she presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.
You stand in the middle of the dance floor and just hold your lover close to your body.
"Do you want to go up to the Astronomy Tower to read and cuddle?" she asks with hope evident in her voice.
You smile into her shoulder as your hips sway to the beat.
"As long as you're there, it's a perfect plan."
You lean up and connect your lips to her smiling ones.
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nastybuckybarnes · 3 years
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Monsters  -  Ten
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Pairing: Dark!Bucky X Reader
Summary: Bucky Barnes is a man who just wants to do better. But he can’t stop the monster from coming out every now and then. As a last and hopeless attempt at calming The Winter Soldier, SHIELD finds him something they figured would help. An innocent young woman with not a lot going for her. Or, The Winter Soldiers newest victim.
Warnings: Language, Violence, Injuries, Murder
Word Count: 2.8K
A/n: Here we go. The last part! Enjoy this. What a fucking ride. I will 100% answer any questions and write little blurbs if you guys want!!
THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!!
SORRY IF SOME TAGS ARE FORGOTTEN!!!!
Series Masterlist
~*~
“(Y/n)? Honey? You in here?” Bucky hesitantly pushes open the front door, senses on high alert in case you make a hostile move.
“James?”
He walks slowly into the living room, smiling softly when he sees you.
“Hey,” he whispers. You eye him warily and he sighs.
“I’m sorry,” he begins gently, sitting down next to you, “I know what I did was wrong, and I know it looks like I chose her over you, but I’m here for you now. And I’m gonna be here for you as long as you’ll have me.”
You stare at him for a moment longer before grinning.
“You need me,” you state. He looks at you, waiting for you to continue. “That’s why you came back,” you elaborate, “because you need me. Because you know that Natasha won’t be able to handle you the way I can.”
He swallows hard, thinking back to the way Nat was appalled by the video.
“You’re right.”
You giggle, shaking your head at him. “I know. I know I’m right. I’m the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to you! You’d be lost without me and you’re now realizing it, aren’t you?” His guard is up in an instant, your outburst making him uneasy.
You get up off the couch to stand in front of him, hands on your hips.
“You hurt my feelings, James.” He nods, reaching for your hands slowly. You allow him to take them and watch as he presses gentle kisses to your knuckles.
“I know. And I’m sorry. And you’re right again. I do need you. More than I’ve ever needed anybody and that scares me.” You ponder this for a moment, thinking about all the pictures he received.
“How long were you with her?” He sighs heavily and closes his eyes tightly.
“A month. Maybe longer. At first, she was just something for the soldier when you weren’t there but... I’m not sure why I kept going back. I care about you, I really do.” You hum, pushing his hands away and straddling his waist.
You lean down, lips brushing over his just gently before you smile again.
“I fucked Steve last night. Several times.” A growl rumbles deep in his chest and you pull away for a moment, grinning wickedly as you see his eyes glaze over slightly. His hands grip your hips tightly and he takes a deep breath.
“Your best friend fucked me. For hours. Because you were too busy picking that stupid fucking bitch over me. That’s a lesson for you. I can get whoever I want, whenever I want. You need me, not the other way around. Remember that.” You push yourself off of his lap and walk to the staircase.
“In time you can have me again. But not now. If the soldier needs me, he can have me, but not you, James. Not yet.” He sits panting on the couch, eyes trained on your backside as you leave him confused and aroused.
You close the door to your bedroom and plop yourself down on your bed, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of your mind, the one that’s begging you to leave him. He hurt you, but he’s back. He must care about you or else he wouldn’t have come back, right?
As you’re pondering this, the window slides open with a soft thud. You turn to the sound, anger coursing through your veins as you see the redhead climbing into your room.
“What are you doing here?” You demand, uncurling your legs and climbing off the bed. She closes the window silently and holds her hands up in surrender.
“I just want to talk. Please.” You eye her warily but stay seated at the edge of the bed.
“He came home to me. He chose me. So if you’re gonna try and convince me that he wants you, think again,” you snark, hoping to hurt her feelings before physically hurting her again.
She shakes her head, sitting down slowly on the floor a few feet in front of you, giving you the upper hand if you wanted to get physical.
“He doesn’t deserve you.” You furrow your brows in absolute confusion at her statement. You were expecting a lot of things; yelling, screaming, insults, violence. But this is the absolute opposite of what you had prepared yourself for.
“You don’t even know me,” you scoff, shaking your head at her.
She raises her eyebrows at that. “I know about your parents. Your dad, the paranoid schizophrenic who abused you because he thought he was doing what God wanted. And your mom, the Narcissist who neglected you.”
Your hands start trembling as she brings up people who you’ve fought to forget. The people who made you the way you are.
“You don’t know anything about them. Or me. You’re just-” “Just what? Telling you the truth? Reminding you of the fact that you were raised by them, yet you turned out to be a beautiful, smart, independent young woman?” You look at her, uncertain of where she’s going with this but still angry at the fact that she knows about your past.
“You may have been raised by them, you may have had a difficult childhood, and you may be dealing with something that very few other people can understand, but that doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re not a bad person. You’re hurting, and you’re scared, and I know deep down that you know this isn’t a healthy relationship. But it can stop. We can stop this.”
You look down at your hands, her words bouncing around in your brain. The rational part of you, the part that you spent years trying to bring to the surface, tells you to hear her out, to listen to what she has to say. The other part, the part that has been clawing at its cage for years, tells you to punch her in the throat for even speaking to you.
“I love him,” you say. The words sound forced, even to you. She shakes her head and crawls forward, taking your hands in hers and looking up at you with honest eyes.
“You’re lonely, and he fills that void.” You shake your head, sniffling then glaring at her and wrenching your hands out of her grasp.
“You’re just trying to get me to leave him so that you can have him all to yourself!” Natasha falls back a bit, shaking her head at you and trying to get you to understand.
“No, (Y/n). After what you showed me... I know I’m not strong enough to handle him... I could never endure what you have.” You glare at her, calming down slightly at her admission and at the fact that she realizes that you’re stronger than she is. Mentally, at least.
“So what do you want, then?” You ask.
“I want you to leave him. I want you to pack your things and leave. You deserve so much better than him. I’ll help you go off the grid, start a new life. You’ve done it once, you can do it again.”
You shake your head at her, taking a deep breath. “I can’t. It’s too hard. I don’t want to try anymore. At least now I don’t have to hide anything. I can just... exist.” She crawls forward and rests a hand on your knee.
“You deserve to do more than just exist. You deserve to live, to have a life. And not be afraid of the people around you.” You let out a shuddering breath and nod.
“Fine. What is it exactly that you’re offering? You say you want to help me. Why? Why do you want to help me so badly? And how do I know you’re not just doing this so you can have him?”
She scoffs, the very idea of having him making her feel uneasy. “After seeing the way he treated you, I don’t want him.”
“How do I know you’re not lying.”
“You don’t. But I wouldn’t be here, begging you to leave him and offering to help you escape if I was lying.” She takes your silence as an acceptance of her words and nods.
“I’ve got a safe house set up. No one knows about it. I can take you there tomorrow morning and-” She stops speaking abruptly, rising to her feet and hurrying to the window. She looks outside then curses.
Three black SUVs pull up in front of the house, Fury stepping out of the one in front while two tactile teams get out of the other ones.
“They know I’m here. They must have followed me.”
She turns back to you, her face unreadable.
“We need to leave, now. If they know I’m here then they know I’m talking to you, trying to convince you to leave. I don’t know what Fury has planned but I know it won’t end well for you. Especially not after you stabbing James.”
You rise to your feet quickly, turning to the door as you hear footsteps clomp up the stairs.
“Out the window, c’mon.” You follow her to the window and right as she’s opening it, the bedroom door bursts open.
“Agent Romanoff.” Natasha freezes, turning around and staring at Fury.
“Fury,” she says, voice lacking emotion.
“I think you know what needs to happen here,” he says. Steve and Bucky come up on either side of him, Steve with his arms crossed over his chest and Bucky with a blank look on his face.
“I’m not going to let you get away with this. We’re supposed to be better than HYDRA. Kidnapping an innocent woman and conditioning her to become a fucking sex slave? No! That’s not us!”
“Soldier.” Fury nods to the two of you and Bucky walks over, prying you away from Nat.
“No! Let her go!”
You’re roughly tossed to the ground in the middle of the room and the Soldier grabs Natasha’s flailing figure, stopping her from moving.
“Captain.” Steve grabs you by the arms and hoists you to your feet.
The situation feels like a setup and you glare at the four of them.
“This is your fault!” You snarl, glaring at Natasha. She shakes her head desperately.
“No, (Y/n)! I didn’t know they’d come, I swear!” You shake your head.
“You’re weak people. You’re weak fucking people! You act like you’re all high and mighty but you’re fucking cowards who can’t deal with the problems you’ve created!”
“Oh, we can deal with them. You’re a prime example of that.” You stop squirming to stare at him, eyes widening as he pulls a gun from his pocket.
“You’re a fucking coward! You’re a pathetic excuse of a man and you’re going to rot in hell for everything you’ve done! For the lives you’ve taken! You’re going to die a slow and painful death and you’ll suffer!”
You stomp on the captain’s foot and he jolts back a step, allowing you to slide out of his grasp and onto the floor.
The click of the gun has everyone freezing and you stare up at the man holding the gun to your head.
“Nick, don’t! You’ve got no reason to kill her! Let her go! We can start her up with a new life! A new home. No one will know! Just please, she’s done nothing wrong,” Nat pleads, wriggling in the Soldier’s hold. His eyes are hollow, nothing like the steely grey you’ve come to know.
“She stabbed one of my best men and kidnapped my best woman. Why shouldn’t I?”
Your heart pounds against your ribs, each beat shaking your skull. Your fingertips tremble and your palms are clammy as you stare at the one eye of the man who means to kill you.
“Because then we’re the monsters she thinks we are. She’s scared. She’s terrified of us. But we can show her we aren’t the bad guys. Please.”
Your chest heaves and you can feel tears prickling your eyes but you don’t let them fall. If this is your last moment, you won’t let it be one of weakness.
“We have a chance to prove that we’re the good guys. Don’t pass it up,” Natasha whispers.
Fury eyes you for a moment longer, then glances over to the redhead.
She’s pleading with her eyes. He doesn’t look away from her as he addresses you.
“Miss (Y/l/n), we thank you for all you’ve done for us and your sacrifice, but the position is being terminated. We are no longer in need of your services.”
Nat’s opening her mouth to protest but a gunshot rings out loud and clear, silencing her before she could say a word.
Your body collapses on the carpet, red spilling from the hole in your head.
Natasha’s scream of anguish makes Steve visibly flinch, and the fight returns to her body.
“You fucking monster!” She shrieks, tears blurring her vision as she struggles to escape the hold of the monster holding her.
“All of you! You’re all fucking monsters! She was good! She could’ve restarted her life! You’re all disgusting fucking people! How could you?!”
She sobs loudly, eyes on your lifeless body.
“Agent Romanoff, it seems you’ve lost your edge. I think it’s time we re-teach you some things from your past.”
Fury nods to the doorway and the Soldier carries the fighting redhead out of the bedroom, stepping over your lifeless body as if it means nothing.
Steve clenches his jaw, nodding at Fury despite the little voice in his head telling him ‘this is wrong’. That voice gets silenced quickly when Steve remembers what you did and what your purpose was.
The four people leave the house, the Soldier shoving Nat into the backseat of an SUV while Fury gets into the passenger’s seat, a little red book in his lap.
He’ll make this right. So right that no one will remember a thing.
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dykesprentiss · 4 years
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ok so. i know a lot of this has probably been said before, but i wanted to put my two cents in. very rambly and disorganized because i am just like that.
i think everyone in this fandom needs to examine the way they interract with male vs female characters. why is it easier for you to focus on and create content for male characters that have appeared in 2 episodes maximum, then it is for the women that are in the main cast? why do you gravitate towards ships between two male characters who have never met (specifically jonah and like. his harem of old british men. usually based on one single line of dialogue) then the actual, canon wlw relationships?
like dont get me wrong, when lonely eyes first started cropping up it was funny! i enjoyed it, i enjoyed the multiple divorce jokes, because it was a small fandom in joke that made fun of some old bastards. and now its the second most popular ship in the fandom. now its so popular, people think its canon before they start listening. why are you unable to muster that same kind of enthusiasm for any of the female characters? gertrude and mary have very similar appeal to lonely eyes, and yet its a fringe ship that nobody ever talks about. gertrude and agnes have very significant moments and mentions in the podcast, and yet the only people i see talking about them are wlw.
or we could talk about michael and helen! helen who, as of this moment, has become a key player in the storyline. helen who yeeted michael out of existence, who took over the power of the distortion by her own choice, and with her own strength. and so often i see her relegated to "vodka aunt that coos over jonmartin" is that a bad take on her? of course not! but having her only purpose be to comment on the male characters rubs me the wrong way.
lets talk about elias and mary. elias gets praise, and love, and devotion, regardless of the horrible things he does. the entire fandom has the reputation of eliasfuckers now because everyone goes so crazy for him. mary is just as evil, has just as sexy a voice (i assume lol cause tbh? eel eyes does not do it for me and never will), and people just. hate her. full stop. why is that?
it seems like manuela has been. completely forgotten. i Never see anyone talk about her. she has just as much appeal as the male avatars, so why are you so uninterested in her? sasha and tim have the same amount of importance, and both have died, but there is So much more focus on tim. why.
daisy/basira and melanie/georgie are incredibly well developed relationships, their stories are as beautiful and tragic and intimate as jonmartin, but the f/f and m/m fic ratio on ao3 is abysmal. because it seems to me that the only people writing about them are wlw.
which happens.....a lot. het relationships and gay relationships are for everyone, but lesbian ships? thats just for gay women. everyone goes head over heels for mlm movies, regardless of sexuality, but wlw movies never receive the same kind of treatment. why.
this isn't even touching on the. blatant and disgusting fetishising of mlm. elias is evil because hes gay and skanky. tim is bi so he must sleep around. tim and martin are both mlm in the same vicinity of each other so they must have had a friends with benefits relationship. jon/elias and peter/martin have significant age differences and power disparities, so they must have an incredibly fucked up sexual relationship. jon is ace, but yall just fully ignore that so you can write horny fic of him. (and im going to be completely honest, if you get legitimate joy from writing manipulative r*pe fic involving these characters, Especially involving an ace character, ( edit: i apologize for my wording here, i didnt intend to compare trauma between ace and non ace ppl. my point is that jon seems to be the main target in these fics, and that they seem to be a direct response to his asexuality. fic like this is bad regardless of who is targetted). than that is a big problem. you arent "exploring dark topics in a meaningful way" youre writing fucked up porn for your own sick enjoyment. get angry at me all u want lmao but i stand by that)
i could go on about this forever, but what im really asking is for people to look inward and ask yourselves why you are so against connecting and interracting with female characters? no one is saying you cant like the men, but if theyre the only ones you care about? thats a problem. there are more women in tma then there are men, but they still feel like the minority because of the way the fandom acts. this isnt just a tma problem either! you can put as many rounded out female characters as you want into your content, and every time without fail they will be pushed to the side in favor of the men.
and dont come at me with "oh if you want content of the women you should make it" like we fucking are. the issue is that wlw are the only ones doing it. just take a second and think. are you ignoring the female characters in favor of the men? why? why is that your first instinct? why do you not feel the need to go against that instinct?
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