#SORRY it’s just been one of those nights when i think about my old phases LOL

[meggie-moo]

when i was young i was *such* a killua girly, but the older i get, the more i’m a leorio girly

[jiminrings]

four seven eight, phase 3 (1)

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 9k

glimpse: jungkook's secure when it comes to being a husband and a dad, knowing that he grew to love being both after everything you've been through. what he isn't so secure about is the possibility that it's everything he'll ever be.

alternatively, jungkook pursues his dream of making a film, even if it means making your rival his main lead behind your back.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale — complete series masterlist, from phase 1 to 3 ]

[ the return of 478jk (derogatory), major angst, fluff, the weight of devotion except jk's mean this time, flashbacks to phase 1 (im so sorry), the both of them r in an identity crisis, The Return of yoongi, yearning and the ache of unfulfillment all over, eventual redemption ]

notes: FINALLYYYYYY after a long wait, phase three is finally here :-) the og era of 478 is a time i'll truly never forget so now that i'm putting them in Several Inconveniences again, i look forward to creating another era with u citizens!!! mwah thank u love yew

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Jungkook likes to be needed.

He likes to be needed fully, sometimes even all at once to the point that every mention of his name makes him think that his assistance is needed. He wants to be needed like the way you rummage through your old film canisters that you dumped in a large drawer just to retrieve a specific picture of him; needed like the way you sigh in relief when you find said roll.

Jungkook wants you to seek him in a crowd, past all the banners of your name from your fans and lanyards of your staff, and ask specifically him for a cold water bottle he keeps in his bag for you. As a matter of fact, he wouldn’t even mind if you ask it from him indiscreetly — he wants to be needed, even if neither of you are alone with each other.

He’s used to the feeling of being needed because it’s practically routine for him. The way Jungkook loves you has changed and evolved (needlessly to say for the better) through the years, and although he tries to look for the balance in it all, there’s a tiny, tiny part of him that wonders what would’ve happened if neither of you changed.

It’s perhaps the change in seasons, or maybe it’s the build-up of the stupid little things Jungkook’s seen recently; one of those things happen to be a ridiculously long thread by your fan, who happens to also be a fan of Yoongi, assuming that your marriage with J*ngkook (that’s exactly how they typed his name out) is ending, hence your recent collaboration on a brand deal. Jungkook, of course, has half the mind to go on his secret stan account and snark at said poster before reporting, but even then, there’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch.

Whatever weather it is outside nowadays or whichever stupid little thing pisses him off online, Jungkook can’t shake off the nagging question of what if in his mind.

When Jungkook cleans your water bottle every night for you to take to set the next day, he wonders if the two of you would still be together if only he didn’t rush to your place by the exact second your month-long break ended, right when he takes off the rubber from the cap to clean the ridges thoroughly.

When he blowdries your hair (even if you tell him not to bother) after you begrudgingly take a shower because you can’t sleep in bed after going outside and not washing up the second you come home, he wonders if you would’ve kept loving him even if the very incident with Sora didn’t push him to change, right when he sees you close your eyes while his hands scratch your scalp.

When Jungkook sounds out syllables to Hwayoung and tries his very best not to baby-talk her (he can’t help it sometimes) as he recounts his day to the toddler, he wonders if you would’ve even had a daughter with him if he stayed the same silent lover that he used to be, right when she parrots your name back to him with a smile.

“Young-ie’s probably starting to need me less and less,” he sighs to you with a pout, eyebrows knitted in concern as he gives you his rookie version of a blowout he’s still trying to perfect. Jungkook can’t flick his wrist the way professional hairstylists do, just in the same way you can’t pick up why he’s brought up the thought out of nowhere.

“How could you say that? She’s the biggest daddy’s girl ever,” you chuckle, placating him with the truth despite your initial confusion. If you weren’t fully awake awhile ago, you certainly are now — mostly because Jungkook springs up an unbelievable idea, and partly because whenever he tugs the brush at your hair, your whole head comes along with it.

“Not really. More like biggest mommy’s girl, you mean,” he defensively scoffs, apologizing quickly when he hears you wince at a particular experimental tug he does on your ends.

“Should we wake her up right now and let her decide?” you murmur, your eyes locking with his on the mirror.

Jungkook, at his most comfortable state, wearing ratty oversized pajamas and glasses on his face that he’s yet to update the prescription on, has never felt more competitive in his life.

“Well we could-…”

“I was joking,” you deadpan, the silence between the two of you getting long enough to the point that you suddenly find yourself laughing, effectively getting Jungkook out of his daze.

“… I knew that.”

You may have had an inkling about Jungkook feeling slightly off before in the past weeks, but all it took was his random, unprompted question tonight for you to solidify that seed of concern in your chest.

Jungkook likes to be needed, even if he can’t say the same that you need him as much as he thinks you do. He thinks it’s a perfectly rational feeling to want to be needed by both your wife and your daughter, and although he’s not as receptive to being needed as much by anyone other than his family, the feeling still stays the same.

He has all the time in the world. You’ve enabled him to do so even if he’s the one mainly looking after Hwayoung while you worked, but despite that, Jungkook doesn’t feel needed enough.

There’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch with neither your constant affection nor Hwayoung’s grabby hands. There’s an unplaceable, agitating urge in Jungkook’s chest to put a pause on everything and be back to who and what he used to be, despite your affirmation that he is needed.

There’s that tick going on in Jungkook’s brain that amplifies everything he does to seem wrong; that makes him grumpy when he wakes up to prepare you breakfast whenever you had early shoots, that makes him purse his lips when his daughter asks him to watch the same movie with her for the third time in the week.

All of the uneasiness in him, however, disappears when Namjoon, the acclaimed screenwriter that he has for a friend (whom he actually met through you), calls him up with an offer that Jungkook can’t refuse.

It’s an offer that releases the ache from his bones, makes him want to blowdry your hair better, and watch the same movie over and over again with his daughter �� but Jungkook postpones saying it to you when you come home and want nothing more than to be in his arms, and for Hwayoung to be in yours.

( ♡ )

Jungkook could wait more.

He convinces himself that he can because although there’s a date set for the short film that Namjoon’s pitched for him to produce, it hasn’t grown yet to become the unstoppable force against Jungkook’s immovable object: family.

He knows he needs to tell you eventually and that he’s not really asking for permission in the first place, but there’s a sense of guilt in him whenever the thought of breaking the news to you comes into mind. He’s not nervous per se because he knows you’re as supportive of him, if not more, like he is with you.

It just happens that it’s within the fine details that Jungkook truly feels hesitant to tell you that he has to leave for awhile.

Jungkook could wait more, and although that means he has to deal with the occasional voice in his head telling him that lying to you (even under the guise of protecting you) has the capacity to bite back at him, he manages. He swallows down the words whenever you unintentionally give him an opening to tell you about the news of him going abroad, and just settles for holding your hand.

He could wait more because telling you now wouldn’t be the right time, now when you’re on your day-off as you’re close to wrapping up your current project before moving to the bigger, more exhausting one; not now when you have a time of reprieve to spend with your family before taking on the biggest project of your career to date.

Jungkook hums to himself as he looks down on Hwayoung who has a tiny shopping cart to herself, her strikingly round eyes that she got from him (Hwayoung looks more like him the older she gets) looking up to his own.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he lulls, mumbling loudly enough for only her to hear. “You’d understand if appa left for awhile, right?”

“Left?” she questions, holding up her left hand at the mention yet she reels at his query, brows furrowing as she seems to digest the question. “Why?”

“Yup. That’s your left. Good job, baby,” Jungkook praises, the knot in his throat growing when he looks to his daughter who looks confused at the sudden query, again, that came out of nowhere. “You would, won’t you?”

Hwayoung hums because she doesn’t quite understand, but that’s the thing that Jungkook fears most — she’s young and smart and although he wants to use those facts to his advantage, he realizes that Hwayoung being the age that she is in now could also prove him to be dispensable.

Jungkook likes being needed, but he’s much too afraid of the possibility that Hwayoung won’t even recall him as soon as he leaves.

Your husband’s snapped out of his reverie when you go downstairs with a skip in your step, the tell-tale mischievous tone to your voice already predicting that Hwayoung would make the two of you chase after her in the backyard all day. “What are the two of you plotting again?” you ask playfully, hands on your hips as Jungkook chuckles at the sight of his two girls.

“Nothing!” Hwayoung giggles, the word slipping out of her seamlessly as she even shakes her hands fervently, accustomed to what you mean exactly with your tone of voice. She’s young and bright and you see so much of Jungkook in her, even if Jungkook would argue otherwise.

Jungkook’s dazed this morning with the way his gaze locks in from far away, his bottom lip bit between his teeth more often than not as if he’s always at war with himself.

“You okay, Kook?”

“Mhmm. Couldn’t be better,” he hums half-heartedly, his lips grazing your temple as he guides you to sit down on the carpet with him. “You finally slept for more than eight hours. That’s good,” he says as an afterthought, the pauses in between his words growing in distance as his gaze is fixated on everything but you.

Jungkook looks at your daughter who’s now pushing Miso around the house in her shopping cart, and while your cat (who’s always seemed to hate your husband) looks more than pleased at being played with, she meows to Jungkook and only at him with a hiss at the end of her spiel as if in warning — as if Jungkook is guilty of something that only the two of them know about.

Almost as if out of everyone in the room, it’s only your cat who knows that Jungkook’s lying.

Jungkook can wait, but he’s certain that he can’t wait any longer because if his brain is unoccupied for long enough, he’ll start to hear Miso cursing at him through her yowls.

“Hwayoung doesn’t look like she needs you any less,” you say gently, your line of sight following Jungkook’s as he tenses at your words.

“Oh,” he sighs, jaw grinding down to a halt. “Right."

Your words seemingly came out of nowhere, even if the both of you know deep down that they’re influenced by his impulsive thoughts from last week.

“You can say the same for me,” you add, not as an afterthought, but as a lesser-known fact that Jungkook seems to forget every now and then.

There’s a weight in his chest because all of a sudden, Jungkook can’t wait anymore. The itch in his mind has already been scratched too much that it had already bled and scabbed.

There’s a weight in his chest that reminds him he can’t wait anymore, because in hindsight, the weight of him and everything that comes with him settles on his shoulders.

Maybe, Jungkook doesn’t want to be needed as much.

( ♡ )

Jungkook drops the news on you while you’re folding laundry.

He was meant to go for sincere but the way the words leave him, right when you’re in the middle of folding Hwayoung’s pajamas that she’s about to overgrow in the soonest, it sounds as if he’s been dying to tell you; now that he has, he sounds beyond relieved.

“Namjoon offered me a script,” he announces, taking the pajamas from you to put in his pile as he sees your eyes widen, the remnants of the heavy mascara they used on you on set awhile ago highlighting your surprise. “He wants me to produce.”

“What?” you punctuate, tilting your head as you try to make sense of what Jungkook’s saying. You know he’s speaking and you’re familiar with said words; you just never expected for them to be compacted in the same sentence, meaning the way that he makes it out to be. “Kim Namjoon, as in the producer for In Terms of Eternity?”

He chirps at that, posture straightening as he tries to jog your memory. “Yeah. You’ve worked with him before and introduced us, then turns out Jin’s also a friend of his and-…"

“I mean I know Namjoon and that you’re friends with him, Jungkook,” you interrupt, trying to reel yourself in as you’ve lost your focus trying to fold Hwayoung’s clothes and talk to your husband at the same time. “But I didn’t know you were that close for him to ask you to produce something for him.”

Jungkook doesn’t completely crash from the high he’s in over finally telling you the news, but there’s that spike that flashes briefly over his face, the frown on his lips letting on more than he shows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?"

You sigh at the impossible position the both of you are in, the words that try to line themselves up in your temple being no match to the way they translate out-loud. “It means nothing. I’m just… surprised that he’d ask you to be a producer for his script, that’s all. It came out of nowhere.”

Jungkook recoils at that, a stubborn brow raised as he tries to keep his composure. “Because you don’t think I’m capable of being a producer?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you inhale sharply, gripping a random article of Hwayoung’s clothing beside you to pace yourself. “Namjoon’s.. big. He’s established, and well, you’ve never become a producer before.”

“And you have?” Jungkook digs, even if it’s unnecessary to do so, and the way his face falls at the forthcoming regret that creeps up to him lets you know that he thinks so too.

“Jungkook,” you try again, quirking your lips to the side as you try to manage with the pace he’s set you up on. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. This is all new to me. All new to you, even. If anything, it’s nice that Namjoon trusts you a lot.

“He does. We’re close,” he nods, clearing his throat as he feels that the both of you could move on to the other phase of the news you had interrupted him at. “As a matter of fact, we’re taking it on a global scale.”

Jungkook doesn’t get why your face falls.

He doesn’t get why your shoulders rise and fall, not in relief, but out of controlled tension that threatens to pour over.

“What?”

“The script. The film,” he smiles, trying to get you to finish his sentence and connect the dots together but to no avail. “It’s… it’s — we have to film in the US for a few months.”

“What?” you repeat, the knot in your throat tangling up more and more hesitance in you the longer it stays there.

“I said, we have to-…”

“No, I heard what you said,” you interrupt, jaw clenching tightly as you try to grasp everything Jungkook has said.

You don’t get why Jungkook’s smiling.

You don’t get why he’s completely at ease and only in confusion as he sees you piece everything out.

“Then what’s the matter?”

“Kook, all of this is new. Everything you’ve just said is and will be new,” you chuckle humorlessly, running your hand through your hair in frustration as you try to relax. “I’m happy for you, believe me, but Jungkook, what you’re saying is serious. It’s a lot to take in,” you pause, eyes wide as you repeat the words to yourself. “You. Producing. In the US, of all places, a-and for months.”

There’s not one exact emotion that runs through you because the longer that Jungkook looks at you, ecstatic, while you’re weighing what he’s just said like a bag of bricks — you feel even more conflicted.

Your husband wrings his hands together, nervously smiling at you as if he’s asking for permission, but the both of you know that his mind’s already set. He thinks the opportunity of producing a short film that’s been drafted by his friend is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, eager to take off even if he’s had no experience at all in the industry.

“I don’t know, baby. It’s just been so long since I got this excited and alive, y’know? It’s a nice change of pace and I get to do something nice-…”

“Isn’t being with your daughter nice?” you ask abruptly, unable to mask the conflict that’s been brewing in your mind ever since Jungkook pulled you aside to talk. You feel hesitant; disconnected even from wrapping your head around his wording.

Even convincing yourself that you’re just spent from working sunrise to sundown doesn’t work. No matter how hard you try, Jungkook’s tone remains as is.

“Y/N,” he sighs, lips in a tight line as he screws his eyes shut. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything, Jungkook,” you grit, crossing your arms in defense. You feel guarded more than ever, not because you’re the one whom he’s pertaining to, but because your Hwayoung is involved and you won’t sit around for it. “It’s just that when you put it like that, it sounds like taking care of Hwayoung is a chore.”

You used to be sure awhile ago that you were seeing double because in between memorizing scripts and going from schedule to schedule without any time to rest in between, you’ve been worried sick because Jungkook hadn’t texted you the whole day. You were shocked enough to come home to your daughter playing by herself downstairs (with Miso watching her the whole time), even more-so when you saw Jungkook engrossed in a highly-enthusiastic phone call.

Jungkook sighs as if talking to you completely exhausts him, pinching his nosebridge before muttering under his breath. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“Excuse me?” you blink in surprise, tilting your head in sheer confusion. You’re about to shrug it off but he does that thing again, the one where he almost rolls his eyes at you but realizes it at the last minute.

“Nothing.”

“Say that again, Jungkook.”

“My god,” Jungkook groans, throwing his head back. He runs his hands through his hair frustratedly, sucking in a rushed breath. He looks straight at you when he gives his grievance. “I’m just saying! Why do you get to live out your dream but I don’t?”

“This is my job,” you bite back instantly, the second it took for you to digest his words being enough time for him to groan again. “If it were up to me, do you think I’d work six days a week? Do you not know how much it kills me to stay away from my family?”

You’re at a loss for words, the tiny bit of insecurity you have being dug up once again. You feel guilty because you actually don’t — you know to yourself that you still dedicate so much of yourself to Jungkook and Hwayoung even if you work full-time.

Jungkook chokes up a laugh in front of your face.

“Then quit your dream if you’re so miserable.”

Your jaw clenches quickly in annoyance, unable to retain the disbelief that builds up in your chest. “My dream is my job! It’s why we’re living this life in the first place, Jungkook! Your dream is this project that was pitched to you like what, two weeks ago?”

“Can I not live my life the way that I want to?” he asks exaggeratedly, eyes wide in defense. “Why am I only your husband and why am I only Hwayoung’s dad? Why can’t I go to the US a-and try things out? Why can’t I be free from all this even for just a while?”

Your mouth falls apart at that, your moment of shock simultaneously being Jungkook’s instance for guilty. He wants to reel it in right then and there, but the small part of his pride grows to hold him back.

“Do we hold you back that much?” you whisper, the headache that has been building in your head since this morning shrinking to the size of Jungkook’s words. “What are you getting so angry for? I’m not saying no. I’m asking you why you’re so hellbent on suddenly leaving to do this.”

A large part of you, if not all, feels more disappointed than angry. Hwayoung has not and should never be an afterthought for the both of you yet Jungkook brings her up with you like mere variables.

You can grasp the fact that being a parent is a full-time job like yours yet what you can’t get a hold of is your husband’s apprehension; his sudden need of pursuing something beyond your family.

“Because I’m scared, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers, exhaling heavily. “I’m scared that this is all what life could ever be for me.”

It’s only when you’re completely silent that he comes back to the severity of his words, the tension that’s been building up in him breaking the moment that you break eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry for being your wife.”

“Baby, that’s not-…” Jungkook tries to correct himself, hot on your heels as you get up from your seat on the couch. You’re not even speeding up yet he catches you just as urgently, the hold he has on your arm doing little to put you at ease.

“And I’m sorry for making you a dad.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, I’m-…”

“You should do this project if you really want to,” you quip, back still turned to him as you enter the bedroom. Jungkook noticeably stops in his tracks, the furrow in his brows fading because you’ve put him on whiplash.

“What?”

“You’ve held down the fort while I was out being the breadwinner. It’ll be nice for you to do your own thing,” you smile tightly, eager to sleep on the whole thing just so you don’t stay hung-up for too long.

“What about Hwayoung? What about your film? They want it to be an entry for the Academy, right?” he asks in concern, different from the worry he had awhile ago when he thought you were against him leaving.

You nod, easily shrugging despite the weight on your shoulders. “I’m her mom, of course. She’s gonna come first. And for the film, I think I can still do it. I’ll juggle them both if I have to.”

Jungkook nods, eyes set on the floor. He didn’t think this far at all.

“Do you want to hire a nanny? I know a friend.”

“I’ll pass. I don’t trust nannies.”

There’s an overwhelming silence that engulfs the both of you, the white noise machine in your nightstand unable to fill it completely. Jungkook looks at the ceiling while you look at Hwayoung who’s sprawled in the middle of your bed, clutching Miso like a teddy bear — she already fell asleep waiting for the both of you.

“I didn’t mean what I said awhile ago, I’m sorry. It came out the wrong way,” Jungkook apologizes after some time, hand darting out to hold yours while you only hover above your vanity, taking off all of your jewelry except for your wedding ring.

“When do you leave?” you ask, still unable to meet his gaze.

“Next week,” he clears his throat. “When do you start filming?”

You nod, coming into terms that Jungkook would leave no matter what you say. “Next week.”

You’re arranging the covers when your husband tries to hold you again, voice strained and rushed. “Y/N, I really am sorry. I love being your-…”

“Shh,” you interrupt, pursing your lips. “Hwayoung’s sleeping.”

( ♡ )

You asked for a day off.

You’ve rarely ever asked for them throughout your entire career because you were built on the mindset that at the end of the day, you’re also an employee no matter what gig you land. Be it the cameos you used to book with Yoongi or the titular characters you take from studio after studio, you’re still the employee who had worked her way up fairly.

You didn’t ask for it during that instance when you fell sick after back-to-back shoots because you didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. You didn’t ask for it when you woke up with the type of fatigue that settled in your body no matter how hard you closed your eyes or laid your head against the cushions.

You’ve never asked for it for your sake, but you’ve asked for a day off now because Jungkook’s leaving for a place you can’t come and go to as you wish.

Unlike your house or the hotels you book for him and Hwayoung to be at whenever you have to film out of town, Jungkook’s out of reach. He’s one call away, granted that your timezones match up and there’s a connection strong enough for it to continue without a hitch. He’s far from your grasp and he will be for months on end, and you don’t think you can ever stomach working on the same day he’s leaving.

“Are you seeing me off at the airport?” he asks during the car ride, voice audible enough for only you to hear and not Hwayoung who’s sprawled across both of your laps, sleeping soundly with her plushie that resembled Miso.

“I will, but I don’t think I can see you off near the gate. I can only manage up to here,” you answer honestly, willing yourself not to break down even if the both of you are still in the car, away from any prying eyes of the media that lurks outside. “So can Hwayoung,” you add, a large part of you being grateful that she’s asleep when Jungkook has to leave so neither of you would hear her cries.

Jungkook sees that hesitance in you, the same kind that softens him into fragments.

“It’ll only be for awhile, okay? Just for a few months,” he smiles tightly, rearranging his backpack next to him, the keyring that held Hwayoung’s second-favorite toy (not the ultimate favorite because she won’t ever let him take it) clattering loudly. “I love you,” Jungkook murmurs. “Do you know that?”

“Mhmm.”

“Say it back.”

You refuse to do so because saying it back feels finite, perhaps even forced, because although you love Jungkook, saying so at the moment only weighs you down as reality sinks in. “This is gonna be easy for us, right?"

“It’s not like we’ve never been in a similar set-up before,” he shrugs, the pout on his face casual as he tries to level with you.

“But this is different, Jungkook. This is beyond different. We have Hwayoung and now, we’re both working,” you stammer, chest rising and falling as you wrap your head around everything. “This— this isn’t Seoul to Jeonju. This isn’t a leave by day, come back by night type of trip. This is-…”

“You’re freaking out,” Jungkook interjects, his soft yet stern voice cutting through your thoughts as he lays a hand on your thigh, the platinum of his wedding band looking right up at you.

You surrender in defeat, not because you’re fighting with your husband, but because there’s simply no other answer he could ever conjure for you as to why this is happening.

“Why aren’t you? Why am I the only one scared?” you whisper.

“You’re not supposed to be.”

“Of course. It’s not like you— we put everything on the line,” you clear your throat, looking down on your shoes as you convince yourself. You ignore how you’re still not entirely aware of what’s with Jungkook’s project, other than the fact that Namjoon’s the screenwriter, all in favor of giving you a semblance of sanity before Jungkook leaves you and Hwayoung. “Right?”

( ♡ )

You wonder if Jungkook already ate breakfast.

You wonder if he ate the supposedly excellent in-flight meal that comes with first-class tickets, or if he ate the ramen he’s always had a penchant for eating especially during your trips, whether by land, sea, or air. You wonder if he’s grumpy with the altitude and the way he has to pop his ears ever so often, along with the way he always seems to be too long for airplane seats turned into beds.

You call but Jungkook doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll never not purchase in-flight wifi because he’d rather knock himself out than have to read a book or something of the sort. You message, but then again, your husband doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll much rather reply via text than to record a voice note because he’s shy with people hearing him in public spaces, albeit closed.

Hwayoung waits patiently beside you, swinging her legs back and forth on the couch as Miso stays up with her. She should’ve been in bed half an hour ago but you let her stay up with you, all in the pursuit of getting Jungkook to respond.

“Appa?” she asks again after a minute of you trying for her dad but through another app, her pout reminding you of Jungkook’s who’s unreachable.

You try not to frown in front of her, leveling yourself as you settle for kissing her forehead to cover up the sigh that originates deep from your chest.

“Not yet, Young-ie.”

.

.

.

There’s no text from Jungkook when you wake, but there is a picture of him in the buffet of the private lounge he’s staying at during his layover.

Atleast Jungkook did eat breakfast and Hwayoung was able to sleep without him (the first of what you dread is many), nevermind the dull thrum in your chest in Jungkook’s absence.

( ♡ )

Hwayoung's been behaved the whole time you were on set.

With Jimin prioritizing his voluntary role of being a babysitter to your daughter over his position of being a manager to you, you became instantly comforted at the reassurance that you're not in this situation alone.

It's only been a week since you started working right after Jungkook left, his absence rearranging every system you've previously had in place. You do your very best to have Hwayoung still thriving, and even just the reminder that you are succeeding at being the only present parent for the meantime melts all of your fatigue away.

Your trailer's more equipped for her than it is for you, the space apparently reminding Hwayoung of home so much that it's enough to make her remind you that Miso should go join the both of you sometime. Your dressing room's always been hers, and so has been the affection of everyone close to you.

“I take my role of godfather very seriously.”

Yoongi explains even if you haven't asked him anything. In fact, you weren't talking to begin with. It's not in his nature to talk for the sake of talking (that's Jungkook's), but even with Hwayoung in his arms and you still being lost in your thoughts, he can't help but to feel concerned.

“I can tell," you snicker, finally taking notice of the sight in front of you. The earpiece that was previously on Yoongi is now slung over Hwayoung's shoulder, obviously too big on her. She wanted it as an accessory (it reminds her of the toy stethoscope she'd put on Miso as a collar) and with Yoongi being himself, he can't bring himself to say no.

Your shooting day's nearly over and although today wasn't as long as your previous record of hours on end, you already seem exhausted. Yoongi, of all people, knows what scenes wear you out. You hated doing monologues as a rookie and still despise monologues (but with random, out-of-place advertisements in between) as a veteran — you’ve done neither today.

"What's with the frown?" he asks gently, not only because Hwayoung’s been quiet for the past two minutes and she’s getting groggy, but also because if he were to ask you any louder, he feels as if you’d break.

"It's nothing," you answer automatically, looking at Hwayoung to ground yourself. "Just usual family things, I guess."

"Trouble in paradise?" Yoongi asks with a chuckle, abruptly stopping his fit of amusement when he gets goosebumps starting from the tail of his spine. He instantly recognizes it as deja vu. "I've asked you this before, haven't I?"

The realization doesn’t hit you until he points it out.

"Mhmm," you hum absent-mindedly, playing with the hem of your dress. “I don't think the problem now is anything like how it was before, though."

One night several years ago, you and Yoongi were sat side-by-side in the booth of a club, the heartbreak you had over what Jungkook’s done (and haven’t, at the time) being the wedge between you.

Now, Yoongi’s standing in front of you while you’re sat down, your daughter with Jungkook in his arms.

“Me neither. I don't know how you and Jungkook can encounter any problem worse than last time, to be honest," he chuckles, shaking his head at the recollection of the hell you’ve been through. "Also, I think I can say that because I literally don't know what's going on with you. But if you do tell me-!"

"You're so nosy,” you snort, the brief moment of playfulness welcome because your head aches the longer that you dwell over your worries.

"I can be the judge to see if what you're going through now is worse than before," Yoongi shrugs to fake nonchalance, unaware that you’re gasping in awe until you kick him lightly in the shin.

Hwayoung’s asleep in his arms.

"She's never did that with anyone before," you murmur, fishing for your phone to take a picture, but not before quickly skimming to see if Jungkook’s sent you any messages; he hasn’t. “She only either sleeps in mine or Jungkook's arms. Not for my parents, not for my in-laws. Just me and him."

Yoongi smiles proudly, stroking Hwayoung’s hair proudly. "What can I say? I'm godfather of the year."

He only sways her gently back and forth, rocking her with the patience and attention that remind you of Jungkook’s when Hwayoung was a newborn.

You’re calm and quiet to see her adjusting so well already, but you can’t help but to feel lost because you feel the exact opposite. No one’s gonna stroke your hair for you and tell you to take your time — those are Jungkook’s tasks alone, yet your grievances are also because of him.

"Jungkook's producing this short film in the US. It's by his friend," you mutter under your breath after some time in silence. Yoongi flicks his eyes up at you as if you’re talking about the weather, careful not to make you feel more conflicted than you already are. “You know… by Namjoon.”

"Since when was he into that?" he asks out of curiosity, eyebrows furrowed because he didn’t know that your opening line would ever transition to this point in the conversation. Yoongi catches a second wind the longer he processes your words, the scoff that leaves his lips making his bangs loose despite the hairspray on them. “Since when did Jungkook and Namjoon belong in the same sentence?”

"I don't know either.”

"So we're both producers now?" he snickers, the teasing already coming natural. "Nepo husband alert."

You roll your eyes in recognition, clearing your throat as soon as the laughter died between the two of you. “We got into this argument and I don't know, I-I realized I was being selfish for a moment because I didn't want him to go at first, you know?" you admit in full sincerity, exhaling the lump that forms in your throat. “He said he was afraid that this is everything he'll be. My husband, Hwayoung's dad. So on and so forth."

Yoongi only listens this time, giving the occasional hum there to remind you that he’s still there.

"And last night, he, uh, he forgot to call," you gulp, already feeling the weight of your worries settle in your stomach. "The call wasn't even for me. It's for Hwayoung because he promised he'll still read her whatever she wants."

The three of you cherish that time together because normally, it happens as soon as you get home from work. Hwayoung’s long graduated from storybooks and has now branched out to the most ridiculous texts that Jungkook indulges her with nonetheless — from the ingredient list at the back of milk cartons, and all the way to Reddit threads of how cats find their way back home to owners.

"He's been secretive about the whole thing and I-I… I do that too with my projects, I get it. But only at first because I'm literally bound to an NDA," you stammer, pinching your nosebridge to get past the frustration. “I’m just-…!" you give up, admitting the truth. "I did some snooping."

"And?" Yoongi prompts, tilting his head in anticipation.

"I think he's been secretive because the main lead's Eunsu."

Yoongi recoils at that, so much so that it almost wakes up Hwayoung.

"Eunsu? As in Park Eunsu?" he repeats, the scowl on his face getting deeper the more that you stay indifferent. “Eunsu as in your nemesis?"

You relent, the mention of her finally hitting close.

"Nemesis sounds a little childish."

Yoongi scoffs immediately, rolling his eyes at your correction. “I mean yeah, because people keep pitting her against you when she doesn't even come close," he shrugs easily, make you tut in warning. "What? I'm just saying what everybody's been thinking."

To know that you can still confide in Yoongi no matter what comforts you — what doesn’t is that this time around, your gut feeling’s stronger than it had been the last time.

"I hope I'm wrong."

"I hope so too," he exhales, shaking his head in disbelief. "What kind of asshole sleeps with his wife's enemy?"

"Don't put that out there,” you grumble, the unintentional yet weird arrangement of words making you dizzy.

"Sorry. It's a metaphor, dummy," Yoongi surrenders, clearing his throat. "Okay. Retake. What kind of husband produces a film featuring his wife's rival?

"Hopefully not mine."

( ♡ )

It takes little effort to love you.

Loving you specifically doesn’t have to be hard.

Jungkook thinks that loving you isn’t hard when you serve as the peace to his otherwise hectic and turbulent mind. You manifest into the comfort he looks for in all seasons, be it the heat pack you wordlessly put in his coat pocket or the scrunchie you put around his wrist no matter the weather whenever his hair got too long.

You don’t text him at every hour of the day whether you were working or not, but you’ve made it a point to always check up on him multiple times even if the both of you are at home, going as far to randomly waking up in the night to pause your breathing and check up on his with a hand on his chest.

It’s easy love — one that could be grasped by everyone because as the world has proved to him time and time again, you’re easy to fall with and for.

You may not coo and awe at every single thing he utters, but the adoration behind your eyes always makes him warm from the inside because you held onto him, no matter how anticlimactic his stories could be.

Neither you and Jungkook are easy, that much he knows.

He knows it because although it’s never been his intention to come home late during his allotted short break between filming (it’s disguised as a break even if he only came back to take care of work-related matters personally), you make it known that you’re irked with him for every other reason.

He knows that you aren’t easy because for the past three weeks he’s been gone, you’ve reiterated twice in the last hour alone how you’ve asked him again and again who will star in his short film. You’ve asked Jungkook repeatedly to give you details outside of Namjoon and the vaguest bits he could ever give you, establishing the fact that he isn’t even bound to an NDA.

It’s the persisting barrage of questions in your head that bothers you without a single break. It’s the hovering feeling of doom above your head because having no answers to any of them, on top of Jungkook closing himself off with or without the physical distance between the two of you and being Hwayoung’s sole caregiver, that your patience ultimately thins.

Your annoyance towards your husband is clearly obvious and it bothers him to the point of frustration. Jungkook’s been convinced since last week that if he just dodged your questions for long enough and blamed it on the connection of your call, he wouldn’t have to answer to you; he wouldn’t have to explain the fine details of the project he’s kept from you.

If he had only avoided you for long enough, you would’ve forgotten about the rumors surrounding Namjoon’s upcoming screenplay that had been leaked to the press, and the roster of actresses thought out to be the main lead of his short film.

If he had only ignored your pleas for long enough, he would have never succumbed to the preliminary guilt that comes with lying to you under the impression that he’s only being protective, pushing him to drink until his vision spins — enough for him that when he admits the truth to you, your face of heartbreak directed at him isn’t as anguishing.

“Fine, fuck it! Since you’re so nosy, yes. Eunsu is my main lead, there! She’s my muse!” Jungkook just about yells, breathless from the burn of alcohol in his throat that spreads all the way to his chest, and from the back and forth he’s been going at with you for the last hour.

“Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?!” you retort, fists clenching at your sides as the thought of Jungkook with Eunsu, with her of all actresses, in a foreign place at almost every minute of the workday irking you.

“Would it have made a difference? You’d still be angry at me,” he rolls his eyes, placing a hand on his hip as he tries to stabilize his gaze on you.

“And even then, you wouldn’t do anything about it, right? Because that’s just your nature, Jungkook,” you scoff, your dig at him being incredibly low yet you steel your pride, unwilling to back down at the thought that Jungkook’s been lying to you for three weeks– perhaps even longer.

He presses a tongue to his cheek as you pertain to the past loud and clear, the sarcastic nod he gives you making your breathing tremble.

“Why? Why does it have to be her?” you try again, this time with your jaw clenched so your anger won’t flare up because you’ve been dying to have a decent explanation from Jungkook for weeks.

“Why can’t it be her?” he counters. “B-because she’s what, she’s your rival or something? You’re jealous? Bitter?”

The knot in your chest tightens, the recall you have of the woman who had sabotaged you repeatedly when you were still a rookie putting a metallic taste on your tongue. She’s hindered you in ways that not even Yoongi could explain fully despite being the closest friend to you in the industry, the vitriol you’ve had for Eunsu in the past reviving back to life.

You have no words except for the fact that begs to be acknowledged without a single syllable.

“I’m your wife, Jungkook,” you exhale shakily, the gravity of it seemingly not enough for him because he refuses to use it as a reason to get on your side.

“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think everybody knows that by now?” Jungkook spits. “When I’m producing my film with Eunsu, I don’t want to be your husband, Y/N! I’m sick of it,” he seethes. “Eunsu has nothing to do with me. Why should I fight your battles for you? Why do I have to carry your grudges for something that doesn’t even concern me?”

Jungkook’s the drunkest he’s ever been in his life, yet he utters the clearest words you’ve ever heard him say.

“This is showbiz, Y/N. It’s inevitable for you to get caught up with shit.”

“You’re talking as if being my husband and being Hwayoung’s dad is a chore.”

“Because maybe it is!” Jungkook bursts with a cry, the tears that spring out of his eyes momentarily blinding him. “Because maybe, I’m fed up trying to be sickeningly devoted to you all the time.”

There’s something akin to white, hot, searing pain that spreads across your chest all the way to your temple, the tremble of your lips not enough for Jungkook to realize that you’re on the verge of sobbing.

“Sometimes I hate this. I… I-I hate this life I’m living because of you, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers. “I hate how you’re so, so perfect in juggling everything. I hate how I could spend an hour just convincing Hwayoung to eat a single carrot and you come in the room, and she finishes the bowl with a smile on her face. I-I hate how you never complain whenever you need to do late night feedings after a long day because I’m already snoring. I hate how with or without work, you’re still just—…” he stills, looking at you with a distraught gaze. “You’re still so content. You’re still able to be yourself like you’ve always been.”

There’s no words left in you; no thought at all that could ever pick you up from the ground and gather yourself the way you’ve always had whenever you and Jungkook had felt the furthest from each other.

“Jungkook,” you sniffle, even if he waves you off half-heartedly. “I’m sorry if-…”

“There it is. There it fucking is again!” Jungkook whines, foot agitatedly stomping against the floor as he pulls at his hair. “You’re apologizing for being so perfect in life that it’s making me feel bad!”

“But I’m not! I’m far from it, what the hell are you talking about?” you rasp, the sarcastic laugh that goes past your lips making his ears ring. “I’m sorry if it seems that way but I’m telling you myself that everything is not perfect the way you make it out to be. I’m sorry because it makes you feel bad, but if anything-…”

Jungkook raises a finger at you, his jaw tightening the longer he stews in displacement.

“Don’t. Don’t. Don’t tell me how content you are with everything despite being exhausted, or how you juggling everything is worth it. Don’t tell me how good of a dad I am."

“Then what can I say to make it lighter for you, Jungkook? What can I say that won’t make you resent me?” you grit in surrender, chest falling so lowly, you’ve forgotten to breathe for a long second. “Do you hate the life that we’re living now so much that you can’t even look at me?”

Love isn’t always a matter of ease and although it’s always stuck to you, you prove now that Jungkook coming home to you at this instance, in this light, that he makes love the most difficult thing.

“Do you hate the life that I gave you so badly?”

“I don’t,” he answers, mouth dry as his vision spins. “Sometimes. Tonight, though — maybe I do. It comes and goes.”

“Then what can we do about it?” you whisper, your vision hazy as you look at him. “Where do we go from here?”

“It’s getting late,” Jungkook only whispers, unwilling to look at the bed you share. “I have an early flight tomorrow.”

[youaintnothinbuta]

Hello!!! I saw you wanted some sort of army Elvis prompt so I thought I'd send one through!!! Love your stuff by the way. Daddy!Elvis 🥺🥺🥺🥺 he's so cute!!

Ok...how about...Elvis is doing like a party (can be army Elvis or Vegas Elvis or anyone of his phases up to you!) and he and the reader have been together a while, but while they're catering...this one guy and old friend of Elvis's gets a bit TOO touchy feely with her, and takes advantage of her going around catering to people by asking for continuous drinks and stuff until he's drunk. When she tells Elvis he laughs it off the first time. But then when the drunk man gets angry with the reader for refusing to serve him any more drinks he gets a little 'too' angry for Daisy and does something (you can make up what) and then she tells Elvis when she pulls him aside in tears. And then he becomes super 'protective' Elvis....please? 🥺🥺

Hope this is ok!

❤️

“She’s being a real brat.” — Elvis Presley x reader

Omg thank you for replying n for the inspo ily!!! I hope this is okay 💗 I purposely didn’t mention a time so read it as any Elvis era you like

Summary: see request^^^

Pairing: Elvis or Austin!Elvis x reader

Word count: 970

Warnings: fluff!! There is some unwelcome attention and arguing but Elvis looks after you <3

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“Don’t forget, baby, we gotta bring all those chairs outside for everyone before people start arriving,” you reminded Elvis, as the two of you prepared for the party he was hosting.

“Oh, right, thank you honey.” He kissed the side of your head, heading outside to deal with that, while you unpacked the crackers and cheeses and alcohol, his chef preparing the actual food, of course.

That evening, once everyone started arriving, you and your husband made yourselves busy, making sure to greet everyone. As the evening wore on, you found yourself bustling around, making sure everyone’s drinks were topped up and their plates were full. Amidst the lively chatter and music, you were approached by an old friend of Elvis’, a guy you vaguely remembered from previous gatherings.

“There she is! What a stunner Elvis has got himself,” he complimented you as he took another full glass of champagne from your hand, though it didn’t really feel like a compliment.

With a polite smile, you acknowledged him. “Thank you. Yes, it has been a while.”

Initially, his conversation remained innocuous, but as the night progressed, his demeanor shifted. His touches lingered longer than was appropriate, his compliments veering into the realm of discomfort. You thought it was quite interesting too how he only became this way the moment your husband was out of sight.

“Why’s your mister letting you walk around like this? I can’t take my eyes off you,” he remarked, his gaze lingering a little too intently as he brushed his hand over your lower back.

“Thank you,” you replied, a nervous edge creeping into your voice. “I should attend to the drinks.”

Stepping away, you discreetly sought out Elvis, who was engaged in conversation with other guests.

“Elvis, could I speak with you for a moment?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned to you, concern furrowing his brow. “Of course, what’s the matter?”

Hesitantly, you confided in him about the man’s unwelcome advances, hoping for some form of intervention.

“That guy, he’s been getting too familiar with me. I can’t even place a name to his face, I don’t even know him.” you pleaded quietly.

“Don’t stress, honey. He’s just being friendly,” he reassured, though his words did little to assuage your discomfort.

As the evening wore on, you went from feeling uneasy to borderline violated. The man, now visibly intoxicated, began demanding more drinks, despite his already inebriated state.

“Hey, sweetheart, another round over here!” he slurred, his voice growing increasingly belligerent.

“I’m sorry, but I think you’ve had enough,” you replied, trying to maintain composure despite the rising tension.

“Pardon?” He asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.

You knew he was trying to give you an opportunity to change your words, but you didn’t, repeating yourself. “You’ve had enough to drink.”

“Listen, little girl,” he plunked his empty glass down on a table, his words slurring.

He gave you a gross smile, curled his finger towards you in a come hither motion. As not to cause a scene in front of other guests, you listened to him, even if it was against your better judgment, and leaned in to him.

He positioned his face far too close to yours, startling you with a yell, “you don’t tell me when I’ve had enough. I’ll have as much as I damn well please!”

Your heart raced, and a sense of dread crept over you as his demeanor grew increasingly aggressive. Every instinct screamed at you to retreat, to find safety in the presence of Elvis. How dare someone speak to you like that? Especially in your own home. You feel uncomfortable and unsafe, and you most certainly didn’t want him in your home anymore.

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You were able to pretty quickly and easily pick Elvis out from the large amounts of people, tugging on his shirt to pull him aside.

“Baby, what happened?” Elvis asked, immediately clocking your glossy eyes. You began to recount what he had said to you.

“Elvis, he won’t leave me alone. He’s getting aggressive,” you implored, desperation colouring your words. Elvis’ expression hardened as he listened, his concern giving way to resolve.

Elvis approached the guy, who smile at him.

“Just the man I was looking for! Will you tell your girl to get me a drink, she’s being a real brat.”

“Listen to me, ain’t no one gonna talk to me like that, especially not about my wife,” Elvis asserted, his voice cutting through the noise of the party, “you need to leave.”

The man’s smile faltered, replaced by a look of defiance as he squared his shoulders, clearly intent on challenging Elvis’s authority. “Come on, buddy, don’t be like that,” he slurred, his words punctuated by the stench of alcohol on his breath.

Elvis’s jaw clenched, his patience wearing thin as he glared at the man. “I said leave,” he growled, his tone brooking no argument.

For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, tension high, then, with a defiant snort, the man turned on his heel, stumbling towards the door with unsteady steps. As soon as he was out of sight, Elvis turned back to you, his eyes softening with concern. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice gentle as he reached out to cup your cheek.

“I am now.” You nodded.

“I’m sorry, I should have listened to you. Why don’t you hang around me for a while.”

“It’s okay,” you placed your hand over his that was on your cheek. He placed a kiss on your lips, before pulling you into him, dancing with you. You laughed at his spontaneity, as he spun you around, mouthing the words I love you. You replied the same way, as others around you cheered and danced, the party quickly picking back up.

[cryptomiracle]

more creepypasta headcanons

(+ marble hornets)

WARNINGS:

Ooc? Idk

I started this at 2 am and you can tell

Cursing

I write on my phone so the format may be a little weird

Any brands, games, or characters mentioned in this do NOT belong to me, nor am I sponsored by them in any way.

This is very unserious, I've noticed that a lot of my other hcs usually take a "dark" turn and so I decided to make some that didn't.

You could even say they're a bit... silly.

You should totally check out my masterlist for more hcs (it's pinned)

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Characters: masky, hoodie, ticci toby, jeff the killer, and BEN DROWNED.

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Jeff:

he's extremely hard headed, he WILL argue/fight with someone over the dumbest things and he'll never stop arguing, even if he knows the other person is right.

He has an "emo accent"

He likes to start drama between people, and then leave the crime scene.

He is so ashy you could strike a match off of his elbow

He's been wearing the same beat up converse since 2012, them things are being held together by duct tape and a prayer.

His favorite animal is a raccoon, he says they're sneaky and nocturnal like him.

He refuses to get a new phone, he won't even steal one.

He curses all the time just cause he can, sometimes he'll even jumble random curse words together.

BEN:

He listens to vocaloid and he doesn't play about miku

He runs one of those "rage bait" accounts that are painfully obviously bait

Still quotes old memes and refuses to let them die

Example: yeet, t-posing, and "sanic the hedgehog"

He scams old people on Facebook and e-daters, he doesn't feel bad about it either.

He uses the money he gets from scamming to buy v-bucks and overwatch coins

He once doxxed someone for dissing miku

slender had to take away his mic privileges because he was keeping everyone up at night by yelling bloody murder at people on fortnite/overwatch

once showed up at someones house because they emoted on him after killing him in game

Toby:

He vapes, and thinks he's so cool cause he can do "vape tricks" and he makes people watch him while he does them

Someone once gave him apple cider, told him it was alcohol, and he pretended to be drunk.

His phone gallery is filled with random photos, like there'll be a low quality picture of a tree and then right beside it a picture of a ceiling. Just random stuff

Mint chocolate chip ice cream enjoyer

He's really flexible, although he has bad posture he can do back bends, the splits, etc

more on his terrible posture; when he sits he literally looks like this: ) )

When he first started working for slenderman, he REFUSED to live in the manor and lived outside. While he lived outside he became friends with a lot of the wildlife, slender eventually made him move into the manor because there was a rumor that toby was going to make a "possum army" and try to overthrow slender

He will fight anyone and anything he really doesn't care about his, or their well-being.

Had a "weeb" phase when he was in middle school and he still has nightmares about "naruto running" away from his bullies.

Hoodie:

He can make a killer sandwich (lol) he's not the best at cooking other things, but if you get him to make you a sandwich, he'll bless your taste buds.

He loves karaoke, he can't sing for shit but he still does it anyway

He acts like a millennial (I'm sorry) not to the point where it's completely unbearable, but he will send people "relatable memes" every now and then

He enjoys online arguments, he'll never participate but he will scroll through different threads of people arguing for hours on end

He likes for people to say stuff like "GO WHITE BOY GO" to him

He blushes when he lies, he's a scarily good liar but if you ever want to catch him in a lie, point out the fact that his cheeks are red.

Whenever he has a drink with a straw, he holds the straw in-between his tooth gap.

he sends streaks.

Masky:

He has a NASTYYY side eye, and sometimes he'll scrunch up his nose while side eyeing someone just to make it sting even more

Contemplated getting a mullet once, he never went through with it though.

He coughs like someone's grandfather who smoked three packs of cigarettes a day for 40 years

If someone says a word that reminds him lf a song he likes, it'll automatically get stuck in his head and he'll hum it all day after that.

he isn't weak when it comes to stinky smells, but if it's stinky enough to make him gag he's extremely overdramatic.

he learned how to sew because of how much he ripped his jeans, shirts, etc.

Sleeps so hard sometimes people think he's dead, he'll just be laying there looking casket ready but everyone is too scared to check on him cause he gets super grumpy when woken up.

he always keeps a little money hidden somewhere, even if it's just a 5 dollar bill.

he's superstitious, if he sees you attempt to walk under a ladder he will physically drag you back and make you walk around it.

he has a pair of brass knuckles which he only saves for "special occasions" they're his favorite things ever, he even named them.

he only uses his phone to call, text, or search something up, and that's it.

he doesn't even have YouTube installed.

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I will be reading over this to check for any errors, ty for reading - M

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Rebound 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Curtis Everett

Summary: after a divorce, you try to start over.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The village talks. Anyone passing through might see Hammer Ford as a sleepy hamlet nestled amidst rolling hills. They might call it quaint, they may even mistake the whispers for wind. But the town is anything but quiet.

As loud as any tongue are their eyes. You know their names and they know yours. They watch as they pretend not to, looking for fuel for the mill.

You know that Lynette was staring at your ring finger, barren but marked with the imprint of a band. As much as you want to just forget the past, it's not quite over yet. The papers are signed but it's not sealed away. Back to square one, almost.

But there's no starting over here. There's always reminders. Familiar faces, listening ears, and loose lips. You put your head down and ignore them. It's about time you live for yourself and not anyone else.

The library drones with the noise of the ventilation and the hushed voices of those browsing the shelves. The soft click of the outdated mice on their pads and the flutter of pages fill the din. You stamp the returned books and set them on a cart.

The job isn't very much. It's never busy. Not so dully and lifeless as the years you spent at home living a lie.

You close another cover and slide the book aside. A tread squeaks and draws your gaze up. You greet the man approaching the desk as he offers a single book.

"Find everything okay?" You ask. You know him, just like everyone else. Curtis works down at the lumber mill.

"Sure," he answers as you stamp the book and write in the due date. Everything in Hammer Ford is antiquated and dead.

"Alright, three weeks," you say as he offers his library card. You key it in with his name and the call number into the old PC. He watches silently and you hand back the book. He accepts it with a soft thanks.

"It's a good one," you say.

"Hm," he furrows his brow before looking down at the book in his hand.

"Yeah, I read all his stuff when... well, I had a phase," you shrug, "anyways, have a good day. Sorry."

He pauses and considers the book, "I read at the yard. On my lunch."

You're surprised. You don't know much about Curtis, no one does, but he's never been very talkative. You don't even know why you tried.

"Hard work," you comment, "lot easier than this place."

"Eh," he claps the book in his hand and looks away, "well, have a good night."

"You too," you echo back.

You watch him go and don't think much more of it. You assume it's the same pity everyone else treats you with. Your husband left you and now you're working in the library, living in your sister's basement, and all alone. Compared to your ex, you're not exactly thriving.

And who wouldn't feel bad for you? You're over the hill, you're used, and you have a bit too much love in your handles. You feel bad for yourself.

You huff and carry on sorting books. No use dwelling on it all. You're no one's problem but your own now so it's up to you to do something about it.

🌲

On your day off, you wake up at the same time. You're already conditioned to working hours. You have your coffee on the small sofa and watch the local news. Not anything exciting.

This is the first day of your new life. You made up your mind as you lay sleepless at midnight. You're going to make a change.

So, you put on a pair of sweats and a loose tee and that ratty old pair of sneakers you've worn to tatters. It isn't a big leap forward but it's a start. Just a walk. You'll make an effort to go every day, after work during the week, and in the mornings on the weekends.

And the food. You have to rein that in. Just a little less pie and no sugar in your coffee. A decade of bad habits won't be put to rest in a single day but you'll at least try.

You leave out the basement door, mindful not to make too much noise as you do. You woke up your sister's kids once and haven't heard the end of it. You put in your wired earbuds and hook the tiny mp3 player to your waistband. You don't even think they make these things anymore.

You head off down the country road, hills sprawling before you. Just up the rise and you'll turn off into the woods. There's a walking trail that circles back around near Mr. Howland's. It should be too far.

You're proven wrong as you're breathless by the time you reach the treeline. You slow and find a stump to sit on just a few feet down the path. You fan yourself and mourn your own thoughtlessness. You should've brought water.

You get up and stretch your legs, already tired from the walk. You press on. You'll feel even more rotten if you turn back now.

You follow the winding trail around the trees and through the brush. Twigs snap under your soles with a peculiar echo. Critters rustle in the leaves and scurry into burrows. The sunlight shifts above as a shadow ripples over you.

You turn suddenly and look around, paranoid. It could be a bear but they don't often show themselves. Nothing. You're being stupid.

You turn up the music and fall back into step. You see the clearing just ahead and Mr. Howland's rotting shed. Halfway there. You don't think you'll be doing much more when you get home. You might just have a nap.

[hajihiko]

Ahhh, I'm sorry if this doesn't make sense, but I'm curious to know what changed Hajime/Izuru's mind in the universe your art takes place in? Like, what made him go from not caring about anything because everything was boring and meaningless, to trying to enjoy life?

I don't really remember what it was in the anime, but it was probably hope. And like, that makes sense if you think about it, considering that's the definition of hope, but hope doesn't usually just happen like that, you know? Especially not to someone who probably had never felt it since the whole Ultimate Hope thing (ironically). In my mind, it's hard to imagine what it could have been, considering nothing ever phased him. I know that whatever gave him hope doesn't have to be that deep, because that's how it is sometimes, but I was wondering what you think it could have been (or more importantly, what you consider it to be in your art)!

Also, this is kinda unrelated, but I find it so cool how much your art makes me really think about the characters. It's amazing how you're able to really see how you've fleshed out the characters through you art, and honestly, you are probably one of my favourite artists because of it.

But anyway, sorry about this long and random rant 😭 Idk why I spend my time analyzing the character and point of view of fictional characters, but I guess sometimes the ADHD brain goes brrrrrr.

Thank you for sharing your art; I hope have a great day or night!

depends on the universe! But I'll assume you mean my general post-game stuff.

I've said it somewhere before so if it's old bread to you bear with me, but basically, it was a genuine dedication to face the big horrible awful feelings that come with trauma and life in general, and also the brain boost of getting to skip the slow growing part even for just a while.

My idea is that Izuru and Hajime are not two separate identities, rather, an amnesiac and horribly traumatized boy was given a moniker he didn't care to accept or deny. It's not like he had any other name to go by. That was Izuru Kamukura.

The brain has these neural pathways of how it responds to things, and his all got burnt out so he could respond with an appropriate talent each time. As a very simplified example, someone might respon to threat with the Flight response, because it worked in a dire situation and the brain decided "that saved us, this is how we will respond from now on".

Hajime, in the game, gets a sudden bump out of those pathways, enabling him to feel things properly and be fully present in his life. Thematically, the big Super Sayian moment is him deciding to not fall into old, but true and tried, brain patterns, and instead taking on the horrific experience of being human, with all the messy Emotions and Failures that comes with it.

When he wakes up from the game, he still struggles, but the artificial boost from his old thinking as well as a conscious, strenuous, painful effort to not repress himself anymore but instead face the things that he did and were done to him, make him able to carve himself into a new Him.

Not the same, in the sense that WHO could say they're the same as they were before a simulated murder game that revealed that you were a killing machine terrorist and so were your friends. But the same as in, he's Hajime Hinata and he decides what exactly that means. To want is an emotion, and he wants to become someone who can experience life fully, and chasing that single feeling of Want opens up the doors to everything else. You might've heard this before but "before you change, you have to want to change".

So in short. What enabled him to get Hopeful so to speak was the combination of a brain kick (you could call that a metaphor for outside help), and a concrete decision to try to do the difficult but right thing. Sounds kind of boring maybe, but everything else comes later - like his interest and care for his friends, an enjoyment of philosophy and the arts, a pleasure from being useful and helpful, a serenity from accepting things as they are, and a thrill that comes with strong genuine emotion (from my own life, sometimes a single moment of !!!! can carry you on for months).

Yes the whole thing is a metaphor for getting better with mental health stuff. It's personal to me okay 😂

(also I like the idea from Miggys fic that his human connections override the apathy and distance so as long as he's around the people he loves he can hold onto what keeps him going)

I love thinking about and building on characters too! Spending tons of time inspecting them like a specimen 🤝 people (and therefore characters) are very interesting to me so I just like rolling them around my brain. Thank you for your interest and kind words!

[thotsforvillainrights]

Shigaraki smut headcanons? Sorry if you've already done this, I just love crusty boi. (　＾ω＾)

(You're fine, Anon! It's one of those cases where it FEELS like it's been done but probably hasn't lol. I went and checked the new and old masterlist and couldn't find anything. Now's my chance to add it to the collection ^_^)

~Shigaraki Smut Headcanons~

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up|drabble

-Really would like to say he's a freak in bed but I don't think he's all that wild...at least not at first. I feel like he has a lot of love to give when he opens himself up for it. There's not really much lust between the two of you at first (not on his end at least). His walls are up really high and for a while he starts to feel really guilty about developing feelings for you. He's not sure if he deserves to have love given to him, or to give love to others. All his life he's been focused on what he hates and not enough on what he could love. When you come along, he's filled with anger at the fact you were able to get to him so easily.

-He can't deny any longer that he has feelings for you. When you try to reciprocate these feelings then it becomes complex. He's not letting you in as easily. He prays at night that you give up on him, that you leave for your own good. At the same time he wants to open himself up to you but he just doesn't know how. When he finally decides to let himself go and feel for once in his life, it becomes likely the most beautiful and simultaneously terrifying experience he's had. When you say you love him, it's invigorating. When you touch him...touch his skin of all people, he feels special. He feels confused all at the same time. Why would you chose him?

-He's scared at first to talk about you, to feel pride out loud. he's scared he'll somehow jinx things and that he'll wind up hurting or even worse is that he'll wind up hurting you instead. It's not just the mental hurt he's worried about either. It's the pysical hurt and the crushing idea that he might slip up and you'll be gone forever. Even with gloves as a precaution, he's still not up to the idea of touching you. Why should he when he doesn't deserve to touch you anyway? A demon with an angel like you? What a cruel and disgusting joke. Don't you know if he were to mess up then you'd be nothing more than a pile of ash and memories? You don't care. You want his touch, his hugs and kisses. And just like always, he's weak to deny you. He gives up and cautiously inches into the next phase of your relationship.

-When the sex finally comes into play, he feels a bit overwhelmed. Understandably you should come to expect him not lasting very long for the first few times. Can you blame him? You're something akin to a sinful pool of gold and he's strong enough to hold back. He's focusing all his energy on making you feel good, keeping a handle on his quirk, and trying not to hurt you all at the same time. Your sex brings fireworks out. His vision gets spotty once before and leave him wondering if he might pass out. He's breathless, his skin damp with sweat and his legs weak...shaking from your activities together. He's quiet but you can still hear him making sound just for you. It's all for you.

-Because he won't focus on his own pleasure, you end up taking the reigns in that department. It takes some time for him to settle down and accept that you actually WANT to make him feel good instead. Of course you do, why wouldn't you want to return the favor? He can't grasp the concept at first. That's okay, he didn't need to think too hard. Just lay back and let you handle it yes?

-His drive doesn't seem to be that high, nor too low. If anything, he's a perfect in-between, matching your pace perfectly. He's moldable like clay for you. He'll fold and bend at your will but he also remains understanding of his own needs and preferences as well. I think maybe later on in the relationship you can see him getting a little rougher in bed. Of course at your request, he learns the ins and outs of it. Shigaraki after gaining a power-up shows a considerable difference in the ways he goes about things but that's a story for a different time.

[podcast-official]

Old Partner In Crime, Chapter 1: Running Away Just Made Sense

Author's Note: This fic was inspired by Arms Unfolding by dodie so y'all should go listen to that first. Also this is my first fic that I've written since my middle school LoTR phase so please be nice, haha. It's not super heavily edited, so some things might not be worded quite how I want them to be, but all my grammar and punctuation should be good because personally that pisses me off lmao.

Relationship: Juno Steel/Peter Nureyev

Tags: Cuddling/Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Juno Steel is a Good Significant Other, Peter Nureyev is a Good Significant Other, Healing, Recovery, Communication

CWs: Mention of SH (cutting), mention of alcoholism, (everything turns out okay, I pinky promise), arguments, miscommunication, very non-explicit sex, references to past trauma, unhealthy coping mechanisms

It started all fell apart one night when Juno was out late and didn't call. The last few months had been... tense. More arguments. Less communication. When Juno was an hour later than he said he'd be, Peter started to spiral. He's left before, his mind told him. And he was right to. Peter went to the mirror in the bathroom, clutching the edges of the sink, letting the cold porcelain dig into his skin. He felt sick as he looked at himself.

Not so pretty anymore, are you? the voice in his head taunted. He deserves better. He swallowed. "I'm being ridiculous," he said aloud. "Juno's coming home. He's going to come through that door and wrap me up in his arms and kiss me like he has every single day for the last year and a half. He's just running late."

He shut his eyes tight. "He's just running late," he whispered, trying to quell his fear. He twisted the ring on his hand, the one that promised that Juno would never, ever leave. It felt too tight all of a sudden. A chain instead of a tether. He turned from the mirror and grabbed his coat from where it lay on the couch. He had to get out. He had to leave. He had to run. Every single nerve buzzed with the message that he was in danger.

He walked for two hours before he made it back to the apartment, spiraling deeper and deeper. He'd already made up his mind to go back and get the emergency bag he kept packed in the back of his closet. It was better than sleeping in an empty apartment. When he got back, however, he saw Juno on the couch, head in his hands, a glass and a half empty bottle of whiskey sitting in front of him on the coffee table. Peter would've sworn that bottle was full this morning. Juno had been drinking more than usual, now that he thought about it.

Juno looked up at him. "Nureyev, where the hell have you been?" Juno snapped and Peter flinched.

Then something hard and angry and bitter lodged in his heart. "I could ask you the same question, Juno. I went for a walk, that's all. You were late and I was worried and-"

Juno gave a little disbelieving laugh. "You were running away, weren't you? Or planning on it, at least. God, Nureyev, it's been, what, three years now, and you still can't fucking trust me? I come home an hour late and you completely lose it?"

"Why are you angry at me?"

"Because you can't seem to believe for a moment that I'm not going to leave. And now I can't trust that you weren't. I bet you were just about to grab that bag you think I don't know about from the closet and run off to who knows where if I wasn't here."

"Juno, I'm sorry, but you didn't call or message or anything and I had no idea where-"

"Oh, grow up, Nureyev."

"Juno, I don't want to fight-"

"Fine! Then we won't! I'm going to Rita's."

Peter's face hardened a little. "Fine."

Peter thought in that moment that if this was one of those romantic dramas Rita watched he'd realize that if he let Juno walk out that door right now, their marriage would be over, that he should run after him and grab his arm and tell him he loved him.

But he didn't. He watched Juno leave and then silently poured himself a glass of whiskey from the bottle on the table, downed it, and poured another. He stared into space for a long while, feeling the urge to do something he hadn't done since he and Juno had reunited. He wanted to feel cold, sharp metal against his skin, to-

No. He couldn't do that, because Juno would notice next time they-

Wait.

It's not like he loves you anymore. You've known it for months now. It's not like he'll see you with your clothes off anytime soon.

An hour later, Peter was glad that Juno had bought bandages recently.

He curled up in bed and wept until he fell asleep.

[osiiiris]

The thing that should not be [Terzomega One Shot]

I finally made it with a Terzo/Ghoul. What’s your opinion on POV fics? I used to write a lot of it in my past fandoms but here I see rarely this kind of fics. Thank you @van-goghs-smoking-skull for your help 🌹

Genre: slash, explicit, oral sex, sex, Terzo POV, young Terzo, sub Terzo, dom Omega, first time with Omega/a Ghoul.

Pairing: Terzo x Ghoul (Omega)

Rating: Nc17 (explicit but not properly smut)

Words: 2.943

Summary: Terzo is the 20 year old last heir of Papa Nihil and he’s definitely not having fun at his father’s birthday party. Luckily, a big Ghoul is around to save the night…

>>> Wattpad | AO3 | or down here 👇🏻

The first time we met, the big Ghoul and I, was in the hallways of the Ministry, shortly after the new summoning, but there was nothing more than a few distracted glances. I had seen him walking along with the other Ghouls, standing out for his size; their black robes covered every inch of their bodies, including their faces, making them look like nothing more than disturbing moving shadows.

The last time was a few days ago, and besides the looks, there was also the insolence of a mouth that was too big and too dirty to keep a few of their thoughts to themselves. 

It had been a coincidence that I happened to be passing by just in time to hear my name, followed by a somewhat ungentlemanly "I'm surprised none of us has fucked him yet."

The reply was even less gentle, “Just give me some time and my cock will end up deep in that throat.”

It must have been a group of Ghouls, judging by the voices, but from the cloister colonnade, I couldn't see them. A few more steps, and they were all there, gathered, chatting among themselves, some smoking with the cigarette passing under their masks. It was hard to tell who had spoken, but one of them, the tallest and most recognizable of the group, had stared at me a bit too interested while still laughing at what was said, even though it was impossible to imagine his expression under the mask.

I had noted that tone, knowing it would come in handy sooner or later.

Birthday parties are all dramatically the same and all equally boring, especially when it's your father's birthday. Or at least, I'm just in a phase of chronic dissatisfaction, as Copia would say.

Suddenly, a nearby, deep and familiar voice draws me to a small sofa that I only see from the back.

"...and so you're going on tour."

There is a girl with him, but I can't understand what they're talking about. I only catch a few phrases about music, and as I drink, I move a little closer. Just out of curiosity.

"Yes, in a few weeks." I hear him say, almost disinterested. 

"And is there a chance you'll take me in your suitcase?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't think you'd fit."

I almost want to laugh and clench the straw between my lips. I'd like to see the girl's face, but I only see her leave, probably after trying to hide her disappointment with all the self-control that a rejected woman can muster.

"You really know how to disappoint a woman." I say out of honesty, because I would have expected anything from him except for him to turn down someone like her.

He shrugs, not even surprised to see me there.

"If I listened to all those who flirt with me, I'd probably have little monsters scattered all over the world, which has probably already happened."

I raise an eyebrow, feeling my head a bit heavy for the few drinks I had. For now, it's still a nice feeling, but I've never been able to stop in time to leave it that way. Somehow, it's as if I need to create a balance just for the sake of destroying it with my own hands.

"I understand."

"Do you?"

I shrug, while I feel him watching my lips tighten around the straw.

I hear Sister Imperator calling me, and we both turn to her. "I think I have to go."

"You'll stay here, later?" That isn't really a question. It's an invitation, if not an order, and I quickly decide that I really like his orders tonight. "I'll make up for that incident in the cloister."

"See you later, then." I tell him as I boldly clench the straw of a now-empty cocktail between my teeth and move toward who I have always called mother.

After a night spent watching the others participate in the party, drinking and staring at the tips of my shoes as if in a catechism lesson, even the prospect of starting a conversation with Primo about his passion for succulents would seem interesting to me. Fortunately, my first brother doesn't have enough time to waste on me, so Copia approaches me, a cigarette between his lips and the rest of the pack still in his hand.

"Want something to drink?" he yells in my ear, as if the loud music gives him the right to think I've gone deaf.

"Do I look like someone who needs a drink?"

He nods convincingly. "Absolutely!"

"Then I'll go get it myself, at least it'll get me moving a bit. It's a real pain in the ass here."

"I haven’t seen you having fun lately!" He rolls his eyes before muttering something to himself, probably about what a creepy presence I am in his life. I hope that with alcohol around there's some action at least.

There isn't, or at least I don't get to know about it, as someone far more interesting than a drink blocks my way.

"Are you having fun?" 

The first time we saw each other, I must have had a really strange expression. It must have been at least five years ago and it was the first time I ever saw a real demon so close, but he hasn't changed at all, and I'm almost curious to know how he sees me now. Not that I expect him to understand concepts like age and physical change.

"Yes, yes."

"Shall we find a quieter spot, what do you think?"

I don't have the clarity to say no, and with a bit of luck, maybe I won't even remember it later.

I've seen him drink continuously during the party, but he seems as clear-headed as if what he's been drinking was fresh water. Either he holds his liquor well, or he knows how to mask it. Or maybe he's not a twenty-year-old jerk who collapses like an idiot after the third glass and makes a spectacle of his worst self.

I nod with a head that's a bit too heavy, then gesture for him to lead the way, only to stop him soon after.

"Wait a moment." I tell him, and I move away, looking for Copia.

When I find him, I only whisper, "Don't look for me… I'll be back in a while." making sure no one else overhears. He looks at me as if to say 'don't mess things up' - the way I have noticed everybody has started to look at me lately, as if they were ready to bet on me causing new trouble every step I take - and then reluctantly nods. I bite my lip, and the Ghoul takes his time to scrutinize me from head to toe as I approach him again.

When I don't want to feel utterly miserable, I seek refuge in Copia's reassurance. I revert to feeling at least ten years younger, shedding the darkness that has accumulated in recent years, especially when the hassle of being the last Papa's heir began to manifest. You need to start building your reputation very early, and I'm not exactly inclined to miss the fun of my youth for something that will likely happen in twenty or thirty years from now.

In all probability, later tonight or tomorrow I'll rest my head on Copia's shoulder, having him telling me that I'm a dickhead but that's ok, that the way to equanimity is a long and hard one, and I'll believe him.

The Ghoul raises a champagne bottle toward me, then hands me a glass as we sit on the secluded couches.

"To make it up to you." he explains, filling my glass like a seasoned gentleman. There's nothing to make up for, I'd tell him if I had the necessary courage, if you want, I can blow you right here.

We spend some time with a few words and many glasses that empty too easily, my stomach flaring up unsure if for the alcohol or who knows what else.

As I drink, I dare to throw a few interested glances at him, running my eyes up and down his frame, catching any relevant detail, even if it's hard to find them in a figure so covered up like his. The rings on his fingers, the shape of his shoulders, how he tilts his head when laughing… Anything can help me understand why him. And he does the same.

He talks about what he does, the music he likes to play, and worlds I've never seen.

Maybe I'll take you there. It always seems like he's about to say. Maybe we'll just stay there. Or maybe it's just me who wants to hear it from him.

I listen to him, barely hearing his deep voice, muffled by the mask he wears, and the party becomes just a confused cloud of lights and distant voices.

The mask is a testament to his past, his condition as a demon bent to the laws of a world not his own. Esoteric symbols stand out on his uniform; I focus on one of them, Omega. I decide on the spot to call him that from now on, aware that in the absence of an identity, everyone must have given him a different name.

How important it is for us humans to name everything. Perhaps that's our problem.

Omega, a guest who can't stay in his place and also the only one who manages to distract me.

We find ourselves drinking straight from the bottle, and I understand less than half of the things he tells me, but it seems to be okay with him. However, I can feel his hands lightly touching me while talking, so discreet that it surprises me. His are distracted caresses barely hinted at, words that say without saying, and I, who speak that language, immediately think of making it clear to him.

"Let's go to the bathroom?"

And I don't know if it's me or him who says it, but the fact is I get up, and he follows me.

Once inside, I let out a deep sigh that actually has nothing of the malice it seems. My ears already relax due to the newfound silence.

"I have to say you saved me from a boring night."

"You too."

I look at him through the mirror, and he does the same, at a comfortable distance from me.

"Really? Wasn't there anything more valuable than my company?"

He shrugs, then approaches, casting a glance at the door.

"It depends on how the evening might end..." he says with a very calm tone, getting closer until he's right behind me, but he doesn't touch me.

I almost want to laugh, but I let it stay just a little smile and I leave him there to enter one of the cabins and wait.

It doesn't take long before he follows me. He tries to enter, but he holds himself against the doorframe and dares to stretch only his head.

"Is there room for me too?"

I look away, tilting my head and shrugging, leaving it up to him to find out. And he does.

Perhaps my Ghoul doesn't like to give empty words, so he strokes my neck in a way I already know, and there's no need to even apply pressure for me to slowly slide down the wall to end up on my knees in front of him, putting into practice what he has fantasized about with his friends.

Too bad that this time there are no witnesses to prove how true to his word he is.

When he takes it out, I reluctantly admit that what they say about the Ghouls is indeed true. Me, a mere human, must accept and accommodate Mother Nature's wishes.

While I admire him, an involuntary "damn" escapes me, to which he responds with an avoidable "seems so.", but I decide to smile anyway. And then I begin.

I partly watch him and partly keep my eyes closed, relishing the weary satisfaction that comes from having the power to grip a man - human or not, as they apparently work the same - just by slipping into his underwear.

At some point, he stops me, and I understand that he wants to get serious; I stand up, and he immediately seizes my hips with those huge, hot hands. I've always thought of myself as not being a good catch for a woman, let alone a man, from this perspective... I have slender hands and long fingers, which I happen to know many appreciate, but they are minuscule in comparison to his; he probably doesn't even feel my touch.

From the way he's gripping me, it really seems like my entire body can fit completely between his hands.

He turns me around with expertise, and I let him.

I have too many thoughts in my head to properly think about how to move for him. Thoughts that I really shouldn't have in a situation like this, but I also know that this thing won't empty me at all; rather, it will fill my head even more than it already is.

As I gasp against the icy wall, I feel his face in my hair and his breath on my neck, escaping the mask he still has on.

"I like it like this."

Me too, sometimes.

I want to think about what a better person I could be, but instead, I let myself get screwed in a restroom by a Ghoul without saying a word, looking at the white tiles faintly mirroring my panting face while I moan and bite on the sleeve of my habit that still covers me, but not enough to grant me a decency I never really had. He has already said enough about me, and I remained silent even then. Maybe I deserved it. Sure I do.

When he thrusts, I feel it perfectly, almost too much. I feel it so much that I open my eyes wide and gasp, scratch the wall, and stiffen in a way that must amuse him. He grins in my hair and doesn't stop. Thank you.

At this point, I don't even know if this is actually his way to make amends, or if he has forgotten it along with the tenth glass he downed and changed his plans in the meantime.

In the following minutes, there are no words, and I'm grateful for that. I don't understand where one can find the strength to talk in a moment like this, when all you feel is your skin burning with flames that are only yours, and every breath seems like it's never enough.

Then it's just a warm breath on the skin, and what seems like a caress on my hips that now belong to him. At least for a while. Then I can't help but bend over in a way he doesn't seem to appreciate, or maybe he only takes it as a chance to pull my hair and tilt my head back, almost resting it on his shoulder, before pressing my chest back against the wall.

That's how I come, with one hand around my throat and the other resting on my hip, feeling my legs tremble and losing their strength as his thrusts get faster and stronger; I slide my tongue on my lip, hungrily savoring what's left of his flavor and all I can think of is how proud Asmodeus must be of me, while I ignore all the Clergy’s advice by letting those last drops of pleasure shake me and the voice dies in my throat in that last groan, while everything seems to turn white for a couple of seconds.

He holds me, saying nothing, with his huge hand holding himself on the wall, near my head, and the other firmly on my chest, pressing my back against him, and I can't say if that's a caring gesture or he just doesn't want me to fall on his feet.

I take my pack of Marlboros from my pants, which I've just put on, covered by my cassock, with hands still trembling a bit.

"Wanna smoke?" I ask, offering him one while I already have one between my lips.

"Nah." he mutters, as he gets dressed as well, as far as pulling up the zipper of his pants can mean "getting dressed."

I lean against the wall while he takes his time to straighten every fold in his Ghoul uniform, and I have strange thoughts.

"I was thinking about where we shouldn't be."

"Oh, yeah?" he asks, not at all impressed.

"What we shouldn't have done..."

Encounters between humans and hellish creatures are not forbidden, but highly discouraged. Nobody can say what the true intentions of an entity born and raised in Hell may be, and it's always dangerous to form that kind of bond with subordinates, especially ones who don't feel feelings in the same way as humans. It is something to play with carefully.

"I only think about what we shouldn't be and we'll never be, so don't get ahead of yourself."

I shrug, also unimpressed. The cigarette is still unlit, and I don't think I'll smoke it.

"So disappointing is really your specialty." I joke, approaching him in this bathroom that now seems too big. I offer it to him, and he looks at it a bit strangely. "But keep this one." I tell him, and I like to think he's smiling under the mask. The fact is that he accepts it.

You keep it, so next time, I'll come back to get it. 

And we'll smoke it together.

[acaciapines]

If you’re still doing songs - song 69 and 138?

im always up to do em lets GO! i'll put both above the cut n then talk below :)

69. It’s Called: Freefall – Rainbow Kitten Surprise

king misses his mom. he misses his sister. he misses his aunt and his grandparents and mari trying to pin him down and luz letting him crawl under her covers and eda hugging him when he grabbed for her and firefly chirping good morning and good night and throwing out her wings to keep him safe.

“kiiiiiiiiing,” the collector whines, flipping upside-down through the air. “you’re so boring, what is your problem?”

“just tired,” king says. it’s hard to look at the collector straight-on. the thoughts that surround him are a messy array, and barely any of them are his, the way they are for anybody else: it’s a weird conglomerate of old thoughts like those that drift through the sky, but so packed together he can’t make anything out. it’s a beach of golden sand the collector runs through, leaving kicked-up grit in his awake.

“naw, c’mon,” they needle, landing right in front of him. “you’ve been tired forever. be fun!”

he misses his family so bad he’s sure it’s a wound spilling out of him. how can’t the collector see that?

“okay,” king says, “fine. let’s play.”

138. Habits – Genevieve Stokes

ask anybody: edalyn-owlbert clawthorne was never planning to have kids.

never really interested her. not the settling-down part, not the needing to keep another living creature alive part, not the having to be a good influence, gag. nah. kids were never going to be her thing, and so she never sought them out.

and then the little buggers found her.

well. she’s technically the one who stumbled across king, the owl beast’s faltering flight into that abandoned ruin he was living in, but king was the one who followed them both and refused to be left behind. plus, that stone-monster was going to kill him. eda wasn’t a fan of kids, but she didn’t want to leave them for dead, either.

looking back she’s pretty sure the owl beast was laughing at her.

laughed even harder when she took in luz. you’re an apprentice, kid, eda had told her, and the girl had squealed, and her daemon had sat there on her shoulder with her tiny chest puffed out, and something in eda knew this was going to be a permanent thing.

oh well. at least she skipped the changing diapers phase of things.

Discussion

for the first one: oh! hey! this one is relevant to for the future which im writing right NOW! ive been thinking a lot recently about how kings gonna be Doing in that entire like, 2-3 months he's basically on his own with the collector, because i'll be expanding out from what was shown in the show, and just...god. poor kid.

its terrifying! im a collector lover but even i'll admit he is Not great with king, especilly towards the start, and thats not going anywhere--king misses his family and the collector has been on his own for so LONG, and has this sense of entitlement to kings time + space. why does everyone else get a lifelong friend with them since birth? the collector wants that! and if they werent born with it they'll find a friend then! like KING!

its just a LOT. it makes for fun writing though kdnfkgdfg king doesnt hate the collector but oh boy is he not actually friends with them.

this one also makes it pretty obvious what im doing in regards to king being a titan lol but ive decided not to talk so explicitly about that unless im asked a question in which i cant speak around it. i gotta keep some of my secrets!

for the second one: MOM EDA MY BELOVED sorry i literally love that trope so much okay. its so so fun to write. eda really tripped and fell into parenthood like ah shit now ive got to be responsible for HOW MANY of these guys now? two? three? am i supposed to count mari and luz as one or two because based on the day that is a WILDLY different answer.

but yeah <3 its also made even more funny that firefly knew 100% what she was getting into. this was a massive shock to eda, but firefly's been a mom from the start!

also ooooh got that owlbert mention huh wonder what that is about...wonder what my owlbert secrets might be....if he shows up at all....hmmmm...

[jemmo]

for the ask game, 7, 12, 17! 💗🌼

thank you for the ask :)) and sorry its late i was gonna answer this at the bus stop yesterday but for once they decided to be on time

7. top 5 bl

man i had to stare at my mdl completed list for a while to decide this, but i'll preface that these top 5 are here both bc i have such a strong emotional connection with them and bc i want to scream about how actually good they are from a rooftop (also not ranked bc thats too hard):

utsukushii kare - don't know else i can make it clear how beloved and special this show is to me. an excellent story across both seasons and the movie with even better mains that are characterised to perfection, develop in the most beautifully human way and are performed brilliantly. and if i think about this show any longer and remember its over i will break so moving on

old fashioned cupcake - it was one thing to give me a bl starring THE og kageyama stage play actor bc those things were my life during the height of my anime phase, but to then have it be this good?? the story is beautiful, the fact they manage to do so much with such little run time amazes me, and to this day it has the most romantic line in any bl that always gives me goosebumps when i watch it. and i dont wanna talk like im that old, im only 25, but as someone who's barely had anything you can call a romantic experience, this show left me with the warmest sense of hope and comfort that beautiful love stories aren't reserved for high schools, and its never too late to find happiness

blueming - i havent rewatched this one in a while, or much at all, but i'll never forget the visceral response i had when i binged it all in one night. i adore the fact that this is just the gentlest story of 2 people falling in love and finding comfort in each other and just how naturally and simply it happens, and i think its portrayal of that specific family dynamic is phenomenal, bc for me at least its as much about that family being in the process of healing as it is about the love story, and the fact they go hand in hand is even better

bad buddy - what else is there to say. for the 12 weeks it aired, i ate, slept and breathed this show. literally did not even think about anything else. and this show has rightly been praised to the moon and back but as well as all that, its always gonna be special for me bc of the people and community i found and shared the watching experience with. what can i say, you just had to have been there, and im so glad i was

the eighth sense - surprisingly this was my last pick and i was debating swapping it for a few others, but it ultimately stays bc of how refreshing and how much of an emotional rollercoaster it was. i haven't ever brought myself to rewatch it, but i can vividly remember how enraptured i was by the sheer amount of tension they managed to create in those initial episodes, and how well they managed to maintain it. and i hope people take note of how much people loved its artful and kinda raw vibe and become inspired to do something similar bc i think it gives great balance to the genre (and i also, clearly, love it, just look at these pics. i promise i do love fun and silly stuff too)

12. most rewatched bl

i was debating putting this on my list but ultimately, while not being my absolute favourite, its my definition of a comfort show and that is my dating sim. idk what it is about the show, but ever since it came out i go back to it at the very least monthly. i think its the fact that when im really craving a good bl, it manages to not only hit all my favourite tropes (unrequited but secretly requited love, reuniting and digging up the past, that initial clash gives me a lil bit of enemies to lovers, plus it has enough fluff to make me all warm and giddy), but it also does them so well, and the story is so perfectly simple and succinct that i feel so content when the whole thing is over. truly the perfect show for when i wanna do nothing and feel happy.

17. best kiss

unsurprising but yes, it still is the bad buddy rooftop kiss. i dare not watch this kiss bc i know if the weakness ever overtakes me i will fall into a void that i will not escape for at least a week. and honestly, while there has been some good competition, idk if she'll ever be beaten, and idk if thats bias talking or just the objective truth, but i encourage all bl's to keep giving it their bests shot

❤️🧡💛bl ask game💚💙💜

[sleepyeye17]

Final Chapter of Steddie New Years Eve Fic!

Words: 951

Warnings: None

Full link:

 https://archiveofourown.org/works/43927380/chapters/110731429

2003/2004

Eddie bounced up and down, hugging his arms against the cold.

“Jesus Christ, I’m freezing my tits off.”

“I’ll hold them for you,” Steve said, putting his hands on Eddie’s chest. Eddie giggled. It was snowing, and Steve opened up his coat for Eddie to step into. 

When they’d arrived at the courthouse at nine, the line had already been out the door. Now it was around the block. All across Massachusetts, couples were lining up outside welcoming churches, courthouses, synagogues, and mosques, waiting for the clock to strike midnight and same-sex marriage to be legal for the first time anywhere in the United States. Steve and Eddie would only be legally married in some states, of course, but they’d be married somewhere. They’d be married when they came to visit Nancy, and if anything bad happened, they could come to a hospital in Boston and have the same rights as any married couple.

Robin and Vickie had discussed coming along and getting married, but in the end they’d decided that it wasn’t for them. Maybe someday, when it was a federal law, but even then Robin wasn’t sure she needed the government to get involved in their relationship. Steve and Eddie understood this. They’d hesitated, too– Eddie was not the marriage type – but their medical history had finally pushed their decision. Eddie could need an organ transplant in the next ten years, and Steve wanted all the rights of a husband when that happened.

They’d be going to Nancy’s house tomorrow for cake and dancing, with the whole crowd. Tonight it was just the immediate family: Dustin, Robin, and Alice were keeping warm at a nearby all-night cafe until midnight, when they’d come to the courthouse and act as witnesses. 

The line was filled with couples. Men and women, old and young. Somewhere, someone was playing “Come and Get Your Love” on a boom box. 

There were two women in front of Steve and Eddie who couldn’t be a day under 80. One was in a wheelchair, the other with a cane. Both were in long white wedding dresses under their fur coats. Snow caught in their white hair and made them look like something from a fairytale.

“I feel underdressed compared to those women,” Steve murmured. Eddie turned surreptitiously to look at them.

“Someone should tell them that homosexuality is just a phase,” he whispered. “They’ll get over it once they find a nice man.”

Steve giggled into Eddie’s neck.

“You’re gonna be my husband,” he said. He felt giddy, like a kid on Christmas eve. “My husband.”

“You make me sound so domestic,” Eddie said.

“Sorry.”

“No, I like it.”

“Husband.”

“Oooh. say it again.”

Steve pressed Eddie closer.

“Husband.”

Eddie was slightly breathless when he murmured,

“Again.”

“Careful, darling. We’re in public.”

Eddie started swaying Steve back and forth, like middle schoolers at a slow dance.

“Did you ever imagine your wedding?” Eddie asked. “When you were a teenager?”

“When I was a teenager? Sure.”

“Tell me.”

“The color scheme was Quartz Pink and eggshell. We’d have strawberry cake and Pink Mondial roses. Poofy white dress, long veil, all the trappings.”

“And what did the bride wear in this teenage fantasy?”

Steve flicked Eddie’s ear.

“Usually she was naked.”

Eddie laughed and rested his forehead against Steve’s. 

“What about you?” Steve asked. “Did you think about your wedding?”

“Not really. Sometimes in highschool I worked as a dishwasher at the hotel, and I would watch the receptions. It all seemed very heteronormative, and not for me at all. Except for the first dances. I didn’t really want to get married, but I wanted a first dance.”

“Mm.” Steve grabbed one of Eddie’s gloved hands. “Sing for us, baby.”

Eddie smiled, and sang,

“Outside another yellow moon

Has punched a hole in the nighttime mist

I climb through the window and down to the street

I'm shining like a new dime…”

They swayed in the snowfall, surrounded by the crowd of desperate couples. Everyone in this line knew how it felt to be deserted and hated, disinvited and disinherited, mocked, shamed, and kept hidden. Everyone in this line was there to make a choice, to show that they loved each other and to show that their love was worth something. It was something that should be marked down and recorded, not swept out of sight. They were creating new families, new histories. 

“Will I see you tonight on a downtown train?

Every night, every night, it's just the same…”

This was one state out of fifty, and there was a long way left to go. But if he had to, Steve would marry Eddie in every state, one at a time, until they were married everywhere. He would marry Eddie every day of the year. He would marry Eddie every day of his life.

Someone shouted, “It’s almost midnight!” and together the crowd started counting down the seconds. Eddie just kept singing in Steve’s ear. 

“Will I see you tonight on a downtown train?

All my dreams, all my dreams, fall like rain…”

Steve had been listening to the words wrong this whole time. He’d always thought the song ended with a loss of hopes: all the dreams, falling away like rain in a gutter. He’d been wrong, though. His dreams weren’t falling away. The song ended with dreams falling around him, like rain, soaking him through. He was saturated by them. 

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

There was a roar, and the popping of bottles, and a government employee threw open the door to the courthouse. Steve pulled Eddie in and kissed him. This was the start. 

All my dreams fall like rain

On a downtown train

[me-myself-and-my-fos]

Hi, Nic! It sucks that you aren't feeling to good right now, do you have any random Sam related thoughts that you feel like sharing? Also! I read your last Bernard 'fic, and it was so cute (sorry, I didn't say that sooner!)

I’ve mainly just been thinking about how much of a great dad Sam would be. How he’d be so involved with the girls and dote on them so much

I think when Joan is about a year old we’d make the arraignment that he takes her to work with him on Tuesdays and Thursdays since the hospital would have a daycare for staff. And it gives me two days off a week to relax for a few hours. Joan loves it a lot because she likes meeting the doctors and nurses and also she gets to see her dad more often. Sam lives to regret it once Joan starts going through her parrot phase and repeats everything she hears him say, especially about co-workers. And when Penny gets older and Joan is in school, we have the same arrangement where he takes Penny to work. It does become a bit troublesome when she’s a toddler because she goes through a boring phase and gets kicked out of the nursery until we can get her biting under control. And Sam still wants to give me those days off so sometimes he’s walking through the hospital with a toddler on his hip

Also also Sam is always shown to be rather stoic while at work, and he occasionally shows a softer side with kids. And I think he’s like that with people he cares about too. So he’s super soft with me and the girls, way more warm and open and smiles a lot more. Anyone who sees him outside of work is so taken aback by his change in demeanor

I could also see when Sam is on the rare night shift (he avoids them as often as possible when the girls are born) and one of the girls has a nightmare, they call him from my phone because they’re scared. And Sam quietly talks to them to calm them down and encourages them to wake me up for cuddles and that I’ll protect them from bad dreams until he gets home

(Thank you! I’m feeling better! And I put my whole heart into that Bernard fic!)

[medicaldoctordana]

Title: All the Magic of a Prayer

Ship: Scully/Skinner

Rating: M

Word count: 1,400

Read on ao3

Scully sat with her ankles crossed at the bar. Her second drink of the night was nearly gone, mostly remnants of melted ice having struggled through her tumultuous rumination. Red tendrils were amassing with frizz, having had fingers run through them in worry. It had been a hard week at the hospital. The research phase was over now and the results were not looking in her favor.

Three of her patients were reacting poorly to the treatment, the two that had passed hours ago left her with a taste in her mouth that could only be resolved by a very strong drink. They also left her with a begrudging desire to call him- someone she hadn’t seen or spoken to in years. He had always been an anchor point for her, someone who was solid and reliable, someone who kept her steady.

When she looked up from her drink and saw him standing there, she felt like maybe Mulder was right once or twice. He insisted time and time again she had some kind of supernatural powers. Maybe she did conjure him here- sent out a cosmic message, finally mastered the art of telepathy, whatever.

The bar she was in was dark and filled with crisp button shirts and sleek black shoes. Scully let out a puff of air in a laugh to herself, they both fit in the scene with their professional attire, they dressed the part quite spectacularly. Her eyes raked over him, admiring the pull of his belt and how it framed his body.

He was speaking to a couple, looking like he ran into them there instead of arriving together. They looked like old friends and Scully took a moment to lament her lack of relationships like that. She never ran into people she knew, never got invited to weddings, and never grabbed coffee with an acquaintance. Scully wondered what it would be like to be one of those people. What it would be like to be known.

Sure, her research was gaining plenty of attention, and requests for consults were flooding her inbox, but those professional interactions remained as such. They didn’t exchange personal details, they didn’t show each other moments of personal vulnerability. No, Scully rarely did any of that anymore. Her family and Mulder were all she had. And since leaving Mulder not too long after the case with Father Joseph, all she had was work and all she did was spend time with her family or alone.

Watching the events before her, Scully decided she needed to change. She wanted to have those interactions. Scully wanted to be Dana again, at least for a few moments now and then. She sat up taller on her stool and uncrossed her ankles. Her ice melted with the final ruminating thoughts, and her drink was wordlessly replaced by the bartender. Her stare off in the distance distracted her and allowed him to sneak beside her and spook her.

“Dana, I’ve been thinking about calling you. Seeing how you’re doing. How…how are you?” The tenderness in his deep voice soothed her. It washed away weeks worth of stress and she found comfort in the familiarity.

“It’s funny.” She said before turning her head to look at him. He still wore his rounded glasses, still wore the same ties. She missed it.

“I almost called you today. It’s kismet to see you now.” Scully was drunk. She hadn’t eaten all day, except for a banana, and came straight to the bar after her last failure of a 7-hour surgery. Despite her rotten mood, she had just enough alcohol to be giggly and happy in his presence.

“It’s…wonderful to see you too, Dana. You look…good. Tired, but good.” Skinner could see the wear on her skin. He could tell she wasn’t her usual put-together self tonight and signaled a chaste goodbye to the friends he had run into. He wasn’t going to leave her side until she was tucked into bed safely tonight. Clearly, she was in need of a friend.

Scully tipped her head back and laughed, if he thought she looked good, then he should look in a mirror.

“Sir- sorry, Walter. It’s Walter now, you’re not my boss. You’re my friend. I don’t even work for the FBI! Walter! Walter, Walter. YOU look good!” Dana placed her palm on his chest and put on a mask of desire.

Skinner smiled at her reaction, he rarely got a chance to interact with Dana when she was in her more relaxed state. He liked how she held herself when she wasn’t being reprimanded for Mulder’s mistakes.

Scully and Skinner spent a few drinks reminiscing over the good ole days and learning the unknown side of memorable cases and harsh consequences. Scully really got to know how much shit Skinner shielded them from and how hard he worked to keep The X-Files open.

Then, stumbling through her front door, she wasn’t sure how she ended up like this. Skinner had her pressed up against the wall just inside her apartment. His thick quad supported her much smaller frame as she sloppily kissed him back. Reminiscent of their brief elevator kiss, these were much more needy and comfortable. She hooked her bare leg around his hip and pulled at his shirt to get it off.

Scully felt taken care of in his arms. They were new and exciting, while also familiar and calming. Her body felt loose, from the passion and the alcohol. With both their shirts now hanging open, they parted and panted, confronting what they had started in the cab ride over. His gaze asked for consent as he reached for her thigh and started to push her skirt up. Dana nodded enthusiastically and kicked off her heels before hiking her skirt above her hips.

Skinner kneeled before her, preparing to pray to her like a deity. He pulled down her simple dark panties and approached his sanctum.

Missing the hair to latch onto, Scully’s hands scaled the walls behind her as her body responded to Skinner’s technique. She thrust her hips forward, finding it hard to go anywhere else with his thick fingers dragging her closer. Feeling the pitch increase, Dana reached down for something- anything to hold on to. She found his shirt collar and was satisfied with that until he started sucking her clit and she pulled tight on his tie still around his neck.

Her staccato wails as she reached her climax regretfully slowed down his movements. Taking his time, Walter pulled away from between her legs only so he could kiss her thighs and push off the rest of her shirt.

Scully then found herself on her bed, watching her former boss remove his belt and stand before her in his white-e-tighties. She looked at him with an amused glean in her eye and laughed. She was having fun with Walter- he called her Dana and treated her with such kindness and reverence. While there was no thought in her mind about a romantic relationship with him, she could see them having fun now and again. Weren’t they calling it friends with benefits nowadays?

Scully unhooked her bra while Walter pulled off his underwear. He cautiously approached her bed, not knowing if this was a sacred space for her- if he would be rolling into someone’s saved space.

“We haven’t- not here,” Scully said without him having needed to ask.

“I didn’t want to-“ Walter started before Scully cupped his face and cut him off with a kiss.

Dana leaned back and pulled the man over her. She brushed her hand against his cock and smirked as he grunted and twitched.

“Dana, I want you to fucking rail me,” his gruff tone barked out. He pulled her hips out from under him and flipped them over so she sat upon him.

“Careful, Sir. That kind of language will get you sent to the AD’s office.” Dana swiveled her hips over him, teasing with both body and words.

His response was a grunt and throwing his glasses on her side table.

“But then again, I’ve always been one to heed my boss’s orders,” she drew out her words with swipes of her body against his.

As she suspected, Walter Sergei Skinner was packed to the gills.

[yukichouji]

I missed it the first time around!!!! I'd like to hear something about WillPeroPt2 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 And maybe Waiting to exhale?

Hello friend! :D No worries :) I am sorry it took me this long to respond! Things have been really busy lately. But thanks a ton for your ask 😊

Putting it under the cut, because long xD

WillPeroPt2 is the second part of that The Great Wall series I started :D It is set a little while after the first but still a while before the movie. Basically it's just an excuse for me to write even more character study and exploration of their relationship dynamic xD

Here's a little snippet from it :)

“I still think this is a stupid shitting idea.” Pero mutters, watching the flickering light of the campfire reflect off of the blade of the dagger he’s balancing between his hands, turning it this way and that to keep himself busy. Before lifting his gaze and meeting William’s eyes where his friends sits next to him, legs crossed and going through his arrows one by one, checking the fletching and trimming it into shape where it’s needed. Night is slowly falling around them and the first scouts are prepared to head out as soon as darkness has settled completely. Pero, William and the rest of them will leave shortly after.

“It’s a decent plan.” William says, not moving his attention away from his work as he speaks. He has an aura of focused calm wrapped around himself like a fine mantle, but Pero knows him well enough by now to see the sharp edged blade of an eager, battle-ready mind underneath. The intent in his gaze could cut a man in half if he wielded it too carelessly. Still, Pero bristles at William’s words.

Pero’s shoulder is healed as well as it is going to and they’ve been on the road together for more than half a year, picking up short stints of work here and there along the way. Not yet ready to commit to something more involved than that. William hadn’t been lying when he’d said that he is in no hurry to get to the Byzantine empire and for once Pero is content enough to amble. Some stiffness remains, as Pero had expected, due to the method of treatment, and he now has another scar that aches unpleasantly whenever the weather shifts too quickly or it gets too cold and wet. But it is not going to stop him from fighting. Not for now, at least. And the scar on his face serves well to make him look more dangerous, more like he’s worth the gold he’s asking for his services. So he will not complain about that one.

Still perfectly happy to dabble with this one :) Though I am, as always a very slow writer.

Waiting to exhale is one of those fic I started a long time ago but somehow still like enough to hold onto the hope that I might one day return to it, if the stars align just right. I actually posted most of the chapters that exist for it on my AO3 but I have one more partially wirtten one in my drafts. It's a Gotham Alfred/Jim fic with a pretty weird, abstract air to it? I started writing it in a really high stress phase because I needed a place to put all that strange energy haha Basically Jim and Harvey are investigating cases of areas in Gotham being exposed to a drug that causes weird hallucinations and Jim gets a dose by accident. And stabbed. Because, of course. It's pretty strange and kind of gory, so be warned, but here's a bit from the first chapter that I like. Also, vomit. (Yeah, I was that weird kid in class who thought German Expressionism was the coolest literary period ever)

Jim lifts up his head and spits out his lungs.

They make a dull, wet sound when they hit the grimy tiles. A pale, flesh-colored butterfly, wings outstretched and laced with a delicate latticework of bluish veins.

The surreal tilt of the world topples and cants until he realizes that he’s the one falling and not the other way round. The floor is cold and sticky-wet with the bitter stench of old piss and fresh vomit and the iron tang of congealed blood.

Above his head the door of a bathroom stall hangs ajar on its rusty hinges, crude drawings coming alive on their makeshift canvas, a writhing mess of thick, black lines that slither across plains of pealing, puke-green paint.

This is such a mess, he thinks and slides his eyes back over to the mass of convulsing flesh that should be in his chest but isn’t. Just barely, loosely attached to his body by the windpipe that pulls at the corner of his mouth and winds down thickly into his throat.

Such a mess.

A door bangs open and an overwhelming pool of noise – voices, voices, voices like the buzz of bees amplified beyond reason – spills into his head, and he’s drowning in it, even though his lungs are safely doing their breathing elsewhere.

Someone drops onto their knees beside him and the blurry familiarity of a blunt-edged, age-worn face shifts into his line of sight like an elastic band that was stretched across time and then sharply snaps back into place.

Caught off guard Jim jerks his head to the side and retches until the muscles in his stomach ache and bile soaks warm and biting into the shoulder of his dress-shirt.

A disembodied voice with an oddly out of place English accent curses in a way that would make Jim blush if he weren’t lying in his own vomit on the filthy floor of a restroom in the back of the cheapest joint in the worst part of this godforsaken city.

Ah, this was really fun. Thanks for giving me an excuse to babble about my projects and to revisit some old writing I still hold very dear :) Much love your way! I hope you are doing well and enjoying the pre-holiday season!

[nuzifanficwriter]

Chapter 6 - Uzi 3072 (Part One)

My dignity is gone after a few rounds of personal and spicy truths and dares from Lizzy and V, and losing all other board games. We decided to have a sleepover, and J and Tessa returned. V’s hosting since her place is like party central. It’s pretty sleek, and it’s huge! Way too big for one person, but then again, the party animal she is, it’s perfect for her. We’re all staying in the living room. It’s really for the community aspect of it but Lizzy and V say it’s for ��supervision’ as if N and I are 15. We settle down and decide to watch a movie. Cyn’s having this like…..old vintage phase, so she makes us watch a movie from almost 2,000 years ago called ‘Heathers.’ I think it sucks at first but then when JD shoots the jocks with blanks, I’m suddenly invested. Then they play strip croquet to which V comments, “N and Uzi last night?” N, in a sassy mood, says, “gee, I don’t recall you being there. Also I remember it being 11:15 am -and we just woke up fully clothed and I don’t recall the croquet?” We all laugh. We’re watching JD kill Heather Duke when Lizzy gets a text. She opens it before covering her mouth with her hand, “oh my robo-god!” Thad scoots over to her and peers at her phone, “what is it, babe?” “Shut up I’m watching the movie!” I yell before getting furious, “IT WAS A NIGHTMARE?!“ “what the Еьать?!” Doll yells, “it’s like making a show about our lives and constantly killing me off and reviving me, except the last time, cyn eats my core instead of me living.” “Well that’s oddly specific,” V mumbles. Lizzy rolls her eyes and pauses the movie, “but guys, you know how Rebecca was rushed to the hospital, given new legs, and put on life support. And she’s been in a coma ever since?” N and I groan. N cringes, “not her.” I sigh, “I should’ve eaten her head.” Lizzy rolls her eyes again, “yeah well she woke up.” N and I in unison yell, “NOOOOO!” I smack my head on my pillow and grumble, “I thought for sure she’d fall off life support when Cyn was eating the planet.” Cyn scowls and uses her voice buttons to say, “first, Absolute Solver, not me. Second, I can eat her for you, heheheh!” “No, I want that satisfaction,” I joke. Lizzy groans, “guys, no eating! She’s gonna crash with Thad and I for a while. She’ll be back at school on Monday.” I sit there, jaw wide open, whining like a toddler, “Why???? There’s only a few months left!“ “Four’s quite a bit. Plus she wants to be there to graduate,” Lizzy says, “oh my robo-god. This idiot is already asking about N. ‘He’s taken, bitch. I’d leave him alone unless you want eaten again.’” I smile. At least Lizzy doesn’t like homewreckers. N grabs me and holds me tight, “guess we’ll have to show her each day that I’m a taken man. Oh but how will we though~? Oh I know! What’s that you always say love? ‘Bite me’? Well, it’s my turn~” We all stare in disbelief. Tessa snickers, “who forgot to take him out of ‘flirty boi’ mode?” I smile, “my bad, that was me.” N rolls on the floor hugging me, “nooo! I’m just trying to be a little flirtier since Uzi likes it!” “Oh sunshine, I don’t care. You can tap for 12 hours about golden retrievers and I’d still stare with the lovey dovey eyes that I do,” I say. J snickers, “suit yourself, I’d blow his head off.” Tessa yanks the hair she’s currently braiding, “J!” “Ow! I-….sorry, Tessa,” J says. Tessa smiles and goes back to braiding J’s hair, “it’s okay! All done! My turn!” She turns around and J smiles as she starts to braid Tessa’s hair…at least, what’s long enough. We unpause the movie. One by one, we fall asleep. Those of us still awake start watching other movies from the 21st century. Boss Baby, odd but can see the appeal. Boss Baby Family Business, way better than the original. Nimona, top teir. Scott pilgrim Vs the world, also top teir. Me, N, V, Cyn, and Lizzy all realized we’ve stayed up until 4:30 am.