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strwbyoons · 3 months ago

Text

EQUILIBRIUM

STARRING ... SPIDEY!J. JUNGKOOK X READER

WORD COUNT ... 7.5K

SUMMARY ... how long can you pretend not to notice you're falling headfirst?

NOTES/WARNINGS ... slow burn. mutual pining. they’re both falling so hard they need a helmet AKSJASK. reader’s acceptance era. they wanna kiss each other so bad but are too stupid to realise it someone please bonk them on the head. implied spidey!jk fight. she’s a lil bit short but that’s okay things are moving forward!!!

playlist : give you the world (steve lacy). i think (tyler the creator). me gustas tu (manu chao). falling for ya (grace phipps). the feels (twice). out of my league (fitz and the tantrums). more than a woman (the beegees). be my baby (the ronettes). rather be (clean bandit). cupid (fifty fifty).

taglist. prev. next.

he’s been staring at the same sentence in his notes for the past five minutes.

it’s not even a hard one. something about limiting reagents and product yield—stuff he could usually recite without blinking, but you’re sitting right there.

curled into the far side of the library booth, legs tucked under you, pen twirling between your fingers like you’ve likely done a hundred times before. there’s a smudge of blue ink on your thumb and a crumpled piece of gum wrapper on the table between you, and jungkook can’t seem to make his brain work long enough to finish a full thought.

you hum under your breath as you copy down the last equation he walked you through. nod a little to yourself when it clicks.

jungkook has never hated a reaction more.

not because he minds teaching. not because he minds being here. but because he wants to kiss you. he’s been thinking about it more than he should. enough that it’s starting to interfere with things, like memory and rational thought and knowing when to look away.

your lips purse as you underline something. your brow furrows. he looks back at his notes and pretends he didn’t notice.

“you okay?” you say after a moment.

your voice is soft. casual, like you haven’t just dragged him out of a thought spiral that involved your lip gloss and his complete and utter lack of self-control.

he glances up too fast, eyes wide. “what?”

you blink at him. “you’ve been on the same line for ages. just wondered if you were, i don’t know... buffering.”

a beat, then you grin.

jungkook exhales through his nose and drops his pen. presses the heel of his palm to his temple like that’ll help short-circuit whatever his brain is doing. “i’m fine,” he mutters.

“uh-huh,” you say, clearly not buying it. you nudge the gum wrapper closer to him with the back of your knuckle. “you sure it’s not the limiting reagent that’s got you in a chokehold?”

“positive,” he says. “limiting reagents are easy.”

you raise an eyebrow. “and yet?”

he glares at the sentence in his notebook like it’s personally wronged him, and you laugh under your breath, the sound warm, bright in a way the library doesn’t deserve.

he hates that it makes his stomach flip.

“okay, professor,” you tease. “if you’re done glitching, i have questions.”

he nods slowly, swallowing back everything else he wants to say. “hit me.”

you scoot a little closer, shifting your notebook between you, your leg bumping his under the table. not on purpose, probably, but jungkook flinches anyway. you don’t seem to notice. you’re already flipping back a page and chewing on your bottom lip, scanning your notes.

“this one,” you say, pointing to a messy line halfway down the margin. “the molar ratio part? i think i missed something.”

he leans in before he can stop himself. close enough to see the faint shimmer of your lip balm, the way the library’s overhead lights reflect in your eyes. bad idea. he clears his throat, forcing his eyes back down. “you just have to compare the coefficients from the balanced equation. it’s about how many moles of reactant are required to fully react with the other.”

“right,” you nod, writing as he speaks. “so it’s about proportion?”

“exactly.”

you hum again, more to yourself this time, scribbling in the margin. your handwriting is uneven and fast and a little chaotic, but it makes something in his chest ache anyway.

you’re too close.

he shifts a little, subtly. just enough to give himself space to breathe. because he doesn’t want you to see the way it’s affecting him the way everything you do lately seems to be affecting him. it’s getting bad.

the way you lean into him when you’re focused. the way you smile when you finally understand something. the way you call him ‘professor’ sometimes, like it’s a joke, but he still thinks about it later when he’s brushing his teeth.

you nudge his notebook with your pen. “you’re being quiet again.”

“just thinking.”

you glance at him sideways, a small smile tugging at your lips. “about chemistry?”

he lies. “yeah.”

you laugh. soft and a little disbelieving. “you don’t sound very convincing, you know.”

he shrugs, eyes still on your notes. “i’m not good at this whole… thing.”

“mm. i don’t know.” you twirl your pen again, the ink-stained tip catching a smudge across your palm. “you’ve managed to teach me more in two weeks than i’ve learned all semester. that’s gotta count for something.”

jungkook wants to say thank you. wants to make a dumb joke. wants to reach across the table and take your hand just to see if you’d let him. instead, he stares at the gum wrapper between you. you don’t seem to notice the shift.

“you’re good at it,” you add, quieter this time. “the tutoring thing. i didn’t expect that.”

he raises an eyebrow. “why not?”

you glance at him like it should be obvious. “you don’t really talk. during class, i mean. you kind of just show up, take notes, and disappear.”

he shrugs again. “maybe you just weren’t paying attention.”

your smile falters a little, flickering into something softer. more real. “maybe,” you admit. “but i do now.”

and there’s something in the way you say it that makes his heartbeat stutter and his mouth dry.

you shift again, settling back into your seat. “anyway. i think i get it now.”

he nods, pretending like what you said doesn’t matter to him as much as it does. “good.”

“do i get a gold star?”

he finally smiles, small but genuine. “i’ll bring stickers next time.”

you grin. “i’m holding you to that.”

he’s not sure if you mean it. but he will.

you stretch your arms above your head, spine arching just slightly, a soft groan escaping your throat. jungkook looks away so fast he almost gives himself whiplash.

“we’ve been at this for too long,” you say, voice light, dragging your hands through your hair before letting them fall into your lap. “my brain’s starting to leak out of my ears.”

he huffs a laugh, flipping your notebook closed. “sure. break time.”

“thank god,” you sigh, slumping dramatically against the back of the booth. “i was two problems away from crying.”

“you’ve cried over chemistry before?”

“once,” you say, lifting your fingers to make a tiny gap between your thumb and forefinger. “just a little. like a respectable amount.”

he grins. “respectable tears?”

“very academic,” you nod solemnly. “phd-level sobbing.”

you’re joking, but your smile is tired in a way that makes his chest tug. he wonders how much sleep you’ve been getting. how often you let yourself take breaks when he’s not the one insisting. he doesn’t ask.

instead, he pushes the textbooks aside. “what do you usually do during breaks?” he asks, half teasing, half genuinely curious.

you blink at him, clearly not expecting him to ask. “usually?” you say. “scroll. draw. steal other people’s snacks. the essentials.”

jungkook hums, amused. “should i be worried?”

“only if you brought anything worth stealing.”

he reaches into his bag, pulls out a granola bar, and slides it across the table.

you gasp. “an offering?”

“a peace treaty,” he says. “in case you cry again.”

you laugh, peeling back the wrapper, and something in his chest unwinds. “this’ll buy you fifteen more minutes of tutoring,” you say through a mouthful of granola. “maybe twenty if you pretend i’m doing better than i am.”

“you’re doing fine,” he says before he can stop himself.

you glance up at him. blink once. then you smile, and it’s not playful—not teasing or smug or exaggerated. it’s quiet. sincere. “thanks,” you say softly. “i’ve been trying.”

jungkook swallows. nods. looks down at his hands just so he doesn’t have to look at you.

you chew slowly, shoulders relaxing against the booth.

“i kind of like studying with you,” you say after a minute, not even realizing what you’re doing to him.

his throat is suddenly too dry. “yeah?”

you nod. “you’re patient. and you explain things better than my professors do. and you always bring snacks.”

“only brought one.”

“you’ve brought others before.”

he snorts under his breath. “you keep track?”

you shrug. “when you’ve got as many things on your mind as i do, it’s nice when something’s consistent.”

and god, he wants to say something. to tell you he’d bring you granola bars every day for the rest of the semester. to ask if he’s allowed to be one of the things you count on. but instead, he picks at the edge of his textbook and says, “i’ll bring two next time.”

you grin. “spoiling me.”

he shrugs, pretending it’s casual. “you deserve it.”

you look at him for a second—really look at him, eyes soft, head tilted just slightly, trying to figure him out. then, just as quickly, the moment shifts. you smile again, all light and teasing. “if you keep saying stuff like that, i’m gonna start thinking you like me.”

you say it like a joke, like it’s nothing. like it’s funny.

and maybe it is to you. maybe you’re just playing around. maybe you don’t see the way his hands curl into fists in his lap, or how he forgets how to breathe for half a second.

he laughs. too late, too forced.

“yeah, well,” he says, eyes fixed on a scratch in the table. “can’t have that.”

you don’t respond right away. you just pick at the corner of your granola bar wrapper, folding it neatly in half.

“mm,” you say finally, like you’ve filed that away somewhere. “would ruin the academic integrity of this tutoring relationship.”

he nods. “exactly.”

another beat passes. you lean your cheek against your hand, watching him with something unreadable in your expression. “guess i’ll just have to keep wondering, then.”

and before he can figure out what that means, or if you meant anything at all, you’re reaching for your notes again.

“alright, professor,” you say lightly. “break’s over. teach me something.”

jungkook picks up his pen with shaking fingers. he doesn’t say a word.

you’re already flipped to a fresh page, pen tapping against the paper as you glance at him, waiting. expecting. jungkook clears his throat and tries to focus. tries to remember what you were working on before you smiled at him in a way that made it hard to breathe.

"okay," he says eventually, voice quieter than usual. “uh. equilibrium constants.”

you nod, jotting down the title at the top of the page.

his hands are still shaking. he doesn’t think you notice. you lean in a little, not quite touching, but close enough to make his skin prickle. "so," you murmur, pen at the ready, "what’s the deal with k?”

and god.

you’re doing it on purpose. or maybe you’re not. maybe this is just how you are—curious, warm, bright in a way that doesn’t burn but still somehow sets him on fire.

he exhales slowly through his nose.

"it’s a ratio," he starts, keeping his eyes on your notebook instead of your face. "products over reactants. a way to measure if a reaction favors the left or the right.”

you hum under your breath. “and what if it favors neither?”

he lets himself glance at you then, just briefly. “then it’s balanced,” he says.

you meet his gaze, smile tugging at your lips. “sounds ideal.”

jungkook looks away. he’s never wanted anything more than he wants to kiss you right now. he doesn’t let the thought linger. it’s dangerous—too loud, too close to the surface. he presses the tip of his pen to your notebook instead, draws a quick diagram, lets the movement steady his hands.

"see how the concentrations shift?" he says, voice even, like his pulse isn’t hammering in his throat.

you lean forward again, shoulder brushing his just barely.

"so when k is greater than one..." you murmur.

"it means the products are favored."

you nod, scribbling it down, brow furrowed in concentration.

and jungkook clings to that. your focus, your curiosity, the way you chew your lip when you're thinking hard. if he lets himself look at you for too long, he knows he won’t be able to look away.

and if he lets himself feel everything he’s feeling, really feel it, he might never stop.

he watches you write, lets the silence stretch just long enough to steady himself. then “okay,” he says softly. “your turn.”

you glance up, pen pausing mid-stroke.

“what does it mean when a reaction is at equilibrium?”

your brow furrows, eyes flicking between his face and the sketch of the reaction chart on your page. he waits.

you tap the end of your pen against the paper, thoughtful. “it means… the rate of the forward reaction equals the rate of the reverse?”

when he nods, you continue, voice more confident now. “that the concentrations stop changing. not because the reaction stops, but because everything’s happening at the same time, in both directions.”

he smiles, and it’s small, but it’s real. “exactly.”

you grin, wide and a little proud, and his heart goes stupid in his chest.

“see?” you say, nudging his elbow with yours. “i am learning.”

“you’re a model student,” he says, just to hear you laugh again.

you do. soft and sudden. the kind of sound that makes him feel weightless.

you go back to your notes, but jungkook doesn’t move right away. he keeps his eyes on the margin of your page, watching your pen move.

equilibrium.

forward and reverse, happening at once. equal effort. equal weight. it sounds simple in theory.

he wishes it were. he wishes he was brave enough to just be honest with you about how he feels, to say it plainly. without stumbling, without second-guessing, without hiding behind chemistry terms and granola bars and excuses that sound a lot like maybe next time.

he wants to tell you that he thinks about you more than he should. that every time you smile at him, it takes him a second too long to recover. but instead he points to the next problem in your textbook. “you wanna try this one on your own?”

you glance at it, then at him, then back at your notes.

“sure,” you say, and your voice is casual, but the corners of your mouth curve just enough to undo him all over again.

you start working through the equation, mumbling under your breath, pen tapping as you go, and jungkook watches. he doesn’t say what he wants to. he doesn’t risk it. not yet.

you furrow your brow at the middle of the problem, chewing on your pen cap while your eyes scan the numbers. “wait,” you mutter, pointing to the molar ratio. “isn’t it supposed to be three to two here?”

“yeah,” he says, quiet. “good catch.”

you grin, triumphant, scribbling something onto the page. he looks away again, smile threatening the edges of his mouth.

god. he’s so gone.

completely, utterly, irreversibly.

you don’t even know. you’re just here, sharing your notebook, offering up pieces of yourself so easily it’s like you don’t think twice. he wishes he could match you in that. be just as open, just as brave.

“what?” you ask suddenly, glancing over at him. “you’re staring.”

“no, i’m not,” he says, and it’s instant, reflexive.

you raise a brow. “you kinda were.”

he clears his throat. “i was just… surprised. you’re getting good at this.”

you smile, a little bashful. “guess i’ve got a decent tutor.”

jungkook looks at your face, the way you’re trying to hide how proud you are. he wants to reach out.

he doesn’t.

“you’re not so bad yourself,” he says instead, voice low.

your eyes linger on him a beat too long. and then you look down again, flipping to a new page.

his heart doesn’t slow down for the rest of the hour.

jungkook winces as jimin dabs at his cheek with a sting-soaked cotton pad.

"jesus," jimin mutters under his breath, voice tight with irritation. "you need to stop letting public transit rearrange your face."

“i’m fine,” jungkook grits out, though the words come slower than he means for them to. his head’s still spinning, just a little. he blinks hard, trying to clear it.

jimin pulls back, eyes narrowing. “uh-huh. and i’m the queen of england.” he swipes at a dried streak of blood along jungkook’s jaw, a little less gently this time.

jungkook flinches, shoulders curling in. “i don’t have a concussion.”

“right.” jimin scoffs, tossing the cotton pad into the trash. “because when a ten-ton hunk of steel smacks you into a goddamn billboard, the first thing you think is thank god my brain’s still in one piece.”

jungkook sighs, leaning back against the couch, one hand dragging down his face. he hates this part, the aftermath. when the adrenaline’s gone and everything hurts and the city’s quiet again and jimin’s looking at him like he’s one bad landing away from being a memory.

“you should’ve gone to the ER,” jimin mutters, disinfectant in one hand, gauze in the other.

“they ask too many questions.”

“they ask questions so you don’t die, genius.”

“you’re patching me up anyway,” jungkook mumbles, gesturing vaguely to the half-open first aid kit on the coffee table. jimin doesn’t answer right away. just presses the gauze to the cut on his temple a little more firmly than necessary.

jungkook hisses.

“you’re an idiot,” jimin says, quiet.

“i know.”

he does. he knows.

jungkook closes his eyes for a second, lets the pressure of jimin’s hand ground him. the sting, the scent of antiseptic, the soft buzz of a heater kicking on somewhere in the apartment.

he’d thought about going to you. when he was dragging himself out of the alley, ribs screaming, blood sticky down the side of his face, your apartment flashed across his mind. a quiet thought, tucked into the corner of the chaos.

she’d open the door.

she’d help.

she always does.

even in his addled state, he knew it was a bad idea. stupid. selfish even.

as much as he’d enjoyed it last time—being there, letting you fuss over him, hearing your voice up close, feeling your fingers skim his cheek like he was something fragile—it wasn’t something he could get used to.

not when you didn’t know who he was. not really.

“you zoning out on me?” jimin asks, tone clipped.

jungkook blinks his eyes open again. “no.”

jimin doesn’t buy it. he never does.

“you sure? ‘cause your pupils look two different sizes and you haven’t blinked in thirty seconds.”

jungkook exhales a dry laugh. “just thinking.”

“dangerous,” jimin mutters, tossing the bloodied gauze aside and grabbing clean bandages. “next time, don’t think. just duck.”

“tried.”

“try harder.”

he doesn’t mean to sound harsh. jimin never does, not really, but there’s a tremble underneath it. fear, maybe. and jungkook doesn’t have the heart to brush that off. not tonight. not after the way his own legs gave out two blocks from the fight, not after the taste of copper and pavement still lingers in his mouth.

so he just nods and lets jimin tape him back together again in silence.

jimin’s quiet for a while after that. he works the way he always does when he’s trying not to feel something. quick, precise, hands steady even when his breathing isn’t. jungkook watches the ceiling, eyes unfocused. the room spins a little when he turns his head, so he doesn’t.

“you’ve gotta slow down,” jimin says eventually, voice low.

jungkook hums. “can’t.”

jimin’s fingers still against the side of his face.

“why not?”

jungkook doesn’t answer right away. he could say it’s the city. the people who need help. the guilt that chews at his ribs when he thinks about what would happen if he just stopped.

but none of that is what comes out.

“she was there,” he says quietly.

jimin freezes. “when?”

“before the fight,” jungkook mumbles. “at her mural. painting.” he swallows. “she didn’t see me. i didn’t stay.”

jimin sighs, sits back on his heels, eyeing him carefully. “you shouldn’t keep doing this.”

jungkook blinks. “doing what?”

“using the mask as an excuse to orbit her,” jimin says flatly. “you’re not doing her any favors. and you’re definitely not doing you any favors either.”

jungkook looks away, jaw tight. “i’m not trying to mess with her,” he says. “i just… i don’t know. i miss her.”

“you see her,” jimin says. “you tutor her. you sit across from her in cafes and make a fool of yourself in front of her every week.”

“it’s not the same,” jungkook mutters.

“no,” jimin agrees. “because at least when you’re you, you’re not lying to her face.”

the silence that follows is heavier than anything else.

jimin doesn’t push. just leans back against the couch, pulls his knees up, and runs a hand through his hair with a sigh that sounds way too tired for how young they are. the room is quiet again, save for the low hum of traffic outside and the soft groan of jimin’s air conditioner in the background.

jimin exhales through his nose, slow and tired. he presses the last strip of tape to jungkook’s temple, then drops the empty wrapper onto the table with a quiet crinkle.

“you’re lucky you didn’t black out,” he says. “again.”

jungkook doesn’t respond. just leans back into the couch, arm slung over his eyes. he’s so tired. not just in his body. not just the bruises, or the cuts, or the ache in his shoulder that still hasn’t gone away from last week’s rooftop landing. it’s in his chest.

the constant push and pull of being two people. the version of him who makes you laugh across tables, and the one who swings past your apartment in the middle of the night just to see if your lights are on.

the one you know.

the one you don’t.

“you should tell her,” jimin says eventually. “before it gets worse.”

jungkook drops his arm, looks at him with tired eyes. “tell her what, hyung? hey, i’m your tutor and the idiot who bled on your furniture that one time. surprise?”

jimin just shrugs. “sounds about right.”

“she’ll hate me.”

“she might.” jimin doesn’t sugarcoat it. “but she also might not.”

jungkook swallows hard.

he’s thought about it. a hundred different ways. a thousand different outcomes. and in every one, you look at him differently after. sometimes with betrayal. sometimes with disbelief. sometimes you don’t look at him at all, and that’s the part that scares him most.

he scrubs a hand down his face and groans. “i can’t. not yet.”

jimin watches him for a beat, then nods.

“then don’t wait too long,” he says. “because if she finds out on her own, it’s gonna hurt worse.”

jungkook doesn’t say anything, because deep down, he knows jimin’s right. that’s what scares him second most.

you stare down at your phone, thumb hovering over the screen.

here early, grabbed a table near the back x

sent fifteen minutes ago.

you sigh and lock your phone, flipping it face down on the table.

the cafe is warm. quieter than usual, save for the low hum of an indie playlist and the hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter. your untouched drink sits beside your notebook, still steaming. you haven’t taken a sip.

you know jungkook’s probably caught in traffic. or maybe the bus was late. maybe something came up. maybe he’s just having one of those days. but your brain doesn’t care about reason. it cares that he was the one who asked to move the session earlier this week. said he couldn’t do the weekend.

so you cleared your schedule. shifted your plans. you told taehyung no, you told yourself it was fine, you told yourself you weren’t too excited when he sent the text.

and now here you are.

alone in a corner booth with your highlighters lined up in color order and your thoughts spiraling at full speed.

you try not to take it personally, and you fail. your mind jumps straight to that place you hate—what if he forgot? what if he bailed? what if he’s slowly realizing he doesn’t actually like being around you at all? you exhale, sharp and quiet.

then the bell above the door jingles, and jungkook stumbles in, breathless and disheveled, hoodie askew and cheeks flushed pink from the cold. his hair is a mess, and his backpack looks half-zipped, and there’s a coffee stain on the cuff of his sleeve.

he spots you instantly and his shoulders sag in relief. “hey…” he pants as he approaches, breath visible in the air behind him, “sorry. i’m so sorry.”

you blink, and despite every insecure thought you were stewing in two seconds ago, your chest loosens just a little.

“…you okay?” you ask, voice quieter than you mean for it to be.

he nods quickly, dropping his bag onto the seat across from you. “yeah. yeah. just—” he pulls his hood back, raking a hand through his hair, “—bit of a mess getting here. totally my fault. i should’ve texted.”

you shake your head, forcing a small smile. “you’re here now.”

he meets your eyes, sheepish.

“still,” he says, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, “thanks for waiting.”

you shrug, flipping open your notebook. “you owe me a sticker for it.”

he exhales a laugh. “i brought two sheets.”

you lean back in your seat, watching him dig through his bag, fingers fumbling for his notes or maybe a pen or maybe just something to distract from how flustered he is. he finally pulls out his notebook, slaps it onto the table, and exhales like he’s just run a marathon.

“you didn’t have to sprint here,” you murmur, reaching for your drink at last. “i would’ve waited.”

he smiles, boyish, still a little breathless.

“i did make you wait,” he says. “felt bad.”

you’re about to wave it off when you notice just the faintest smudge. barely there, high on the edge of his nostril, a smear of red that’s mostly faded but not invisible. your brows draw together.

“hey.”

he looks up. “hm?”

you reach into your pocket for a tissue and slide it across the table. “you’ve got—” you motion to your own nose, eyes narrowing. “what happened?”

he falters just for a second. his hand lifts instinctively, brushing at the spot with the back of his knuckle before glancing at the tissue and taking it.

“oh. must’ve been from earlier.”

you stare. “earlier?”

“yeah, it’s nothing,” he says quickly, too quickly. “i get nosebleeds sometimes. weather shift, i guess.”

he doesn’t look at you when he says it. just dabs once, then folds the tissue and tucks it under his notebook like it never existed. you don’t believe him, but you don’t push, either. “…you sure?”

he nods. “promise.”

and it sounds certain enough that you don’t press, even as something unsettles deep in your stomach. instead, you flip open your own notes and reach for a pen.

“fine,” you say softly. “but if you pass out mid-equation, i’m not catching you.”

he huffs a laugh, and it sounds a little more real this time. “deal.”

you pretend to scan your notes, pen tapping idly, but your eyes drift. jungkook’s hunched forward, elbows on the table, scribbling something in the corner of his page. his hair’s a mess, long and black and tangled from either wind or movement or both, curling at the ends where it brushes his hoodie. there’s a little patch that won’t fall the right way, hanging stubbornly across his forehead.

and then there’s the glasses.

you haven’t seen him wear them before. they sit low on his nose, slipping a little every time he shifts, catching the light and reflecting it just enough to make you pause. you don’t mean to stare, but you do until he looks up and catches your gaze head-on.

“…do i have something else on my face?” he asks, cautious.

you blink. hard.

“what? no.” you shake your head, a little too fast. “no. i was just… thinking.”

his brow lifts slightly. “about what?”

you scramble for anything but you look really good like this and i can’t stop looking at you.

you flick your pen toward the table. “i was wondering why we met here instead of the library.”

he blinks, then ducks his head, pushing his glasses up with his knuckle, suddenly shy. “oh. um. the café’s closer to where i live.”

you nod slowly, biting back a smile. “huh.” you tilt your head. “so you dragged me across town for your own convenience?”

“not dragged,” he says, a little defensively. “i picked a place with good coffee.”

you raise your brow and he shrinks just slightly in his seat.

“and you said you didn’t mind,” he adds, quieter.

you don’t. you really don’t. but you’re not about to let him off that easy.

“mm. you’re lucky the coffee is good.”

he grins, soft and crooked.

“i am lucky.”

he doesn’t know what he’s saying. what it’s doing to you.

you don’t trust your voice enough to respond, so you flip to the next page of your notes and hope he can’t hear your heartbeat from across the table.

he, for his part, doesn’t say anything else. just ducks his head again, hair falling even further into his face as he pushes up his glasses with one finger. your eyes follow the movement before you can stop yourself.

it’s almost unfair. how soft he looks like this.

you draw a slow breath, steadying yourself before you speak.

“alright, professor,” you murmur, aiming for light. “you’ve got me at a café. impress me.”

he huffs a laugh, head still bowed.

“no pressure or anything,” he mumbles, flipping to a page of problem sets.

you lean your chin into your hand, elbow propped against the table. “you’re the one who insisted on the earlier session.”

“and i stand by it,” he says, voice warming again. “even if i almost died trying to get here.”

“do you always get nosebleeds when you're rushing to meet girls?”

he pauses mid-scribble. you see the smile tug at the corner of his mouth before he tries to hide it.

“only the pretty ones,” he says, barely above a whisper.

your breath catches. just for a second, just long enough to feel it, sharp and hot in your chest. you glance down at your notebook, heart thudding.

you don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t say anything.

your fingers freeze over the spiral of your notebook, eyes trained on a random line of notes that suddenly means nothing to you.

across from you, jungkook goes still, turning red. not just a faint dusting across his cheeks. full-on, unmistakable, spreading fast across his face and up to the tips of his ears. he ducks his head, hiding behind the curtain of his hair like he’s trying to disappear into it, lips pressing together in a tight, horrified line.

you’re not sure either of you can believe he just said that.

he thinks you’re pretty, he thinks you’re pretty, he thinks you’re pretty. it plays on loop in your brain, each echo a little more dizzying than the last. your heart skips and stumbles all over itself, half stuck on the words and half on the fact that he meant them. he must’ve meant them.

jungkook coughs into his hand, trying to recover. “i.. uh. sorry,” he mutters, still not looking up. “that was—i was joking.”

“bad joke,” you say quietly, eyes still on your page.

he exhales a shaky breath. “yeah.”

neither of you look up. neither of you move.

the silence stretches. not awkward. not exactly. just charged.

you pretend to read your notes, pen tapping against the margin, heartbeat thudding loud enough that it might as well be on the table between you. jungkook still hasn’t looked up.

you steal a glance at him.

his hair’s fallen further into his face, half hiding the flush that still stains his cheeks. his fingers are clenched around his pen, knuckles pale, foot bouncing under the table in a restless rhythm.

he’s panicking*.*

not outwardly—he’s too quiet for that. too soft. but it’s there. in the way his eyes stay fixed on the same spot in his notebook, in the way his throat moves when he swallows. and for some reason, the realization makes your chest squeeze.

you almost tell him it’s okay. almost say, you don’t have to be sorry. i didn’t mind it. i’m still thinking about it.

but then he shifts, shoulders squaring, and finally meets your eyes.

“can we pretend i didn’t say that?” he asks, voice low. he says it with a forced little smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

and maybe that’s what makes your decision for you. you look at him for a second longer, then nod once. “sure,” you say, and it comes out smoother than you expect. “you didn’t say anything.”

jungkook exhales through his nose, relief barely veiling the disappointment that flickers across his face.

you both go back to your notes, but neither of you turn the page.

the apartment is quiet when jungkook gets in. the door clicks shut behind him, soft in the silence, but it still makes him flinch. he toes off his shoes, drops his bag by the door, jacket halfway off before he even makes it to the couch. when he does he sinks down hard, palms dragging over his face.

“fuck,” he mutters into his hands.

he’s still rattled.

still replaying the way you looked at him right after—head tilted, eyes wide, something unreadable passing over your face like you were trying to decide if you’d actually heard him right.

only the pretty ones.

the words hit like a sucker punch even now.

he hadn’t meant to say it. hadn’t planned to. hadn’t even realized it was hovering on the tip of his tongue until it was already out there between you, hanging in the air, sticky and impossible to ignore.

you went quiet. you let him backpedal. let him pretend it was a joke, let him erase it even though he wanted nothing more for you to know how pretty you are to him. he leans back into the couch, head tipping against the cushions, and he closes his eyes.

the quiet is louder than it should be.

no city noise, no music, no jimin yelling at him to put ice on something or to stop being so obvious whenever your name comes up. just the echo of that one second. that one look.

you didn’t smile, didn’t tease. you looked stunned. and jungkook can’t decide what’s worse; the fact that he said it, or the fact that some part of him wants to say it again and again until you believe it, until you say something back.

he exhales, long and shaky, and scrubs a hand through his hair. he’s so far in it he doesn’t know how to claw his way out.

he’s not even sure he wants to.

you’re supposed to be paying attention.

there’s something about classical conditioning echoing through the lecture hall speakers. something about pavlov, about dogs and bells and salivating, but your pen is too busy trailing along the edge of your notebook, filling the margins with half-formed flowers and a lopsided spider.

you try to focus. really, you do. you nod when the professor emphasizes a point, scribble a keyword or two, underline extinction twice. but then your eyes drift. out the window, across the aisle, down to the corner of your desk where you’ve already drawn the same sleepy-looking face three different times.

and somehow, every version of it ends up looking a little like him.

you bite the inside of your cheek and shake your head, as if that’ll snap you out of it.

it’s just been happening more often lately—this thing where your thoughts spiral without warning. one second you’re zoning out mid-lecture, and the next you’re remembering the way his fingers brushed yours last week at least three different times.

your professor clicks to the next slide, and the class collectively shifts to pretend they’re still with him.

you sigh, resting your chin on your hand. you don’t mean to get so distracted. but it’s hard not to, when every other thought seems to circle back to the same person.

stupid.

you draw another web in the corner of the page. smaller this time. neater. you don’t know what you’re waiting for. but something in your chest keeps tugging like you’re supposed to be paying attention to something else entirely.

you tap your pen against the edge of your desk. once, twice. again.

“focus,” you mumble to yourself, but it’s useless.

your mind’s already gone, drifting somewhere else entirely—back to the café, which shouldn’t feel as significant as it does, where jungkook stumbled in late, glasses slipping down his nose, hair a mess, breathless and apologetic and still unfairly handsome. back to the night even further back when spider-man nearly collapsed onto your living room floor.

you press the pen harder.

jungkook, spider-man.

one sitting next to you with messy hair and nervous hands, the other bleeding on your couch with too much weight on your shoulder. neither of them probably thinking about you right now.

you don’t even know why that stings.

you’re not dating jungkook. spider-man’s not your friend. you’re just someone who needs help in chemistry. someone who opened her door because someone looked like they were going to fall apart.

you sigh, draw another line across the page. your flowers are losing their shape.

maybe it’d be easier if your chest didn’t feel so tight every time you thought about either of them. you wonder what that says about you. you wonder what that says about them.

your professor says something about freud. you hear someone snicker near the back. you don’t laugh. you just stare down at the little spider in the corner of your page, and trace the thread it’s dangling from. the line stretches up toward the edge of the page, thin and a little shaky.

your pen pauses. you wonder if you’re doing the same thing—hanging off something delicate and invisible, waiting for it to pull or snap or hold.

your professor’s voice drones on, something about repression now. the subconscious. emotional imprinting.

you huff under your breath. “great timing.”

the girl in front of you glances back, but you don’t bother explaining.

your hand shifts again, pen back to work. you draw another figure next to the spider. smaller. a blur of curls and oversized sleeves. he’d probably laugh if he saw it. or tilt his head in that curious way he does when you’re speaking and he wants to say something but doesn’t.

jungkook’s always holding something back. you wonder how much of it is hiding, and how much of it is habit. you shake the thought away before it can settle too deep, scribble a lazy border around your newest doodle to distract yourself.

you’re being emotional. a tad dramatic. maybe it’s just the weather. or the exhaustion. or the fact that every time jungkook smiles at you, it feels like your ribs are curling in on themselves.

you press your pen down until the tip almost snaps. whatever it is, it needs to stop. you’re not built for this kind of uncertainty. you never have been.

you don’t remember the last ten minutes of lecture.

the lights flick on, and the room starts moving before your brain catches up. notebooks close, zippers hum, someone’s already halfway down the stairs before the professor even says have a good weekend.

you sigh, stuff your notes into your bag, ignore the half-page of doodles that somehow ended with a cracked spiderweb and a boy curled up at the center of it. your legs ache as you shuffle out into the hallway, pulled along by the current of students flooding toward the exits.

taehyung finds you near the vending machines, all slouched posture and too-long sleeves.

“there she is,” he says, popping a piece of gum into his mouth without offering you any. “my favorite academically struggling genius.”

you shoot him a look. “what’s with the weird greeting?”

“you’ve got your crisis face on,” he says, tapping his temple. “it’s very i’m thinking too hard about boys again, so i figured i’d meet you halfway.”

you scoff. “i’m not thinking about boys.”

taehyung squints. “okay, so which boy, then?”

you groan, dragging a hand down your face.

he lifts his brows, smug. “that’s what i thought.”

you push open the building doors and step out into the cold, the wind catching your sleeves and snapping at your legs. “it’s not like that,” you mutter.

“you always say that when it’s exactly like that.”

you glare at him. “are you going to walk me to my next class or just psychoanalyze me until i melt into the sidewalk?”

“i can multitask,” taehyung grins, pulling his hood up as he falls into step beside you. “so, is it the covalent cutie or your friendly neighborhood rebound?”

you blink. “excuse me?”

“nothing.” he stretches his arms behind his head, all faux innocence. “just wondering how many men you’re collecting this semester.” you bump your shoulder into his, harder than necessary, and taehyung wheezes and laughs. “god, you’re so defensive when you’re in denial.”

you don’t respond. mostly because he’s right.

taehyung shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, lips pursed in mock thought. “so, there’s gonna be a party friday,” he says casually.

you glance at him, unimpressed. “cool. have fun.”

he snorts. “you’re not even gonna pretend to consider it?”

“nope.”

“rude.”

“you invited me like you were ordering takeout,” you say, stepping over a crack in the pavement. “not exactly persuasive.”

“fine.” he sighs dramatically. “you, my beloved friend, are cordially invited to a moderately chaotic social gathering where someone’s bound to cry in the bathtub, and no less than three people will make out in the kitchen.”

you lift an eyebrow. “tempting.”

“right? i’m selling this.”

“still no.”

he pouts. “why not?”

you shrug. “i’ve got stuff to do.”

“you always have stuff to do.”

you don’t respond right away. you just keep walking, eyes fixed on the cracks in the sidewalk, the wind pulling at the hem of your shirt. taehyung sighs again, quieter this time.

“you know,” he says, bumping your arm lightly with his. “you’re allowed to take a break. have a drink. forget about whatever mess is chewing you up for a couple hours.”

you chew on the inside of your cheek.

you know he’s right. you just don’t know how to say it doesn’t really help when the mess comes with a charming smile and really cute doe eyes and the prettiest lips you’ve ever seen.

so you shrug again. “maybe next time.” taehyung groans dramatically, flopping his head back as you both walk. “you are so stubborn.”

“thanks.”

“that wasn’t a compliment.”

you snort. “sure it wasn’t.”

he glances sideways at you, lips pursed. plotting. calculating.

“okay,” he says finally. “what if i told you it’s not just any party?”

you raise a brow. “is this where you tell me it’s a secret underground masquerade with a five-star buffet?”

“no,” he says, deadpan. “but there will be snacks. and possibly jello shots. and—” he pauses for effect, wagging his eyebrows, “your chemistry tutor might be there.”

you blink. “jungkook?”

taehyung shrugs, faking nonchalance. “could be. dunno. hoseok’s throwing it, and i know they’re tight. might swing by.”

your stomach does something stupid. you look away before taehyung can see it. “that’s not a reason to go.”

“oh, it’s definitely a reason.”

“tae—”

“look,” he says, gentler this time. “you’ve been tense for weeks. you deserve, like, two hours of being normal. you don’t have to dance on the table or hook up with anyone. just show up. breathe. hang out.”

you slow your steps. you hate that he’s making sense. you hate that the idea of maybe running into jungkook makes your chest tighten in a way you refuse to examine too closely.

you sigh. “fine.”

taehyung beams. “yes*.* victory.”

“don’t make it weird.”

“no promises.”

you shake your head, but you’re smiling when he throws an arm around your shoulders, loud and smug and already gloating. you pretend to be annoyed.

you pretend it’s not already the only thing you’re going to think about for the rest of the day.

taglist : @rpwprpwprpwprw @haru-jiminn @glossdebut @mimi1097 @angellekookie @yooniivrse @knivesdoingcartwheels @annyeongbitch7 @hemmosfear

#jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x fem!reader #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fanfction #bts x fem!reader #bts x reader #bts au fic #bts au

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athenagc94 · 4 months ago

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Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 12

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

TW: Firearms and some violence

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Chapter 12

No guns.

Not tonight.

Jason savored the way his fist connected with another man’s jaw. A second thug grabbed him from behind. He grunted as a knife dug into the padding of his uniform, narrowly avoiding a pierced kidney. His team teased him for the added bulk in his uniform. He wasn’t as nimble, but he wasn’t blessed with skin harder than steel or Amazonian strength. At the very least, he wouldn't need stitches every other week.

Knocking the blade from his hand, Jason had the thug laid out flat in under ten seconds. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, his basest instincts taking over. Punch, dodge, kick, punch, block. He didn’t have to think. His body just moved.

Tonight should have ended differently. He planned a stake out at this abandoned warehouse to gather intel on a new cartel that popped up under Black Mask’s purview. Sionis had been notably quiet since Jason returned to Gotham, but he was making moves again. This new cartel wasn’t a real threat, nothing to do with Black Mask was, but pending what he learned tonight, he might have tried to bring them under his purview instead. That idea went out the door the second he got caught snooping around their wares.

It was a stupid mistake.

A misstep.

He’d been having more of those as of late.

Several weeks later, he’d yet to fully recover from his episode at the club. He edged the darkness that threatened to consume him, lost time, a few hazy memories to string one moment into the next. The itch of his more volatile emotions lingered at the back of his mind, wanting to step in and take the reins. Sometimes it was sadness, other times desperation or hopelessness, but tonight, anger burned in his veins.

Jason kept it in check, if just barely, but the trouble with control is that his was finite.

He should be resting. Taking proper care and time to recover, but the thought of sitting at home with his thoughts made him restless. This was the alternative. Child’s play, all things considered, but he knew it was a far cry from productive.

His comm beeped before automatically connecting. “Hood.”

Babs.

Jason gritted his teeth. “Kinda busy here.”

“Your vitals are spiking. Do you need assistance?”

“No.” He knocked another thug off his feet, their temple cracking on the corner of a steel crate. His chest heaved as he whipped around, searching for more. His vision narrowed, the edges going a little fuzzy.

“Your heart rate is—”

“I’m fi—”

A bullet grazed his helmet. Jason dove behind the crate, breathing ragged. It took a second for his vision to refocus. He was fine. Of course, he was fine. His helmet protected him from these things, but that was a little too close to home for his liking.

“Hood? Was that a gunshot? Shit. I’m sending backup. Stand by.”

The line went dead before he could argue. Learning that she had a read on his vitals shouldn’t have surprised him. This was Babs, but he felt the prickle of irritation raise the hairs on the back of his neck. Who was she to treat him like a full-fledged member of the big, happy family. Jason was an estranged uncle at best.

He snarled, “Damn it.”

Now, he had a time limit. Finish this and get out before a member of the Bat-brigade showed up to lecture him. He reached for the gun on his hip. So much for no guns.

“Who the hell said you could bring a gun to a fist fight?”

A final thug stood on the far side of the warehouse. He held a gun in one hand, a tremor betraying how out of his depth he seemed. Straw colored hair fell limp around his face, baby fat rounding out his cheeks.

Jason hesitated.

“Put the gun down before you hurt yourself,” he said roughly.

“D-Don’t move. I’ll shoot.” He widened his stance as if that would help him here. He gripped the gun all wrong. His grip tightened around it, barely concealing the flinch of pain. Yeah, Jason expected that. He must have hurt himself on the kick back.

Jason lifted his hands. “Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Why the fuck would I believe you?” He waved his gun toward the unconscious bodies littering the floor. Jason took in the scene before him with a clearer head. Okay. Not a great look if he was trying to diffuse the situation. “I could shoot you and be done with it.”

“Then shoot.”

“I—” His brow furrowed. “What?”

Jason closed the distance between them, pressing his helmet to the barrel. Bold to some, idiotic to others, but Jason had already shaken hands with the god of death and clawed his way out of the grave. His life was a joke, and besides, he knew how this would end.

On cue, the kid’s expression fell as his joints locked. When faced with the reality of killing a man, he couldn’t do it, just as Jason expected.

“Let me guess?” Jason said, his soft softer than before, “Times are hard, and you needed to make ends meet. They offered you a number that you couldn’t refuse.”

Slowly, he lowered the gun with a defeated frown. “I was told we were moving cargo. I didn’t know the cargo was drugs until I showed up. It was too late to back out.”

“What’s your name?”

“Evan.”

“And how old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

Fuck. Jason was grateful for the helmet, so Evan couldn’t see the way he grimaced. He really was a kid. “You still in school?”

“No.”

His chest tightened. “Do you want to be?”

It was a stupid question. Evan seemed to agree and scoffed as he tucked the gun in his waistband. Jason swallowed the urge to reprimand him. “It wouldn’t make a difference if I did. I’ll still be stuck on Park Row when I graduate. Might as well get a head start on the life that awaits me when I get out.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. You could work for me instead. I’ll pay you double. Triple.”

“How is that better than working for the cartel? Or Black Mask?”

Jason had a soft spot for a street kid with desperation in their eyes and few options. Evan wasn’t that much older than he was when Bruce picked him off the street. If he hadn’t gotten out, this would have been his fate too. Jason wanted to help, but he didn’t know how. He wasn’t Bruce Wayne with his trust funds and mansion with too many bedrooms.

In the end, Jason could only shrug. His solution wasn’t any better. It would still leave Evan a criminal. It would still get him hurt.

“I never asked for this.”

“Then walk away.”

“It’s too late,” Evan insisted.

“No,” he insisted, “It’s not too late to choose something else, to choose something better.” It was for Jason, but Evan had a shot at turning his life around.

“There’s nothing better out there.” Evan stepped toward the door. “Can I really go?”

He waved him off. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”

Not needing to be told twice, Evan bolted, the door shutting firmly behind him. Jason skimmed his fingers over the mark on his helmet. That was a lucky shot by a lucky kid who was fortunate to have run into him. If it had been Batman or someone else, that could have ended differently.

“Are you wallowing?”

“Ya gotta be kidding me,” Jason mumbled as he looked up.

Spoiler balanced effortlessly on a beam. Despite the mask that covered her mouth, he could sense the smile curving her lips.

“How long have you been there?”

“Just got here.”

“Good, then scram. Park Row is my turf.”

Steph was infamously bad at following instructions, so he wasn’t surprised when she ignored him, hopping down using a series of complex flips and twists. She barely reached his shoulder, but her general aura made his teeth itch as he moved on to clean his handiwork.

“Been a while since you and I crossed paths in the field.”

He would have preferred if it had stayed that way. While Steph was infinitely better than some of the other options, he didn’t know what to make of her. “No one else wanted to come?”

“I volunteered.”

Of course, she did.

“Babs was going to send Damian.”

Jason merely grunted as he dragged one of the thugs toward the door. He’d torch the goods before he left, but now that he had a vaguely bat-shaped babysitter, he’d have to do so with a little more care. Still, a controlled explosion fixed about 80% of his problems these days. She caught on and jumped at the chance to help him. They worked in silence, and he believed, foolishly, that he’d be spared the classic Steph Brown chatter.

“What were you doing?”

Evidently not. “Crime lord stuff.”

Steph paused, taking in the scene more closely. “And was this... successful?”

“No.”

Steph guffawed as she grabbed another thug under the armpits. “Oh, thank God, because if you act pissy when something goes right, I’d hate to see how you act when something goes wrong.”

His fingers twitched at his side. “No one asked you to stay.”

“Oh, I know.” She clasped her hands sweetly under her chin. “But I was feeling charitable.”

Something in her tone raised his defenses.

Abort. Abort.

“I don’t need—”

“I hear you’ve been feeling charitable too.”

“Fuck this.” Jason dropped his thug halfway out the door and left, content to leave the drugs and cartel mostly intact if it meant escaping. He refused to have this conversation again.

“Don’t be like that,” she said as she jogged to catch up with him.

Jason had avoided thinking about you thus far. He crammed every complicated emotion to the far depths of his psyche behind walls honed of steel. If he didn’t think about you, they remained unbreakable.

“Tim told her.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, that ember in his chest flaring as he turned to face her. Steph clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

“He did what?”

He was going to kill that fucker.

Hunt him down.

Make it slow and intricate.

There wouldn’t be any mouthy quips this time because he’d slice his tongue out. That’d teach him. For all his cryptic bullshit and lectures on privacy, he seemed quick to spill another man’s secrets.

As if sensing his intent, Steph amended, “He didn’t tell her that it was you specifically.”

Jason forced himself to breathe. “What did he tell her?”

A moment of hesitation was all she required to share everything. “That someone was, in fact, reading her letters. He never confirmed who. It spooked her, I think. She’s been off because of it. She won’t text me back. She moved seats in the classes we share. I don’t know what to do. Usually, I’m good at this kind of stuff, but...”

“Out with it.”

She sighed. “Have you noticed anything? I bet she’s still writing to you. You’d be able to tell if something was wrong.”

His shoulders pinched. Your letters sat in a neat pile on his table, untouched. He couldn’t bring himself to open them, tempting as it was to hear from you. The walls keeping his complicated feelings at bay weren’t that sturdy.

“No,” he said, “I haven’t noticed.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Nothing at all.”

“Nope.”

She planted her hands on her hips, disgusted with him. Jason was a little disgusted with himself, if he were being honest. If she was telling the truth, and why would she lie about this, you were struggling, and he’d had no idea.

“I don’t know why I even bothered coming here.”

“Yeah, me either.”

His pathetic attempts at deflection seemed to work because she reached for her grappling gun. His shoulders sagged with relief, but Steph was never going to let him have the last word. She closed the distance between them, barely cresting the underside of his chin, but she glared at him as if she towered over him.

“Whatever your end goal is with this; I want you to take a hard look at yourself and decide whether you’re willing to play games with her life like you did with yours tonight.”

He stilled.

“Yeah, I saw the stunt you pulled with that kid. I’m not usually one to lecture, but come on, man. What were you thinking?”

“It’s not like that. I would never—”

He would never hurt you.

“You’re playing games with her life with that scholarship. It might not kill her, but there’s a power dynamic that you’re too dense to realize. Money is power in this city. If B has taught us anything, it’s that. How will you wield yours?” With that final blow, Steph shot off into the night.

He wanted to be irritated, but he couldn’t find it. She was also a good friend—not to him, but she genuinely cared about you. At least you had someone looking out for you, because he’d done fuck all these last few weeks.

His walls shifted, the barest hint of those complicated feelings oozing through the gap to fill the hollow pit in his chest. He recognized the shame and anxiety, but something new bubbled to the surface.

Yearning.

He read enough books to understand the concept of yearning. The male hero always felt some matter of it, be it for his home or for a partner he left behind. Some described it like a bruise over the heart or a bone that refused to heal, but for him it was more like in itch he couldn’t reach. If he focused on it, he could feel precisely where it sat under his skin, demanding his attention.

Jason buried his face in his palm and swore as he hurried off into the night—cartel and drugs forgotten.

***

Your letters sat on his kitchen table amid a mess of receipts and crumpled Bat Burger wrappers. Despite sitting, ever-present in his line of sight, he pointedly ignored them when he deigned to return to his pitiful apartment. Homemaking had never been his strong suit, especially when the concept of home had always been a fleeting tease.

Tonight, he wasn’t strong enough to resist temptation, not after his conversation with Steph. After removing his helmet, he sank into the folding chair at the head of the table and picked up the first on the pile.

Dear Mr. Wayne,

I would like to humbly apologize for my previous letter.

It was a mistake. One I regret, though I will also admit that I do not remember what I wrote. I had been drinking and somehow my private writings made it into your hands.

Please know that it will never happen again.

I am serious about my degree. I would never take this opportunity for granted. I let my social life get in the way of my studies, but no more.

As a token of my dedication to my studies, I want to share this with you. My advisor suggested I submit a short story for a writing competition happening through the Gotham Gazette. The winner will be published in an upcoming periodical. I plan to submit something, though I doubt I will win. I have included a small excerpt with this letter.

Please. Do not think poorly of me. Throw my last letter away and pretend I never sent it. I promise I will be serious from here on out. I was too comfortable, and I now realize that was a mistake.

Jason vocalized his confusion with an audible, “Huh?”

Scanning the other letters, he found each more formal than the last as you outlined your studies like Bruce outlined mission details. Not a single contraction, stilted sentences, a general lack of your usual bite or passion. You sounded so unlike yourself that he stopped reading halfway through your third letter. Even the excerpt you shared with him seemed flat and disinterested.

What the hell did he miss?

Clearly, he missed something.

He searched through the mess on his kitchen table before falling to his knees in search of this fabled letter that warranted a sudden shift in your tone. Coming up empty, he sank back on his heels with a defeated sigh. Had he read your letters sooner, he would have noticed the change without Steph’s intervention, but this whole situation left him with more questions than answers.

What did you write about?

Where had the mystery letter gone if not to him?

Why did Tim tell you someone was reading his letters?

What the hell did you write about?

He dragged his fingers down his face. As much as he wanted to blame Tim for causing this, this was a bigger issue. A Jason issue. It also didn’t matter what you wrote. What did matter is that he needed to fix this before he lost the one good thing that he had with you.

This warranted a response. He just couldn’t decide what would be most appropriate. Keep it simple, keep it believable. Jason would write a lengthy letter back to assure you that he liked your candor and fire, but this was Bruce Wayne.

Knowing him, he’d throw money at the problem until it went away. You would hate that, but maybe he could meet this issue somewhere in the middle.

A little bit of Jason, a little bit of Bruce.

Some truth to alleviate the lie he’d trapped himself in.

It was worth a shot because he couldn’t bear another three years of formalities until you graduated. This had to work.

-----------------

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tinfoil-jones · 8 months ago

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Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 10

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

WARNING: This is a long chapter

First - Prev - Next

Ch.10

“Do you remember how you came to Gravity Falls in the first place?”

“I was just passing by.”

“Yes, but this town is isolated, and you have no means of transportation.”

“Trainhopping, I was hiding on a train for two days I think, maybe three? Decided to jump off here.”

“Do you know why you decided to do that here, and not anywhere else?”

“...”

“Stan?”

“It’s funny, specs - a couple months back, I’d already been with my pal Rick for a while, right? Just one heist, escapade, or criminal venture after another, for seven months straight. And it was great while it lasted, but then he asked me if I wanted to stay with him in another dim- someplace far away. And I wanted to, ya know? There’s always been this itch in the back of my mind that I wanted to go around the world on some grand adventure, and he was offering that to me on a silver platter. But I told him no.”

“And why was that, Stan?”

“...It’s stupid.”

“I wouldn’t call any of your reasoning stupid, I’m not here to judge you.”

“...I always wanted to go on an adventure- but something was missing. It’s like- I dunno if it’s intuition or some spiritual mumbo jumbo, it’s like I’m looking for something. But I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

“Do you have an idea what it could be?”

“A part of… me? I’m missing something. Not just my memories- but something else. I think I might have made a promise, I just… don’t remember what it was, or who I promised to. I guess I’ve been drifting around trying to find it.”

“And you felt it was in Gravity Falls?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. There’s something weird here… I just wanted to check this place out, is all.”

“I see. What did you say your relationship with this Rick was like?”

“You don’t need to be jealous, F. We were just friends. Okay, maybe we were kind of an item for a week at most, but that guy isn’t just self-destructive; he’s like a train that wrecks onto a freeway, he can never just destroy himself, he has to wreck the people around him too and create an absolute shit show. Even I have a limit with that shit.”

“You really need to stop putting yourself down like that, Stan. You only ever seem to say negative things about yourself, it ain’t good for you.”

“There isn’t anything good to say, stretch.”

“Don’t sell yourself one egg short of a basket, now. Y’know, your-. Uh, Stanford was telling me that you’re quite clever. He used a trick to get you down here in the first place, but he also said that he wouldn’t be able to trick you again.”

“I should have seen his fake-out coming… I’ll give it to him, it was a good one. But I’m not going to underestimate him, because crazy like his should never be underestimated. What’s he up to anyways? He went to that room that’s always locked.”

“That’s his private study. I believe he goes there when he wants to be alone.”

“...Didn’t he live by himself? Why did he already have that?”

“Can’t say, maybe it’s a quiet and calm space for him.”

(...)

“HE HAS RISEN BABY GIRL.”

“Bill, please stop calling me that. It’s unprofessional.”

“Come on Sixer, at least let the Goo Goo Dolls soundtrack play.”

“The what?”

“Ooop! My bad, it’s not 1998 or 2024 yet. How can I help you today, Fordsy? You haven’t called me in a few weeks.”

“There’s a mindscape I need to access.”

“Oh boy, it’s not usually you who wants to poke around other humans' brains, always prattling on about ethics and consent. What’s the occasion?”

“...You know everything I know when we’re in the mindscape, you already know the answer.”

“Yes, but I still want you to say it out loud. Clearly and concisely, so your dialogue can be read on screen.”

“... I need to get into the mind of my brother, Stanley. He has amnesia, and our leading theory is that it’s due to psychological trauma. But he has been through so much trauma we’re having trouble isolating the definitive event that would have started this.”

“And why wouldn’t he just share that with his beloved twin brother?”

“He does not remember me.”

“Oooh, then he is just like you! Isn't it just precious when twins are twinning?”

“I never forgot about him.”

“Oh Sixer… You might as well have.”

“Just take me to his mind, Cipher… Please.”

“Anything for you, baby boy!”

SNAP

(...)

“So your memories are only clear to a certain point?”

“Yeah. Rick found me wandering around the woods in a ‘catatonic state’, and snapped me out of it. Everything before that… I can remember being on the street, I can remember all the stuff I did, maybe out to a decade? But there’s a lot of holes, lotsa different names I used. And before the streets? Nothing.”

“And when did Rick find you in the woods?”

“What month is it?”

“June.”

“Last May - so about 13 months?”

(...)

“Okay Fordsy he hasn’t made a deal with me so we can’t go too deep, or his mental defenses are just gonna shove us out.”

“Bill, I already know that, why are you explaining it to me?”

“You know; doesn’t mean they know. Unless this is a re-read. In which case; welcome back. Glad you loved or hated it the first time.”

“You are… Beyond comprehension, Bill Cipher.”

“That’s what you love about me though.”

“You have my begrudging, professional respect.”

“From your aspec ass, that’s practically love.”

“Aspe-”

“Oooh! Lookie here, a memory door opened up. He must be opening up to someone right now. Let's barge in haphazardly.”

(...)

“Okay Stan, this might be difficult. But if you ever feel distressed, let me know and we can try grounding techniques okay?’

“You got it, F.”

“Now close your eyes, think back to when you and Rick parted ways.”

(...)

“Sanchez?! How does Stan know-.”

“You know this hilarious crossover character? I already know the answer, but for no particular reason I need you to tell me out loud how you know him.”

“His wife Diane was part one of my PhD programs. She was always so bright and pleasant, but her husband was a nightmare when she brought him around. He was always saying that school wasn’t for smart people, and rubbed his inventions and intelligence in our face.”

“And how is she these days?”

“She passed away from a garage fire a few years ago, her and her little girl. I almost sent him a condolences, but he was such an unpleasant slimebucket I could not make myself do so.”

“Come on Stan- think about it! You, me, Bird Person, Squanchy- sci-fi adventures, drugs, bitches. Whattaya say? Let’s ditch this dimension, there isn’t anything for us here anymore.”

“Dimension-?”

“Shh, Fordsy, just let it play out.”

“I… I can’t Rick.”

“Why not?”

“There’s… something here.”

“Did you remember something?”

“I don’t remember who, but I think I’m looking for someone.”

“Stanny-Boy, we’ve been through this before. No one knows you, everywhere we’ve been, ‘cept for the fake names. You should just cut your losses.”

“Wherever we go, we go together.”

“What was that-?”

“Just the distorted voice of his subconscious. It’s probably not important.”

“I’m sorry. But there’s a piece of me missing, and I think it’s still here in this dimension somewhere.”

“You know your credits don’t have monetary value here.”

“I know.”

“And I can’t leave you a space cruiser. You’ll have to walk or steal a car.”

“Either is fine. I’ve done it before.”

“Stan… Are you sure?”

“Here. Take all my credits, you’ll get more out of it than me.”

“You want your dusters back?”

“Trade me.”

“Wait, you don’t want your transdimensional watch anymore?”

“If the pigs catch me, I don’t need them asking too many questions.”

“You know that doesn’t just give you dimensional coordinates and time zones, right? There’s a pulse wave in it that can shatter force fields.”

“Pft, what are the chances I’d ever need that?”

“Ooof, he really fumbled the bag there.”

“My muse, please.”

*Rick takes the watch and gives Stan a pair of brass knuckles*

“Thanks Rick… Hey, it was nice while it lasted.”

“Hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“I hope you find that bastard, Prime. Give him the hell he deserves.”

“...Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll miss you too, pal.”

(...)

“Alright, how are you feeling Stan?”

“So far so good.”

“Okay, now let’s go further back. You said your first clear memory is when you met him, let’s go back to that.”

“I was in the back of his shi- iiitty car, I felt like I’d just smoked an entire carton of cigarettes, but in a bad way..”

(...)

“It just- stopped?”

“He’s remembering something else. Just look for another door.”

“Here we go.”

“Wha- where…?”

“Oh hey you’re awake.”

“-’re, you?”

“You’re one tough son of a bitch, y’know? Most of the people I tase end up dead, but you just passed out.”

“You… tased me? Are you a cop?”

“Hell no. I tased you because you attacked me in the woods. Damn near ripped my head off.”

“The woods..?”

“You were wandering around in a catatonic state, can’t tell you how long.”

“A what state?”

“This isn’t going anywhere. Can you tell me your name?”

“It’s…? I... Malone. Wait. It’s- Stan.”

“Stan Malone huh? My name’s Rick Sanchez.”

(...)

“Stan keep your eyes closed. I want you to try to remember what happened before this.”

“Alright…”

“What’s something you can remember? Something you saw, felt, heard?”

“My chest felt really tight…”

(...)

“What is this?”

“Ahh. A pit memory. This is something his brain wants to forget, but can’t permanently delete.”

“So it is a repressed memory?”

“Yes. He’s trying to think about it… but unconsciously, he really doesn’t want to.”

“What happens if we jump in?”

“Sixer, where's your sense of adventure? If it gets too dangerous I’ll just pull us out.”

“Do you swear?”

“Just gimme the word.”

“Which word?”

“Let’s go with ‘defenestrate’ this time.”

‘W̷̷H̷̷Y̷ ̷I̷̷S̷̷N̷'̷T̷ ̷I̷̷T̷ ̷W̷̷O̷̷R̷̷K̷̷I̷̷N̷̷G̷?! ̷W̷̷H̷̷Y̷-?’

S̷̷C̷̷R̷̷E̷̷E̷̷C̷̷H̷

‘̷C̷̷a̷̷n̷’̷t̷-’

‘̷t̷̷r̷̷a̷̷p̷̷p̷̷e̷̷d̷’

‘̷c̷̷a̷̷n̷’̷t̷ ̷b̷̷r̷̷e̷̷a̷̷t̷̷h̷̷e̷-’

*brief flash of a pile of burnt paper ash in Stan’s hands, which are shaking*

“We can’t stay here Fordsy, he’s closing up again.”

“Just one more second-!”

“Might as well, it’s [--- ---- ------ - ---].”

“[--- ---] going to die here. Stan[--- -------- -----], if you don’t [---- - ---- ---- --] in the next minute you will die.”

“That voice-?”

“We’re leaving now, Sixer! DEFENESTRATE!”

SNAP

(...)

“Stan? Stan calm down-! It’s okay! Remember where you are.”

“C-Can’t breathe-”

“Yes you can, just breathe with me. In- out. In- out. Just like that. There we go.”

“I’m sorry Fiddleford, I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t. ”

To be continued…

63 notes · View notes

flicklikesstuff · 1 year ago

Note

Can we see more of your RFTS AU? Does your Starboy have a name?

EEEEEEE!!!!! CONGRATS!! You’re my first ever ask! 🎖️💖

And I’d love to!

(I’m just so busy irl but I’m never abandoning this passion project of mine just so y’all know)

1.) I’m going to leave some details out for spoilers but here’s the gist!

Asha:

Design/Backstory:

- Asha has amber eyes with a North African purple and white colour scheme that contrasts Star’s.

- She just turned 18 a few months prior to the story.

- She grew up as a servant to the king and queen to owe up to Magnifico’s generous request to have her and her mom to stay at the castle’s spare rooms after a “fiery incident” took her house and father’s life away.

- Thus, she has a muscular build from all the experience she had running errands for them.

- Sabino is not her blood-related grandpa in this AU. He used to be the prev king’s and Magnifico’s royal advisor before retiring at an old age. He used to be close friends with Asha’s father. (I’m debating whether I should make Tomás the king’s prev assistant.) In a way, Asha still views Sabino as family.

RFTS! Asha’s design is basically inspired by my fav concept art of her <3

Personality:

(Asha’s main arc is that in order to ‘reach for the stars,’ she must first learn to trust in her capabilities and decisions. Because every single person has great potential that grows the more you have faith in yourself :)))

She develops from being an insecure servant girl to an admirable leader.)

- She’s TERRIBLE at organising her thoughts into words when she’s nervous. She finds it easier to sketch positive and negative things that she can’t say out loud into her sketchbook and vents there often.

- Asha is a daydreamer. (I plan on having her daydreaming sequences in 2D while when she snaps back to reality, the story goes back to 3D.). She likes imagining and drawing about her dreams and desires. It’s an escape from life and a stress-reliever

- She makes a bunch of promises to herself and others but often finds herself chickening out, afraid and unsure on how to take direction. (It’s a subversion of the brave princesses we had. Besides, I think we can all relate to this at some point, right?)

- At the same time, Asha beats herself up for still feeling afraid.

- She’s very observant with her surroundings. It’s why she manages to find something was off in the castle and catch on if people are hiding something

- Highly empathetic, allowing her to form deep bonds with people who struggle with verbal communication. She finds it easy to sympathise and is slow to anger and pointing fingers.

- She remembers limited sign language for being childhood friends with Dario, who is hard of hearing in this AU. But now, it’s been a while and is kinda rusty with it.

- Asha struggles in appreciating small things around her, believing that the prize at the end and achieving the wish is the thing most worth it. Initially believing it’s the only way people can be truly happy. If a wish isn’t granted, then what?

- Very creative, witty and quick on her feet.

- Tends to be indecisive due to the initial habit of being a people-pleaser, fears making a mistake, and due to having grown up where most decisions are already made for her (as a servant of the king and queen). She is insecure about her own capabilities.

- Can be playful at times and can take a joke/prank. (often with Valentino, who she adopted after his mother abandoned him from being born sick.)

……….

Star:

Design/Backstory:

- Tan skin colour with freckles across his face. Has wide hazel eyes. (Blue to brown, reminiscent of the sky)

- He’s 22 yrs old. Wishing stars don’t age physically but they still age mentally the same rate as humans.

- His hair looks like it’s made of stardust and it constantly has sparkles flying off it like sparks from a fire. The back of his hair is black like space. (I’ve show it already but it’s basically this:)

- His colour scheme is black and yellow in contrast to Asha’s. He wears a capelet and a cape that’s black on the outside and yellow sparkles under it. When he flies super fast, his cape looks like the tail of a shooting star.

- Light dims when upset and glows brightly whenever he’s happy. Sometimes, he glows red when he’s angry (Ref to Ray and Tinkerbell)

- Mute/Nonverbal. Communicates through sign language, light manipulation, animating sketches in Asha’s book, and drawing in air with stardust.

- He shapeshifts by rearranging the stardust that makes him up. This also means he could change his clothes very easily. In his numerous forms, the most notable thing is that there always has to be a star shape somewhere.

- He’s a young wishing star in the sky that was captured by King Magnifico to use his magic as a power source. He’s been kept locked up for nearly a decade until Asha freed him. However, on his wrists are green bands, similar to what the Genie in ‘Aladdin’ has. It’s the spell casted on him for extra measure to make him unable to return home or stray far from Rosas.

Personality:

(Due to being under Magnifico’s cruelty for a while, Star mistrusts humans and initially wonders constantly if they have ulterior motives. Srsly, the only thing he wants to do is go home to the sky and never go back down again.

But his arc over the story has him discovering how similar humans are to stars. How they shine a light and inspire one another to do great things. And most amazingly, with no magic! Over the story, Star reawakens his wonder of this beautiful world.)

- Wishing stars like him are the only creatures that have Wish magic. An unpredictable magic that not even the best astrologists and researchers know its limits. The way it works is that Star connects with a wish essence first, and then the passion and faith the person has with that wish determines the power and how long-lasting his help would be. It’s up to the wishing star then to decide their own unique method of granting that wish.

(It’s like training wheels. It would help guide you and then goes away once you get the hang of reaching your wish on your own.)

- A heart of gold who can’t resist saying no to a desperate face for long. While hesitant at first, he’ll slowly soften up. He’s actually a very sweet guy who loves making people happy under that defensive mask.

- Overly cautious and paranoid at first (like Rapunzel when she first got out the tower) but his wonder gets the better of him eventually.

- Greatly fears Magnifico to a high extent.

- Claustrophobic asf. The look he gave Asha when she proposed the idea for him to hide in her satchel while travelling through the kingdom was almost personal.

(It’s funny to think his initial dynamic with Asha is somewhat similar to Moana and Maui. Well…Not completely.

Basically, the only way for him to return home to the sky was return to the castle (which he JUST escaped-), find the artifact that casted the spell on him and break it, then he’s free. Though, Asha asked a favour that FIRST, he helps her find a way to free a few wishes first.

Honestly, this is frustratingly the best she could compromise with him because he’ll stubbornly refuse anything that involves direct confrontation with Mag. Asha secretly hopes she could change his mind on the way.

And because of that dread of going back anywhere near Magnifico again, Star would “accidentally” stall their journey there, which annoys Asha.)

- STUBBORN. Asha would tease him at times that he’s getting attached to Earth things and he’ll deny it because “Nooooooo~ I don’t. I am going straight back to the sky and that’s it.”

- Star would annoy or make fun of people harmlessly to express his frustrations with them. (He gets creative with his shape-shifting forms)

- Wish magic is unpredictable. So whenever he’s feeling highly emotional, like highly excited, scared, mad, or depressed, things happen out of his control. A rock turns into a giant orange pumpkin or a mushroom grows to 10x its original size.

- Impatient and gets distracted easily

- Star initially avoids touch at all times because of his mistrust in humans. He flinches at sudden advances. But progressively gets really affectionate as he learns to trust in certain people. That not all humans are selfish after all.

- Feels under-appreciated at times but doesn’t let it show. (A parallel to Magnifico who also feels under-appreciated. But instead of being vengeful, Star chooses to keep making others happy)

- Basically the entire embodiment of the therapist friend. (He keeps his issues to himself to avoid bothering others because “that’s not what stars dooo.”)

- He’s irritated that his inability to speak is misinterpreted as “stubbornness, uncooperativeness, and childishness.”

- This is AFTER he lets his defensive mask crumble down. Star finds appreciation and the beauty in the smallest and seemingly insignificant things, which he often brings to show Asha and his friends. (He’s the type to collect trinkets like Ariel.)

………….

Magnifico/Magnus:

Design/Backstory:

- Most of his design is summed up in this sheet I drew

- Magnifico is 38 yrs old

- His clothing is still white but with blue-ish patterns like the wishes he keeps stored away. Why is he storing those wishes? Let’s just say he and his wife have a big plan for Rosas’ 100th anniversary the coming month. ;)

- Mf has greying hair from all that stress

- I’m still keeping the backstory of him watching his village get destroyed as a young kid. Magnus was one of the few survivors who left the village alive on boat. They retreated to Rosas, where it held its reputation of being the most welcoming kingdom with each king being a grand sorcerer that serves his people. (So Rosas wasn’t built by Mag. It’s an already established kingdom)

- Being an orphan who had to turn to stealing to live, Magnus came across King Oliver, the prev king of Rosas. Feeling sorry for the boy, and having his wife and heir die from childbirth, he adopted him as Prince Magnifico. The name change representing a start to a new life.

- I want to make Mag’s backstory a subversion of the trope where the “MC rebels against their parent figure and is able to prove in the end that they are independent enough and their parent finally sees their POV and supports their child from then on.”

Growing up, King Oliver was admittedly not the best parent and was unintentionally dismissive in Mag’s trauma. “What’s past is past and sometimes it’s best to forget and move on.” Mag was enraged because he LOVED his original family and home and didn’t want to JUST forget.

- Mag fell in love with Amaya in the typical “Royalty x Commoner in the woods” fashion. But even then, King Oliver didn’t approve that. Not because Amaya’s a commoner, but because she’s a criminal who has intentionally broken Rosas’ magic safety restrictions for her alchemist experiments. This added more fuel to Mag’s hatred of him, of course. (Like damn, I wonder if Mag had anything to do with him passing away-)

- “After all, a king can do whatever he wants with his kingdom. Isn’t that right, father…? You did want me so desperately to be a good king…” (A quote that’s sort of a Scar ref?? Idk)

- Mag feels like he deserves the power due to his tragic past. He’s so sure that as king, he decides what everyone deserves. He feels like the world owes him for what happened.

And he will give the world and all those ungrateful brats, especially his dear adoptive father, what they deserve on Rosas’ 100th Anniversary. The day he shapes Rosas into the perfect land that he and Amaya were denied from. And after Rosas, the rest of the kingdoms will follow.

- He’s a vengeful spiky ball who thinks he deserves the credit for any problem he “solves.” Has Hero syndrome.

Personality:

- Psychopathic: Entitled, arrogant and impulsive

- Magnifico craves excitement and rewards. He smiles at the slightest compliment and gets a little bashful with flirts.

-He definitely runs his hands through his hair and plays with his cape as stress-relievers.

- Anger Issues. Yep.

- Superficially charming towards people as a manipulative tactic. Though it’s easier to break his facade compared to Amaya because of his temper.

- Remember when I said he’s almost similar to Lotso in Toy Story 3? I’m not giving too much details but do whatever with that knowledge.

- He genuinely believes and hates the Wishing Stars for ignoring his pleas as a child on the night he lost everything. It’s why he’s so harsh with Star himself.

………

Amaya:

In all honesty, I have not finished the queen’s redesign much. Oof- 😭

Here are some brainstorms I have with her though:

- Amaya is 37

- She aids Magnifico with spying and starting accidental tragedies.

- She’s usually in charge of the servants in the castle. Asha looks up to her since Amaya’s the nicest monarch to her and someone in the castle she feels safe around with. Like a second mother. With Mag, Asha feels like she’s walking on eggshells.

- Amaya secretly uses some animals and prisoners kept in the dungeons as subjects for her experiments.

- Being an alchemist (and more skilled in it than Mag), her magic is a substitute so that they can quickly save more wishes for their grand plan for Rosas’ 100th anniversary. (I forgot to mention that Mag uses the wishes to make his magic stronger.)

- She’s a strong parallel of Asha, presenting the dangers inflicted upon others when one gets too ambitious with their own goals that they are apathetic towards how it affects other people

- An independent woman who is very ambitious like Asha. However instead of keeping it to herself, Amaya goes beyond lengths to reach her goals. To become the most skilled alchemist, alongside her powerful husband, the world has ever known and prove it to those who doubted her. Like Asha, Amaya has her own notebook she keeps her notes in.

- Skilled at disguises and coming up with fake stories that are easy to believe in. (Ref to the Evil Queen, Jafar and multiple other Disney villains who utilise deception)

- Holds the calculating and intelligent skills in her power duo with Magnifico. Mag is more on delivery, force and image. (The Brains and the Brawn duo)

- Her family was against her interest in learning magic/alchemy. So Amaya heavily dislikes company that she perceives as holding her back from her full potential.

- Fled to Rosas for more opportunities. While magic isn’t forbidden at the time she arrived, there were safety restrictions such as certain spells and potions that aren’t allowed to be made and casted, which she loathed. (So she stole and found ways to gather ingredients for her experiments in the woods, prior to meeting Magnifico.)

- Probs just think of her as being as curious and innovative as Zarina from ‘The Pirate Fairy”, but you know, eviler.

…….

2.) Now for RFTS!Starboy’s name in this AU.

I’ve mentioned this in a previous post I had before but his name issssssss 🥁🥁🥁:

✨ Star ✨

No, I’m not kidding. That’s it.

Yes, Wishing Stars have names but not in a way humans understand. Their real names are in a language that is incomprehensible and ear-damaging levels of loud for humans to hear. While yes, they know English just fine, there’s not really an equivalent in the human alphabet for their real names.

Wishing Stars still love to listen to the names humans would give them from below though. Either individually or as a constellation. They love it! Ursa Major? Alpha Crucis? Awww.

Anyways-

Star hasn’t received a name growing up in the sky because he’s small and easy to miss. When they first met, Asha was not in a creative state of mind at the time and meant to put “Star” as a placeholder name for now.

However, the magical boy got attached to the name and stubbornly refuses to hear any other attempt at giving him another one. It’s so simple but it’s HIS name now. He claims it. I find it cute that a supernatural being with literal outer space as his home, appreciates the smallest things given to him. So “Star” it became….

Though, Asha did introduce Star as “Peter” (Pan) to certain people to hide his identity. Because ‘Star’ is too obvious, you know?

And then Star jokingly pretends to not know who this ‘Peter’ is whenever she refers to him as such. Asha would just roll her eyes and stifle a chuckle.

Friendly reminder that some details may change as I develop the RFTS!AU more. Hope ya’ll like it so far!! 💖

#disney wish #wish 2023 #wish rewrite #wish star #wish asha #wish au #rfts au #reach for the stars au #wish starboy #wish magnifico #wish amaya #wish disney #wish movie #Dang-This took longer than expected #I highly appreciate asks btw! Feel free to send more! I don’t bite :))

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lynzishell · 2 years ago

Text

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Transcript:

Aurelio: Damn, I can’t… keep up with you… these days. Phoenix: C’mon, I’m going easy on you. Aurelio: I gotta… I gotta stop. Phoenix: Almost done, I promise. My building is right there.

Aurelio: What is all this stuff? Phoenix: Kiyoshi has us all on this strict nutrition plan. Easier to have it delivered than to cook it.

Aurelio: So, you’re really doing this, huh? You’re going to climb Mt. Komorebi? Phoenix: I don’t know. I’m just taking it one step at a time. I’m enjoying the training and people. Aurelio: But you haven’t tried an actual rock face yet or anything? Phoenix: Not yet, but we’ll head out there soon. You know it’s not too late to join us if you want to.

Aurelio: No thanks, man. I know my limits. Maybe you should think about yours. Phoenix: What’s that supposed to mean? Aurelio: Nothing, I just think you should stop and think about what you’re doing before it’s too late to back out. Phoenix: What are you talking about? I’m not going to back out. Aurelio: So, you are doing it? What happened to “taking it one step at a time”?

Phoenix: What is this? Why are you grilling me right now? Aurelio: I just think… maybe you shouldn’t push yourself too far. It’s not worth the risk. Phoenix: Why are you so worried? You aren’t the one going up there. I am.

Aurelio: You know why, Phoenix. You can’t just put your headphones on and check out when you’re hanging on the side of a mountain. You’re gonna have to be present and in it. This sport is dangerous enough, but if shit catches up to you and makes you lose focus, you could get really hurt, or worse. Phoenix: Well, if that happens, maybe it’s meant to be. Aurelio: Not helping, man. That shit ain’t funny.

Phoenix: I know. I’m sorry. That’s not what I want, ok? I’m good. I’m just saying… Aurelio: What? Phoenix: Look, I’m not climbing that mountain any time soon. Do you have any idea how long we have to train for that? But when the time comes, I’ll be ready. Aurelio: I hope so.

Phoenix: Fuck, can you just trust me?! You think I didn’t consider all of this already?! Yes, if I have an episode, it will dramatically increase my chances of falling… like, I will definitely fall. I get that. But the first few spots we climb, I’ll be fine if I fall. That aside, when I’m climbing, all I’m thinking about is the route. Completely focused, drowning out everything else, almost better than the headphones do. So no, I’m not worried. And you shouldn’t be either. I’m not going to be reckless, but I really do want to make it to the top of that mountain. The more I think about it, the more I work for it, the more of a possibility it becomes, the more I want it. So yes, I’m doing this.

Aurelio: Okay. I hear you. Phoenix: Good. I hope you can be supportive. Honestly, man, if anything does come up or whatever, I’m not going to just quit. But I will need you in my corner. You’re the only one I can talk to about that shit. Aurelio: Of course. You know I’ll always be here. Phoenix: I know. And so will I. I’m sorry for everything I put you through, but I promise I’m good now. More than good. Aurelio: Okay. Good. I’m happy to hear that, I really am.

#ts4 #sims 4 #ts4 gameplay #sims 4 gameplay #ts4 challenge #sims 4 challenge #starsignchallenge #starsignlegacychallenge #gen1 aries #aries pt2 #phoenix realta #aurelio robles #ts4 simblr #ts4 story #sims 4 storytelling

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tendertenebrosity · 2 years ago

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Prev: One,two, three. This is fanfic for the book Ocean’s Echo, containing my own OCs.

Davi had thought that the discomfort of being away from your reader had been exaggerated. He’d never had any issues when he was in the mess hall or the gym while Saelin stayed in their quarters, or vice versa.

But now he was realising the truth: since the sync, they’d simply never been on a ship large enough to really hit their limits.

Their ship had finished its patrol, and was temporarily docked at a space station. So naturally, as soon as their shift was over and they were on rec time Saelin had made a beeline for the opposite side of it. As far away from the ship and their quarters as he could get. And Guidance lights, it felt like someone had pulled out one of Davi’s internal organs and stretched it like an elastic band across the station.

Davi tried to tough it out, but even lying on his bunk he couldn’t focus on the book-cube he was trying to read. Or on any of the training modules, or on the latest pulpy fiction vids the ship’s library had to offer. He couldn’t focus on anything except the fact that a part of himself was not here, was over in the station somewhere wandering around, aching and pulling and tearing.

After half an hour, he rolled out of bed with an uncoordinated stagger, threw on one of his civvie shirts, and limped out into the hallway and towards the docking bay.

The station wasn’t exactly touristy; at least, not the part of it where Saelin had apparently decided to go. Potted plants with heavy waxy leaves lined the thoroughfare, and people wandered in and out of the shopfronts.

Davi’s head pounded from the strain of reaching out in his reader’s direction and touching nothing. For a little while, as he walked, he could feel Saelin getting closer, feel the aching wrongness easing. Then it stopped improving, and stabilised, the invisible elastic band remaining at the same length no matter how far Davi walked along the unfamiliar streets of the station.

Then it started to get worse again.

Eventually he stopped, breathing hard, spots in his vision. Anger made him hiss under his breath. How is Saelin doing this? He’s a pudgy civilian, he skips out on gym sessions whenever I let him! No way he can walk faster than me while putting up with this!

This was ridiculous. If they’d been closer - if his head hadn’t hurt so damn much - Davi would have written him. Ignoring the station citizens giving him strange looks where he stood in the middle of the thoroughfare, he lifted his wristband and keyed in a message.

Agent Thirty two, stay right the fuck where you are. That’s an order.

A few moments later, it pinged with an acknowledgement. No words. It must have been Davi’s imagination that tinged the bland computerised noise with resentment.

When he caught up with Saelin, the reader was sitting at a table outside a faintly grubby little cafe, with one of the waitstaff eyeballing him distrustfully.

Davi dropped into the seat opposite him.

“There is something wrong with you,” he said without preamble. “I know you felt that too. You’re happy to hurt yourself as long as you get to cause me pain at the same time, is that it? Or is hurting yourself the point?”

Saelin sat back in the seat and crossed his arms. He looked sloppy in his undershirt and uniform pants. “I asked. You said I could leave the ship.”

“You didn’t tell me you were going to hike out into the fucking middle of nowhere!” Davi hissed. “I thought you just wanted to get, I don’t know. A coffee at one of the port bars. Pick up something at a shop and come back.”

He should have known that wasn’t the case, he realised, kicking himself internally. Saelin didn’t have any money. It had been irresponsible of Davi anyway, even if that was all Saelin had wanted to do. He wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking to say yes.

Saelin shrugged. His glasses reflected the grimy station lights, so that Davi couldn’t quite see his eyes behind them. “So confine me to quarters from now on. I’ll comply; I don’t have a choice.”

“Do you want me to do that?”

“And when,” Saelin said, “Has it ever mattered to anybody, least of all you, what I want?”

Davi wondered what had changed.

Things had been, well, uncomfortable for weeks. Davi’s first impulse - to act as he would with any other ranker or subordinate he spent a great deal of time with, casual and all right, yes, friendly while still maintaining a sense of authority - had obviously backfired. But at least it had been something to fill the space. Now there was just… a wordless resentful submission to everything Davi said or did or expressed. When they sank deep into the sync, for tricky navigation around the curlicues and eddies of chaotic space, Davi felt like he came out with a residue of dislike and contempt on his mind. It wasn’t what Davi had been aiming for but he understood why Saelin responded like that; what choice did he have?

But this, this was weird.

Davi leaned forward and stabbed a finger at the table. “If you want to get me to write you, this is the way to do it,” he said bluntly, and was satisfied to see the reader flinch. “I don’t give a damn what I promised. I know you hate it. But this here is point-blank unacceptable, and I’m being nice by even making this a conversation. So you can cut the fucking attitude, all right? It’s like you’re daring me to write you. Which is why I’m asking you, do you want to be confined to the ship? Do you want more write-commands?”

Saelin hunched his shoulders and stared at his lap. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t want that.”

Davi felt like a bully. Trouble was, he was still angry; a tension headache still pulsed behind his eyes.

“What are you doing out here?” he settled for asking. “Why this? Are you trying to show me that the sync can hurt me, too? I already knew that.”

“No,” Saelin said. Unwillingness radiated from him. “No, not at all. At first I just wanted to see for myself what our range was. And then…” He lifted a hand, pushed the glasses up and aside so he could rub his face. The sync bled vulnerability, all of a sudden. “Please,” he said. “I needed it. I know it hurts. And I know I’ve - I’ve been hostile. But I wasn’t doing it because it hurts you.”

Davi felt his eyebrows lifting. Progress.

“So hurting yourself is the point?”

Saelin frowned, but didn’t immediately deny it.

Davi sighed, propping his head up on his hand. “You need to see a head-doctor,” he said. “Or, I don’t know, get a subscription to a kinky magazine.”

Saelin’s mouth twisted in distaste. He didn’t engage with either comment. “What I needed,” he said, “Was… distance. To be as far away from the sync and you as it’s possible for me to be, ever again. And once I had it, it hurt but I couldn’t leave it alone.”

Davi allowed himself to think about it, for the first time in long uncomfortable weeks.

This was forever. Davi knew people didn’t survive having a sync severed. The two of them were stuck with each other until death. The person across the table from him now would be within a couple of city blocks of him forever.

He wondered if it was better or worse to have had no choice in it. Because right now, Davi felt like the most stupid person in the world for agreeing to this of his own free will.

Across the table, mind close enough to touch, the reader sighed. He was examining the peeling trim of the table with intense focus. The next sentences were clipped. “I’m sorry. That I hurt you.”

That had the ring of a genuine apology, to Davi’s surprise.

“I think,” he said slowly, “I understand.”

“Please don’t… confine me to quarters, or to the ship,” Saelin said. “I won’t go this far again. I won’t play games. I’ll come back when you call. But, please, if I can get out into the real world every now and then…”

Davi felt his brows come together in a frown at the notion that the ship, and the Division, and the military didn’t count as ‘the real world’. What do you think of as the real world?

But he’d flubbed the last real attempt to forge a working relationship with this person. And he found that the alternative prospects - maintaining authority over Saelin with never-ending threats and write-commands and short leashes - was both exhausting and distasteful.

“No promises,” he said. “I don’t think I should make you any more… promises or deals. You’ll have to ask me if you want to leave, and tell me where you’ll be going, and I might need to write you truthful sometimes to do my due diligence.”

Saelin cocked his head, feeling out cautiously along the sync. “But?”

“Ask me next rec period,” Davi said aloud, but pulsed yes. Conditional, but yes, across the corridor between their minds. Saelin acknowledged it with a pulse of his own.

And that would have to be good enough for now.

#Ocean's Echo fanfic #telepathy #nonconsensual mindlink #Saelin #Davi #navigating fucked up power dynamics

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techseoblog · 5 months ago

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How to Fix Crawl Budget Waste for Large E-Commerce Sites

Struggling with crawl budget waste on your massive e-commerce site?

Learn actionable strategies to fix crawl budget waste for large e-commerce sites, optimize Googlebot’s efficiency, and boost your SEO rankings without breaking a sweat.

Introduction: When Googlebot Goes on a Wild Goose Chase 🕵️♂️

Picture this: Googlebot is like an overworked librarian trying to organize a chaotic library. Instead of shelving bestsellers, it’s stuck rearranging pamphlets from 2012.

That’s essentially what happens when your e-commerce site suffers from crawl budget waste.

Your precious crawl budget—the number of pages Googlebot can and will crawl on your site—gets squandered on irrelevant, duplicate, or low-value pages. Yikes!

For large e-commerce platforms with millions of URLs, this isn’t just a minor hiccup; it’s a full-blown crisis.

Every second Googlebot spends crawling a broken filter page or a duplicate product URL is a second not spent indexing your shiny new collection.

So, how do you fix crawl budget waste for large e-commerce sites before your SEO rankings take a nosedive? Buckle up, buttercup—we’re diving in.

What the Heck Is Crawl Budget, Anyway? (And Why Should You Care?) 🤔

H2: Understanding Crawl Budget: The Lifeline of Your E-Commerce SEO

Before we fix crawl budget waste for large e-commerce sites, let’s break down the basics. Crawl budget refers to the number of pages Googlebot will crawl on your site during a given period. It’s determined by:

Crawl capacity limit: How much server strain Googlebot is allowed to cause.

Crawl demand: How “important” Google deems your site (spoiler: high authority = more crawls).

For e-commerce giants, a limited crawl budget means Googlebot might skip critical pages if it’s too busy crawling junk. Think of it like sending a scout into a maze—if they waste time on dead ends, they’ll never reach the treasure.

How to Fix Crawl Budget Waste for Large E-Commerce Sites: 7 Battle-Tested Tactics

1. Audit Like a Bloodhound: Find What’s Draining Your Budget 🕵️♀️

First things first—you can’t fix what you don’t understand. Run a site audit to uncover:

Orphaned pages: Pages with no internal links. (Googlebot can’t teleport, folks!)

Thin content: Product pages with 50-word descriptions. Cue sad trombone.

Duplicate URLs: Color variants? Session IDs? Parameter hell? Fix. Them.

Broken links: 404s and 500s that send Googlebot into a loop.

Pro Tip: Use Screaming Frog or Sitebulb to crawl your site like Googlebot. Export URLs with low traffic, high bounce rates, or zero conversions. These are prime suspects for crawl budget waste.

2. Wield the Robots.txt Sword (But Don’t Stab Yourself) ⚔️

Blocking Googlebot from crawling useless pages is a no-brainer. But tread carefully—misconfigured robots.txt files can backfire. Here’s how to do it right:

Block low-priority pages: Admin panels, infinite pagination (page=1, page=2…), and internal search results.

Avoid wildcard overkill: Disallow: /*?* might block critical pages with parameters.

Test with Google Search Console: Use the robots.txt tester to avoid accidental blockages.

3. Canonical Tags: Your Secret Weapon Against Duplicates 🔫

Duplicate content is the arch-nemesis of crawl budget. Fix it by:

Adding canonical tags to all product variants (e.g., rel="canonical" pointing to the main product URL).

Using 301 redirects for deprecated or merged products.

Consolidating pagination with rel="prev" and rel="next" (though Google’s support is spotty—proceed with caution).

4. XML Sitemaps: Roll Out the Red Carpet for Googlebot 🎟️

Your XML sitemap is Googlebot’s GPS. Keep it updated with:

High-priority pages: New products, seasonal collections, bestsellers.

Exclude junk: No one needs 50 versions of the same hoodie in the sitemap.

Split sitemaps: For sites with 50k+ URLs, split into multiple sitemaps (e.g., products, categories, blogs).

5. Fix Internal Linking: Turn Your Site into a Well-Oiled Machine ⚙️

A messy internal linking structure forces Googlebot to play hopscotch. Optimize by:

Adding breadcrumb navigation for layered category pages.

Linking to top-performing pages from high-authority hubs (homepage, blogs).

Pruning links to low-value pages (looking at you, outdated promo codes).

6. Dynamic Rendering: Trick Googlebot into Loving JavaScript 🎭

Got a JS-heavy site? Googlebot might struggle to render pages, leading to crawl inefficiencies. Dynamic rendering serves a static HTML snapshot to bots while users get the full JS experience. Tools like Prerender or Puppeteer can help.

7. Monitor, Tweak, Repeat: Crawl Budget Optimization Is a Marathon 🏃♂️

Fixing crawl budget waste isn’t a one-and-done deal. Use Google Search Console to:

Track crawl stats (pages crawled/day, response codes).

Identify sudden spikes in 404s or server errors.

Adjust your strategy quarterly based on data.

FAQs: Your Burning Questions, Answered 🔥

Q1: How often should I audit my site for crawl budget waste?

A: For large e-commerce sites, aim for quarterly audits. During peak seasons (Black Friday, holidays), check monthly—traffic surges can expose new issues.

Q2: Can crawl budget waste affect my rankings?

A: Absolutely! If Googlebot’s too busy crawling junk, your new pages might not index quickly, hurting visibility and sales.

Q3: Are pagination pages always bad?

A: Not always—but if they’re thin or duplicate, block them with robots.txt or consolidate with View-All pages.

Conclusion: Stop the Madness and Take Back Control 🛑

Fixing crawl budget waste for large e-commerce sites isn’t rocket science—it’s about playing smart with Googlebot’s time. By auditing ruthlessly, blocking junk, and guiding bots to your golden pages, you’ll transform your site from a chaotic maze into a well-organized powerhouse. Remember, every crawl Googlebot makes should count. So, roll up your sleeves, implement these tactics, and watch your SEO performance soar. 🚀

Still sweating over crawl budget issues? Drop a comment below—we’ll help you troubleshoot. Fix All Technical Issus Now

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chores4days · 1 year ago

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unnoticed ੈ✩‧₊˚ chapt. one

benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

summary; in which the girl who's never been noticed by anyone, not even her family, finds herself being noticed by the second son of the bridgerton family-the familly who is the utter opposite of her own.

notes; omg guys i got a chapter finished quickly are you proud!?!?? also i have no idea where im going but i fuck with what i have ( i think ). kind of tried to go for a sophie beckett/penelope featherington vibe at the moment so that should give you some insight to what happens next but yeah tell me what you think please ( begs and pleads ) !! + oh, also after this chapter i think im gonna start looking for a beta reader so let me know if there’s any interest!!

word count; 1082 ( i told you they’d get longer ish >.< )

warnings; i don’t think there are any, maybe some light swearing if anything folks

join the taglist!

unnoticed masterlist.

prev. | cont.

despite the spat with your siblings, moreso brother, that afternoon—he never said a word about it after and allowed you to get ready by yourself that evening before the ball. but as nightfall fell closer you were beginning to think more upon your brother's words. perhaps his words came from a good place in what you could only assume was a cold, slightly beating heart. perhaps there was worry that you would end up like your sister who was five and twenty and had no suitors.

or, perhaps it could just be from a place of maliciousness instead of somewhere that was sort of protective. instead of it being somewhere cold and slightly beating, it was just a cold dead heart. however, no matter the reason, you couldn’t come up with any idea as to why he would be more on top of you than your sister—or even as to why he hadn’t married her off yet. you knew from conversations before that he would never be opposed to idea of marrying you off, so why hasn’t he married her off?

“my lady, are you well” you looked up to see your lady’s maid, only looked up at with a small smile. “miss hillner, i’ve already told you that you may call me by my given name when they are not around.” miss hillner only looked at you with smile and waved her hand at you, “yes, yes. miss y/n, i understand. now, what color dress do you fancy tonight?”

you let out another sigh and took a look at your limited options. as much as your brother complains about you not getting married, he doesn’t allow you to go to the modiste as often as you would like to get fitted. “oh, i need something new, miss hilly, but these have all been worn last year. people-lady featherington, will surely notice. or even worse, lady whistledown.”

miss hillner looked at her lady with sympathy, she had been your lady’s maid for years on end. she was there when your parents were still alive and was able to bear witness to how your brother was treating you, to how differently he treated you and your sister. it was impossible to not see if you were there constantly as she was and to see first hand how it would impact y/n was hard, especially when she was the one who had ended up practically raising the poor girl.

an idea suddenly popped into miss hillner’s head, it would most likely wound up with both her and y/n getting into a tiny bit of trouble but she believed all would be well. “i will be right back, my lady.” she said quickly before rushing out the door.

you didn’t get the chance to respond to her before she rushed out, making you look at the door in confusion. you sat down at the edge of your bed as you began to wonder where she went. it couldn’t have been far?

benedict didn’t know exactly how he felt about being at this evening's ball. he was certainly amused by his elder brother's antics as he flourished in his search to find the ‘perfect’ wife this season. and to watch his mama force eloise to socialize with prospective suitors only to see them try to weasel their way out of conversation after only merely five minutes was always an entertaining sight-he didn’t know how to truly feel.

something felt off about the night. he could feel it in his bones that something was coming, that something surely was to happen but he could not put his finger on it. as much as he tried to shake the tense feeling off of himself, it wouldn’t budge and he was forced to sit and lie in wait until that something were to happen.

he took a curious look around the room, watching the people dance and the mama’s speak to one another in the corner as they watched their daughters. he sipped his lemonade as he watched his brothers dance with ladies of the ton. colin danced with a miss penelope featherington, benedict knew her to be eloise’s closest friend.

and anthony danced with.. oh, benedict could not place her name exactly but he believed her to be the eldest sister of the moorenso’s as well as a spinster. as benedict looked closer at his brother’s face, he noticed that a grimace sat making him chuckle.

the dance was over fairly quickly after having noticed, anthony and the moorenso girl nodded to one another before the man began to stomp his way to his brother. anthony grabbed benedicts drink out of his hand roughly, chugging it down without asking. “oh, lord, why could this not have been something stronger?” anthony swore, making benedict laugh.

“oh, is miss mooreso not to be your lawfully wedded?” he teased, anthony glaring at him in response. “it’s moorenso, for one brother. and two..” his entire body shook as he gave his head a shake, no words able to come to mind about his short experience with the spinster. “i’m sure it couldn’t have been that bad of a dance, she seems like a nice enough girl.” benedict tried to defend the girl he didn’t know, as he knew his brother was being picky this season.

“speak to her yourself and you will too understand the pain brother, that moorenso girl is not good one.” anthony sighed before taking another sip of brothers lemonade. benedict rolled his eyes, snatching his lemonade back before speaking, “i’m sure that you are just-who on earth is that?” he cut himself off mid sentance as he caught a glimpse of the girl who had just walked into the ballroom.

the girl walked in alone, looking as nervous as can be. she wore a mauve colored dress that looked as if it did not fit the era, yet it seemed to blend into it nicely. her dress didn’t look like it was sucking her in as much as the other women of the ton, in fact it looked looser than it probably should have on her almost as if the dress weren’t originally made for her. but benedict had decided that no matter who the dress was originally made for-the lady made the dress look more breathtaking than he ever thought were possible.

and in that moment, benedict bridgeton had decided that it had seemed as if, not something but someone had finally happened.

taglist; @ru-kru @bbridgertcn @yyy90210 ( if you’re not supposed to be here lmk !! )

#chores4days ☆#benedict bridgerton #unnoticed ❀ ( a bridgerton fic series )#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton series #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton books

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punkflower11 · 2 years ago

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Choose Your Own Adventure: Miles Morales - Part 3

Prev | Master List

————

“Okay, so what’s our story?”

Situated side by side, Hobie and Miles glared at the piece of wood before them; the only thing separating the pair and doom. Behind it, the single greatest trial either would ever encounter lay, patiently waiting.

Miles had dreaded this moment for weeks. But not even spider-man could evade the fate.

Dinner. With his parents.

How ominous.

First, having Hobie and his Dad sit together in one room was definitely a mistake. Chances that the two would hit it off were so slim that you had to mentally squint just to imagine it. And unfortunately for Miles, the universe wasn't planning to break the laws of space and time any time soon.

There was no way he surviving tonight. It just wasn't possible.

Not to distract from his impending death, but Miles was slowly coming to the realization that he was also about to out himself to his parents, the funny part being that he didn't like Hobie. Ish.

See, that there was another thing.

Miles may have had a thing for Hobie back a few months shortly after the two had first met. Initially, he had thought the punk to be little more than disruptive, reckless, and frankly, a pain in the ass.

He loved every bit of it.

Enamored his distinct personality, Miles had became drawn to the other like a moth to flame (and in some ways that he'd rather not think about).

However the feelings had vanished almost as quickly as they arrived. With time, the clarity between his various affections for Hobie became blurred.

Sure there were times that Miles feelings for the other were a little less than platonic, but there were also others when he was certain that it felt like normal friendship and nothing more.

Either way, this was not something Miles was planning to poke around with, least of all tonight. Did Miles realize that he was probably sabotaging himself by asking Hobie, of all people to help him out?

Yeah. He did.

But it was fine. He was probably just overthinking it, and everything had actually been completely normal. Besides, everyone becomes helplessly infatuated with their best friend at some point, right?

…Right?

Yeah, Miles was beginning to panic.

“You're just asking me this now? That’s some pretty shite time management.”

“Well we need something, unless you just want to waltz in there unprepared!” Miles whisper-shouts.

He couldn’t just explain to his family that he had met his boyfriend while traveling through an alternate dimension whilst fighting multiples of his alter ego. If they hadn’t had a heart attack once they met Hobie then they'd definitely have after one hearing that.

And no, Miles hadn’t told his parents that he was Spider-Man. His dad was alive and that was all Miles could really ask for, no need to complicate things further.

Miles knew what really awaited the punk at the event innocently disguised at a dinner. Spoiler alert: it wasn't just free food. In reality, it was a glorified interrogation; a setting in which his parents could finally lay into his mysterious 'Girlfriend', and in a seemly domestic environment. It was too perfect.

He felt slightly guilty subjecting an unsuspecting Hobie to the absolute shitstorm that awaited him beyond the door, but he also knew that the sooner they got the over with, the faster both their souls could be put to rest. Miles just hoped that Hobie was strong enough to make it through the night in one piece.

“Hey, what was that thing we talked about on the way?”

“You mean Miguel's ass?”

"The other thing."

"Don't piss yourself, I remember."

“Oh yeah? Then humor me.”

“'Don’t call your parents by their first names. Absolutely no swearing, which is not limited to', as you put it, 'sneaky British expressions.'" He recites.

“Fantastic. I should probably also warn you about-" Miles was cut off by Hobie's fist colliding with the door.

“Hobie!” The teen waves him off.

“You worry too much. Relax babe, we’ll be fine”.

The door swung open to reveal Miles’ father, who's gaze fell upon Hobie who was adorned in leather and numerous pieces jewellery.

“Who's this punk?” he asks, distaste evident in his tone. Welp. Now or never.

“He’s my boyfriend. Hobie.” The following silence is palpable. Miles can feel his insides turning.

“He's your what?” a stunned Jefferson parrots.

"Boyfriend. His name is Hobie."

"Hiya." Hobie waves.

“Is that you Miles?” A voice pips up from behind the officer’s shoulder.

“Hey mom,” Miles gestures awkwardly to the teen at his right. “This is Hobie.” He watches his mother pause as she takes in the sight.

“It’s nice to meet you, come on in!” She pushes past Jefferson, ushering the teen inside. "You''ll have to excuse my husband. Miles left out a few details about you so he's just a little surprised."

Well wasn't that the understatement of the year.

To be fair, Miles had told his parents a perfectly normal amount of information about his 'girlfriend' he could manage without giving himself away. What was he supposed to tell them? Hey, so I'm actually dating an anarchist who wants abolish the police. Like you Dad. Yeah no.

In hindsight, it probably made all the difference but it was too late to change things now. Similar thoughts continued to circulate through his mind as the false lovers stepped inside the residence.

“Mom. I am begging you. Don't scare him off."

Miles wasn't sure of how much energy it took to genuinely frighten Hobie, but he figured that it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Miha. You have nothing to be worried about. He'll be fine, we won't hurt him too badly,” She tossed a casual wink in Miles' direction before returning to the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Hobie was busy looking at the wall to their left occupied by various picture frames. Expression softening, Miles moved to join him but half way through was confronted by his Rio who at present was carrying a large red tray.

“Here, take this to the table,” She orders him, pushing the dish into his arms. “And you,” Her eyes find Hobie. “Comes and help me flip the plantain.” The teen gives Miles a playful salute before joining Rio in the kitchen. Grumbling, Miles beings the trip to the dining table where he finds his is dad already seated.

“Mom, he just got here. Can't you give us a little space?” He calls out to her, exasperatedly setting down the dish onto the table.

“I don’t mind!" pipes Hobie from the stove just as Rio comes out to join Miles in setting the table.

“Hear that Miles? He doesn't mind.” She pats him on the shoulder before lowering her tone. "Also I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I wouldn't call Hobie a girl." She tells him wryly. Slightly panicking, Miles begins to laugh awkwardly.

"Ha. Yeah-no, I wouldn't either." Rio raises an eyebrow.

"Have anything you wanna tell me?"

Miles stiles. Hopefully never, his mind supplies, unhelpful.

At his silence, Rio shakes her head, expression fond. "No-we don't really have talk about it. But in case you’ve forgotten, I'm proud of you. Always.” A sudden wave of relief crashes over Miles. At hearing the sentiment he feels something warm swell in his chest.

"Thanks Mom, I appreciate it. Really."

"I would hope so. Now go join your Dad, he's been waiting patiently." True to her word, there he is situated at the diner table, glaring at Hobie from afar.

No doubt the man was already very concerned as to what Miles was seeing in such a person, but also that Hobie quite literally looked like he was about to jump him. He certainly had the build for it.

Hobie’s appearance wasn't very encouraging either. While Jefferson appreciated a strong display of personal expression, he wasn't so sure that he was as enthusiastic about someone who's personal expression screamed yo let's flip over that car.

In short, Jefferson thought that Hobie looked like trouble, and for his own piece of mind needed to make sure that his son wasn't seeing some sort of radical anarchist.

Where was Miles picking up all of these bad influences anyway? That girl Gwanda had already given him a bad vibe, but Hobie was a whole new level of shady.

"Hi." Miles smiles nervously. Jefferson inhales sharply.

"Look, anytime you'd like clear the air-" the cop is cut off by Rio and Hobie emerging from the kitchen carrying several pots.

"Jeff move your phone so I can put down the stew."

"Can't you just put it over there I'm trying to have a conversation with my-" The deathly look he got from his partner made any protests he had die in his throat.

He could reason with Miles later, but to do that he had to survive dinner first.

Soon, the four were seated comfortably at the table. Hobie next to Miles, Miles next to Jefferson, and Rio at the opposite end.

"Pass the beans, would you Miles?" Miles drops his fork and lifts the dish into his mom's reach. Meanwhile at the other end of the table, Jefferson clears his throat.

"So, Hobie," He addresses the teen. "How are..."

#across the spiderverse #punkflower #choose your own adventure #updates daily!#polls

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noirvette · 2 years ago

Text

WE NEVER EXISTED

[band smau]

[EIGHT]

masterlist.

prev. | next.

After the whole fiasco with Kenny a couple days ago you were nervous about if you had recently done something to annoy him. Kenny hasn’t ever really been this distant to you before, so this whole thing was somewhat surprising to you. You had been really worried over the situation and decided that giving him some space was maybe necessary. He messaged you a couple days ago that shit had hit the fan a couple days ago with Butters and that he was sorry for his recent behavior.

Knowing that it wasn’t you calmed your nerves, in fact it relieved you of your stress almost entirely. Nichole wasn’t exactly trusting of the situation, you knew that, she even mentioned it a few times that she “didn’t feel like Kenny was being exactly truthful” or that she “just has a gut feeling.” and no matter how many times she said “no, I believe you girl.” it didn’t exactly make you feel any better about forgiving Kenny, but she just wanted what was best for you and you knew that too.

Wendy and Bebe seemed hesitant to believe you when you told them that Kenny had some troubles with Butters recently too, but if they had any actual doubts they never mentioned them to you like Nichole did. You weren’t exactly sure if you should be grateful or concerned that they said nothing.

Clyde tagged along a few times with you and the girls while out and you were grateful for him too, because whenever Clyde was around his mood always managed to make the tiniest of worries in your head go away. You don't know how he does it but Clyde (and the girls of course) made the last few days the funnest experience of your life as of now.

What surprised you the most however was that Kyle was distant and almost cold like to you ever since you and the girls went out, he had spent most of his days cooped up in his hotel room working on schedules or practice times. You weren’t sure what was going on with him, but you hadn’t had a chance to ask him how he was doing besides with just one or two texts, which he responded promptly with one word answers. Your time had been spent having fun few days with the girls. You asked Stan about it in passing but all he said was that Kyle was just trying to keep the band busy. You didn’t entirely believe him but without proof and with how limited Kyle was in talking to you, you had no choice but to believe him.

Stan had honestly been a rock in your life as of late, if it wasn’t for him, you don’t know how you’d have been able to manage the reality of the stalker. It had been nice to have a distraction from the girls with going out and having fun, but that was a distraction, the weight of the situation still sat heavy in the back of your mind every time you came back to your hotel room and Stan knew what you had been feeling, having experienced at least some of the weight of what having a stalker actually meant because of the night of the last concert. Stan helped make the whole processing of what the fuck the past few days had been easier, honestly you'd think of yourself as going crazy if you had been left to your own devices.

Sighing and waiving the thought of the stalker out of your mind, you look at Nichole and Clyde who are both passed out in their seats next to you. With how bored you were you were rather jealous of them being able to sleep so soundly. If it weren’t for your nerves you probably would be asleep like them, but the prospect of being able to see Kenny again kept you up, the series of small gift bags locked up tight in your suitcase making you giddy as you thought about Kenny’s reaction to them. You bought him a few things, some random streetwear you thought he may like, a new pair of shoes, a mini picture collage of pictures you took of New York for him, and this small duck plush that you thought looked like him.

Maybe it was the nerves finally calming down, maybe it was the lull of the airplane and the fact it was silent, or maybe it was the stress of what you had gone through as of late, but you felt your eyes drop and before you knew it, you were knocked out.

As Kenny waits for you at the airport, he can't help but think about every single lie he’s recently committed and how to make sure he doesn’t get caught up in it.

First lie, being faithful…

Honestly that’s really THE lie, but because of that he’s now been spitballing lies like crazy recently. Like telling Tolkien that Karen needs his help and that he can’t go out when he’s going to meet up with Red for a date, or driving down to Denver to meet Red in some cheap motel and telling Butters he’s going out to visit his brother who thankfully lives in Denver, or like blaming Butters as the reason for his behavior to you and Kyle, who unfortunately won’t stop chewing him out for his actions.

Kyle pisses Kenny off immensely and he doesn’t understand why Kyle won’t hop off his dick when it comes to you. Not to toot his own horn in any way but Kenny thinks of himself as a pretty good boyfriend, recent behaviors aside, but besides that he’s already cut ties off with Red so he won’t have to worry about that. And Kyle just won’t let up and Kenny’s about had it with Kyle and his freaky obsession with you. Honestly he has half a mind to tell you all about Kyle’s behavior, which ranges from asking about you whenever Kenny and you are out on a date, to this, chewing him out as if Kyle’s the one dating you. Not to mention high school Kyle…. Kenny clicks his tongue in annoyance.

The thought of Kyle and you dating sours Kenny’s mood and he catches himself debating the pros and cons of shit talking about Kyle to you. It certainly would cause tension between the band.. But is that all so bad? If the band breaks up then you’d be able to spend time with him! Here in South Park! But by doing that Kenny’ll lose his best friends in the process. Deciding against it for the betterment of the group he realizes you and the others are calling out to him and heading his way.

“Kenny!!” You exclaim, running towards him and pulling him into a hug as you pepper his face in kisses.

Kenny wraps his arms around your waist pulling you up and spins you around, kissing you deeply in response.

You hear a series of groans of irritation from everyone and a “Stop the PDA bozos!” from Clyde, but you could care less, you haven’t seen your boyfriend for a near month now and Kenny flips them off, while still kissing you. When he finally pulls away to breathe, he immediately presses a few more kisses to your temple and sets you down, but still holds you against him in a hug.

“Hi baby,” Kenny whispers, his eyes are pricked with tears at the fact he gets to see you face to face again, “you’ve been away too long.”

“Yeah, I have.” you whisper back, putting your head on his shoulders, he sways with you in his arms and after a few seconds you hear Kyle cough, “Sorry to break up your guys’ reunion but I’ve got our bags..” he trails off, clearly uncomfortable at witnessing the PDA from you two. Kenny breathes out in annoyance and hesitantly lets you go.

“Thanks Kyle, is mine on the top like I asked?” You ask, walking over towards the cart of luggage, Kyle hums a low “mmhmm” in response and grabs your suitcase, setting it down gently for you. At this point most of the band and co have started walking off, ready to get going and finally get back to their apartments.

Setting it down you open it slightly, allowing for you to grab the small gift bags you got for Kenny, you close up your suitcase and place it back on the cart, before walking over to Kenny with the gift bags, “Your gifts, Ken,” you hand them over to him, his face tinged red with embarrassment, “I hope you like them.”

He kisses the crown of your head, “I’m sure I will.”

Just as you two were about to kiss once more, Clyde cuts you two off, disgust laced in his words, “Again! Seriously? I wanna go home already!”

TAGLIST: @captivq @kimiesstuff @bwljules @the-cooler-kira @1one1person1 @kenny-the-ken @neenieweenie @n0tangeliccc @revzxn @mirophobic @gonefiishiing @musiclovebot @bootsieboo @bonez4brainz @4xbei77 @1996kj @sweetadonisbutbetter @scinclaitnoir @okarigold

#kenny mcormick x reader #kyle broflovski x reader #south park x reader #we never existed series

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hemera989 · 2 years ago

Text

aren't we just terrified?

vampire!steve harrington multiship • 3/? • 7703 words "This girl must have muscles of solid iron, because no matter how hard Jonathan tugs at her, she refuses to budge. It’s awful. Steve is screaming these horrific, wailing cries like a hit cat on the side of the road, inches away from death and yet unable to die. They only grow worse by the second and Nancy is crying and Steve is bleeding everywhere and Jonathan, he- he knows what he has to do. (There are vampires in Hawkins. Go fucking figure.)”

ao3 <prev ch> <next ch>

“Okay, um… beartraps.”

“Check.”

“Gasoline. And matches, too.”

“Check on both.”

“Stakes?” At Jonathan’s pained look, Nancy sighs, brushing her hair out of her eyes as she rifles around, elbow-deep, in their box of supplies. “I know it sounds crazy, Jonathan, but the superstition had to start somewhere, right? We’ll just… be testing it.”

“Can’t go wrong with a- um, pointy thing,” he says, clearly trying to get on board even if it’s clear he doesn’t share the same thought. He gives it another look, sighs, and then, “Okay, what’s next?”

“Gun?”

“Check.”

“Silver knife?”

“Check.”

“Um, rational plan? Oops, looks like you guys are fresh out, guess it’s back to the drawing board.” Nancy heaves out a sigh, closing her eyes. She loves Steve; she does, she really does, but of all the times she likes to hear his voice, this is not one of them. Nancy opens her eyes and looks at him, lips pursing. He must not appreciate what thin ice he’s on right now because he throws his hands up and groans, like somehow, he’s the one suffering idiocy here. “C’mon, Nance, seriously? You’re not seriously doing this.”

She raises her eyebrows, bewildered. “What, just because you told me to? Really?”

“Don’t turn this into a feminism thing because honestly, I don’t think Jonathan should go either.” The mention of the other boy makes Steve visibly uncomfortable, and it takes all of Nancy’s self-control not to start massaging the budding headache between her eyes. She’s kind of at her limit with stupid teenage boy drama today.

“Look, you said you wanted to make it up to us, right?” she asks. Steve hesitates, but after a moment, he nods. “Then stop talking. Okay? Nobody’s making you stay here. Just… go back upstairs.”

“And let my- let you go out and get yourself killed in my backyard trying to find Barb’s killer who may or may not just happen to be a supernatural creature?” he demands.

It’s the wrong thing to say. Irritation spikes, and Nancy glares at him. “We saw what we saw, Steve.”

His shoulders fall, and he’s practically mumbling it when he says, “Doesn’t mean you have to be the one to go out there.” And then, louder, “The police are already on it. If there’s anything like- hell, Nancy, like vampires involved, what can we do that they can’t?”

When Nancy is alone, with no one else but her own thoughts to keep her company, she thinks about Steve. About Steve, yes, but more often, about Steve, and who he is. Because as much as he hates going along the path his dad has laid out for him, it would still be preferable to this life of mediocrity he seems to have resigned himself to. He’s the kind of person who’s perfectly happy to stick his head in the sand and take life right down the center. Nancy hates the idea of spending the rest of her life being a housewife with a husband and kids to spend her days looking after, but that’s exactly the kind of thing that she just knows Steve spends his free time daydreaming about.

It’s out of love that she thinks this. Steve will never be a remarkable person not because he doesn’t have the ability to, but because he simply doesn’t want to. And she shouldn’t be surprised that he’s the one trying to convince her to just keep her head down and let everyone else handle things, regardless of how her sense of justice rebels against it, but it’s still disappointing all the same.

Jonathan’s toe nudges against hers, and though she doesn’t look at him, she nudges him back. So far, he’s the only one who hasn’t tried to convince her out of doing what she thinks is right. Not yet, at least.

“Well, we can at least try to go find who killed her, instead of acting like she’s the kind of person to just run away,” Nancy snaps. She shoots to her feet abruptly, crossing her arms. Jonathan is all gangly limbs when he stands up as well, looking between them warily. “You can stay here, if you’re really fine just doing that. But I’m not.”

Steve sighs out a breath, looking frustrated. “I’m not trying to fight with you, I just want you to think about this. Can’t we just sit down and talk about this?”

“I’m going,” she says. “And that’s final. Are you coming or not?”

He stammers for a second, trying and failing to figure out what to say, but Nancy doesn’t sweep in and speak his words for him like she normally might. He looks at her, forlorn, and if he hadn’t done what he’d done today, maybe she’d feel bad. But Steve’s been making a royal ass of himself this afternoon, and she’s starting to become tired of hearing his voice right now.

“You can stay,” Jonathan says, ever the peacemaker. Usually. “I wouldn’t let anything hurt her.”

“Yeah, not worried about that,” Steve mutters, looking at Jonathan’s bloodied knuckles. Nancy sees him flush and tuck his hand behind his leg. “...you’re going along with this, too?”

Jonathan nods. “I believe her. And Will. If they say they saw something, then… And I mean, if this thing is putting people in danger, then why wouldn’t I?”

“Because this ‘thing’ is also putting you in danger,” Steve says, aggrieved. He rubs his hands along his face, and Nancy taps her foot, impatient. They’re losing daylight, and as ready as she is to face this monster, she’d rather not have to do it in the actual dark. Especially if the rumors are true and the dark makes it stronger.

“Steve,” she bites out. “Are you coming or not?”

“Yes, Nancy! Jesus, yes, I’m coming with you!”

Something vaguely like annoyance starts to bubble up at his answer and the idea of having to endure his nagging for the foreseeable future, but she takes a breath and tries to let her irritation go. It’ll help to have an extra body, she tells herself.

She takes the gun, because toying with the pistol during her time with Jonathan made it clear that she’s the better shot out of the two of them. Steve makes better use of the bat than she ever could, and as Jonathan hikes their backpack laden with supplies over his shoulder, he slips a sheathed hunting knife into his sleeve—simple, unassuming, but even with a gun and a nail bat, Nancy thinks that he makes the most intimidating figure amongst the three of them. It’s one thing to be capable of violence, but an entirely other thing to be willing to enact it, and she has no doubt that Jonathan has both the capability and the drive.

It’s comforting, oddly. And, also, kind of cool.

The Harrington woods have been blocked off already. Sure, Hopper honored his promise and sent a deputy down, but clearly, investigating the woods is not high on his list of priorities right now. Said deputy is currently napping in his car, and Nancy scoffs as they pass him. She figured they’d at least have to sneak a little bit, but Hawkins Police must be even more pathetic than she’d assumed. It only weakens her diminishing faith in their ability to find Barb’s killer, and strengthens her resolve to find the monster herself.

And, in a little way, it increases her irritation with Steve and his argument in favor of ‘letting them handle it’. To his credit, he looks properly cowed when they pass the patrol car, wincing. Nancy raises an eyebrow at him as if to say, see what I mean? She doesn’t look to see his reaction, choosing instead to trace the path that she and Steve had followed a week ago. She’ll let go of her grudge later, but it’s still too fresh for her to forgive him yet.

“This is where you guys saw her?” Jonathan asks quietly, breaking their tense silence.

“It was further up,” Nancy tells him, squinting at the path. “Maybe about ten minutes down. I’m not sure, it was pretty dark.”

“There’d probably be police tape around it, right? Seems like a good place to start searching.”

If Steve thinks it’s a bad idea, he, thankfully, keeps it to himself this time.

A few more minutes pass of renewed silence, but Nancy is too focused on her mission to break it. She can see the flash of yellow tape just ahead of them; the sight sends a shiver down her spine and puts her on guard. If the monster is still in these woods, then they’re getting dangerously close to the scene of its most recent murder. Killers often revisit the scene of the crime, after all.

“It’s up here,” Steve murmurs, more for Jonathan’s benefit than anything. This very forest has starred in so many of her nightmares that there’s no way she can forget it.

“Do we have a plan?” Jonathan asks. He’s fidgeting with the knife in his sleeve, tense.

“We’re just investigating.” She's headstrong, but she’s not stupid. The weapons are for self-defense, and self-defense only. “If we find any evidence that it was here, we take pictures and we get the hell out.”

“What are we looking for, exactly?”

Nancy sucks in a breath as she comes to a stop, glancing down at the forest floor beneath them. There are still blood stains from where Barb’s body lay, and a fly or two buzz about, undoubtedly feasting on any gore left behind. The pine needles are strewn and thrown about, dyed dark red, and there are deep wedges dug into the dirt where maybe someone’s feet had been. There’s a clump of hair hanging from a nearby branch—it makes her sick to look at.

“Evidence,” she says, a little hollowly. “Of a struggle.”

They don’t speak much as they search, and Nancy is grateful for it. Splitting up makes it easy to hide her red eyes, and if she sniffles a little, it’s not like anyone is close enough to hear it. Steve keeps shooting her looks; Jonathan’s eyes are on her back, but she ignores them. Once they catch this monster, she’ll let herself grieve. But until then, she can’t waste any time crying. Barb’s death must be avenged.

As time passes, the scale starts to tip in her favor and away from the boys. They find boot tracks around the area, and more splatters of blood, and a series of broken tree branches that make a clear but unreachable path further up into the upper reaches of the forest. Jonathan’s camera snaps and catches pictures, every click blurring together until it’s all background noise. She was right; there was a lot of evidence that the police skipped over. Normally, she’d feel smug about it, but all she feels is cold and resentful.

Steve’s sniffling catches her attention. She looks at him, only a few feet away from herself, and sees him wiping furiously at his nose. He isn’t crying, just frowning, and when he pulls his hand away, she sees bright red spots of blood on his fingertips.

He realizes she’s staring, and he shrugs, wiping the blood off on his jeans. “It’s the cold air, I think. It doesn’t hurt.”

That’s a lie. And it’s so like him, to lie about something so insignificant. Her lips quirk a little bit against her will. She reaches into her pocket to pull out a handkerchief to give him, watching as he wipes the continuing blood away from his nose. She steps closer to him, reaching gentle hands up to his face. He’s still looking at her when she pinches his fingers together around the bridge of his nose, putting her other hand at the back of his head to guide him to lean down.

“Hey,” he says, after a moment. Nancy has to lean down a little bit to look him in the eye. He says, earnestly, “I’m sorry. Again. About earlier. I was really being a dick.”

“You were,” she agrees. He snorts out a laugh, and she’s smiling now, rubbing at the back of his neck with her fingers. “Thank you for admitting it, though. And apologizing. You really should be apologizing to Jonathan, though.”

She expects him to get all embarrassed, or awkward, but instead, his smile melts away. He looks up at her, and the way he searches her expression with uncertain eyes immediately has her attention. “...you’d tell me though, right? If I had anything to worry about? Because I keep- I know you said it’s not like that, but I don’t really know if you’d tell me if it was. Y’know?”

Nancy falters. She wants to say that he has nothing to be worried about, that they’re fine, but something tells her she’d be lying if she did. “Steve…”

“I know I should trust you,” he rushes to say. Steve leans up, eyes wide as he steps closer to her. “And I do. I swear, Nance, I trust you with my life. But, just… things have felt kinda weird between us, and I-”

“Steve, Nancy, duck!!”

In a moment of pure instinct, Nancy drops to her knees and drags Steve with her. Something like a gust of air blows hard enough over them that it whips her hair up into a frenzy, blinding her. There’s a thump against the forest floor and a shout. She hears the draw of Jonathan’s knife and looks up, terrified, as something like- like a child lunges at Jonathan with an inhuman snarl.

“What the fuck?” Steve screeches, toppling backwards as Nancy scrambles for her gun. “What the fuck!!”

Child or not, there’s no doubt in her mind that that’s the creature that she and Steve saw. The kid is in a tattered, bloodied hospital gown, and as Nancy sets the sights of her gun on the creature, she wonders how much of that blood was Barb’s. Her finger tightens, the gun kicks back with a deafening pop!! and the creature howls as a bullet buries itself in her leg. She whips around, wild and crazed, and the second her eyes land on Nancy, she knows she fucked up. The kid is moving almost faster than she can see, clawed hands extended as Jonathan shouts and chases after her.

“Steve, come on!” She shoots to her feet, grabbing the lapel of Steve’s jacket and hauling him up to his feet. Her breath fogs in the air, quick and panicked, as they run, the too-light footsteps of the creature just inches behind them. Nancy feels a hand ghost across the back of her jacket, and then- Steve skids to a halt and jerks the bat around, bashing the nails right into the creature’s face. She yowls and falls back, stumbling as the nails dislodge from her skin.

They leave narrow, tiny holes in her flesh, holes that—as Nancy watches, horrified—sizzle and close, smoking in the air. The creature holds a hand to her face as if to feel for the damage, and, finding none, looks at Steve near murderously.

“Back up!” He snarls, holding the bat in front of him like a shield as he stands in front of Nancy. “I’m warning you, freak!”

“Nancy!” Jonathan hollers, catching up to them but not fast enough. “The gun! The gun, Nancy!”

Startled, she picks the pistol up again, setting the sights on the kid. Two more bullets make a home in the girl’s chest, but she doesn’t move, frozen to the spot. Her eyes are wide, and her nose flares, the gentle sound of snuffling reaching Nancy’s ears. The girl is inching closer to Steve, wary and slow, but her eyes are glued to his face.

To the- to the blood.

By the time Nancy realizes it, it’s too late.

The girl is a blur of movement. Nancy blinks, and suddenly she’s latched onto Steve, claws ripping straight through the thick material of his jacket. The bat falls to the ground as he grabs her, grunting, trying to rip her away but the creature is freakishly strong. Nancy drops the gun and suddenly, Jonathan’s at her side, grabbing the back of the girl’s gown and pulling. She doesn’t budge, only bares teeth dripping with saliva and blood, and yanks Steve’s head back.

Her mouth seals around his neck, and she bites.

Nancy will never forget the sound of Steve’s scream.

#steve harrington #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #nyx writes fic #nyx posts updates #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things au #Spotify

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voidcat · 4 years ago

Text

– a case of bad luck

6. I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo (what the hell am I doing here?)

m.list ; prev ; next ; wc: 1.1k

warning for mentions of stalking, breaking in

a/n: this one is a relatively shorter so far, apologies. partially because the next one will be a lot longer (this one serves as a build up) and partially bc I didn’t feel like writing this filler type djfjfj (also im v tired tysm uni</3) also what do we thinking about lyrics for titles

“You look like shit.”

Maybe that’s not the best way to greet yourself in the morning.

Alright, try again, you don’t have to say anything really.

Facing yourself in the mirror gets tiring each day as you realize. Quicker you catch your gaze in the reflecting surfaces but harder it becomes to get the familiar feeling one should have. So much so, to the point of stopping in the middle of the street and staring at the windows of a store you’re passing by.

Whoever this is before your eyes, is not you.

Mouth in a thin line, eyes looking back empty, and an expression so blank, you cannot label it as anything. Is this how people see you on the daily? Is this how you’re perceived?-

A bump from behind, on the right, and it’s a random passerby that pulls you out and reminds you where you are again.

You need to maintain a better focus next time.

Trying to push the thoughts away, you keep on walking until your feet reach the familiar ground of the school. Look around to see the familiar faces of those you don’t know, the same classes, the same boring hours. You don’t have eye bags or dark circles as you feared but you sure feel their weight. You’d like to think you’re doing a pretty good job at hiding your grumpy attitude from your friends but you can tell they are one second away from calling you out on it.

The same day comes, the same day ends.

Nothing happened today. Or the day before that, or the day before that.

Another day of Dazai deciding to take pity on you after school, you begin to walk, ignoring the others choosing a café to check out for the afternoon, you know your time is limited.

If only you could sleep a little…

Yet fate has other plans. And it includes not giving you your fair share of the “ask and you shall receive.” policy.

By the time the sky has darkened, you’re already in bed, side by side with your cat.

An hour of lying without an ounce of sleep in your system.

Another hour, your eyes have grown accustomed to being open for so long, you cannot close them.

Another hour and a feeling creeps up behind your back. You try to shake it off and ignore, there is no reason for your suspicion to come true after all.

Yet you lie still, frozen in the same position you’ve been in the last five minutes. Cracking open your eyes barely, you survey the surroundings to put a name, a face to the cause of the noise.

Nothing.

Then pain, in the middle of your forearm. You should’ve trimmed your cat’s nails when you had the chance last week.

Her sudden will to leave is all the confirmation you need– though the hiss she makes in the middle of the room helps your case too.

It’s the same ringing inside your head whenever Dazai is around, creeping around. The same fotsteps with carefully applied pressure. Shuffling of papers and you can tell he stands in front of the desk, going through the pile of homework you’ve left for the last minute. The fresh closed shut sound of coated paper and you know he has shifted to the righter side now, flipping the pages of a graphic novel you left there for the night.

The sounds muffle for a while and you know he is by the middle of the room now, the carpet playing for his side.

Then his steps come to a halt. Is he looking around?

Holding your breath and doing your best not to clutch at your cover too tightly, in case you pull it slightly, you wait.

The throbbing of your heart is louder than drums in your ears.

The two of you wait in a drowning silence that feels like forever.

Showing up uninvited into your life is one thing, to introduce himself as if he knows to your friends, misleading them into thinking there could be something between the two of you is one thing. It is maddening, and more than once it makes you want to punch the life out of this man, if you were confident in striking a good one and getting away with it afterwards.

But this… this, is beyond creepy. Somehow getting a hold of your schedule looks so innocent now, you cannot even muster a ‘why’.

The door is locked, the windows are closed- and even if they weren’t, he sure couldn’t have climbed that well, you would have heard it if he found a way in–

Hell, you should’ve heard him walk in.

It feels a mockery that he even stands there, walks around and goes through your things; like he knows the place, like he knows you, like he has gained a semblance of respect, let alone your trust.

There is no need to hold your breath, you doubt you could breathe in even if you wanted. Frozen in bed, with no view of him, no idea whatsoever what he is doing or which expression he is wearing, you wait in dread. Too stiff, heartbeat too loud, the same several thoughts run inside your head over and over again, like a broken record.

–Ah, what a way to describe yourself in that very moment.

A sudden flash of lights pass by the building and enter through the window, disrupting the frozen state of time, bursting up that bottle, letting time flow once again, as intended.

Now that the air has been broken, you can tell– or hope that you do, because gods forbid you get ahold of yourself and start assuming that you can analyze this man; that he stands there for another minute, is he done with the items around that he now moves onto observing you instead?

Wouldn’t the objects scattered around provide a better glimpse, though they are only seconder to you as a living being, they carry parts to you, an essence of you, forever in them? Lttle displays of what you like and not, how you write, are the curves in your letters aggressive? Do you add emty dots or filled ones to your i’s? what genre of media you prefer, what would this say about your subconsciousness, your desires, your curiosities?

Maybe it’s better that you do not have a clear view of him like this. What if he stood in front of your case, waiting to see your eyes stay closed just a little too tight, too firm for you to be asleep, unknowning?

Then you hear faint footsteps, leaving.

Just- what the hell was this?

#a case of bad luck #gender neutral reader #Bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu #bsd fanfic #Bungou stray dogs fanfiction #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu fanfiction #dazai osamu fanfic #slow burn #dont ask why I’m updating this today<3 #bsd x you

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chaeiimimi · 4 years ago

Text

06 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖔 𝖇𝖆𝖇𝖞

Summary: you weren’t really sure how it happened, but an average student who wore glasses and spent all her extra time on bookstores and library managed to date your school’s volleyball club setter. On your 3rd year of law school, your ten years anniversary to be exact, he went home from Argentina and it was a week before he was going back, he broke up with you with the reason of he can’t handle long-distance relationship anymore despite being at it for two years. You didn’t cry, you stood there as he was sobbing in front of you, you held his face in your palms and offered him a gentle smile, gentle enough to let him know you’ll support him and will always be watching him, together with the child in your stomach right now, but he doesn’t need to know that.

chapters: prev / next

“you know I was joking when I called you shittykawa right?” Iwaizumi asks his bestfriend who was now in his house at 1 A.M having drinks

the ex-captain merely nodded

“then why did you act like an actual piece of shit?” Iwaizumi was trying hard, he really was trying hard to understand why the hell his bestfriend would say such a thing

“I don’t know okay? I was so nervous and- and she sounded like she didn’t want me back - I was afraid Iwa-chan!” he says groggily the alcohol finally taking a toll on him

“so you told her, you’re gonna leave them alone after two months, is your brain made out of shit too? are you out of your mind Tooru?”

Oikawa flinched at hearing his first name from his bestfriend

“I know it’s selfish, but I just want to be happy, even for just a little while, I think they’ll be better off without me, my life-my life is crazy Iwa, you know that more than anyone else, do you think they’ll be happy if they were with me? do you think their lives would be peaceful as it is now if I will let them live with me? I can’t let them live the life I’m living now” he sounded so torn and frustrated he doesn’t know what to do

“I’m not good enough for them Iwa, I’m not good enough for her”

“Is this about the death threats?”

Oikawa looks at his bestfriend, eyes wide open with beads of tears forming at the side

“how did you-”

“your coach told me” Iwa says and takes another sip of his beer

“I never asked for this, I just wanted to play volleyball” Oikawa says meekly and gulps down his beer

“I thought your fans were crazy back in high school, they’re even crazier now huh?” Iwaizumi said in attempt to lighten the heavy mood

Oikawa opened another beer and downed it

“Are you happy with your decision?” Iwaizumi asks his bestfriend

the setter shook his head “I wanna be good enough for them, for her”

the former ace’s lips slightly upturned

“you really are a crappy guy are you? maybe you should start with stopping yourself from drinking beer and start attending your therapy sessions again”

Oikawa looks at his bestfriend, feeling lucky to have found an amazing companion

Iwaizumi hoisted him up and supported him in going to the guest room

“hey Iwa-chan”

the ace looks at his bestfriend, his left eyebrow arched

“thank you” he says sincerely

Iwaizumi avoided his eyes “tsk why are you thanking me shittykawa? It’s pretty obvious you’re gonna end up with each other, one way or another”

Oikawa woke up at the sound of his phone violently ringing on the bedside table, he had the worst headache he had in years, his mouth was dry beyond belief, and his body ached all over

he picked up his phone not bothering to look at the caller

he answered with a groggy “hello”

“hey Oikawa”

his body jolted up with the sound of your voice, you sounded... sick?

“hey, did you miss me already~” despite his head-splitting headache, he still managed to say something sly, he was Oikawa Tooru after all

he could practically feel your eyes roll at the other side of the phone

“I uhh kinda need your help, If you‘re not busy today that is’ you said in between coughs

Oikawa arched his left eyebrow, it was pretty rare for you to ask for help, knowing fully well how independent you were

“no, I’m not busy today” he says getting up from his bed and making his way towards Iwaizumi’s kitchen to get some ice cold water

“great, can you look after the twins for me? I’m kind of sick right now and I don’t want my sons to catch my cold” your voice was croaky and it was very obvious that you were sick

“our” he says and taking a sip of ice cold water

“what?” you asked confused on the other line

“our sons” he says seriously which caught you off-guard

there was a long silence between the both of you when he cut it off

“I’ll be there in 30″ he says

you mutter a small “thanks” and ended the call

Iwaizumi entered the kitchen with his trainer uniform on

“why are you smiling like a creep crappykawa?” the ace asks and gets himself some water

“today is a good day Iwa-chan”

in less than 30 minutes, Oikawa was able to, aid his heavy hangover, beat the record for the world’s fastest shower, and got away from exceeding speed limit because it was 7AM in the morning

despite lacking about three hours of sleep, he was full of energy

he rang the doorbell thrice and was greeted by a very flushed face you, with a cooling pad sticking on your forehead, wearing a very over sized fuzzy hoodie which was a dress on you and a pair of mickey mouse patterned pajamas

he smiled at how cute you were despite being horribly sick

“It’s cold, you should probably go inside” he says and ushers you inside

you sat on the couch while he made his way to the kitchen

“have you eaten yet?” he asks and you shook your head staring at a distance

“alright I’ll cook you some porridge”

“you know how to cook now?”

“apparently, living alone teaches you a couple of things” he says as he washes a pot

“I only asked you to take care of Haruto and Hayato” you said in as a matter of fact tone

but he just shrugged and smiled at you “It’s part of the package bubs”

if you were only flushed earlier you were as sure hell riper than a tomato now

silence engulfed the both of you, you weren’t facing him so you could only hear the sound of kitchen utensils

“Himari will get mad if she hears about this” you said out of the blue

“Oh don’t worry about her, she’s not my girlfriend, besides, I already have someone I like”

you swallowed thickly, a little sting making it’s way to your heart

“that’s good for you then” you said trying to mask the bitterness in your voice

“trust me, it’s even better for you” he says with a light chuckle which made you confuse

I apologize for this short update, I just finished four exams and my brain is all mush hehe, I hope y’all liked this chapter. Reblogs and Comments are very appreciated and just comment, dm or ask me if you guys want to be tagged on future chapter updates. Stay safe babes<3

taglist:

@heiressofravka @artsamber @seashellmichellee @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @misssugarless @minnieminnie00-got7 @karakento @tsukkisfatsimp @somewhereinneverlandx3

#oikawa x y/n #oikawa tooru x reader #dad!oikawaxreader #oikawa tooru #Haikyuu!#haikyuu fanfiction #Haikyuu x reader

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gralunaisland · 3 years ago

Note

yeah that subsection of pros always felt off to me. There's also a popular colourist (also an adult) that stalked an account they were blocked by on twitter to bitch and make fun of how said account didn't believe gruvia fell under the enemies to lovers trope. That teacher the prev anon mentioned defended the colourist by using her age old 'excuse' about how the internet is a public space and that what you post is free to be viewed & commented on in ways you like or dislike. (1/2)

Short Rant About Childish Behavior in Arguments and Hypocrisy

I combined your two asks so it’s easier to respond!

(Side question, I’ve noticed a few of my askers send their ask in 2 parts, and I’m wondering if I somehow have a limit imposed on how long my asks can be, because I’ve sent a pretty long ask to another blog and it let me do it all in one go. Idk if limits for asks is even a thing. If anyone knows what the issue is, because I checked my settings and I don’t see what’s wrong, please do drop a comment/ask! Thanks!)

Honestly, it's just really saddening, that there are so many grown adults who feel justified with harassing people online. I don't think they realize (or choose to ignore) just how many people have committed s*icide because of cyber bullying. It's a real problem, and these types of people are the ones creating it.

First of all, I suppose it's not too surprising this bully of a person would stalk someone who even actively tried to distance themself from them by blocking the bully because that's exactly what their lord and savior juvia lockser would do.

(Remember, y'all, not all Pros are like this, I'd bet most of them aren't, but there really is a subsection of them that act exactly like her).

It really makes me mad that the bullied person was just giving their opinion, a very valid opinion, on what trope they think gr///via is not, and this colorist decided that was fair grounds to mock them and insult them. Again, she's a FICTIONAL CHARACTER! Thinking someone's harmless opinions on a piece of fiction is wrong is negative grounds to mock and insult someone.

Honestly, what's wrong with people nowadays?? I've tried to have calm discussions with people online on things that we disagree over, not even just about gr///via, and more often than not, even if it starts out respectful, it devolves into them making all these assumptions about me and insulting me to high heaven. Even when I call them out on it, and question them by asking, "Do you honestly feel good about yourself for using ad hominem? (which is a fallacy where one attacks you as a person instead of the argument.) Do you feel mature by insulting someone and attacking them just over a disagreement?", and they always seem to say "You don't deserve my respect because you're an idiot" or "a bigoted troglodyte" (that one was new) etc. etc.

These types of people just don't care that about the effect of their words. And the fact they can't see that they only make themselves look like "idiots" or "bigoted troglodytes" or just people who don't have any good arguments is seriously concerning. No matter if someone has a wrong opinion, the moment you insult them is the moment you lose.

Which is worse, being wrong or being a nasty, childish human being? (Imma say the latter every time).

Enough about that rant, back to what you said, Anon.

Hoo boy is this alleged Pro gr///via teacher just continuing to be a grade A disappointment. You're right to put "excuse" in parentheses, because saying "it's a public space" is never a valid reason to be mean to someone. Sure, you have the right to say whatever you want, but that doesn't make you a good or decent human being who should feel proud of themselves. Besides, these are the same people who tell Anti's we have no right to speak about why we don't like gr///via and who mock the existence of Anti blogs like myself on a regular basis, so they're most definitely hypocritical.

Speaking of hypocritical, your second ask shows just how ridiculous some of these people are. I saw a post with that scene where Gray hands Lucy his coat to cover her up, and some Pros continue to be delusional to pretend that GraLu has no chemistry or potential.

They're honestly probably just threatened that there's someone out there that just works better with and is better for Gray and so lash out at GraLu shippers to try and make themselves feel assured that they're the ones in the right. If Pros were really confident and content and happy with their own ship, they wouldn't care that other people ship something that they don't agree with. Shipping is a personal preference thing anyway. But nooo, if anyone dares to suggest that Gray might like someone other than their disgusting queen juvia, they must be publicly shamed until they never step out of line again.

Really, I don't think there's anything wrong with taking almost any scene as a scene that supports their ship for themselves (if it's not something morally abhorrent like p*dophilia or the like of course) if they know the reality of their ship. "Ship moments" shouldn't only describe canonically and intentionally endgame romantic moments between characters; it could be anything, from merely talking to each other, the tone when they do, the facial expressions when they look or speak to or about the other, even when they're just standing next to each other in a scene or a cover image-- it could be anything!

Shippers can headcanon whatever they want, and they can even show other people these scenes and remark on the cuteness or the chemistry of their ship. Pros who want to bash the daydreams of GraLu shippers (or shippers who ship Gray with ANYONE besides juvia) clearly don't trust the chemistry (*cough* the absolute lack thereof *cough*) between Gray and juvia to keep their own ship alive, so the only way they can make their ship seem better is to invalidate all other shippers. I talked about that in this post of mine, which I'm pretty happy with, and a quote I'm taking from that post is "It just shows how insecure you are if you have to invalidate every other ship you don’t approve of in order to feel like your ship is the best or valid."

(It's only when people truly and mistakenly believe that two characters who aren't canonically in love are actually in love and that that's what the author wants that there is a problem, at least concerning their interactions with other people in the fandom. I believe it's just a great way to anger other fans and make yourself look sort of foolish and ignorant. In the end of course, it's not that big a deal, and other people shouldn't treat it as such and should just go about their day because either this person is trolling or is simply and innocently mistaken.)

As a GraLu shipper myself, I soak in allll of the sweet or comedic or downright romantic moments between Gray and Lucy. I even made a list where I documented these moments so I could go back and watch them from my most recent watch-through. But I know the reality is that Mashima sucks at writing romance, and they're not canon or endgame. It's clear that gr///via will have its way with Fairy Tail 100yq no matter what is ethical and good for Gray.

But even knowing the reality of GraLu, it makes no sense that "I wouldn't be allowed" to ship it, since Pros can't tell me what to do (remember y'all, I give all the reasons why people shouldn't ship gr///via, not that no one isn't allowed to), and Pros aren't better than non-canonical shippers because, as I said in this post, canonicity doesn't equal admirability, and it's a perfectly healthy ship! And as I touched on, Pros don't get to define what is considered to be a shippable moment. They're seriously being the delusional ones if they really think a guy, who's blushing profusely, being kind and gentlemanly and offering his jacket to his naked friend, who is herself blushing, isn't romantic or the least bit sweet.

Anyway, I'm glad that other people called them out for their actually dumb take. Glad to know that there are still sane people in this fandom. Now, I wouldn't excuse anyone from stalking people who've blocked them or if they tag correctly or asked them to stop harassing them or what-not, and if an Anti or a GraLu shipper was doing so to the colorist, then that was wrong. But you're exactly right that the "teacher" was being hypocritical and biased by giving their own ally a pass and then condemning others for doing the exact same thing.

And these Pros really want to go there?? They want to go so far as to call GraLu shippers "delusional"?? I've found a lot of the loud Pros to be the delusional ones, where they straight up ignore any of juvia's bad qualities and her damaging effect on Gray and her surroundings and then bash Gray for not wanting to date her as if his consent isn't important and he has no say in the matter. If they were to admit this ship was toxic, that's one thing, but many Pros I've talked to deny any sort of toxicity from juvia at all. They sound exactly like juvia, blissfully ignorant of her misdeeds and willing to attack others who cross her.

Anyway, I hope this rant-y post made sense, and I hope it wasn't too long haha! Thank you so much for the ask and for sharing the annoying and hypocritical moments from the teacher and from a Pro; they're always fun to read!

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youarejesting · 4 years ago

Text

Wash Out.22

[Master List]

Banners: @purpleskies1999 Pairings: Dolphintrainer!Taehyung x SharkDiver!Jin, Mer!Jimin x Reader, Scientist!Namjoon x MerKing!Jungkook, Mer!Yoongi x Mer!Hoseok. Rating: 16+ Genre: Mystery, Romance, Comedy, Drama, Fantasy, little bit of Action, Slice of life, Enemies2Lovers, Friends2lovers, Social media au, Fake Texts, Fake Subs.

Summary: Taehyung and his best friend Y/N are Dolphin trainers at Wash Out; Marine Wildlife and Theme Park. When the nerdy marine biologist and resident veterinarian Doctor Kim Namjoon goes missing; the two friends form a ragtag team with Taehyung’s rival Seokjin and a…. Fish?

[Prev]

There was no limit to which Taehyung could grieve. But there was a limit to his bank account. The new CEO Tom was a kind man, offering them a chance to mourn their losses and collect themselves before returning to work. There was a small funeral and memorial for Mr Schmidt within the theme park.

Although the employee’s were respectful they remained impartial to the change of leadership. With new management came more appropriate wages.

Waking beside Y/n reassured him things would be okay. You were the only reason he got out of bed and Taehyung suspected you felt the same. Uncanny how the two of you were sporting matching puffy eyes and pink tipped noses. Taehyung gave a soft smile, you had been supporting him while he broke down assuring him that Seokjin would return.

It was time to show Y/n that she had someone to lean on. Knowing you had lost the first person you had developed such a strong bond with. There had been a few before Jimin and there may be more to come, but like magic the two of you had a special kind of love. The rare kind that happens only to few.

Taehyung wondered what you were thinking, if you were really okay, or just saying you were because that's what people wanted to hear. Dressing quietly he noticed you stir out the corner of his eyes. Begrudgingly pulling yourself out of bed and getting ready in the bathroom.

The playful banter on the way to work became silent pondering of thoughts. Hands reaching for one another if those thoughts turned dark. Taehyung was grateful for the company, grateful for the silence. He had no pressure to act like things were okay when they weren’t.

In saying that pulling into the employee parking lot Taehyung cut the engine. Pulling the visor down to look in the mirror, he tested a small smile. Almost foreign and unfamiliar to him, the muscles seemed to have weakened.

How many days had it been? Two and a half weeks later, as the days passed any hope of Seokjin or Namjoon’s return dwindled extensively.

“Tae, we should go in,” Y/n smiled hand ready on the door handle braced for work like it was war.

“Yeah, sorry.”

The security seemed awkward greeting them, rightfully so they had been accused of stealing money from the theme park. It wouldn’t surprise them if everyone kept their distance. Dolphins on the other hand seemed to understand their feelings better than humans. Bubbles, Captain, Dolly and her new pup Hopster came up to greet them, sensing their mood and trying to cheer them up with little jumps, squeals and splashes.

It pulled soft genuine smiles from you both, it was mid practice when a voice called from the bleachers behind the show tank. “You know Joonie, I have never seen a dolphin show, but it looks pretty lackluster, the dolphins are doing all the hard work. The instructors don’t really feel committed to the show.”

“I think they have been having a rough week, maybe they might have lost someone close to them.” Namjoon said softly. “You can never know what someone else is going through without asking.”

“Should I go ask them?” Seokjin said, standing and strolling over, the two looked clean and fresh like they had just come back from a vacation and not the bottom of the ocean.

Taehyung had broken down in the water, crying as the dolphins playfully bumped him with their noses trying to stop his tears. You pulled yourself out of the water and ran over, hugging Seokjin. His whines echoing around the small amphitheater.

After practically suffocating Seokjin in a firm hug you pulled Namjoon in as well, he was surprised by the action. Probably because the two of you were never really close but unlike Seokjin he didn’t complain about the wet patches left on his clothes.

Taehyung had practically crawled out of the dolphinarium show tank, the dolphins wiggling on their bellies beside him on the small raised surface. Seokjin walked towards him sorrowful and compassionate, opening his hands for the young dolphin trainer and groaning when he was pulled into the knee deep water. Letting Taehyung clutch him tightly, his complaints ceased when he felt the younger man shaking in his arms.

“It seems you must have been suffering with me gone.” He tried to coax Taehyung’s head from where it had buried into his neck, but it only encouraged him to grasp tighter and bury his face deeper into Seokjin’s chest. “Hey, you can’t be crying like this, you are going to make me sad.”

“I thought you had died,” Taehyung whimpered voice broken and small, his hands clutching the soft sweater fabric pulled tight over Seokjin’s shoulders. Taehyung looked up, eyes wet, puffy and red for yet another time this week. “I thought I lost you, before I had a chance to tell you properly.”

“Tae, I can barely understand what you are saying,” Seokjin wiped his sleeve under Taehyung's nose, “You have to speak clearly, don’t ruin my good pants for nothing.”

Taehyung pulled him forward kissing him passionately. Taehyung was thrilled to have Seokjin back in his arms. He was unable to stop himself from slowly walking backwards more and more until he reached the edge of the water. Seokjin was too distracted by the kiss to realise until it was too late.

Pulling the older man into the dolphinarium and giggling when they resurfaced. “Ya!” Seokjin shouted, “We were going to dinner after this, I was dressed up and everything.”

Taehyung was apologizing, his grin never faltering as he chased a soggy Seokjin back to the locker rooms. The three of you emerged from the change rooms spotting Namjoon standing awkwardly by the entrance.

“Are you ready to go?” Y/n asked, slapping his back playfully, “I hear Seokjin is paying for dinner tonight.”

“What, you wanted me to come to dinner?” Namjoon said his words, stumbling unsure and confused.

“You don’t want to come to dinner, Namjoonie-Hyung?” Taehyung grinned up at him, before the two of you took Taehyung’s car following Jin’s from the parking lot to the restaurant. It was a small barbeque place, it was a secret treasure known to only a few.

The drinks started flowing. Namjoon seemed awkward at first but he was soon laughing with the rest. “I have never really done this before.” He admitted sheepishly.

“Drank?”

“No, I haven’t had dinner with friends before,” His ears were pink and your smile fell, Taehyung felt like the worst person to ever exist. “I know Jin and I tried but there were always things getting in the way.”

“Hey, we are your friends now, we were just rude idiots. We didn’t know about how cool you were until Seokjin told us how special you meant to him.” Y/n explained pouring him another drink.

“You weren’t rude, I just am really awkward and I know I talk about crabs a lot. It isn’t the most appealing conversation people want to have.” Namjoon waved his hands trying to calm the sad looks around the table, ��I am just happy you think of me as your friend.”

Seokjin gasped, pulling a small cloth from his pocket, “Jimin asked me to give this to you.” He placed the cloth in your palm and you opened it slowly. “He got back safely and was definitely worried if you were okay,”

Opening the cloth to reveal a necklace, a cream shell spiraling in a cone shape and in the opening fitting perfectly secure was a gold Pearl. Taehyung leaned over, taking the necklace and helping you secure it around your neck.

You were called into work early one morning by Namjoon, he said something was wrong with Dolly and her pup and he needed help. Taehyung was outside and you sleepily let them drive you across town. You were being pushed into the old marine clinic, Taehyung threw you some swimmers and pushed you into the change room.

Moving quickly you followed Namjoon who was talking about the pups condition seriously, “This is our last chance, just go in first and check on how he looks and appearance and then we will begin the treatment, make sure you keep him calm and make him feel safe.”

You nodded, slipping slowly until you were treading water by the catwalk, about to ask a few questions when you were pulled under by the ankle. Confused and scared, you spotted Jimin in the water, his face showing how happy he was to see you. He swam at you grabbing your waist and resurfacing. You started crying and you wiped your eyes laughing and coughing from the water you had partially inhaled in shock.

“I am leaking,” Jimin touched his cheeks and you kissed him happily.

“How did you get here?” You sniffed, “We have to get you back to the water.”

“Hey, it's all good I have something special with me this time, it allows me to walk on the ground just like you. Our king Jungkook gave it to me. He says I can visit whenever I want, because you are my promised.”

[Prev] THIS IS THE END! YAY! I hope you enjoyed it.

Tags: @backinblack1967 @miriamxsworld @moccahobi @simplymemyself @a-gayish-unicorn @ella-mella @vjinfan23

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