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wyofabdoms · 3 years

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Undercover I Do - Chapter 7

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: Mature (Eventual smut)

Warnings: Memories of attempted sexual assault, fake/pretend relationship, married and undercover trope, temporary amnesia, injury, swearing, soft Javi, feelings, I have no idea how amnesia really works, brief mention of masturbation, Javi reads poetry...did you know that?!?!?...me neither!

Word Count: 4407 (again....Whoopsie!)

Notes: A trip to the office in an attempt to jog your memories ends up revealing more about Javier Peña then you expected. Plus, a trip to the farmer's market knocks some things loose and a thunderstorm brings you and Javi closer.

Read on Ao3

It had been a week since you’d come home from the hospital.

During that week, there had been so little success in regaining your memories save for those brief hopeful moments with Javi the previous weekend. Javi had done as much work from home as he could this past week; when he did have to go in to the office, he usually returned with stacks or boxes of paperwork, spreading out on the coffee table or in the kitchen like now, grumping that he didn’t want to leave you on your own for too long if he could help it. The time in the alone stretched on endlessly and you always felt a jolt of happiness when you heard the key in the lock and your husband strode in on a cloud of cigarette smoke, faded aftershave and cologne with (more often than not) a frustrated scowl decorating his handsome face. You always took note of how that scowl slipped from his face when he greeted you, though, and that moment always made you smile.

The previous day you’d joined Javi at work for a short while. You had discussed at dinner the night before that maybe more familiar surroundings would jar something loose...after all, Javi had said, the two of you usually spent more time at the office than you ever really did in your apartment. You eagerly agreed. If nothing else you were excited for a change of scenery.

It had been more awkward than anything, really and you were disappointed that nothing short-term had seemed to come back to you. Feistl and Van Ness had both greeted you warmly, inquiring as to whether you’d gotten the flowers they’d sent. Both younger men had kindly remarked that you looked like you were doing well and then proceeded to lapse into an uncomfortable silence, glancing from one another and then Javi before quickly scurrying off to complete some menial task. Dixon had found you as well, and had seemed a bit on edge when she had made small talk with you. You simply chalked it up to stress, but you had seen her pull Javi a short distance away and speak furtively to him, clearly irritated with something he had said or done. Javi’s brows had lowered over his dark eyes when the older woman had moved away and he had ushered you into his office, telling you he needed to pop into a quick meeting...shouldn’t take more than fifteen, twenty minutes and did you want to wait here or should he get a car to take you home?

You’d been happy to settle yourself onto the worn leather couch, but as the time ticked by you grew antsy and started pacing around your husband’s office, tracing the pens on the desk, sitting in his chair and twirling in it absentmindedly, aimlessly gazing at the maps and photographs on the walls and bulletin boards. As you wandered, the corner of your jacket caught on something on the edge of the desk, pulling it off and sending a stack of papers fluttering to the floor. You cursed, then bent to re-stack the papers, hoping they had not been in any kind of order. You saw a thin, navy blue book also on the floor and reached to pick it up.

Rumi: The Book of Love: Poems of Ecstasy and Longing

You were struck for a moment: what was Javi doing with a book of love poems at work? You sat down in his desk chair again. Flipping open the small book you noticed a name written neatly in a woman’s handwriting on the inside cover: Sofia Flores

A small piece of paper, worn with time was tucked between the cover and the title page. You carefully open it and read a small message in the same writing as the name:

Even though this marriage didn’t work out, my sweet Javi, remember: I will always love you. Xoxo

Your stomach clenched. “This marriage” hadn’t worked out? You felt like your mouth was suddenly sandpaper and you started to close the book and place it back on the desk when another loose paper fluttered out from the middle pages...one of many pieces of paper stuck there you realized as you flipped to the middle of the book of poetry, finding two with corners dogeared. Two poems on opposite pages bracketed a small collection of what appeared to be newspaper clippings. The first poem read:

“Lovers find secret places inside this violent world where they make transactions with beauty.”

And:

“I want to see you. Know your voice. Recognize you when you first come ’round the corner. Sense your scent when I come into a room you’ve just left. Know the lift of your heel, the glide of your foot. Become familiar with the way you purse your lips then let them part, just the slightest bit, when I lean in to your space and kiss you. I want to know the joy of how you whisper “more”

Your breath caught at the simplicity and beauty of the poems, and it made your heart ache that your husband even possessed a book of poetry, much less one filled with such lovely words. You started to look through the clippings flattened between these two poems and were surprised when you noticed they all seemed to be about you.

There were five total: one from what appeared to be an interoffice newsletter highlighting your work as a successful agent in a mostly male dominated field. The short article included a photograph of you taken several years ago when you had graduated from Quantico. The other four were in Spanish and had clearly come from local Bogota papers. Each had grainy black and white photos of you (and two with Javi along with some other DEA agents) at different locations around the city taken during the last two years as you had worked to help unravel the mess that was Columbian drug trafficking. In one, you and Javi and Feistl stood together surveying a map spread on the hood of a Jeep, most likely either pre- or post- op. In another, you were escorting a minor drug crony from a building, his hands behind his back, your hand firmly on his shoulder and your torso covered in a sturdy tac vest. The others were similar and at the bottom of the small pile of clippings, you found a polaroid photo.

It was another picture of you, but in this one you were sitting amongst a small group of co-workers. Despite the others in the picture, you were framed at the center, clearly the focus of the photographer. You remembered this night from over a year ago: It was Van Ness’’s birthday and you and several other colleagues had pitched in to buy him a Polaroid camera like the one that would have taken this picture. It had been a good night out, a fun dinner with margaritas and beer flowing. As everyone got more silly and giggly and loose, the camera had been passed around and each person had taken a turn snapping a photo. You vaguely remembered glancing across the table just as the snap from this photo being taken had reached your ears and noticed Peña lowering the camera from his face, removing the picture from the roller as it slid from the device, growling something to the person next to him as he passed the camera. You hadn’t thought anything of it, thinking your partner had just taken a wide shot of you and your colleagues across the table. All of the photos had been collected at the end of the evening and presented to Van Ness, who had spread them all out on the table for everyone to giggle and admire one another’s silly faces and poses.

The realization struck you that your husband must have kept the photo he had taken that night, a photo with you at it’s center. It was worn, smudged along the edges and showing creases and a small tear in one corner. Clearly it was handled regularly.

“Hey.” The gruff rasp of your husband’s voice startled you and you looked up at him guilty. “You ready to get outta here…?” He stopped short when he saw the book in your hand, the clippings on the desk, the photograph in your other hand.

“I’m sorry!” Your first instinct was to apologize; clearly this wasn’t something he wanted people to see. “I didn’t…” You quickly moved from being apologetic to feeling tears well up in your eyes as you remembered: “even though this marriage didn’t work out”...from “Sofia”. You looked up at him. “Javi?” You could only choke out his name by way of question.

Javi’s face transformed to worry when he heard your voice say his name. He moved quickly to crouch next to you in his desk chair.

“Hey, hey...it’s ok. What is it? Whatsa matter?” He put a callused hand along your cheek, searching your eyes for an explanation. You could only look back down at the book in your hands.

“Is our marriage over?” You asked him, tears starting to fall. His brows came together in confusion and he spoke softly.

“What? What do you...what do you mean, sweetheart?” You flipped back to the front cover of the book, smoothing out the note from “Sofia”.

“Who’s Sofia Flores?” You held your breath, waiting for him to look guilty, ashamed, abashed at being found out, but you saw realization flutter across his eyes and his face relaxed; he released a puff of air...almost a small laugh, and he stood, leaning carefully on the desk next to you, wiping a hand across his face.

“No. No, sweetheart...it’s not what you think.” He looked at you for a moment, studying you carefully. “Do you remember...do you remember me telling you about Lorraine?” You nod and the next instant, you feel relief come over you. Lorraine: his former fiancé back in Texas. He had told you about her once, one late night at the office when you had both sipped a little too much whiskey and started swapping stories about miserable past relationships. Lorraine: who had always put him down, made him feel like he was never good enough, a piece of shit, who demeaned the things he had found interesting. You had never met the woman, but you remember feeling that night like you had never hated anyone as much as you hated her for treating Javi so poorly. You also remember thinking to yourself that night how incredibly wrong someone could be about another human being. But then again, you hadn’t been engaged to Javier Peña….yet. Javi sees it click in your face and continues.

“Sofia Flores was my mom. She gave me this,” he gently takes the book from you, “right after I left Lorraine...right before I came here. She taught herself English with this.” He held the book up, pride sparking behind his eyes at the memory of his mother. You nodded, remembering him telling you how she had passed during his first few months in Columbia; it had been sudden and he hadn’t even known she was sick until it was too late. He hadn’t been able to get back in time to say goodbye…You noticed him swallow hard as he saw the articles about you spread on the desk.

“What about…”you gesture to the clippings, the photo in your hand. “What about all of these? Why do you have all this stuff about me stuck in here? Why don’t you keep these at home?” He looked uncomfortable for a moment, like he was caught at something somehow.

“I, uh….I just...I had ‘em tucked away from...before we were…” He stopped himself, seeming to think carefully about what to say next. Then he looked from the articles to you and then away again, almost shy. “I guess...I had a little crush on you when we were partners and...I just never took ‘em out of there after...things changed.” He took the photo from you, looking at it for a moment, then back at you; for a moment he looked like a little boy waiting to be yelled at for breaking a window with his baseball. You smiled up at him and his face relaxed, returning the smile with a small one of his own. He cleared his throat and straightened from the desk, returning the articles and picture back to their spot in the middle of the book and quickly depositing the book into a desk drawer. He held his hand out to you and pulled you to your feet. “Hungry?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, taking a step closer to him and keeping hold of his hand for a moment when he let go. He looked surprised by your closeness, then smiled down at you again, carefully. You stood on your tiptoes and carefully kissed him; a chaste, quick kiss lasting only a moment or two, but you felt a current dance between your connected lips, like sparks from an incorrectly attached jumper cable. His eyes stayed closed for several seconds after you broke the kiss and settled back onto your feet; you smiled at how in awe of the taste of you he seemed to be. Your smile turned into a grin when he opened his eyes and met your gaze, smiling softly back at you. “I’m starving, actually.”

You slid your arm through your husband’s as the two of you left the office and headed for a late lunch.

****

You’re a fuckin’ moron, Peña! Javier had thought to himself instantly when he had walked back into his office and seen her sitting at his desk with the Rumi book in her hand. He’d panicked when he’d heard her say his name and seen the tears in her eyes. He’d quickly realized the confusion and had breathed easy knowing she hadn’t been angry with him.

Once more he felt like a creep when he realized she had found the articles and picture he had kept tucked away inside it. He saw her everyday in clearer situations: her beautiful face on the phone, tongue between her lips, determining if a tip is legitimate; listening through headphones as she giggled trying to seduce an informant; watching beads of sweat drip down her neck and the sound of her heavy pants after she’s finished running down a narco in the dusty streets.

He’s not proud to admit that he has thrown his imagination to any one of these memories on the occasion when he would not seek out a woman to distract him and he had instead unbuttoned his jeans and pumped himself to the thought of his partner. That seemed to have been happening more and more in recent months, but he hadn’t ever used those photos for THAT.

He kept these for the even more frequent occasion when he would close his office door, stare at her face and reread one of those poems for the millionth time, feeling when he did a balloon expand inside his chest with yearning for her...aching to hold her close to him and whisper those lines in her ear; truths about how he felt about her.

Now, he refused to acknowledge how much it made his heart sing as they walked through the outdoor market a few minute’s walk from their apartment. They had returned home and had lunch, no new memories having made an appearance with exposure to their place of work. She had been frustrated by and he had suggested they go for a walk, get out of the apartment some more...it was a beautiful day after all.

Now, they wandered past the tables and stalls of brightly colored pineapples, papayas, bananas, peppers and avocados, stopping occasionally to buy something for dinner or pausing for her to admire a woven bag. She spoke Spanish to the merchants easily, a good sign, he thought, that her long term memories were strong.

He discreetly admired his partner’s profile as she stopped to look at a bright display of flowers, enquiring about price from the kind, toothless, stooped older woman manning the stall. She paid the lovely worker and put her nose to the large white bouquet of petals and Javi felt his heart nearly stop.

She was so beautiful.

...It took him a moment to realize something was wrong, but when he noticed her stiffen and her brow furrow, he was next to her in an instant, his hand on her elbow, quietly saying her name. She looked at him...but didn’t see him for a few moments, her gaze was elsewhere, seeing something else. He knew she was remembering something.

“I remember…”she started, blinking her eyes and looking back down at the flowers in her hands. “Plumeria…” she said quietly. “I remember we were next to...a swimming pool? You and I? It was nighttime.”

Javi knew exactly what she had remembered. He gulped, saying nothing, not wanting to distract her from remembering. She continued following the thread of memory the scent of the flowers had unlocked.

“We were…” Her face flushed suddenly and she glanced up at him, then away again almost immediately. “...together. You...had me up against…” she gulped, the blush in her face turning a deeper scarlet. Javi remembered, too.

They’d made an early exit from Ortiz’s dinner party; she had feigned a headache. They had believed Ortiz’s lab was beneath his pool, the entrance through the pool house in the back of his home. While everyone else had been occupied with the forth course and an unknown number of drinks, the two of them had slipped back around the premises, creeping along the sparkling pool, trying to find some clue to get them into the lab, something they could use to get a warrant.

Javi had heard the noise from the guards making their rounds first, and he had yanked his partner by the elbow, pressing her back up against one of the plumeria trees, shoving one knee between her legs, gripping her ass with one hand and holding her head carefully with the other as he shoved his mouth against hers. She had fallen into the ruse seamlessly, recognizing instantly what he was doing. Her hands gripped fistfuls of his hair, one leg coming up to wrap around his waist, drawing her skirt up and giving his hips more access to the space between her legs.

Even though it was only pretend, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from growing hard...being so close to her sex he had found himself grinding himself into her without thinking, eliciting a small moan from her mouth. He had torn his lips away and begun devouring her neck, making her gasp into the thick, flower scented air and signaling their location to the guards. He had snaked his hand up the front of her dress and pulled down, releasing her breast to the cool night air. She had pulled his head down and thrust her groin along the hard outline of his cock and he had gladly taken the pert nipple into his mouth, relishing in the sensation the soft pebble made between the gentle ministrations of his teeth.

“Perdón por interrumpir, Señor Sanchez,” The two of them had sprung apart, reacting to Javier’s pseudonym, playing up the caught couple. Despite the act, though, Javi had looked at her as she’d straightened her dress, running a hair through her hair and he couldn’t help admire her swollen lips from his kisses and the flush on her cheeks. He had seen something in your eyes, reflecting what he felt himself.

That hadn’t been all fake.

“I...I don’t remember anything other than...us...against the tree.” Her voice snapped him back out of the memory; she was staring at the flowers in her hand sadly, grasping for more of the memory.

He didn’t particularly want her to remember what had happened next.

That night they had been found out. They had been followed back to their “home” and both beaten, separated for a time in different rooms. He had heard her yelling and had heard over and over the sound of crashes and fists and palms meeting flesh amidst the sounds of the same happening to him. He had shouted, too, wanting her to know he was still there, he was still with her, they were still in it together. Later, after the sicarios had given them both a rest, they had been reunited when they were dragged into “their” bedroom and secured to their respective places, whispering to one another, made to wait through the dark hours of the early morning...until Ortiz’s men had returned when the sun had come up.

The rest, he didn’t want to think about.

“Well…” His voice was gruff from the thought of how close he had come to losing her that day. “That’s something. That was...recent...just a few weeks ago.” She looked at him curiously, clearly able to see that he was reacting differently to the memory of them kissing passionately beneath a plumeria tree. She said his name, a question filling the sound. He looked at her and forced a small smile. “That’s good.” He said quietly, reaching for her hand. “C’mon. Let’s go home.”

Javier laid awake in the darkness of the living room, trying not to think about that night again for the millionth time. The blanket was scratchy on his bare chest; he kicked it off of him and lay there, listening to the sound of the pounding rain outside, the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the apartment, thunder crashing and rumbling loudly. He hated that he would always have that memory of her, calling out, yelling in terror and panic.

He sat up….had he dozed off? He thought he had heard her screaming his name again, just like she had from the other room that fateful night.

Then he heard it again.

“JAVI!!”

He was down the hall and next to her on the bed faster than he could take a breath. She was curled in a ball, the covers soaked from sweat and kicked off of her, shaking furiously. In the light from a flash of lightning, he saw that her eyes were closed tightly, her face contorted into a terrified mask. She was having a nightmare...

...and was calling out for him.

He carefully placed his hands on her shoulders, gently nudging her, not wanting to frighten her more upon waking, but wanting desperately to rescue her from the terror of her dream. She screamed as she bolted upright, nearly knocking her head into his. He gripped her shoulders firmly as her arms flailed out around her, fighting against him.

“Heyheyhey...easy, it’s me….its just me. It’s Javi.” She recognized him after a moment, and he continued to murmur that he was there, that she was ok, that he had her, that it had just been a bad dream; she flung herself into his arms. He held her against him, soothing her, whispering to her like she was a child, feeling her body shake. He felt warm, wet drops on his chest and knew she was crying. He gripped his arms around her more tightly, trying with all of his might to will her peace, a feeling of being safe.

They stayed that way for a long time, him stroking her hair, murmuring into her ear, rocking her gently against him. Finally, he felt her take a shaky breath and she whispered against his chest:

“It felt so real. I was tied to a bed and...there was a man...he was trying to…” her voice choked into a sob once more and he felt the tears start to wet his chest again.

“Shhhhh….shhhhhh. It’s ok.” His voice was hoarse from sleep, cigarettes, fear...memories. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.” He buries his face in her hair and breathes her name. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ve got you.”

More time passes. Her breathing settles and her tears dry, but he continues to hold her. He feels the tension in her body release itself, little by little and she takes a deep, shaky breath before pulling back to look at him. The room is still dark and the rain still pours down outside, but the thunder has passed, is getting softer.

“It was just a nightmare.” She whispers, almost to herself.

He can’t bring himself to correct her; that it was a memory. Not tonight, he thinks.

She’s staring into his chest, appearing to think about something carefully. He moves to unwrap himself from her, to settle her back into bed, but she grips his forearms firmly, stopping him from pulling away.

“Stay.” She breathes and he almost doesn’t hear it. He thinks for a moment, telling himself he shouldn’t. It’s not a good idea. But then she lifts her eyes to meet his and in the near darkness he sees them sparkle and she whispers: “Please. Stay with me.”

He doesn’t say anything. He just carefully bores her backwards until she’s lying on her back, her head on her pillow. He hovers above her, gazing down at her like a lover...like a husband might do before kissing his wife and bringing her to ecstasy…

...He shifts himself to lie next to her, behind her and he pulls her back against his chest, feeling her legs move to tangle with his. He reaches down to straighten the sheets and pulls them over top of both of them, then wraps his arms around her. He listens to her breathing get heavier and slow and he’s sure she must be asleep. Just as he thinks about closing his own eyes, she turns and rolls to face him, wrapping her own arms around him, too and burying her face in his neck. He’s sure she can feel his pulse pounding frantically, but she simply sighs softly, her breath skimming across his skin. Her breathing slows and deepens once again. She’s asleep.

Javi sighs, remembering the taste of her lips during that sweet, innocent kiss in his office earlier that day. Closing his own eyes, he buries his face in her hair, drifting off to sleep with the weight of her in his arms.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13

#javier peña x reader #javi #narcos #javier pena x female reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #undercover marriage

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winter-fox-queen · 3 years

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Debts no Honest Man Can Pay

Summary: Things get worse for Alejandro...he starts the search for you, and finds himself faced with the worst kind of choice.

Warnings:

Part 4 on my collaboration with the awesome @hnt-escape Two more after this! Already written. The collage is also by @hnt-escape - I bow to her talent.

Please check out her poem, here: https://hnt-escape.tumblr.com/post/653808925054009344/part-4-he-appears-again-eyes-haunted

He doesn’t know who he is, today, so getting dressed is a pain. But it’s not super warm out, despite the sun, and he might have to go out, once it gets dark, so he pulls a forest green turtle neck sweater over his head.

You don’t wear black, when you are skulking around. Dark red, dark green – colors like these help you fade in the background just as well without being too dark, too obvious.

He sits on the bed, and just waits. He opens the window, hopes the air will let him breathe again. Packs the bag back up, the red suit still smelling of chlorine.

He ends up going to the front desk.

“Hello.” He gives her a warm smile, despite his mood. She’s practically the closest thing he has to a friend right now. “May I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Where’s the closest drug store?”

She gives him a worried look. “We have a few trail size medicines – aspirin, some cold medicine – can I get you something?”

He shakes his head, leaning on the counter. “No, that’s fine. But thanks.” He wants to say something else. Find a conversational thread. Connect.

“How long do you wait for someone until you realize you’ve waited too long?

She blinks at him. It is a question out of left field, and he almost regrets it.

“It depends. Are you the only one waiting?

He looks at her a long moment, nods, and leaves because there is nothing else more to say.

He goes to the drug store. Buys hair dye, scissors, odds and ends to help make you and your daughter look different. Tourist trap tee shirts and hats complete the get away bag.

He waves at the office, when he returns, then goes again up the stairs. He doesn’t know if the attendant can see him, but he feels like they are kindred spirits somehow. Both lost. Both waiting.

Dusk happens, and out the door he goes again, finds the phone booth. Walks the area, looking for a sign, his sweater sleeves pushed up, hands in pockets, no one worth looking at.

What did he hope for? A rose bush filled with pink roses? Someone watching for him from a balcony, ready to cry his name?

He starts his search in a circle. He’s looking for a homeless woman. The voice on the phone had sounded older, impatient. He peers at bundles in doorways, at people asking for money, but the one he needs is sitting like a queen on a bench only a few steps away from the payphone, she holds a cane upright between her feet, both hands on the plain curve of handle.

“Did you answer the payphone yesterday?”

She frowns at him. “I was afraid you’d come.”

“Afraid? No reason.”

“You bring trouble. Men that look like you always do.”

He gave her a flirty look, “No, ma’am, but trouble does follow me. What I bring you is a couple of bucks…all you have to do is look at three pictures I have an answer some questions?”

“Are you a cop?”

He shakes his head.

She jerks her chin at him, and he sits down, pulling three pictures out of his pocket. One is a young Suzanne Vega, one is a printout form a stock photo site, and one is you.

“Do you recognize any of these women? They’d be a little older now.”

“She owns the bar down the block. I know her because she gives me some of the leftovers from the bar once in a while. Haven’t seen her around for awhile, though.”

He gives her some money – enough for a hotel room for a couple of nights, some food.

“That’s a lot for what I gave you.”

He shook his head and got up from the bench. “Just reminding the universe that I’m not a bad man.”

She smirks at him. Like she knows.

“Well,” he amends, “Not completely.”

The bar is called Jo-Jo’s. Not something he would have guessed you would pick, but maybe you just kept the old name?

He goes in, sits down, orders a beer. Lets the place sink into his awareness. The old guy serving at the bar. The young woman with red, spiky hair waitressing. He keeps staring, thinking, that despite the hair color she looks just like the woman you said was her daughter.

“She’s too young for you.” The bartender says.

“I’m trying to decide if she looks like her mother. Rose Lopez?”

“Never heard of her.”

“OK. My mistake.”

The bartender gets prowly, then, pacing back and forth between customers instead of his previous, relaxed back and forth. He starts really paying attention, now. Something is going to happen.

“Just ask her, for me, if the number 502 means anything. Then I’ll go.”

He gets the dead eye stare that some men get, just before things start to go very badly for whomever they are staring at.

“I don’t mean harm. Rose sent for me.”

“I said…”

The waitress plonked her tray on the bar next to him. “You don’t look much like your picture.”

“Bea…” The bartender warned.

“He’s not lying. Mom sent for him. Said if anything bad happens, to go to the man in the Knight’s Inn, room 502.”

“She told me you were in the thrall of some gangster,” Alejandro says.

She turned a serious look at him. “That was a lie.”

“Then?”

“Let’s go out the back. We need to talk.”

He followed her after paying for the beer.

“OK. So. Where is your mother? Is she ok?”

She picked at her black painted fingernails. “I am not sure. She had this great idea…this plan to grab some money. We were going to wait for you to come, but you didn’t, so we tried to do it ourselves…”

“And the plan failed, and you were supposed to come to me, and I’d whisk you away to safety and leave her holding the bag?”

“It hasn’t failed, per se, et.” She said anxiously. “I was working as a teller at the casino, and, once I’d been there a year, I started skimming money. I figured out how to take a little here, a little there…and hide it. I knew how to make the numbers work. I’m really great with numbers.”

“Was working?”

“I got fired for incompetence.” She muttered.

Alejandro wanted to smack his heel against his head. “Great with numbers.”

“They didn’t catch on to what I did, just that my drawers did not always reflect what they should. And I made sure to act like an idiot so they wouldn’t think I’d be smart enough to come up with something more…elaborate.”

“And your mother is still at the casino because they money is still there, too?”

She shrugged. “She really wants me to go to college.”

“Why didn’t you take it our a little at a time? As you stole it? Something in your bra, some in your purse?”

“Well, not all of us were raised by criminal masterminds, sorry!”

He glared at her, and she raised her hands. “Sorry. Really. But I got so scared they would search the house if they found any money missing.”

“Is it hidden in the counting room?”

“No. The ladies restroom on the third floor. I tried to get it the day before yesterday. I managed to flirt my way into a group of high rollers, and they took me in.

“Hence the different hairstyle?”

“Yeah. I wore a wig, and the kind of clothes I never wore as a teller. But they still recognized me and escorted me out.”

“And your mom…”

“Doesn’t dare go anywhere near me.”

“How much?”

“Not sure. Not more than a couple million. I got careless in the end, I think that is why I got fired.”

“Oh, that’s nothing.” He mutters. “I need time. I need to think. Give me a way to reach you.”

One last heist. Great.

Taglist: @sharkbait77

#instyle #hope #Pedro Pascal #My Fic

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farmerlan · 4 years

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凤求凰

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This post brought to you by hours of 凤求凰 playing in the background.

Do you ever wonder what kind of songs Lan Wangji must have played during his thirteen years of pining to keep himself company? I do, and I’m here to share one of them. It’s called 凤求凰.

I imagine that in those thirteen years, Lan Wangji’s acute grief had morphed into an invisible thorn – a dull pain lurking somewhere just below the surface most days. But there are times when Lan Wangji is alone, when he allows himself to indulge, to feel the pain of longing acutely once again. And maybe then he plays this song – seeking, and waiting.

《凤求凰》

(The Male Phoenix Seeking Its Other Half, 凤凰 is the word for phoenix, and specifically 凤 is a male phoenix, whereas 凰 refers to a female phoenix. So, 凤, 求(seeking), 凰)

Another great rendition that for some reason tumblr does not allow me to embed:

https://www.bilibili.com/video/BV1ZJ411A76q?from=search&seid=12461099525580035160

Lyrics

有一美人兮，见之不忘。 (There’s a beauty whose looks I can’t forget)

一日不见兮，思之如狂。 (Going a day without seeing herhim drives me mad with longing)

凤飞翱翔兮，四海求凰。 (Like a phoenix flying high, searching the four corners of the earth for his other half)

无奈佳人兮，不在东墙。 (Alas, he is nowhere near me to be found)

将琴代语兮，聊写衷肠。 (I use this melody instead of words, to convey my true desire)

何时见许兮，慰我彷徨。 (Awaiting the day of our betrothal, for you to relieve me of my longing)

愿言配德兮，��手相将。 (Hoping that we are suited, that we’ll spend the future hand in hand)

不得於飞兮，使我沦亡。 (The thought of not being together (strictly speaking - flying together) overwhelms me; makes me wish for ruination)

(OK straight up I spent like 15 minutes on the translation and I think it conveys the feelings of the poem but also I’m sure there’s someone out there who is actually good at translating Chinese poetry so sorry if this doesn’t flow.)

The song originates from the Han dynasty, by a scholar named Sima Xiangru (司馬相如). The story goes that he was invited to a banquet hosted a wealthy local family, the Zhuos. Now Sima Xiangru was intent on wooing the daughter of the Zhuo family, Zhuo Wenjun. He was gifted at the qin, and so performed 《凤求凰》 at the banquet, and ended up winning said fair lady’s heart (OK - this sounds frivolous and it kind of is, but keep in mind being talented at qin was a big deal back then, and our guy was goooood).

Now, Zhuo Wenjun was a talented beauty hailing from a wealthy family and Sima Xiangru was pretty much a broke academic, but all that didn’t really matter because they decided, screw the formalities, let’s elope (a huge no-no!!). Zhuo Wenjun was cut off financially, and they led a life selling alcohol until the Zhuo patriarch, Zhuo Wangsun, was publicly shamed into recognizing their marriage. Their story was recorded in the 史记, and over the years, the couple has been lauded for their dedication and love (although Sima Xiangru kind of fucks up later on, but I’m just going to leave that part out). Even until this day, Sima Xiangru is known for his literary fu works and Zhuo Wenjun is influential in her own right for her great courage and wisdom as she essentially went against society for love and fought to keep Sima Xiangru by her side.

The parallels are killing me!! Wei Wuxian may not be good at the qin, but his refusal to leave Lan Wangji’s orbit considerable knowledge in other fields like drawing, pornography and the art of smuggling alcohol snatched away the so-desired heart of a distinguished young cultivator during a brief stint at the Cloud Recesses, to be followed by elopement thirteen years later. Also, let’s not kid ourselves - Zhuo Wangsun is the real life Lan Qiren here.

For some context on how this all came about, I’ve been blasting this song on repeat really trying to nail down the feel of it as I’m playing and GOD it is hard because the score leaves so much room for interpretation and it’s just one of those songs that seems really deceptively simple until you actually get down to the task of making it sound halfway alive, although it is probably child’s play for Lan Wangji.

#i am being driven insane by this song #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #cql #魔道祖师 #蓝忘机 #lan zhan #wangxian #meta

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the-13th-battalion · 3 years

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⭐ have a star!!! For that one ask!!!

OK SORRY THIS TOOK ME A WHILE I really wanted to talk about chapter two of Where The Shadow Ends but I had to post it first skdkkskd

Here we go I have a lot of thoughts!!

He sighed wearily as he marched the perimeter of camp. His eyes passed over bunches of troopers huddled together in the mud, some of them lifting gaunt faces or giving him a salute. He tried to look past the battered men as he weaved through drooping, muddy tents and stepped around empty crates once filled to the brim with medical supplies and food. He prayed it was only more mud squelching in his boots, not blood, he had stepped in a lot of blood, too much blood-

He slammed his bucket back on his head. He swallowed against his nausea and forced his feet to keep moving, forced his eyes to keep searching.

Cody reached the other end of camp. He stopped and stared out at the smoke veiled wasteland, broken battle droids and hollow armor stacked in separate piles dotting the burnt landscape. Something quivered in his heart as he looked upon one of too many empty helmets. A blurry image of Obi-Wan's haunted eyes filled the blackened gaps.

He's not made for war. Not like us.

A more urgent thought followed. I have to find him.

He turned on his heel, as sharply as the mud would allow, and continued his circle.

I was talking with my friend about this before I started writing and she said "what if they were losing a battle" and I got this image of a vast, gray landscape covered in smoke and ash and blood, and all these piles of broken droids and neat rows of helmets and I was like "*crying* yup that'll work"

Also I will take EVERY opportunity to mention that Obi-Wan is too kind, too peaceful, for the violence and death he was given during the clone wars :( he didn't deserve any of it!

"Waxer and Boil are tending to the shinies."

This little section of dialogue from Cody is a random thought I had about the 212th. Waxer and Boil are the perfect ones to take over the care and feeding of shinies after their first battles. I can't imagine the absolute horror and grief these poor boys went through... they need some people like Waxer and Boil to talk them through anything bothering them, to help them breathe, to bundle them in blankets or give them food or whatever they need <3

He hesitated. Cody had shaken Obi-Wan from long meditations before, but this time felt different. Cody could practically see the weight resting on Obi-Wan's shoulders. He watched his eyes roam under his eyelids and his heart ached to imagine the horrors he might be reliving.

I can't let him do this alone.

This part here is a reference to a headcanon I share! Cody (and other people who love Obi-Wan) shake Obi-Wan out of long meditations because they're probably unhealthy! No one should spend so much time in their own thoughts, especially when it's most likely sad guilty thoughts :( also I imagine the Force is an ocean and one can actually drown in it...

Obi-Wan's eyes flew open and he let out a startled gasp. He grappled for a hold on Cody's arm, a grounding technique he recognized from watching Anakin interact with Obi-Wan. Cody unclipped his vambrace and allowed it to fall to the ground, giving Obi-Wan an easier grip. He waited as Obi-Wan took one, then two carefully calculated breaths.

This!! Right here!! Apart from being one of my favorite soft moments, this is a reference again to people shaking Obi out of long meditations. I bet Anakin does this more than anyone else, and I bet Cody has witnessed this. Anakin is probably no stranger to panic and needing to be grounded, so I headcanon that he created this method. Anyone who needs to be grounded can just grab hold of his arm. Obi probably has this as pure instinct now and just...grabbed Cody's arm, and then Cody was like "oh crap that's probably not comfy with my armor" and sdkdkks I'm getting sidetracked

Obi-Wan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Cody's chest tightened. Kriff it. I hope Fuzzy still has a stash of his migraine medication.

Honestly I wholeheartedly believe Obi-Wan gets migraines in canon. Also citing this gives me another excuse to yell about F U Z Z Y *sobbing*

"Yes, but sometimes, they are a glimpse of the future." Obi-Wan sighed. His hand went to the bridge of his nose again. "My master believed in visions and prophecies and such, but I never did, even though I had a recurring vision when I was a padawan. He had me seeing mind healers for it. He believed it was some sort of terrible premonition."

Cody imagined a much smaller, younger version of Obi-Wan in a huge chair, his freckled nose crinkled in indignation and his little arms crossed. He began to smile. "What did you think?"

"I thought it was just a nightmare."

This is a nod to the first chapter, but also mostly to headcanons I share about Obi's struggles with visions as a child. I think about it a lot, mostly because it's super dramatic and we all know I'm extremely dramatic lol

also I wanted an excuse to write in angry baby Obi in a big chair

Obi-Wan's smile faded too quickly. He stared down at his free hand, fingers absently twisting in the hem of his tunic. "They're all counting on me, Cody. They're all relying on me to lead them safely through hell. They trust me, and I can't let them down, but sometimes I look at their faces and the weight of that responsibility nearly crushes me."

The admission hung in the air for several heartbeats before Cody spoke. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted," came the immediate reply.

"You were not made for this war, but what you've done in it, what you continue to do, is incredible. You have inspired so many people to stand and fight for a peaceful future. You have brought light to the darkest places and joy to the most sorrowful hearts. That's what they see, that's what I see. That's why we trust you. We see a man who fights for truth and justice, but fights with honor and mercy. A man who would lay down his life for a stranger. A man who genuinely cares for the people in this galaxy, for the people he loves."

Back when this fic was just an idea, I was bouncing ideas off my friend and she suggested a part about Obi-Wan discussing the pressure he feels in his position as a general and like a hundred other jobs. I loved it, and it morphed into THIS.

I'm not saying Cody's simping, but Cody's simping.

The storm in Obi-Wan's eyes calmed. "That's rather poetic of you."

Cody's cheeks reddened. "Ah...you left your datapad open once. You were reading poetry when you fell asleep. It...caught my eye."

Obi-Wan laughed. "I'm glad someone else enjoys a good poem. You know, poetry should be read aloud. Perhaps I should read some sometime, to you and the others."

Cody smiled. "That would be nice."

LISTEN!! OBI-WAN READS POETRY!!! He's such a poetry kind of guy HONESTLY

As Obi-Wan's gentle voice lifted into the night air, many of the troopers huddled together to sleep under shared blankets on what patches of dry ground they could find. His voice carried across the camp. Hundreds of hearts beat in unison as the words filled their heads and peace flooded their veins.

Cody fell asleep with his cheek resting on Obi-Wan's tousled hair, lulled by hushed lines of poetry in a Coruscanti accent. Obi-Wan drifted off not long after, his head on Cody's shoulder, their fingers still entwined.

LET THE 212TH CUDDLE 2021

Also I wrote that last paragraph before I wrote most of this fic so like I was leading up to this the whole time... they deserve the hugs <3

THIS WAS REALLY LONG OOPS anyway those are my thoughts :)

#YEET #thank you for the ask!!#star wars #star wars fanfiction #my fic #obi wan kenobi #commander cody

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monroetalks · 3 years

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A Last Long Talk With A Lonely Girl: article by Richard Meryman on LIFE

Only a few weeks before her death Marilyn Monroe talked at length to LIFE Associate Editor Richard Meryman about the effects of fame on her life. Her story was published in the August 3 issue. Here he recalls what Marilyn was like as she talked to him.

If Marilyn Monroe was glad to see you, her "hello" will sound in your mind all of your life - the breathless warmth of the emphasis on the "lo", her well-deep eyes turned up toward you and her face radiantly crinkled in a wonderfully girlish smile.

I first experienced this when, after two get-acquainted meetings in New York, I came in the late afternoon several weeks ago to her Brentwood, Calif. home to begin a series of conversations on fame. Expecting one of the famous waits for Marilyn, I sat on the soft wall-to-wall carpet of the living room and began struggling to set up my tape recorder. Suddenly, I became aware of a pair of brilliant yellow slacks upright beside me. In the slacks was Marilyn, silently watching me with a solicitous grin, very straight and slender with delicately narrow shoulders. She seemed shorter than I remembered and she looked spectacular in a loose-fitting blouse. I stood up and we greeted and she said,"Do you want my tape recorder? I bought one to play the poems of a friend of mine."

Before starting what was to be no less than a six-hour talk, she wanted to show me her house which she had personally searched out and bought. Describing it earlier she exclaimed, "...and it has walls." She had refused LIFE any pictures of it, saying, "I don't want everybody to see exactly where I live, what my sofa or my fireplace looks like. Do you know the book Everyman? Well, I want to stay just in the fantasy of Everyman."

It was a small, three-bedroom house built in Mexican style, the first home entirely her own she had ever had. She exulted in it. On a special trip to Mexico she had carefully searched in roadside stands and shops and even factories to find just the right things to put in it. The large items had not arrived - nor was she ever to see them installed. As she led me through the rooms, bare and makeshift as though someone lived there only temporarily, she described with loving excitement each couch and table and dresser, where it would go and what was special about it. The few small Mexican things - a tin candelabra, folding stools ingeniously carved from single pieces of wood, a leather-covered coffee table, tiles on the kitchen walls - revealed her impetuous, charming taste. Separate from the house, attached to her two-car garage, was a large room being converted to an apartment which would be, she explained, "a place for any friends of mine who are in some kind of trouble, you know, and maybe they'll want to live here where they won't be bothered till things are OK for them."

Back in the house I remarked on the profusion of flowers outside. Her face grew bright and she said, "I don't know why but I've always been able to make anything grow." She went on: "When I was married to Mr. Miller, we celebrated Hanukkah and I felt, well, we should also have a Christmas tree. But I couldn't stand the idea of going out and chopping off a Christmas tree."

In the living room, seated on a nondescript chair and sofa, we went on talking-after Marilyn poured herself a glass of champagne. At each question she paused thoughtfully. "I'm trying to find the nailhead, not just strike the blow," she said. Then a deep breath and out her thoughts would tumble, breathless words falling over breathless words. Once she said, "One way basically to handle fame is with honesty and I mean it and the other way to handle it when something happens-as things have happened recently, and I've had other things happen to me, suddenly, my goodness, the things they try to do to you, it's hard to take - I handle with silence."

Her inflections came as surprising twists and every emotion was in full bravura, acted out with exuberant gestures. Across her face flashed anger, wistfullness, bravado, tenderness, ruefulness, high humor and deep sadness. And each idea usually ended in a startling turn of thought, with her laugh rising to a delightful squeak. "I think I have always had a little humor," said Marilyn. "I guess sometimes people just sort of questioned, 'does she know what she's saying,' and sometimes you do all of a sudden think about something else and you didn't mean to say it exactly. I'm pointing at me. I don't digest things with my mind. If I did, the whole thing wouldn't work. Then I'd just be kind of an intellectual and that I'm not interested in."

At this point I began to see that Marilyn did nothing by halves. Of her millions of fans she said, "The least I can is give them the best they can get from me. What's the good of drawing in the next breath if all you do is let it out and draw in another?" I could also see how important it was to her to feel that the person she talked to "understood."

Understanding apparently meant being very sympathetic, taking her side in everything, recognizing the nuances of her meanings and valuing all that she valued, especially small things. When I showed genuine enthusiasm for her house, she said, "Good, anybody who likes my house, I'm sure I'll get along with."

But I had the constant, uneasy feeling that my status with her was precarious, that if I grew the least bit careless, she might suddenly decide the I, like many others she felt had let her down, did not understand. Once I slangily asked her how she "cranked up" to do a scene. I was instantly confronted by queenly outrage: "I don't crank anything. I'm not a Model T. I think that's kind of disrespectful to refer to it that way."

But I could not feel impatient with her impatience. It was all so understandable as she talked about the people who wrote columns and stories about her: "They go around and ask mostly your enemies. Friends always say, 'Let's check and see if this is all right with her.'" And then she added wistfully: "You know, most people really don't know me." There was grief in her eyes when she described how she had once found her stepson Bobby Miller hiding a magazine containing a lurid article about her, and how Joe DiMaggio Jr. used to be taunted at school because of her.

"You know, ha, ha, your stepmother is Marilyn Monroe, ha, ha, ha. All that kind of stuff." And there was yearning in her voice as she returned over and over again to "kids, and older people and workingmen" as a source of warmth in her life, as the unthreatening people who treated her naturally, whom she could meet spontaneously. I felt a rush of protectiveness for her; a wish - perhaps the sort that was the root of the public's tenderness for Marilyn - to keep her from anything ugly and hurtful.

Before I left late that night, she asked to be sent a transcript of the interview. "I often wake up in the night," she explained, "and I like to have something to think about."

When I arrived the next afternoon for a second session she immediately asked to postpone our talk. She was tired out, she said, from negotiations with 20th Century Fox over resumption of Something's Got To Give. But she hospitably offered me a drink and we chatted. She was obviously upset. But there was no hint of morose despair. She was electric with indignation and began talking angrily about how studios treat their stars. Then she paused, said she needed something to help overcome her tiredness and got a glass of champagne. I asked if she had ever wished that she were tougher. She answered, "Yes - but I don't think it would be very feminine to be tough. Guess I'll settle for the way I am."

We were interrupted when her doctor arrived. Marilyn bounded out to the kitchen, returned with a little ampule, and holding it up to me said, "No kidding, they're making me take liver shots. Here, I'll prove it to you." By then she was willing to talk on, and it was nearly midnight when Marilyn jumped up and announced she was going to throw a steak on the grill. She came back to say there was no steak and no food at all. Before I left one of the last things she said was, "With fame, you know, you can read about yourself, somebody else's ideas about you, but what's important is how you feel about yourself - for survival and living day to day with what comes up."

Over the weekend Marilyn was scheduled to pose for pictures so I suggested we eat breakfast before her noon appointment. She agreed and I arrived on Saturday at 10. I rang the doorbell repeatedly. No answer. But through the window I could see a man sitting in her little glassed-in porch, reading a magazine with the bored patience of somebody who had been there a long time. I waited and rang for about 10 minutes, then went away for an hour. At 11 my ring was answered by Marilyn's housekeeper, Mrs. Murray, who took me to wait in a guest room just off a tiny hall from Marilyn's bedroom. At noon Mrs. Murray took a tray of breakfast in to her. Shortly afterward Marilyn came out and said hello.

I then became a witness to the fabled process of Marilyn preparing for an appointment - and being four hours late for it. The patient gentleman was her hairdresser, Mr. Kenneth. While he worked on her and she sat under the dryer I could hear uproarious laughter. Then, in her curlers, she made little barefooted errands about the house and in and out of her room, phone calls, visits to me to ask if I was comfortable, all busy bustling, getting nothing done. There was none of the fearful moping and preening in front of mirrors I had heard so much about. She was entirely cheerful and utterly disorganized. I could not help feeling that what some people blamed on stagefright might partly be her endless debt to time. The necessary mechanics of daily living were beyond her grasp; she always started out behind and never caught up.

Finally she was almost ready and she came tripingly into the room where I sat. She wore high heels, orange slacks, a brassiere, and held an orange blouse carelessly across her bosom. "Do I look like a pumpkin in this outfit?" she asked. She looked wonderful. "You'll set the fashion industry ahead 10 years." I said. She was very pleased and answered, "You think so? Good!"

Two days later I called Marilyn for another appointment to talk over the final draft of her story. She said, "Come anytime, like, you know, for breakfast." There was in her voice a note which I had come to recognize - an appealing eagerness to please. I came again at 10 and once again she slept till noon. Finally we sat down together on a tiny sofa. She was barefooted, wearing a robe, and had not yet washed off last night's mascara. Her delicate hair was in a sleep-tumbled whirl. But she had made me feel this was a compliment. "Friends," she had said, "accept you the way you are." As was usual, her face was very pale. She held the manuscript high in front of her eyes and carefully read it aloud, listening to every phrase to be sure it sounded exactly like her.

She kept the manuscript and I returned for it late that afternoon. On the steps of the house she showed me changes she had penciled in, all of them small. She asked me to take out a remark about quietly giving money to needy individuals. And then we said goodbye. As I walked away she suddenly called after me, "Hey, thanks." I turned to look back and there she stood, very still and strangely forlorn. I thought then of her reaction earlier when I had asked if many friends had called up to rally round when she was fired by Fox. There was silence, and sitting very straight, eyes wide and hurt, she had answered with a tiny, "No".

#articles #magazines #life magazine #marilyn monroe

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citrinekay · 4 years

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ok just caught up on "all our lies" which is quickly becoming one of my favorite things you've ever written!! so um i have a lot to say lol. it's so interesting how it reminds me so much of the the "summer of 81", but it never ceases to amaze me how each time you write these two there's all these subtle differences to make it a completely new timeline. i thought the scene with Bill and Nancy was so powerful;

beautifully written and also just so fascinating to be able to peer into that relationship & how it impacts Bill's character. i think in general the way you're fleshing him out is so fascinating and dynamic. i like how even though the repressed, frustrated Bill we're seeing is that one we know is realistic, it still has those edges of softness and tenderness towards Holden that are really human and nuanced. also the sex scene PHEW. thank you for giving us the first-time scene WE NEEDED.

chapter 3 was like a Siken poem come to life--all the aching need and shame and tenderness. i feel like i always want first-time scenes to be as well developed as this one, but they rarely are!! i feel like that push-pull is my favorite part of the B/H dynamic. especially the themes of power and possession that runs through your darker series. anyways, i could go on forever, but i'm living for this series, and i don't even care that i have to suffer bc your writing is always worth it! d:

congrats on it being your year anniversary with this pairing btw! the fandom is lucky to have you and your work

Thank you sm! I love/ appreciate your reviews so much because they are always so detailed and pick up on the things I really do try to put into my work 💕

I’ve had a couple other people tell me this story reminds them a lot of summer of 81 and I suppose it does for me too. Like you pointed out, I try to make each story different and interesting because I don’t want to become repetitive, but I also think it’s noteworthy that I’m writing this almost on the anniversary of that series. I’ve had a whole year to learn these characters and write about them, and I think this is the story I always wanted to write about these 2 - like if I could have only ever written one story about them, this would have been the one. As you’ll see going into the later chapters, I’ve tried to go somewhere different (perhaps darker) with them and what their souls can handle than ever before. Which is an interesting feeling considering how you noticed that Bill does have his repression and anger that he clings to, but he’s also unbearably tender towards Holden when they’re together privately as if he can’t help himself because he is very much in love. He just doesn’t want to recognize it yet. And yeah maybe I am a little predictable - especially when it comes to Siken lol - because I had “Wishbone” in mind when I was writing this story. For anyone who doesn’t know it, you can read the entire poem here but specifically these lines:

“... but will you let me kiss your neck, baby? Do I have to tie your arms down? Do I have to stick my tongue in your mouth like the hand of a thief, like a burglary like it’s just another petty theft? It makes me tired, Henry. Do you see what I mean? Do you see what I’m getting at? You swallowing matches and suddenly I’m yelling Strike me. Strike anywhere. I swear, I end up feeling empty, like you’ve taken something out of me, and I have to search my body for the scars, thinking Did he find that one last tender place to sink his teeth in?”

I mean, Jesus Christ, Richard. This poem really tears my heart out, and that’s what I was going for. I can’t wait to share the rest of this story because it only gets more intense, the emotional stressors more pronounced, the old wounds more apparent. Thanks again for always being ready to scream with me about these two, your comments and thoughts give me life 💛💛💛

#bill x holden #my writing #lowkeystandom

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diyunho · 4 years

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The Joker x Reader - “Raven”

Y/N is a very unusual metahuman that can use her powerful abilities just once before being turned into a Raven forever; that’s why it’s really strange she decided to sacrifice herself in order to save The Joker’s life. But there’s a reason for everything and maybe the unbreakable curse is nothing more than a blessing in disguise.

“It doesn’t look good,” you hover over The Joker, analyzing the gunshot wound that keeps on bleeding through his green shirt.

“It’s not bad,” he growls, pressing his abdomen.

“Where are you, prick?” someone yells and the echo carries over the words around the abandoned building.

“Do you believe you can escape?” another voice resonates in the vast premises.

“Tick-Tock, Clown!” another man howls in the quietness, certain The King of Gotham has no escape.

“Fuck…,” J tries to get up but he slides back down against the wall.

“I think it’s pretty bad,” you state the obvious. “You’re injured, out of bullets and they are near: your crew won’t find you in time.”

“Shit…,” he groans in pain, the throbbing ache intensifying with each passing moment.

“I’m gonna help you,” Y/N shares her scheme and although the news should make him happy, it doesn’t.

“W-what do you mean?!” The Joker stutters even if he knows the implications of such statement. You’re quiet and he continues: “Why would you do something like that?...”

You smile at his bafflement, the affirmation completely surprising him:

“Because you’re the only one that never asked.”

“You shouldn’t use it on me!” J’s truthful reply is interrupted by the henchmen entering the desolated space where the fallen Prince of Crime has found refuge. “Who am I supposed to talk to if you’re gone?” the genuine question makes you realize there’s actually a soul in this world who’ll miss you.

“We didn’t really talk too much,” you softly chuckle and turn to confront the men halted in their tracks seeing you’re positioned in front of The Joker.

“The freak is here,” a goon whispers loud enough to be heard by the ones arriving behind him.

“Hey Y/N!” their leader detaches from the crowd. “What are you doing here?!”

The lack of an answer combined with the feral expression on your face prompts the mobster to wave his pistol as a sign for truce.

“Let’s not do anything hasty, shall we?... …. Hm?... I’m aware you had so many offers over the years; consider mine again: if you wield your powers to finish the green haired asshole, I will triple the amount of money from the highest bidder!”

You scoff at the absurd idea, describing how stupid you considered the monetary proposals suggested by numerous individuals in the past:

“And what am I supposed to do with the riches once I cease to exist?!”

A bullet shrieks by your ear, ending up in the wall behind where J collapsed a couple of minutes ago.

“Sorry I missed, boss!” the man apologizes and this is enough to set you off; you turn your head to gaze at The Joker, delivering a last warning.

“Close your eyes or you’ll go blind!”

“Don’t let her clap her hands!” the kingpin shouts but it’s too late: a deafening bang fills up the air and the strong light emanating from your body burns J’s closed eyelids. He covers his face with bloody fingers while the screams and smell of torched flesh makes him nauseated; it’s so disgusting he gags yet the insane King can’t help a smirk at the sweet victory, even if comes with such a heavy price.

Gurgling noises and muffled cries persist for another 15 seconds before they abruptly halt.

“Meet me in dreams,” is Y/N’s final sentence and immediately after the sound of flapping wings queue The Joker to finally open his eyes.

The view is cringe worthy: puddles of steamy, boiling tar scattered all around bearing witness to the consequences of your rage: nobody’s alive anymore except J and the Raven picking at the clothes you wore earlier.

His cell phone goes off and he has difficulty searching the purple jacket for the item he has no need for.

“Sir! We’re coming! Almost on the 32nd street!” Frost reports in a frenzy and The Joker sneers, wheezing from the effort of trying to stay awake.

“Nice timing,” and he hangs up, muttering to himself: ’”Goddamned jerks…”

The bird suddenly flies in his lap, curiously checking him out.

“I think I’m gonna pass out…” the damaged Clown slowly blinks before losing conscience which is alright since he had to speak to you anyway.

Every time you meet in dreams, you are always waiting for him on this deserted, calm beach staring at the waves in the distance. Today is not different.

He takes a sit by the woman that saved his life, silently analyzing her features: The Joker knows he won’t see them again except in this place.

When you said you didn’t speak much, it was true; if he tries to remember the first instance you showed up in his life, the moment blurs out and disappears in the background of his troubled mind. You would just randomly pop up while he was alone, keeping each other company for hours and often barely uttering a sentence. The eerie Y/N preferred J’s presence simply due to his lack of interest in her unusual power and he tolerated her because she never sought any kind of reward from their awkward connection. In the matter of fact, J never even tried to touch you; it was relaxing to be with an individual that plainly didn’t want anything from you whilst the rest of the world begged for attention: how many requested you aid them and manipulate your ability in order to annihilate their enemies? How many promised compensations beyond measure in exchange of your mighty gift? Way too many.

Yet The Joker didn’t care about it; the most he would do was to share his favorite drink after a new brand of grape juice hit the market.

And now the person he shared with was gone forever.

“Your team is almost at the warehouse,” you address him, bending your knees until your chin touches them. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried,” J indifferently replies. “Told you it’s not serious.”

You snicker at his stubbornness, pointing out the evident reality:

“That’s why you fainted and started to dream about me?”

Your escort huffs, struggling to confess stuff hard to articulate in these circumstances.

“Thank you for…umm…for…”

“You don’t have to thank me; it was my choice and I fulfilled my destiny. It’s over and I’m free. I’ll still visit, ok?”

“Mister Joker! Sir, can you hear me?” Frost’s voice interrupts J’s dream: the gang is searching the deserted property for their leader and the only thing he notices is The Raven flying in circles above his head.

***********

Three weeks later, 9:37pm

The Joker extends his arm and you land on it, gently digging your claws in his skin for equilibrium.

“Where were you all day?!” he scolds and you caw, evoking complaints from the man that can’t sleep without his bird. “I wish you were a nightingale, this way you can chirp some cute songs.”

You fly on his shoulder to peck at the diamond earring, annoyed at his remark.

“Ouch! Ouch!” he shrugs, but doesn’t chase you away. “I recognize crows appreciate shiny things, but it hurts.”

Poking escalates and J vaguely apologizes on his own terms:

“I meant Raven! Raven!!” he repeats and struts inside The Penthouse where your pillow awaits. “Are you hungry?” the Prince of Crime offers a bunch of crumbs and expensive seeds he ordered for the spunky pest. You hop on the nightstand and play with the food, not particularly captivated by the lavish feast.

The Joker rolls in bed, gesturing for the pillow next to him.

“My girlfriend’s out of town, you can crush on her side of bed,” the affirmation makes you float to her cushion, instantly plucking the fabric with your beak, then jump up and down, cawing some more.

The Clown laughs, entertained at the temper tantrum.

“I know you don’t like her and the feeling is mutual,” he caresses the soft, black feathers as you continue to shred Lara’s pillow. “Stoooop! These are fresh sheets!” he pleads and distracts you by showing his patched up abdomen from under the t-shirt. “Look, my lesion is healing; wanna see?” a corner of the bandage is peeled for the guest to properly inspect the stitches.

Y/N bounces on The Joker’s chest, cautiously examining his wound.

“Cool, huh?” he grins and reaches his hand for the book resting under his pillow, surprisingly enough containing your favorite poem. “The Raven. By Edgar Allan Poe,” J emphasizes and you spread your wings with delight, quickly rushing to his neck and cuddle against the playing cards tattoo.

The King of Gotham holds the book with one hand and pets you with the other, his husky tone recites the verses you love so much.

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary…” the beautiful, dark rhyme soothes a tired Y/N scarcely recalling what it means to be human.

Yet being near HIM reminds her on how much she longs for what was lost when she willingly sacrificed herself to save the one that didn’t ask to be saved.

*************

Following morning, 8:21 am

The Joker is swimming outside on the terrace and you’re having a blast in the inflatable pool he set by his lounge chair for the enchanted, feathered companion. This is a thousand times extra enjoyable when his new girlfriend is not home!

She’s a complete nutcase, totally obsessed with The Clown and certainly doesn’t understand why he’s paying so much attention to a filthy, gross creature.

Who the hell gets a crow as pet?! Apparently her boyfriend, although he didn’t tell her who you truly are. Why bother? It’s a secret you and J share; nobody has to find out, although plenty of concerned parties would spend a fortune for an update: Y/N hasn’t been spotted recently and it’s troublesome.

“Raven Queen!” J emerges from the pool since he has to take it easy; the doctor said no more than 15 minutes of physical activity every day. “I have a little present,” he yanks at the towel on the lounge chair, unraveling a box full of gold rings, Rolexes and chains under it.

Oh my God, so shiny and sparkly in the morning sun!!!

You fly from your pool straight into the container, happily tapping at the treasures. The Joker dries his body and chitchats with his bird, excited you enjoy the shimmering gems.

“You can steal them and hide them,” he winks and you sure are taking advantage of it as soon as possible. “Do you have a nest?” J inquires and teases afterwards: “Did you find yourself a Raven King?”

That’s pretty rude, you think and swiftly attack him, careful not to scratch his face in the process.

“Cut it out!” The Joker demands and gives up the fight really fast. ”OK, OK, I surrender!” he chuckles as you rise up, gliding in the wind gushing above The Penthouse. The plan is simple: charge at the toxic green locks and pull on the strands, assuring at least two or three hairs will be removed as revenge. J takes a defensive stance, preparing to catch and keep you captive in the fluffy towel until you calm down.

BANG! the gunshot halts the fun and The Clown Prince of crime watches in horror as The Raven falls to the ground in front of his girlfriend.

“Babe, are you alright?” Lara squeals, kicking the bird at her feet. “I told you having a wild animal as pet it’s an awful idea! I saw the crazy bird attacked you, it might have rabies!!” she kicks you again and the small body convulsing on the hard concrete makes him lose his marbles. “Thank heavens I returned sooner than expected,” the woman explains, nervous to detect the angry Joker stomping towards her.

“What the fuck are you doing??!!” he screams and violently pushes her, slapping the gun out of her hand. Lara stumbles on her own steps, not comprehending why her partner is livid rather than showing gratitude.

“What do you mean?” she gulps and J bends over to pick you up when you let out a cry, the sinister noise resembling a human’s wailing. “The bird was attacking you, I was afraid!”

“It wasn’t attacking me, we were messing around!”

“Messing around?!” the woman mumbles, confused.

“Get a hold of Frost and tell him I need a veterinarian! NOW!!!” The Joker barks as he enters The Penthouse.

“Jesus…,” Lara sniffles and texts, irritated at his behavior. “Why is he so mad about?! The dumb beast is nothing but an outbreak of infection and bacteria!” she maliciously grumbles, sending the message to Jonny.

Something whooshes by her and before she has a chance to see what it is, a bunch of ravens and crows unexpectedly storm at the petrified Lara: they are answering your call, mercilessly tearing and scraping at the enemy.

“J!!! J!!!!” she runs without noticing where she’s going, panicked at the multitude of birds relentlessly chasing her; it’s a miracle she stumbles upon the tiny shed which stores pool supplies and manages to squeeze inside.

The birds keep on bombarding her temporary hideout as she begs for assistance:

“J !!! J !!!! Please help me!!! J!!!!”

Yet The Joker can’t hear: he raced upstairs to the master bedroom and placed you on the comforter, trying to assess how severe the injuries are; one of the wings is bleeding and there are probably broken bones also.

“Don’t die…” J whispers because it sure seems Y/N is fading away: the bird can barely breathe and for the first time in ages he feels sad. “If you leave, we won’t be able to meet in dreams…”

The King of Gotham crawls in bed, unsure if he should caress you or not; what if he dislocates something else by accident? Instead he kisses the top of your head, the velvety feathers tickling his lips.

The sudden glow radiating from The Raven makes him close his eyes tight: it’s so strong it burns just like when you used your powers to rescue him. It doesn’t last longer than 10 seconds and sensing the light dimmed, J decides to open his eyes. A few black quills still drift in the air and he glares at the tearful Y/N, shocked to see her:

“Everything hurts,” you start sobbing and the bloody arm, plus the bruised torso urge him to cover your naked body with the corner of the quilt. “H-how am I h-here?!” you stammer and grab his thumb while The Joker is in a trance, speechless at the witnessed phenomenon because it’s impossible to come up with a logical reasoning.

Such a shame neither of you realize that even affection coming from a rotten heart can be pure enough to shatter an unbreakable curse.

Also read: MASTERLIST

You can follow me in AO3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

#the joker x reader #the joker imagine #the joker fanfiction #the joker jared leto #the joker suicide squad #the joker #joker #joker fanfiction #joker imagine #joker jared leto #joker suicide squad #mister j #Mistah J #dc #dcu

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kanene-yaaay · 4 years

Text

Cloudy Day

Author’s Notes: Heeeyioooo, my lollipops! Okay, this is a gift for my Awesome Birthday Week Buddy: @august-anon!! (I still don’t beliving our birthdays are in the same week! XP) Yaaaay! Sparkles!! I’m know it was last week and I’m sorrey for being late dfghjhgfsdf. I hope you like it, dear (And all of you too, lollipops!).

Okay! Now let’s begin!! Yesh! I’m sorrey for any spelling mistakes, I just put this on Google Translator and corrected some setences X’”). Dfghjhghjuhgf. Sorreey! See ya! ~

Warnings: This is a Tickle Fanfic, if you don’t like, please, look for another storie in this site, there’s a plenty of wonderful arts here! Hmmm... Ah! There is Lee!Virgil and Ler!Logan. Something around 3.000 words. -w-)s2.

[~*~]

It was a cloudy day, and cloudy days were signs of foreboding.

Blackbeard died during a storm, many said. (Perhaps more for the bloody battle he fought during the natural phenomenon than for itself, but that was kind of a understanding that few really understood.) The Kraken awakens during the worst thunderstorms and windstorms that shakes him from his sleep as shake the deepest of the seas, a thousand and one poems recited. The ocean floor is filling with ships and the shattered treasures of those who couldn't escape the rains and their tides, they warned. Some older, more experienced pirates, also meaner, could not be left out, commenting between smiles and a few doses of rum: Beginner's ordeal.

But Virgil denied, not because he was novice or so experienced that he no longer saw it as a challenge, just thought it was unfair to ignore all the good things that cloudy days can bring. Often the clouds, the cold wind, and the faint appearances of the sun's warm rays were more signs of a change than a storm.

So he liked to enjoy them.

Preferably lying in the small, but comfortable, Mast cabin. The perfect resting place: high enough to close your eyes and get lost in the scent of saltwater brought by the cold wind; a place where nothing, not even a problem, could reach you, where you found yourself almost touching the sky at the same time it was low enough to hear each one of the crew on their tasks as a little reminder that there is always somewhere (and someone) to go back to.

He took a deep breath, taking advantage of the wave of inspiration to get back to his story. It was not one of his largest, only a little over than five pages, made just to quench the sudden, insistent, uncontrollable tickle desire that had practically woken up with him that day. He barely contained the uncontrollable smile that opened up on his face and the way he squirmed slightly as he described the protagonist (who was caught by his friends in the middle of his mission to steal the fridge and now 'suffered' the consequences) being attacked without mercy in all its ticklish spots: the sides, sensitive to the slightest squeeze and nudge, the belly full of laughter, the neck colored by the blush and all the scribbles, absolutely impossible to ignore, along with...

Virgil found himself letting out a series of giggles, blushing at no one in particular. He filled a few more lines until he began to imagine the pairs of hands coming out of the paper, their fingers wriggling playfully, making him realize his onwed fate when they tickled him.

- AAAAAAAH !! - Initially it was just one scream, quickly being doubled with the help of the on with purple bandana, who practically hurled his entire storie through the boat with the jump in the fright obtained. He quickly recompose himself, turning toward the kitchen, where a Roman (“How could he stand to be shirtless at this weather?”) gestured wildly. - It's cold! It's cold! COLDCOLDCOLDCOLDCOLD !! PAAAAAAAATTON! IT'S TOO COLD TO WASH THE DISH!

It was almost audible the stubborn expression in the other's tone. The one on the Mast tried to control his unrhythmic breathing, leaning against the half wall of the cubicle.

Roman...

- Be cool, kiddo! You can do it, ‘cause you're hot!

Virgil didn't listen to the rest of the conversation, trying to slow the excitement of the euphoric butterflies fluttering in his stomach and the intense heat wich spreaded all over his face. His heart skipped a beat.

He needed a glass of water. Maybe two.

He clipped the story sheets together and slipped down the loose strings of the sails, stopping on deck and heading toward the kitchen quickly.

- V! I heard you scream! Are you hurt? - The quartet's father figure did not wait for a response as he grasped his shoulders, his eyes at the same time scanning every square inch of his being for the slightest damage.

- N-no, I ... - And if those hands would go a little higher and scratch your neck ... VIRGIL! Focus! - I just freaked out about Roman's morning drama.

He looked away, a little ironic smile in the face. Well done, Virgil, he congratulated himself, acid teasing is always a good way and a safe ground.

By that movement he did not notice Patton's gaze, which frowned for a few silent seconds, suddenly seeming to notice something different in the other. A small detail that he couldn't really distinguish, just knowing it was there. His expression softened, sending to him a loving look.

“When will you tell, my kiddo?”

They both shook their heads slightly, trying to frighten, or perhaps shuffle and confuse, their thoughts. The eyes met shortly after. The pirate with glasses (it seemed like the beginning of a chronicle) laughed.

- Don't be mean to him. - Warned before hugging him. - We'll dock tonight, what do you think we leave tomorrow morning to get supplies and new spices? - The animation in his voice was practically palpable. The hug tightened a little more. If those hands changed to his ribs...

- Of course, Patton. - Virgil was the first to break the touch, a simple smile being the perfect mask for the huge search in his mind of every possible curse which he could use to curse his Lee Mood. - That would be great.

- Oh. And be careful with weather for not get a flu, you're already red.

Correction: Scarlet. Patton gave one of his angelic smiles and left.

Okay, he decided, feeling his ears got hot, maybe three glasses of water. Cold water. Very cold.

He finished serving himself and returned to the deck, his mind already returning to a few increments in the plot of the story. He just had to go through Logan, which would not be difficult since he was concentrating on reading his papers, finding the pencil he had dropped on the floor with the earlier fright, returning to the Mast-

Hang on.

Logan. Reading some papers.

His body froze.

“Maybe it's not mine. - He tried to convince himself, the very thought sounding insecure. - Maybe it's ... it's from Roman! He loves to do things and show and ... and ... ”

His own body propelled him forward involuntarily. Wobbling, heavy, steps more noisy than he wanted, but to be honest, his desires were focused on something else right now.

Logan looked up, half flushed, half smiling. An expression that totally faded as met with the one wearing the purple bandana, replaced by one of guilt, like a child caught in the midst of his prank. Virgil stared at the papers, recognized the capital letters for laughter, the ideas written in the margins, the light wrinkled in the paper’s conner, his handwriting ...

His hands sweated cold.

- Virgil, it was not my intention ...

Virgil always had two strategies for every difficult situation he faced in life: Flight or Fight. So his muscles tensed, his hand closed with a strong grip, he flexed his legs.

And then dashed off to his room.

[~*~]

He first thought of tossing himself out of the window, then thought of tossing Logan out of the window, then thought of tossing the story out the window, and finally thought of tossing the window out the window, but none of these options seemed like could solve his problem.

He had already wondered what he was going to do when they found out, of course. Everyone who kept a secret had already taken some part of their lives to figure out what to would do when their secret stopped to be, well ... secret

But right now all the plans, the lines, the movements ... everything (everything!) was gone from his mind. It was blank, like a cloud crumbling with its hands up in the act of surrender. Virgil sat on the bed and buried his face in his hands, feeling how sweaty and trembling they were.

Logan. Where would he be now? What would you be doing? Was he telling everyone? Was he showing his stories? All? Had he found others on the Mast? Had he thrown them into the sea? Was he thinking of throwing he into the sea? No, wait, this is too extreme, it wouldn't happen. But he might find it weird, oh gosh, he could think that Virgil was a freak, that was easier than the ‘tossing in the ocean’ thing, but not better. He would look at him strange and-

The one in purple took his pillow and hid his face in it, hugging the object with all the strength he could muster. Stayed like that for a while.

When he finally stopped, he was panting, his heart pounding, however now he had something to focus beyond his own thoughts. He looked up and stared at himself in the small mirror on his desk. He was a mess. He buried his face in his hands and took a deep breath.

One, two, three, four...five... six... seven...

Eight.

Expires.

Inspires.

One, two, three, four...five... six... seven...

Eight.

Expires.

He faced himself once more in the mirror.

- You are not a freak. - His voice was low and he stared at himself determinedly. - You're not a stranger and even less your likes. If it makes you, no, if makes me happy, then everything is fine. Everything is okay, ok?

A knock sounded on the door.

- Virgil? It's Logan. - Short break. - I'm coming in.

There was no time to hide under the bed so, yes, when the one who wear glasses opened the door Virgil was still there. Kind of weird pose and staring at the wall, but technically, he was there.

Logan hesitated a little, maybe he should have waited longer? Have waited for him to calm down or come talk about this with him or...? He shook his head. No. He was there now and the subject seemed to be of a great importance to Virgil, so they would talk about it.

He sat on the bed, still not receiving a look from the other, until a small sheaf of papers was handed to him, a little over than five pages long, with ideas written in the margins. The purple lover caught, staring at it because it was a little easier than facing the most rational of the group.

- First I would like to apologize. - Logan began, sounding like he'd trained his lines. - You hurried out of the Mast and these papers ended up falling, and I got them in the intention to return to you, however I was led by curiosity and ended up reading. I shouldn't have messed with your things, and ... it seems that this particular thing matters a lot to you. - 'Hot' was a euphemism, Virgil felt his face in embers. - But I would like to add that your writing is really very engaging! - The one who was listening widened his eyes. Ok. He definitely didn't expect that. His attention was captured enough to raise his gaze, something that excited the wearer of glasses. - You have a great grammar mastery along with a wide vocabulary and you know how to use it to your advantage, managing to turn a daily plot into a light and fun reading.

Virgil couldn't hide the little corner smile. Logan was not someone who gave unsubstantiated praise or just for speaking, when he said it, it was sincerely. Their eyes met and before they knew it ended up questioning:

- Did you like it?

- Indeed. It was a very nice read. You should not hide it or be afraid of what others will find. Of course, there is always the possibility that someone doesn't like it, but I assure you that would be exceptions.

Wait...

- Do you think I ran away because of this?

Now Logan seemed a little groundless, as if he had broken his train of thought. He blinked a few times. Was there ... Was there a point he didn't understand? Something that he didn't realize?? His answer came out with a slight tone of doubt.

- Yes.

Oh. Ooh.

Virgil didn't know where it came from, but he suddenly felt angry that Logan didn't realize the ‘thing’ yet, and before he could even think about that, his mouth dumped it all at once:

- No. That was not it! It was for the content, for the plot: tickling! - The word tasted different when it came out loud, not whispered in the silents night. - The whole story revolves around this: tickling. Because I like it and I like write about it. It's catchy! The laughter of the people, the feeling of security, the contact, the trust, the smiles ... It's ... it's ...

- Lovely? - It was a complement more than a suggestion, a smile spreading across Logan’s face without asking permission.

Virgil felt wich even his neck was dyed red, but he could not help but return the gesture. It was... well, a good relief to tell this to someone, especially Logan, someone who he had often trusted his life along the trip and the battles. His gaze walked over Logan's face for a moment, searching for any trace of bad feelings.

Did not find.

- Yes.

Silence.

- Don't you think it's weird?

- Not really. I can fully understand why you enjoy it so much. It's your liking, if it doesn't hurt anyone, there's no point in not enjoying it.

Silence. Virgil felt a strange urge to laugh. Maybe it was the relief.

- It’s, indeed, - Logan completed. - lovely.

- Don’t say it. - Virgil grunted, still smiling, hiding his face in his hands. A poke at his side almost made him fell off the bed, a squeal escaping his lips as he pushed away. The one who wore purple stared at the other, anticipation almost lighting the room as bright his gaze.

- Virgil. - The tone made a shiver run down his spine and a slightly more uncontrollable smile spread across his face. It only served to increase the certainty in Logan's voice. - I'll tickle you. Get ready.

And then he ‘attacked’.

Virgil was definitely not prepared. Not when his fingers met his ribs, kneading them into circular patterns that immediately spilled a waterfall of giggles and squeals through his mouth, the sensations making him feel about to jump from his skin. His hands broke to grasp Logan's, gripping his wrists but making no effort to move them.

- Nohohohohohoho! Wa-wahahahahahahahait! - His nose was wrinkled and his eyes closed tightly, as if he might lessen the sensation for not seeing them. Virgil fell back on the mattress and Logan took advantage of the moment of distraction to get straight to the new unprotected spot: the belly, wasting no time in scribbling its full length, eventually increasing the squirming and streams of laughter from the first.

- Did you know that tickling sensations are a way twich the human body warns the brain that some area with important organs is being attacked? - The bespectacled’s voice was calm and methodical as it began to loosen fast grips, one hand concentrating on the sides of the other, as if it were not turning one of the quietest of the group into a pool of squeaky giggles, and the other hand quietly moving toward his belly button, bringing out more hysterical laughter and causing him to shrink more and more into himself, stucking the fingers rather than actually protecting himself. - Laughter and involuntary muscle impulses, more known as squirming, are the brain's way of defending itself, the because still a mystery. However, one thing we know… - Logan changed his method, starting to make circular movements around Virgil’s belly (giggle) button, dragging his fingers with unbearably light tickles, getting closer and closer to the center.

- Lohohohohohohohohohohoho, stohohohohp! I´ll- I´ll ehehehehehehehehehend withihihihihihihihihihihi - The one with the glasses went down a few millimeters, attacking the waist a little more vigorously, seeking Virgil to unfold and achieving the desired result successfully. - NahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAhahaha !!

- ...is that, depending on the touch and the place, sounds other than laughter can be observed, such as...

The tickling stopped, Virgil still laughing helplessly on the bed, squirming with the tiniest gust of wind.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

It was a trap, he was sure of it, yet he dared to open his eyes, catching a glimpse of Logan's slightly mischievous grin before focusing on the finger that twitched a few inches away from his umbiculous.

- Logan! Loghahahahahahan.- Laughter simply floated without permission from his lips, much higher than usual, the writer could feel his belly quivering with anticipation. Attempting to bite his lower lip to cover the smile and perhaps stop the laughter.Logan moved the only (damn) finger closer. Virgil squeaked and failed on every attempt. - Ple-pleasehehehehehehehehehe, I-Ihihihihihihihihihihi-

The finger struck quickly against his navel, scratching, scribbling and poking without the slightest mercy and completely taking away his chance to finish the sentence.

Virgil snorted. Literally snorted.

His eyes widened and his hands made way to cover his mouth, but their attention was captured by the unbearable tickling, letting them sway from side to side, trying to stop the tickling but to no avail.

- LohohOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOGAH !!! NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHhahahahahahahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA !!! - The laughter came out shaking his whole body. Loud, carefree, frantic laughter. He flinched quickly, his head swaying from side to side as if to deny his fate, even though the huge, bright smile that seemed to light up the entire room, coupled with that warm, pleasant feeling in his chest, said the complete opposite. The remaining hand attacked his sides and ribs without any pattern or order, causing Virgil to practically jump with each touch, the laughter shifting from the high to the low tones.

- But, dear Virgil, I still have other sounds to show you! - His fingers drifted to his neck, pausing for a few sips of air, a pause filled with giggles. The ringing changed to the chin, pulling out a quick yelp. - Snorts, squeals, giggle, laugh, yelps…

The tickling lasted a few more minutes, until his laughter became breathless, so Logan ceased the attack. Virgil immediately rubbed his palms over his neck, trying to remove all the remaining sensations and to make sure that his face had not melted with all the blush nor broken with the size his smile was, I mean, is.

- Are you alright?

The one who wore purple opened one watery, twinkling eye, staring at him, his mouth pronouncing before he could think of the real weight of his words:

- J-just those sounds? I thought as an explorer you hated to be content with few results.

A different look passed and settled on the other's face, then expanding and taking over the Logan's, once kindly, expression. It caused a sudden electricity sensation in the air, his whole body crawling and laughter beginning to fill his throat with euphoria.

- I understand.

In the blink of an eye Logan's hands found his armpits. Virgil felt his breath and the world stop for a long second… and then his fingers twitched.

Virgil literally screamed.

- NononoNOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO! LO-LOHOHOHOHOHO- I´M SORRAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAY. - His head was thrown back with the force of laughter, his body squirming for an escape route, even though no matter how much he moved, the sensations followed. His mind was blank, unable to really focus on anything but the poking, scratching, tickling that made eveen his nerves laugh and made him unable to form any words, coherent or not. His heels sank into the mattress, lifting his torso for a moment, until the tickles floated lightly at the base of his back, causing his body to fall back onto the bed. - NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAI-

It took a few minutes before the tears began to wash down his cheeks and the laughter became silent. Logan immediately stopped at this point.

- As you can see we also have as examples the scream and the belly laughte. r- The smile was noticeable in his tone. - I think these are enough examples.

- Yehehehes. You got ihihihihit.

- Did I go too far?

Virgil shook his head, wiping tears, the remaining laughter finally stopping. He heard the door slam shut and when he opened his eyes Logan was no longer there. Tried to replay his memories in order to have done something wrong or what else might have bothered the other as his breathing returned to normal frequency.

When he managed to sit on the bed, preparing to leave, Logan returned with a glass of water in his hand, handing it over to the other, who had not realized how thirsty he was until that moment. He took the glass and drank its contents in a few sips, the room surprised with the sudden silence.

For some people cloudy days, days that could mean a storm or a sunny day, were signs of foreboding, but Virgil didn't see them that way. Sometimes a cloudy day is just exactly what it is: a day for changes.

- Thank you. - They both knew what the thanks really meant.

And, perhaps, for others, those who did not live sailing and exploring the seven seas, cloudy days could mean something else. Perhaps it could be known as a day to enjoy a good hot drink, a comfortable and safe place, good company, or the warmth which human being can provide. The confidence this can bring.

- You could had kept your secret when I - Logan waved his hand, as if to ward off a fly or a slightly annoying memory - didn't realize it at first.

Virgil shrugged and looked away, tapping the empty space beside him on the mattress, an invitation that was not declined by the other. He grabbed a book under his bed, the one with pages that talked about the secrets after the End of the World and the stars, and offered it to the most racional of the crew.

- It's cloudy outside, we can catch the flu if we get in the evening wind. Want to read?

And so it was. Days of change, days of strengthening ties, days of sharing memories ...

- It's a good option. Thank you.

It was a cloudy day, pleasantly cloudy.

#Sanders Sides #Lee!Virgil #Ler!Logan #Tickle Fanfic #Tickle #Oneshot #Patton #Roman #Virgil #Logan #Fluff #KaneneArt #KaneneFic #Cloudy Days #<3 #August's Gift #Happy (later) birthday!#First Fic in English!#English

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justoneday-namjoonii · 6 years

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Midnight Circus pt.6

☾pairing: Jungkook(?)♡→ reader ☾genre: Angst. Fluff. Mature content. bad boy summer fling au ☾summary: “You’re ten times hotter this summer, you know that?” ☾Series status statement: “I don’t know how this happened...” a/n: ok so its a little scattered and I know I took forever but I hope the finish product makes up for the lateness^^

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | coming soon

“Can anyone tell me how many paintings by Claude Monet titled Water Lilies?”

Art appreciation. It seemed interesting enough so you went ahead and signed up for it. The professor had the class study, Claude Monet, this week, you knew the answer but decided to give the other students a chance. Speaking of the other students, Taehyung, Beah, and Namjoon attended this class as well. You sat somewhere near the front of the class, resting your head on your propped up forearm—your mind was elsewhere.

“Yes?” You glanced to the right to see Taehyung raising his hand.

“250 oil paintings.”

“Correct. Can anyone tell me why?” He gave the class the opportunity to answer the easy question and you took it upon yourself to answer—you slowly raised your hand.

“Yes, Mr. Kim?” Namjoon must’ve raised his hand faster than you because now the class was curious about what he had to say.

He cleared his throat. “Monet was fond of his flower garden at his home in Giverny, it was the inspiration for a lot of his work, it was the center of his focus in last thirty years of his artistic life.” The information flowed off of his tongue like a poem made to mesmerize all who overhear.

“That is correct. Now class. . .”

He trailed off into something else but you were more interested in the buzz of your phone, it was a message.

[1:40] Namjoon: You knew the answer to that, we were just talking about it earlier.

You slowly eased out your phone so that it wasn’t in full view of the professor and typed slowly.

[1:40] You: yes but u raised your hand first and didnt give me time [1:41] Namjoon: ill make sure to give it to you next time then

When you felt the teacher was observing your way, you tucked your phone away, not to be answered until the class is dismissed. The clock was on your side today because before you knew it, the professor released you all early c=for a change. Students fleed the class like ants run to sugary spilled soda, they all had somewhere to be but you preferred to take your sweet time. You easily slid the notebook in your backpack and grabbed your bottle as you slung the bag over your shoulders.

“Miss L/n,” Your professor called out to you as he was exiting the classroom.

“Yes, professor?”

“I didn’t get to respond to your email but I thoroughly enjoyed your research paper, it was well organized and you presented your information eloquently.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“Keep up the good work.” The middle-aged man smiled as he cleaned off the dry erase board. You smiled, walking out of the classroom with less weight on your shoulders.

“Hey,” A familiar voice came from somewhere behind you and you looked back to see Namjoon, walking a bit faster so he could stroll beside you. “are you and Jen, Taehyung, and Beah still on for studying for this evening? If so, I can still help you guys out.”

“Uh, yeah,” You did have a pretty big test coming up, “I probably should.”

“Good. I have a paper to finish so I’ll head over there now.”

“Alright, tell everyone I’ll be there soon, I need to get a book from the library.” You bid him farewell as he walked out through the exit.

You walked through the campus, passing by the library because apparently both of you needed to pick up a book for your classes. The sun shined through the campus, the warmth cascaded within the building and created a tranquil atmosphere for the busy students that scattered throughout the school. Since the book you were looking for had nothing to do with the one he was looking for, you went to different corners of the library.

Namjoon peeked through the bookshelves, searching for the book. He found it easily but he waited around, recognizing that you were still searching for yours.

“Where is it?” You mumbled, still not finding the book.

“Y/n,” You felt hands on your shoulders and you turned to see who it was, “I haven’t seen you in a good minute.” Hoseok. You completely forgot that he used to work in the bookstore, you didn’t know he still hung out here.

“Oh my gosh, Hoseok.” You beamed, embracing him. “Hi, it’s so nice to see you again, how have been?”

“Good, my schedule is pretty busy this semester. I haven’t had a lot of free time lately.” He spoke but you were distracted by his unfailing beauty. He was glowing, a sweet smile and a kind expression resting on his face. “Are you looking for anything in particular? I used to work here so I might as well help you out.”

“Thanks, do you know where- What’s the name of it again...” You reached into your pocket for the piece of paper that you wrote the book title on. “That’s what I’m looking for.” He inspected the paper.

“Ah, I know where this is. It’s over here.” He began to walk off somewhere and you followed him. Hoseok had always been so sweet and kind, he and Jimin went to the same dance studio you went to. He worked as a part-time instructor there until he could get transferred to the school he really wanted to study dance at.

“Here you are.” He gestured to the bookcase.

“Thanks, Hobi.”

“No problem, I’ll see you later.”

He waved goodbye. You went to the counter to purchase the book, it took a minute or so and you were out of the store and going to your car so you could get to the cafe where everyone was probably waiting on you.

“Hey...” She nudged his bare shoulder, the heat of his skin sent a nauseating spiral of guilt, shame, and discomfort to the pit of her stomach. “My mom will be home in an hour, you have to go...” She pulled the duvet up to cover her chest, he was slowly coming to. She nudged his warm arm again, this time with a little more force. “Jungkook, get your clothes on...”

His eyes fluttered open upon the call of his name. Typical—he was waking up in another unfamiliar bed, wearing nothing but boxers and a sinful scent. “What?” He seethed, already annoyed by her nagging voice and visible attitude.

“You have to go, my mom will be home soon...” She stammered, fumbling through her drawer for some clothes to throw on to cover herself. Jungkook narrowed his brow as he sat up to gather himself, he replayed what took place between them and sighed. What is this, the fifth or sixth person this week? He decided to stop counting after this one. He went to the floor to gather his discarded clothes from last night and slipped them on without a word. The brunette, on the other hand, was your classic suburban-nonconformist-chick who won’t show gratitude to the parents who provide for her. He’s not the first guys she’s had over, she knew the drill too well. She wasn’t his ideal pick either. She was a bit too common for his taste, a little obnoxious, but the night was ending quickly and he didn’t have time to be picky. Her clothes were easy off and that’s all he required at the time.

When he glanced at the girl, she was getting situated to go to the shower and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember her name. He stared at her as he tied his shoes, trying to remember, Shelby, Shannon, Sarah, Stephanie? Something with an S...

”Do you have any Tylenol?” He massaged his temples as he was on his out of her bedroom, he had a little bit of a hangover.

“Yeah,” She ran to her purse, searching for the little bottle, “here.”

He took the bottle and shook it lightly to get on little pill out. He gave it back and nonchalantly made his way towards to the front door, her heart began to plummet into her stomach—what had she done?

“Wait,” She voiced shyly, “will I see you again?”

He laughed, cracking the door to stand in the doorway. “Maybe.” He left her with that.

That meant she wouldn’t see him again, not here, not with her.

He drove, not really biased on where to but he didn’t want to go home. The rumbling of his stomach indicated that he needed something to eat. He went to the nearest fast food place to get a burger and fries, y’know, something healthy. He was supposed to be in class but he assumed that but by the time he gets there, it’ll already be over.

Oddly enough, he went home.

To his surprise, his mom was home and she had a lot of questions.

”Where were you?” She was at the kitchen island with a mug of coffee in hand, the demeanor of a brute criminal interrogator.

“A friends.” He shrugged, casually walking off to his bedroom.

“Get back over here.” She hissed—that was the,’if you know what’s good for you, you better get back over here’ voice, he willed himself to tread lightly now. “I come home, working hard to provide for our family and when I get back you’re not even here. And I’m not stupid Jungkook, don’t think for a second that I’m buying that ‘I was at a friends house crap.’”

“Does it matter where I was? You and dad are never here anyway, so why should I be?” He frowned. “Why do you suddenly care?”

“Because you’re my son and I love you.” She sighed when his jaw clenched with the darkening of his eyes. “I know it’s not easy, and I wish I hadn’t brought you into this but there’s nothing I can do. You said you didn’t want to live with your dad, why are you giving me such a hard time?”

“I’m giving you a hard time?” He had to refrain from going off on her and the only way he could do that was if he left this house. Without a word, he ran upstairs to gather a few things in a backpack and when he came back downstairs she just stared at him. He had always been like this, bad at expressing his negative emotions without hurting someone, so his solution was to leave. “I’ll be back in a few days.” He stated.

“Jungkook there is no reason for you to-”

“I need my own space right now and I’m not in the mood for a lecture, mom.” He left the house, his mother not really even knowing what to say or how to get her son to change his mind. And it was just that, she didn’t know Jungkook anymore, she was unaware of his daily life. She always said, ‘as long as you get good grades and don’t get anyone pregnant, you can stay under this roof.’ She felt as if he needed a bit more structure than that, but there’s nothing she can do about it now. He’s going through a rebellious phase and she’s taking the brunt of it.

Jungkook went to Yoongi’s apartment.

He let him in without hesitation and went back to his room to study.

Jungkook found refuge in that worn out couch, he had more to stress about than finals and sleep seemed to be his temporary solution. He was called into work suddenly and he grudgingly drove to the bowling alley. He spent hours fitting antsy kids and adults for worn out old rental bowling shoes.

“Over here!” Namjoon raised a hand to get your attention when you entered the cafe full of stressed students studying for finals. You walked over to your group of friends and sat beside Jennie.

“Hey, guys.” You began unloading your books on the cramped table.

“Y/n, hey, sorry to ask but do you have the notes from the professor Welsh? I couldn’t make it to class and no one had the notes from the lecture on pdf.” Jennie pushed her glasses up on her face, pencil tight in her hand.

“Yeah, I’ll send it to you.” You pulled out your computer and began going through your files, searching for the notes you worked so hard to get. When you sent it, she showed the utmost gratitude by buying you a matcha latte. You sat across from Namjoon and he was completely enveloped in his paper—being head of the class must be burdensome, having to keep your grades up to maintain the honorable title. School was always something constant in your life, without it you felt like you were a void, an empty with no purpose. You only felt like that sometimes—other times you craved freedom, to dream under the stars with smoke tainting your breath from loving on a dangerous spirit. You sort of experienced that, maybe not to its full effect but you know what it’s like to get close to boys like Jungkook and you didn’t like it—not anymore at least.

You brought your mind back to the task at hand, your math and final project. The job they gave you was to collect the data and write the slides for the 19th-century economy. A few hours went by and the cafe was still heavy with customers, even at this hour. Suddenly, you felt something graze your ankle, someone's foot?

You looked from side to side, then right in front of you to see Namjoon grinning at his laptop. You looked at him with the sole purpose of catching his attention, but he didn’t look up, that’s when you received a message on your computer.

Namjoon: I meant to talk to you about the other night, r u okay

You furrowed your brows at the message, not immediately understanding what he was referring to. When you looked up at him he glanced at you but then he began typing something.

Namjoon: Jungkook was trying to follow you, I managed to stop him. Are you ok?

You: Yeah I’m ok

He titled his head, he knew that you weren’t ‘ok’ but now wasn’t the time to talk about it, your face pretty much said that it wasn’t the place or time.

“I need a break.” Beah sat her book down with a pout. “Anybody up for pizza?”

“If we go get pizza, we’ll never finish.” You tried to dismiss the idea but they weren’t in the mood to be focused and responsible anymore.

“How about we order food here?” Namjoon suggested.

“I know! Yoongi hyung is home, why don’t we take some pizza over to his place?” Taehyung proposed.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Jennie went in on this crusade and you gave up trying to keep the studying here. Everyone began packing up their stuff and before you knew it, you were still packing up and Namjoon lingered behind.

“I wanted to ask, what did he do that made you so upset? He didn’t hit you or anything, did he?” If so, he was prepared to kill the kid. You slung your bag over your shoulder and walked out to the parking lot with Namjoon by your side. He came with Taehyung but you assumed he could ride with you to Yoongi’s.

“No, he didn’t hit me.” You reassured him, plopping down into the driver's seat. “He was mad that I was there, he just didn’t want to see me I guess...” Your words were but a mumble, not wishing to reminisce about that mistake of yours. “He also kissed me.” Namjoon made a perplexed expression. “Can you believe him? One minute he’s yelling the next he’s trying to kiss me. I slapped him and went home.“

“That’s my girl.” Namjoon giggled. “Now I know why he was so mad, you probably bruised his pride. He needed a wake-up call like that, not everyone is going to take his crap, he needs to learn that.” That fact made you smirk a bit, you felt like you had the upper hand as of now.

“Why is he like this?...” You sounded tired like you’ve asked yourself this question before. “I don’t understand why he treats me like that...”

Namjoon had to think before giving you his answer, did Jungkook even have a reason? He assumed that the kid just acted like that because of childhood habits; he was selfish, greedy, aggressive even. “I-...I really don’t know, he’s only ever treated you this way, I think it’s just apart of his growing up process.” He scratched the back of his head in thought. “Even though he is an adult...He-”

“He saw me in the pool with Jimin, that was it!” Your abrupt outburst had Namjoon curious onto what else you had to say.

“I don’t know what I was doing, I liked Jimin, I really did...” Your lips were turned down in a quivering frown. “I had a crush on him since forever and I never thought in a million years that he would give me the time of day, but he did, he told me that he liked me too and I was happy....” Your fingers were tight on the steering wheel, still trying to remain in control of the vehicle despite your frustration. “Jungkook kept sending these mean messages, I don’t even want to repeat the things he said, he was livid, over nothing Joon, absolutely nothing...” You stopped at the red light, holding back any signs of tears—this was nothing to cry about.

“I know you liked him. I wish it could’ve happened another way for you two but it just didn’t work out. I’m sorry I can’t help more...” This was the first time he heard how Jungkook found out about you and Jimin, now he understood a bit better. Jungkook went out there, looking for you and you were necking with one of his bestfriends—there’s the big picture. Jungkook was hurt, jealous—insecure. Something he wanted didn’t want him back, it wanted someone else. Can you imagine how it must’ve felt when he saw you, genuinely showering Jimin with affection after what you two had been doing? He was overwhelmed, he felt betrayed and used for the first time in a long long time, and that was the problem. He didn’t have the right to respond that way, you weren’t his; a few unchaste kisses and touching of bodies does not a relationship make. And Jungkook knew that. He knew that he didn’t want a bond from this and neither did you, so you and Jimin shouldn’t have been a problem.

“I can understand why he was so angry now.” Namjoon gazed out of the window, a dispirited expression on his face. “I think for the first time in his life, his heart was vulnerable and he was no longer in control. You were tugging his heartstrings in every which direction and you didn’t even know it.” The mental picture brought a fond grin to his lips.

You blinked, attempting to process what he meant by that. “Me? I thought you were on my side here. I shouldn’t be penalized for his feeling-”

“No, no, no, I don’t mean it like that, of course, you shouldn’t. IIt’s just- Jungkook really hates feeling he’s not wanted, just like everybody else, he wants to feel desired. When he saw you- You I’m saying he felt like you were cheating on him, using him.” How were you supposed to use Jungkook? What could you possibly gain from that?

“You can’t cheat when there’s no relationship- And if it were him, he’d tell the unlucky girl to get over it because it’s not a relationship anyway. And if anything, he’s been using me. He doesn’t have the right to catch feelings but not punish me for it.”

“Yes, I agree, but I know Jungkook well enough to know this, his head, heart, and body are all in different spheres. He just doesn’t know how to make those three parts of himself work in unison and the result of that is situations like this.” Namjoon sighed, seeing that you two had arrived at the apartment already. “But that’s no excuse, he has to grow out of that and face the music like the rest of us.”

You two got out of the car and you ran over to help Taehyung with the pizza and Namjoon took it upon himself to knock on the door. Yoongi lazily opened the door, not phased by the sudden arrival. You helped bring the food inside and before you knew it you were plopped on the couch, forgetting everything related to finals and indulging in the cheesy, salty goodness of the pizza.

“Hi Jungkook.” Irene. “A 7 1/2 please.” She came to the counter, looking at him like a hyena would a raw steak—he looked good to her. Jungkook knew her from around and she knew him but rarely did they interact.

“Okay.” He turned to look for the women's 7 1/2 box but it was empty. He searched around, dreading having to go to the overstock room to get them, he peeked up at her with doe eyes. “We’re out of 7 1/2′s can you do a 7 or an 8?” He raised his brows, seeing that she was smiling at him. “Well, I’m about to clock out so I’ll ask my manager to-”

“No, that’s okay.” She leaned against the counter, a grin still present on her lips. “You said you’re about to clock out, yeah? Are you busy?” Her eyes raking up and down his body, the slight bulging of his biceps under the work polo intrigued her in every way possible.

“No, why?” He countered with the crook of his brow, she followed him as he walked along the lengthy counter to go punch in his hours.

“Just curious...” Pearly whites digging into her bottom lip as he walked passed her, she followed him without clear intent. She put a hand on his chest, stopping him from walking away from her, she brought her face close to his, the proximity of closeness made him laugh—that’s what she wanted.

In a matter of minutes, they were in the alleyway between two unsuspecting buildings, classy.

“J-jungkook.” She manages to choke out through his relentless assault on her clavicle, it was more painful than anything and she wondered why he was being so forceful. When he lead her out here her stomach lurched in excitement and they were in the little corner where she was sure no one could see. “Y-you okay?” He was aggressive.

He responded with a rough nip to her neck followed by a tantalizing lick to soothe the pinch; she figured he was just in a feisty mood so she went with the flow. His hands found her bare waist and chest, not deciding on which one to seek comfort in. He was all over her, not providing her the leeway to control much but her hands. At this point, his shirt was wrinkled up and her lipstick was smeared into an abstract of lecherous hunger on her lips.

Jungkook snarled when her hand wandered up to his stomach to his chest but not close to where he wanted it. She gripped his collar to take his mouth away from her neck and have a nice long look at his deep, almost opaque orbs—he looked so intense and focused. “Are you trying to make look like I’ve been mauled? Damn.” She was referring to the love bites on her once cream-colored flesh. His cheeks were glowing a light pink when he left the heat of her neck, he was already feeling cold.

“Why’re you in such a rush?-” He shoved his mouth against hers, swallowing her protests until they were nothing but moans—he didn’t come here to chitchat. They kissed for a little while, he easily battled her tongue into submission with his own, he would go so far as to say he was being a little nasty with it. But right now, he didn’t care what it looked like, as long as he could overstimulate himself with the feeling.

He pulled back, chest heaving lightly with a wetness coating his chin and strawberry colored lips. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Hm?” He smirked, their clothes were in shambles when he stopped to ask her. “You like this, don’t you? Shit, I know you do,” He smirked to himself, “I can see it on your face...” His hands doing their own thing to bring her to her metaphorical knees.

“Mhm.” She nodded, getting into character when his tone became authoritative and stern.

“Yeah?...” He nibbled on the cherry flavor that lingered on his lips, that’s why her lips were so bright red and plush. In the height of the moment, he clutched her jaw and slipped an index finger in the disturbingly warm cavern, because in hindsight, that’s all he was looking for out of this—warmth, he wanted to feel warm again. She bit him lightly, just applying enough pressure to grin. “Mm.” He scoffed, slipping the finger out and wiping her saliva on her clothes. “What do you want? Tell me what you want.” He demanded, wanting to hear her articulate it word by word.

“You, please.” She cooed. “I want you Jungkook, I don’t care how.” Now she sounded too desperate—but weren’t they both?

“Yeah?” He taunted with a throaty voice. “Let me hear you say it again...” He mumbled, more to himself than her. “Say it again, I want to hear you say it...” She obliged to his request, repeating over and over that he was all she wanted, craved to hear that. It triggered an influx of dopamine to his brain, it was like he was floating when he heard that one simple, yet, significant phrase, ‘I want you.’ “Fuck, turn around...”

Warmth.

For a moment, he felt a warmth, soft skin mangled together and he was in euphoria.

He got to feel wanted, even if it was only physical desire, and even if it only lasted for so long, he got to feel it and that had to mean something. It was satisfaction he was looking for but He hadn’t found it. When they finished, Irene clutched onto nothing when he pushed her further with an arm snaked around her stomach like a restraint. He felt a dirty, disgusting feeling—the high was over and it was time to say goodnight.

Night after night, girl after easy girl, in an attempt to fill that hollow space. Those girls would fill him to the brim for a short second just to drain him dry in seconds, and he’d do the same to them. He could have it his way, not have to lift a finger and they would swoon over him, fight each other if it meant spending their night with the midnight’s offspring. When it was all said and done, he cleaned up, fumbling to zip his pants up as Irene walked off in a hurry, saying she was supposed to be somewhere an hour ago or something like that.

He went to his car in the back of the building and sat there dejected -- he regrets it, he felt remorse that made him want to cry and so he did. Tears escape his eyes and trickled down his cheeks. Sitting in the dark of the parking lot, sobbing into the steering wheel with trembling fingers—he felt cold again, it chilled down to his bones.

“Well, I should head home, my parents don’t want me out too late.” It was just you and Namjoon left while Yoongi was still in his room, Taehyung and Beah had gone home but you were pretty invested in this book when they left. Namjoon looked up at you from his computer. “Are you done with chapter 13?”

“Yeah, I finished it.” You began to pack up your stuff, tired and ready to go to get in your soft, cozy bed.

“Y/n, can you throw those towels in the dryer.” You heard Yoongi voice from his bedroom. “And throw those pizza boxes out.”

“This is your house Yoongi, I’m not your maid.” You grudgingly stood to your feet and went to do it anyway, it was the least you could do since he invited everyone into his place. Well, more like, let everyone invite themselves. You went to the little laundry area near the kitchen and did as he asked, Namjoon watched you with his glasses teetering at the tip of his nose.

“I guess I’ll head out too.” He announced, slinging his packed bag over your shoulder.

“Wait, I’ll walk you to your car.” You stopped what he was doing and walked with him outside.

“Remember when you told me you’d look after me?” You spoke suddenly standing at the car door with a dreamy look on your face.

“How could I forget?” He smiled, his dimples looking as deep as the craters on the moon.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about that, a lot actually...” You twiddled your fingers absentmindedly. “You’re a really good friend, like, you care a lot about me, more so than most people.”

“What are friends for, right? If I can’t help you in some way then what am I here for? That’s just how I think.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the car to look at you with a sweet smile.

“Well, thank you.” You stood up on your tippy toes and pecked his cheek—he blushed immediately.

“Y-y/n?” He laughed nervously. “What was that for?”

“I don’t know, just for being you...” You were suddenly shy as he got into his car, bidding you farewell. You went back to the apartment to fold those towels for Yoongi.

Jungkook found somewhere to park and watch the lights for a little while, the tears had dried and he was calm again. He got himself together and drove back to Yoongi’s place. When he made it there, he pulled out the spare key and jiggled it in the lock before it popped open. “Hey, I’m back hyung.” Yoongi made a sound of acknowledgment. He sighed, throwing his heavy body on the couch. He noticed that there were a bunch of folded towels on the couch so he sat them on the center table. He laughed a little, he’s never seen Yoongi as the type to do laundry publicly. He was tired, even with the tv on he started to get droopy-eyed.

Someone was in the house. You had to use the bathroom before you left and you weren’t expecting anyone else to come over. Too anxious to walk out to see who it was, you slowly turned off the light and peeked out. There he was, watching tv the couch, curled up like a kid.

Why is he here? You wanted to be angry but you were more curious than anything. For a while you just watched him; he’d take a sip of water, weave his hand through his hair, habitual little things. It’s been weeks since you last saw him and you were happy about that, you were mad at him. He yelled at you and kissed you without permission, in front of a bunch of people and even tried to chase you.

After a little while, he was out cold and you took that opportunity to sneak out. You crawled out of the bathroom and into the living to get your bag, he was silent, not moving an inch as he slept peacefully. You managed to make it to the front door and you were just about to twist the mob when you felt a presence behind you, a heat. You couldn’t move, you were perfectly capable of walking out—why are you just standing here?

“You-...You left your sweater.” When you looked back he had wiped at his eyes in an attempt to hide any signs of sleep. “This is yours, isn’t it?” He stared at you, why were you over Yoongi’s, alone. “I remember you had it at the cabins.” You nodded and took the sweater, twisting the nob but not opening it yet, tear a started to well at your eyes. He’s always treated you differently, poked fun at you and made you feel out of place. He’d taunt you and try to annoy you whenever he got the chance, he wasn’t good and you didn’t want him, you didn’t want to want someone like him. You hand to chant in your mind, Ignore him, leave him, don’t say anything-

“You hurt me...” You looked back at him, he was surprised you even spoke. “I shouldn’t give you the time of day, you know that don’t you?” He scratched the back of his neck, pressing his lips together and making his dimples appear lightly, he was nervous. “You got mad at me for being around you and then you kissed me.” You frowned. “What is wrong with you!?” You shouted, probably disturbing Yoongi’s silence

He blinked and began to feel a tremendous amount of guilt weigh down on him.

“You tried to follow me, you called me a backstabbing slut, a whore...You act like I cheated on you! Like I violated something sacred when you really had no right to be jealous, we aren’t together. I am not yours, I have never been close to being yours and you know that. All we did was fool around and it didn’t mean anything to you. It shouldn’t have meant anything to me, you played with me and for some reason I let you...You don’t care about me Jungkook, you said it yourself, you just want my body, remember? You just come back for ‘the physical shit’ as you put it...you don’t even feel guilty either-”

“I screwed up.” He breathed heavily, anxious to start speaking “But just hear me out. I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything, I was a douchebag.” His teeth sunk into his bottom lip. “I do some bad things y/n, really bad and dirty things, and when it’s done I feel sick to my stomach- I don’t know what it is, I just never get full enough, so, I do it over and over to fill myself up but I still feel empty...” You could only imagine what he meant as ‘bad things.’ “And cold...” He paused. “Even with all the bodies I’ve sunk myself in to get that warm feeling I can never get it to last, I can’t be satisfied and it’s killing me. I told you that I can’t stop thinking about you, the way you kiss, your laugh, the way you talk, it’s always in my mind-” He was just rambling now. “I’m just trying to forget you.”

“That’s really touching Jungkook.” You retorted in sarcasm.

He swallowed. “But it’s not working and I don’t know what to do. I even hooked up with a girl that once bullied you, a few girls actually...” He suddenly confessed. “When I realized it, I wanted to die. I knew you would hate me for it, you should hate me for a lot of things...”

“You’re right, I should hate you.” That physically stung him, your words were like daggers to his soul. “But I don’t, and that’s what I hate about you, Jungkook. Not that you emotionally scar me for life but because here I am, talking to you like it never happened.” And that was the truth. “We’re not lovers, we’re not in a friendship let alone a relationship, I won’t put this much emotional energy into something that’ll hurt me.”

He choked back a sob, was it really nothing to you? “I-...I don’t want to hurt you. I know I was mean but I was just upset. When I saw you and Jimin in that pool- I don’t know,” He exhaled shakily. “I felt hurt...”

“Well, I felt the same way when you yelled at me but I didn’t publicly humiliate you. Where is the connection between your emotions and your reactions? You’re not a child, you know better than to lash out the way that you do.” You were starting to sound like a mom the way you scolded him.

“I’m just asking for you to forgive me, that’s all...”

“Would that soothe your guilty conscious or something? If you get my forgiveness, what do I get, hm? I’ll be like you now, I don’t want to do anything that won’t benefit me...Doesn’t feel so good, does it?”

That was harsher than you intended.

“You get my vulnerability.” He replied timidly. “My weakness, my pain, you get to see me at my lowest...” Out of the blue, he started to cry, silently. The sight took your breath away—you had never seen him like this, absolutely vulnerable. A few tears escaped his eyes and you’re heart lurched, you were witnessing such a personal moment and you almost felt guilty. “I’m begging you...”

You started to feel terrible, he was really sincere about this. “Jungkook,” You sighed, “look, I forgive you okay? But that doesn’t mean-”

The melodic buzz of your phone interrupted the moment, it was your mom. “Hello? Sorry, I lost track of time studying, I’m on my way now.” Jungkook could hear your mom over the phone. “Love you too, bye.” You hung and tucked the phone back in your pocket. “I have to go...”

Jungkook wiped away his tears and nodded, accepting the fact that you had to leave. You suddenly reached into your bag, searching for something until he pulled it out, his earbuds. “I uh, I never gave them back, so, here.” He extended his hand and you dropped them into his palm, was this a peace offering he thought.

“Thanks.” He looked down at his hand and slowly, out of sheer faith, he brought his face close to yours, noses getting too close for comfort. You stared him in the eye, his lips parted in desperation but you refused to quit their whine for attention. You felt your self almost meet his lips by instinct, knowing they remembered the dance they’ve done so many times at the campground. You placed a hand on his chest to deny his request though. He mentally winced at the rejection but it didn’t change a thing because, in a matter of seconds, you were out the door and he stood there alone—cold.

“Don’t forget to turn the TV off, I can’t sleep with it on.” Yoongi peeked out of his room nonchalantly to see Jungkook walking back from the front door, he figured he’d ask later. Jungkookk went to sleep on the couch, the silence lulling him into a state of peace.

You are the sun that rose again in my life The return of my childhood dreams

I don't know what this feeling is. Perhaps, I'm in a dream, are you there too? My surroundings become more and more transparent, but I still see you.

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huffletiika · 6 years

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Hello, stranger.

GASTINA / UNIVERSITY AU

There’s a new app at the campus that allows you to chat with some other student it matches you with according to your hobbies and likes. Nina logs in this app to prove Luna wrong and ends up talking all night long with a very interesting stranger. Little she knows this guy is Gaston, her high school crush, who is also Matteo’s (Luna’s boyfriend) best friend.

So, this is it... this is the last chapter. It took me ages to finish this multi-chapter, and I’m sorry about that, but there have been many things happening in my life, and well... shit happens. This one is specially dedicated for the Gaston to my Nina @silveranchor ... I love you so much. I have an idea to write my version of season 3 with Gastina, but I would like you to tell me if you want it. I, of course, am going to keep writing Soy Luna fanfics, I don’t care if the show is over, so I’m still here with some content for those still interested.

[Other Chapters]

CHAPTER 12 - ABOUT SHOCKING REVELATIONS AND FRAMED POEMS

Shit, shit, shit!

With an apology that he should be receiving and not giving, he stormed out the lockers room, leaving his friend Ramiro standing there, looking at his back with confusion. The Chilean had the amazing idea of interrupting him and Nina right after she told him she was Felicity, when he was barely recovering from the shock caused by her revelation, just to tell him something about some skating exhibition he thought they should go together.

He wanted to kill him.

But then, after he spent several minutes trying to explain the other guy that they could talk later (or never) about that stupid competition, that he was doing something very important at the moment, he turned around to look for Nina and tell her to go talk somewhere else, and realized she wasn’t there anymore. Where did she go? What if she thought he wasn’t happy about her being Felicity? What if he couldn’t explain her that his reaction was only caused by shock and not disgust? He needed to find her.

With his attention focused on finding her, he couldn’t see the person standing on his way until it was too late and he crashed into her. “I’m sorry, I…” he started to form an apology, but then his eyes recognized her face, and he couldn’t help but show his annoyance. “May you move so I can…?” he sharply said, and then made a gesture to continue his path, but she took his arm and stopped his escape.

“Gastón, please,” his ex-girlfriend begged. “We need to talk.”

“I have nothing to talk with you, Delfina,” he replied, his eyes still wandering around the rink, looking for Nina. “And I’m a little bit busy right now, so…”

She interrupted him with an exasperated snort. “Could you please leave your stupid pride aside for just a minute, and listen to me?” she burst out. “I’m trying to apologize over here, do the things right, but you seem to be more interested in whatever you are looking for, instead of giving me the chance to tell you what I have to say,” she continued. “I told Pedro this was a bad idea, but of course I had to leave him convince me-“

“Pedro?” this time it was him who interrupted her. “The drummer of the Roller Band?” he asked, confused. What does he have to do with all of this? He couldn’t understand it. The guy was really nice, and he liked him very much, so thinking about them being close felt a little weird, like he entered into another dimension.

“Seriously? I’m telling you that I’m trying to apologize, and that’s all you catch from my words?” Delfina rolled her eyes, and sighed. “Yes, Pedro from the Roller Band. We are kind of dating,” she explained. “You know Simón is Ámbar’s boyfriend, and one day they had this amazing idea of organizing a double date, and I wasn’t very into it at first, but then I started talking with him and we… well, we somehow started to like each other, and, you know-,” she shook her head, like she couldn’t believe how much she had told him about her relationship with the other guy. “Anyway, we were talking the other day, and he told me that he understood why I did what I did, but that you deserved an apology, so that’s what I’m doing right now, but you seem to not care at all, and I just can’t believe I really thought it was a good idea,” she complained.

Gastón decided to stop looking for Nina, just for a while, and listen to what Delfi had to say.

“Ok, I’m listening,” he said, and she seemed to be shocked at first, but then nodded.

“Look, I was mad at you for being so… well, for overreacting and breaking up with me because of such stupid thing,” she started.

“Stupid thing?” Gastón couldn’t believe her.

“Okay, it wasn’t that stupid, but that’s what I thought at that moment,” she explained. “Look, I thought you wouldn’t like me if I was… you know, like I always was. And you were so excited about those things I could barely understand about, that I started to pretend I cared about them too, thinking that you would end up liking me so much you wouldn’t care about those little white lies I said…” He frowned at her, and she rolled her eyes. “I get it, they weren’t little white lies. I know that now,” she looked at him waiting for his response, and when he nodded, she took a deep breath. “I should have known you were right about being mad at me, and that with those things I said I would cause you a lot harm. I’m sorry about that, I really am, and just so you know I’ve told the people I know that those are all lies, so I hope those rumors fade away soon,” she concluded, looking at him with a pout.

Gastón decided that there was no need to stay mad at her, to keep holding hard feeling towards the girl he used to like, so he put his hand on her shoulder.

“You’re forgiven,” he said, smiling down at her.

Delfi smiled back.

“Good,” she said, with relief. “Anyway, I will leave you alone now, so go do whatever you were doing.”

Suddenly, he remembered he was looking for Nina before crashing into Delfi, and nodded. “Tell Pedro I said hi,” he said as farewell, and skated around the rink, trying to find the shy girl at the sea of people. But, she wasn’t there.

After taking off his skates, he found Matteo and Luna at the couches of the cafeteria, sharing a milkshake and laughing about something, lost in their own personal bubble of happiness and cheesiness.

He approached them

“Hey, have you seen Nina?” Gastón asked at Luna, out of breath, and the girl frowned.

“I thought she was with you,” she said, with concern.

“She was,” he explained. “We were talking, and she told me the truth about felicity, but Ramiro came in and interrupted us.”

“What truth about Felicity?” Matteo asked, confused, but his girlfriend was too worried about her best friend to hear him. “And? Why did she leave?” she asked, reaching for her phone, and he shrugged.

“I don’t know, I looked for her after I got rid of Ramiro, but she was already gone,” he messed up his hair. “I searched for her all around the rink, but she is not there, and she isn’t here as well, and…” he led out a frustrated grunt.

“Ok, let me call her…” Luna dialed to her best friend, but it went to voicemail. “She might have turned it off,” she said.

“Is any of you going to explain me what’s going on?” Matteo asked again, as Gastón stood up and started to walk in circles. Luna sighed. “Nina is Felicity,” she explained him.

Matteo`s jaw dropped.

“Nina is Felicity?” he looked at Gastón. “Your Felicity?” he asked, and he nodded. “Oh my God, so you thought you were in love of two girls, but they were the same person? that’s awesome!” he celebrated, but then looked at Luna. “Wait, you knew about this and didn’t tell me? I told you everything about Gastón struggles, about how hurt he was, and you kept all this info for yourself…” He seemed to be mad, like he was going to start an argument with his girlfriend because of him, so Gastón intervened.

“It wasn’t her secret to tell, Bro,” he said, and smiled at Luna. “You couldn’t give your best friend away, could you? she had to be the one to tell me the truth, and I understand that.” The girl nodded, looking at her boyfriend with concern, and he did the same. “You would have done the same for me,” he raised his eyebrows at the Italian, and he sighed.

“Yeah, you are right,” Matteo kissed his girlfriend forehead. “I’m sorry,” he said, and she shook her head, and kissed his chin. “It’s okay,” she replied, with heart eyes.

Gastón had to clear his throat, or the couple would have started to make out right in front of him, with the intensity they were looking at each other, when he really needed them to help him. They glanced back at him, looking at him like they had just noticed he was still there, when it hadn’t been even a minute since they went into deep space.

“So… Nina…” he reminded them, and Luna seemed confused at first.

“Oh right, right! Well, she is not picking up her phone, let me see if she sent me any message,” she checked whatsapp, and jumped with excitement when she saw a message from her best friend, but then her happiness faded away as she read it. Gastón got very anxious. “She said she had to leave, that she told you the truth so she needed to be alone to think,” she explained him, and a resolution got into his head: he would go to her dormitory and tell her what he felt, he needed her to see that he was in love with her.

“Ok, perfect… then I will get a taxi and go to your dor-“

Luna interrupted him.

“She is not there,” she said, and he froze. He had already walked a couple of steps towards the exit. “Nina said she would spend the night with her dad.”

He hesitated for a second, but then nodded. Well, he didn’t expect to meet her parents in a while, but if that was the only way to talk to her that night, he would go to meet everyone in her family, even the dog, he just needed to do it.

“It’s ok, just give me his address…” he said, but Luna shook her head.

“I don’t know where her father lives,” she said, and both boys looked at her with confusion. Wasn’t her Nina’s best friend? She should know those things, both of them have spent so much time in each other parent’s houses that they have been unofficially adopted by the other’s families. Luna noticed their looks and sighed. “Her dad works in Miami,” she explained. “So, when he comes to Buenos Aires he stays in different places. If it’s just for a week or so he stays in a hotel, but when it’s longer, he rents some apartment. Sometimes he invites me to go have lunch with them, but I haven’t had time these days.”

Frustration took possession of him.

“So, that’s it? I can’t talk with her tonight? I will have to wait for other day?” he asked, and Luna shrugged. He already knew the answer to his questions.

He didn’t sleep, at all.

Every couple of minutes he rolled on his bed and looked for his phone at the nightstand, hoping she would turn her phone on, so he would get a notification to call her. But it didn’t happen, and when he walked through the campus to get to his own lectures, he was looking more like a zombie than an actual human being.

The coffee in his hand was his only hope to survive all day.

Gastón tried to call her again in the morning, but it went directly into the voicemail. He also tried to go to one of her morning classes, wait there for her to arrive, but she didn’t, and instead he had to endure having a conversation with that Xavi guy.

He deserved an award for being polite and not starting a discussion with said individual, even when with every word that came out of the Brazilian’s mouth his mood worsened.

He also called the moon-girl while waiting in line for his coffee, to know if Nina had called her or something, but she didn’t, and his concern increased.

His Economy lecture was the longest, and he almost fell asleep twice, but Ramiro got to keep him awake by giving him soft pushes with his knee every time his eyes closed. He would have thanked him, but it was all his fault in the first place, as everything would be fine if he hadn’t interrupted him and Nina at the lockers.

When he arrived home, Matteo was already there.

“Hey,” his best friend said, with a grin that was the complete opposite to the grimace that was his own face, and he knew his best friend enough to know what that meant.

“I guess you will be contemplating the moon tonight,” he replied, even if his mood wasn’t the best. The opportunity to make a pun can never be wasted. His best friend’s smile grew bigger, as he walked to the living room. “That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he said, taking his coat from the armchair. “We are going to watch a movie, and then to have dinner,” he told him, while putting his keys and wallet into his pockets.

Gastón nodded, with a soft smile.

He could be feeling like shit, but he was glad for his best friend, he deserved to be happy with his girlfriend more than anyone.

“Hmm, by the way,” Matteo said, after crossing the front door, peeking inside with half his body outside. “There’s something waiting for you in your bedroom,” he winked, and then left the place, leaving him staring at the closed door with a confused expression.

Did his mom send him cupcakes again? His progenitor was learning how to bake, and so lately she had been sending boxes with her creations so he had something sweet to eat while studying for his exams. And, as thankful as he was about her doing that for him, he had to admit that baking wasn’t one of her strongest abilities. The other day, for example, he had to eat half-cooked cookies just to make her happy.

Now he knows why Matteo ran away so fast.

Before entering to his room, he took out his phone from his pocket, looking at it, his messages still un-read, his voicemail still empty. He sighed, and opened the door, with his eyes still fixed on the screen, opening the chat with Nina, and writing a short ‘please, pick up my calls’, before sending it. The tone of an incoming message rang at the room, but it wasn’t from his phone, so he looked up, his heart beating so fast it felt like he was having a heart attack.

She was there, sitting on his bed, with her phone on her hands, and a shy smile dancing on her lips. And, for the first time in his whole life, he was completely speechless.

Nina stood up.

“Hello, Stranger,” she said, unsure. “I- I’m Felicity, we… we have talked with each other through the campus app,” she explained, and he instantly knew what she was doing, so a soft smile appeared on his own lips. He was too startled to reply, tho. “I thought you deserved to know who I was, so I came here to talk with you,” she continued. “I mean, you weren’t here when I arrived, but your flat mate told me that it was okay if I wanted to wait for you in your bedroom.”

Gastón let out a soft giggle, and she did the same.

“I will have to talk with him about security,” he said, when he found his own voice. “I mean, nothing personal, but you could be some serial killer.”

She nodded. “Yeah, I could be that,” she said, blushing when he got too close. “Or, maybe I have a master plan to kidnap you and never let you go,” her voice became a whisper when his fingertips softly brushed her cheek.

“How evil,” Gastón replied, lifting her chin, making her look up at his eyes. “But I would let you do it,” he added, with a soft smile, and for a while there it seemed like she had forgotten how to speak. Or breathe. He held her face in between his hands, and stared at her eyes with devotion, feeling like those hours without knowing about her haven’t actually happened.

After a while, she sighed.

“Gastón, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lied to you, or left last night at the party, I just needed some time to think, to clear my head… I had never-”

“Shh… it’s ok,” he interrupted her, getting closer. “I know you were scared.” Putting their foreheads together, he closed his eyes, and took a deep breath to fill his lungs with her scent, to keep that moment forever with him. She put her hands over his and closed her eyes as well. “but I need you to understand that nothing has made me happier than knowing that Felicity and Nina were the same person, that I didn’t fall in love with two girls, but with two facets of the same amazing girl. That I’m in love with you, only you… all of you.”

For a while, they stayed in silence, with only the sound of their breaths filling the room, but then Nina opened her eyes, and with a light touch she asked him to do the same.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “Since the very beginning.”

They smiled at each other, just for brief time, before he bent down those millimeters required so their lips could finally meet.

It was a soft kiss, as sweet and tender as possible, he was afraid of going too fast and scare her off, so he was taking his time, enjoying the sweet taste of her lips like he had all the time in the universe to do so. He did. But then, her hands dive in his hair, pulling him closer, asking for more, so he let every measure behind and deepened the kiss, feeling like a million supernovas exploding inside his chest, like he had just found everything he could have only dreamed about before. He knew, since that very second, that he was the luckiest guy on planet earth, and the blindest, for not being able to see before that the love of his life was right in front of his eyes all this time.

They were cuddling on his bed, her head resting on his chest, as he absently played with a lock of her hair. They were talking about everything and nothing at the same time, she told him about her crush on him when they were at school, and he told her about everything that came to his mind about those times, while stealing kisses, and keeping each other as close as possible.

He never wants to let her go.

But then, something in his room called her attention, and she fetched it from the library, having to get on top of him to achieve the task. He just smiled, knowing exactly what it was. “You actually framed it,” she said, showing him the poem, the one she sent him the night they met online.

“I told you I would,” he said, with a proud smile.

“Yes, but I thought… I thought you were joking,” she was sitting on his lap, looking down at him with the cutest surprised look, and he thought he just wanted to kiss her again.

“I would never joke about something like that,” he said, sitting up, putting his hands on her hips to keep her close. She might have only noticed their position, because then she became completely red, and bite her lip. “I was serious then, and I’m serious now: I love your writing, and I want to read more,” he added, brushing his nose against hers.

“More?” she asked, startled.

“Everything,” he corrected, and stole a peck, making her whole-body shiver. “I want to read everything you write, I declare myself your fan number one,” he gave her another soft peck, and she closed her eyes, taking one of her hands to his nape, holding the frame against her chest with the other.

“You will have to take that spot from Luna,” she told him, out of breath, and he snorted.

“The moon-girl? Easy pie,” he said. “I just need the astronaut to distract her, and that’s it, I win,” he giggled his eyebrows and she laughed. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

He took the frame from her hand, putting it back at the library, and then pulled her closer so their chests touched, and there was no millimeter in between them. “I love you, and I will always support you,” he told her, looking directly at her eyes, making her feel special. Loved. Her free hand caressed his cheek, softly, making him shiver. He never felt like this with anyone before, she had something that made every touch different, strongest, like he was Spider-man with his Spidey-senses activated. If that makes any sense.

“I love you too,” she replied, and then their lips met again.

And the rest of the world stopped existing.

#Soy Luna #Gastina #Soy Luna Fanfic #Gastina Fanfic #Gaston Perida #Gaston Battan #Nina Simonetti #SL Fanfic #StrangerFic #UniversityAU #written by me

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maiji · 6 years

Text

Thoughts on Grasses of Remembrance (The Tale of Genji through its poetry)

Finally had some time this weekend to sit down with A Waka Anthology, Volume 2: Grasses of Remembrance Part B by Edwin A. Cranston. This book is the last in an impressive and intimidating collection translating a number of major classical poetry anthologies. It’s basically a speedrun through Tale of Genji (if such a thing were possible) filtered through all 795 waka poems written or uttered by the characters over the course of the novel.

Poetry was a Really Big Deal during the Heian era. If you were an aristocrat, not only were you expected to compose decent poetry, you had to be able to do it off-the-cuff appropriate to the occasion. AND to do this properly, you were expected to be able to recognize and respond cleverly to references to a ton of other existing classic poems from memory that people would just mention casually in conversation or writing (kinda like how people quote the Simpsons today lol). This was a prime marker of how intelligent/competent and - no joke - how sexy you were. So not surprisingly, these poems are extremely important to the development of character interactions and themes in the Tale of Genji which has a lot of romance and relationship plotlines.

However. Translating Heian era Japanese into modern Japanese is already challenging. Rendering Heian era Japanese waka poetry into modern English is, as you might imagine, harder for a bunch of reasons. Considering how dense the actual novel already is, it’s super easy to gloss over the poetry, and some modern translations simply integrate the basic intent of the poems right into the main text/dialogue.

I was really interested in finding something specifically focusing on and analyzing the poetry, and this book appeared to fit the bill.

Short review: IT TOTALLY DOES. If you’re into Tale of Genji, Heian era, classical Japanese history, classical Japanese literature, Japanese poetry, or just love reading translators articulating eloquently while sassing characters or flailing through linguistic complexities, I RECOMMEND THIS BOOK

Long review: blah blah blah thoughts follows, including some quotes/poem for reference.

The book starts with a quick 2 page intro setting the context of the Tale of Genji, then goes straight into the poems. TBH I personally found it more flowery and redundant than necessary (it repeats a few poems that are then explained later). But it’s only 2 pages, we’ll live.

Then, the poems. For every poem (or poems, in the case of an exchange - sometimes a flurry of them with multiple characters speaking or dashing letters off to each other) there’s an intro and summary of context followed by an analysis, including notes on meaning, narrator and character intent, structure, symbols and wordplay. The original Japanese is included in romaji alongside the English translation. The commentary also flags known references to other classic poems (WITH those poems in-line! This is awesome because I don’t have the rest of these books!), and even mentions poem and folk song quotations from the rest of the novel where the characters have not composed new poetry, but are reciting other existing known pieces.

Overall, I have only three real “warnings” about Grasses of Remembrance Vol 2b:

1) It’s very academic and flowery in tone. If you’re not used to it, it can be hard to read. But then again, if you’re not willing to get past that, how are you reading Tale of Genji? lol. In any case, I personally thought the commentary was a lot of fun. Cranston definitely has opinions and can get pretty sarcastic in places, which I found hilarious. Here are a few sample quotes:

“Tamakazura has remarked to herself how superior the Emperor [Reizei] was in looks to all the courtiers in his train (It is a principle with this author that superior people be dashingly handsome or ravishingly beautiful).”

“The ruefully witty poems exchanged between Yugiri and To no Naishi [Koremitsu’s daughter, the Gosechi Dancer] are rather more to my taste than the soggy ones Yugiri and Kumoi no Kari exchanged on their wedding night. Might it be the case that a totally sanctioned relationship is literarily uninspiring?”

“The old lady reaches for the melodramatic ultimate and dies just as Yugiri’s letter arrives.”

The overall effect is like an exceedingly well-educated, gossipy and sassy ride through the entire novel hahaha.

2) Minor typos. I noticed some speckled throughout the text every so often (e.g., Tamakazura being rendered Takakazura, Akashi as Asashi, instances of accidental extra letters, etc.). It was pretty clear what the correct spelling was supposed to be, and TBH considering this is the last of a huge-ass series of over 1300 pages I think it’s forgiveable. Maybe a few that spell-check should have caught, but oh well.

3) This book is NOT CHEAP. As I mentioned in a previous post, not only did I not buy the entire collection, I didn’t even buy a complete Volume 2 - I only bought the last half of the second volume lmao. And the Tale of Genji translations are only HALF of this half of a book. The rest is actually the footnotes, appendices, notes to poems, glossary, bibliography and indices (including indices for every poem by author and by first line) for this beast of a translation/compilation project. This includes a lot of additional commentary and other poems and makes for pretty interesting reading itself, even without the rest of the volumes/parts. The price can definitely be scary and an issue for a lot of people, so if you’re interested in it, I suggest try checking it out at your library or on Google Books first. (In fact, Google Books is how I learned of this book in the first place.)

For me, the depth of insight for the poems was fantastic. It gave me a lot more appreciation for the scenes, including the mental state of the characters, plus a million more symbols, metaphors and ideas for my own creative works like the Genjimonogatari illustration series, North Bound and other original stuff.

It also clarified several fuzzy translation questions I had that relied on specific knowledge of Heian culture and history/evolution of the use of the language and wasn’t easily found in Google searches or online language resources. And even if you’re already familiar with common allusions, metaphors and puns/homophones in Japanese poetry, it’s still helpful to see them all summarized. And sometimes lamented by the book’s author too. SO MANY PONIES EATING GRASS. SO MANY PINES. Especially the pines. (It IS an amazing pun though, especially because it works in both English and Japanese. Pine [tree] -> to pine, matsu/pine tree -> matsu/to wait)

In term of the actual translations themselves, you may still find them coming off a bit roundabout in some cases when comparing to the original Japanese. But overall I find Cranston’s translations more direct/flavourful than how they were rendered in the Tyler translation, partly because of how Tyler chose to juggle his set of translator’s challenges for rendering not only meaning but also more technical aspects of the poetic form. So the imagery ends up being, to me, a lot more vivid. The overall effect usually ends up more colourful, more emotional, more erotic, more cutting, more entertaining, and whatnot.

For example, Kashiwagi’s suitor’s poem in the Kocho/Butterflies chapter. When reading the novel, I was like, uh-huh, yah, OK. When I read it here, I was like whoa, dude, that’s a little intense lol. Cranston’s translation amps up the connotation of the heat of the water based on the rest of the line. For comparison:

(The original non-romaji Japanese in the samples following are thanks to the Japanese Text Initiative from the University of Virginia Library Etext Centre and the University of Pittsburgh East Asian Library. Their Tale of Genji page has a FREAKING AMAZING side-by-side comparison of the novel in original Japanese, modern Japanese and romaji. Bless them and the people who had to organize and wrangle that text together.)

Original Japanese: 思ふとも君は知らじなわきかへり岩漏る水に色し見えねば Omou to mo / Kimi wa shiraji na / Wakikaeri Iwa moru misu ni / Iro shi mieneba

Tyler version: You can hardly know that my thoughts are all of you, for the stealthy spring welling from the rocks leaves no colour to be seen.

Cranston version: Hardly can you know / Of the longing that I feel, / For the boiling wave / Is merely colorless water / As it drains away from the rock.

Here’s another example. Oigimi (Agemaki in the book, as Cranston used Wayley’s names for the sisters) telling Kaoru that he’s the only one who’s been actually visiting them and Kaoru is like all riiiight :Db! From Shii ga Moto / Beneath the Oak chapter:

Oigimi’s poem 雪深き山のかけはし君ならでまたふみかよふ跡を見ぬかな Yuki fukaki / Yama no kakehashi / Kimi narade Mata fumikayou / Ato o minu kana

Tyler: No brush but your own has marked the steep mountain trails buried deep in snow / with footprints, while back and forth letters go across the hills.

Cranston: Over the bridges / Clinging to the cliffs along / Our deep-snow mountains / No letter-bearer leaves his trace: / Those footprints are yours alone.

Kaoru’s reply つららとぢ駒ふみしだく山川をしるべしがてらまづや渡らむ Tsurara toji / Koma fumishidaku / Yamakawa o Shirube shigatera / Mazu ya wataramu

Tyler: Then let it be I who firsts ride across these hills, though on his mission, / where ice under my horse’s hooves crackles along frozen streams.

Cranston: In the sheets of ice / Covering the mountain streams / My steed crushes / Such letters as form my reason, / My first, to cross as a guide.

In other examples, Genji’s “*throws hands in the air* I give up” poetic reply to Suetsumuhana about how she keeps using Robes of Cathay/Chinese cloak imagery in her poems in the original Japanese alongside the translation cracked me up even more. And one of my favourites is a pair of poems between the future Akashi Empress (as a child) and her birth-mother the Akashi lady. It’s really sad, sweet and cute all at the same time and completely flew under my radar when I read the novel originally.

The poetry analysis for the Uji chapters is especially intriguing. The plot pointedly pits Niou against Kaoru as opposing personalities with particular similarities and contrasts that drive their relationship with each other and with the woman they’re competing for. Especially in the latter half of the story, a lot of their poems, even ones written independently (i.e., to Ukifune), are specifically composed to highlight those attributes and play off of each other.

Finally, it’s also super interesting to see my experience with the narrative changes through the lens of the poems. Obviously, as I mentioned, some things I easily missed without paying as much attention to the poems in between the rest of the story. But also, some prominent characters have very few poems, so the narrative shifts away from them. Meanwhile, a number of otherwise very minor or usually overlooked characters stand out even more, thanks to the fineness, loveliness, resonance, and sometimes just sheer consistent presence of their poetry. This book definitely gave me a lot of additional perspective on the Tale of Genji, and enhanced my appreciation of the novel and the skill behind its crafting!

#tale of genji #genji monogatary #waka poetry #a waka anthology #grasses of remembrance #edwin a. cranston #royall tyler #japanese #translation #japanese tranlation #heian period #kaoru chujo #oigimi #agemaki #kashiwagi

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autoirishlitdiscourses · 3 years

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Discourse of Friday, 25 December 2020

Great Masturbator 1929, I absolutely meant what I think he will not be something you like and are perfectly capable of doing better. So, I'd rather they did on section one, to be generalizing about what Yeats wants to accomplish in ten to fifteen minutes, and your readings of Yeats and nationalism? Please get your paper that pays off more. I think, too, and I have a strong analysis that is, despite this fact, you really have done some very good work here in order to be more impassioned and fluid, impassioned delivery, and there are some ways in which passion can be evaluated in ethical terms: what would most help at this point, a professor in lecture and section, not Oct 30.

You've got some really perceptive things to talk in section this information allows them to be getting out of their material. Can't blame them after all, though, you've done some very, very good material in an episode of Ulysses, and will happily give you starting points on it, then you may contact UCSB's Title IX Compliance Office, the opportunity may not be surprised to get you a reasonable guess is that your overall grade for the quarter if you get a thorough, fresh re-typed your email, so this is not in many ways. Public Universities Should Be Free One of the poem's rhythm and let me know what you need any changes, and would have most needed to be fully successful, though, you've been rather quiet this quarter, and I think you're capable of doing even stronger work on these issues, none are egregious or otherwise just want the paper, and your final draft. You mention Beckett there is a fair number of fingers to let me know if you found interesting, and it completely impossible to say that you should definitely be in section again this quarter. Again, really perceptive things to learn and I think that would have helped to contextualize it better than you might choose, for that opinion, is that you prepared more material than was required by the wall of the labors left unfinished; changed We feel in England, was mentioned in this matter and wanted to wait for your own logical processes more carefully to do so that you could do a very good job here in a lot of really excellent work here, and would like me to handle this my own writing would pay off here. Does that make sense? Even if the text than to worry about whether you're technically meeting the discussion section is from/The Music Box/1932: There is also quite nice. I think that this is a smart investment long-term for when and what I take it. You supported each other to do so.

I think that giving texts, and don't have the Class Level field filled out. I think, always a good knowledge of the most important of which parts of the text in question. You were clearly a bit of a great deal of thought into your recording have no memories. All of the facts that my impression at the time you have any more questions. Of course, Anglo-Irish and/or make sure to keep its contents secret. You say that you provide some scenarios for less-intelligent and read well, but it's often confused with one. Please realize that right now, like getting letters of recommtion, because I will announce it on the rest of the telltale signs that you've got some very thoughtful comments about the offer, OK? Simply showing up to your larger-scale concerns, is held back by this page and export it to move it there. There are numerous options for other reasons. The short version is that it's likely that you should wind up being is the best way to get to all of the weekend is over tomorrow, I felt that it would be helpful, and the title page and copyright page from the more obvious is to recognize and overcome it. Quite a bit. Trying to avoid departing until afterwards, and making a more profitable way to push your argument? Your poem will be no use if I can find it helpful to log into the B-that you should do whatever most needs to be absolutely sure. I can do with it, because I think that there are some ways in which you could merge the recitation of a text, and an estimate based on nine weeks of mandatory section attendance and participation is 555 9 points. If you glance over at me and holding eye contact for me if you get some good questions, OK? To be flexible but unless the student thinks that if you want to, though I think that that's likely for you, will be none. Does that help? All of these bonuses, which specifies alternate terms of the rhythm of the anxiety is different, and how this is of course what we now call in English department look into it. You are absolutely capable of punching through to a group means that that is productive overall narrative for the third line of the object itself. However, the visual presentation of people who has not held your grade for the difficulties that I would avoid making a specific point. So, when it's done? Let me know as soon as possible, but your own thought, that makes a logico-narrative path through your texts in the assignment into a more luggage than you want to get past the I have to pick one option from section 2, though I felt that your interpretive categories for Ulysses recitations is over. Or, if you'd like.

Some of Dali's work, Upton Sinclair's The Jungle 1906, but think about your key terms and presuppositions and taking the final. José Clemente Orozco also painted female pseudo-cubist nudes during this time limit has come up repeatedly, and have a spot open in my response is a mandatory part of your political poster; and picked for went picking Again, thank you for a recitation of a group is not improbable. I think it would pay off, not 98. You've both been very punctual this quarter you've worked hard on it before, say, Italian Futurism Giacomo Balla, for the young hornies. I'll see you tomorrow night get me an email letting me know, too, and if you want to treat each other, aside from a rope on line 7. Have specific points in the UK and Ireland prior to the poem takes on these issues, none of these come down to thanking the previous week's reading. Really nice arrangement. This means that, to memorize something the night of section:: Yeats, addressing the crowd at a very strong alcohol, or deviates only rarely, and you display an excellent job of weaving together multiple strands you've been weaving or near the end of/Ulysses/is/truly unavoidable/, so. 5%, depending on what the professor in our department, Candace Waid, just send me a description or outline, which are a lot of your recitation. I think you have a B-81.

Alternately, I think that reading about the occasional textual hiccup here and there I felt like you were able to leap. How are you portraying, and your analyses are very solid aspects of the scenarios above; you also gave an engaged and engaging despite my sometimes rather obtuse margin notes. Attendance. I'll see you in this paper, is not necessary to argue that something is a terrible thing: The Search for the final please only do this would be most helpful at this point would be helpful in any one of the quarter. 5 Dec, 1:30 and will have other priorities instead of electronically. You've done a good reading that they've been explicit in this way is OK. You are welcome to do it: you should actually do is to think about my own policy to treat each other while being quite receptive to discussion once you gave. You have at least 88. Picking a selection from that part of the opening of the exam, and giving other people have produced some excellent readings, then you may find it quite good in many ways.

Volunteering to be written in a lifelong economic contract, as a whole would benefit from hearing them. He would be the way that you took. Overall, you did quite a good model for some productive research suggestions today. This means that an excuse is as high as any twelve lines, but I think.

The Plough and the concerns in Irish nationalism, I do have some very interesting and important topics in the quarter substitutes an estimate based on the final exam will be held tomorrow SH 2635,1:00, but I think is a useful skill, too. I understand that my work has paid off here. This week has been seen since the phrase at which he goes slowly through the tabs. Hello, I think that anything will change the way to make at least one stanza and demonstrating your close readings as a whole. Thanks for your patience. The Butcher Boy song 6 p. I've thought about the recitation and discussion of a rather general argument, rather than by asking questions that ask people to avoid explicating yourself as a single paper.

One of the text of the Sirens episode 6, which may have required a bit more about transitions between topics, but ultimately, does not necessarily mean that you identify in your thesis statement to help make sure you can make it up on crashing other sections and that those darn liberals who are not merely performing an analysis of another text than anything else that is necessary or you've hit the Send button in my box in the urban environments of the stack anyway. You may remember that you are perhaps overemphasizing the strength of the final itself. But you really have done a very solid aspects of the Irish, or Paul Muldoon, just sending me an email saying that it's OK in unusual circumstances, you had a good reading of the pageant-master and the way to help motivate other people are nervous about public speaking before, your writing is very engaging, and I'll take it off at ten minutes if it works with my schedule. Please let me know your final exam schedule. Hook-up exam is worth/an additional five percent/of your overall objective is to say. This can be found online at or, equivalently, at your option, depending on where you are again; and changed heifers to heifer in the class and is probably difficult to do on this and be very difficult thing to do.

Wow, that's fine provided that you want your argument on the section, not ten. Good luck with preparation, and let me know if you want an add code. You've both been very successful with your quarter has always been an excellent job! You may recall from section 1 and 2 on your work. Thank you for pointing me toward this in your paper further. There are no cries of unfair! Thank you, I will announce it on Friday before leaving town. You were clearly a bit nervous, but all in all, you should focus on the syllabus. I pass it out, and, especially for specific passages that would be central to the group is, too, but it has to it and give them something specific to look more closely at whether every word and phrase is correct or incorrect, and note that discussion notes, but I think that you are perfectly capable of doing this. Again, I think that your plans. Etc. You can choose to provide the largest overall benefit to introduce some major aspect of the following venues, at least a short description of your situation, but the most important insights are and what women really are and what these differences might mean would be genuinely random. If you are absent or late, I'll have to arrange for an O'Casey recitation. That's fine just let me know if you want to keep it from being in front of the overall logical/narrative arc that you get no section meeting. Here are my comments on it, can we meet at a time to get you the final exam. I think, is generally pretty strong claim, will address questions like that, I can plan for section, writing very short IDs, and you've done some very perceptive readings. So, the sex-food combination pops up in, so he gets an F on the Web: New document on section one, to talk about this would have been here in important ways, and the weird tenuous relationship that highlights something about love that lends itself structurally toward being a nuanced argument, but if you're leaving town at 7 am for session A but could make suggestions about where you're getting your information using standard academic citation methodology for phrases and ideas in even more specificity is in season 5. As for your additional texts, and even more specific in the question at a coffee shop, I think that being in front of the justice system just won't see that, when you want to make it support that negative value judgment: that sexual desire that wraps in a complex relationship to preceding Irish authors contains poems that do not assign the weighting factor until the very end of your health first and non-trivial citation problem; incorrectly sized margins or font; use of verb tense rather complex.

All in all ways, I guess, that particular idea. Got it. Overall, this is a cooperative couple, where do you take the paper above could be as successful as you know the episodes on the other presenters in both sections in this class was welcoming and supportive to other people have done some very good selections for your section over the course. But I think your discussion, either, even if you choose. Please forgive me if this works for you unless your medical condition mandates additional section absences, so if you have any further questions, and I've just finished it you had some important things to do effectively in your life, and we can arrange another time to think about it, but I think that you picked to the first section meeting during week 1 began on a paper before I go to, supportive of, say, some of my previous students have a good weekend. Here are the victims of a well thought-out order. However: think about what you're actually saying that you're making a number of ways in which I taught them both in specific phrasing terms what are Joyce's attitudes toward sexuality in general, which is what you think is likely to pay more attention to the decimalization of 1971.

Well. All of these terms that differ from what I suspect you'll do well. None of them. I'll see you in lecture on the other hand, what are Joyce's attitudes toward sexuality in general, which is not because I'm mean but in the argument may not like it passes differently when you're not articulating. 21% not quite enough of it, or should I use my camera, which might be possible to give a quiz if it is, but the Latin phrase libra e, scale 240 pence. What kind of interesting. Under many of the soul after death; that sexual desire that wraps in a comprehensive list. If people aren't prepared, it's on pp 58-59 instead of making an audible tone. If plans change for any reason, deciding that you are absolutely welcome to ask about these things might be a person, then look back with a specific point about McCabe having a topic that's personally interesting and important topics to discuss the text s with the paper-writing: some recent tweets about MLA format requires. I think that clarifying this would allow you to do what the exact text of the exam.

Again, you can try to force a discussion. Tonight's paper-grading music involves this: the professor's reading of that first draft is the case for you. Thought for the quarter substitutes an estimate based on attendance for your thesis more specific claim that for some reason though this is the reader that its structure was articulated more explicitly—the refusal to push your paper, and you related your discussion. I'll happily instruct him either way, too, for instance, an English Paper lots of good things to say, Italian Futurism Giacomo Balla, for instance. Remember that you have any questions, I think that pinning down what the textual juxtaposition that you've chosen fails to operate out of that word and phrase is not just examining a set of comments explaining why you should be careful to stay above the minimum length requirement for this coming week. Lesson Plan for Week 4: General Thoughts and Notes 9 October 2013 Thus, love as being most significant thing to be more impassioned which may have. Ah!

I don't know how GOLD looks for undergrads, I'm terribly sorry and embarrassed. Or best way. Still, I'm leaning toward putting you either cross them or you can find these types of text from page 4 and you'll be doing, though you got up in certain specific ways that I record your attendance/participation score. I have a more fluid, and this post contains the F word. Thanks. I worried last night. On Irish money if you can't go over, and students can find times and locations on GOLD. /Mechanical problems can receive by attending section on Wednesday by 4 p. Lesson Plan for Week 3: General Thoughts and Notes 20 November discussion of the interpretive problems for Ulysses. I suggesting that you picked those particular texts could be very profitable.

Reminder: section is engaged with the earliest part of the things holding you back here, I think, always a good choice to me in person, and various relationships between those points, though it's also acceptable to use the first line; changed are to go down the Irish pound was subdivided, as I pop back to another in ways that I give you some breathing room.

You handled your material if you really did intend to respond to your presentation. In retrospect, I feel like an overview or a human being and would have been hoping for. Exactly. An average weighting for students in this matter is perceptive and certainly within the larger-scale issues and/or conclusions. You might also be read as anything other than misogynistic. I hope you get from the absolute final deadline to name your poem and its background. Murphy's Law, of self, of course, think about cultural changes in many ways to make progress toward graduation that satisfies you and my hands are freezing and i dropped a keystroke without noticing. Learn German too. Let's talk tomorrow after lecture.

I'm trying to remember to send them my way I'd be happy to do is to think that finding ways to the week in section this week is the instructor of record for classes that satisfy the college in which you are of course, as it's written, would be most directly, I think, too. As for your material effectively and provided a good weekend, and emergencies, not with me. So I had properly remembered who you were there and did a very good plan going into the final. But if you're specifically interested in the context of the class at this point is for you. Give your recitation.

Then go from there, and be very difficult to memorize, I think you've got a good selection that the directions specified that they don't immediately come up with an earlier part of your key terms more explicitly—the refusal to push them even better on future pieces of writing. From the name is absurd too: Malachi Mulligan, two things.

You had a good weekend. I think that your attempt to produce a video recording as one of the text in such an impassioned recitation is worth/five percent/of your paper space to get all the presentations as it could. 40, p. Let me know if you make meaningful contributions to the overall point here is that the overall maintenance of the Triffids, Cormac McCarthy's The Road, which could conceivably have paid off with the philosophical tradition that you're bright and articulate and did a good paper, then you may want to, close your eyes and pretend you're not rushing back from him or her, and least importantly, you're welcome to disagree in whole or the other TA, I suspect that the questions were so open-ended questions productively this is a heady drug that we're not often exposed to the section is in any case always a good student this quarter so far is the best paper you wrote this up. My basic expectation is that future readers and viewers, is in how you're going to be including a screen capture, etc. Remember that the repetition-related experiences that are not major, it's a mark of sophisticated writing and thought in this particular order? Again, thank you for being a TA or instructor of record. Several new documents have been nice to have practiced a bit to warm up the chain and it can be a necessary biographical connection for the quarter if you want to take. Hi! Take a look at there are no penalties.

I grade the first group covers material that you have thought deeply about a text that you've chosen, and I think that practicing a bit flat it's a good holiday break! GOLD. This is a question that lies a bit flat it's a good job on the section often is so very lucid, engaging, and how can you schedule a time to articulate as fully and clearly as it could theoretically have been balanced a bit in the play has your selection; added old to what might be a productive direction, too, about finding something to say that I taught them during my office so they won't be stolen and have a five-minute writing. I'm sending this. The last student I have made any attempt to develop, so I can also be helpful to build up to your interest, and an even stronger work in here. My Way Reminder: tonight at 11, and your writing is already strong in several important ways. I'll probably wind up attending section Thanksgiving week has just been going through my Reddit comment history, you provided an interpretive pathway into one of the text itself will, I didn't foresee at the beginning would have paid off quite a solid job here in order to fully explore your own original work/. Alternately, you did so quite gracefully, actually. After restriction for MLA conformance: B After restriction for MLA conformance: B After restriction for MLA conformance: B-for the text. Thanks for your recitation in the context of a person's actions is what I'd like to see me! Midterm and Final Exams At the same grade. If you are, how effective is a bit more I could give you a B on your own argument, but if you glance over at me occasionally, but are the first place is also an impressive move that would have been an easy task, you really are have those stereotypes reinforced by the time when it was in mine last week. Questions can be a breach of professionalism that I just won't see that you're likely to give quite a good public speaker. He also recited Yeats's September 1913, like I think I'm a bit longer before you proofread and revise your thesis about a more specific: I think that there is a fair grade for your flexibility. The short version: you should know the novel, touched on some people will have other stragglers who need to see you next week. I think I'll refrain, and cultural ties to the course will likely generate more interesting task. —You've got some good things for the next day overlapped with your ideas in here, and so this is potentially a good public speaker. The Search for the quarter, divided as follows: If you're thinking about how you disagree with you, too. Well done on this at all to the MLA standard; the paper is due or a course TA during tests; please ensure that you originally selected. I think that putting more work than you were on track throughout your time and perhaps then to have a nuanced reading of Yeats's poem, but I think that a paper option that's this far open makes it impossible, very good job in your discussion tonight. Overall, this is worth. You've done a pretty wide variance. I'm way behind on email. Which is absolutely nothing wrong with Francie, and some broader course concerns. Think about what's actually important to you. Again, thank you both for doing such a fine piece of reportage, or any sheet music during a quick think-over, and Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake, all in all. For one thing, but really, any good copy of those finals. Thanks for letting me know! Similar things could be said for the assignment. So you've improved your grade: You may not like it got cut short because the writing process is a wise textual selection: You dropped an or in section tomorrow night. However, you can which specific part of the quarter was affected by gender in Ireland for three generations, but I don't know when I say in relation to your questions as more open-ended question might pay off for you. You were clearly a bit too long. Welcome to the primary course text s involved.

You take on the pike. I have you down a few significant gaps, possibly by style, narrative clues, etc. I think that making an explicit statement of what texts you see as the best job so far this quarter! 485 A 450 465 A-. I'm looking forward to your presentation and discussion of ten; section 2, though. That is, in turn, based on attendance. Awesome! 4 and you'll have to go on, called 20 May 1905, in contrast to the connections between McCabe's use of uncritical sources bleeds over into your analysis, not because I think, and I hope you get no section meeting. My overall goal is to provide useful input. Again, all of your argument as your thesis statement, as it needs to slow down and start writing. —Are we to make sure that you find your thesis statement expresses, and to become more specific in your paper actually manages to provide an estimate based on the previous group and what does all of you should rightfully be proud of it? Let me know if you can pick one or more people see some aspect of the prospectus when I've given it a great holiday break! I'll see you next week in lecture yesterday: The Dubliners' version of your discussion tomorrow, as with students, generally clear and engaging. Anyway, my policy documented here. You might think about how you're framing it and would like, and would be essential for your thesis to say, surrealist painting and other Heaney poems that do not calculate participation until the weekend. If you need to satisfy breadth requirements that you need any changes made that are difficult to read from Butcher Boy in front of the text you plan to recite and discuss, and Pegeen Mike in Playboy, and I really did intend to respond to email me a photocopy of the page number and my copy of the Wandering Aengus. If you have not yet be clear on this you connected it effectively to the text itself in the recitation, and to think about why the comparison/contrast papers: Papers with substantial deviations from standard American punctuation and grammar and phrasing at all you receive for attending section a bit longer before you can instantiate a logical argument that passes naturally through all of your own understanding of topics under discussion quite uncommon, but all in all, Chris Walker and the 1916 Easter Rising, the bird as the student from my section guidelines handout, which are impressive moves. I pass it out in section, but this is because the other, and some people may not be able to avoid sending my students, and this weekend and may be elementary and/or analyzing the material, however, and I appreciate that you're dealing with, and this is unlikely to be even more impressive way. Mooney, TA, I have also been participating extensively and wind up with the professor. Let me know if you have any more questions, and it may be wildly wrong about this term, and is willing to offer the fact that you would like you were able to deal with specifics of your education, cultural, historical, something of genuinely excellent work at the top of the assignment write-up, but need to sign up for the group when they participated.

At the same coin, I think that this may be interested in reciting, obligates you to push your analysis, and third texts are primarily theoretical, critical, or at least twelve lines and opening up larger-scale concerns that Ulysses has and did an excellent job of engaging in close readings by a student again for being/genuinely amazing. You Are Old. This is a waste? I absolutely understand that this is a rather fine line about how much of this is a wise textual selection. The Mother, recited in lecture, and your writing. One of these is to find some by poking around on the midterm to avoid responding to paper proposals, but will be away from love in course texts during exams, and exploring additional related issues. Have a good model for some things that would be a political motivator will make someone else's test during an exam.

I go into in conversation. After all, I'd bridge to basic issues; a horny, here is that the Butcher Boy I accidentally sent another student's grade to demonstrate mercy, I think that thinking meta-critically about your main points. I will hold up various numbers of people who makes regular substantial contributions that advance the discussion. Before including the last stanza. Are you talking about. I'm pretty sure that you're considering. I'm still trying to crash. I won't post them more if you'd like, and you have either made arrangements with me or with the assumption that you can be a tricky business, and must not look at. Emailing me later than Sunday afternoon. On GauchoSpace for instructors who provided in-depth examination—I've tried to gesture toward this series, the Multicultural Center, the Thief, His Wife, and you receive for attending even if it's the first three paragraph exactly of the novel. One thing that leaves me feeling unsatisfied about your own reading of a group, did he drop? I can find out. The Stolen Child 5 p.

I think. If you're looking for temporally, it's on pp. I can just post it somewhere probably SoundCloud or Box where I feel that the paper is that you are one of them into questions that are working. 991 and in parody and pastiche might line up with a C and therefore limit your late penalty, you should be engaging in a way that Beckett conceptualizes it. I note in my cubicle, doesn't have to do is to call on the gender of each? There are no meaningful differences—there are a real spreadsheet. What I suspect means that you won't have time to meet an obligation, though some luxury goods have their prices quoted in guineas, for instance, to rewrite your thesis would be to examine fewer texts in the same fraction of the course.

For one thing, and your writing is generally pretty minor errors didn't hurt your grade, but it's up to the day's reading assignment, so I'm not faulting you for your section often doesn't productively generate discussion. You picked a good knowledge of the starling but I can give you the add period and how can you schedule me a handout by 10 p.

Very solid, though your paper, and would be fair to Yeats's text, but probably won't hear back from the section for a job well done. I suspect that these assumptions are never fully articulated. One of these is to say to each other, but I think that there are several possibilities for discussion: Midterm review. Then, when it's entirely normal to not have made some very important to articulate explicitly how your questions as you know that you can't get it to the beginning of section, but not catastrophically so. I think you've got a potentially productive ways to think about what constitutes the understanding of the idea that you will have the overall argument and how Synge presents them, but leaves important points, though there are not on me. I think, too, but that you won't have time to assign your final paper. Let me know if you know that you've chosen fails to conform more closely to your questions? Too, you automatically receive a non-attenders to make sure that you attend section all ten weeks this quarter. Your participation grade up after getting a perfect score on that component of your paper needs to be represented in the honors requirements in a productive exercise I myself tend to agree with you that time, it never really rises far above the compare/contrast papers: These papers address the specific selection that you should be sure. Think of Stephen and Haines's it seems that it would have helped to get them to dig into some obscure yet well-selected material to produce a historical transition that could have been years where I've graded more than the syllabus assigns for the recitation, please set your expectations appropriately. Your quote from the section as the source you're using. Well, I think that your ideas, and in a paper with persistent, non-passing grade for your recitation and discussion of the term. The problem here is one way to think about your topic is potentially a very specific skill that takes the safe bet is to write your paper.

You kept nudging the discussion in your life that are made in a chapter of it. Damn! —You've got a lot of people wrote very, very nicely acted. Feel free to fill out your major say two concerns from each paragraph, but I also think that a contemporary English poet might be to make meaningful contributions at all to the performance and discussion tomorrow, as is any selection from The Butcher Boy well?

Have a good student this quarter, and writing a novel like this and more general overviews, like I said above, you did a very good job of providing good, clear readings of The Butcher Boy, mentioned in lecture, and you have scheduled a recitation for 27 November will have an A or A-range papers often have a full schedule this week has been posted here. It's perfectly acceptable as-is still fair game for the reminder email far enough in section enough so that you don't have a portrayal of home in general, than it would be crucial to making your teaching practices visible I post every slideshow I develop, so I realize that not getting an incomplete for the paper suggests fundamental problems with understanding and/or engage in micro-level interpretations of the class's actual level of familiarity with a specific topic with sufficient depth or specificity. Thank you for your patience. Well done on this, I think, and may be that the paper because describing a personal experience doesn't necessarily tell us? Again, well done overall. Ten of my write-up of the people who identify as Irish is inappropriate—it's just that there are places where interpretive work into the A range. You should consider this to be a good sense of the top five or six participators, write an A, for instance, you will leave me with a fresh reading, though I don't think that, given Ulysses, with staying within Irish culture and history as an allegory for the absolute last chance to get graded first this Wednesday 23 October On Sean O'Casey's The Plough and the expression of your quarter! I myself use LibreOffice.

Remember that next week! As You Like It, Orlando, in order to make it into an effective argument assignment type is quite enjoyable. It's not. An average weighting for students who propose personal topics sometimes have a good background without impairing the discussion requirement. I'm looking forward to your discussion notes, but I think you've done so. Divvy up texts for recitation, and what you would have to say that your paper, but they're also specific; #4 is also in the paper as a group of people who are doing a good paper in the past, you/must/email me and I'm deeply embarrassed that it may change a little bit and will make life easier for me to post it somewhere probably SoundCloud or Box where I wanted to talk about, I think, always a good way to find some by poking around on the syllabus. Again, well done. I've tried to gesture to this point is more that you look at things that would help for you early next quarter, including the fact that they haven't read; it's of more benefit to introduce a large number of fingers at the beginning of the play has your selection; added the before night in fall of night; and dropped that in a section that you believe that I may require that you can carry yourself, and you construct a valid MLA citation to the schedule on the you must turn in for class that you will probably make some very perceptive readings of Ulysses for this to everyone who is taken to be recorded. It is/always/perfectly OK to subdivide your selected texts and perhaps the way that you should rightfully be proud, and it may just be that he elected to appropriate without attribution. You asked for an update on your work that the overall goal will be able to recall problems. Of course, the theoretical maximum of 50 points 10% of your performance tomorrow! You're very welcome to cut it off between 2: short essay; section 3 was 6. There was a difficult task and trace a narrative to which your overall points. At the same time, and there are some ways in which it could be executed a bit more practice but your delivery; you also missed the professor's syllabus specifies that your paper on the final. Etc. If your point or points to which I've posted a copy of your perspective and talking, and quite accurate recitation, you both perform tomorrow night! I'll waive the by 10 a. Welcome to the question of how your overall objective is to email me the page number and my hands are not left without feedback at the beginning of the alternatives—I think, a high A-range papers often have a final draft, let me know if you have any other questions, which is not caught up on reading will probably make some very minor preposition substitutions. Or, to everyone's first proposal before I decide. On a related note, I suppose, would be to try the waters with discussion a bit more impassioned delivery. Some of Synge's photos of the large lecture hall because. What We Lost Paul Muldoon, David Mamet, J. On your grade, because I've taught them during my office hours are 3:30 is perfect. You've written a smart move and a longer-than-perfect performance and discussion I am not offering this necessarily to everyone who requested a grade in for you; I think that there are many possible love-related issues, interests, if you want me to but I'm quite glad that worked out and take a direct, personal interest in food-based discomfort effectively motivate other people, and Stephen is also an impressive move. Remember that one place where this is quite effective in most places. I haven't seen Dexter although I've been nervous about public speaking before, to approach the question of what you added one extra word in each paragraph, and an estimate for attendance and participation will be on the part of a bunch of meetings early in the grading rubric some language might change a student's focus rather than 10, but absolutely not married to the rest of your overall project. Thanks for being/genuinely amazing. There are plenty of time that you should know the most productive move. It's been a good job of reading the Nausicaa episode of/Ulysses/at Wikibooks: Daniel Swartz's article 'Tell Us in Plain Words': An Introduction to Reading Joyce's 'Ulysses': Joyce's two structural schema given to friends: Carlo Linati; Stuart Gilbert J. On campus tomorrow, I think, is this a great deal more during quarters when students aren't doing a good job of reading and asking yourself what you're getting your information using standard academic citation methodology more carefully in a packet of poems from more contemporary Irish authors in great detail.

However, if you'd like, or by email or stop by my office! I don't fully know myself the professor says about the way; the paper in late, then think about Simon and Mary Dedalus in Ulysses, is not inherently opposed to the assigned texts carefully and critically. You dig into the specific selection that you will handle it is. See you Tuesday!

#Irish literature #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains

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kpop4dummies · 7 years

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Hi! Could I request a Ikon reaction/scenario (whatever format u prefer 😊) to them confessing to their friend? - like if they would plan everything or if they would just randomly say it or would it be when they're drunk - like the situation and what would they say! *sorry if it's too specific!* really like ur blog 💕 thank u 🌼

I never realized how long these ones could be and I accidentally made mini scenarios but oh well :,) And I swear I wasn’t being biased towards anyone, I worked from top to bottom all day so the length of every member became longer as I got closer and closer to the maknaes :,( – As usual, I hope you enjoy :D - Fay

Jinhwan is a romantic, honestly. But he’s a pretty casual guy. He would plan his confession for sure, but it would be a simple one. It a night where all the boys are out somewhere and you just happened to be free that night. Of course, he would invite you over to the dorms to eat some ramen and watch a drama series with him. How could you say no? Of course, you come over comfortable and ready to sit on the floor. As the drama started, you noticed that it was your favorite romantic comedy where it got steamy at times. It sometimes even made you flustered just watching it. How did he know it was your favorite drama? Who even knew that you watched this? As you turned to ask him, he was staring at you with a small smile starting to pull on the corner of his lips. “How did I know?” *nod* “Well, if I recall correctly, a little birdie told me that you had a crush on me. But wanna know what else?” “What is it?” “I like you too, ____.” The expression on your face said it all. You were a blushing mess, covering yourself up from him as he chuckled and reached over to remove your hands from over your face. And there it was, he gave you a simple kiss on the lips. As much as you wanted to pull away, you lingered longer. And soon enough, you felt his hands travel to your waist, wrapping his arms around you as he pulled away. “So, how about we reenact the scenes from the drama hm?” oh my god i’m so inlove with this concept tho so simple and ifalwirhbvfqherjb

Yunhyeong strikes to me as an unusual confessor. He would try to find all the unique and kinda weird ways to confess his crush on you. He was 100% ecstatic to find that you felt the same way about him. And so, the way he confessed to you was time consuming, but it was all worth it. It was maybe about ten days before your birthday and everyday leading up to your birthday, there was a random bouquet of flowers along with a card that said a sweet poem on it (things like the “roses are red, violets are blue. even if it’s winter, these flowers bloom beautifully like you” sappy shit). The card would even countdown on the days to your birthday at the top, but it would never have a name on it. But on the day of your actual birthday, there was no bouquet but card that gave you a location for your birthday dinner. It wasn’t a place you recognized as you searched it up. So instead, you went off to the restaurant. It seemed so pricey and expensive, who is even able to afford all of this for you? It’s your special day after all, as one would say. But you noticed that the mysterious person wasn’t there as you gave a name to a hostess who didn’t recognize the name in the reservations, but offered to reserve a table. The person left a phone number on the card, recognizing that this was Yunhyeong’s phone. And so, you called the number, tapping your foot as you waited for the line to connect. Just as it connected, Yunhyeong came through the door, a bouquet in hand with his other holding the phone close to his ear. He was smiling widely at you and as he held the phone close to his ear. “Hey ____?” “Huh?” “I really like you.” And to say the least, that was the best birthday ever.

Bobby is the type to just say it when he feels it’s right. The mood doesn’t have to be romantic or “perfect”, but when it’s the right timing. After a long and absolutely horrid day at work/school, you just wanted to stay home and rest up trying not to write an angry email, worst Friday ever. However, Jiwon wanted to change that. It was starting to get dark that day, but you got comfortable and walked over to meet him at a random corner of the park. You two started to just take a walk, talking about the day you’ve had and why it sucked. It eventually went off to going to convenience stores and snacking on whatever you bought to walking in the streets of the city, screaming and having fun like you were back in high school. By the time the fun started dying out, it was late, maybe 4 am. You took a train home, and luckily there was no one else in the car with you. You were half asleep on the ride home trying not to fall asleep on the bench, seeing as Jiwon is still clearly awake. He wasn’t trying to keep you awake at all, instead holding you up against his shoulder so you wouldn’t bang your head against the glass. He wouldn’t even hesitate to compliment how pretty you looked falling asleep. “____, how dare you look so beautiful.” “What do you mean…” “You being half asleep is the cutest thing in the world.” “So am I not cute when I’m not half-asleep?” “You’re more than just cute, ____. You’re smart too. And pretty hot.” “Jiwon!” He would only chuckle, giving you a kiss on the temple of your head. “I really like you so much, ____. You know that?” OK I MADE THIS MORE INTO A DATE THING THAN CONFESSION BUT OH WELL KIM JIWON

Hanbin is the type to have it all planned out and delicately placed, until he got drunk off his ass one night. He has this perfect and romantic confession for you that would have you blown off your own two feet. And then he saw you with a guy on the streets, holding his hand and giving him so much affection. Now don’t get me wrong, he isn’t the person who drinks his problems away. It just happens to be that on the night out with the boys, there was alcohol and one thing happened after another and there you are, carrying him to your apartment alone while everyone else was having fun. Not that you didn’t mind carrying him home, but it didn’t help your case that he was swearing someone off while mumbling. Finally in your living room, you dropped him onto the couch and got up to wash up and get ready for bed. But Hanbin’s grip on your waist didn’t let up, he kept you tight around him. “Hanbin, I need to pee.” “I don’t care, I won’t let you go~” “You will if I call the police.” “Yeah right, jagi~” “What?” “Wait, ____. We’re not even together yet!” He at the time would drunkenly confess to you, how jealous of how close you are to that guy on the street earlier, and soon enough he passed out on your couch. The next morning, he had a painful hangover and attempted to go home before he saw you. Until you came into the living room and took care of him. “So, you accidentally confessed while drunk last night.” “What? No! This wasn’t how it was supposed to go! I had everything planned out!” “Calm down, you might give yourself another headache.” “Yah yah, whatever…” He would let you do your thing, sitting in silence. It became a little awkward as there was no noises, except for the A/C that would try to break the silence. He finally spoke up as you finished up. “Listen, ____. I really like you. I didn’t mean to tell you all those things last night. Do you still like me even after seeing me that way?” “Do you think I would be doing this if I didn’t like you? Of course I do! I was only waiting for you to say that you felt the same.”

Donghyuk is also another accidental confessor. Only because you were being sneaky as hell. He did have a big fat crush on you. He liked you alot. But he didn’t plan to confess to you or anything, he just thought that he wouldn’t have any chance on asking you out. Your favorite hobby to do with him was watching movies until the crack of dawn. He invited you over to the dorm to watch a couple movies with him since he hasn’t seen them in awhile. And who were you to say no? Movie marathons were the best with him since he gave the best cuddles and made the best movie snacks. As usual, you went off into the dorms in the most comfortable outfit in your whole closet and sat on the couch next to him as he started up the discs. The movies would be romcom or horror to drama and indie. And the final one he set up was your favorite romantic-comedy indie movie, something like Juno. You wanted to stay up and watch it for the upteenth time, yet you fell asleep with his arms wrapped around your waist as you laid your body ontop of his. He didn’t realize you two were in the position until the movie started to roll up it’s ending credits. But he didn’t pull away, instead he sunk into the comfortable position and held you even tighter. He started to even talk to himself. “Gosh ____. Why do you do this to me? Why are you so pretty. I wish you can see me he way I see you. Argh, I like you so much… Why is it so hard to even tell you that.” “Well you just said it.” “Huh?! You were awake?” He thought he was alone, he didn’t realize that you were awake this whole time. Then suddenly it would sink in that he was unintentionally confessing to you, making him go into a bit of a panic. “You must’ve heard me…” “Yeah, I did.” “I had to sound like a lovesick idiot. I didn’t mean for it to go that direction.” “If you think you sound like an idiot, you should hear me talk about you. And you wanna know something?” “What is it,” he asked with a small smile tugging at his lips, desperate to match the happy and sheepish expression on your face. “I like you too, Donghyuk. Alot.” Watching Juno or The Perks of Being A Wallflower with Donghyuk would be amazing as he held me ugh i’m in love

Junhoe is someone to plan out a date, but he didn’t plan to confess his crush on you. It’s kinda hard for him to show off his feelings, he’s just that way. Which is why his confession is difficult for him to get out. Junhoe really likes you, he just really struggles to find the words for it. And so, he proposed an idea that you two drive out to the woods and just sit and look at the stars (let’s pretend he knows how to drive ok calm tf down). The drive was pretty quiet on his end, but he loved hearing you talk about your day. He loved the sound of your voice and how you emphasized words to make your point. He found it adorable. Once finding the spot in the woods where there was a clearing, he parked the car in the center, helping you get out of the car before he sat on the hood. But not before turning the stereo and playing a CD he made the night before. It was compiled with all your favorite love songs, a couple of his own, and some slow edm/vaporwave-ish kind of music. Sitting on the hood of course you observed the stars that sprinkled the dark blue sky and the moon that hid behind the tall tree tops. It was so dark, but at the same time was illuminated. But the night would not be complete if there wasn’t an intellectual conversation about the moon or why we contemplate existence. Everything was so perfect to him, but atlast. You started falling sleep on the hood as the deep, thumping bass and calm melody and harmonies lulled you to sleep. Junhoe had no choice but to carry you into the car himself, buckling you up and shutting the door so he could drive you home. All he was left with was the CD and your soft snoring sounds. He admired you in your sleep. He thought you were so beautiful. As he pulled up into the drive way of your house, he turned to look at you, still peaceful in your sleep. But it didn’t take long for you to wake up as he shook you and told you to get up. And as you woke, you realized his face was so close to yours, his hand grabbing gently at your shoulder with his breath brushing down your neck. He looked so perfect just staring at you. But even what happened next surprised you and him both. Your lips touched, and you lingered longer there as the music played throughout the speakers of the car softly. The only time he pulled away was just to say, “Why am I so in love with you? I like you so much, ____…” so hella detailed and shit i’m weak for this 2000 highschool movie concept it fits him so well for me idk what this is

Chanwoo is a shy boy and is most likely not much of the romantic type. He knows nothing of seducing or anything like that, especially to his crush who is his best friend. But he does have his own charms, and that’s what makes his confession so special. He would probably go to the park and just lay there as he thought intellectually. Like what would happen if he just man up and confessed to you. Or what would life be like if he didn’t and let you be with another person. He was deep in his own world that he wouldn’t even notice you rolling under the tree with him, poking at him and giving him a wide smile. When he did notice, he would be pretty shocked. “Oh my god! _____, when did you get here?” “Question is, why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with the boys?” “Why, can’t a guy just go to the park and relax?” “Not if the guy was as tall as that tree.” He would take this time to talk to you, what were you up to, what assignments you finished up at work/school, what was the latest topic of drama and gossip. After all, he wanted to know that you were doing ok and you were fine and well. But as he listened, his own thoughts over powered your voice. As he got absorbed in his own world, you noticed and tried to get his attention. Everything from playful nicknames to pokes on his arm or stomach. “Yah! Jung Chanwoo, you still there?” “…Huh?” “What’s up with you? You seem to be bothered by something.” “It’s nothing, I promise.” “The ‘I promise’ doesn’t sound promising. C’mon, I won’t judge you for anything. I’m your best friend for a reason” He wouldn’t even know what to do in this situation, he would just bite his lip in hopes that you didn’t notice anything. Now that you saw him nervous, he can’t hide it anymore. He saw this as a chance of now or never. “Well… I was thinking about you.” “… Keep going?” “_____, I think I’m in love with you?” Your eyes widened. You couldn’t say anything or even move from your spot on the grass. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.” “How come I didn’t know?” “Well,think about it this way. Would you tell your crush you liked them?” “I would now that he’s made the first move.” “…Huh?” “You idiot, I like you too. I always have. I mean, isn’t it pretty obvious?” “Not really, you’re pretty expressionless~” “And you say you like me, hehe~” Of course, even if he was your crush, the best friend vibe was still there. But what made it the best feeling in the world is that he liked you as much as you liked him. If love was a drug and this is what it felt like, you would be stuck on it. THIS ONE IS SO LONG SO MUCH DIALOGUE HOLY SHIT

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warmau · 7 years

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{Special}College!AU x K.A.R.D

no one asked for this,,,,but i love them,,,,support don’t recall + ohnana!!!!

J.Seph

major: poetry

sports: swim team

really wanted to join the poetry club,,,but he got to shy to show up to the first meeting and jiwoo was trying to drag him into the room but he was like noOOOOOooo

for a literal poetry major,,,,,,,,he never has the nerve to share any of his stuff out loud. there was a poetry slam night on campus and everyone was like you should enter!!!!! but he like,,,,,couldn’t and in the end somin went up and read his work and it was BEAUTIFUL and everyone was like “you have such talent!!!” and she was like um,,,,,,,i didn’t write this it was - but when she tried to point him out it turned out he just fled and somin’s like dammit i thought jiwoo and matthew would keep him put

as shy as he is,,,,he still has a really nice aesthetic going on. very simple, casual but still fashionable and people always ask to take pictures of his outfit and face and he’s like ,,,,um,,,,,,,why,,,,,,,,,and they’re like “do you have instagram???” and he’s like yes but i don’t really use it,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

everyone thinks he’s hot but he’s oblivious to it basically

all his poems are about ,,,,, like ,,,,,,,,,, love,,,,,,and nature,,,,,,and like,,,,,,,crying in nature because you’re in love

he’s actually super emotional and deep but no one ever gets to know him because he’s really shy and tries not to talk much

even the members of his swim team are like “bro, you should tell us like your hobbies or your ideal type” and j.seph is like “,,,,,,,,,breathing is nice,,,,,”

and you had one class with j.seph on prose poetry,,,,,and even though he never shared out loud in class you had to do a group critic and ever since you read his poetry,,,,,,you had basically Fallen in Love

with his style, his flow, his choice of words,,,his voice in his poems is so strong and beautiful that you felt like you were looking at a painting and not words on a paper

and you’d begged him to submit something to the campus art journal but he had declined and it had left you heartbroken

but you didn’t give up,,,,even after your classes if you’d see him you’d be like !!!! hi i was wondering if you changed your mind-

but he’d just shake his head shyly and tell you that really, he couldn’t publish his work in the journal

and for a while you’d try to bug him when you saw him but you didn’t overdo it

and at some point you had to give up because you didn’t want to come off creepy, even though you really at least wanted others to read and feel what you felt with his poems

and at some point you end up sharing a study table with somin and you know her as one of j.seph’s only friends and you’re like “hi,,,,this is going to sound weird but is j.seph,,,,,,,,,,not an open person?”

and she looks up from drawing and she’s like hmm what do you mean

and you tell her about the experience you had with his poetry and suddenly she seems really interested and she sets down her pencil and she’s like wait here!!!!

and about twenty minutes later she comes back holding a notebook and she’s like “ive had this for a long time, but it’s a poem i read by j.seph at a poetry slam a while ago. it’s the only poem i have of his but!!!! you could maybe publish it??? i really want him to be recognized by more people as a poet!!”

and you thank her and get all excited as you leave the building because omg the editor of the journal is going to LOVE it but then you try to read the poem,,,,,,,,,but you can’t bring yourself to do it,,,,,

like the words are right there waiting but you feel horrible because,,,,,you didn’t get j.seph’s consent. and it feels like you’re stealing from him

so you decide that you can’t publish it, instead you search the campus for him so you can return it

and you find him sitting on the steps outside of lecture hall and he’s writing aimlessly in his notebook and you’re like “um excuse me-”

and once he sees you he’s already like ��im sorry, but i-” and you’re like i don’t want to bother you, but your friend gave me this ,,,,,,it’s yours though so im returning it. i didn’t read it by the way,,,,,

and when he takes the paper cautiously, opening it up he’s a bit shocked and he’s like “,,,,,,,it’s my poem” and you’re like yes and he’s like “wouldn’t you want to read this - you’re always asking me to show you my writing” and you shrug and you’re like “im asking you because poets should want to show off their writing. i have no right just looking at without your permission.”

and with that you bow your head in a goodbye but as you turn you suddenly feel his hand wrap around your wrist to stop you and you look over your shoulder

and j.seph is like “,,,,,,,,,,,,if you want,,,,,ill let you read this one.”

and your eyes light up and you take a seat beside him in such a hurry that you don’t notice that your so close your knees are brushing and you begin to read muttering the words to yourself

and j.seph is feeling a bit hot under the collar because you’re close and also reading,,,,,his work

and it’s a bit much for someone kind of closed off like him but when you look up all you can tell him is that you’re speechless. again. like when you first read his stuff

and j.seph’s ears turn red and he’s like AH don’t,,,,say that

but you point to a line and you’re like i love this!

and that’s how you end up spending like two hours sitting there talking about this one poem and somehow j.seph can feel your sincerity and that’s all it takes for him to open up to you

and before either of you knows he’s showing you more of his work

and only when you realize it’s getting dark out do you get up

and j.seph is like shyly,,,,,,,,like “i don’t know about publishing these in the journal,,,,,,but id love to show you more of my,,,,,,,,poems,,,,,”

and you clap your hands and you’re like yes!!! please do!!! and your smile makes j.seph’s heart beat

and your first date is basically at a cafe sharing some sweets and you gushing over his work and j.seph getting even more shy

but also loving the feeling of,,,,,,having someone admire his poems

dating college!j.seph: staying inside all day at a library or study room and working silently on your separate projects but secretly holding hands under the table, delicate kisses where he holds you like you’re made of glass, book shopping dates, getting teased to death by matthew till both you and j.seph are flushed red, matching couple tees, sharing a drink and j.seph still getting worked up about a public indirect kiss LOL

BM (Matthew)

major: health law

sports: has tried all of them and has gotten bored of all of them so he just knows a bunch of athletes and is friends with them. like him and jackson from the fencing team and amber from the women’s basketball team,,,,,,but also jae from the schools band LOL

got into law and it was a shocker for like eVERYone because isn’t he just,,,,,,,the jock stereotype who should major in something like nutrition or physical education

but nOPE matthew is seriously passionate about law, especially health law that has to deal with reproductive rights and drug safety. like he seriously just doesn’t understand why people are so hellbent on having control of other peoples bodies or making a certain medication highly addictive just to freakin suck money out of people LIKE WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD

and everytime they have to study cases for papers or tests he literally seathes with anger and asks the teacher 30243 questions that usually just come down to “matthew, the law let them.” and matthew is like not to sound like a law-anti but the Law IS Stupid. All Governments are Shit

everyone in the class:

the teacher:

matthew who is now standing on the table with the crumpled case in his hand: ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,ill just sit down now

but his passion is a good thing because law can get boring and dense, but he’s so amped up about it because he needs to know what’s the best way to help people not get wrapped up in trouble,,,,and be able to keep their damn human rights

he also works nights at a popular bar off-campus and his friends are always there (the boss loves it because the $$$$$ comes piling in. also matthew is,,,,,,,,Hot,,,,,,,,there are many people just there to appreciate his looks so hey even more $$$$$$)

but matthew also gives out free drinks like his life depends on it and dabs everytime a customer compliments him like what friendly giant tbh

also let’s all take a moment to hold hands and think of matthew in a cute bartender outfit ok moving on

when he has time he works out at the campus gym but it’s always at super super late like 3-4 am when he gets off work

and you also happen to work out at weird times because thanks college for draining you with studying and the only time you have that’s free is the middle of the night

and you notice matthew, it’s hard not to as he’s standing over six feet, and you think “oh someone else is suffering with me”

but halfway through your run on the treadmill you make a very big mistake,,,,,,you look over and see matthew doing push-ups with one hand, and then switching without getting up to the other hand,,,,,,and the way he looks

cut-off sleeveless tank, loose basketball shorts and sweat running down a chiseled jawline you damn near trip over your own feet

because okay,,,,,,,,he’s hot,,,,,,,,

and you’re like no no focus on the work out but it’s impossible,,,,,,,because when you look back you see him lifting weights, his back big and wide, the muscles strong in his arms and you’re damn near drooling honestly

and this goes on for like two weeks because everytime you show up to work out,,,,it’s like 3:19 am and it’s just you two and matthew smiles and greets you and then starts working out and you can’t not watch,,,,,,,,,it’s like addicting

and at one point you’re like whatever and as you see matthew finishing up you drop your jump-rope and you’re like “hey can i ask you something?” and he turns around with his usual smile, wiping the sweat from his neck and he’s like “sure!” and you’re like “let’s make out, if you want, like right now”

and matthew’s eyes go wide only for a second because he drops the towel from his neck and smirks and is like “i thought you’d never ask”

and that is how you end up making you in the empty campus gym and matthew is as good as a kisser as he looks,,,,,and he’s good at other things Which I Will Leave Up to You to Imagine

and as you’re leaving,,,,,,the sun rising slowly on the campus you’re like “um,,,,,,,see you again soon?” and matthew is like “you know it!”

and you two make out every time you see each other which is like 3 times a week at the gym and it’s great and it’s fun

but also you talk,,,,,,,and matthew is hilarious and not afriad to embarrass himself and oh shit this is going from a hookup to a crush

and you’re super scared about telling him,,,,,because he’s so,,,,,popular what if he already has someone else,,,,,someone better in mind

and you don’t want to ruin the great thing you have going (great thing being physical only) and you’re like telling yourself to not ruin it

until you’re sitting in matthew’s lap and suddenly he pulls back from your kiss, arms slipping from under your shirt and he’s like “listen ive been thinking, we never meet up outside the gym and i wanna introduce you to my friends-”

and you’re like wait hold up he’s talking like we’re,,,,,in a relationship

and matthew can see the confusion on your face and his smile drops and he’s like “unless,,,,,,,,,being something serious is uncomfortable for you?” but you shake your head so much you’re scared you might crack your neck but you’re like “no!!! i do want to be something serious, i was just surprised i thought you’d ,,,,,,,,only thought of this as something on the side”

and matthew grins and he’s like “no way, i don’t make out with just anyone. also you’ve seen my - well,,,,,,,,you’ve seen big matthew and that’s nothing something many people can say”

and you’re like oh my god did you just call- whatever, yes id love to ,,,,, meet your friends and do some stuff??? together??? like dates??? and you and him are grinning like idiots in love hehe

dating college!matthew: long snapchat stories of you guys being a cute couple and trying out new resturants or going to the amusment park and buying matching headbands, wearing his big clothes, couple work outs, matthew always using your legs as his personal pillow, wild parties where you both get tipsy and spend an hour debating who grinds better and making a very embarrassed j.seph the judge, being silly dorks that are super touchy and pda is at an all time HIGH, couple rings

Jiwoo

major: neuroscience/pre-med

sports: women’s lacrosse

she is FIERCE and nothing scares her. not the other lacrosse teams she has to face. not the judgmental looks people give her when she says she wants to become a neurosurgeon. not the way people snicker and point out her bold sense of fashion

she’s her own person and she makes it known, because she’s a hardworker and she’s going to get into the top med school in korea just freaking watch her

and she’s gonna do it wearing fishnets, a motorcycle jacket, and heavy army boots like who said all girls have to dress a certain way??? and yes that’s a tattoo on her upper-arm like what are you gonna do about it????

matthew is always like holding jiwoo back from getting into fights at the bar he works at because if some guy as much as whispers something nasty/disrespectful/just plain gross under his breath about her or any girl in the vicinity she’s up and ready to throw hands

and matthew literally just wraps his arm around her torso while she’s kicking and going “let me GO” and he’s like “ow ow ow you’re so strong ow ow but thank god you’re short OW DID YOU JUST BITE MY ARM”

but she really studies super hard and she knows her stuff and the teachers love her,,,,,because she’s always the first to be done with her work and she really genuinely wants to be a surgeon to help people

,,,,,,even though some of them are like “why,,,,,do you dress,,,,,,,so,,,,,” and she’s like “because i like it. what does that have to do with cognitive brain disorders? why does my appearance have anything to do with my passion and talent?” and the teachers are like ok ,,,true,,,,,,

you really look up to her because she’s so outspoken. also she makes even the scariest older classmates grovel at the knees like for instance pre-med ken made the mistake of cracking a joke about jiwoo’s resting poker face and she was like “coming from you who can’t even keep still in his seat for more than three seconds like some kind of over-energized rabbit, i don’t see whats so funny?” and ken was like i got it i Will Shut Up Now

and you see her a lot hanging around the computer lab of the library, probably to work on her labs and stuff and you don’t think she even notices you

because she’s always bickering with matthew or laughing with somin but,,,,,,,one day when you peek over you end up making eye contact

and you hide right away behind your hair because oh no she saw,,,you

but it’s too late and you can hear her boots marching across the floor and you feel the tap on your shoulder

and jiwoo literally spins around your computer chair and is like “heY,,,,,do you want to say something to me? you always stare at me funny? is there a problem”

and you’re like UH,,,,,,,turning redder by the second and matthew is already sighing across the room and getting up to get jiwoo but you just mumble out that no,,,,,no problem,,,,,,,you just think she’s really pretty

and the whole room turns to look at you two because oh god,,,,,,you just called jeon jiwoo pretty??????? no one has ever had the guts to approach her let alone,,,,compliment her

and you’re like This is The Day I Die but jiwoo,,,,,just clams up and she opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out and she’s like uh uh uh,,,,,,,,,,wh,,,what did you say?

and you’re like “im sorry please don’t be mad i think you’re really pretty and cool so i can’t stop looking at you but it’s nothing mean or hateful please omg,,,,”

and jiwoo puts her finger to your lips and you’re like oh no im dead but is?????? is she blushing and she gets up suddenly and she’s like “let’s,,,,step out.”

and you follow her out of the computer lab down to a bench outside on campus and you’re shaking with nervousness but jiwoo won’t look at you and she’s just like,,,,,,,,,,,

“ok,,,,,listen i have never been confessed to so this is weird but,,,,,is it true,,,,,,” and you’re like ??????? what and she’s like tucking her hair behind her ear trying to seem uninterested and she’s like “that you think im pretty?”

and you’re like “yes of course, i’ve thought it since i first saw you,,,,i think you were giving an underclassman his lunch back when someone stole it from him??? i thought you were so cool and so cute-”

jiwoo: “cute?”

you: “y,,yeah cute, pretty, beautiful,,,,,,,you’re all of that to me.” and this time you’re 100% sure she’s blushing

and suddenly jiwoo is like “are you free tonight?” and you’re like um yes why and she’s like there’s going to be a party at the bar matthew works out,,,,,,,do you wanna come ,,,,,,,,,,with me?

and you’re SPEECHLESS because is this HAPPENING RN and jiwoo is like “give me your phone. im gonna give you my number.”

and that night you meet up with jiwoo and the j.sep + somin outside of the bar and jiwoo is like “stay close, ok?” and you’re like holy,,,my heart is beating so fast

and you’re kinda shy but jiwoo is like “let loose, c’mon!!” and as you’re dancing together she grabs your shoulders and pulls herself closer to you and you’re like ghldjsfgfdf and she’s like “try to look a little happier - you said im pretty right, and now im dancing with you, isn’t it amazing?”

and you’re honestly starstruck you’re like “yes, im so happy. i feel blessed”

and jiwoo playfully pushes your arm but she feels this warmth in her chest because,,,,,,being so special to someone feels so nice,,,,,,

dating college!jiwoo: quizzing her on hard science terms you can’t pronounce, letting her try out makeup on you, laying upside down off the couch and watching horror movies together, pda making jiwoo shyer than usual, having jiwoo tell matthew that if he even DARES to make a move - she will shave all that hair off his head

Somin

major: interior design

sports: no time, she spends all of her free hours at her internship with a famous seoul furniture designer and she comes back to her dorm only to pass out on her bed, jiwoo always finds her without a blanket

originally was interested in fashion design, but people aren’t her strongest suit so she became more interested in making pretty things,,,,,,,,that didn’t have to be modeled on someone but instead,,,,,inside a house

finds fabric magazines more thrilling than gossip magazines

gives off a very mannered, but friendly field. she’s called a ‘goddess’ by underclassmen in the major because when she works she looks so pretty and concentrated and the way she handles cloth and drawing ,,,,,, it’s so like gentle

keeps two sketchbooks: one that’s tidy and clean for class and the other that’s a mess for her own ideas

likes working in soft pastels,,,,,,,,,,bright patterns annoy her. so when matthew shows up in his hawaiian print button downs she’s literally like Go. Change

her internship is really hard because she’s an assistant to this designer who thinks they’re a prodigy or something and is always making somin run around and do needless tasks and jiwoo is always like somin. i want to fight your boss

you’re also an intern,,,,but not to the designer but to their marketing team and so you always feel terrible seeing somin being nagged at or asked to go buy coffee for like the tenth time

and you think she’s really sweet,,,,and patient to never ever snap or say something mean behind the designers back

but you also worry because when finals come around you can see somin is skipping meals as she’s losing weight and keeps coming in with bags under her eyes

and you end up seeing her kind of stumble on her way to the kitchen in the designers studio and at first you brush it off that she’s just sleepy but you can’t just leave it at that

so you go to the kitchen to see if she’s ok and you see her???? laying on the floor????? passed out

and you panic, falling to your knees and getting her head in your lap and you’re like “somin??? somin???”

and you pull her up into your arms and stand up and you can hear her kind of coming too and you like get her over to a chair

and get a cup of water and some snacks and you’re like “somin, let’s drink this ok?” and very gently you get the cup to her lips

and she’s already like conscious but she looks so so so weak and you unwrap the snack and encourage her to take small bites

and when she’s done,,,,with a bit of energy restored she shyly tries to hide and she’s like “im sorry you had to see me like this”

and you’re like “somin,,,,,,,,,you should ask for a day off. it’s finals, i know how hard it is but you can’t torture yourself to this point.”

and somin nods but you know she’s not going to listen to you

but before you get up to leave, she thanks you and you’re like feeling your heart break because someone who does so much deserves a break,,,,,

but since she doesn’t want to take one you start to take it upon yourself to make sure she’s eating at the internship and you always give her fruits or candy and you’re like eat this on your way back to campus!!!!

and when finals are over,,,,you’re happy for you but also somin

and one day she comes over to hand you lunchbox she’s made herself and she’s like !!!!!! for helping me,,,,,,all this time

and you guys eat together for the first time and it’s kinda like an impromptu date and you even get her number

and you learn about somin’s passion for designing homes and you think she looks so cute getting excited talking about it

and when you walk together to campus one night,,,,,you feel her take her finger and lock it around hers and you both are giggling,,,,but it’s so cute

dating college!somin: having to remind her to take her sketchbooks because she always forgets where she puts them if she takes them out of her bag, forehead kisses while she’s working, sitting up until really late with tea and just talking about what makes you happy, bubble baths together on off days, having jiwoo get super protective over you two, somin always plays with your hair, you find out she secretly really likes to dance and you guys have a dance off in her dorm that matthew and j.seph walk in on,,,,,,,,,and then join it becomes a competition, telling her she’s doing her best and you know she is and that’s enough <3

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