A Jungkook x Reader story inspired by Kimi no Na wa (Your Name)
Once in a while when I wake up, I find myself crying. The dream I must’ve had, I can never quite remember. Yet, the sensation that I’ve lost something important always lingers for a long time…
Her: Just a normal day in my boring, calm li- HOLY SHIT I’M IN JEON JUNGKOOK’S BODY.
Him: Alright, let’s go to prac- WAIT WHY DO I HAVE BOOBS?
A/N: This is the pilot of a story I’m considering writing. What do you guys think? Should I?
First chapter - PANIC MODE: ENGAGED
Your eyelids flutter as you slowly gain consciousness, your mind still foggy and your body still numb.
“Hmm,” you utter.
You bring a hand to your mouth. “Huh...” you think. Your voice is much hoarser than usual. You believed that bad flu had been evacuated of your system already, but guess you were wrong.
“Get up, JK,” someone says.
“J-JK?” you ask in confusion, trying to focus on your surroundings.
“It’s already 6 am! We have to go to the interview, remember?”
“Interview?” your small voice asks.
A pillow is thrown at your face.
By the time you’ve lifted yourself on your elbows, the person is gone. Nonetheless, that’s not the part that worries you. What worries you is that you have no idea of where you are. There’s a feeling of déjà-vu, but you don’t actually recognize the room before you. Eyebrows furrowed, you look around you with emergency.
“Am I dreaming? Did I keep kidnapped? What the hell is happening…”
For one, you seem to be in a bunk bed. Carefully, you move towards the little ladder and go down. The space is quite small, and there aren’t any lights on. You let your vision adjust to the luminosity, then take a moment to scan the room. There’s a shelf containing books and CDs, a desk on which are scattered electronics, and on the floor are a few pieces of clothing.
“Well, if this is a dream, it’s a super realistic one… Wait, is it possible to see in first person in a dream?”
You pinch yourself. It hurts.
You lick your lips.
“Alright… Alright… I’ve been kidnapped.”
You swallow, throat tight.
“Wait… that doesn’t make sense either! I-I’m just a broke college student! Who would spend any energy to kidnap me? That’s utterly-”
“Jungkook-ah! ” a voice calls, interrupting your train of thoughts. “Quit sleeping! Come out already!”
“…Jungkook-ah?” you breathe.
And then it hits you.
“Th-that’s not my voice?!” you say, panic creeping into your words. “Holy shit.”
You literally slap yourself in the face.
“THAT’S NOT MY FACE!” you cry out.
“What?” a few distant voices say.
“Uh…” you murmur, growing frantic. “NOTHING!” you shout back.
Motionless, you try to calm your racing heart. There’s noise outside the room, and you can tell there are many people walking around.
You pass a hand in your hair, but flinch away when your fingers don’t meet the familiar texture of your relatively long hair.
“I need to find a mirror… or a cellphone… or anything..!”
With that thought anchored in you mind, you push the door open.
“Finally,” a voice says. “Jin-hyung was starting to get mad.”
You turn to the speaker.
It’s Park Jimin.
PARK FUCKING JIMIN.
He frowns, and your soul has pretty much left your body. “You seem disoriented…” he comments gently. “Did you have a bad dream?”
You laugh nervously, let your gaze pry away from the magnificent piece of art standing a few feet before you, spot Min Yoongi looking down at his cellphone, and, as your brain shuts down, you proceed to collapse to the ground with a great thump.
not to be like overly sappy but i literally wouldn’t be alive without Vices & Virtues so happy birthday to the baby of the 2 dudes who kept me going when i was in literal hell so many years ago, it is a magnificent piece of art that only gets better as you listen to it over and over again
Many artists today talk about the dramatic shift in the music industry in which the audience does not appreciate albums in their entirety. This year, my resolution is to listen to music the way it is supposed to – as one coherent piece of work.
With the rain pouring in San Francisco, California, I was given an opportunity to take a day to myself without feeling guilty. I decided to take a nice, hot bath and play Solange’s A Seat at the Table. I listened to the album for the first time when it was released back in September but I haven’t listened to it all the way through since. This album is a masterpiece and I don’t use that word lightly. It is an important album that people must listen to in 2017, especially young black women. The interplay between her singing and the occasional messages from her parents about what it means to be black in America represents this new black pride movement that has swept the US the past few years. Her tone is soft, but powerful. It’s not aggressive, or angry, but rather hopeful and resolved. A Seat at the Table tells her story in a poetic and beautiful way. It gives a new meaning to the title in which she invites the audience to sit and listen to her story in which she celebrates her identity as a black woman. The music itself is light and the transitions between songs are absolutely seamless. Overall, this album is a magnificent piece of art that should receive the highest of praises for its lyrical and musical content as well as Solange’s vision.
When she woke up, she found herself enclosed in a glass box just big enough for her to stand in. The box was in the center of a studio with twenty or so spectators meandering around the room looking into the other various glass boxes containing other human beings. She cupped her hands against the glass and stuck her face against them and squinted to view the human inside the glass box not far from her. He hung naked from a rope attached to the top of the box, blatantly dead. She looked down and saw a small sign on the bottom of the box that read “Death by lynching”. “Such a magnificent art piece,” she heard a spectator viewing the box say.
She looked around the room at the other various glass boxes containing humans. One was overrun with rats gnawing flesh, one cadaver floated in water, and one was hard to spot from the gas that filled their box. The panic finally sank in and she began to bang on her glass box, but only one guest looked just to turn away, uninterested. She stopped banging when a spectator walked up to her box and stared at her the way a tourist stares at the Mona Lisa. The spectator looked down at the sign attached to her glass box and she overheard them say, “Death by starvation.”
Yes Shawn Peter Raul Mendes makes me cry because he's such a magnificent piece of art as a human being. That is all.
Yes, yes he is. He’s just so humble and kind and true to who he is. Like I love that little dorky kid is still a little dorky kid, even though he’s growing up and growing bigger, you know? His heart is where it has always been at and he stays so true to who he is and where he comes from. His love for his music and his wish to please us with great music is literally such a beautiful thing to me. Really, he’s just the sweetest, kindest most talented guy ever.
You smiled as you looked at Loki. He sat on your bed, covers being the only thing covering his private parts. He didn’t look directly at you, but out of the window. The sun hit his body perfectly. You were so inspired. You quickly drew his form onto the canvas, muttering under your breath. “What was that, love?” - “Nothing… just stay exactly like that!” You shot a quick smile towards him, poking your tongue out as you concentrated on the painting. You saw his head move out of the corner of your eye. “I said no moving!” Loki chuckled and turned his head back to where it was before.
“Finished!”, you exclaimed, stepping back to examine your work from afar. “So I can finally move?” You nodded. He stood up, careful about the white blanket. He stood beside you, admiring your piece of art. “It’s magnificent”, he smiled. You laughed, shaking your head slightly. “You’re only saying that because you’re on it!” He chuckled as well, shaking his head slightly. “I’m saying that because you made it, and it really is breathtaking” You blushed, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I’m glad you like it.” You turned to press a quick kiss against his cheek. “And thank you for modelling for me” He leaned his head on yours, swaying the two of you sightly. “You are an astonishing artist”
After his untimely death (due to laughing too much at his own joke about a donkey eating figs), the stoic philosopher Chrysippus’ nephew erected a statue in his honour on the agora. However, this magnificent piece of art was partly concealed by a large statue of a rider right next to it, which is why his “rival” Carneades started referring to him as Krypsippos (Κρύψιππος), meaning “hidden by a horse” and that’s just so salty and I love it
The Dalish are almost as obsessive about lineage as human nobles - since there are so few of them, making sure you’re not related before hooking up is very important.
Every family has a tapestry with their family tree on it, all the way back to when the clan was founded, with (heavily stylized) portraits of their ancestors and their names and occupations written underneath. The weaves are a patchwork of different fabrics, every other generation adding on more to make room for themselves and their children, and they’re magnificent pieces of art. When the clan stops, they’re usually draped over the aravels to mark which aravel is whose.
They’ve had people over for dinner before – Maggie’s work partner, M’gann, a defense attorney Maggie had worked a few cases with, and of course the Superfriends – but Maggie has never fussed like this before.
And Alex is beaming, because of all the people Maggie could fuss over coming to her apartment, it’s a teenage boy that sends her into a cleaning spree, that makes her wring her hands together and run through the menu four times and change even more than that.
“I’m one of the only gay adults he’s got in his life, and certainly the closest, and I just want him to get a good impression of what a happy, healthy queer family, home, looks like,” she explains off-handedly when she notices Alex’s bemused expression, and she’s so frenzied that she doesn’t notice the casual words rolling off her tongue, the casual way she’d called it their home, that she’d called them happy, healthy.
She’s so frenzied she doesn’t notice the way Alex freezes, the way Alex gasps softly, the way Alex melts. The way Alex wants to get down on one knee right then and there and propose, because Maggie is the one, the one, the one.
But all that will wait – and Alex smiles, because they have time, because Maggie is right: this is home, this is family – because there’s a musical knock on the door, and Maggie jumps up, and Maggie smooths down her flannel and checks that her fly is zipped and leans up on her tip toes to give Alex a quick kiss to the lips with a beaming smile, an excited smile, a smile full of love, a smile full of life. A smile full of all the reasons Alex loves her, is in love with her.
Maggie pads over to the door eagerly, and pulls it open without even checking who it is, because no one else would knock in that musical pattern. No one else but her little boy.
“My favorite college kid!” Maggie exclaims as she throws open the door and her arms.
“My favorite detective!” Adrian responds, pulling Maggie into a one-armed bear hug, rocking back and forth slightly as he holds her, as they laugh just at their closeness, just at finally seeing each other again after Adrian’s first four months away at school in Central City.
Alex watches them and Alex beams. Adrian catches her eye over Maggie’s shoulder and Alex didn’t think it was possible, but his smile broadens.
“Agent Danvers!” he nearly squeals, and Maggie laughs and pulls back to let him in the apartment.
Alex steps forward and opens her arms to the boy. “It’s Alex to you, kiddo,” she tells him, and he laughs as he hugs her.
He steps back and turns so he’s facing both women, and extends a bouquet of cream-colored roses toward Alex and a bouquet of dark pink roses to Maggie.
“Adrian, thank you,” Maggie breathes, and draws him into another hard hug.
“First time I’ve got roses from a man that I actually appreciate,” Alex teases, and Adrian doubles over in laughter and Maggie leans up to kiss Alex on the mouth.
“Ohhh, you two are so precious.”
Maggie winks at him and Alex blushes, and Maggie nods Adrian into the kitchen to put both bouquets into water.
“So tell me everything, the texts and calls aren’t enough,” Maggie tells him, while Adrian sticks his fingers into the salad bowl to pick out some croutons and pop them into his mouth with a moan of appreciation.
Alex chuckles and follows suit, and Maggie huffs laughingly. “Adrian’s got an excuse, Danvers, he hasn’t had my homemade croutons in months, but you? You’re a bad influence on my woman, kid,” she nudges him, and Adrian snorts as Alex pffts and steals another crouton.
“Glad to help out,” he winks at Alex, and starts carrying the salad bowl to the table without being asked.
“So. Tell me all the things!” Maggie demands again, and Adrian bounces on the balls of his feet.
“I don’t even know, Maggie. College is so different. Central City is so different. But I like it. There’s this queer club at school, I told you, but it’s…” He glances at Alex apologetically.
“Super white?” she supplies, and he laughs with relief.
“Yeah. And super cis. A couple of the other brown trans kids and me – there’s more than just me, which I totally didn’t expect, you know? – we’re thinking of starting our own thing, you know, make sure the school gets us the resources we need, too.”
Maggie beams as she spoons salad onto his plate, doling him out extra croutons, doling him out extra tomatoes. He beams back, because she remembers what he likes best.
“I’m trying to figure out if the school’s insurance stuff can cover at least some of my top surgery, too, and if it doesn’t, the others said they’ll help me raise money for it.”
“If you need me to scan through any of the bureaucracy stuff for you, you know I got you,” Maggie tells him, and he raises his glass at Alex.
“You ever met anyone more helpful?” he asks, and she holds Maggie’s hand across the table.
“Haven’t been that lucky, no.”
“Yeah, me too. But…” Adrian squirms with a mischievous grin, and Maggie smacks his shoulder lightly.
“There’s um…. there’s this girl…”
Alex laughs and Maggie whoops.
“Start of every good story!”
“I can’t tell if she likes me, though! I don’t know what to do, she’s just so…”
“Pretty?” Alex guesses.
“Good in bed?” Maggie teases.
“Perfect,” Adrian sighs as he hits out gently at Maggie, and Alex and Maggie exchange a warm glance.
“Yeah, that’s what I keep saying about this one,” Maggie says, and Adrian laughs.
“You know, Agent – uh, Alex – I’ve watched Maggie go through a bunch of girls – “
“Watch it there, kid.”
“I got you, Mags. I’ve never seen her gaga over anyone like this, though. I mean look at her, she’s all domestic and beamy!”
“Hey listen, they can’t teach me all the fancy words in just one term!”
The three laugh, and while they do, Adrian watches Alex, watches Maggie. Watches the way they meet eyes while they catch their breath, watch the way Maggie always makes sure Alex’s glass is full of water, the way Alex makes sure Maggie isn’t forgetting to eat in her excitement.
Watches the way they love each other.
Maggie’s told him stories – stories of Blue Springs, stories of being brown and queer in a white and straight world that he feels, feels so deeply, because he’s much darker than Maggie, because he started transitioning before he had support, before he had insurance – and he knows how far-fetched a dream this must have been for her, growing up with constant black eyes and scars on her arms, growing up without any lunch money and without any community.
But here she sits, right in front of him, across from a beautiful woman who looks at her like she’s staring at a piece of magnificent art, in a beautiful apartment with a beautiful meal she made just for him and just for the woman she loves, the woman she’s told him she wants to propose to.
He knows how far Maggie’s come, and he knows, he knows – because of her, because of her, because of this – that he can go just as far, too.
He knows, and his face is barely broad enough for his smile.
Casual. Mellow. Nonchalant. It’s what Cullen’s been
aiming for since morning dawned, but all he’s accomplished so far is a rosy
glow on his cheeks and a flood of quivery noises in his throat, and he wishes
he could blame the cold. He can’t. He feels entirely too warm despite the chilly air of the Frostback Mountains, and it
bites into his flesh and it freezes into his hair, crystallized flakes in his
stubble, and his chest is on fire.
Skyhold before sunrise, at her request. Tohunt. He stands nearby with a bow in
his hand, gauche, graceless—utterly incompetent—and
she laughs and she throws her head back, a cascade of amber silk, and she’s the
most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. The sound of her voice eclipses the
singsong recital of the birds flying by, and he can’t keep track of his targets—he
follows her, sidelong glances flushed and gentle, and she tilts her neck and
she smiles at him, and he nearly swallows his tongue. Tell her. He’ll never get
such an opportunity again. He shouldn’t even be here, but when she came to him, weapons in hands, hair still pell-mell
from sleep and eyes gleaming with impish excitement, he couldn’t find it in
himself to decline. You’ve brought this
upon yourself. Tell her, you utter coward. This is your chance. But he
doesn’t tell her, and she looks at him when he clears his throat and she smiles
again, expectant, the same glint in her eyes, but he looks away and she sighs,
and they sigh together and he feels unqualified.
Solas would have
kept her entertained, with tales of dreams and mysteries. Sera would have
killed enough rams to feed their army for an entire week by now. Cassandra
would have accomplished just as much—perhaps with a dragon in tow. Iron Bull…
well, he’d rather not imagine what he
would have brought back. Dorian would have made her laugh, all the while
teaching the rams to style their fur properly rather than killing them—he
suspects Vivienne would have yielded similar results. Blackwall would have
distracted her with legends of the Grey Wardens, and Varric would have lured
the rams right in, Bianca at the ready. But he? He fumbles, trailing behind, nearly shooting her rather than the rams, and he doesn’t know why her laughter
never ceases, light, soft, patient, as though she enjoys his inadequacy.
beginning to wonder why you decided to bring me along,” he groans, and he
shakes his head as a ram hops away, a frown creasing his face. “You would
have been far more successful without me.”
“But I would
have been without you,” she
counters, and her lips stretch and she comes closer, her eyes undecipherable. “I
enjoy your company, Cullen.”
I…” He smiles, uneasy, a brief chuckle rolling on his tongue as he rakes
cold fingers through his equally cold hair, wishing his face felt just as
chilled. “Of course, I, uh… As do I. I-I mean, your company, that is—not mine.