#sometimes too much discussions like sometimes one word is just objectively the best choice and discussing for 20min about

[arsonist-chicken]

ahjahjah today in class, we had some discussions about how to translate some dessert names and which German or Austrian names to pick, and I had to hold back so much to not start a whole class debate about various food names

#sauerrahm + schmand... what is a schmand? #there was some disagreement about napoleon cake #and something apparently called profiterol which i've seen but never once heard the name of and i hate that name #and it brought up brandteig + windbeutel #wtf are all these names #i'm just glad no one brought up pfannkuchen/omelette/palatschinken and krapfen/whatever the hell you all germans call krapfen but you're #wrong #anyway i would not have been strong enough for that discussion in a class with a bunch of language nerds from different areas of #austria germany hungary croatia russia italy #the hungarians had a disagreement about what goulash is in hungarian #like hungarian goulash vs austrian one vs a different hungarian one vs something else #this is my favorite class it's the most fun because the teacher brings up job-relevant stuff too not just uni-relevant #and there's always discussions about much stuff #sometimes too much discussions like sometimes one word is just objectively the best choice and discussing for 20min about #a different but worse choice is kind of a waste of time #but there's this russian woman in class who has an opinion about everything and needs to correct everyone about everything russian #like ma'am just because you're russian doesn't mean you have the perspective of all of russia #russia is huge #anyway i really like that class and the teacher #mine #translation

[musical-chick-13]

The workshop thing wasn't great in that respect but it wasn't that bad either because it was so clear that people were jealous when they were being harsher than the professors, who did step in at points when it veered from critiquing stylistic choices into doing exactly what people who think tagging fics on that post is okay are doing. It didn't discourage me from writing but it did solidify my decision not to major in creative writing (this is probably also why I in particular was a target: it wasn't my major, it was a hobby, but I was as qualified as them and got as much praise as they did and even one time more than them on the very first exercise of my first workshop, which probably didn't sit right with them, but only fueled me further because I am nothing if not a creature of spite).

And that's the thing too: so many people can't grasp that there's a huge difference between "this isn't for me" and "this has a lot of issues". Which to preface, unless someone's asked you to beta for them keep your mouth shut. They're doing this for free. Exit out if there are too many errors or whatever (and errors isn't even exactly the word I want but I'm exhausted and didn't sleep enough last night). Not that those people SHOULD beta either even if they were asked, honestly, because they clearly do not have a grasp on what constructive criticism actually is or how it works. You don't need a workshop to learn that either, just basic human decency and Google.

But like anyways. In the workshops I read plenty of things I just Did Not Vibe With, but were objectively very, very good art and you could tell how much care the author put into them. Sometimes things just aren't for you and the author didn't poorly execute that concept, actually.

I ran into this a lot in Performance World, too, back when I was trying to get a singing/stage performing career off the ground. There are SO many threads of that part of my life I can relate to this discussion and it would take far too long to explain them all, but there VERY much was a culture of perfectionism. Jealousy and extreme competition were incredibly prevalent, lots of "stay in your box," lots of complaining if people didn't stay in their box. Even when we were learning (or doing community theatre just to stay in practice or build up a resume), the stakes always seemed astronomically high. Someone could do a passable or even genuinely good job; but if it wasn't good in the "right" way, then it was still seen as meaningless.

For courtesy's sake, I'm putting the rest of my thoughts under a cut, because. Well. This got long. As answers by me are wont to do.

There also was a lot of "pick a genre" and "this is the only MEANINGFUL type of music/art/etc." The opera crowd hated that I liked musicals and pop music because those styles were all "stupid" and "frivolous" and "simple" (which isn't. even true, no art form is a monolith, and what those words mean is going to be different for every person, but, you know). Everyone else hated that I sang opera because it was a "pretentious art form" and "boring" and "sexist/racist/etc." (Those first two are incredibly subjective, and plenty of modern opera works exist that seeks to not uphold those forms of prejudice.) There was "if you look like [x], then you can't do [y performance type]." "If your voice sounds like this, then you can't EVER pursue ANY roles outside of this small pool of stuff because you need to know your place; if you don't, people will think you're making Bad Art." And then you, at best, get shamed, and, at worst, can't make a living.

All of this, of course, was a matter of opinion. Most of it, like you said, boiled down to the fact that people were doing things that weren't, actually, bad or untalented or ineffective--they just didn't work for people. They didn't meet some arbitrary, subjective standard that had no real, concrete, actual meaning. But when people with any degree of power start taking their artistic opinions as immovable fact, we end up with...well, we end up with the current theatre climate, and we end up with whatever is happening in fandom communities right now. (Because just as there are some people who, for insisting on a lack of constructive criticism, should not be beta readers, there are some who should not be educators or directors.)

There were a lot of reasons that I eventually stopped performing publicly/on stage. But a big part of it was that I just didn't want to deal with that culture anymore. When I made the decision to walk away, I had gotten to the point where I'd started to hate singing. My primary form of expression, of catharsis, of solace, since I was eight or nine years old. And luckily, withdrawing from a professional pursuit of art has helped me get some of that back. But I see those same issues--that same negativity, that same judgment--starting to pop up in something that isn't even meant to be for money or a career or anything other than personal expression. I see so many people getting discouraged, starting to lose the love they had for that expression. My love of art was almost taken away from me, to the point where for a very long time I couldn't even do it for fun, alone, in the private comfort of my house. And if I can do anything to prevent that from happening to someone else, I sure as hell will.

I'm glad that you were still able to get some good out of that workshop, because that's not always easy to do when the people around you are acting like that. (And kudos to realizing that you didn't want to do this as a major/career, that's not always easy to do either.) And I know I've talked more about professional art, but this is so prevalent in the way people talk about community theatre, too. Being upset that a student production doesn't have Super Stellar Voices/Acting, ragging on amateur singers just for posting a karaoke video on their personal Facebook page, expecting Met-opera-level singing quality or Shakespeare-scholar levels of acting text analysis from a group of volunteers who are spending their precious few after-work hours to put on a musical, just because they want to share that story with people. I've seen lots of comments that it's not meaningful because it's "bad." When. I've done a lot of community theatre. Plenty of it is not bad, actually. If you hate it that much, you don't have to attend a production. (Just like how. if you hate a fic. you can hit the back button.) And even if it is "bad." It's still going to be meaningful to someone. Even in a "bad" production, at least ONE of the actors or crew members will have a good time helping create it. And at least ONE audience member is going to have a good time; whether that be because they simply love theatre, someone they love is involved with the production, or because they don't care about an arbitrary "quality" measurement. And I absolutely think the same thing is true of writing, and of fanfiction especially.

If, for example, someone goes to karaoke and screams "I Dreamed A Dream" from Les Mis extremely off-key and grating, because they're experiencing a shitty situation and just need some catharsis? I don't have the right to rag on them for that, I would be an asshole. If someone posts a cover for fun on YouTube of...I don't know, "Take On Me" and can't hit the high notes, but wants to pay tribute to a song they love, who the fuck would I be to take that away from them? So if someone writes a "silly" or "stupid" or oh-God-forbid "cringe" piece of fanfiction (which. AGAIN. do not have any concrete meaning because those are SUBJECTIVE TERMS) to get some feelings out or to talk about how much they love a fictional character. Well, I think if you call them names over that and try to publicly shame or harass them, then, quite frankly, you are engaging in pointless, cruel, and braincell-less behavior. And you can stay 10,000 feet away from me.

#mc13 lore #oh my god this is so long I'm so sorry #multi t(ASK)ing #amateur art #fanfiction #taking my life in my own hands by putting this in something other than just my ask tag but so be it #there have been a lot of productions I've seen or been in--both professional and not--where I thought the overall vision didn't #translate very well or I didn't enjoy it or I thought that the artistic choices people made didn't successfully do what it seemed like #they were trying to do. but you know what? I've never seen a production. not even of HEATHERS the show (which is my absolute #least favorite thing in the world). where there was not even ONE good moment. there was always someone whose voice I liked. or a line #delivery that I thought was executed well. or a joke I thought was funny or a passage that I thought was raw/emotionally resonant. #and I think you can tell where I'm going with this but: yes this is true of fanfic too.

[northwest-cryptid]

i totally get the reasoning on your post and it seems really true, but then why do you think it generated the penises? or do you think they are not penises and we are simply seeing objects in the AI goop

I just wanna really quickly point out that this is EXACTLY the sort of questions I'm looking to answer and educate people on, so genuinely; thank you so much for asking.

I'm going to open with saying that while I don't know for certain, given that there's a ton of factors we can't possibly know without actually getting in touch with the person who generated the image; I will do my best to answer this with as much detail as possible.

So my best guess is that, simply put we're just seeing things. It's likely that, given the objects around the object in question; they simply told it to create objects.

A lot of objects that we see in Overwatch (such as the handles of hammers/swords and such) could easily be misshapen by AI to appear like a penis, especially when as pointed out by the commenter we sort of do associate Overwatch with porn/NSFW material.

My best reasoning for this is simply that it's unlikely the AI in question would generate a sort of one off occurrence without any other sort of "hint" or "evidence" of what kind of checkpoint it's running.

To put it simply, a lot of people have this idea that an AI itself "learns" things; that's not quite the case. In reality the AI is sort of a shell for a brain of sorts. That "brain" is called a Checkpoint, the checkpoint or sometimes called a "model" is essentially a point of reference for what words mean. That is the thing that learns, and when the AI needs to generate something it essentially references what the Checkpoint says something looks like.

What this means is that if we are to believe that the AI (Checkpoint) associates Overwatch with porn, it should have some kind of stylistic choice we can see in the art that would reflect that, outside of a one off penis in the corner of a bunch of stuff, which if I'm being honest; upon closer inspection doesn't even really look that much like a penis...

I mean, I understand where you're coming from if you think it looks that way but I think that's more on your own human brain if I'm being perfectly honest with you. Like yea I can see it too but I don't think that's what the AI was going for if I'm being real here.

Anyways I wanted to test my theory here, so I went to Civitai, a website for sharing checkpoints and the like; and found two checkpoints to compare the original against.

They are both highly rated at 4.8 rating though I will openly admit that the NSFW checkpoints has 34,000+ downloads while the seemingly SFW checkpoint only seems to have around 3,100+ so yes I understand that rating isn't exactly equal but never the less they're both highly rated checkpoints with thousands of downloads, of course the NSFW one is more popular; for our testing purposes that doesn't really matter.

Now I want to say this up front; as both of these checkpoints are actually merges (meaning they're made up of a bunch of smaller checkpoints merged together into a big one) it would be nearly impossible for me to source everything back and make sure everything is ethically sourced. I do not condone using unethically sourced checkpoints and only generated these images for the sake of example and education. Both checkpoints were deleted shortly after running these generations.

The first was Animerge, a seemingly safe for work checkpoint; and the second was Grapefruit, a NSFW checkpoint that also focused on anime.

I ran the original overwatch image that we are discussing through the controlnet canny system as a reference for both of these images and ONLY gave the AI the prompt "Overwatch" as to not create any sort of bias.

I gotta say as much as the results speak for themselves, I'll explain for those who don't really get it (that's fine no worries).

I feel like you can tell without me even telling you that the image on the left was generated by the SFW checkpoint, and the one on the right by the NSFW checkpoint. Not only do we see something more heavily resembling the original image on the left, but we see specifically that it left the man in the image intact. Where as with the image on the right, we can see this man got himself a bit of plastic surgery in the ass to basically become "thick Mercy" and we can additionally see the robot on the left became a wannabe D.Va with the lady on the right becoming something of a Tracer character from the looks of it, given a wider butt, and generally more pronounced shape. In fact the NSFW checkpoint almost entirely deleted the background, with only a few of the foreground debris being left behind but heavily altered.

So hey why is that? If all I prompted was Overwatch then that's all it had to go off of right? Well yes, exactly; the only thing either of these checkpoints has was Overwatch. Yet that which was trained on specifically NSFW images incorporated those features of anatomy into the image, likewise the SFW model seems to have latched onto Overwatch's general sci-fi vibe using the white, blue, yellow color scheme the game is sort of known for.

See this is what I mean when I say, I think we're projecting a bit onto the AI's thoughts here. First of all an AI can't actually "think" per se, so all that association stuff doesn't really make sense, it's going off tags not off what we as humans think of first when someone says overwatch. Most tags or color schemes or common traits around overwatch honestly probably aren't NSFW in nature. We just tend to latch onto the NSFW art/media around the game because it's what's well known to people.

So interestingly enough I really wanted to see if I could get the Grapefruit checkpoint to make something closer to the original, and after a few attempts this was the closest I got. You can clearly notice that the anatomy is STILL effected! The overly pronounced butts, and the fact it REALLY wants this guy to be Tracer giving him her hair and general color scheme.

We can also see that the oh so famous "penis" has become just another object in the pile of vaguely phallic shape. In fact, if we compare the butt of the original to the new butts the change in shape is REALLY obvious.

If we want to believe that the AI associated Overwatch with porn inherently, and that the checkpoint trained on pornographic material "on the internet, where the porn is" then we should see that reflected in how it handles the anatomy of these characters and we just don't.

Technically speaking there's a system called "inpaint" which allows you to specifically alter parts of an AI generated image using a different checkpoint, meaning it's possible theoretically for someone to paint over the characters with inpaint, and select a different; safe for work checkpoint that still has innocent virgin eyes untainted by "The Internet, You Know; Where The Porn Is™." However given how absolutely lazy the overall image is, I honestly can't bring myself to say that's what happened. Especially because at that point they could have simply painted over the penis and removed it. If they somehow didn't notice the penis shape, despite it's prominence; a penis still wouldn't have just been generated without the checkpoint specifically being aware of, and typically learning on porn; and there's no reason why it would appear there and have no semblance of NSFW material elsewhere if such a checkpoint was used.

the tl;dr of this is that while sure it's TECHNICALLY possible it's an AI generated penis; I HIGHLY doubt that's actually true. Simply put that's just not how AI works, and for that to be how the image came to be they'd have to have taken some weirdly specific precautions and care to un-NSFW the two characters and surrounding environment but specifically ignore/not see/leave the penis for some reason. I can't, in sound mind; convince myself that was the case.

So while I may not exactly know what it's meant to be 100%, or why it was created I cannot with any level of certainty say it is actually what people say it is. I think we're just all projecting what we find funny, or what we personally associate with Overwatch.

After all, have you considered the fact that given the prompt of "overwatch" it specifically is trying to generate the women in the cast? If we believe that it really associated overwatch with pornography; it doesn't make sense that a penis of all things would be the image it chooses to create to represent that. Not when even across multiple image generations it's consistently trying to make the man into either Mercy or Tracer, and if it's given no image prompting to go off of, it simply creates some kind of tracer lookalike, you know; like a tracer who accidentally fell in some acid and her face is melting off, but I digress. I just can't bring myself to believe that any of the claim is actually true given my knowledge of how AI works, that being said; I think it's incredibly funny that it made some kind of dumb phallic shape because the people who generated it were too lazy to even think about having an actual artist touch up the picture in the slightest and fix the GLARING problems with it.

When I said, "if the commenter is some form of authority on the matter I'd love for them to tell me which AI it was, or what website it's trained on." That was genuine, because you know; with that information you'd likely actually be able to get to the bottom of this.

At the end of the day, AI can't REALLY think for itself, it doesn't know how to learn anything a person doesn't directly teach it. So unless it was shown a penis, and taught what a penis was specifically; it wouldn't be able to generate a "penis" but it could generate something that resembles something that could be a penis if you squint at it and have the thought on your brain.

Genuinely hope that is a satisfactory answer to such a question.

[impeccablebackside]

what is the best way to comfort each queen when they are depressed? (I know this question has nothing to do with sex, but I think comforting your partner is part of a good sexual relationship?... Of course you don't have to answer me if this question deviates TOO MUCH from the main topic of this blog.)

I like this question anon, thanks for sending it (and keep sending more if you are willing). No need to worry about it being partly outside of the scope of this blog. Like you stated, comforting a partner is assuredly part of a good and healthy relationship. It can even be argued that it is even more important and fulfilling than sex.

Not much for me to lead into, here it is by queen, so let it comfort you:

Vic gets brought out of her funk by being thought of, and by extention, being given gifts or flowers. She will curl up into herself and be smaller, and the sad expression on her face is utterly soul destroying. Anyone, especially Plato, gets absolutely shattered seeing her downtrodden and meekly hiding. He puts in as much effort as he can to lift her spirits, and that in of itself makes a difference. Seeing others care so deeply about her tends to get her back on track. In addition, someone inviting her to dance freely gets her in a different mindset. She can leave her world for a bit and focus on her favoured pastime.

Rumple tends to be comforted by quiet time with a friend or lover. Just being held closely and taking time to step away from the sometimes loud and tumultuous world around her that she would normally revel in. Since she is so outgoing to begin with, withdrawing to a deeper quiet self for a bit tends to fix things up (in moderation - too much of this is a huge red flag something more dire is wrong with her). Otherwise, a pretty sure fire way to cheer her up is indeed some good and pleasurable escapades with a friend or by herself. Not in a 'orgasms will fix everything' way, but not all that far off from that. Afterwards, she tends to forget or reevaluate her sadness with a post nut clarity. If the first time does not do the trick, repeat attempts never hurt.

Tanto is comforted by talking out and discussing her troubles. Whether or not they can be solved readily is of course a subjective thing, but putting them out in the open helps her cope. Oftentimes, she consults with her brother to get a differing or similar perspective that allows for her to proceed in a conducive way. She does not want her depression to be quashed or undermined by empty words and empathy, so letting her make her path out of it is a good plan. When lost in deep thought, she likes to go for walks on the perimeter of the junkyard to clear her head and reconnect with her spirituality that is disrupted. Being joined by someone close to her deepens that experience.

Cass tends to be upset and angry in a way when she is depressed. It is not that she deals with it poorly by any means, just that she normally brushes off strife and hardship without much issue. A strong minded and willed queen, it takes a lot for her to break under the pressure, and when she does it is from something truly trying of her character. In order to move past it, Cass tends to get her feelings out in a physically gratifying and rough way. She is one to find a target object of choice in the area and tear it to shreds with her claws and teeth. If that does not fully help, she cries in private, and lets her vulnerabilities reveal themselves. Very few have seen her in that state, and that is when something a simple as a hug makes a world of difference. Letting her dispel her negativity through her preferred means keeps Cass level headed.

Deme tends to shy away from those around her and retreat into her den. She had dealt with bouts of depression for a lengthy period of time, and it never quite wanes. Her greatest comfort is her man Munk, and he is a source of immense relief to her. They can discuss whatever is on her mind and try to work through her issues. Physical touch tends to give her the greatest comfort, especially when she is embraced and wrapped up by Munk in his arms. Feeling his body heat and weight on her or around her helps to blow away dark clouds. Otherwise, sometimes it is just a matter of waiting it out to let herself work through it.

Bomba prefers to be comforted with kind words and some meaningful praise. Words about how much someone appreciates her and finds her special beyond what she would normally hear day-to-day. Sort of a vulnerability on their part about how her existence makes their life all the more rewarding and special. However, some humour and tacky jokes to make her laugh tends to go over well on top of the more serious talk. Physical touch is important too, and it all combined makes her feel like she is most appreciated queen around.

Jenny gets the most comfort out of diving headlong into her work keeping the cats in line and training her mice. Counteracting negativity through total distraction. Overstimulation and fanfare to block out her true feelings. Plus, helping others makes her feel much better. If it is all too much, a private dinner for two between her and her mans Busto where they can eat to their hearts content and enjoy some ambiance away from the hectic junkyard works wonders for her mental health.

Jelly internalizes her depression in a way that saves others from worrying about her. She has tells though, and those close to her will start blocking her out from taking on too much responsibility. In the end, AGus will come in behind her and kiss her neck and whisper in her ears sweet words that get her mind off of whatever is bothering her. Typically starting in a way to comfort and ground her, it often turns into something more, as Jelly has a weakness for someone embracing her like that. The words and kisses rile her up, and she cannot help but get out her grievances with some healthy sex. Depending on how she is feeling, she can switch from usually submissive self that looks to be made to feel good, to a slight powerhouse domme that gets out some anger in a physical way.

#thanks for the ask #keep them coming if you want #i have two asks that i got last night that i will try to get to in the next few days #they are really good ones too #i am busy with work but i love getting these asks so do not feel like you are bothering me

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

I Don’t Like A Gold Rush || Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Summary: Jungkook is the golden boy, an excellent student, the star of you college's football team. Rumor has it, there's simply nothing he can't do. The same cannot be said about you, but you've never had an issue with that. You're happy with your small group of friends and your lack of talent in sports. And then, Jin befriends Jungkook, and you find yourself spending a lot of time with him. Before you know it, you've taken an interest in him — and you're sure you shouldn't. There's no way this can end well for you... right?

Also available on Ao3.

Word count: 17.3k

Genre: College AU, strangers to lovers, slice of life, mostly fluff

Warnings & Tags: discussed insecurities, alcohol consumption, reader almost has a panic attack at some point, shy jungkook, jungkook is bad at Feelings, Reader is bad at feelings too, mutual pining kinda, Jungkook has long hair, sfw, New Year’s Day themed.

A/N: I don’t know how I would name my stories without Taylor Swift. Anyway, this is more or less centered around the New Year (it was supposed to be more and then... it didn’t happen), and I hope you’ll enjoy it! Happy New Year everyone!

The first time you hear Jungkook’s name, it’s in the sentence “Man, is there anything Jungkook can’t do?”. You look up at your friend Jin from the book you’re studying. You have no idea who Jungkook is, but that doesn’t mean anything. Jin is always complaining about how you don’t know anyone on the campus, which you think is quite unfair.

…but then you really don’t know that many people on the campus.

“What’s going on?” you ask him, because he sounds extremely annoyed, and he shows you his phone. On it, there is a score for a basketball game. You think.

Your college is famous for its basketball team… Right?

“Uh-uh,” you still say with a nod, trying to make it look like you have any idea what you’re talking about.

“This kid is crushing it at school, the girls love him, and now this!” Jin complains, a little too loud, and shushing noises come from a spot behind you. You turn around to give the group an apologetic look. “I really shouldn’t have bet against him.”

Ah, there you know what to say.

“You really need to stop making bets. You never win them.”

Jin glares at you.

“And you are a terrible friend. You’re supposed to comfort me!”

“I’ll comfort you when you stop making the worst choices imaginable,” you mutter, going back to your work. Jungkook’s name, his supposed excellence, and that basketball match — if it even is basketball — leave your mind as fast as they entered it, without leaving a trace behind.

“So the school’s won another basketball game, huh?”

You look up at Namjoon who’s just arriving to the table, holding his tray in his hands. You know he can’t possibly be talking to you about that, so you’re not surprised when Jin appears behind him. That doesn’t stop you from throwing Namjoon a disgusted look.

“Really, Joon? Sports?”

Namjoon shoots you an amused glance from behind his glasses. It’s notorious in your friends’ group that you despise conversations around that subject. You hate anything that involves objects flying around and anything that’s played in a team, and, apparently, those are the only sports that people care about. They could discuss athletics, or swimming, which you wouldn’t enjoy but you wouldn’t hate, but that never happens.

“You were right, Jin. That Jungkook guy really is impressive.”

You tune them out. You don’t care about basketball.

“You’re talking about yesterday’s game?” Yoongi asks, coming out of thin air, and you sigh. You had been hoping you would have at least one person to talk to during lunch.

“Jungkook’s friends with Hoseok,” Jin says, leaning forward conspiratorially, which does get your attention. If that’s true, then that Jungkook guy can’t be a completely terrible person. Hoseok is probably the nicest person you’ve ever met.

That being said, he might have very low standards for his friends. You know him enough to appreciate him, not to judge his tastes.

“So I’m going to become friends with him,” Jin announces triumphantly, only to be rewarded by a chorus of groans and protests.

“But why, Jin?” you ask. “Please don’t talk about popularity. This isn’t high school anymore.”

“And that stuff was already stupid back then,” Namjoon adds, and you nod. You can always count on Namjoon to support you.

“And I hate people,” Yoongi says.

“And Yoongi hates people!” Namjoon immediately picks up. “Do you really want to make him go through that?”

You grin at the question. Yoongi’s misanthropy always comes in handy. Jin, however, is not amused, but he just shakes his head disapprovingly. He’s used to the three of you teaming up against him by now. Usually, it’s on academical subjects, but he isn’t phased by it anymore regardless of that. Not that there’s much that can phase Jin anyway.

“First of all, I said I was going to be his friend, not you lowly peasants, and second, he seems like a nice guy! Do I need another reason to want to make friends?”

You tilt your head.

“He’s protesting too much,” you say.

“I agree,” Namjoon nods. “That’s suspicious.”

“Very suspicious.”

“Come on,” Jin rolls his eyes, “do you really think that little of me?”

“And now he’s trying to guilt-trip us. Joon, can’t you analyze that conversation and figure out what it all means?”

“You know that’s not how literary analysis works, right?” Jin asks you, but you ignore him.

“Actually, it is,” Namjoon says, pushing his glasses back on his nose. “I’d say you were right with your comment,” he adds, looking at you. “I’d say… this is about parties.”

“You’re not going to actually believe—”

“Thanks, Joon,” you say, and the two of you high-five without looking at each other. Yoongi lets out an appreciate whistle.

Even if Namjoon and you aren’t being serious about this, parties actually make sense. Jin… isn’t quite a social butterfly but, unlike the three of you, he does enjoy people’s company to some degree. You know first hand that he’s been to a few this year — you had accompanied him for moral support — but they were pretty tame, and you’re aware that he at least wants to try some more intense stuff. The problem was that those were harder to be invited to. Hoseok could probably do something about it, but he tends to avoid parties on campus.

“Okay, then you should go for it,” you nod.

Yoongi and Namjoon, sitting on either side of you, approve. Jin looks a little surprised at your reaction.

“That changed your mind?”

“You said you wanted ‘the full college experience’,” Namjoon explains with a shrug. “If you think that’s part of it, we wouldn’t want to hold you back.”

“We will judge you for it, though,” Yoongi warns without batting an eyelid, pokerface perfect, and you laugh. You won’t be mean about it, of course. You just might tease him a little.

“Thank you,” Jin says. “I’ll do it, then.”

Good. If you’re lucky, it will be out of his system next time you all have lunch together.

Lady luck had never been on your side, for as long as you could remember. It wasn’t like you got the worst of things either, but usually, things that could go wrong, did go wrong. Because of that, you tried your best to remove those things from your path. Sometimes, though, you just didn’t manage to identify them.

And that’s why, when you hear Jin’s voice and look up from your food, being the first at the table as always, you see he’s accompanied by two people.

One of them has fluffy, dark brown hair, falling on either side of his face and in his eyes. He’s talking and laughing, and there’s something that you can’t help but identify as mischievous in his smile. The other is slightly taller, with jet black hair held up in a bun. He’s quiet, mouth opening for silent laughs when his friend jokes. Between them, there’s Jin, and you think that they look good together. All handsome, all holding themselves with confidence.

You had realized before that Jin felt out of place in your group, from an outside point of view at least, but it’s never been as striking as it is now, as he’s walking with people he clearly belongs with.

It makes you really thankful that he’s your friend.

“Hey,” Jin says, smiling widely, “these are—”

“You’re untying your hair before eating?” you say, looking at the guy with the bun who just sat opposite from you and took off his hair tie with a sigh. He looks up at you with wide round eyes, like you just caught him red-handed — doing what, you’re not quite sure.

That is the first thing you ever say to Jeon Jungkook.

“Um. Yes?”

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get hair in your food?”

You know people find you too blunt sometimes, think you come off as aggressive, but you almost never intend for that to happen. In that case, you just think the logic here is a bit surprising.

“That’s… a good point, actually.”

“(Y/N),” Jin sighs, “let me introduce you to Jungkook” (he points to the man who’s now tying his hair back up) “and Taehyung.” (he points to the other guy, who’s flashing you a smile.)

“Oh,” you say, looking back at Jungkook. “You play basketball.”

He lets out an awkward laugh and avoids your eyes. Instead, he grabs his fork and focuses on it, twirling it in his hand.

“Yeah, I do— I do that.”

Huh. It takes you a second to piece things together, and you think Namjoon will be of great help once he’ll be there, but for now, one conclusion comes to you.

Jungkook is shy.

“I play basketball too,” Taehyung says, leaning over the table, grinning at you, and you can tell that it’s his way of swooping in to save Jungkook. You can appreciate that.

“She hates basketball,” Jin warns.

“That’s a strong word,” you say, but only half-heartedly, because, well, you definitely don’t like it.

“I think it works.”

“You think what works?”

Jin’s face falls while you grin. If Taehyung is Jungkook’s savior, Namjoon is yours. Your friend sends you a questioning look as he sits next to you, facing Taehyung. He gives polite nods to the two basketball players, like they sit with you at lunch every week, but you notice that he doesn’t quite meet their eyes. Namjoon is not particularly shy, nor a misanthrope like Yoongi, he just isn’t too comfortable around people he’s just met.

You and Jin, well, you’re perhaps a little too comfortable. Not everyone likes it.

“He says I hate basketball.”

“But that would imply you care about basketball.”

“Exactly.”

“And you don’t.”

“I know.”

“Which means you don’t hate basketball. As always, you’re wrong, Jin.”

Jin looks extremely, extremely done with you, but when you and Namjoon high-five, Jungkook laughs quietly and Taehyung nods in appreciation — for the gesture, not the debate.

That is the moment when Yoongi drops his tray on the table and sends a weird glance towards Taehyung and Jungkook.

“What did I miss?” he asks. His tone is a bit dry, and you see Jin’s shoulders straightening. He knows Yoongi is going to be the most difficult one to win over. Not that you’ve been won over yet, but you’re not that difficult. Usually, people don’t like you, not the other way around. You don’t blame them. You’re not sure you’d like yourself very much if you were in their place.

“Oh,” Jungkook says spontaneously, “we had a class together last year! You’re majoring in engineering, right?”

Yoongi looks at him. His eyes are shining with suspicion, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head. Knowing him, he’s definitely wondering why Jungkook would even remember him.

“Right,” he finally confirms, slowly.

There’s a moment of silence, which Namjoon breaks.

“I’m a literature major, by the way.”

“That’s really cool,” Jungkook comments honestly, with the same spontaneity he displayed earlier.

“And I’m in mathematics,” you say.

“Wow. I thought you people existed only in legends,” Taehyung says while Jungkook avoids your eyes. You decide that, yeah, you like Kim Taehyung.

“Don’t say that, I like maths,” Jungkook protests, voice soft, much to your surprise — and, judging by his reaction, Taehyung’s.

You were right, you decide. Jungkook is not a completely terrible person.

You didn’t expect it to become a routine, for Jungkook and Taehyung to eat with you guys, but it does, and as time goes on, other people join your little table. You’re not sure you like that. It’s clear that those people are orbiting around Jungkook, which, good for them, but you don’t see why you need to be there for that.

You do see that Jungkook is not completely comfortable with all of it. He’s good at handling people, good at making jokes and at laughing at the right times, you notice, but there is a stiffness in his shoulders more often than not, and it looks like he’s well-trained at it rather than enjoying it. It kind of reminds you of Jin, except Jin is not as quiet the rest of the time. Taehyung obviously does his best not to let his friend deal with things alone, which is sweet, but he can’t do everything for him.

You barely exchange a word with Jungkook during that time period. You’re usually trying to be forgotten when the table is buzzing with noise, finding refuge in Namjoon and Yoongi’s company. You thought Yoongi would be an ally in reclaiming what’s always been your spot, but it quickly becomes obvious that he has a crush on Taehyung’s friend Jimin, so he never complains about the recent invasion of the table by strangers.

You hear a lot of basketball vocabulary. More than you care for, to be honest. That’s one of the few moments when Jungkook’s face lights up and he gets truly excited, with an almost childish happiness. His demeanor changes, from shy to confident, and the transformation never ceases to amaze you. As soon as the conversation ends, his shoulders fall, he smiles awkwardly, and focuses back on his food or his phone.

You’ve met his eyes a few times in those moments, because he often looks around him like he’s afraid someone’s noticed. He averts his very quickly, though, so you’ve never said anything about it.

So, really, there’s not much that changes. You still only speak to your three friends — you think Taehyung is a good person, and you don’t think he hates you, but you don’t have anything to say to each other —, and sure, you have a little less space when you eat and more noise around you, but aside from that, it’s pretty much the same. You think that’s a relief. You’re not too fond of change.

Usually, you’re pretty decent at spotting it coming. You did miss it when Jin said he was going to become Jungkook’s friend, but other than that you’re able to do your best to avoid it. You don’t see anything coming the day Taehyung calls out your name, though. You look up at him from the book Namjoon is showing you, surprised. He has an arm slung over Jungkook’s shoulders, and Jungkook isn’t looking at you, of course.

“Do you think you could explain a maths-thing to Jungkook?”

You blink at him.

“What’s the ‘maths-thing’?”

“Does it matter?”

You raise an eyebrow, and Jungkook groans. You get the feeling that he didn’t really want Taehyung to ask you about it. He sends an annoyed glance to his friend, who is still smiling brightly at you, while pushing a lock of hair out of his face. His hair is tied, but this one traitorous lock always escapes.

“I’m struggling a little with probabilities,” he admits, glancing at you for half a second. “But I’m sure I’ll be fine once I can get my head back into it, I’ve just been training a lot recently and—”

“I can help you, if you want,” you say. “I’m not the most fond of probabilities, but it should be okay.”

“Great!” Taehyung says, patting his friend’s shoulder before Jungkook can answer. “You should do that then.”

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Jungkook asks, actually looking at you this time. You meet his eyes, notice that he looks worried about it. You can’t figure out why.

“I really don’t,” you shrug.

He smiles at you, a small, hesitant smile, but a smile nonetheless. Probably the first one he directs at you. It’s a nice sight, you decide, and you smile back.

Jin’s sentence “is there anything Jungkook can’t do” takes all its sense on the day you meet Jungkook at the library to study. You don’t know what you expected. You never thought Jungkook was dumb or anything, but since Taehyung asked you to help, you thought he would have some difficulties, at least. However, as it turns out, he either understands immediately when you explain something to him, or he’s already understood it. He asks for some clarifications here and there, but all in all, you feel kind of useless.

“You don’t need me at all,” you say after a little while, and Jungkook looks up from the book with the worried wide-eyed look you’ve gotten used to.

“No, no, you’re doing a great job,” he protests. “You’re really helping me out here.”

“No I’m not. It’s obvious that you could do that all on your own.”

He deflates a little at that, looks away from you.

“You help,” he mumbles. “I have a hard time focusing when I’m alone.”

Oh.

That makes a lot of sense to you, actually. You’re good at focusing all of your energy on one thing, perhaps even too good, to the point where you easily get obsessed and become unable to take care of anything else, but even you need the right conditions for that.

“Okay,” you say with a nod.

Jungkook gives you an anxious look.

“So you don’t mind helping me out?” he asks, and there’s something in his voice that catches you, but you can’t tell what it is exactly. Maybe it’s the hope, or maybe it’s the fear. You don’t understand what he’d be afraid of. Worst case scenario, you would say no. That wouldn’t be the end of the world.

“We can work together,” you offer. “You can ask me if you need help for anything and I’ll just work on some other stuff.”

He seems relieved, and again, you just don’t understand it. It’s not like you’re his only option. There are plenty of people out there who could help him. Plenty of people who would jump at the opportunity of helping him. You know that, because he’s always surrounded by those people, and everybody in school seems to know him. Even when you walked into the library with him earlier, before you got to the table you’re sitting at now, a few students greeted him. You don’t see why he would attach any importance to you, specifically, helping him. You barely know each other.

“Thanks,” he says, and he gives you a small smile. For some reason, that makes you drop the subject. Instead of asking about it — which, knowing yourself, you probably would have — you shrug it off and reply with a nod.

The silence that follows feels comfortable, to you at least. You’ve never minded silence. Jin hates it, though. You get to work, watching absent-mindedly as Jungkook goes through the lesson he was working on. He does ask you a couple of questions, but it’s probably to make you feel like you’re doing something rather than because he actually needs it. You still answer them, and watch him grin, satisfied with himself, when he turns out to be right every single time.

“Are you coming to Taehyung’s party this week-end?” he asks out of the blue after about an hour.

You look up, surprised. The two of you haven’t exchanged much, and certainly have not talked about anything other than— well, other than maths. His eyes are on his notebook, as usual, and you don’t get any insight as to why he asked the question.

“I don’t know. Is Jin coming?”

“Uh, I guess? Taehyung’s probably talked to him about it.”

“Then I’m probably going.”

Jungkook mulls over your answer for a few seconds, twirling his pencil between his fingers, and you feel like you have to clarify, which is not an urge you have often. Usually, you let people decipher for themselves what you meant. That works very well with Namjoon, sometimes with Yoongi, not so great with the rest of the world. Including Jin, though Jin compensates with his impressive ability to interpret everything you say in his favor.

“We always go to parties with Jin. For moral support.”

For all that you tease him, you genuinely care for him. You know he wants you to go with him, so you do. It’s as simple as that.

Jungkook doesn’t look at you, but he still smiles at what you say, and it’s— it’s interesting. There’s something about his behavior that makes you curious, like you are when you’re trying to solve a complicated equation.

“That’s nice,” he comments.

“So… you’ll be there?” you ask. It’s taken you a long time to come up with that simple question. It often takes you a long time to find things to say to keep a conversation going. You’re pretty bad at it.

“It’s at my fraternity,” Jungkook informs you, glancing at you briefly, and you smile. This is exactly the type of party Jin wanted to go to. He’s probably happy about it. “The entire basketball team should be there.”

Great. People.

“That’s nice,” you say, because you have no idea what to add at this point. Jungkook simply nods, and the conversation dies an awkward death.

It’s another half an hour until Jungkook looks at his watch and starts putting his stuff back in his bag.

“I have to go to practice,” he tells you, clearly in a hurry. “Can we— Would you mind if—”

“We can do this again. If that’s what you meant.”

He gives you a bright smile, and that actually surprises you. He looks relieved that you finished his sentence for him.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely.

And just like that, he’s gone, practically running out of the library. For someone who talks as little as he does, he sure leaves a void when he goes away, you think, looking at the empty chair.

But you quickly shrug it off. You’re used to being alone. You like being alone.

Jungkook isn’t going to change that.

You realize very quickly that, while accompanying Jin to parties was never something you particularly enjoyed, going to this one was downright a mistake.

You have this unspoken rule, with your friends, that you shouldn’t stick together the entire time. You’re supposed to wander off, find something to do for yourself, maybe talk to some people. Get that college experience. You’ve never had a problem to do that, even if you ended up quietly sipping soda in a corner more often than not.

Here, though, you simply cannot shake off the fact that you don’t belong here, that this is not your scene. The people here are loud, energetic, garish. They make you feel like a black and white picture, like a silent movie. You want to run away, but you can’t. You don’t want to leave Jin, Namjoon or Yoongi behind, even if you doubt they’re having the same kind of problems you do. You’re pretty sure you saw Yoongi talking with Jimin, and last time you saw Namjoon, you think a cheerleader was holding him by the hand and leading him out of the room. You don’t know what Jin’s doing, but you’re trusting that he’s okay.

You walk around aimlessly, find Jungkook and Taehyung playing beer-pong with some people. Maybe you should be happy to see people you know, but you’re not. If anything, it only drives the point home even more to see them so comfortable: you don’t belong here. Your chest tightens, and you turn around. You need a little peace and quiet. You need to get away.

“(Y/N)!”

You jump at the sound of your name. No one’s said it since you’ve entered the house. No one knows you here.

Except Jungkook, who’s right behind you.

He’s more confident than usual, and you guess, based on his slightly hazy eyes, that it has a lot to do with alcohol.

“Are you having fun? How long have you been here? It’s nice to see you!”

He’s speaking fast, excitedly, and as he does, he runs his fingers through his hair, which he’s let down. It looks good on him, you decide, even as you reply to him with a tense smile.

“Hey, you should join us, we’re—”

“Do you have a closet somewhere?”

Jungkook blinks.

“A closet?”

“Yeah.”

There are probably very few things that are less weird than asking a guy if he has a closet you can get into because you’re on the verge of having a panic attack and you can’t stay outside surrounded by people a second longer.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything about it, though. He just leads you through the house and opens the door to a closet for you. You get inside without giving it much more thought, and he looks at you, puzzled. He’s actually looking at you, which you decide confirms that he is drunk.

“Do you— Are you waiting for someone?”

“No,” you say. “I just need a little break.”

He thinks about your answer for a while, probably longer than needed, and nods.

And then, he gets into the closet with you and closes the door.

Inside, it’s dark, with only a ray of light coming in. You can’t see his face, which doesn’t help you understand why he just did that. The space is cramped, and you can smell alcohol coming from his breath, can feel the heat radiating from his body, but it doesn’t bother you that much. It’s still better in here than outside.

“Why did you do that?”

“I thought I would keep you company. Like you’re here to keep company to Jin, you know?”

He’s drunk, definitely, and yet you feel genuinely touched by his words. You shouldn’t, because you doubt they hold that much meaning, but you can’t help it. You don’t need company, but that’s besides the point. His intentions are what matters.

“Thank you,” you say.

“It’s not a problem. You’re helping me with my maths.”

Your first reaction is to laugh at that, because it feels completely unprompted, but then the logic of the reasoning kind of appears to you.

“I mean it!” Jungkook protests. “You haven’t talked about how I’m good at everything or how I’m the one who should help you.”

You frown.

“You shouldn’t help me. You’re good at maths, but I’m better than you.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to laugh, and just like his earlier smile, it takes you completely by surprise. It’s not one of those quiet laughs that he usually has. It’s light and pleasant, and you briefly wonder what his face looks like when he laughs like that. You kind of want to see it.

“You’re a scary person,” he tells you when he’s stopped laughing. “You always say those things directly. It’s like you don’t even care.”

You’ve heard that before. Well, you haven’t been called scary until now, but people have said that you were intimidating. You, personally, believe you’re the least threatening person to have ever walked this Earth. You couldn’t hurt a fly if you wanted to.

Jungkook makes some sense here, though. Your filter is very limited, and there are a lot of things you say that feel acceptable to you, and that other people… don’t think are acceptable. You don’t mean to do it. It just happens.

“I think you’re good at a lot of things, though,” you say slowly.

Jungkook lets out a long sigh and then you hear him sliding down to the ground. You hesitate for about half a second before joining him down there. You fold your legs, holding your knees against your chest while you wait for him to say something.

“People are always saying that,” he finally mumbles. “But what if I’m not that good? What if I fail one day?”

It’s strange. You understand what he’s saying, understand the feeling of pressure, but you don’t understand the emotions that should come with it. In your case, you know that no one holds you to a higher standard than you do. It can be unhealthy, the way you can torture yourself if you don’t meet the standards you’ve set for yourself, but at least you’re the only one you have to answer to. Obviously, it’s not Jungkook’s case.

“Then you’ll try again,” you say, because that’s what you do when you fail. “Or, if you think it’s not that important, you won’t.”

“But what will they say?” he insists. “What if we lose the next game? Or the one after that? What if I fail a class? I can’t get anything done these days.”

“You’ll be fine,” you say soothingly, half-wondering how you ended up here, comforting the college’s golden boy in a closet after fighting off a panic attack. “It’s not like you’re the only one in your team. People will understand.”

You think they will. You hope they will. They should.

“You would understand.”

It’s true, but then, you really do not care for basketball, and it’s not like you have that sort of expectations for Jungkook. You wouldn’t think much of it, if he failed at something tomorrow. If it was the maths test you’ve helped him with, you would be surprised, but that’s because you saw him studying and it was obvious he had understood everything, not because you think he can inherently succeed at everything he does.

Which you guess might be the heart of the problem here.

You reach out to put your hand on his shoulder. It’s not that easy in the dark, and you wonder for a second if you’ve grabbed something else, until you feel hair tickling your skin. Yup, you were right.

“You have the right not to be good at something every once in a while,” you say softly. “No one can be on top of their game all of the time.”

You hear what sounds like a choked sob.

“I like that they’re counting on me, you know? I like that I’m helping them out by playing. I just— I don’t know what’s going to happen when I stop being as good.”

He said when, not if, and that breaks your heart.

Without thinking about it, you slide your hand down his arm and grab his hand. You squeeze it in yours, gently, and then you inch closer to put your head on his shoulder. You remember reading that physical touch was good for people who were in emotional pain. You hope it helps him.

“You locked yourself in here with me because you thought I needed company,” you whisper. “There’s so much more to you than just being good at sports or having good grades. And if people don’t see that, it’s their loss. Because you’re a great person.”

He hums, but the sound is quiet, and it’s then that you realize how tense he is.

Shit. You must have crossed a boundary. You start to remove your hand, but he closes his fingers around yours, keeping you in place. He’s still tense, you can feel it everywhere his body touches yours. But he doesn’t let go.

“You mean that,” he says. There are so many emotions in his voice that you can’t identify them all. Relief, happiness, amusement… You don’t know where to start.

“I usually mean what I say.”

“I’ve noticed,” he says, and you can hear the smile that’s dancing on his lips.

He’s still not letting go of your hand, but you don’t mind. Staying here, with Jungkook, in this small closet is as good a way of spending your evening as anything else you could do out there.

So you stay.

“Where did you all vanish Saturday?” Jin asks, and Namjoon, Yoongi and yourself immediately find your food a lot more interesting. You exchange panicked glances that mean ‘did none of you stay around? This was poorly coordinated’ before finally daring to look up.

“I talked to Jimin,” Yoongi says, face as inexpressive as always.

“I played some beer-pong with Taehyung,” Namjoon says.

That leaves only you.

“I talked to Jungkook,” you tell Jin. That is technically true. It omits the part where the two of you were together in a closet, but if you said that, there would be a lot of questions you don’t really want to answer to. Somehow, you think you would be more embarrassed to tell them that there was nothing going on there than if you told them you hooked up with him. You’re not sure why.

“Jungkook disappeared for a long time,” Jin says, narrowing his eyes at you.

You do your best to keep a straight face while you poke at your salad. You don’t want anyone here to have the wrong idea, and you finally manage to put your finger on what you’re afraid of. Humiliation. You’d feel humiliated at having to tell them that nothing happened and that there is nothing Jungkook could possibly see in you. They would be nice to you, of course they would, but you don’t want to see the look in their eyes.

“Did he? Maybe that was after I left. I didn’t stay that long.”

That’s a lie.

“Really?” Jin asks, clearly skeptical. “I think I saw you there pretty late.”

Maybe when you went down to get some snacks and drinks to bring back to the closet. Damn Jungkook and his stomach.

“Well, that depends what you mean by ‘late’ and ‘long’,” you say.

That’s you calling Namjoon for help, and he recognizes your SOS for what it is. From the way Jin’s face falls, so does he.

“She’s right,” Namjoon comments, so nonchalant you would almost believe he’s doing it naturally. “What is ‘late’, really? Isn’t it always—”

“Please stop,” Jin groans, burying his face in his hands. “Just because you’re a literature major doesn’t mean you’re the only one who understands words.”

“Actually it does,” you say with a nod. “That’s exactly what it means.”

You start lifting your hand for a high-five, relieved Jin’s attention is off you, but he sends the two of you a dark glare.

“You two are unbearable. Don’t do that.”

“We have to,” you protest. You would hate to miss a chance to high-five Namjoon.

“No you don’t, you—”

“Actually they do,” Yoongi says, and your jaw drops. Yoongi never intervenes, and you had always thought that if he did, it wouldn’t be in your favor. “That’s exactly how gravity works.”

Jin looks like his soul has left his body. He only comes back to himself after you, Yoongi and Namjoon have all exchanged high-fives.

“I hate you,” he says, sounding terribly tired. “I hate every single one of you.”

“Sorry Jin,” you smile warmly.

“No you’re not. You’re the worst.”

Except he sounds fond, affectionate, and you laugh before going back to your salad. You miss the quick glances your three friends exchange after that. They’ve all noticed you eluding and changing the subject. They don’t want to rush you, know you would hate it and that it’s better to drop it.

But they’ve noticed.

Working with Jungkook on Wednesday afternoons easily becomes a habit, so easily you don’t even notice it until it’s something you look forward to during the week. It adds to the time you already spend eating with him and Taehyung. Jungkook is, slowly, starting to become a part of your life. It’s a thought you refuse to dwell on, because it sounds so strange.

The Wednesdays afternoons are something special, though. You and Jungkook don’t really talk at lunch, even if he’s clearly more relaxed around you now, which you suspect is the reason why you’re ‘Taehyung-approved’. On Wednesdays, you— Well, you don’t talk much, either, but it’s different. It’s a time that only belongs to the two of you. You like that.

You slowly find out things about him, his family, his life. It’s never the main subject of conversation, but it makes you feel like you’re solving a puzzle.

“My father wanted me to focus on my classes and forget about basketball,” he comments once. “But I could do both.”

It makes you laugh, because he says it with obvious satisfaction, but it also makes you wonder if there’s more to it. Jungkook doesn’t add anything, though, and you don’t want to probe into his life, so you don’t ask. After that, small pieces of the puzzle keep falling into place.

“My high school coach told me I could train more if I didn’t work so hard for school.” But he could do both.

“My friends said I never hung out with them anymore and that I shouldn’t work so hard.” So he did both.

It’s always the same story. People telling him things, giving him opinions on what the should and shouldn’t do, and him stretching himself thinner and thinner. It’s almost a miracle he’s still doing as well as he is, honestly.

But his tone changes when he talks about his former relationships. He’s usually light and genuine, sharing with you just because. It’s clear that, as much as the stories make you frown, he doesn’t have an issue with them, and you guess that’s all that matters. The first time he says something about an ex-girlfriend of his, though, he’s guarded, almost careful. He sounds like he doesn’t want to tell you.

“My ex said I worked too much.”

He doesn’t add anything. Whatever it was she wanted, he couldn’t do it and work. Didn’t manage to do both. After that, he doesn’t look at you for the rest of the day, like he did when you first met.

You never get a name for the girlfriend. He talks about relationships again, but you don’t even know if he’s always talking about the same one. You doubt it, though, and it only makes things worse.

“My ex wanted me to attend fewer practices.”

“My ex said I didn’t care enough to make time for her.”

“My ex dumped me after I lost a game.”

That last one hurts you, because you remember him crying in the closet because of that exact fear. You want to take his hand again, but you can’t dare to.

“She’s stupid for that,” you say instead.

Jungkook looks surprised first, because you never comment on what he’s telling you, then a smile slowly forms on his lips.

“If the only reason she was with you was because you won a lot of games, you’re better off without her,” you add.

“That’s what Taehyung said.”

“Taehyung’s right.”

Jungkook goes quiet for a little while after that, to the point that you look up, worried that you might have offended him. When you do, he’s looking at you, something you can’t identify shining in his eyes.

“Everything okay?”

He blinks like he’d just woken up for a dream, then nods. He doesn’t tell you that he hadn’t believed what Taehyung said — until you said it and he looked at you and thought that yeah, maybe he was better off without her indeed.

You’re surprised to run into Jungkook late one night, as you’re walking back to your dorm. It shouldn’t shock you — you do go to the same college — but you’re so used to only ever seeing him in the library or the cafeteria that meeting him outside is almost confusing. At least he seems taken aback as well, if the way his already round eyes widen is anything to go by.

Then, his surprised face morphs into a smile, and a wave of warmth hits you without a warning. You don’t get any time to think about it before he waves at you. His shyness is not completely gone, and you see him waver, hesitate, even as he’s walking up to you. You’re quick to close the gap between you, meeting him in the middle. Just in case.

“Hey,” he says, voice a little raspy. He has what you identify as a sports bag, slung over his shoulder, and you wonder what he was doing out so late. You were working at the library until it closed, which is far from being rare for you, but that obviously wasn’t his case.

“Hey,” you reply, smiling back. “Were you— training?”

Amusement flashes in his eyes at the careful way you chose your words, afraid to get it wrong. As he grew more comfortable around you, he also started making fun of you for not knowing the first thing about basketball. Strangely, you don’t mind that much.

“I was at the gym,” he says. “Practice was earlier today.”

“Oh,” is all you can muster. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. Should you ask what he was doing at the gym? The answer would only leave you with more questions, you’re sure.

You’re still debating it when Jungkook clears his throat. He reaches for his ponytail and undoes it, shaking his head so the hair fall back into place. The sight is— interesting. Pretty. You’re not sure why you’re so fascinated by it.

“Do you want me to walk you back to your dorm?” he asks, slight concern in his voice. “It’s late.”

“Is it on your way back?” you question, frowning. You would hate to be a bother.

“No, but—”

“I’m fine, then. I do that several times a week, I’ve never had a problem.”

That was, apparently, not the thing to say. Jungkook only looks more worried now.

“Several times a week? That’s really not careful.”

“I don’t see a problem, there’s no one around.”

“That’s exactly my p—” He stops and shakes his head, but gives a look you’ve seen before. A lot. It’s a look that says ‘I can’t believe someone as smart as you can also be so stupid’, in those exact terms. “Expected value,” he then says, and your eyes widen a little. Maths! Great. You can do maths. “Let’s say there’s a 99% chance nothing happens. Your gain is still minimal.”

Well, you get to study late and enjoy a walk home alone at night, but you’re willing to humor him.

“But in the one per-cent where something bad happens…”

He doesn’t have to finish his sentence. You know exactly where this is going, and you let out a sigh. He’s not wrong. On that aspect, at least.

“Fine.”

He grins widely.

“I just beat you at maths.”

“You didn’t beat me, I—”

“I just beat you at maths!”

You roll your eyes, choose to let him have that. It’s not going to change anything to your behavior after tonight, because the day has not come where you’ll let probabilities rule your life, but, after all, you don’t mind sharing your night walk with him.

Jungkook starts showing up to walk you home whenever he can. It’s not every time, which you’re kind of thankful for — you like his company, but you like being alone just as much, and you need a healthy dose of that every week —, but it does happen regularly. You find him sitting in front of the library, freezing cold, and you take pity on him, buying him a coffee from the vending machine inside, seconds before they lock the building.

That’s how you find out he likes his coffee tasting as little like coffee as possible.

Sometimes, he joins you later, and you hear him jogging to catch up with you. You don’t have the heart to tell him that that defeats the purpose of everything he’s doing, because it’s absolutely terrifying.

As the days turn into weeks, the air becomes colder, and you start seeing Christmas decorations appearing over the campus. You don’t know who is in charge of doing that, but they must be excited about it, because tinsel and few strings of fairy lights start appearing around the campus at the end of November. Jungkook is delighted by it, and you enjoy watching his reactions. You’re not big on Christmas, personally. You enjoy the tradition, the gift-giving, spending time with your family — you’re visiting them briefly this year — but you mostly see Christmas as an excuse for all of that. Jungkook loves it, though, and you decide that his excitement makes you like the season a little more.

“Hey, we should make a stop,” he tells you one night.

You look at him like he’s crazy. It’s the middle of December and it’s already half past nine. You’re cold, it’s dark outside, and you want to go home.

“A stop?” you repeat.

“Oh, c’mon,” he says, and he has that wide, childish grin that you’ve seen only a handful of times. You haven’t learned how to resist it yet. “C’mon!”

You sigh. But you follow.

As it turns out, he takes you just a little way off your usual trajectory. Behind a building you’ve never really paid attention to, Jungkook leads you to a small basketball court. You eye the place suspiciously. It’s empty, well lit, but you never know. A ball might come out of nowhere to hit you in the face, as they had a tendency to do when you were in high school and playing for a team that had picked you last.

By the time you turn around to tell Jungkook that, okay, you’ve seen it, let’s go home now, he’s taken off his coat and pulled a basketball out of his bag. You don’t even want to ask. His grin is even wider than earlier.

“C’mon,” he says.

“Absolutely not.”

“Let me show you, okay?”

You want to say no but— It can’t hurt, right? And Jungkook loves basketball, and you’re his— friend or something, so you should try to take some interest in it.

You take off your coat and let him lead you onto the court. There, you watch him as he dribbles in what you guess is an effective way (you can’t know for sure, you’re barely able to catch the ball after it’s bounced once so your standards are incredibly low), and then demonstrates his ability to score a handful of times. It’s not that you’re not impressed — again, you can’t do anything with this unpredictable, devilish round thing — but you also can’t say this is a quality you think much of.

You liked it a lot better when he convinced you to let him walk you home by talking about the expected value.

“You want to try?” he offers, holding the ball out for you.

You would rather die.

But you take the ball from his hand and eye the basket like it’s personally offended you. That makes Jungkook laugh.

“You can get closer than that,” he says.

You hold back a groan, aim and, of course, fail. It’s almost a relief. You can cross that off your list, again, just like you did as a kid first, then as a teenager. You’re bad at sports, always have been and, considering the effort you’re putting into it those days, always will be. That’s something you can count on.

Before you can say anything, Jungkook’s caught the ball and is running back towards you.

“Okay, let me show you.”

Is he going to— No, he’s just demonstrating it. You’re kind of disappointed not to get your typical ‘guy teaching girl anything sports related’ moment, disappointed that he doesn’t come to stand behind you to show you like they do in movies, but you can’t unpack that right now. You do watch with some degree of interest as he shows you how to position yourself.

“So you really aim for the line above the basket, not the basket, okay?”

“If you think that just because I aim for something I hit it…”

He chuckles, then gives the ball back to you, and you sigh. This. This is why you hate sports. It’s not the one-off failure, that would be fine on its own. It’s the constant humiliation whenever you even try it. You’re going to fail this attempt, and the next one, and the one after that. You’re a lost cause. You’re fine with it, too, but you don’t particularly want to go through that again.

You do your best, though. Not because you think it will change something, but because you kind of want to prove that this isn’t all you. That, even if you’re trying your hardest, there’s just something that refuses to let you score or do it right.

“Wait!” Jungkook walks over to you, puts his hand on your back, and you freeze. “You need to straighten yourself a little,” he says, placing his hand between your shoulder blades, and you nod. His hand is warm and large, you can feel it even over your sweatshirt. “There.”

He removes the hand, and you’re left a little off balance without him by your side. You shake your head quickly, shoot, and, without any surprise, miss.

Jungkook is on the ball just as fast as before, but you’re as quick as him to grab your coat and put it back on. You’re already feeling warm all over, though.

“You don’t want to try again?” he asks, sounding genuinely disappointed.

Of course, you take pity on him.

“Maybe next time,” you say.

He gives you a bright smile, so genuinely happy, and you know that you won’t be able to deny him next time either.

Jin is the reason you’re here, and that is the version you will stick with. No, you didn’t want to go see a basketball game, even if Jungkook is playing. No, you didn’t feel the slightest bit curious about it. No, you would not be there if Jin hadn’t asked. It’s Jin’s fault if you’re here on a Friday night instead of being, well, at your place, likely doing something equally as unproductive.

You don’t even understand what is going on in the field. There’s a lot of running and throwing the ball, that’s for sure, but then, you’ve just learned that scoring from different places in the field and at different moments will not earn the players the same amount of points.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen your friends look at you with such consternation as when they had to explain it to you.

In that situation, you can’t say that you get much from looking at the field. You definitely follow Jungkook with your eyes, cheer and clap when he scores, and let out cries of disappointment with the rest of the crowd when he doesn’t, but truly, the only way you have any idea what’s going on is by looking at the score board. And the truth is, that score is a little too close for comfort.

You hate that it has that much of an impact on you, but it stresses you out. Your leg bounces on the floor, an habit of yours Jin hates, but he’s too focused to notice, which is only more stressful. Jin always notices, and if it doesn’t, it must mean that the situation is dire.

The remaining seconds are slowly ticking down. Jungkook’s team is ahead by only one point, which means that if the other team scores, they will win. You think. You’re not entirely sure, but for your defense, you’ve just heard about it. Jungkook seems to be everywhere on the field. Taehyung is his shadow, perhaps not as noticeable or as spectacular in his actions, but certainly effective.

Again, you have no knowledge of basketball whatsoever.

Jin grabs your thigh, and only then do you realize that something’s happened. The action was so quick, so smooth, that you missed it entirely — but maybe you were also kind of thinking of something else.

Someone from the other team — you don’t even know your school’s team’s players, you’re not going to learn the other ones — just made a break for it. Based on what you can tell, Taehyung blocked his path, pushing him straight into Jungkook’s arms. In a movement you cannot begin to comprehend, Jungkook takes the ball from him, without ever stopping his run.

After that, he’s unstoppable.

He crosses the field, looking almost like he’s dancing in the way he avoids his opponents, and, of course, scores.

The time falls to zero. The crowd stands up like one man, screaming and shouting, and you yourself find yourself jumping up to hug Jin. He hugs you back, but the two of you quickly separate, patting each other’s backs awkwardly.

Jin starts talking with Namjoon and Yoongi, but you tune them out — it’s not like you understand what they’re saying anyway — to look at the field. The players have lifted Jungkook on their shoulders and he’s laughing, holding on to them so he doesn’t fall, and you grin.

“Come on,” Jin says, “let’s go congratulate him!”

That sounds like a terrible idea, you think. You won’t be the only ones, as the crowd has already invaded the field, and you doubt you’ll be able to get very close.

You still follow him. You alternate between clinging to his arm and to his shoulders so you don’t lose him, and trust him to elbow his way through the crowd. You hear him apologizing profusely in front of you, but he does not stop. Slowly, you make it down. Once you’re off the stairs, people are not as compactly gathered, and you can just walk between them. Jin grins at you, and you give him a thumbs up. Yeah, he did good here. You can give him that.

“Hey, Jungkook!” he calls out.

Jungkook was talking with some girls, but he looks up at the sound of his name, excuses himself, and jogs towards the two of you.

And it is then, in the few seconds it takes him to get to you, that it hits you. Like a ton of bricks.

You had known that Jungkook was objectively attractive, of course. There was no ignoring that. But Jin was objectively attractive, too, and that had never changed anything between the two of you. With Jungkook, right now, it does. His skin is glistening with sweat, and he wipes his chin with his shirt, and oh no, you can see his well-defined biceps and the line of his abs, and some hair is escaping from his ponytail, and he’s grinning with a happy, proud smile, and his eyes are shining and—

Jungkook is hot. That’s your realization. You had been aware of it, technically, but it’s like it only clicks for you at that exact moment.

“You came,” he tells you with a bright smile, and you can feel your entire face heating up. You pray that it’s not visible.

“Yeah,” you squeak out. “Great, um, great game?”

It sounds like an interrogation because you have no idea if it was one. It looked difficult, but maybe that was because they played terribly today. You don’t know that.

Jungkook’s smile widens a little, and you know that he has you all figured out. He knows you don’t understand the first thing about this whole thing.

“Thanks,” he still says.

His chest is still heaving quickly, and it draws your attention to his— his everything. The way he’s leaning towards you as he’s trying to catch his breath doesn’t help either. You wait for Jin to say something, to save you, but when you look around, you realize the traitor has abandoned you completely.

Okay, he hasn’t technically abandoned you, he’s just gone to congratulate Taehyung, but it’s the same difference.

You hear someone else calling Jungkook’s name before you’ve figured out what to say. He looks around, then gives you an apologetic look.

“Sorry, I—”

“No problem, you should— I have to go anyway.”

This is not like you. You’re an awkward person, and you struggle in social situations, but you don’t usually trip over your words like that. You kind of hate it.

“Okay, so, um, I’ll see you…?”

“Wednesday, yeah. Or— before. At lunch. If you’re there.”

This is terrible.

“Okay.” Jungkook gives you one last smile, and then he’s off, and you’re standing alone in the middle of a crowd. Your chest is heavy and it feels painful.

You hate this.

It’s only after that that you start realizing how big of a part Jungkook now plays in your life. He walks you home at night sometimes. You eat with him once or twice a week. You study together for an entire afternoon on Wednesdays. He’s just— everywhere. And it’s not that it’s a bad thing, because the feeling you get when you see him is a pleasant one, but it is disconcerting. It’s something that you have no control over whatsoever and that’s not— that’s not good for you.

You realize how much attention you were already paying to him, too, which is even more annoying. The signs were there. You should have understood this sooner. If you had, maybe you could have prevented it.

Because that’s the thing. You know the situation is ridiculous. You believe Jungkook sees you as a friend, and you’re happy with that, but there is no way he thinks of you as anything else. That is not an idea you should even begin to entertain. You can handle rejection, you’re used to it in so many aspects, though it’s rarely romantic, but you cannot take getting your hopes up only for them to be crushed.

The thing is, you can’t help it at this point, can’t force your feelings back in. There is so much to like about him. The way he plays with his hair, the quiet laughs when he’s in public, the loud ones when he’s walking you home, the sparkle in his eyes when he asks you a question in maths and it turns out he already had it right, the look on his face when he talks about basketball,… There’s so much.

You briefly consider avoiding him, but that’s not really an option. You like being his friend. You see your feelings as annoying, pesky little things that have no business being there in the first place. You don’t even hate the rush that goes through you when you see him, the way just looking at him brings a smile to your lips that you simply can’t hold back.

But you really, really hate the wishful thinking. The hope.

The feelings are fine, as long as you don’t think too hard about it. As long as he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Because that would break your heart.

And it’s only a matter of time before that happens.

You really considered declining when Jin asked you to come to this New Year’s party. Your last experience had effectively convinced you that those new parties he was getting invited to were not for you. That was fine, to each their own, but that did mean you didn’t really want to go. He clearly didn’t need you there anyway. You didn’t even know why he asked.

But he did, and he insisted, and he gave you his best puppy eyes, and that’s the thing about Jin: he’s very, very good at giving puppy eyes.

So that’s why you’re there, wearing a red dress that’s way too flashy for you, leaning against a wall and staring into the void. You feel empty and, though you’re not alone, lonely. You’re surrounded by strangers, and there are people everywhere in the house, but you don’t know them, and you can’t just start a conversation with them. It’s not something you do, it’s not even something you want.

You haven’t felt the urge to lock yourself inside a closet yet, though, so you guess that’s an improvement compared to last time.

Looking around, you can see Jimin, perched on the counter, listening to Yoongi talk with a smile on his face. Jin is somewhere else in the room and, though you can’t see him, you sometimes hear him, so you know he has his flirting voice on. Namjoon is nowhere to be seen, but that’s probably a good sign. He always get lucky at those parties. You don’t know how he does it. It’s impressive, honestly. Hoseok showed up earlier, and everyone greeted him like he was a star — which is kind of accurate, actually, at the campus’ scale.

You know, of course, that Jungkook and Taehyung, as inseparable as ever, are by the pool table. You also hate that you know it, because now your mind is constantly wondering if it’s weird that you haven’t been there yet, or if it would be weird to show up. Neither, probably, because exactly no one cares except for you, but you’re the master of torturing yourself with useless considerations.

God, you hate having a crush. It’s just so— unpractical. You also hate that you didn’t see that one coming, and that you didn’t do anything about it until it was too late. Usually, you’re pretty good at nipping those kinds of feelings in the bud. Now, you can only wait it out.

With a sigh, you push yourself away from the wall to wander aimlessly around the house. You promised Jin you’d stay until midnight, and you intend to keep that promise. It’s not like there’s anything for you to do, but still, that way you can look like you’re doing something and look a little less weird. Or maybe you don’t. It doesn’t really matter anyway.

Passing in front of the room with the pool table, you realize that Jungkook is gone. Taehyung is still there, playing with Hoseok, both looking pretty wasted, but Jungkook has vanished. That’s not good. You don’t want him to spring up on you out of nowhere like he did last time. You won’t know how to react if that happens, probably fumble for words, and it will be very unpleasant and very embarrassing for everyone.

You consider finding another closet, then decides against it. There’s just fifteen minutes left until midnight, anyway. That’s not too long. You can just wait it out.

You slowly make your way through the house. No sign of Jungkook anywhere. Maybe he left. Maybe he’s already back to the pool table and you missed him completely. Maybe he’s locked himself in a room with a girl and—

Oh you hate this. You hate feeling jealous. You hate that you have no control over it, you hate that it makes you sad, you hate that you have no right to feel like that. Jungkook isn’t yours. He’s probably even considered you for anything. You should consider yourself lucky you’re even friends with him in the first place.

You do your best to push everything out of your mind. Alcohol has never looked more tempting, but you don’t want the hangover with the morning, so you ignore the inviting bottles of beer and walk out.

It’s freezing — of course it’s freezing, it’s December you idiot, is there anything you can do right tonight — and you shiver, but you stay there. The cold is both numbing and soothing, and while you’re mentally complaining about it, you’re not thinking about anything else, so that’s good.

The door opens and closes behind you, and you guess someone is coming out to smoke. You move over to give them some space, but just as you do that, a jacket falls over your shoulders. You jump at first, and then the warmth makes you sigh in relief.

“You shouldn’t go out without a coat,” Jungkook says, because of course it’s him.

“I feel that you’ve been scolding me a lot recently,” you chuckle, glancing up at him.

He pouts, buries his hands in his pockets. He’s obviously cold as well, but at least his shirt covers his arms.

It also hugs his muscles real nice, but that’s besides the point.

“That’s because you make very poor decisions,” he mutters, looking at his feet. “You have to realize that.”

“You’re right. I could have taken my coat outside.”

“You know that walking back all alone in the middle of the night is way worse,” he protests, and then you laugh, because that’s exactly what you wanted, and he goes quiet for a second. “Don’t make fun of me,” he mumbles, looking away from you again.

“I’m not,” you say, and you take a step in his direction so you can bump your shoulder against his. “You shouldn’t worry that much, but I think it’s nice that you do. I was just trying to get a rise out of you.”

“That worked really well,” he says, and he sounds surprised about it. You wonder if it’s because he usually doesn’t get angry for stuff, but you can’t tell for sure. “Hey, you—”

People start shouting numbers inside, and you turn around to look at them.

“It’s midnight,” you say.

“Five!”

You look up at Jungkook. He’s significantly taller than you. Not as much as Namjoon, but still.

“Four!”

Jungkook looks back at you, smiles, and it takes your breath away. His hair looks very good like that, you think absent-mindedly, with the way it falls on either side of his face.

“Three!”

It’s too late to go back inside now. It would definitely be a weird thing to do. Which means you’re here, alone, with Jungkook.

“Two!”

Your eyes flicker to his lips. You wonder what it would be like to kiss them. You haven’t let yourself even consider it before, but right now your brain isn’t functioning all that well. Probably because of how loud your heart is beating in your chest.

“One!”

You look back up and his eyes are wide and focused on you. There’s that same tension in his shoulders as when you first met him, except, back then, he couldn’t look at you, and now it seems that he can’t look away.

“Happy new year!”

You decide you shouldn’t think about your next move. You get on your tiptoes to plant a kiss at the corner of his lips, right at the border between friends and something else, but he leans forward right at that moment, and his hands cup your face, and then he’s kissing you.

It’s like an explosion. You don’t know what you should focus on. How warm he is, how soft and large his hands are, how his lips move against yours, how he tastes, or simply the fact that he’s kissing you, Jungkook is kissing you!

The door slams open, and the two of you move away in a jump.

“Happy new year Jungkook!” Taehyung shouts, obviously drunk, soon joined by several other members of the basketball team. If he’s seen what happened, he doesn’t say anything, and you doubt Taehyung would have that kind of control over himself.

Soon, Jungkook is surrounded and they start to drag him back inside. He gives you a brief, apologetic look, then follows them, laughing. You remain there, frozen, unsure of what to do. You take a hesitant step towards the door, only to see a girl planting kisses on his cheeks while he blushes. What gets to you, though, is the arm he’s wrapped around her, the way he’s tracing circles on the naked skin of her shoulder. It makes the gesture look… intimate. Personal.

You let out a brief, bitter laugh, that there is fortunately no one to hear. You feel confused, but mostly, you feel stupid.

Fuck that.

It doesn’t take long for you to drop the jacket onto a chair and find your coat. You wish a happy new year to Namjoon, when you pass by him on your way out, and he looks a little surprised, like he hasn’t heard the shouting. You don’t want to know what he could have been up to.

You’ve kept your end of the bargain, you think as you leave. Jin won’t be able to complain to you. You feel some petty sort of satisfaction when you step outside and find yourself alone alone, finally. You like this. You like being alone. You’ve never asked for anything else.

You give one last look to the party, then vanish into the night. You’re better off on your own anyway.

“I don’t think I’ll be coming,” you say, nonchalantly, as everyone around the table is talking animatedly about a party for the next week-end.

You had hoped it would go unnoticed in the middle of the conversation, but, unfortunately, that doesn’t go as planned. Taehyung turns horrified eyes towards you, Jin, Namjoon and Yoongi all look surprised, and Jungkook… You don’t know how to read him. There’s that surprise, as well, but then he looks down before you can tell anything else. Not that that changes much. He’s barely looked at you today.

You haven’t talked to him since New Year’s Eve. You had other things on your mind, and then he didn’t show up at the library last Wednesday.

“What do you mean, you won’t be coming?” Jin asks. “You always come to parties.”

You shrug. You don’t miss the alarmed looks your friends are exchanging, and you’re sure Namjoon can see through you. Because it’s not like you to do something like that, whatever reason you may give.

“I don’t like them. They’re too loud, and I can’t say that I really enjoy standing alone for half the night.”

“You could stay with us,” Namjoon offers.

“And watch you pick up a girl every time? No thank you,” you reply with a disgusted shiver.

“You could stay with me,” Yoongi says.

You give him a look, and he grimaces, backing down immediately. Okay. He can see why you wouldn’t want that either. Plus he’s pretty sure that Jimin and him are about to get it on after weeks of flirting, so it’s probably not a great idea.

“What about me?” Jin asks. He doesn’t sound as energetic as usual, his voice almost quiet, and you realize that he probably feels bad because of what you said. He knows you come to those parties because of him, so knowing you don’t have fun at all when you’re attending — you understand that he might feel responsible.

“I think I would bore you very quickly,” you chuckle. “You’re not going to get the fun you want with me. But it’s fine, really. I tried it, and now I know it’s not for me. I can just—”

“No,” Taehyung says.

You blink.

“No?”

“I’m taking this personally,” he tells you, looking you dead in the eye. “You’re coming to this party and I’m going to make you enjoy yourself.”

You’ve never seen him so serious, and you can’t help it. You burst out laughing.

“Taehyung,” you say softly when you’re done. “I appreciate that, I do, but I don’t want to do that anymore.”

Taehyung opens his mouth, then winces and closes it. You’re not sure what happened there, but he gives Jungkook an offended look.

“I’m sorry,” you add. “I’m sure your parties can be great, but—”

“I get it,” he sighs. “But you owe me.”

You’re not sure why, but fine.

“And you can’t say anything bad about those parties, to anyone. Ever.” In that moment, he looks almost threatening, and you blink, confused. He can’t possibly take it that seriously, can he?

Then he yelps and rubs his leg. He gives Jungkook another annoyed look, but Jungkook doesn’t even look up from his food.

“Leave her alone,” he just mumbles.

Taehyung rolls his eyes, but doesn’t add anything. He does give you a long, pointed glance, though, before muttering under his breath something that sounds a lot like “I won’t let that slander stand,” and you think that’s hilarious too.

When you risk a glance at Jungkook, his arms are folded over his chest, and he looks deep in thought. He’s chewing on his bottom lip, eyes focused on his meal, though he’s not touching it. It’s stupid, but the image of a child that has just been scolded flashes in your mind.

“Jungkook? Is everything alright?”

He jumps at your question, looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. Your eyes meet, but it’s extremely brief, and your chest tightens. This sucks. You thought the two of you had gotten past that now, and you hate that you lost what you had. It’s not like it’s your fault. He kissed you, and then he bailed on you first chance he got. Why would he do that, why would he risk it, if he was going to react like that afterwards?

“I’m fine,” he says with a tense smile, and you doubt it’s true, but you don’t know what you should ask him to confront him about it. You don’t want to talk about the kiss ever again. You certainly don’t want to do it in front of your friends.

So you jump on the first chance you get to leave the table. You don’t ask yourself if it’s a weird thing to do. It probably is, but fuck it, you’re weird, and everyone else can deal with it. You refuse to subject yourself to something unpleasant longer than absolutely necessary.

Except the looks you get are mostly concerned ones, from Namjoon and Jin. Jungkook does look up as you walk away, eyes following you almost longingly, and then he lets out a long sigh that catches Taehyung’s attention. He doesn’t say anything, but he narrows his eyes at him.

God. He really has to get everything done here, doesn’t he?

At first, you think that this is it. Your— your whatever it was that you had with Jungkook is over. You’ll see him around every now and then, and maybe he’ll give you a polite nod, though it doesn’t look like he would even do that right now, but there won’t be anything else. You’ll go back to being basically strangers, and it will be fine, because really, nothing happened there, right? You had a crush on him, he kissed you once, and then nothing. It’s fine. You’ll be fine.

Sure, it makes you a little sad. Sure, you catch yourself looking at him while he’s surrounded by girls who are all so much better for him than you ever were, and it hurts a little. Sure, walking back home alone at night is a little more unpleasant than it used to be, but that’s the thing. It’s only a little. You would almost pat yourself on the back for it. Congrats, (Y/N). You made it out before you got too attached. You probably avoided a world of hurt.

Because you know. You know that if you had gotten in too deep, it would have hurt like hell to not have Jeon Jungkook. And sure, it hurts right now.

But only a little.

You’re good. You’re safe. You know that Namjoon and Yoongi would nod if you told them about it. They understand, in a way a lot of other people don’t. You don’t think that Jin would, for example. He would tell you to take the risk, not understanding that people like Jungkook used to pick you last for their teams when you were in high school, not understanding that as far as you’re concerned, you’ve handled more than enough rejection throughout your life. But Namjoon and Yoongi… They’re definitely more successful than you in matters of the heart, but they would still understand. Not that you’re going to tell them about it, because it’s a stupid story, because there never was anything there, and because you’d feel really dumb talking about how you thought, how you hoped that— You’re not going to tell them anything. At least everything’s okay now.

And then, Jungkook appears at your usual table at the library on a Wednesday afternoon. He drops his bag on the floor and takes a seat next to you. You’re surprised to see him when you look up, too focused on your studies to notice him approaching. He has big, wide doe eyes, and he watches your reaction carefully.

“You’re— This seat isn’t taken?”

You shake your head. No. People rarely come here, and you don’t really study with people. Well, didn’t, you suppose.

“Do you mind if I sit here?“

“The seat’s free. You can take it if you want.”

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know how to react. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You never considered that Jungkook would— That he would—

“I, um, I like studying with you. It helps me focus,” he says, eyes flickering away from you. “So, if you don’t mind I’ll— Can I come back here on Wednesdays?”

You want to tell him that you can’t stop him, that he can do whatever the hell he want, but even though it’s on the tip of your tongue, you don’t.

“Of course you can,” you say instead.

Jungkook looks up long enough to flash you a smile, and you know. This isn’t over, and you’re not going to be fine. You’re probably going to feel crushed, sooner than later, and you could have stopped it all right now.

You think about Yoongi and how not like him it is to be doing what he is with Jimin. How he’s taking a risk. How it could oh so easily not have paid off.

It’s going to, of course. You just need to look at Jimin’s eyes when he’s talking to Yoongi to know that. But Jungkook doesn’t look at you like that. Jungkook doesn’t look at you at all.

And yet here you are. Taking that exact same risk.

God. You can be so stupid some times.

Jungkook glances at you quickly while you’re deep in thought, tapping your pencil against your cheek, and a small smile forms on his lips. He’s quick to glance away, because he would hate it if you caught him, of course, but the smile doesn’t fade.

He couldn’t have forced it to do so if he tried.

“You have to come to the next game.”

“Taehyung, hey, nice to see you to, I’m doing fine, I—”

“I’m serious, (Y/N). I know you hate basketball and everything that breathes, but—”

“I don’t hate you.”

“—this is really important and— Wait, really? Thank you. I feel that means a lot coming from you.”

“Is that how you see me? I don’t hate everyone, Taehyung.”

“Can you give me a list of people you don’t hate?”

“Well, you, Jin, Yoongi, Namjoon…”

“Jungkook?”

“…Sure. Jungkook. Why do you want me to come to the next game?”

“Because we might lose.”

“And I’m supposed to change that how?”

“You owe me, remember?”

“I— Because of the parties? Seriously? I need to sit through hours of you guys running after a ball because I don’t like parties?”

“I would really appreciate it if you could avoid describing basketball as ‘guys running after a ball’.”

“I would really appreciate not having to go watch the game.”

“Don’t you want to support your friends on the team?”

“Ugh. Fine. I’ll be there. Just— stop that thing you’re doing with your eyebrows. Why are you even doing that?”

“You’re so slow. How are you so slow? I thought you were supposed to be smart!”

“Taehyung…”

“Just be there!”

“I will.”

“You better!”

“Or what, what will you— Taehyung! You can’t just run off like— Well. I guess he could.”

You hadn’t thought sitting through a basketball game could become a more painful experience to you than it already was. As it turns out, you were wrong. It was so much worse when the people you wanted to win were losing. Despite yourself, you found yourself getting invested, standing up and shouting encouragements along with Jin and Namjoon, and protesting loudly when things didn’t go your way.

You were not cut out for this. Not because you still didn’t understand half the rules — you could have by now if you had made the effort of memorizing them — but because of the stress. God, how did your friends handle that regularly? How did the players handle it? You kept looking at Jungkook. You could tell how unhappy he was with the situation, could see the disappointment settling in. He also seemed to get more nervous as time went by, which didn’t help his performance, and his words kept echoing in your mind.

”I don’t know what’s going to happen when I stop being as good.”

You’re half way through the game and things are not looking good when Taehyung waves you over. You run to the railway, straining to hear him, and when you finally understand what he’s saying, you regret making any effort at all.

“You can’t possibly be serious!”

But he is.

“You owe me, (Y/N)!”

“I’m already— What’s it even going to do?”

“Trust me on that one, okay?”

You glare at him, but he’s looking at you with his beautiful brown eyes, and there’s nothing you can do against that. You sigh deeply. Your heart is beating wildly in your chest just thinking about what he’s asking you to do. Maybe it’s not such a big deal for him, that sort of stuff, but for you— For you it’s downright insane to even consider.

“Kim Taehyung,” you hiss through gritted teeth, “if this goes bad, I’ll kill you and plant your head on a stick outside of my door to warn my enemies not to underestimate me.”

He has the audacity to shrug at that.

“It won’t go bad.”

You look up. Take a deep breath. And call Jungkook’s name.

The gym is insanely loud, and it takes both you and Taehyung’s efforts, as well as a lot of waving, for Jungkook to notice you. When he does, though, he runs towards you, worry obvious on his face. He’s looking directly at you for once, and the intensity of his stare almost makes you shiver.

“Is everything alright?” he asks when he gets there, eyes scanning you quickly to make sure that you’re okay.

“It’s fine, I just—”

“What are you doing here? You hate basketball. Did something happen?”

You shake your head. You don’t know how you’re supposed to do this, especially when he’s looking so puzzled and when he’s questioning your sanity for showing up at one of his games. You glance over at Taehyung who gives you a decided nod.

Ah. Fuck it.

Leaning over about as far as you can go, you cup Jungkook’s face, and as his expression turns to one of surprise, you kiss him. If people around notice or have a reaction, you can’t tell, because Jungkook pushes himself against you and buries his hand in your hair as he holds you. There’s not much space left for thinking in your mind, instead entirely consumed by thoughts of him. He’s completely sober this time, and you don’t taste alcohol on his tongue. He’s also not going as slow, almost desperately kissing you back, one strong hand supporting you so you don’t fall over, and you just melt.

It takes everything in you to push yourself away. When you do, you’re breathless, and he’s staring at you with eyes even wider than usual. You’re pretty sure Taehyung would want you to give an encouraging speech right now, but you don’t want to do that right now.

“I really don’t care if you’re winning or losing games,” you say instead. “If you’re sad, I’ll be sad with you, but it’s never going to change anything in how I see you. But I’ll be here encouraging you.”

He grabs your hand, squeezing it tight.

“Promise?” he asks, almost childishly.

You’re not sure which part he’s referring to, but they’re all true, so you nod.

“I promise.”

He smiles, and then both him and Taehyung are running back across the field and getting yelled at by their coach, but even from where you’re standing, you can see their smiles.

You guess that means you’re not going to murder Taehyung.

“This is actually insane. How is Jungkook even doing that?” Yoongi asks in disbelief after Jungkook scored extremely impressively yet again, and you fidget in your seat. You’re very happy to see that, though you don’t how you feel about the smug looks Taehyung is sending you, but you don’t want—

“It’s the power of love,” Jin says, nodding like he just gave an essential truth to the meaning of life.

—this. You, very specifically, don’t want this.

“Jin,” you sigh, “there’s no such thing as—”

“Actually,” Namjoon interrupts you, “I think he’s right. The power of love is a thing, and I think this is a perfect demonstration of it.”

You gape at him, in shock. He betrayed you?

“Did you just—”

“Namjoon’s right,” Yoongi nods. “This is how the power of love works. You take love, and you turn it into strength.”

And then, him, Jin and Namjoon high five, and you gasp. Traitors. All of them.

But after that, Jimin says off-handedly “Maybe you should come and kiss me before my next competition” and Yoongi’s brain visibly stops functioning, so you consider yourself avenged.

After the match, you wait for Jungkook outside of the locker room. Jin insisted you should go celebrate on the field, but you had declined. It felt like the situation required something a little more private, so now you’re here, leaning against the wall, looking at your phone so you’ll seem busy, even if there’s nothing on there to occupy yourself.

You’re not the only one there, and that doesn’t help soothing your nerves. There are a lot of girls, all pretty and smiling. It makes you feel like a groupie, and you don’t like it. You’re relieved for a second when the door opens and the team comes out, but it doesn’t last long, because the girls are soon surrounding them. You remain where you were standing, watching the whole thing happen. It takes a few moments before you notice Jungkook’s bun standing out of the group, and it makes you smile.

You catch Taehyung’s eye first, and, after you’ve sent him a glare that you hope was threatening, he pushes Jungkook out of the group. At first, he seems confused, before he finally finds you. You wave at him hesitantly. He blinks a few times, his eyes wide, then walks towards you.

“Hey,” he says when he joins you. He’s towering over you. Usually, you don’t like that, and you’ve complained about having to look up at Namjoon more than once, but you don’t necessarily mind right now.

“Hey,” you reply.

Silence stretches between the two of you as you try to think of something to say. You should have prepared a speech, you know that, but you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t have been able to say it either.

“Taehyung told me he told you to kiss me,” Jungkook blurts out after a while, looking away from you, and you give him a surprised glance. “So, you don’t have to—”

“No, I wanted to kiss you,” you interrupt him, a puzzled frown forming on your face.

Jungkook’s head whips back towards you, and you just stare at him in confusion.

“Do you really think I would have kissed you just because Taehyung asked me to?”

“Well you— you came to the game because he asked you to, right?”

“That’s not the same—”

“Jungkook!” someone from the team calls. “We’re going to grab a bite to celebrate, do you wanna come?”

Jungkook sighs, then gives you a sharp look.

“You wanted to kiss me,” he repeats.

You nod.

“Why?”

You bite your lower lip, and you’re not oblivious to the way his eyes fall to your mouth when you do.

“And I’m the blunt one,” you mumble.

“Sorry, I–”

“No, no, it’s fine, it’s just— I wanted to kiss you because I like you. Obviously.”

Jungkook swallows, and you can see his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He looks over his shoulder at his friends.

“You can go without me!”

There are some protests, but he ignores them to give you his entire attention. It’s… not an unpleasant feeling.

“You disappeared after I kissed you the last time,” he says.

“You left,” you protest immediately. “You kissed me, and then the second your friends arrived, you acted like nothing happened and you left.”

“I didn’t want to— I just— They’re really annoying about that stuff, you know? I thought it would probably be better if I talked to you after— ‘m sorry. I didn’t— didn’t realize it—”

You look at Jungkook, watch him fumbling for words, and it hits you like a ton of bricks, how much you do like him. Those words really don’t do it justice, and maybe you’re not quite ready to talk about love just yet, but you like him so much, so much it makes your heart swell, so much you don’t think what what he’s trying to tell you would change anything to it, and yet what he’s trying to say is exactly what prompts your realization. He didn’t want to hurt you. Wanted this to be private, for just the two of you, wanted to see how you felt about it. And maybe he went the wrong way about it, but it means everything that he was trying.

“Walk me home?” you ask.

Jungkook finally stops his rambling.

“Are you sure?”

Of course, he has to ask that now, after weeks of trying to convince him to let you walk on your own. Still, you smile and nod, and when you start walking side by side, you grab his hand. He freezes temporarily before grinning and squeezing your hand, pulling it into his pocket so you won’t be too cold, because the air of January is chilling.

“Congratulations for the game,” you say after a long, comfortable silence. You had almost forgotten about it.

“Thanks,” he chuckles. “I had some help.”

And then, he winks at you, and your heart misses a beat. That’s when you understand something you hadn’t even considered before: if Jungkook stops being shy around you, you’re done for. You’ll be the one constantly flustered.

“So,” you say, slowly, trying to keep yourself composed, “why did you kiss me?”

“Um. Same as you?” Jungkook’s confidence disappears, and he returns to his awkward self, and you see that, as much as you like it, you want him to be comfortable around you. But that doesn’t mean you can’t tease him a little.

“What do you mean by that?” you ask innocently.

He gives you a horrified look that soon turns to an offended one when he notices you grinning widely.

“You’re so mean,” he says, but he’s smiling too, “you’re the meanest person I know.”

You’re laughing at that point, as you stop in front of your dorm.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Fine,” he sighs dramatically. “I kissed you because I like you.”

It’s funny. You knew that was what he was going to say, knew it was coming, and yet it gets to you all the same.

“With you, I don’t feel like I have to be the school’s star, you know? I can just be— Jungkook. You don’t expect me to be anything else.”

He’s right. You like Jungkook. With his insecurities and his flaws. You don’t want him to perform for you, and you don’t care what he’s doing right and wrong. Just studying maths in the library with him makes you happy.

He eyes your dorm and takes a deep breath.

“I should go,” he says.

You hum.

“Yes, it would be a really bad idea if you came up tonight.”

But you’re not letting go of his hand, and he’s close to you now, close enough that you can feel his breath catching in his throat. It makes you smile.

“You’re so mean,” he repeats.

This time, instead of laughing, you kiss him, and it’s completely different from the two previous times. There is no uncertainty in this kiss, no surprise, no pressure, no fear. It’s perfect. Jungkook’s hand comes to cup your cheek, his lips soft against your own. His long fingers gently stroke your jaw as he keeps the kiss chaste and sweet. It only makes you yearn for more and when he moves away, you can see in his eyes that he wants more as well.

You just don’t think he wants it now.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” you ask.

“I’ll meet you for lunch,” he says solemnly, and it rings like a promise, which makes you smile.

When you move away, though, he doesn’t let go of you, and a pouty expression appears on his face before he releases you.

“I— Yeah. You should go.”

“You can come up if you want to, you know?”

He hesitates, rolls his lips together.

“I want to savor this,” he admits to you in a near whisper.

“Then I’ll go.”

“Yes. Good night.”

“Good night.”

You feel light and giddy as you walk through the door. It’s a nice and strange feeling, like you could just start floating any second.

You already can’t wait for the next day.

People are definitely weirded out by your relationship with Jungkook. Or, rather, by Jungkook’s relationship with you. You’re pretty sure most of the people who give you weird looks when you sit next to him and he wraps his arm around you, or when you walk hand in hand, wouldn’t pay attention to you if you went to class naked. But they all know who Jungkook is, and you guess it is weird to see you in conjunction with him.

They could ignore it and consider you mere part of the scenery when he ate with you, you suppose, but it is harder to do now. You’re not too fond of being the center of attention, to be honest. You don’t know how Jungkook does it.

What takes you by surprise the most is people being nice to you. That confuses you to no end, because you know for a fact they don’t care about you, not really, and you cannot fathom what they think they’re going to get out of this. You’re pretty sure there are a girl or two who are doing that to get closer to Jungkook, and some, you think, have decided to be nice to you because they think that if Jungkook likes you, you can’t be a total lost cause.

You don’t like that feeling. Not at all. You don’t like it when you’re going to class, you don’t like it during lunch, and you definitely, definitely do not like it when people rush towards you the second you get to a party.

Yeah, you’re giving Taehyung what he wanted, in the end. He said that both you and Jungkook owed him, because without him you wouldn’t be together, and you eventually gave in.

You thought it would be fine, now that you have someone to spend time with, but you understand with horror that your status has changed now. You’re not invisible anymore. You’re Jungkook’s girlfriendTM. Because of that, you spend much longer in the entrance making small talk than you would have wished to, and you’re stopped a couple of times while you’re desperately looking for your boyfriend to save you from this hell on earth.

You’re not surprised at all to find him playing beer pong with Taehyung and other guys from the team. He hasn’t gotten time to get drunk yet, so he’s quite impressive, but then again, they all are. That’s why they usually end up wasted.

The second he sees you, though, he abandons the game completely, and the smile on his face threatens to make your heart explode in your chest. Some of the guys turn around to look at you, give you a wave or a smile. Taehyung shouts a greeting.

“Hey,” Jungkook says, leaning in to press a quick kiss on your lips. He doesn’t like PDA all that much, but he never misses a chance to kiss you, and the thought makes you all giddy.

“Hey. Are you, um, having fun there?”

He shrugs.

“It’s not that bad. Wanna play?” He waits for your expression to turn to one of horror as you try to refuse politely before laughing. “Just kidding. Don’t worry about it.”

You let out a relieved breath. You know you and Jungkook are very different people, and you’re doing your best to take an interest in the things he likes. You’ve been learning the rules of basketball, for example, and though you still don’t believe you get the point, you like the way his eyes shine when you say something right about a game.

But you don’t take part in any of that stuff. Okay, you stop at that field that’s on your way home from the library every now and again, but that doesn’t count. It’s just you and him then, and you feel good and relaxed. You’ve even scored a couple of times now.

“Come on, I want to grab a drink,” Jungkook said, taking your hand in his, and you follow without protesting.

It’s probably your second mistake of the night: not realizing that getting a drink with and without Jungkook are two very different ordeals. On your way there, you get roped into several conversations. Those are fine. You can’t say you enjoy them, but they’re fine, and it’s not like those people are actually talking to you anyway.

What you genuinely dislike is that, when you’re by the table with the drinks, a girl starts openly flirting with your boyfriend. It’s not subtle, either, with the way she keeps touching his arm and how she laughs at his every word.

For a while, you just stare in disbelief. You know Jungkook is oblivious to that sort of things — probably one more reason why he likes how blunt you are — but you can’t believe her. You wouldn’t necessarily blame the girl for trying, either, if she didn’t know about you. Jungkook’s quite the catch after all, and you understand liking him better than anyone else.

No, it’s the fact that she’s doing it right in front of you, while Jungkook is holding your hand. It feels so— dismissive. So insulting. She’s not exactly saying to your face that she doesn’t take you seriously, but she might as well.

You watch incredulously when she puts her hand on his arm one more time. You don’t know how you’re supposed to handle that, so you just tug on Jungkook’s hand a little awkwardly. You’re pleased by how quickly his attention snaps to you, even while the girl is in the middle of her sentence. It’s a petty sentiment, for sure, but you can’t help it.

“Everything okay?” he asks. “Is it too loud in here?”

“Kind of, but—”

“Let’s find you a quieter place.”

He forgets about the drink he wanted to get, forgets about the girl, who he abandons there unceremoniously, gently pulling you through the room. Next thing you know, he’s carefully closing the doors of the closet he’s found for the two of you behind you.

“There,” he says, sounding satisfied with himself. “Better?”

You chuckle at that and, guessing for him in the half-light, you pull him towards you for a kiss. You press your body against his, pushing him against the back of the closet, and a groan forms in his throat. His hands tighten around you, sending shivers through your entire being, and you only lean into him more. You run your fingers over his chest, just to feel him tremble under your touch and he does, hissing with pleasure at the contact.

“Fuck,” he mumbles into your mouth. “Was that— was that what you had in mind?”

You shake your head, and he’s close enough to feel it.

“That girl was flirting with you,” you tell him.

“Oh. Are you sure?”

You are.

“So… are you jealous? Because that’s kind of hot.”

You laugh softly. Truth is, you really, really don’t want to be the jealous girlfriend, but Jungkook actually sounds happy about the idea.

“You really didn’t notice?”

There’s a moment of silence.

“I didn’t. Does that— Did it bother you, that she was doing that?”

“Kind of,” you shrug. “What about you? You’re— cool with that?”

“If it bothers you I don’t like it,” he replies simply, one of his hand leaving your waist to grab yours and squeeze it gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice.”

That makes you chuckle.

“How didn’t you? She would have made it barely more obvious if she had started undressing herself.”

Jungkook has an awkward laugh, and you can feel his breath on your face. He starts fidgeting, but then you press a kiss right at the corner of his lips, and he calms down, if just a little.

“It’s— You have to promise you won’t make fun of me.”

“I won’t.”

He hesitates a second longer, as though he’s trying to judge your sincerity by looking at you — except, of course, he can barely see a thing in here. You kiss him again, following his jaw, and he finally gives in when you start making your way down his neck.

“When I’m with you, it’s like my vision narrows on you,” he says, voice low. “I know everything and everyone else is still there, but I just think about you. Sorry, it’s really stupid.”

“It’s not,” you say, shaking your head, wondering if he can feel your heart beating stupidly fast in your chest, all because his words make you feel like nothing else ever has before. “But I’m— I’m kind of boring. That can’t be fun.”

“You’re not boring,” he protests. “You listen to people, even when you don’t look like it. You always look like you have a thousand things on your mind but you always make time for your friends, and when you’re studying here, you play with your hair.” He twirls a lock of your hair around one of his fingers before releasing it, as if to demonstrate. “You’re a very, very interesting person to look at.”

The only thing you can do is stay there, frozen in his arms, after he’s said that. You may be blunt, but Jungkook is honest. Devastatingly so. His vulnerability always shatters the walls that you’ve built around yourself, and you still don’t know how to react when that happens.

So you push yourself on your tiptoes to kiss him again, except this time it’s slow and gentle and you’re trying to put everything he means to you into it. The tip of your fingers are on his cheeks, your mouth barely moving against his, soft noises filling the closet. Jungkook remains still, letting you in complete control, like he’s afraid he could break you if he moved.

“Thank you,” you whisper when you pull away from him.

“For what?” he asks, breathless.

“For being here with me tonight, and for coming with me at that first party.”

“Of course. Any time.”

He lets himself fall to the floor, taking you down with him and keeping you into his lap once he’s done that. You rest your head against his chest. You hear the noises of the party still going on outside, but Jungkook is your island of peace in the middle of the chaos.

“I think I’m going to stop basketball,” Jungkook blurts out without a warning, and you look at him, surprised.

“Really?” you ask.

“Yeah. Really. I just— I don’t want to be doing that anymore.”

You think about it for a few seconds, then nod.

“You probably should stop, in that case.”

“People are… not going to be happy about it.”

“I’m sure Taehyung won’t be mad at you. Well, not for too long.”

He laughs softly, but his hold on you doesn’t relax, and you know that this was hard for him to even consider. You know it’s a terrifying decision to take, too.

“Thank you,” he says. “For being here with me tonight, too.”

“Any time.”

The truth is, you wouldn’t give that moment away for anything in the world, and something tells you Jungkook wouldn’t either. It’s not ideal, it’s not perfect, but you don’t believe there is such a thing, and you’re happy to satisfy yourself with the imperfect.

But any moment you can spend in Jungkook is as close to perfect as can be.

“I love you,” he whispers in your ear, and you think that he might feels the same way, which almost makes you burst with happiness.

“And I love you,” you whisper back.

Not perfect, perhaps. But close enough.

#jungkook x reader #bts #bts imagine #bts x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #bts fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook #jeon jungkook #candywrites

[shinidamachu]

I need some Inuyasha as a great father (more like DILF, amirite?) headcanons, can you help me out?

I'm here to serve!

• It isn’t until they’re happily married for at least one or two years that the possibility of children are brought up.

• At first, they took that time to relearn each other, enjoy their company and make the honeymoon phase last a little long. They did spend three years apart, after all. There’s so much time to make up for, so many catching up to do before they’d even think to throw a kid into the mix. Plus, being a modern woman, Kagome would know how to avoid pregnancy the best her new circumstances allowed and how important that time alone is for a newly-married couple.

• They never actually had the child talk because Kagome just assumed that’s where their relationship would naturally lead to, given her motherly tendencies and Inuyasha’s history of ultimately giving her everything she wants. For his part, Inuyasha knew she wanted to be a mother someday and he'd be lying if he said he never indulged the fantasy of fathering her children. However, he has serious trouble wrapping his mind around the idea that, in reality, Kagome would still be up for it if he were to be the father. He could never dare to ask of her more than she has already given him. Be that as it may, it was not a big deal because it was not a dealbreaker. Nothing was.

• But with time, Kagome would have noticed how good Inuyasha is with Hisui and the Mirsan twins. How his relationship with Shippo had developed from a sibling banter to a makeshift paternal relationship. How people like Shiori and Bunza would look up to him like he was some kind of movie hero. How every kid in the village seemed to adore him despite his grumpy demeanor.

• And Inuyasha would have noticed the way Kagome would look at him whenever he so much as interacted with a child, the way her smell would spike significantly.

• She, of course, was the one to make the first move, jumping him one night, after they had spend the whole day stuck with babysitting the Mirsan children and popping the question.

• Inuyasha was relutant. There was a part of him that was adamant on making her happy and even believed having babies would make him happy too. On the other hand, he was terrified. Terrified of how her body would react to childbirth, of if her spiritual powers would accept his demonic energy. But mostly, about what would happen once the baby was born. The last thing he wanted was for Kagome to go through everything his mother had to go through. Or for another kid to face the same prejudice he did. Besides, he grew up with no father figure whose steps he could follow. He didn’t know how to be a father.

• Kagome assures him that they won’t have a baby until they’re both ready and on the same page, that they have time and that Inuyasha will be a great father.

• Inuyasha believes her.

• Then it is him felling some type of way whenever he sees Kagome around kids. And something deep inside desperately wishes to find out what would their children look like, what would it be like to hold and take care of someone born from their love.

• Finally, he caves.

• Inuyasha wants a big family, considering how lonely his childhood was. Kagome finds it pivotal for their first-born to have a sibling, since she had Sota and their relationship was one of the most important things in her life. That’s why they’d have two children minimum, preferably a boy and a girl. However, giving how dangerous and uncomfortable childbirth can be, especially without the perks the modern era provides, I don’t think they’d have more than three.

• Naturally, Inuyasha relies on Miroku for advice and the latter is more helpful than not. Except for the times Inuyasha asks or says something that makes it way too easy for Miroku to mess with him. Like the time he told Inuyasha that if he doesn’t get Kagome whatever food she craves while pregnant, the baby will be born looking exactly like that food. And Inuyasha believed him.

• And if you thought Inuyasha was protective of Kagome before... oh boy! He’d be almost overbearing, but Kagome would see it as endearing. Most of the time. Sometimes, though, a woman has got to have her privacy. He also becomes more attentive, more gentle, sweeter.

• After their first child is born, Inuyasha gets a makeover of sorts. He’s always borrowing the Fire Rat to Kagome and the baby anyway, so he figured it’d be more practical to just pass the clothes on to them already and get something new for himself.

• It’s white.

• Inuyasha becomes taller, stronger. And often lets Kagome experiment with his hair with braids, top nots... and ponytails.

• Old Myoga is the first one to notice the resemblance. And it’s true. He’s the spitting image of Toga. Former enemies and allies often mistaken him for Toga and Kagome thinks the look on their (and Inuyasha’s) face is hilarious.

• Sesshoumaru does not care for it (I stole this one from @heavenin--hell).

• Inuyasha hates his human nights even more because now his vulnerability also means he might not be able to protect his family as he usually would (Together Changed by @goshinote and @lostinfantasyworlds inspired this one). Plus, the black hair and lack of dog ears confuses the baby, who cries and fusses for a good while until realizing it is, in fact, Inuyasha holding them (this one I saw in an adorable fanart I can’t find).

• But since he needs way less sleeping than humans and he spends the New Moons up anyway, Inuyasha gets a lot of quality time with their infant at night, which allows Kagome to actually get a good night sleep unless the baby is hungry.

• The Beads of Subjugation get dooled and chewed on. A lot.

• A little contest takes place between Kagome and Inuyasha about what the first word of their first child would be, with Kagome going for “dada” and Inuyasha going for “mama.”

• Kagome wins.

• Inuyasha’s fighting style changes. He still says some snarky remarks, but now it’s more to push his opponent‘s buttons down so they would get sloppy than anything else. After all, he has a child to think about and provide for now. He doesn’t have the luxury of gambling with his life anymore. He has a home to come back to and therefore won’t be taking any chances (credit to @born-for-eachother for this one).

• And so he becomes more lethal on the battle field. Pragmatic. Objective. Calculating. Decisive. Cold blooded. Much like... Sesshomaru.

• He had never been more offended on his life than the day Sango pointed this out to him.

• When the kids grow up a bit, Inuyasha and Kagome start to tell them bedtime stories, with the PG version of the story about how the met and defeated Naraku being their favorite.

• Kagome tries to be a reliable and calm narrator while Inuyasha exaggerates the events and the voices, almost always breaking objects of their house in the process.

• After hearing one too many times about the Beads of Subjugation, their child tries to “sit” Inuyasha. Of course it doesn’t work, but he still makes a big deal out of throwing himself on the ground every time they say the word just to hear them laugh.

• The first actual toy Inuyasha buys them is a ball, just like the one he had as a kid, at the same time accomplishing a childhood wish through them and ensuring that they would always have someone to play with.

• Kagome is more protective of their physical state while Inuyasha is more protective of their emotional one (see Fist Fight by @omgitscharlie)

• Inuyasha goes to Totosai and asks him to make a weapon out of one of his fangs to each of their children once they get old enough for it. Not necessarily a sword, just something of their choice and that better fits their personality.

• He would be a just father, doing his best to show no favoritism, treat his children equally and make sure no one felt overlooked or unloved.

• But truth be told, if one of their babies turn out to be a daughter, he would definitelly let her get away with almost anything, no matter how much of a gremlin she is. Daddy’s little girl would have him wrapped around her tiny fingers.

• Life never treated Inuyasha kindly. From a very young age, it was kill or be killed. It wouldn't be too far off for him to think the exact same thing could happen with his kids, therefore he tries to prepare them, to tough them up so they can take it.

• And I believe this sentiment would be significantly amplified with a son, because it would involve the whole “suck it up”, “men don’t cry” and “man of the house” aspect of it. The “it is your duty to protect your mother and sister when I’m gone” too, especially because he couldn’t protect Izayoi himself.

• It’s “tough love”, but it’s love nonetheless. And in the right dose, which I believe Inuyasha manages to nail, it can be very important for one’s development and growth.

• But it’s hard to imagine him being as tough with a daughter. Probably because he sees so much of Kagome on her that the mere idea of seeing her cry simply breaks him.

• Kagome would actually have to step in when it comes to disciplining and saying “no”, because he simply wouldn’t have it in him to do so.

There’s actually a really nice post by @keichanz I reblogged a while ago discussing precisely that, but I can’t find it to save my life (should I start to properly tag my reblogs? No, it’s a lot of work and I’m right not to).

Anyway, that’s all I got for now.

Peace out.

#This ask was actually sitting on my inbox for... #Woof #A while now #And I wish I could say it was a big move on my part to wait and reply exactly on Father's Day #Because I'm just so cool methodic and strategic #But it was sheer dumb luck #LMAO #This was fun by the way #Send me YOURS daddyasha headcanons #Thank you for the patience and for the great ask anon #Inuyasha

[favoniuscodex]

i heard you wanted some genshin hcs~ (some are x reader most are just general hcs. no shipping except for the first one) (mondstadt gang is best gang)

1. kaeya knows a little bit of every language in teyvat. something something abyss spy training something and sometimes he'll call you terms of endearment from another language like inazuman or liyuan, or even snezhnayan and you'll find it cute until some foreign merchants hesitantly asks why kaeya is calling you 'insert random object here'. (you deny him kisses for the rest of the day. or, well, for two hours at least, until your resolve cracked)

2. (no shipping here, shipping minors is gross) diona hates kaeya with a burning passion, firstly because he drinks a lot, secondly because the cats at cat's tail like him. a lot. it started off with roger the cat not returning to her when she called for him, and instead, the damned cat was nuzzling kaeya instead, as he nurses his drink with one hand and petting roger with the other. he smirks at her. the audacity! the next time she bartends and kaeya comes, the cats crowd him. roger is his favourite, and the cat curls his tail around that eyepatched bastard. except, diona has a special, super-secret weapon underneath the counter - cat treats. roger follows accordingly.

kaya looks devasted and diona is in high spirits for the rest of the day. 3. when klee is in solitary confinement for blowing one too many things up, albedo tries bribing jean.

he tries baking. baking is nice. baking is formulaic, he borrows some recipes from sara and gets to work.

jean does not have a sweet tooth. so he tries other things. savory sunsettia bread. special sweet madame with wolfhook drizzle. even some rather peculiar variations on sunshine sprat, but jean is not dissuaded. he mentions this to diona, klee's best friend. when diona hears this, she gets a wild glint in her eye and scurries back to cat's tail. apparently, pizza works. 4. in all honesty, even though it's been - what, three years? since kaeya moved out of dawn winery, adelinde still fusses over him like a son.

she brings him food, at least weekly, sometimes even three times a week, barging into his residence with that iron determination that one only gains after chaperoning the entire winery household as head maid for thirty-something years. making excuses such as 'you can't live on those skewers of yours', bringing in loaves of fresh-baked bread, some meats and vegetables. she's the head maid, with presumably no time on her hands, but on some rare, god-given days, adelinde will guide kaeya to the kitchen and teach him how to cook. she checks up on him, says no word about him and diluc, and, inevitably, commentating on his ugly furniture choices. he treasures those days.

(if crepus was his real father, then adelinde must surely be his real mother) 5. lisa's had a tea hobby for ages. fresh-brewed osmanthus tea, aged fine glaze-lily tea leaves, her personal favourite, a mellow, fruity valberry tisane - you name it, she's tried it. for countless years even in sumeru academia she's been an avid collector of all types of teas and brews, except, mondstadt is horribly lonely with its tea. she should've settled in inazuma or even liyue instead.

taking tea with friends is nice. partaking in a long, drawn out discussion about the nuances and subtle shifts in tastes in tea and tea brewing? that's where it's at. so when she begrudgingly has to take a trip to liyue to pick up some books from jifang, from wanwen bookhouse. there, she bumps into a certain blue-haired young man, who also coincidentally was looking for the same books she was. it's clear that they have two things very much in common with each other -

1. a love of books

2. a love of tea. xingqiu invites her to heyu teahouse to taste his friend yun jin's latest tea (this part is canon btw, minus lisa), in which they both meet a rather elegantly refined man by the name of zhongli. the day trip that was supposed to be for picking up books turns into one lively night filled with zhongli's patient explanations on this and that particular pekoe or brew, xingqiu's passionate interjections of this taste and that subtle undertone which is simply delectable, and lisa's casual notes on the method of which the tea brewer must've taken for this particular blend. it evolves into zhongli educating them on liyuean history, with xingqiu and lisa both having the knowledge to also commentate and enquire about certain events. in the end, jean has to drag lisa back to mondstadt and safe to say, she now has two very nice penpals.

6.(warning, swears). no shipping rosaria is mondstadt's thorny protector in the dark, keeping track of threats and exterminating them if need be.

sometimes, she hates her (self-given) job.

she's been tracking this bastard for hours. hours! and this stupid idiot has been leaving tell-tale traces of their presence, leaving burn marks everywhere and not even bothering to hide their tracks in the forest. hell, they're bleeding everywhere and they clearly do not know how to do first aid. the only reason she hasn't disposed of them is because they're actually getting rid of monsters around mond therefore making her life easier.

they're clearly new to this whole vigilante thing (seriously, who the hell isn't taught basic first aid? do they have maids doting on them on every second) but whatever thoughts she has dissipates as said figure slumps onto the ground, clearly unconscious.

well, shit.

rosaria loves mondstadt, begrudgingly so. and mondstadt gave her some form of morals, so after a brief period of questioning her life choices she drops down from the branch and hefts the person up, with all intents and purposes of carrying them back to church so deaconess barbara can heal them.

she rips the stupid mask off, firstly, only to realise that it's a he, and said he actually would have maids doting on him every second. diluc's claymore is also stupidly big, and also pretty fucking heavy, but rosaria grits her teeth and carries him all the way back to church. it's the early hours of morning, with the sun not even up yet and godamnit sister jiliana is going to make a snide remark about her missing the morning prayer again because she swears to bartosiba she's going to take a long-ass nap after this.

at some point, diluc awakes and weakly resists, but rosaria is too tired at this point so she just knocks him out again. she reaches the final steps of lord barsobato's church and sighs in relief and she dumps him inside the church, slips into barbara's quarters to wake her up, and presents her with the bleeding body of diluc ragnvindr.

("you owe me a free drink" rosaria sidles up to the bar, staring at diluc in the eyes. "perhaps two." the free drink diluc slides her is grape juice. unlike kaeya, she actually doesn't mind juice, so she takes it and mutters a thanks. when she returns to her table, she's immediately apprehensive about two things: the way venti is whispering into kaeya's ear, and secondly, kaeya's smirk that she oh-so-very-much wants to wipe off. "so," kaeya says, sly grin forming. "I heard you carried my dear brother in your arms last night?" godamnit.) _______ djhgfsdhsjkd sorry for writing quite a lot, I don't usually write this much. congrats on your high gpa!! hope you have a wonderful week

HI I LOVE ALL OF THE EFFORT PUT INTO THESE??? shakes ur shoulders. anon if u dont have a writing blog, u should totally get one (no pressure - only do it if you want to!) bc you'd be great at it. i LOVEEEE the kaeya & diona dynamic - i've written about it in a fic before and i now believe headcanon #2 to be canon in my mind.

rest of replies utc bc my response is long

#3 - omg i cannot believe ive never even considered the albedo & jean dynamic,,, of course they would interact bc of klee but my primitive brain just never considered it... i also love the idea that klee and diona are the same age, but diona takes on an almost "protective big sister" role for klee... plus jean doesn't seem like she drinks a lot, so diona wouldn't hate her... this is nice i like this headcanon of jean trying to help.

#4 - DOTING ADELINDE HAS MY HEART !!! AND THIS HEADCANON IS SO BIGBRAINED !!! adelinde tracking down kaeya's new address and showing up within a week of him moving there with like "young man, you MIGHT have moved out of the apartment but that does NOT mean that i will not dote over you!" energy.

#5 - LISA, XINGQIU, AND ZHONGLI AS BESTIES??? so true i love it so much. scarfing down this food as we SPEAK i love it, they'd all be respectful of each other but compliment the ideas of the others in various ways,,, i love it. teyvat book club when ???

#6 - ROSARIA AND DILUC... oh my god not 2 make this abt me but my dynamic with my oc and them is that diluc has to save my oc from trouble, ends up failing, and rosaria always has to come save them. but overall, not-oc related headcanons for rosaria is that she keeps a far lower profile when it comes to saving mondstadt than the darknight hero does and (based off her voicelines) knows diluc is the darknight hero. she's the glue holding the city together at night, even if everyone claps and praises the darknight hero for his actions instead -- she prefers to remain in the shadows and away from the limelight. she probably only wishes that diluc could clean up his own messes, rather than her needing to pick up after him.

final notes: please don't apologize for writing so much! i adored reading all of this! your writing is really charming and fun to read and your headcanons are really creative yet it seems like they fit with actual canon !!! thank you for the well wishes and i hope u have a wonderful week as well <3

#this honestly made my day anon #it makes me sosososo happy to have ppl excited to share their genshin ideas with me especially of this length! <3 #this was such a pleasure to read! #//mail #long post

[kurowrites]

Since you like cute fluffy prompts, how about everyone assumes LWJ and WWX will end up together for political reasons (which is fine, it's a smart match) but then slowly come to the realization that they actually really like each other?

Celebratory arranged marriage fic! This is probably not what you expected, but oh well! :D

---

"Wangji, are you sure this is what you want?" Lan Xichen asked.

Lan Xichen had invited Lan Wangji to the Hanshi to have tea with him, and although Lan Wangji had expected his brother to have something on his mind that he did not want to discuss in front of their uncle, he would have preferred if his brother had not voiced his concerns. It would have made things... easier.

Lan Wangji studied the bottom of his teacup for a long time before he was able to raise his gaze to meet the concerned eyes of his brother and speak.

"Xiongzhang," he finally said. "I have agreed to the proposal. I am not... unwilling. I never expected to fall in love."

Lan Xichen looked like he wanted to say something, but one glance from Lan Wangji had him maintain his silence.

"I do not place value on such impermanent emotions. To have a steady companion will be enough."

"Oh, Wangji," Lan Xichen sighed. "Sometimes I fear Uncle has had too much success with your education. You deserve to be loved, you know?"

Lan Wangji did not know how to reply to that.

He was not unhappy, that was the truth.

He had long known that a political marriage would be an inevitability, eventually. The steadily aggravating situation with the Qishan Wen sect, Jin Guangshan's own questionable ambitions; it had only been a matter of time until the other sects saw their hand forced. It was only natural that they would want to strengthen their own alliances and raise their defences. Arranged marriages were only too common in situations as these.

He should be glad, he thought, that his chosen partner would be Wei Wuxian. His uncle might not be as happy with the choice, might have preferred someone else, perhaps a woman. But to Lan Wangji, it had been the best choice out of the few that he had had. The Gusu Lan and Yunmeng Jiang sects needed a stronger alliance, and barring marrying Jiang Wanyin himself, Wei Wuxian had been the best choice. Naturally, Madam Yu would insist that Jiang Wanyin's wife would be a woman, someone that could bear the future sect heir.

Thinking rationally, choosing Wei Wuxian had been less of a choice and more of a given. The marriage needed to be both strong in terms of the ties that it created, but also unoffensive enough so that no other sects would object.

The only other possible choice would have been Nie Huaisang. But considering that Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen were already sworn brothers, the alliance to the Jiang sect took precedence.

Lan Xichen sighed again.

"I just want you to be happy, Wangji."

"I am content, Xiongzhang. There is no cause for unhappiness."

His brother said nothing, but Lan Wangji could read his thoughts on his face.

After all, he had deliberately evaded referring to himself as 'happy.'

---

When he had agreed to the marriage, he had thought about Wei Wuxian, and felt a sliver of worry. Lan Wangji might be content to marry for politics, and settle for nothing more than a companion, but he had always felt that Wei Wuxian would want more than that.

Wei Wuxian had always been a passionate person; it followed that he would be a passionate man when it came to love, as well.

Instead, he was going to marry Lan Wangji.

Would he be content with simple companionship? Lan Wangji had considered it once, offering Wei Wuxian the opportunity to practice... certain activities outside the marriage, to keep a lover on the side. But something deep inside him rebelled against the idea. He didn't know if he would be able to live with the knowledge that his husband would seek the embrace of another.

And Wei Wuxian had agreed to the marriage, after all. He had known who Lan Wangji was when he agreed, and he had known the conditions attached to the marriage.

Still, there was the smallest nagging voice in the back of his head that told him that someone like Wei Wuxian was made for love. Not for marrying men like Lan Wangji for the sake of politics. He still remembered when Wei Wuxian had visited Cloud Recesses for the first time. He had heard that Wei Wuxian had calmed down a little since he had become an adult, but Lan Wangji remembered all too well how much of a flirt he had been, how openly he had carried all his emotions on his sleeve. Wei Wuxian had not been made for politics.

Still, the marriage would happen. They had both agreed to the proposal, their families had agreed to the proposal. Soon, they would be here, and Lan Wangji would be a married man.

---

"So," Wei Wuxian smiled once they were finally alone, back in the familiar quiet of the Jingshi. "Looks like we're married, huh? I feel a little bad for you - you must have wanted a nice, quiet wife, and yet here you are, with someone who's neither nice, quiet, nor a wife."

He let his eye wander over the room in front of him, and Lan Wangji wondered what it looked like to Wei Wuxian's eyes. As the rest of Cloud Recesses, it must seem like a horribly boring place to him.

Lan Wangji himself had no eyes for the room in front of him, however. He looked at Wei Ying, resplendent in his red wedding robes, and tried to remember if Wei Wuxian had already been this handsome before, or if the maids had simply done an excellent job in anticipation of the wedding ceremony. He truly looked like a heavenly prince, in his red robes, his hair half done up with an elaborate braid, decorated with a hair piece that had been part of Lan Wangji's betrothal gifts.

"What about the living arrangements?" Wei Wuxian asked, rousing Lan Wangji from his thoughts.

Lan Wangji frowned. "It is customary that we share the Jingshi with each other."

Wei Wuxian sent him a look he found difficult to decipher.

"Is that what you want?" he asked. "Forgive me my bluntness, Lan Zhan, but I cannot help but think that my presence here will be a disturbance for you. I don't want to force you into bearing my presence and suffer my noise. I know you don't like to be touched; you can hardly be wanting to share a bed with me."

Lan Zhan felt his heart thump loudly. He had considered before that it was possible that Wei Wuxian might insist on a token marriage. That was essentially what it was, after all. But now that he was faced with Wei Wuxian's evident dislike of the idea to cohabit, he found himself... disappointed.

"I had hoped for companionship," he found himself saying, hardly even knowing what he was doing. "I- No. It does not matter. If you are unwilling to share quarters, I will look for another room. The Jingshi is yours."

His answer was met with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian exclaimed. "Why would you think I'd be unwilling to share? Or throw you out of your own home? I was trying to be respectful of your wishes! I-"

He suddenly fell silent.

"Wei Ying."

Wei Wuxian sent him another unreadable look.

But Lan Wangji was good at waiting people out. He stood there, silent, as he studied the beautiful embroidery on Wei Wuxian's robes, and watched his husband consider his answer.

"I had hoped for a hug," Wei Wuxian suddenly burst out. "That's it. I know I can't expect much from this marriage, Lan Zhan, and I don't want to force you into anything you don't want to, but I had hoped for at least a hug, now and then.  If I can't-"

He bit his lips and fidgeted with the seams of his robes.

"Look at me, doing my best to fuck this marriage up on the wedding night," he said, laughing quietly, even though there was nothing funny about it.

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji said again. Wei Ying looked at him, and Lan Wangji was almost sure there was something akin to fear in his eyes.

That was… distasteful. He did not want his own husband to be afraid of him. And he would never want-

He himself remembered a time when a hug had been all he had wanted, but he had never had the courage to ask for it. And now, all he had left was the bitter taste of regret.

He tried to find the right words that would adequately express that he was willing to work for the success of this marriage, token or not. That he was willing to accommodate Wei Wuxian, within the realms of possibility. They had both agreed to this marriage. They had to pay the price.  

But the words would not come, not as he wanted them to.

In the end, he could do nothing but uselessly lift his arms.

"I will hug Wei Ying," he said.

It was terribly nonsensical and did not help in illustrating the point he was trying to make. But Wei Wuxian smiled a sudden, brilliant smile, and stepped right into his arms as if it were nothing.

"Mh," Wei Wuxian said, his face pressed into Lan Zhan's shoulder.

And Lan Wangji closed his arms, giving the promised hug.

Maybe that was enough, for now.

---

The next morning, Lan Wangji woke before dawn, as he always did.

For once, however, things were a little different.

On this morning, he woke with Wei Wuxian still in his embrace, his face buried in Lan Wangji’s shoulder, occasionally huffing out a deep breath that warmed Lan Wangji’s skin through his wrinkled robe.

Lan Wangji considered his new reality for a moment. He decided that the assessment he had given his brother had been accurate:

He might just be able to be contented, indeed.

#kuro writes #the untamed #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #mdzs #terratenshi

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding X

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Part I - - - - - Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV - - - - - Part V - - -  - - Part VI - - - - - Part VII - - - - - Part VIII - - - - - Part IX

“I realize this is incredibly difficult,” the Nautolan Soul Healer said calmly. “But in order for us to help Obi-Wan, we need to determine the cause of his current disconnection with reality. Based on the drug panel, and convenient surveillance, we have, to the best of our ability, ruled out temporary psychosis brought on by a drug interaction.”

Cody stiffened further, not sure how to react to anything anymore. When a brother tried to end his own life, it was usually obvious why.

Sife Aerdo continued on. “There have, of course, been cases of Jedi Seers giveing into their fears of the future, or losing their sense of reality, but every case study involving such an extreme reaction was the result a gradual degradation over the course of many years. Nevertheless, it seems clear that Obi-Wan experienced a vision, and it may have impacted his breakdown to some extent. The more we know, the more successful any attempts to convince him of reality will be.”

Bant furrowed her brow in thought, trying to replay three decades of increasingly vague discussions of nightmares.

”Considering the high profile nature of his position, we cannot rule out some kind of psychological attack, perhaps even a darksider incursion.

Anakin leaned forward intently, the inside of his skull buzzing with white noise.

"All that being said, we must be prepared to treat Obi-Wan’s self harm as the  culmination of a long and quiet mental health struggle. He would not be the first in the Order to disguise such a thing with durasteel self-discipline.”

At that, Bant and Mace took a moment to release their feelings to the force, while Anakin raised his shields defensively.

Master Aerdo finally hesitated, before continuing in the same smooth tone. “I would ordinarily prefer to structure this kind of conversation quite differently- allow Obi-Wan time to share his feelings first and invite you each separately to support him in the healing process. But he’s gone from fighting sedatives and force compulsions as though the fate of the galaxy depended on it, to a self-induced coma. All while barely lucid, yet still somehow maintaining Master Class mental shielding. We need to get a better understanding of his mental landscape if we’re going to even begin the process of treatment."

It is necessary to note that everyone in that room had led, in one way or another, a somewhat miserable life. This was the main reason none of them could claim that the next five hours were the worst they had ever experienced. 

“But he’s always had terrible sleeping habits.” Anakin said hoarsely.

“Yes, but I think they got worse after Qui-Gon passed,” Bant argued, not sure what point she was making. 

“When I pointed out he couldn’t be getting more than three hours a night he told me that he could manage on meditation” Cody offered irritably.

“That’s technically true,” Mace confirmed. “If the Master in question is well-balanced otherwise”

“So its like his eating habits, crushing responsibilities, and repeated exposure to violence, then? Completely fine for a Jedi, in less it’s not, in which case it’s a major red flag?” 

“I think it would help to establish a timeline.“

Aerdo actually dredged up old mission reports, leading to the group reluctantly contacting Ashoka for her memories of Mortis.

At her Master’s insistence, she told them everything she remembered, hazy as it was, nervously elaborating on her own memories of falling. To her confusion, Master Windu all but brushed past that, assuring her that the important thing with stepping into darkness was the choice to the return to the light. Anakin bizarrely agreed with Windu. Out loud. Unnerved by the cooperation more than anything, she put her holographic foot down and demanded to know what was going on. 

Anakin took the comm-link into a separate room to speak privately.

Upon return, he informed the group (with a visibly red and puffy face) that Kit would be escorting her back from Mount Cala cleanup early, daring anyone to disagree. Windu nodded and the conversation continued on.

Together they rewatched holo-footage of Obi-Wan laughing amongst Ghost company the night before last, and debated reports from psychometric investigators who had scoured the cantina as well as Obi-Wan’s personal quarters for traces of illicit substances. Between that and another drug panel, they were finally forced to conclude that despite the timing, the alcohol at most confused Obi-Wan’s perception of a vision, or possibly simply loosened his tongue.

Bant prodded Cody to repeat every word from the holocar ride to the temple, taking furious notes. Cody was unable to stop the heat that crawled up his face.

Just when the looming horror of Obi-Wan actually preparing to intentionally die started to break over Anakin, Windu interjected.

“You don’t see what I do,” the Harun Kal said grimly. “Something galaxy-sized shattered around Obi-Wan and he didn’t break from it. The closest comparison I have is Master Yaddle’s presence when she meditated on her confinement. He’s chosen to keep going, even when, quite frankly, death would be a release. We’re missing something fundamental.”

“He said there were ‘other dark forces at work.’ Even if the fight was objectively hopeless... there’s no way he would choose to die because of it!” Anakin agreed vehemently, shaking off morbid fears.

“But he did choose to die.” Cody said quietly. And the wind went out of Anakin’s sails.

“Lets go back.”

Anakin gritted his teeth as they picked apart everything ‘unusual’ Obi-Wan had said and done leading up to his visit with Bant.

“What exactly did he...”

“So Plo Koon was able to get a read through his shields?”

“Did he have anything to eat?”

“How did that compare to...”

“When he's mentioned things in the future...did it seem good or bad to you?” Bant asked.

“Bad.” Cody and Anakin said in unison. Remembering the trip to the temple Cody spoke again, “Definitely bad.”

“Right. When we were talking he sometimes used the wrong tenses for things, people. I confronted him on not knowing ‘when’ he was after Knight Skywalker left. He told me that he knew what was real, but he was “enjoying not fully living in the moment” he also said that he intended to “wake up”

“Enjoying? That’s the exact word he used?” Cody asked incredulous. 

“He did seem...mostly happy yesterday. Giddy, at points.” Anakin said, slumping in on himself.

Bant looked at her notes once more before addressing the group.

“This isn’t vision psychosis in any manner I’ve heard of before...but I think I might have a theory. He used to have intense visions when we were kids; plenty of us did sometimes, but Obi-Wan would be unable to sleep after. What terrified him more than anything was the uncertainty that he might make the wrong choice- even when the vision was about something good, or neutral. His visions gradually stopped coming around puberty. We just had a conversation about this a few months ago- how relieved he was to only have to manage flashes of precognition. If he had a random, horrifying vision of a terrible future...suicide wouldn’t be his reaction. It’s too final.”

“Even if he blamed himself for what he saw coming?” Mace asked.

“Especially if he blamed himself.” Bant said. 

“What’s your theory?” Aerdo prodded.

“What if...what if he was telling the truth when he said he could separate out what was real and what was not? What if there was no distortion or blurring between now and then? What if he was just wrong about which was which?”

“That...would be a very extreme and abnormal manifestation of force-induced psychosis. He has training in distinguishing reality from visions. The continued presence of his mental shielding means that the fabric of his mind can’t be so horrifically collapsed in on itself.” 

“What if the vision was actually that realistic?” Bant said, pushing back against the soul healer. “So detailed and vivid that it effectively was a reality in itself, and everything else, all of us...”

“Were just memories” Anakin finished. “It would...actually explain pretty much everything. You said he wanted to wake up and when...when I found him.” He stopped, swallowing. “When I found him, he argued with me...what if he wasn’t trying to hurt himself? If you’re right...that would mean I found him trying to get back to reality.”

“It could explain his behavior in the halls...his desperation to wake...” Sife mused “But it runs counter to every other experience I’ve had with those managing prophetic visions. Master Windu, could that explain the shatterpoints you saw?”

“I’m not certain. It would have to have been extraordinarily real to create the echos of Shattering I witnessed. I don’t know if that depth of vision has occurred before, but then again, many things are possible in the force.”

“You really think he might have been...trying to wake up from dream? By killing himself?!” Cody asked incredulous.

“If that ends up being what happened I am going to give him such shit. That is the worst way to end a vision.” Anakin replied.

“Yes. It is.” Bant said pointedly. “That’s why it’s a last resort, after every other attempt to wake fails.” 

They all sat in silence, processing various implications. Cody was unnerved by another terrifying insight into force powers, as well as the idea that the General might vividly remember Cody being inexplicably mind-controlled into trying to kill him. Anakin was trying to understand what this would mean for them, and the conversations he had thought they had had. Did...any of it count, if he thought he was offering it to a hallucination?

“Alright, this is a valuable working idea, but let’s make sure to examine everything with an open mind before we draw any more conclusions. Anakin, what happened after you left the healers office?”

Obi-Wan’s critique of the practicalities of visiting a soul healer could be and was interpreted multiple ways. The incongruity of peacekeepers in war sparked a rehash of earlier discussion. More apologies. Self identifying as ‘crazy’ inspired new debate, especially in the context of the new theory. 

“When I saw him enter the fountain room I assumed he had had a brutal run-in with  dark force user.” Windu explained. “Based on everything we’ve gone over, I don’t understand when...but some of the more insidious sith compulsions work by taking whatever small anger or hurt you feel and magnifying them until they consume you. If Obi-Wan was already experiencing self loathing...”

Cody sucked in a breath. “Then a Sith mind suggestion would bring him to commit suicide. It...sounds like something he might do, if he was partially in control. Take the blow rather than let himself be used as a weapon against anyone else, even his worst enemy.”

“Hells, it could have been an even vaguer compulsion, driving him to attack the person he hates the most,” Bant added darkly.

Anakin buried his head in his hands, trying to hold it together. He couldn’t afford to lose control or get angry. Hells, getting angry at Obi-Wan for ‘failing him’ when in pain could be the reason Obi-Wan was currently in the healing halls. The man said he loved him unconditionally, then practically had a breakdown over how much Anakin pushed that unconditional love to the breaking point, then killed himself. How was he supposed to-

“Anakin? Are you alright to continue?” someone said.

“Yes. No. There’s more I have to tell you...I don’t know if it will help but - it was hurting Obi-Wan...I...”

“Let’s just take it one step at a time. What happened after you left Mace?”

Apparently even Cody somehow knew more about Bruck Chun than Anakin. Master Windu and Eerin told different sides of the same sad story, which spiraled back into a conversation about Obi-Wan’s inadequacy issues, which somehow devolved into a long rant about Qui-Gon Jinn that Master Windu had apparently been holding back for years. 

“My apologies.” He said afterwards, clearing his throat as the group stared, taken aback. “Old grievances. Go on Anakin, what did happened after you got to the ‘secret spot.’”

“He...was skirting around whatever was bothering him...I pushed him...told him I wanted to help...he said I couldn’t...because it was me...because of what I...”

Anakin stood up suddenly, feeling the walls of the room closing in.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry I-” 

He ran out.

He turned around almost immediately, pacing in the small corridor, knowing he couldn’t leave, simply needing a minute to catch his breath.

Master Windu followed him out after a moment, not saying anything, just standing there. Watching him.

“What!” Anakin finally snapped. “What do you have to say that I don’t know already!”

“Knight Skywalker-”

“Don’t call me that! I DON’T DESERVE-” 

Anakin let out a frustrated snarl, punching a wall. The crumble of stone beneath this fist briefly made him feel better, but then he remembered Obi-Wan’s heartbroken expression in the light of an underworldly glow, and the tiny, choked sound he heard when the healers moved him and Anakin just...collapsed, falling to his knees.

Master Windu sank down gracefully beside him.

“Anakin. This isn’t about attachment issues, is it.”

“Not really, no. I mean, maybe you’ll blame attachment but it’s more about...”

“Anger.”

Anakin looked up at that, trying to regain the meditative calm he had felt for a glimmering moment yesterday, right in-between making peace in the cave and everything burning to ash. 

“You know that I have had my own struggles with anger. It is how and why I came to develop Vaapad.” 

“Yes, but you’ve Mastered your anger. And you’ve never...never given in to hate.”

A beat passed and Windu watched some of Skywalker’s familiar breaking points flicker into view. 

“You’ve done something. Something you know the Jedi won’t forgive.”

“Obi-Wan forgave me.” Anakin said, whispering. “He said that even though I couldn’t fix what I did he loved me anyway and I just needed to...to honestly regret what I did and not do it again. I told him I’d get rid of my lightsaber and I meant it and...I thought he forgave me. I was ready to go to the Council with him, come clean about everything. And then I left him alone to get dinner and when I came back...he was holding my lightsaber. My lightsaber.” 

Anakin buried his face in his hands, shuddering with creeping cold.

“I’m not going to critique your and Obi-Wan’s attachment to each other right now. I’m well aware that much of the order has turned to personal ties to maintain their stability given the ongoing horrors of war. I am, for many reasons, wary of the risks this brings us, yet it is also true that risks do not automatically mean failure. I myself have mastered my emotions in a different manner than conventional wisdom councils.” 

Windu spoke carefully. For all that he and Anakin had similar relationships with the force, they rarely saw eye to eye on any given subject. At a certain point, Mace had accepted that the volatile young man was determined to find the worst possible interpretation for anything he said. And Mace was not the order’s most patient diplomat.

“As for your crime, whatever it is, l will tell you this: Unless you choose to renounce the code and leave our number, you will be treated as a Jedi Knight, subject to our protections, as well as our judgement. You will receive appropriate mental counseling. If you are judged to be a danger to those around you, your actions will be curtailed and monitored, possibly through temporary confinement.  The Jedi do not believe in punitive measures for their own sake, but you may be required to provide restitution to those you harmed, perhaps indefinitely. 

Silence hung perilously between them. Windu watched a tremor run through the unfathomable kaleidoscopic of shatterpoints that had orbited Skywalker since he was a boy. A small one broke inward, and an attached tangle of larger, darker ones fell away, crumbling to dust. The rest faded from view, invisible for the moment. A choice had been made, some decision that closed off at least one path to the darkside.

“There’s no one to make restitutions to.”

“...You’re going to have to elaborate on that.”

“Let’s go back inside- I don’t want to do this twice.”

They returned to the increasingly hated meeting room.

Anakin spoke in an outpouring of words about love and hate, about misplaced revenge and now uncertain forgiveness. When he finally finished, the room was deathly silent.

The three Jedi sat quietly while Cody pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess this is why Jedi have the no attachment rule, huh? I admit I never really got it, but I suppose even if I-”

Bant abruptly lunged up, fumbling to bring her lightsaber to Anakin’s neck. Everyone jumped to their feet, except for Anakin, who stared at Bant with a wretched expression.

“MASTER EERIN! This is not-”

“Did you do it?” she asked, ignoring the Master of the Order.

“Bant!”

“It was my first thought after I saw him. We all rushed in expecting a fight, or a bomb, only to find you, insane, and him with a hole next to his heart. I didn’t want to believe it of course, but you’ve always had a violent streak that Obi-Wan, force help him, couldn’t quite soothe away. A fight gone wrong. Master Windu said it was suicide, and I believed him, and I’ve been trying to make sense of that ever since. But Mace found you after, didn’t he? After you felt guilty? Did you think he was going to turn on you?”

“Bant Eerin, you are dangerously-”

“No.” Anakin whispered.

“Obviously I might be why. But I didn’t- I couldn’t. I know I’m not good but I can’t even imagine- holding a saber against him like that. Kriff, do you not get how much I can’t handle losing people I love? I was insane when you saw me because I saw someone trying to kill Obi-Wan and I couldn’t even fight them.”  

Bant held his gaze for several lingering seconds, deactivated her saber and dropping it with a clatter. They stared at each other, breathing heavily and not blinking. She returned to her seat, moving jerkily. “I apologize Knight Skywalker. That was uncalled for.” 

“I wish I could say I wouldn’t have done the same thing in your shoes” he responded lowly. Bant made a tiny, unintelligible noise in reply. 

Cody collapsed back into his chair, holstering his blaster.  “Alright then...so after you finished sitting in the fountain room...what happened next?”

Everyone stared at him.

“What?”

“You’re handling Anakin’s confession somewhat dispassionately. We’re simply surprised.” Mace said slowly, returning to his seat at the same time as Master Aerdo fell into theirs.

Cody shifted uncomfortably. “The vod were trained in a wide range of enemy suppression tactics. While we’re extremely glad the Jedi have never asked us to employ them, I’m not...unfamiliar with this scale of deliberate slaughter. At least in the hypothetical, sir.”

“I see.” Aerdo said. “That is a valuable insight to have, thank you. Knight Skywalker-”

“Just...call me Anakin. Or Skywalker.”

“Anakin. When did this happen?”

“About two years ago, immediately before the First Battle of Geonosis.”

“And have you had any similar experiences with giving into the darkside since?” they asked placidly.

“I don’t think so but...we went to war the next day and....I don’t know if I’ve stopped fighting since it- since I did what I did.”

“Hmm. Anakin, would you mind stepping outside the room and waiting in the corridor for a moment please?” 

He bit his tongue, tasting blood, and quietly walked out the door while the Masters decided his fate. He leaned back against a wall, desperately wanting to see Padme. 

To his surprise, the door opened barely a few minutes later, and he was politely invited back in.

“Anakin.” Master Windu spoke. “Thank you for telling us this. It’s an important insight into Obi-Wan’s feelings right now, and I recognize that you could have kept it a secret. As Head of the Order, and with the advice of a Senior Soul Healer, I have made a decision. You will be assigned a personal soul healer, who you will start seeing tomorrow. Commander Cody pointed out that over nearly two years of continuous warfare, you have maintained some of the the lowest trooper casualty units of any division, by a significant margin if we evaluate based on mission risk level. Your civilian and enemy casualties will be reviewed, but even considering constant war, since your massacre of the Tuskens, you have clearly managed to at least... direct your violence away from the innocent. We do not consider you a threat to the inhabitants of the world. For the time being, I see no real benefit to limiting or tracking your behavior within the temple or on planet, but you are barred from leaving orbit. I have decided to delay a full reckoning before the council until such time that your former Master is well enough to provide his own opinion. Give me just cause, and I will have you confined to a force-suppressing cell. Do you understand?”

Anakin nodded, bowing in acknowledgment. All things considered, it was...honestly better than he expected.

“Now, as Cody” Windu paused. “My apologies, as the Commander was saying-” 

“Cody’s fine, sir” Cody said, wrung out in a way different from anything Kamino had trained him for.

“...I think we can all consider ourselves on a first name basis at this point.” Bant said with a snort. She paused. “That includes you Anakin. I really don’t know how to handle what you did but kark it, I don’t want to hate you. For myself.”

Everyone nodded.

“As Cody was saying, what happened next?”

Peace. Comfort. Hunger. A warning in the force...

-

“I tried to pull the saber back but his finger was already on the igniter...” 

“You probably saved his life. Even a second later-”

“I know, that’s almost the worst part.”

-

“-his neck”

“Why would he change weapons?”

“What if-”

-

“He said what to you and Healer Che?”

“That has to support the detailed vision idea, think about-”

“I’m sorry, Emperor?”

-

“I think we’re done.”

Anakin stared blankly at Sife. “But we didn’t figure anything out.”

“Not conclusively, but we’re unlikely to make any more progress, you’ve given me enough information to preform a meaningful meditative scan, or guide a conversation, should Obi-Wan wake, or navigate through his mind, should we decide to make a more decisive attempt at his shields.”

“Master Aerdo... I leave the final judgement up to you, but I strongly urge you to make a more decisive attempt. I am more convinced now than I was...” Mace glanced at the chronometer “five hours ago that this was motivated by a specific, external stimuli, likely dark. Do you disagree?”

“No.” they said with a sigh. “But I don’t want to underestimate how much underlying factors might have contributed to his response to stimuli, including underlying factors that none of you were aware of.”

The Nautolan Soul Healer stood up, tucking their hands into their sleeves to address the room with classical Jedi serenity. It was a little irritating.

“In any case, we all need to sleep, eat, and meditate. Master Eerin, you have the rest of the day off, I've cleared it with Master Che already. Master Windu, I leave the final judgement up to you, and I am aware that your duties as Master of the Order are unceasing, but I urge you to take some time to center yourself before returning to the council. Commander Cody, I would be more than willing to arrange soul healing for you or any of the Vod, please let me know. Anakin, you will receive a comm later today with further details on your future healing sessions. 

They bowed low, then glided out the door.

Bant stood next, bowed individually to each soul, and sped walked out.

Commander Cody cleared his throat awkwardly, “Mace- what should I tell the troops? We’re supposed to have command briefings later tonight.”

“If anyone asks about General Kenobi, tell them its classified.” I’ll schedule a briefing on the subject. Now go find Captain Rex and take care of yourself, that’s an order.”

Cody saluted, first to the high General, then to Anakin.

Finally it was just Mace and Anakin.

“Is there anyone who you trust who I can call to stay with you.” Master Windu asked.

“I can manage on my own” Anakin replied, not willing to give the Master of the Order anything else he could use against him, even after everything.

Master Windu held back a sigh.

He continued once more, making a deliberate attempt to soften his tone. “Anakin- I know we’ve had our differences, but this is not a trick, nor a trap. You’ve suffered a series of great shocks in the last 24 hours and handled them with immense maturity. I myself am struggling to deal with the emotional fallout.”

Anakin looked up at that, surprised. He didn’t seem to be struggling, but maybe that was what made him a good Jedi Master...

“As I told you before, I am not going to begrudge you the comfort of attachment. I’m rather convinced it would do you more harm than good at this point. I don’t want you flying right now, and you don’t have to be alone. I hope we have come to a better understanding today, but I doubt my presence is suddenly a comfort, though please correct me if I’m wrong. Now is there someone I can call?”

-

Padme ended her call with Master Windu extremely discomfited. She had barely heard from Anakin since he ran out on her the night before last to take care of an apparently extremely drunk Obi-Wan. He had messaged her a few times that night, promising to make it up to her, but had been comm-silent since. She had been starting to get worried, and now the Master of the Order was asking her to pick him up from the temple. Fortunately, she had already cleared most of her meetings for the week well in advance (Courascant leave usually meant THEM time, not that she was jealous of Obi-Wan, of course).

The speeder ride back from the temple was silent. All Anakin would say was that he would explain everything once they were in ‘a secure location.’ 

The door to the apartment had scarcely closed behind them when Anakin fell into her arms, shaking.

“Anakin, talk to me love, what’s wrong?” She gently guided him to the couch, arranging him so she could hold him protectively.

“Obi-Wan tried to kill himself.”

She let out a harsh gasp, “No! He can’t have, he would never-” 

“I got to him in time, but Padme... he was holding a lightsaber to his heart. It was...really close” He burrowed deeper into the folds of her dress, and she gripped him fiercely.

“Oh gods, is he-”

“He’s physically healing, but he’s still...not all there. I spent all of today locked in a room, trying to figure out if it was a Sith Attack, or an insane vision, or..or me”

“Anakin! What do you mean ‘me’ - Obi-Wan loves you, you-”

“I know.” Anakin interrupted her again, knowing he was being unfair; he was just too exhausted to be patient.

“He told me loved me. He...he...found out about what I did to the Tusken village, You should have seen his face, Padme, he was horrified, but he still told me he loved me, and he was willing to forgive me, even though he shouldn’t”

“Of course he forgave you,” Padme whispered. “You’re not a monster, Anakin, I know you would never do something like that again.”

"And then after we talked, I left him alone and he-” Anakin choked out into her dress.

Tears ran down her face, heart breaking. “That’s- that’s horrible. Anakin...it must have have been a attack, Obi-Wan wouldn’t do that.” she said urgently.

He pulled away, horrified. “I made you cry. I made Obi-Wan cry too. I’m sorry- Padme please, promise me you won’t-”

She grabbed the sides of his head. 

Her nails bit into the soft skin behind his ears as she pulled him down so they were face-to-face, vowing, “Never. I swear by the force itself, I will never choose death over life.”

He let out a relieved sigh, eyes fluttering closed.

“Now you,” she demanded

“As long as I have anyone to live for, I swear by the force, I will never choose death over life.”

She pulled him the rest of the way in for a bruising kiss. He lifted her, and they desperately clung at one another as he carried her to bed. They continued like that, clinging and grasping, until exhaustion carried him to sleep. She pulled the covers over top them both and curled around him defensively as the day slowly faded away.

Part XI

#star wars #my au #suicidal misunderstanding au #prequel trilogy #potentially triggering #discussions of suicide #references to self-harm #star wars au #bonding? between #Mace Windu and Anakin Skywalker #? in my #hurt/comfort fic #? It’s more likely than you’d think #also I struggle with fix it stories that just never address the big tusken elephant in the room? of course i want everyone to #live happily ever but theres a certain scale of atrocity that i feel u gotta address 2 get there #ugh this chapter got reallly long and im just gonna post it ok? ok. #meh #a lot of this fic is just people mentally going What The Fuck at various registers with different inflections #Because that’s not an inappropriate response to time travel in general! and star wars canon in particular. #star wars au no 27

[satanwithboobs]

self-care | GN!MC x OM brothers

tw: mentions of reckless behavior, the brothers are demons so they essentially roofie MC but.. for their own good...? it’s not okay and I’m pretty sure Beel is the only one who feels like they did something wrong.

a/n: okay so this is really long (nearly 2,400 words), and it just sort of happened. mainly inspired by my history of reckless behavior when it comes to my health and my resolve not to let the stress of my upcoming week make me resort to bad habits. and before anyone wonders... the anecdote in the story? yeah that really happened. I gave myself stomach ulcers because I kept taking ibuprofen (it was for a horrible tooth ache) and I didn’t eat anything but saltines for days while I finished up a final project. word to the wise: don’t be like me. I’m dumb.

self care is important, everyone! I know a lot of people are starting school again, so please!!! take!! care!! of!!! yourselves!!

—

Lucifer was the first to notice something was up with MC, though initially he paid it no heed.

Naturally, he had always prided himself (of course) on his superior attention to detail, and

He had noticed them drinking cups of coffee and energy drinks a whole lot more often than usual, but given that finals were coming up, he figured they were simply trying to keep more awake for the sake of their studies.

None of this was healthy, of course, but he’d wait to scold them if it truly became worth his while to do so.

And so, he went on with his business, offering them advice as he had on many occasions before. He had even been kind enough to tutor them without the aid of his whip or his fire, something he would never do with any of his brothers. At one point he even let a snide comment under their breath go with just a stern warning.

He truly had gone soft, but he supposed it was best if he didn’t traumatize the human he and his brothers had formed such a strong bond with just for the sake of grades.

And while he had been the first to notice their new habits - all of his brothers had eventually caught on to what was going on.

It was the Saturday before finals that they all finally acknowledged that something needed to be done.

—

“They’re looking truly frightening!” Asmo exclaimed, and while typically his statements were brushed off by the rest as pure hyperbole, they all had to agree with this one. “They’ll get wrinkles in no time if they keep this up...”

“Yeah, somethin’ needs to be done,” Mammon commented, earning nods from his brothers — a truly rare occurrence in the House of Lamentation.

“Maybe I can plan a spa day!” Asmo interjected, an excited expression on his face.

“I don’t think havin’ ya feel ‘em up all day would help anythin,” Mammon grumbled, earning a scowl from the fifth-born in return.

“Perhaps...” Satan started.

“No,” Lucifer retorted, earning a look from the wrathful fourth-born.

He simply continued as if daggers weren’t being glared in his direction, “I don’t care how many times you try and paint it as a benefit for us all, you will not get a cat.”

Satan muttered something that sounded a lot like, “dammit,” under his breath, along with a couple of choice words that Lucifer ignored for the sake of pushing the conversation forward.

“I know! There’s this new TSL ultra-special extended-cut series box set that we can marathon! It has never-before-heard director commentary, along with a limited edition SIGNED replica of the—”

“That’s just gonna wind ‘em up even more!” The second-born responded, getting fed up with this already.

In truth, he was mainly irritated at himself for failing to notice that MC had gotten so bad. He was their first guy, he should’ve known!

“For once, I have to agree with Mammon,” the Avatar of Pride earned six dumbfounded looks with that, with Belphegor actually opening his eyes and Beelzebub nearly choking on the bite of food in his mouth.

“MC needs sleep, not distractions,” he went on without missing a beat, “I very much doubt they’ve had more than four hours of sleep in the last five days, so that must be our first priority.”

“How do you suggest we do that? It isn’t like MC will concede easy, we all know how stubborn they are,” Satan asked.

“Simple,” Lucifer proclaimed, as his gaze fell upon the youngest brother, who had already fallen into a deep slumber once again. “We use force.”

Upon feeling the eyes of all his brothers fall on him, Belphegor stirred, a single violet eye opening. He grumbled, not bothering to sit up properly as he regarded the eldest with a tired expression.

“What?”

—

Lucifer had explained the very simple two-step ‘plan’ to Belphegor (step no. 1, corner the human so they can’t slip away - step no. 2, Belphie makes them sleep), and they were about to begin discussing when to put their plan into motion when footsteps echoed outside the common room.

MC walked in, looking a bit more than a little worse for wear (while their clothes and hair looked fine given the circumstances, the bags under their eyes had become so prominent that they were basically their own entity at this point).

“Oh, that’s where you guys were. I was wondering why the place was so quiet,” they tried to joke, but it came out in such a monotone way that it just sounded more like a simple statement.

Their brow furrowed a bit when they got no response from the seven demons, but they shrugged it off and put their bag down on the table, beginning to take out the many books they were going to need. They’d been barricaded in their room for quite some time, but they had needed a change of scenery. Not to mention, their bed had been way too tempting...

The silence in the room was deafening - even in their bleary state they could tell something was off - so eventually they turned around to see six pairs of eyes scrutinizing their every move (Belphegor was asleep, which didn’t surprise them.

“You guys are starting to freak me out,” they stifled a yawn and moved to grab their coffee, in desperate need of another pick-me-up.

If they had any hope of grasping the concepts in Devildom Law, they’d need it—

They were confused when they didn’t find it where they had left it - on the table, two seconds earlier - but not so when they noticed that Lucifer had suddenly appeared right next to them, their coffee in hand.

“Uhh, Luci? Kinda need that,” they let out a laugh and outstretched their hand, silently asking for it back.

“No, you’re cut off,” he declared, earning a sigh from MC. It wasn’t like they had been caught dancing on the tables after a few too many shots of Demonus. It was just coffee.

“You guys are worried, aren’t you? Well, don’t be. It’s not like I haven’t done this sort of thing dozens of times before, I’ll be fine,” they tried to reassure, though in truth they had never been forced to study nearly as hard as they had for the classes at RAD.

“No, what yer gonna do is let us take care of ya’. Don’t ya trust us?” Mammon said gruffly, earning a look from the human.

“Yeah... you’re really fragile, being a human, and..” Beelzebub started, before trailing off with a frown, remembering they didn’t particularly like being told that. Even if it was objectively true.

“Seriously? I’m being lectured by a bunch of demons on healthy lifestyle choices?” They said, exasperated. “I already said, I’ve done so much worse before. Not sure if I ever mentioned it, but this one time I was up for three nights straight in college.. Gave myself stomach ulcers during finals week because all I had to eat was a sleeve of saltines and some ibuprofen—” they laughed a bit before realizing - upon seeing everyone’s concern only increase - maybe that particular story wasn’t the best one to tell right at that very moment.

MC turned back to Lucifer, shooting him a pleading look. “I need to do well on these finals, Lucifer. I’m not going to make you guys look bad by completely bombing them all.”

The look in his eyes softened for a moment, before he sent someone behind them a terse nod.

Of course, they figured out just a little too late that this was far more than simply a discussion about their unhealthy sleeping habits.

They didn’t even need to look behind them to feel the overwhelming presence of the youngest brother weighing down on them.

While Belphie had done this sort of thing to them once or twice on accident while taking a nap nearby, it had never felt this.. overpowering.

They shot Lucifer a look, and he responded with a somewhat sympathetic look of his own.

“You can’t be serious about...” they trailed off, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. “About.. this....”

MC soon fell into the waiting arms of the eldest, out like a light.

Lucifer let out a soft chuckle as he scooped them up bridal-style, giving a quick nod to Beelzebub who had picked up his twin the same way.

It was a side-effect of the youngest’s ability; he could make someone of his choosing fall into a deep sleep if he wanted, but he’d always do the same.

It was kind of annoying, but it wasn’t like he didn’t spend most of the time sleeping anyway. At least he had full control over how long the other person slept and would always wake at the same time they did.

Now that he thought about it, he’d have to find an excuse to do this again sometime. Naps were way less fun when the person you’re napping with insists on getting up before you wanted them to.

“Pretty sure that’s a record for Belphie,” Satan mused, “I’ve never seen someone pass out like that in less than 10 seconds.”

—

Beelzebub happily chomped down on the many food items he had been supplied with as he waited for his twin and MC to awaken.

The rest of his brothers would have hated having to wait so long, but as long as he had food and his two favorite people in front of him....

Beel looked up from his snack when he heard the pair stir.

An annoyed expression settled on MC’s face as they opened their eyes, completely erasing the peaceful look they held moments before.

Beel frowned, knowing they had a reason to be annoyed, but also knowing that this was all for their own good.

Their face softened ever-so-slightly when they noticed Beelzebub, the one brother they could never stay mad at.

They were about to sit up when they realized there was an arm loosely caged around their waist. Behind them, they could feel the soft and slow breathing of the youngest demon brother, as if he wasn’t already awake.

They attempted to move away, but the loose grip quickly tightened, pushing them flush against Belphegor’s chest.

A satisfied hum escaped their ‘captor’ when MC gave up and sighed.

“You’re welcome,” Belphegor said tiredly, nuzzling his face in their neck, much to their chagrin.

“I can’t believe you guys...” they finally said, their voice still rough from sleep. “How long?”

Beelzebub frowned again, knowing they wouldn’t like the answer. “18 hours,” he finally said, bracing for the response.

“Wait, 18 hours?!” MC rolled their eyes when the demon behind them groaned at the exclamation. “I’m going to miss—”

“I arranged for your deadlines to be extended, don’t worry,” MC stiffened when they heard the eldest’s voice, knowing their inevitable lecture was likely to come sooner rather than later.

They moved to sit up again, though this time their living restraint let it happen, turning over to hopefully get just 5 more minutes of sleep...

The human winced upon seeing the stern gaze Lucifer was giving them, though his eyes were notably softer than usual.

“While I appreciate the unwavering dedication to your studies,” he started, moving to sit on the edge of the bed near the two former sleeping beauties, “you do need to take care of yourself.”

“Achievement means nothing if you end up comatose before you reach the finish line.”

MC looked down, guilt settling on their face. Fair point from the Avatar of Pride.

“I—” they tried to start, but a gloved finger pressed against their lips before they could get anywhere.

“No arguments.”

MC sighed, tossing a defeated look to the eldest. All they got in response was a chuckle and his signature smug look.

Silence permeated the room for a moment before Lucifer spoke up again.

“You will report to my study promptly after dinner every night without exception until you are finished with everything,” he said, the edge in his voice coming back in full force. “Understand?”

MC nodded in response. Figures he’d implement something like this.

“Good. I will help you study a portion of the time, while Satan will help with the rest.”

The human resisted the urge to groan at this. Great, two drill sergeants for the price of one. Literally.

They felt their cheeks flare with heat when they felt Lucifer’s gloved hand cup their cheek as he leaned in to place a soft kiss on their forehead.

“Your well-being is important to all of us,” he said, pulling back. “Never forget that.”

“Lucifer is—” Beel interjected mid-bite before he quickly swallowed. “—right.”

“Won’t hear me arguin’ on that!” Mammon piped up as he filed into the room with the four brothers who weren’t already in there to begin with.

“Lucifer said I could plan a spa day when you finish up! Just you and me... sounds heavenly, doesn’t it?” Asmodeus announced, tossing a wink toward MC.

“Oi! If you think I’m gonna let that happen, you got another thing comin’, Asmo!” Mammon growled, earning an eye roll from the Avatar of Lust.

“You have nothing to worry about, as long as I’m your tutor,” Satan interjected before a true fight could break out.

“You better finish up quickly, because there’s this new game is coming out—!” Leviathan practically vibrated with excitement before letting out a terrified sound.

“Don’t put too much stress on them,” Lucifer’s aura flared.

“Oh, uh...” Levi corrected, looking a bit like a wounded puppy. “T-take all the time you n-need...”

MC couldn’t help but crack a smile at the brothers’ antics, their previous annoyance at the unexpected 18-hour nap all but gone (though they would have to speak to Lucifer about boundaries.. while they agreed that their health was important, essentially supernaturally drugging someone still wasn’t okay).

“You guys are too much,” they said, their cheeks flaring. “Just how did I end up stuck with all of you?”

Silence fell upon the room for a very brief moment at the question, before chaos (naturally) resumed its regularly scheduled programming.

#obey me shall we date #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me leviathan x reader #obey me satan x reader #obey me asmo x reader #obey me beel x reader #obey me belphegor x reader #oh my god so many tags

[justfangirlthingies]

Marry your Daughter (Legolas)

This is a songfic for the song 'Marry your Daughter'

The story plays in between The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, well actually it doesn't really matter when it plays

This is my first time writing for Legolas, so just bear with me ok?

Summary: Legolas makes his way to (Y/n)'s father to ask him a very important question or rather ask for approval.

Idk what race you wanna be, so if you're an elf just consider this as an Elvish conversation, for any other race it'd be in English I suppose.

Warnings: none? I think? If you find anything lmk though

Word count: 1640 words

A young ellon walked through the halls of the castle. He strutted through the halls with grace, not letting anyone see how nervous he actually was. He had only seen your father two or three times. Needless to say, he hadn't really had the chance to properly get to know him those few times. Legolas came to a halt in front of two large willow wood doors, which were guarded by two wardens. The two bowed before him briefly, before one of them entered through the doors. Probably announcing the young prince's arrival to the king. When the doors opened once more, the prince was shown into the room, the doors closing behind him. The ellon walked up to the man sitting upon his throne and knelt before him. Just casualties amidst royalty.

Once Legolas got back onto his feet, he heard the king's voice speak up. "Legolas Thranduilion, prince of the woodland realm, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" He asked.

The man you were currently courting took in a deep breath and tried to keep his shaky exhale as quiet and unnoticeable as possible, before he spoke up "Sir, I'm a bit nervous 'bout being here today. Still not real sure what I'm going to say. So, bear with me please if I take up too much of your time"

At that, the older man cocked an eyebrow, genuine curiosity overtaking his features. He already had a hunch that whatever this was, had to be about (Y/n), his only daughter and also the oldest of all his 3 his children. "Your Majesty, as you know, your daughter (Y/n) and I have been courting and I wanted to-to" The elven prince cut himself off, the nervousness coursing through his veins finally seemed to affect his actions. In the heat of the moment, he decided that maybe it would be easier to get this off his chest if he just showed the object, which he had been carrying with him for a few months now, to your father "See in this box is a ring for your oldest"

Your father's eyes widened at the object. Yes, he expected some kind of talk, but not that kind of talk just yet. The box in Legolas' hands was decorated with intricate and highly complicated looking patterns. Though the ring he did not get to see. "She's my everything and all that I know is-" The blond stopped his sentence and sighed, finally looking up at your father and maintaining some intense eye contact. "it would be such a relief if I knew that we were on the same side. 'Cause very soon, I'm hoping that I can marry your daughter and make her my wife."

"And how do you think that would turn out? What would you expect of a union with her. How would it benefit (Y/n)?" The monarch asked in return, his eyes still trained on his future son in law.

Legolas saw this as a good sign. He had not denied the request to give his blessing to this marriage, yet. "I want her to be the only girl that I'll love for the rest of my life and give her the best of me 'til the day that I die"

"What if I said no?" A smirk graced the king's lips as his (e/c) eyes bore into the young ellon's blue ones. The elf's face fell as he failed to notice the playful shimmer in the older man's eyes. He quickly retained his proud posture and continued on, answering the old man's question "All due respect Your Majesty, I do not mean to offend you, but I am asking for your blessing and possibly your approval, but in no way am I asking for your permission because I'm most certainly gonna marry your princess and make her my queen. She'll be the most beautiful bride that I've ever seen." The elven prince smiled at that thought. At the thought of you in your wedding dress. He would stand, waiting and watching at the altar, while you'd make your way down the isle. "I can't wait to smile. When she walks down the aisle. Preferably, on the arm of her father." The king watched as Legolas' brilliant blue eyes glimmered with love, happiness and admiration at the mere thought of you. He also took notice of the determination that sparked from the ellon's eyes. "On the day that I marry your daughter"

"Why (Y/n)? How can I be certain you will not mistreat my daughter?" Was all your father questioned in response. He was curious and wanted to make sure the man before him really was genuinely in love with you. Because of the fact that he always heard the way you talk about Legolas, he knew you were utterly in love with the elf. However, no matter how much you might have adored this man, your father wanted to create his own picture of the prince, without including the opinions of others. He simply had to judge for himself, if Legolas was worthy of his 'little girl' or more like, as close to worthy as one can get because in his opinion, no one was, is or would ever be good enough for you. The younger male immediately answered the other's question, ready to take any chance to prove himself to the man you called your father "She's been here every step since the day that we met. I'm scared to death to think of what would happen if she ever left. So, don't you ever worry about me ever treating her bad"

"You have already thought all of this through, haven't you?" The king chuckled slightly. A sign is what Legolas saw this as. A sign, that he might indeed get a blessing for this union. With that thought in the back of his head, he smiled and eagerly nodded his head yes "Yes indeed, I have most of it thought out already. If she has any extra wishes or wants to alter or make changes or additions to anything, she can do so. After all, it is in my interest to make this perfect for her. I've got most of my vows done so far, so bring on the better or worse and 'til death do us part. There's no doubt in my mind. It's time. (Y/n) and I have discussed the topic quite a few times, though I do not think she expects me to ask her nor has she any suspicion of my plans just yet. Which is why, the way I view it, this is a tremendous opportunity to surprise her. I'm ready to start, I swear to you with all of my heart."

Your father slowly lifted himself from the throne and walked up to Legolas "You swear, you say?" The man was intimidating, but the ellon stood his ground "Indeed. I swear it. I'm gonna marry your daughter and make her my wife. I want her to be the only girl that I'll love for the rest of my life and give her the best of me 'til the day that I die. yeah I'm gonna marry your princess and make her my queen. She'll be the most beautiful bride that I've ever seen. I can't wait to smile as she walks down the aisle, on the arm of her father. I know she would want you to approve and to have you there and so would I, on the day that I marry your daughter.

"It seems like you really do mean it..." The older one thought aloud. "I mean it, I really do" Legolas spoke up, he hadn't even properly acknowledged that your father was now in very close proximity and that what he said was more of a statement than a question. With that, Legolas remembered your first encounter, a dreamy look took over his features for a moment as he spoke "The first time I saw her, I swear I knew, that I'd say 'I do' "

The ruler over your kingdom took another look at Legolas before he announced "If that really is the case, which it seems to be and if (Y/n) really wants this, there is no stopping my stubborn daughter" he laughed loudly "then I suppose I have no choice, but to give this marriage my blessing."

I'm gonna marry your daughter and make her my wife. I want her to be the only girl that I'll love for the rest of my life and give her the best of me 'til the day that I die

The blond's eyes went wide. Had his ears deceived him or did he really just hear what he had heard? At that the old king chuckled "You better treat her well..." He hesitated for a moment before finishing his sentence and patting the elf's shoulder "...son."

The elvish prince nodded, his eyes widened even more at the sudden contact and with the biggest of grins plastered on his face, he replied "I will, do not fret."

I'm gonna marry your princess and make her my queen. She'll be the most beautiful bride that I've ever seen.

"I better not regret this decision" Your father muttered "You will not regret it, I assure you" The younger male responded immediately.

I can't wait to smile, as she walks down the aisle, on the arm of her father...

"I expect I still get to see her regularly." He paused "And you as well, I need to know what kind of man I just allowed entry to my family." Now it was Legolas' turn to laugh "Of course. We will visit as often as we can and you may come and pay us a visit as well sometime......adar"

...on the day that I marry your daughter

Taglist: @ateez-star @littlemissnoname13 @gwlvr

#Lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #the hobbit imagine #th #legolas #legolas greenleaf #legolas imagine #legolas x reader #legolas x y/n #songfic #marry your daughter #luna writes

[prose-for-hire]

Right on time

Pairing: Spike x reader; Faith x reader [reader dates men & women]

Request: Not requested. I’m trying to write whatever’s coming into my head even if it isn’t my best so that I can be inspired to write something potentially better for a fic someone’s requested lolll. Requests will still be written but they may be a little slower than normal sorry 💖

Desc: Reader was in a relationship with Faith but since she was in a coma the reader turned to Spike for comfort and feelings begin to grow.

Warning: Sex references; set in hospital; mention or discussion of a kind of loss. swearing.

The walls appeared to be closing in again. The noise around you lulled every so often with a sombre silence. The hollowed eyes of loss surrounded you but had no reason to look your way. They were all stuck in their own minds. A funeral march in the making.

The occasional laughter bubbled up, from those that clutched hope so desperately their knuckles were perpetually white. It didn’t feel right in this place though, it was a surreal room that held both the impending horror and delight depending on what the doctor said next. You could nearly taste it in the air it was that strong. The mixture of such strong emotions blanketed the room in a thick tension. A kind of purgatory.

You were sitting in the adjoined café to the hospital coaxing your mug to give you some answers when you didn’t even know what questions to ask. You stared into your mug, wishing it could offer you come kind of comfort. The human touch you craved just couldn’t be replicated. Her touch. It had been so long now that you had almost given up.

Faith was in a coma. The only woman you had ever fallen in love with couldn’t open her eyes. Could barely breathe on her own. She shouldn’t be lying there. She didn’t deserve that, no matter the choices she made. She didn’t deserve to end her days this way. Or any way, in your opinion.

When you had been together, just the two of you it had been so good. You redefined the meaning of love together. You were unapologetically each other’s. You promised forever and she had been taken away from you.

She had confided in you in a way that she couldn’t with anyone else. You shared hushed whispers, swapping your pasts beneath the sheets together. You had loved her when she lived out of a motel and you had loved her just the same when she lived in her apartment that the Mayor had bought for her.

She could be so soft when she wanted to be. Holding you into her and not letting the cruel world touch either of you. You were completely embraced by her adoration and you just hope that she felt the same.

That she knew that you would rather be in her place. That you loved her just as much now as you did the first day you whispered those words to her. Your skin on hers, wrapped in a sheet as the afternoon stretched out before you. It had been such bliss.

You still visited every Friday. Held her hand and told her that you love her. Spoke to her, told her everything about your life. Everything except…

Spike. He appeared before you just as your mind turned to him. As it often did, recently. You squinted, thinking he must have followed you.

This was unlike him anymore. He would usually wait around the crypt or in the alley around the back of the Bronze for you to decide the inevitable. That you would spend the night with him. Losing yourself in his touch. Fucking him until you could almost forget her. But you never did, of course.

You both knew the arrangement, don’t get attached. Don’t stay for breakfast (or dinner, should it be that way around). It suited you both. It was for comfort, you had both found yourselves increasingly isolated. On the peripheries of the Scoobies whilst still being hauled back in to help when they remembered you both existed. Still, there was no warmth from them. None of them trusted either of you.

You turned to each other, shielding from the cold. The loneliness that seeped in no matter how you tried to protect yourselves. The reality was that you needed each other. These nights were necessary. The sex was good, you both knew you couldn’t get better anywhere else.

Admittedly though, more recently you became more and more present in those moments. Where you wouldn’t leave as soon as you finished. You had been shuffling away without a word passing between you. Not so much as a thank you, come again.

No, you now didn’t even put up the pretence of going to the Bronze first. You found your way to him as soon as you could. You found yourself increasingly enjoying his presence. Which was something you hadn’t consciously found yourself feeling since Faith got hurt. Enjoyment. Maybe even happiness. In a strange way, Spike made you feel more than you could remember feeling.

One evening, you stayed up the entire night. Talking. His mind spoke to you. A connection that was fast becoming unbreakable since. Neither of you even suggested more and you hadn’t realised this until the morning came and you woke up with his arms draped around you. It was a soft intimacy that you hadn’t found yourself expecting but now it was happening you only wanted more of it.

More of him.

You hadn’t realised but Spike had been falling even before that night. He had a taste of you. Your body and mind. He saw the ugliest parts of you, the guilt and the sadness that you tried to conceal and loved you wholly.

He wanted to comfort you. Wanted to protect you from your sadness. From the guilt you held for even having a single moment of happiness when Faith no longer could.

He couldn’t help loving you, the way you spoke even in your sadness was appealing to him. You were a strong person although it was a task for him trying to get you to reveal how you truly felt.

It started to upset him, when you were upset. He found his mood lifted and fell depending on how you felt. On how you spoke about yourself. He was in love with you. All in. He was a fool for love. Or, more, a fool for you.

He so wanted you to see what he did. How he adored you so. That you were truly a gift to the world. That you were the reason he got up in the evening. On the promise of being close to you.

You kept things bottled up, held tightly to your chest. You didn’t tell him but you felt guilty, what with Faith still breathing and being involved with Spike. The doctors had told you multiple times that it would take a miracle for her to recover. That you should move on. But it was too hard letting go.

That was how you ended up here, psyching yourself up to go and join her by her bedside. Visiting hours started in less than an hour and you were still trying to convince yourself that there was still hope.

Her face, it looked almost peaceful lying in that bed but it brought you anything but peace. You knew she would rather be where the action was. Fighting and fucking in that way that only she could marry together perfectly. You could hold her hand in yours but it was often cold to match the room. You could bend it to curl around you but it never stayed.

You just wanted her to reach for you again, clasp her hand to yours and tell you that it would be okay. That she would make it out. That she could make it out of anything. Her confidence, you had loved it. She was so sure of herself and she had the same confidence in you. she was devoted to you in every way. Had near fought the Mayor over some of the comments he had made about you.

Spike spotted you immediately where you were sat hunched over your seat in the café. He stalked straight towards you, not moving out of anyone’s way. He sat down in front of you, characteristically throwing himself down and smirking as if this had all been planned. He took the mug from you and downed the remainder of the lukewarm liquid, grimacing at your choice of beverage. He slammed the mug back down, almost cracking it before sniffing and looking back at you expectantly.

“Did you follow me? You know you really shouldn’t do that to people-” You warned. You had this conversation more than once and he had mostly learned from what you had said. Or so you hoped anyway.

“I know. I wasn’t, I swear it” He said and when you raised an eyebrow he continued, “Stocking up wasn’t I?”

He pulled one half of his duster as if trying to sell you something but it revealed several concealed pockets that held blood bags. Human blood. He had come to get lunch.

This type of thing was what you had come to expect of Spike and so you just nodded and accepted it. In fact, you had begun to warm up his blood for him in the mornings when you both woke up together. He liked that you didn’t look at him in disgust for surviving. That rather you understood. He smiled at you before patting himself down again.

He took a cigarette from his pack and started to light up, forgetting where he was. You reached and took the object from him, dropping it in your cup. The dregs put the lit end out with a disappointing sizzle.

When you had leaned in, his eyes had widened. Your proximity was something he wanted more of. Those soft, familiar gestures of comfort. They meant a lot to him. Although, it wouldn’t stop him testing just how familiar he could be back to you.

“Question is, why are you? Doc said she’s gone, pet. No point making it harder on yourself” he said slowly, knowing not to push too hard. Last time he had started to press you to talk about it more you hadn’t spoken to him for a week. 

You knew what the doctor had said. But you couldn’t stop coming. You couldn’t let her go. You couldn’t leave her behind.

“I love her” You said sadly. The words stung Spike and he lowered his gaze to the table between you. His jaw tensed and he tried to blink the water from his eyes before you saw it. Your love meant too much to him. Sometimes, you wished it wasn’t true. You wish you could move on and just forget. But she had meant everything to you, even after she had joined up with the Mayor you stuck by her. You had fallen so deeply.

The way she always held you close. Kissed you until you were breathless as soon as she saw you. That smile that could light up a room. She would have died rather than see you hurt in any way. Faith loved you, you had never doubted it.

But as soon as you thought this your mind moved to Spike. In the same way, he clung to you protectively. Gave you all of his time. Would rather give up anything so that you could have even a second of happiness.

“But… I think… I think I feel the same about you” Your sentence exploded from your mouth before you could brace yourself. You hadn’t even thought them properly before you expressed these words. But, you knew that you meant it. That you adored every part of him.

You were scared though, that he may suffer the same fate as the only other person you loved. You didn’t need to explain this though, he understood.

He had gasped. Audibly. Spike was looking at you as if you had hung the stars in the sky. He reached for you from across the table, his features crudely carved out of the fluorescent lighting. Yet he still managed to keep this soft expression on his face. The one that was only yours.

“I have loved you since the first I saw you. Couldn’t even begin to deny these feelings inside. I need you, near crave you at times. Nothing compares to you, pet. Nothing even comes close”

He took your hand in his from over the table as he began to offer his feelings to you. This love that he had harboured in secret for too long. This soft adoration that he could now allow to flow freely. He assured you that he was yours, in any way you wanted him.

His hand caressed yours in such a way that you could no longer imagine him letting go. This intimacy meant more than you could even begin to describe. He slowly rubbed his thumb against the back of your hand as he spoke so earnestly.

You could have cried. Could have thrown the table aside and urgently pressed your lips against his. Instead, you clasped your hand tighter, wove your fingers firmly between his. You needed this. You needed him.

He squeezed your hand tighter as you spoke, trying to shuffle your thoughts into some type of cohesion. You wanted to explain. Wanted to match the beautiful way he expressed his own emotions to you. But something had stopped you. Or, someone. It felt as if someone had a hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing your throat until no words could form.

Your eyesight began to blur. The corners of your vision turning to static. But there was something, a flicker that caught your attention.

Her. Standing there in someone else’s clothes. Paler than you remembered but still completely her.

“Faith you’re…”

“Right on time” She nodded, smiling at you. Although her eye was almost twitching as she looked at the way you were both intimately sprawled across the table. Leaning in towards each other closer as the other spoke.

You couldn’t help but get up, dropping Spike’s hand in your shock. Your vision completely enraptured by her. You were so excited you didn’t hear a British accent muttering ‘Bloody brilliant’ as he contemplated that his relationship with you had just completely changed. Again.

To have everything he had ever wanted from you now potentially ripped away in almost the same breath hurt. Deeply. And so he blamed Faith for it. 

You launched yourself at her, wrapping your arms around her so enthusiastically. She hissed a little and you moved but you were unable to part from her. You pressed a chaste kiss against her lips before laughing at how amazing it was to have her standing before you after all of this time.

They scowled at each other while your back was turned, hugging Faith more gently again. They knew exactly how the other felt about you. Because they themselves felt it.

You opened your mouth to say something but then it dawned on you. You remembered what you had just said to Spike. Suddenly this reunion was bittersweet. You loved her completely and couldn’t leave her side now. But life had moved on and you had found yourself a spirit that spoke to yours. You also loved him.

You looked between them both and time stopped. There was no choice here. You knew who your heart belonged to. It was split in two, in equal parts. Your heart - it was theirs.

#Spike btvs #Faith lehane #Spike x reader #Faith lehane x reader #Spike imagine #Faith lehane imagine #btvs #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #btvs x reader #btvs imagine #btvs x you #gn reader #gn #gender not mentioned #Faith x reader #Fath #Faith imagine #Faith lehane x you #Spike x you #btvs fic #buffyverse fic

[noelliza]

The Pursuit of Two Left Feet Ch 1 - Anderperry

Hello! I started a cute anderperry fic that includes dancing and sneaking out to an underground swing dance club. Thank you @poetrusicperry for the idea! This is the first part out of two. You can also read this on ao3 here. Enjoy! :)

Part 2

~

“Charlie, no.”

“Charlie, yes!”

Neil rolls his eyes in exasperation, convinced that his best friend has finally lost his mind. “How the hell do you think we could get away with this? It’s one thing to sneak out to the cave, but another to sneak out into town!”

“Neil, you doubt my abilities, it’ll be fine! Meeks is a genius, and he can help me work the whole thing out,” Charlie says, trying to appease him.

“So you don’t even have a plan?” Neil asks incredulously.

Charlie leans over conspiratorially. “Yet,” he says with a wink.

“Well let me know what you come up with, it’ll be a good laugh.”

“You bet. Later, party pooper.”

Neil huffs and shuts the door, walking over to his closet to grab his night clothes.

“So uh… what was Charlie on about this time?” Todd asks from his bed, closing the book he was reading.

“Something totally ridiculous,” Neil says.

Neil realizes from Todd’s silence that his paranoia is creeping in, assuming that Neil’s vague answer is him not wanting to fill Todd in on their conversation. Hastily, he turns to look at Todd and gives him a reassuring smile.

“He wants us all to sneak out and go dancing at a club in town. But there’s no way we could pull that off,” he explains.

He watches as Todd’s body relaxes at his words, the tension leaving his features to form a shy smile. “I don't know… Charlie somehow always finds a way,” he says, holding Neil’s gaze for a moment before returning to his book.

Neil laughs, beginning to unbutton his shirt. “So far he has, but one day he’s bound to get caught. I’m all for mischief, but I think this is pushing it.”

“Since when does Charlie not push anything?”

“You always make a great point,” Neil says fondly, rushing over to ruffle Todd’s hair before he can stop him.

Neil finishes changing and leaps onto his bed, landing on his back with a relieved sigh, the weight of the day leaving his body. Today Neil was moving nonstop with soccer practice, math club, and chemistry club that he hasn’t had a moment to breathe in the last 13 hours.

Neil turns his head towards Todd to glance at the cover of his book. He instantly recognizes it as Fahrenheit 451, which is a book he’s been wanting to read but never dared to buy in fear of his father finding it. He’s afraid of Neil ever discovering new ideas, diverting from the cut path he’s had him set on since birth. His father would be disappointed to know that Neil has been forming his own beliefs and sentiments for a long time now. He refuses to live a meaningless life, void of passion and love. But, he doesn’t want to create suspicion, so he doesn’t discuss anything that his father could potentially disapprove of.

“So, are you gonna go?” Todd asks.

“As if I have a choice. If I thought for even a second Charlie would let me get out of it, I’d be the dumbest person on the planet.”

Todd lets out a beautiful, warm laugh, his eyes wrinkling into a bright smile. It’s rare Neil gets to see it, and he’s grateful every single time he does.

“Are you?”

Todd falters, his smile falling slightly. Neil’s heart hurts at the sight. “Well... am I… invited?”

“Todd, of course you are,” Neil says gently, knowing that sometimes Todd needs reassurance.

“Then, uh, yeah I’m coming,” Todd says, his voice shaking slightly.

He knows what a big deal it is that Todd is willing to break the rules to be included, and he’s glad that he’s starting to feel like he truly belongs.

Neil has always loved dancing—almost as much as acting. Letting your body move to the beat of the music, allowing the sound to fill you and set your mind free, all the thoughts and obligations draining out of you. He feels light, like no worries or obligations ever existed in the first place. So of course at the sound of Charlie’s idea, his heart sings at the opportunity to go, but he knows if he got caught that would be his father’s last straw. He can’t risk his father pulling him out to send him to military school, away from the few things, or people, who are vital parts of his life.

He loves his poets more than anything, talking to them is his favorite part of any day. Charlie is his best friend, without his crude jokes and lawless energy, school would be utterly dull. Mr. Keating is the reason Neil feels inspired, like he has a chance at living a fulfilling life. The hope that had once been squashed down into nothing by his father was taking root once again, the weed never having been truly destroyed. However, Neil doesn’t know how he’s going to do it—betray his father and live the life he desires—but the thought that he will one day is what keeps him going.

And Todd. Todd is everything. He’s the air he breathes, the light shining through the murky tunnel, and the monologue to his play in an empty crowd. If he never got to see Todd’s furrowed brows while deep in thought, or his bright, infectious smile again, Neil’s world would crumble on top of him, leaving him to suffocate, entrapped in everlasting misery.

Neil envisions stepping onto a crowded dance floor with Todd’s hand in his, his heart swelling with joy. He hears Etta James’ “At Last” filling the room, the sound of the violin strumming the chords of his heart as they sway together. This picture makes Neil yearn for the opportunity to go dancing with the poets, but he knows it's only a mere fantasy, and nothing more.

At the mention of this, however, Charlie wasn’t willing to accept that; he doesn’t understand that it’s just not doable, it’s out of reach. The town is too far, they would never make it back to the school before a teacher discovered their absences. Once he said it, Charlie wouldn’t let it go, and Neil had to grudgingly accept that it had officially been put in motion.

“Good. Let’s just hope Charlie doesn’t fuck it up,” Neil says, settling into bed.

Todd laughs and moves to set his book aside but Neil stops him. “No it’s okay, I’m so tired I could fall asleep through Charlie’s snores right now. Keep reading.” Neil finishes with a mumble, turning toward the wall.

“…Y-you sure?” He asks hesitantly.

“Of course, don’t be silly. Good night Todd,” Neil murmurs, already beginning to doze off.

“Good night, Neil,” Todd says softly, his voice. A few seconds go by and Neil can sense the light of the room behind his eyelids, and he smiles to himself. It’s good to see Todd doing more things for himself, not sacrificing every bit of himself for the sake of others. It makes Neil’s heart full, knowing Todd is finally coming into himself, growing to be the person Neil always saw inside him that was crying to be let out into the world.

Neil quickly falls asleep, the image of swinging Todd around the dance floor, his untamable laughter echoing through the room filling his thoughts.

***

Neil’s studying Chemistry in his room when Charlie barges in, a dangerous grin spread across his face. Neil shudders, knowing that expression all too well.

Charlie settles himself on Neil’s bed, leaning his head back on his hands with one leg crossed over the other. “We’ve got ourselves a full-proof plan.”

Neil scoffs, disbelieving. “Yeah right. It hasn’t even been a full day.”

“Well, it just shows you we’re that good,” Charlie says smugly.

“Or, you’re too sloppy, missing some of the potential obstacles,” Neil says shortly, looking back down at his book.

“Not in this case! All of those have been strategically avoided. We’re all set to go this weekend!” He affirms.

“So, aren’t you going to tell me all about your ingenious plan?”

Charlie laughs. “No, because you’ll obsess over it trying to find a mistake. And there’s no need to, because it’ll work out.”

“Like the time you broke into Nolan’s office and left rotten eggs only for him to have seen you walk right out of the door?” Neil says, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

“That was one time!” Charlie objects. “And I was a complete amateur back then. Right now, you’re speaking to an expert of mischief.”

“Dear Lord, help us all,” Neil groans.

“Hey, Jesus didn’t assist with this plan, so he doesn’t need to be involved.”

Neil just sighs, not deigning to respond.

“So, have you planned your dance with Todd? How are you going to ask him? ‘Todd Anderson, the love of my life, will you do me the honor of dancing the night away with me?’” Charlie teases with a crooked smile.

Neil throws a pencil at him, his cheeks flushing. “Shut up, I wouldn’t ask him like that.”

“Well, you have four more days to think about it.”

“I doubt he’ll even want to,” Neil sighs.

Charlie scoffs, arching his brow. “Yeah, that's as likely as Nolan and Keating becoming lovers.”

“Thank you for that horrible image,” Neil says with a grimace, earning a laugh from Charlie.

“You’re welcome.”

Neil shakes his head, wanting to get straight to the important details. “So who’s coming along?”

“Meeks and Pitts, Todd obviously. As soon as I told Knox he could bring Chris, he was in.”

“And Cameron?” Neil asks resignedly, already knowing what his answer will be.

“As in Richard Cameron? Dick up my ass? And not the good kind,” Charlie snorts.

“Uh, yes, him. The only Cameron we know, did you ask him?” He pushes, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.

Charlie huffs a laugh. “Ask him if he was dropped at birth? No, but I’ve been pretty close.”

“You know what I meant,” Neil says, looking at him firmly.

Charlie avoids his gaze, guilt flashing across his face for a moment. “No, I haven’t…”

“Charlie—”

“Nuwanda!”

Neil takes a deep breath to calm himself. “Nuwanda,” he says pointedly, to which Charlie gives an approving nod. “Come on, you gotta invite him or I will. You know I don’t like excluding anyone. It’s not right.”

“I know, I know, you’re a better person than the rest of us. I’ll mention it, letting him know that the chances we’ll get caught are very, very high—” Charlie cuts off at Neil’s reproving look. “Fine,” Charlie says with a tired, dramatic sigh. “But if he finks, it’s on you!”

“Alright that’s fine, but I really doubt he will. He has no reason to,” Neil says.

“You always give people the benefit of the doubt,” Charlie says, and Neil shrugs helplessly, unable to deny it. “But, I happen to like that about you,” Charlie finishes, grinning.

Neil rolls his eyes playfully. “Good to know, but if you want me to tell you I like how rash and rebellious you are, I’m not planning to.”

Charlie laughs as the door swings open, revealing Todd who briefly glances at the pair before walking over his desk to drop off his bag. Charlie walks over to him, placing his hands on his shoulders and shaking him lightly.

“Toddie! Ready for Friday?” Charlie asks, his excitement spilling out of him.

Todd chuckles, craning his neck to look back at Charlie. “I— yeah I am.”

Charlie whoops, giving Todd’s shoulders a final pat before bouncing back towards Neil, getting way too far into his personal space. “It’ll be fun!”

“When is anything you’re involved in not fun?” Neil asks dryly.

“That’s the spirit!” He shouts triumphantly before bounding out of the room.

“Make sure you talk to Cameron!” Neil shouts after him despite knowing Charlie most likely won’t hear him. With the amount of energy radiating off him, he’s probably halfway down the hall by now. Todd laughs softly and heads over to his bed, opening up a book as he leans his back against the wall.

Neil looks back down at his book, trying with every cell in his brain to comprehend the material. It’s been much more difficult lately to study as the pressure of finals looms over him and the voice of his father invading his mind, telling him he’s not working hard enough. He’s been trying to overcompensate by spending more of his time focusing on his studies, but so far Neil has felt more exhausted than ever, almost falling asleep on his textbook a few times this past week. Charlie caught him after the third time, insisting that it was enough and Neil needed a break. But Charlie didn’t understand what it was like having a father with outrageous expectations. Neil has to put every bit of his time and energy into his studies in order to meet the bare minimum, or else his father will accuse him of slacking off.

Neil turns the page, barely remembering any of the words he just read. He can feel Todd’s stare from the bed, and he knows Todd is most likely considering saying something. He pretends not to notice, not wanting to open this can of worms with him. With just a few words, Todd can convince him of anything, and if he urges him to take a break, Neil knows he won’t be able to refuse--he’ll fold like a deck of cards. But he can’t afford that right now, so he doesn’t budge.

After a few moments, Todd turns away and grabs his book from the nightstand to continue reading. Neil is conflicted, part of him glad Todd didn’t press the issue while the other aches for him to say something, anything to pull him out of this state of mind.

They stay like that for a while—Neil loses track of the time—and then, Todd breaks the silence.

“So, uh, I think Meeks is having a study group for Latin tonight. Are you coming?” He asks, closing the book he was reading.

“I don’t know… I think I’m gonna skip out on it,” Neil says, ruefully.

Todd pauses. “Why?”

“I gotta do some history,” he lies, keeping his head down to avoid Todd’s eyes.

“B-but we just had a test yesterday, we haven’t learned anything new. And you always go to the study groups.”

“Well, I’m just trying to get ahead.”

Todd makes a noise of disappointment that pains him. “But—”

“Todd,” Neil cuts in, harsher than he intended, “just, drop it. Please.”

Todd doesn't respond, returning to his book silently. Neil feels awful talking to him like that, so dismissive. He doesn’t know why he’s doing it to himself, but he feels out of control. It’s like the words are coming out for him, the flood bypassing the barriers he’s placed in his mind.

After a while, Todd gets up to go meet up with the other Poets, grabbing his books and putting them in his bag. He hears Todd hesitate at the door before leaving, presumably deciding not to bother Neil again.

The second the door shuts, a wave of guild floods over Neil, settling in his chest. He rests his head in his hands, trying to take deep breaths.

It’s fine. He’s too busy for study groups right now, it’s not a big deal. There will always be more. He’s not avoiding his friends because he thinks he doesn’t deserve them. Neil just needs to focus on his own studies right now, to make his father proud. After a few seconds, he lifts his head and gets back to work, ignoring the pounding headache and the heaviness of his eyelids…

“Neil?”

Neil jolts awake, lifting his head to look around and realizing he’s still at his desk, his drool soaking into the corner of his notebook page. He sees Todd standing above him, his expression filled with concern. His brows are furrowed in that way he does when he’s trying to solve something, and he has the impulse to smooth it out with his thumb, just the gentlest touch. But the familiar, demanding voice in his head prevents him from doing that.

“Hey! How’d it go?” Neil asks, false brightness in his tone.

Todd’s face doesn’t change, still searching his features as if the answer is hidden in them. “Uh, good,” he says, breaking his gaze away and walking towards his closet. “I’m still struggling, but Meeks helped me understand it a bit better at least.”

“Oh good, I’m glad!” Neil says, forcing a cheery smile.

Neil doesn’t move from his desk as Todd shuffles around the room, getting changed for bed. As Todd is pulling his shirt off, Neil blinks back to reality, looking away to hastily pack up his things. He feels Todd’s eyes again, and Neil has to fight against the pull to meet his gaze. He puts his books on the shelf, the silence in the room stretching longer with every taken breath.

“Charlie accused me of drugging you and locking you in our room,” Todd says after a few minutes, breaking the tension filling the room.

“It’s probably because he’s more likely to do that to someone,” Neil replies, laughing faintly at the thought.

“I’m sure he’s already done it to Cameron.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Neil says with a sigh.

The silence creeps back in, louder than he’s ever heard it.

“There’s gonna be another one tomorrow night,” Todd says, his voice level with the smallest hint of hope peeking through.

“I don’t think I can go to any this week. Maybe next week,” Neil says weakly, quickly making for the bathroom to escape the awkwardness.

He hates doing this. He knows it hurts Todd and the other poets, as well as himself. But if he lets himself get distracted then he won’t make it through finals. For once, Neil just wants to make his father proud.

When he returns, the lights are out, Todd’s breathing slow and even.

***

That next night when Todd is about to leave for study group, Neil busies himself in his Latin textbook, hoping he won’t hassle him about coming along. If he does, it’ll be even harder to refuse him. He hears Todd walk toward the door when suddenly, Neil’s book is stripped away from him, slammed shut and thrown onto his bed. He looks up and Todd is standing above him, looking nervous but resolute, a fierceness in his eyes. Neil meets his gaze, bewildered.

“Todd, what—”

“We’re going for a walk.”

“But I have—”

“It’s a nice night.”

“Todd.”

“Neil,” Todd says firmly, his tone grabbing Neil’s attention. Neil stares, unable to break away from the set look on Todd’s face. One look into those warm, soft eyes is enough to make Neil forget why he insisted on studying in the first place.

“I kind of like when you tell me what to do. Tell me something else,” he says, his mouth curling upward.

Todd flushes, turning away. “N-not right now. Just put your jacket on.”

“You got it,” Neil winks, grabbing his coat and following Todd out the door.

Together, they walk down the hallway and Todd leads him outside, the rush of crisp, winter air refreshing on his skin. Neil didn’t realize how suffocating his room was until now, his lungs filled by the outdoors. He feels like his mind is being pulled out of the mud, regaining his senses, his rational thoughts. Why was he cooping himself in his room?

“Thank you, I needed this,” Neil beams, feeling grateful Todd managed to drag him out here. Sometimes, Neil wonders how he managed to survive this long without Todd in his life—before this school year, just a few short months ago.

Todd nods, keeping his head towards the ground, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets. He’s so adorable, Neil can’t handle it. He wishes he had the words, or the drawing skills to capture this sight forever, something he could hold onto and never let go.

“So… are we going anywhere in particular?” Neil asks, unable to help himself. His silences with Todd are always comfortable, but his curiosity is buzzing, eager to know their designation.

“Maybe,” Todd says coyly.

“Come on, Todd, you’re a poet! I know you can be more descriptive than that,” he teases.

“Y-yeah I know I can. I’m… I’m choosing not to.”

Neil’s smile gradually grows wide. “Alright, I can accept that answer. As long as you’re sure.”

“I am,” he says.

Neil laughs softly in response, his heart aching. He looks around, taking in the dark figures of the trees, listening to the whispers of night as it awakens, the faint hum of life, and feeling the gentle movement of wind caressing his skin. It feels like a dance of itself, moving to the beat of its own sound, the music of the forest.

“You know, everytime we sneak out to the cave, none of us ever actually take time to really absorb our surroundings.”

“Yeah, I think because of the chances we’ll get caught if we’re out here,” Todd says, briefly glancing upward to the sky.

Neil chuckles, “True, but we’ve been really missing out.”

“Yeah.”

They continue their trek, the sounds of their footsteps on the ground echoing around them.

“You know, I never used to like the dark, but something about the woods at this hour is so peaceful,” Neil muses, looking up at the moon shining through the trees. Todd hums in response.

“I… I’ve always liked the dark,” Todd adds after a few beats.

Neil turns to him, but can’t catch his eye as Todd is looking resolutely ahead. “Have you?” He says, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

Todd nods, “I—it was comforting…” he says reluctantly, as if more words are bubbling inside him, but he’s scared to let them out.

“I was always afraid of it as a kid. When I was in trouble, my father would put me in the coat closet to have me think about what I had done. I felt like it was eventually going to swallow me whole,“ Neil shares softly, hoping it’ll encourage Todd to speak about it.

Todd lets out a harsh breath, as he already knows how horrible Neil’s father is. Neil glances at Todd again, unable to help it, and nudges him lightly. “Why do you find it comforting?” He asks gently.

Todd keeps his eyes glued to his feet, presumably focusing on his footsteps as he considers what to say. Over the last few months, Neil has begun to catch onto Todd’s small mannerisms. When he’s anxious over an upcoming event, he’ll pick at the hems of his clothes. When he doesn’t want to say yes to something, his eyes widen in the slightest bit and he’ll look sideways, as if he’ll find a proper excuse. The one Neil finds most endearing is when he’s given a compliment, Todd bites the inside of his lip and glances downward.

“I was afraid of it too, actually,” he starts, his breath a bit shaky, “I thought there were monsters in the dark. At least, that's what some of the others at school used to say. But then one night, there was a power outage at my house. It—it happened right after my parents lectured me for not making the baseball team,” Todd pauses, taking a deep breath. Neil waits patiently, holding onto his every word dearly.

“I… I was in my room, alone, in the dark… and I realized it… it made me feel less lonely. I couldn't see the emptiness of the room. I could only hear my breath and my heartbeat. It was… calming,” he finishes in a whisper, only heard by Neil and the hush of the delicate wind.

Neil feels the breath in his lungs being snatched away, and he swallows back a sob threatening to escape him, not wanting to make Todd feel guilty for sharing about his past. Everytime Neil hears something new about Todd’s horrible childhood, his heart tears further apart. He wishes he could strip him of that pain and take it for himself, easing him of that burden.

“I can understand that,” Neil says, making an effort to keep his voice even. “Just… I hope you know you’re not alone anymore, right?”

“Y-yeah I know,” Todd says.

“Good,” Neil breathes, hoping Todd meant it.

They approach a clearing, and it’s one Neil has never seen before. It’s wide, the surrounding trees acting as a safe cocoon. The closer they get, the more he sees the flickering lights blinking through the air, dotting the open space. Fireflies.

“Here we are,” Todd says, a shy smile gracing his face.

Neil walks towards the center, spinning as he gazes around. “How did you find this place?” Neil says, feeling dizzy yet unbound, like he could fly straight to the moon without wings.

“I-I go on walks sometimes… when I need to think. One night, I saw the fireflies… and they led me here.”

“Amazing,” he says, his voice soft as a whisper, watching a firefly buzzing past him in awe. He’s never seen one so up close before, but they’re mesmerizing. Neil doesn’t want to look away.

“Y-yeah, it is.”

Neil wanders around the space, letting his body move on its own accord as his eyes follow the various glowing bodies traveling in every direction. He hums absently, the chorus of a song stuck in his head. He feels Todd’s eyes on him as he walks, and his face burns.

“‘The Twelfth of Never’?” Todd asks.

Neil stops and looks at him, the sight of Todd lit up by the scattering bugs making him weak at the knees. “Yeah, you know it?”

Todd nods. “Mhm, it… it was my favorite song a few summers back. I snuck the vinyl from Jeffey’s room and played it w-when no one was around.”

Neil takes a step towards him. “You ask how much I need you, must I explain?” he sings.

Todd’s eyes widen, his face vulnerable and open. Neil smiles warmly. “I know you’re more of a poet, Whitman, but... join me?” He asks, hopeful.

Todd blinks, looking unsure. After Neil quirks an amused smile, he gives in with a harmless eye roll. “I need you, oh my darling,” he mumbles, looking away as Neil approaches him.

“…like roses need rain.”

Once Neil is standing in front of him, he holds out his hand. “May I?”

Todd looks back at him and pauses as he notices his outstretched hand. Slowly, he reaches out his hand and places it gently in Neil’s palm, allowing him to grasp it. He leads them to the center, placing his other hand on Todd’s waist. They stare at each other for a moment before Neil starts to move his feet. He keeps the pace slow in order to give Todd time used to it, and gradually, they make circles around the clearing.

“W-where did you learn to dance?” Todd asks breathlessly, his eyes shining.

“My father made me do cotillion when I was nine. I hated everything about it except for this,” he says, his eyes focused on Todd’s expression.

“You’re really good,” Todd says with a faint laugh, fumbling to keep up. Neil tightens his grip on Todd’s waist the slightest bit, keeping him in place as they glide.

“You ask how long I’ll love you, I’ll tell you true…” Neil spins him around, eliciting a startled laugh out of Todd that makes his heart swoon.

“Until the twelfth of never, I'll still be loving you,” Todd sings back through his giggles.

“Hold me close.” Neil dips Todd suddenly, leaning over to catch a close look at his eyes.

“Never let me go,” Todd adds, looking at Neil as if to say he means it literally.

“Oh, I’d never,” Neil smiles, holding the position for a beat longer before pulling him back up.

They go on, waltzing around the space as if the leaves are harps and the forest is a string orchestra, playing the melodic tune of the music in the expanse and beyond. Neil is so enraptured with the pure joy on Todd’s face that he hardly registers when Todd steps on his feet a few times. He’ll take all the foot pain to have Todd look at him like that.

“I'll love you till the poets run out of rhyme.”

“Until the twelfth of never and that's a long, long time,” Todd sings softly, finishing in a whisper as they slowly come to a stop. Suddenly, all the movement of the woods cease, the air stilling. Neil can feel Todd’s soft breath, feeling his head spin as Todd blinks slowly, the light making his eyes glisten. He’s absolutely, and utterly breathtaking.

Neil’s heart and every muscle of his body know what he aches to do, encouraging him to give in to the desire. The craving in his heart for months, buried under bouts of doubt and self loathing. Do it, he thinks, imploring himself to be brave, seize the day.

Then, the snap of a branch makes them jolt apart, the world returning to its place with a crack. Neil clears his throat. “Thank you for showing me this place, Todd. I really appreciate it.”

“Course,” Todd nods stiffly, averting his gaze as a blush creeps up his neck.

The pair walk back the same way they came, the atmosphere now charged with an energy between them. Neither dare to speak a word, feeling silenced by the gust of the wind.

Neil lays awake that night for hours, the vision of his lips on Todd’s coursing through his mind until he’s eventually pulled into sleep.

Part 2

#dead poets society #anderperry #todd anderson #neil perry #dps fandom #dps fic #dps #todd and neil #todd x neil #anderperry fic #anderperry fanfic #fluff

[thelivebookproject]

Talking Books With @lilymaidofgallifrey!

[What is this and how can I participate?]

Important note: I haven’t changed or edited any of the answers. I’ve only formatted the book titles so they were clearer, but nothing else. Because I’m incapable of shutting up, my comments are between brackets and in italics, so you can distinguish them clearly.

-----------------------------------------

[Image description: a square titled “Know the blogger”. Name & pronouns: Anna, she/her; country: New Zealand; three adjectives to describe her: chaotic, studious & fun /end]

1. What's one book in your course of study (or about your speciality) that you'd warn others against reading?

To be honest I can't think of a study-related book I would warn others against reading altogether. The main thing I realised at university is that it's not information that's necessarily the problem, it's how it's framed and discussed. Sometimes you need to talk about problematic ideas so you can break them down and understand why they're wrong.  For example The Criminal Man by Cesare Lombroso - Lombroso believed certain people were 'born criminals' and you could identify criminals based on their physical features (which obviously led to a lot of super racist, classist and sexist things). But while they're super problematic, it's still important to discuss Lombroso's ideas because they had a huge influence  on the development of criminology and continue to have various impacts today, which need to be understood and combatted.  I think the key thing is that these kind of ideas have to be presented critically and it needs to be pointed out how and why they are flawed, rather than taking them at face value.  

2. Last book character you identified with?

Sansa Stark from Game of Thrones.  She starts off as quite naïve and idealistic and romantic and a bit silly, which is pretty similar to a young-teen version of me. We have a love of embroidery and of pretty things in common, and I too am a sucker for a good doomed-romance ballad. I also like that she's quite different than her sister Arya, and that her brain is her weapon. As much as I like the idea of wielding a sword, I think I would be terrible at it (and based on my lack of coordination would probably cut off my own foot), and as a lawyer-in-training, I think words would also be my weapon-of-choice. 

[I would also cut off my own foot with a sword! Or I would if I ever managed to be able to pick it up... Once at a Medieval Faire I asked a knight if I could hold his sword for a photo and I could barely raise it!] 

3. Do you read in other languages?

No sadly. I started learning French and German at school but I wasn't very good and only remember a dozen or so words in each, definitely not enough to read something. I am planning on starting to learn Te Reo Māori though (the language of the Indigenous people of New Zealand and one of our national languages), so someday hopefully I might. 

4. Thoughts on DNFing books?

I constantly DNF books. I used to feel like I HAD to finish every book I started, but now I'm so busy and my attention span is limited at the best of times, so if a book doesn't capture my interest within the first few chapters I generally won't finish it, unless it's one I really wanted to read. Sometimes I also don't finish books because I just ran out of time before they were due back at the library. I think realizing I didn't have to finish books I didn't like was very freeing. The way I see it, there's so many good books out there, I'm not going to waste time on books I don't really like. 

[Meanwhile, I can’t DNF to save my life, spite is enough motivation to finish!]

5. Have you ever used a TBR jar?

I think they're a cool idea and I've attempted to use them a few times. Unfortunately I have object permanence issues - if I can't see it, it basically doesn't exist (thanks ADHD). So, basically, I tend to forget what's in the jar almost immediately after putting my book names in there. I've had more luck with writing my TBR on a piece of paper and sticking it on my bookshelf at eye-level, or, if I have the physical books, stacking them right beside my bed. 

Free space!

Some books I would like to recommend are The Blue Castle by LM Montgomery, Station Eleven by Emily St John Mandel (with the caveat it is about a pandemic), the Murderbot series by Martha Wells, and Sunshine by Robin McKinley. 

I also want to recommend the websites https://www.window-swap.com/ where you can look out of a stranger's window somewhere in the world and http://radio.garden where you can click on another part of the world and listen to what is playing on the radio there, they're both fun and relaxing. 

You can follow her at @lilymaidofgallifrey​ and on Goodreads.

---------------------------------------------

Thank you, Anna! It was really fun.

Next interview: Saturday, 22nd of May

#talking books with #booklr #thelivebookproject #may 2021

[thefinalcinderella]

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 8 - Winter Comes Again (Part 5)

Hakone finally starts in the next chapter, which is like, 80 pages long

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. Kamaboko is a type of fish cake and Odawara is well known for its high quality Kamaboko

2. Zouni is a type of soup that contains rice cakes and is usually eaten on New Year’s Day

Previous | Next

That night, Kiyose was planning to explain the Hakone Ekiden entries as well as hold a drinking party. After training and jogging, the residents gathered one after another in the twins’ room.

Kiyose had gone off somewhere after training. Nico-chan and Jouta were in charge of cooking; they were probably making something to serve as an accompaniment to the drinks. Thinking he should help, Kakeru was just about to leave the twins’ room and go down to the kitchen when his phone rang. It was his home phone number in Sendai.

His parents hadn’t contacted him once since he had moved to Tokyo. He had sent them a postcard with Chikusei-sou’s address, but that was it; just transferring the money for school fees and minimal living expenses into his bank account was enough for him. His parents had wanted him to go to university on a track recommendation because they had had high hopes for their son as a well-mannered track athlete.

When he pressed the button to answer the call, he heard the nostalgic voice of his mother say, “Kakeru?”

“Mm.”

“You were written up in a magazine, weren’t you? We told you so many times not to do anything that would make you stand out. Your father is very angry with you. Are you listening?”

“Mm, sorry.”

“Please put yourself in our shoes, living here. Okay?”

“Yes.”

“What are you doing for the New Year’s holiday? Are you coming back?”

“No, I’m going to be in Hakone, so I don’t think I have time to come home.”

“Ah, yes,” his mother’s voice took on a distinct note of relief. “Okay, then. Take care.”

Clutching his now-silent phone, Kakeru stood in the middle of the stairs for a while. In a daze, he belatedly noticed Yuki’s presence at the door.

“Oh, sorry,” Yuki said. “I didn’t intend to eavesdrop.”

Yuki was holding a bag from a record store in Shimokitazawa. No matter how busy he got, he never lacked music in his life. “No problem,” Kakeru answered, and walked down the stairs to stand in the hallway with him.

“Was that a call from home?”

“Yes. They got angry at me for standing out.”

“You’re the man of the hour, after all,” Yuki laughed. If it was Yuki, he might be able to tell him—Yuki was so far the only one not happy about being interviewed. He wanted someone to hear out his painful feelings, so Kakeru deliberately confided in him as though it was no big deal.

“I don’t get along well with my parents.”

Yuki was silent for a minute.

“I see. It’s the same for me,” he said. “In my case, I guess you can call it being overprotective. My mom remarried. The guy’s not a bad person, and I have a little sister who’s a lot younger than me, and she’s pretty cute, I guess, but… It bothers me when I’m told 'we’re your new family now' and get fussed over a lot. To be honest, I don’t want to get too close to them.”

“How old is your little sister?”

“Five.”

“Eh, so she’s more than fifteen years younger than you, Yuki-senpai?”

“Yeah. My mom’s doing her best,” Yuki pushed his glasses up as though to say, Good grief. “It’s a given that family members would bother you. You have to not expect too much from them and keep a reasonable distance.”

Yuki walked towards his room—it seemed that he had given his advice. “Okay,” Kakeru answered, and then went to peek in the kitchen, which had been noisy with the sound of running water and pots falling from a short time ago. Then, Yuki returned to the hallway.

“That’s right, Kakeru,” he said. He beckoned him to a corner of the hallway. “When I was coming back, I saw Haiji at Seijo Station.”

Is he doing some shopping? Although it was a station where express trains stopped, Kakeru and the others didn’t go to Seijou that often. If anything, they usually went to Soshigaya-Okura Station, which had a folksy and mixed atmosphere.

“He went into an orthopedics clinic in front of Seijo Station.”

Kakeru jerked in surprise. There was an old scar on Kiyose’s right shin; even after the qualifiers, he had looked like he was having a hard time. Kakeru had completely forgotten about it in the commotion of training and interviews.

“I don’t know much about the injuries of track athletes.” Yuki knitted his brows. “But maybe Kiyose’s isn’t completely healed.”

In any sport, the best athletes all had some sort of injury, and track and field was no exception. Hard training and risk had always gone hand in hand with each other—the more you trained, the sharper and more delicate your body became.

“If he’s seeing a doctor, they’ll stop him if he gets too reckless, so that actually makes me relieved, but…”

“Would Haiji listen to the doctor? Especially at this time.”

That’s true, Kakeru thought. The fact that he had gone to the doctor meant that he must be feeling some kind of discomfort, maybe even distinct pain. Even if he requested a prescription to suppress the pain, Kakeru had a feeling that Kiyose would not listen to the doctor’s advice.

“I understand. I’ll ask Haiji-san later,” Kakeru assured Yuki.

Kiyose returned to Chikusei-sou before they knew it. Kakeru carefully twitched his nose around Kiyose to see if he could smell a poultice, but he couldn’t find any evidence.

“You’re a strange guy.”

That was all Kiyose said to him.

“There’s been a lot going on lately,” Kiyose said, looking around at everyone gathered in the twins’ room. “Well, don’t worry about it. We’ll get our answers through our running.”

“Haiji-san, you’re so cool!”

“’What do you want with our Kurahara?’”

The twins, who had already been drinking, made fun of him. Ever since the incident with the Shinjitsu Weekly reporter, the twins seemed to have recovered their trust in Kiyose.

“The month of November is finally coming to an end. There’s no time left until the Hakone Ekiden,” Kiyose continued, ignoring the twins. “From now on, taking care of your physical condition will be the most important thing; be careful not to get injured at the last minute.”

At the word “injured,” Kakeru couldn’t help but exchange a glance with Yuki.

“Kakeru, explain the entries for Hakone,” Kiyose said, and Kakeru shook off his worries for now. The gazes of the residents, sitting in a circle, were focused on him.

“The first step is to submit the names of up to sixteen people per team to the organizer on December 10,” Kakeru began to explain. “At this stage, who will run which leg will not be revealed. Next, on December 29, it will be the leg entry, where the sixteen runners will be narrowed down to fourteen, and ten of those people will declare which leg they are running. The remaining four will be treated as alternates. Changes in leg entries are allowed on the day of the Hakone Ekiden. The final runners will be announced before the start times of the outward and return trips. However, once a runner is removed from a leg, they cannot be entered into another leg.”

“I don’t get it. What does that mean?” Jouji asked.

Kakeru thought about it a little, then simplified it. “Suppose Rokudou’s Fujioka was entered into the second leg on December 29. This means that Fujioka cannot be assigned the fifth leg in the final entry change on the day of Hakone. If Fujioka isn’t feeling well on the first day, they have no choice but to put one of the four alternates in the second leg, and even if Fujioka recovers on the second day, he wouldn’t be allowed to run.”

“I see.” Musa nodded. “Conversely, if Fujioka-san is one of the four alternates, can we assume that Rokudou will change its entry on the day of Hakone?”

“That’s exactly right,” Kiyose said. “If there’s a strong competitor in the alternate slot, then they are either not feeling well or they plan on changing the entry of an important leg on the morning of the race as a secret weapon. After seeing the entries for each leg on the 29th, each university will consider its strategy and, trying to read their opponent’s mind, unfold a new strategy.”

“We can’t lose focus even right before the start, can we?” King seemed to feel pressured. “But we only have ten people, so that’s got nothing to do with us. We don’t have strategies or anything.”

“It’s true that we will be showing all our cards on the 29th.”

Feeling uneasy, Kakeru looked at Kiyose; Kansei had no alternates, and once they made their entries, it wouldn’t be possible to switch legs. He wanted to know what Kiyose thought about that.

“We’re not the only ones with a small lineup,” Kiyose said calmly. “Changing your entry on the day of the race can be a good or bad thing. After all, sometimes it won’t go well when you’re suddenly asked to run. In fact, there are many schools that have a policy of not changing the leg entries unless there is a serious problem. Knowing that there’s strategy regarding the entries, it’s better to know early on which leg you’re running so that you can prepare.”

“Haiji, have you already decided which legs we’re going to run?” Yuki asked.

“Yeah,” Kiyose said and straightened his posture. “Of course, if you have any objections, we can discuss it, but I think this is the best we can do for now.”

Kiyose took out a memo from his track pants and laid it out in the center of the circle. Everyone leaned in to take a look and let out cries of surprise.

Hakone Outward Journey (Day 1)

First Leg Otemachi to Tsurumi   Prince

Second Leg   Tsurumi to Totsuka   Musa

Third Leg   Totsuka to Hiratsuka   Jouta

Fourth Leg   Hiratsuka to Odawara   Jouji

Fifth Leg   Odawara to Hakone   Shindou

Hakone Return Journey (Day 2)

Sixth Leg   Hakone to Odawara   Yuki

Seventh Leg   Odawara to Hiratsuka   Nico-chan

Eighth Leg   Hiratsuka to Totsuka   King

Ninth Leg   Totsuka to Tsurumi   Kakeru

Tenth Leg   Tsurumi to Otemachi   Kiyose

 “Me in the second leg? I cannot do it.” Musa was trembling all over. “The second leg is the section for the aces, yes? Why is it not Kakeru then?”

“It’s pretty bold to put Prince-san in the first leg…” Jouji reservedly tilted his head.

Even Prince muttered, “What are you doing throwing the race from the start?”

Kakeru immediately understood what Kiyose was trying to do when he saw the lineup he had planned. Haiji-san is going to try to win the race in the second half. He’s seriously aiming for us to get seeded. No, if the race goes the way Haiji-san thinks it will, it won’t be about seeding—with these placements, we can aim for a much better ranking…!

They were such a weak club that they were in danger of not surviving next year. They were just a bunch of amateurs that had finally managed to crawl up this far, but Kiyose didn’t know the meaning of giving up; he was always looking upward, holding up dreams and goals, and firmly leading the residents of Chikusei-sou. Aiming for the heights of running. Aiming to reach the top of the Hakone Ekiden—the ultimate intermediary between individual and team competitions.

Seeing from the entry form how serious Kiyose was, Kakeru clenched his fists. If he hadn't, he would have gotten so excited that he would have ended up looking like an animal.

“Prince is the only one for the first leg,” Kiyose said gently. “Maybe it’s because you don't have any interest in the 3D world, but you’ve never been scared at the meets or qualifiers; you’re the most suitable person for the first leg, which has the most attention focused on it. You’re also tough enough to have kept up with the training until now even with your very slow times. I’m sure you’ll be able to hold your own in the race.”

He casually said something rude again, Kakeru thought, but Kiyose wasn’t lying about his expectations. Prince must have felt that as well, and a light came into his eyes.

“But in these past few years, the first leg has often been fast paced.” Yuki asked a question based on the data he had collected: “This time too, won’t each school choose a runner for the first leg based on speed?”

“There’s also a chance that it’ll develop at a slow pace in reaction to that. That’s a gamble,” Kiyose readily admitted. “But even if Prince gets separated from the others, he can still make up for it in the first leg. That’s why I chose a solid group of runners for the second to fourth legs, and there’s no one but Shindou who could do the fifth leg’s mountain climb, right? Musa and the twins should be able to steadily make it there.”

“It is too much for me to run in the ace’s leg.” Musa didn’t seem convinced.

“What do you think?” Kiyose turned to Kakeru. “Musa seems to want you to run the second leg.”

“No. I think Musa-san is the perfect fit for it,” Kakeru said with conviction. “Musa-san has been training while pushing aside all sorts of pressures. Even though he never did long-distance before, he can now run ten kilometers in the low 29-minute range. And Musa-san has always encouraged me.”

His effort and personality were second to none. Musa was an ace among aces.

“You are giving me too much credit, Kakeru,” Musa said, embarrassed. But it was unanimously decided that he would run the second leg.

There were no objections to the twins running the third and fourth legs, and they were very enthusiastic about it.

“The third leg is a road that runs along the sea. The scenery’s really nice,” said Jouta.

“Can we buy some kamaboko (1) in Odawara?” said Jouji.

The fifth leg was good with Shindou, but the problem was the sixth leg, which was Yuki’s mountain descent.

“Why am I doing the sixth leg?” Yuki asked Kiyose, looking for an explanation.

“On the trial run the other day, your posture was very stable. Normally, when people run down a steep slope like that, they’d be bent forward,” Kiyose glanced at Yuki’s legs, which were in a cross-legged position. “Also…you have thick legs.”

“What?”

“No, it was a compliment. Anyways, if your legs and loins aren’t solid, the sixth leg is out of the question.”

“It’s like sturdiness is my only good point. You say that, but what would you do if I get hurt?”

“It’s fine, isn’t it? You already passed the bar. You won’t have any opportunities to do serious track and field after graduation.”

“Oi oi, that’s irresponsible and cruel…” Nico-chan said, but Yuki was surprisingly calm and said, “You have a point,” accepting Kiyose’s words. If it made sense, he would swallow any cool-headed opinion. It was a method of persuasion that perfectly grasped Yuki’s character, and Kakeru was once again in awe of Kiyose’s ability to manipulate people.

“About Nico-chan-senpai in the seventh leg and King in the eighth leg,” Kiyose continued, “I think that when you get to this part of the route, the runners will start to break up, and there will be times when you’re running by yourself. You won’t be able to see the runners from the other teams in front or behind you. Even in situations like those, both of you will be able to run at your own pace without panicking or becoming careless. The battle to get seeded will intensify, so this is an unassuming but important section.”

“Are we planning on getting seeded?” Jouji nervously asked.

“Of course,” Kiyose decisively stated. “Now, for the last two legs, I entered Kakeru into the ninth leg, which is also called the ace leg of the return trip. As for the anchor, the tenth leg, I’ll be the one responsible for it, as I was the one who said we’re going to the Hakone Ekiden and got you guys involved.”

Kiyose only gave a brief explanation for himself and Kakeru. However, Kakeru thoroughly sensed Kiyose’s feelings for the Hakone Ekiden, and he also knew what kind of running they would have to show in the ninth and tenth legs.

Kakeru looked at Kiyose. Kiyose was silent, then nodded at him.

“That’s all. Are there any questions or thoughts?”

No one raised their hand. Pulled along by Kiyose’s conviction, everyone was finally thinking about the Hakone Ekiden as something concrete, and their fighting spirit was rising.

“Okay. Until the announcement of the entries for the legs on the 29th, what I told you is of course confidential. I want each of you to do your own image training and study the leg you’ll be running.”

Kiyose picked up his cup full of alcohol and said, Let’s drink. “With this team, it’ll definitely turn out well. Twins.”

Jouta and Jouji looked up when they were called.

“I’ll show you the top. No, we’re going to experience it together. Look forward to it.”

Kiyose smiled like a fearless king.

After the drinking party had reached its climax, Kakeru quietly approached Kiyose.

“Haiji-san, your legs aren’t doing well, are they?”

“Why do you ask?” Kiyose gently countered and poured himself another drink. Kakeru was at a loss for words—there was no way Kiyose was going to complain, however doubts swirled in Kakeru’s chest.

Haiji-san told Yuki-senpai, “You won’t have any opportunities to do serious track and field after graduation.” Isn’t he really talking about himself? Isn’t he going into this Hakone Ekiden with the resolve that he’s not going to be able to run anymore?

He was scared just thinking about it. Not being able to run was the same as dying for Kakeru. He believed it was the same for Kiyose. And yet, he…

“There’s nothing like what you’re worried about.” Kiyose smiled and spoke, “Come on, you drink too.”

Kakeru couldn’t say anything and drank the alcohol Kiyose served him in one go, full of anxiety. Kiyose was wearing that padded kimono jacket with the frayed cuffs. Soon, Kakeru would have spent all four seasons with the residents of Chikusei-sou.

Kakeru recalled the night he met Kiyose for the first time—the night when everything started.

A strange feeling like nostalgia and longing sprouted in his chest.

---

The residents of Chikusei-sou continued to train wholeheartedly even into December and had a quiet New Year’s Eve together in their rundown apartment.

On New Year’s Eve, they went to a nearby shrine to ring the temple bell, and on New Year’s Day, they ate zouni made by Kiyose. (2)

The tension was building minute by minute, but even that felt good. It was because he wasn’t alone; in Chikusei-sou, Kakeru could feel the presence of the people he had been training and living with.

He wasn’t alone—until he started running.

He had comrades who were always, always, waiting for him to start running, to finish running and to come home.

The ekiden was that sort of sport.

---

At last, it was January 2.

The Hakone Ekiden began.

It was the end of the year-long battle the ten of them had been engaged in. At the same time, it was the beginning of the first and last fierce battle of the ten, which would be handed down as long as there was a Hakone Ekiden.

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#Kaze ga tsuyoku fuiteiru #kazetsuyo #kazetsuyo translations #run with the wind

[likeiwishiknew]

Azriel x Gwyn - Small Fires

Read on AO3

They had agreed to meet at Rhys and Feyre’s house by the river. 

It was easier to have Lucien meet them there than to have him winnow part way to the House of Wind.

Azriel would admit he was in no rush to see the firey male. However, this wasn’t about what he wanted. But rather what Gwyn needed. 

He’d truthfully never seen her angry before. Frustrated, stubborn, fierce, he’d seen that. Her anger at Devlon’s inaction, on the other hand, had been another story entirely. At first, Azriel had thought he'd imagined it. The shimmer to her skin, the spark just under the surface. Until he’d felt the heat rolling off of her and caught sight of fire flaring to life in her hands. Only then had he been certain it wasn’t his imagination.

He knew in that instant that he had needed to get her the hell out of that camp. The Illyrians had hardly been welcoming, but they’d be even less so if they further learned Gwyn's origins. They'd already considered her an outsider. The last thing anyone needed was for the Illyrians to deem her a threat.

Azriel did not fear them, not in the slightest. But he also wasn’t stuck living among them. Emerie was. And if Gwyn had done this for anyone it was Emerie. To see all her efforts de-railed by the blood that ran through her veins, something she had no say in, he refused to let that happen.

When they’d arrived at the house Lucien had been standing silently / sitting silently observing Elain with a thoughtful look on his face. 

Elain appeared to be ignoring him as usual, though, as always, she did not send him away. She never did. Azriel had never noted so before, but now it was plain to see. Although an undercurrent of unease sat between them, neither of them ever fled the other’s presence.

Strangely enough, neither the realization did not bother him.

Instead, it was the fact that as soon Gwyn stepped into the room Lucien’s head turned her direction. The other male’s awareness of Gwyn, that bothered him. 

What’s more, as soon as Lucien’s eyes landed on her he smiled. 

Lucien stood up from where he sat and approached them. Elain did not move from her seat, but Azriel did not miss the brief flicker of her eyes toward Lucien’s back as he moved away from her.

Gwyn stepped forward to meet the male halfway.

She smiled at him fondly, earnestly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And Azriel found himself disliking the other male more than ever.

- - - 

Gwyn was surprised when Azriel had been the one to suggest bringing Lucien to meet her. She had a distinct impression that the two did not get along and that the feeling was entirely mutual. Which was a shame, because she quite liked both their company.

“Is everything alright Little Red?” Lucien asked as soon as he was close, “Rhysand was rather vague in his request that I come and see you.” 

“I’m okay,” she assured him, “But there is something I think you should see.” 

Lucien’s face grew concerned but he remained silent, waiting for her to elaborate. Rather than say anything, Gwyn decided it best to try and show him. 

Exhaling, she focused on her hands, tried to summon the flames and ignite her palms as she had in Devlon’s presence. 

But nothing happened.

Maybe focus was not enough. 

Gwyn thought about what she’d been feeling when the incident had happened. Her anger, her frustration, her desperation to not feel helpless. She attempted to recapture those feelings as she tried harder to call upon the fire. 

Gwyn glanced down at her hands as she began to feel the tiniest kiss of heat. 

No flames lit, but her skin had begun to glow a faint orange and she could sense the heat further building beneath her skin. Thus, she doubled down on the negative feelings she’d felt back at the camp and soon enough the tiniest flames flickered to life at her fingertips.

Looking up, she saw those very flames reflected in Lucien’s eyes. A slight smirk graced his lips. 

“I suppose you truly do have fire in your blood, Little One.” 

She could tell from his smile that he was remembering their previous conversation, and so Gwyn found herself smiling back. Far easier than they’d come, the flames faded. But she could still feel the warmth sitting just under her skin. 

Lucien must’ve sensed it as well because he reached for her, but before he grasped her wrist he looked to her for permission. She gave him a single nod. And so, Lucien took her wrist in one hand and ran a finger along her veins. Likely getting a feel for her power. 

“You’ll need training, to control it properly,” he commented. 

She nodded again. 

She’d had the same thought. Fire was a beautiful but equally destructive element. Gwyn knew well enough that she could not afford to lose control of it. 

Like any skill, she would need to work on it, hone it. That was surely why Azriel had asked for Lucien to be brought to her in the first place, and she was grateful he’d had the foresight to know that she’d want to learn. 

They were the same in that regard, she and Azriel. Both of them were always eager to learn, to acquire more knowledge. 

She’d learned that back when they’d first grown close. It was one of the reasons Gwyn had known she could trust him. 

Those willing to learn, who sought knowledge, were rarely if ever, bad people. 

Gwyn would certainly have her work cut out for her though, with all the revelations this week. 

She had hoped to learn more about her heritage and wound up discovering new abilities she knew next to nothing about. At least, they were new to her.

But the sooner she could get some grasp on them the better. 

Lucien’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“Come stay with me, I will train you.”

- - - 

Lucien wanted to take her away. That was the last thing he caught of their conversation. 

His shadows cried out their objection, to which Azriel agreed. He all but glowered at the male standing not so far from him. Not that Lucien noticed or even cared.

Before he could speak up in objection, Nesta beat him to it. 

“Not a chance on hell, Vanserra,” the eldest Archeron sister spat, probably with more venom than was necessary.

He could always count on Nesta to speak her mind. Though at times it was to her detriment. 

“Nesta,” Gwyn chastised, looking back over her shoulder at her friend, “Should it not be my choice?”

From the shock, upon Nesta’s face, it was clear the female had not been anticipating her friend’s response. Azriel had certainly not. 

“You wish to leave the Night Court?” Nesta asked, her surprise evident in her voice. 

“I did not say that, but I should like to have the chance to think about it,” Gwyn replied, turning back Lucien who'd kept his eyes focused on her the entire time.

“May I?” she asked the male.

Lucien nodded, “Of course.” 

No one else in the room spoke up in favor or against the idea. 

Elain was silent but her hand stilled on her flower arrangement she'd been working on the moment Lucien had made the suggestion. Nesta was clearly not excited about the prospect. Feyre, of course, eyed her sister worriedly, no doubt fearing Nesta would say something damaging she couldn’t take back. And naturally, his two brother’s moods were reflective of their mates. Cassian ready to step in should he need to, and Rhysand no doubt communicating silently with Feyre through their bond. 

While Gwyn didn’t see Lucien as anything other than potential family, Azriel wasn’t so sure about the other male. Gwyn may very well belong to the Autumn Court, but that did not necessarily mean they were actually related. 

And while Lucien might be mated to Elain, perhaps the other male might finally be considering abandoning the effort. It had been years now, and not all males were as foolish as himself. Content to wait around years in the hopes that something might change. It was quite possible, Lucien might entertain the idea of walking away.

Hearing Gwyn’s words to Nesta, that she would consider going off with Lucien to stay with his band of misfits left Azriel feeling cold. As though, if she went, Azriel would again find himself losing to the Autumn Prince. But as soon as he had the thought, he chased it away. Gwyn was not some prize to be won or lost. He knew that. 

It took a moment, but Lucien finally seemed to read the tension in the room. 

“If the idea of leaving makes you uneasy I have no issue with coming here to see you,” he offered, then, seeming to give it some further thought, looked to Feyre and Rhys, “Assuming I’m welcome move about the Night Court freely?”

Rhys appeared to consider this, whereas Feyre answered almost immediately. 

“Of course you can,” his High Lady spoke with a smile. 

Once upon a time, Lucien had been her first and only friend in the realm of Fae. Though Feyre never admitted it, he knew the rift in their relationship saddened her. Rhys knew it too. But there was nothing that could be done to fix it. Too much had happened, too much time had passed. One day they might find their way back to each other, but it would be no easy task. 

Personally, he did much like the idea of seeing more of the Autumn Princeling. But if it was for Gwyn’s sake he’d learn to deal with it. 

It was far better than the alternative. 

- - - 

Sometime after dinner, as talk again returned to a discussion over Gywn’s situation, along with that of the remaining mortal queens, Elain had managed to wander off. 

As Gwyn was busy speaking with Nesta and Lucien, Azriel took it upon himself to check on the middle Archeron sister. 

Unsurprisingly, he found her in the garden with her rose bush. The gloves Lucien had gifted her all those years protecting her delicate hands. She’d never thanked the other male for the gift, but Azriel had noted countless times how often she’d used them. 

“How are you feeling about Lucien being here more often?” he asked. 

She said nothing at first, only halting briefly in her pruning. 

“He won’t exactly be here, will he?” Elain responded. Her tone sounding odd. 

No, he supposed she was right. He wouldn’t be visiting the river house, but rather the House of Wind. But who was to say, given free reign, that he would not try and come to see his mate. Then again, as much as he disliked Lucien, the male was never one to appear uninvited. 

“Have you ever thought about how much easier things might have been if you and I were mates?” she questioned softly. 

Azriel blinked once, surprised by the turn-in conversation. But he knew the answer well enough. 

He had.

But the cauldron had not seen it fit to bless him with a mate. 

However, he had once coveted the beauty before him. Their attraction mutual, as far as he could tell. 

“Yes,” he found himself admitting, “I have.”

- - - 

Gwyn wound up in the small library of Rhysand and Feyre’s home. Though to call it small might’ve been a bit of an insult. It simply wasn’t as large as the once housed in the House of Wind. But it was nice, tidy, private. And she needed that bit of privacy right about now.

Gwyn dropped into one of the chairs by the window. 

Azriel had wanted Elain for a mate. 

The very idea broke her heart. A new crack forming among the many scars that already ran across it. 

A single tear escaped from the corner of her eye, but she wiped it away almost as quickly as it came. Which was just as well, because not a moment later she heard a knock. 

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Lucien standing in the doorway. Normally, she’d have no issue detecting him. But clearly, her heightened emotions had her distracted. 

It took a mere second for him to take in her face. His mood immediately shifted as he approached her. His long strides closing the distance between them with ease. Lucien sat down in the seat opposite her and placed a gentle hand on her knee. 

“Little One, what’s wrong?” he voiced, concerned. 

Gwyn pressed her lips together, inhaling deeply she forced herself to push the feelings down and keep the tears at bay. 

“I’m an idiot,” she confessed. 

Lucien straightened at that, “What?”

Her foolishness did not require explaining. It was Elain. It’d always been her. The necklace, everything...

Why had she done this to herself? Why had she gone and allowed her hopes to flourish again?

Gwyn shook her head, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

From the look on his face, Lucien obviously did not want to let it go at that. But he conceded to her all the same. 

“Alright,” he let out reluctantly. 

The male stared at her with thoughtful eyes. 

“My offer to take you away from this place still stands,” Lucien spoke softly, as though fearing someone might hear, “Clearly, something here has upset you. I will take you away from it, should you wish.” 

She appreciated his willingness to help her by any means. In truth, Gwyn hardly knew anything about Lucien. Only second-hand stories she’d heard from Nesta and the others. But she found something about him inherently trustworthy. Her gut insisted that he would not hurt her, and she was inclined to believe it. 

She’d been honest when she’d said she would consider his offer. The idea of leaving the comfort and security of the library, the Night Court, left her feeling a tad apprehensive. But in recent months Gwyn had started to learn to push past that feeling.

Lucien’s idea made sense from a practical standpoint. It would get her out of her comfort zone, and she’d have a teacher readily available. She knew she’d be safe. After all, if Emerie could manage to live among men she loathed. Gwyn could certainly learn to live with Lucien. 

Yet despite knowing that, she still felt uneasy. 

“I don’t know if I’m ready to leave,” she admitted. 

She’d miss everyone, Nesta, Cassian, her fellow priestess’...Azriel. 

Lucien said nothing in response, only sat there quietly, ready to listen. 

“I know it sounds silly. It’s not as though I’m leaving to never return again. It’s just, the idea of being away...it feels strange. For years now, this place, this court has been my life. My home.” 

But then Gwyn was struck with the realization that she hadn’t this way when she’d wound up staying at the Illyrian camp. She hadn’t felt as though she’d left home at all. 

Because Azriel been there with her. 

Her throat ached at the thought. 

He wanted someone else. Had always wanted someone else, despite the fact that the female already had a mate. A mate who happened to be sitting right in front of Gwyn now. She wondered if Lucien knew. Though she supposed, he had to.

He might not have been as old as three males of the Inner Circle, but he’d certainly been around long enough to learn how to read other’s intentions. 

And yet he did nothing. He did not pressure Elain, nor did he seem to hold any resentment toward her for entertaining the company of another male. He also never returned her coldness toward him. Lucien was only ever the patient mate, waiting on the sidelines for the female the Cauldron destined for him to make her decision. 

Gwyn wondered how long he’d be willing to wait. 

She found herself almost envious of the other female. She wondered what that must be like, to be wanted, to be adored. Until she remembered something her mother had always said. That envy was one of the worst sins. It could twist even the purest hearts into wicked things.

She refused to go down that path.

Gwyn had plenty in her life to be thankful for. She would not ask nor demand more. 

She was content. Gwyn had friends who were like family. A possible family that she might one day reunite with. Every day she grew stronger and more skilled in combat, more capable of fighting for herself and those she loved should war descend upon them. 

If she could gain mastery over her fire, she would prove stronger still.

“A home will always be a home, if it is where you are meant to be you’ll always find a way back,” Lucien said, his voice close to a whisper. 

She stared up at him, to find him watching her. 

“I will never force you to do anything you do not want to or are not comfortable with. I only want you to understand that you will always have options and that in your life the only one with the right decide what you do is yourself.” 

The way he spoke, she could tell his words were as much a reminder for him as they were for her. 

“I know first-hand what it feels like to believe you have no other choice. It leads one to make mistakes one can never take back.” 

Gwyn eyed him with concern, “Have you done something you regret Lucien?” 

His eyes saddened, “Far too many things.” 

She wanted to reach out to him, hug him, and tell him that she believed in his goodness. That his mistakes alone surely did not define him. But Gwyn wasn’t sure that was what he wanted, and so she held back. 

Lucien rubbed her head and gave her a small, almost bittersweet, smile as he rose from his seat. 

"Let me know what you decide, Little Red,” he said briefly before departing without another word. 

With him gone, she was once again left alone in the library with her thoughts. And what a great many she had. 

- - - 

They’d returned to the House of Wind rather late that night, after having had dinner at the river house. 

Cassian and Nesta had gone off together almost immediately upon their return. In the months since their mating, their hunger for each other had yet to subside. Though, if they were anything like Rhys and Feyre, it was likely it never would. 

He was happy for his brothers, even if it left him feeling a bit green with envy at every reminder. 

Gwyn had not said much to him on the way back. But he’d overheard her telling Nesta that she intended to work out in the training ring despite the late hour. Something about needing that time to think. 

And so, after he’d gotten his own affairs in order, Azriel headed up to the ring to find her. 

As he neared Azriel could sense his shadows begin to dance. They moved as though in time with a song he himself could not quite hear. 

Reaching the archway, he caught sight of Gwyn. Her movements were rhythmic and fluid, the sword she was wielding a perfect extension of her arm. 

She must’ve sensed him because she stopped what she was doing and turned his way. 

Their eyes met, but her expression did not change. It remained perfectly neutral. A practiced look that he all too easily recognized, because it was one he enacted almost every day of his life. The sight of it on her face fed his growing concern.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked. 

It took her a moment, but she nodded, “I have a lot to think about.” 

In that regard, he agreed with her. The last few days had no doubt proven life-changing for her. She’d awoken abilities she’d never even known she had. But something in her tone, in her voice, in her steady effort to keep her neutral expression in place gave her away to him. 

“You’re honestly considering leaving with him.” 

Neither of them needed to clarify who it was Azriel spoke of. They both knew. 

Yet for some reason, Gwyn appeared surprised at his directness. Her beautiful eyes widening a fraction in response. But she did not speak up in denial. They stared at each other a moment longer before she managed an answer.

“Perhaps,” she admitted. 

Azriel found himself stepping into the ring, closing the distance between them. 

“Why?” he found his voice rising, “Lucien has already offered to teach you here.”

And he’d come to terms with that, but the idea of Gwyn leaving? He had not prepared himself for that. 

She inhaled, before answering, “I know.”

Then why were they having this discussion?

“But it might do me some good to see what lies beyond the borders of the Night Court.” 

Azriel did not want to trap her here. He would never dream of it. He had always been supportive of her broadening her horizons, seeing the world. She deserved a chance to learn, to live. 

Yet something had him fearing her leaving in this current state. As though, if she left now she might not come back. He could not explain why he thought this, but he felt the certainty of it in his very bones. 

“You said you wouldn’t leave,” he attempted to say, only to realize that wasn’t what they'd agreed on.

“When did I say that?” she naturally responded. 

He corrected his wording, “You said you wouldn’t run from me.”

- - - 

His words struck her, leaving her unsure as to what to say. 

She wasn’t running from him. Was she? 

“I’m not running from you, Azriel,” Gwyn found herself insisting, “This isn’t about you. It’s about me, how I feel.”

She wasn’t lying about that, not exactly. Gwyn had tried to put her growing feelings for Azriel aside to protect their friendship, but the more time they spent together the harder that was proving to be. 

Gwyn had believed she’d been successful right up until their time in the Illyrian camp. When she’d come face to face with the prospect of Azriel with another. The sight had left her with an ache in her chest, and though he’d run after her to assure her there was nothing going on between him and the female it did not mean that he wouldn’t have a relationship with someone else in the future. 

That someone might be Elain or it might not. All that mattered was she could not behave the way she had at camp. Little by little she had to learn to let these feelings go. Because locking them away clearly wasn’t working. 

Distance might help save what was between them. 

“You’re lying,” Azriel insisted, “I’m not sure why but there’s something you aren’t being honest about. I can feel it.”

His observation left her feeling angry. 

“Stop that,” she shouted, “Stop trying to see into my head, my heart. You have no right.”

For the briefest of moments, Gwyn found herself blaming him for her inability to let go. He was the one sending her mixed signals, acting as though he might want something more with her only to turn around and admit to wanting another female as his mate.

Her feelings were to mostly blame, but he was not faultless. How could she let him go when he seemed to not want her to? 

“Gwyn,” he said almost pleadingly. 

But she could not do this. Not now when her emotions were running high, clouding her judgment. 

“I need to go. Try to get some rest. I’m sure I have a lot to catch up on with Merrill in the morning.”

His face shuttered.

“I see.”

He said nothing else.

And so she moved past him, leaving him standing there in the ring alone. 

- - - 

It had been days and still nothing. 

After her discussion with Lucien in the library, Rhysand had found her there. 

When she’d started to apologize for wandering off, he’d brushed it off and reassured her he did not mind her presence in the library. 

Instead, he’d asked her a favor. The High Lord had explained to her his suspicions about the book she and Azriel had encountered in the library. Both he and his second in command, Amren, believe that the book was related to one of two things. True witches or the true immortals. Both of which would prove dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands. 

When she’d questioned the High Lord about owning the book he admitted that he’d never come across such a thing, had not even known it existed amongst the vast collection of books he’d inherited. 

Rhysand had tasked her with finding the book, by any means necessary. Gwyn had been trying for the last week or so and still she had nothing to show for it. She’d tried asking the House. She’d checked the library archives for any mention of such an ancient tome, and she’d all but searched every single shelf on the floor she and Azriel had been on when it appeared. 

Wherever the book was, she felt rather certain it was content to remain hidden there. 

The hours she’d spent had not been a complete waste though. It gave her a distraction. 

Busy as she was, she almost forgot about the argument she’d had with Azriel. If it could be called an argument. 

But he needed to understand that if she chose to leave it would be because it was what was best for her, not because she was running away from anything. She knew better than anyone that there were two things in life you could never outrun, the past and your own feelings. 

So for now, she would remain in the Night Court. Not for Azriel, but for herself. Because she felt there was something she was meant to do here, and she had a strong inclination it had something to do with the book she'd been tasked with finding.

And she would find it, one way or another.

- - - 

He sat with Nesta and Elain in the living room of Rhys and Feyre’s home. 

Elain held Nyx within her arms, the little rascal giggling wildly as she played peekaboo with him. 

Azriel himself wasn’t particularly familiar with the game, but both Nesta and Feyre had assured him and the others that it was a common practice in the mortal realm. Along with pretending to steal a child’s nose, which, personally, made no sense to him. 

Then again, many mortal traditions did not. 

Cassian was speaking with Rhys and Feyre. Nesta had intended to join them, but Azriel had asked to speak to her first. It was something that had seemed to surprise all of them. 

In fact, Cassian had made some joke about it. Not that he’d paid much attention to it. 

No, he’d kept quiet until he and Nesta were alone. Well, aside from Elain and Nyx. 

The four of them sat under the warm afternoon sun in the garden that Elain tended to.

“Gwyn wouldn’t be avoiding you over nothing,” Nesta remarked. 

He knew that of course. But days had passed since he’d last seen her and he was no closer to figuring out what it was that had caused the sudden shift in her attitude toward him. She still hadn’t chosen to take Lucien up on his offer to spirit her away from the Night Court. 

According to Nesta, the other male had agreed to come once a week to meet with Gwyn. And so he was due for a visit soon. Azriel needed to fix the rift between him and Gwyn before then.

“Do you think she could’ve overheard our conversation in the garden that day?” Elain spoke up, as she lifted Nyx off the ground to spin him around. 

Nesta eyed Azriel, “What conversation?”

He gave it some thought and realized Elain might be right. 

Usually, his shadows alerted him when anyone approached, but that often wasn’t true when it came to Gwyn. And the timeline made perfect sense. They’d been fine when they’d left the Illyrian camp and when they’d first arrived at the river house. It hadn’t been until after dinner when they were getting ready to return to the House of Wind that Azriel had noted the strangeness in her mood.  

If that was the case he could easily understand how his words might’ve been misconstrued. 

Azriel had admitted to once wishing that Elain was his mate. It stood to reason Gwyn might think he still felt that way.  

But, if so, why hadn’t she said anything to him about it? 

He considered this a mere second before the answer grew obvious. 

What reason had he given her too?

Closing his eyes, Azriel took a deep breath.

He knew now what he needed to do. 

~ ~ ~

Notes: Sorry this one is coming to you a little late. I’ve been a bit of a mini rut this week between writing this fanfic and working on my own original story. I also haven’t been reading much these past few weeks, my free mostly spent watching baking shows, so I’ve been a bit short on inspiration. And I do not like putting anything out that I do not enjoy reading myself. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy the end product of my toil. 

As always, any feedback is appreciated =) 

~ ~ ~

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