#Though i should probably finish his adult design first lol

[glitterfilledtrashcan]

Tried redoing an older drawing I did digitally cause I was in the mood for a sweet family moment (And i was bored in online class). Little NaNol with his mom. I love them, though I don’t have a name for them yet, unfortunately.

[bonny-kookoo]

Under Your Skin (JJK x Reader) | 🔞

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Goth/Punk!Jeon Jungkook x Secretary!Shy!Reader

Genre: Tattoo artist!AU, Badboy x Sweetgirl AU, Idk what else

Tags/Warnings: Ultimate goodboy Kook, He looks grr but is actually sweet, shy reader, smol reader, Kookers is WHIPPED, Also a tease, Dom!Jungkook because how could I not, Sub!Reader, Babygirl!Reader, Its not heavy on the whole ddlg-stuff but yeah they be having some vibes y'know, don't come @ me don't I'm not forcing you to read it lol, anyways moving on, because smut, yes I mean it's my content, and yall nasty admit it, slight hair pulling, manhandling also only a little, oral (f & m receiving), praising, mentions of emotional and physical insecurities, but Kook be supportive so we good, back to the nasty, body worship yes pls, biting, fingering, because why not, protected sex because we keep it clean in this household, light-hearted sex, kook being a romantic goof, yeah I think thats it?

Summary: Jungkook looks like absolute trouble; like one wrong look could set him off, and turn him into an absolute murderer. But oh well, ever heard the phrase 'Never judge a book by its cover'?

A/N: you might have noticed me only putting one emoji up top. I have decided to from now on only mark my adult fics with emojis (which is basically almost every single one lets be real). Also; stop reading my fucking fics if any of the tagged/warned things make you uncomfortable. I'm tired of everyone clowning in my inbox telling me how disgusting ddlg/smut content is. You can't even tell me you 'read it by accident' because that's why I'm always putting the cut underneath my fics =) so pls go finish preschool and then we can maybe shake hands. Maybe not. Covid and all. Yeah.

On the outside, Jeon Jungkook seems like absolute trouble.

He's working at a tattoo and piercing studio, dresses in all black, clattering chains and heavy boots always alerting everyone around of his presence. His long black hair is never truly tamed, his nails painted black, and his face expressionless most of the time. He's a talented artist and well trained piercer, always visiting conventions to keep up with the newest trends, styles, and equipment there is. He takes his job seriously- and is proud of it, knowing that he had proven his family wrong by now. They had been worried about him; especially his mother had scolded him that he shouldn't throw his time away trying to make it in a world of art many had already failed. But last year, he had finally invited them over to his rather nice apartment, showing them that he was living a good life, with nothing to really worry about.

Jungkook had made it.

Well, not quite.

Because as of currently, Jungkook had a new mission, a new goal.

"Ah, Jungkook!" You say, eyes sparkling as you smile at him when he enters the shop he works at. You had recently started to work there as well, since Taehyung was absolute shit at keeping files in order and track of schedules. You hadn't applied for the job specifically, that's at least what his coworker had told him- he had known you prior already, and was aware that you had wanted a change these days.

And Jungkook had been painfully crushing on you ever since you started.

"Your schedule for the week is already here- I uhm.. didn't put it on your desk cause, I didn't want to intrude your space and all.." You say, giving him a small black booklet where you always noted down his appointments. He appreciated it a lot- knowing how much of a hassle it could be to move dates back and forth just to somehow make it fit. You always made sure that he had enough time in between multiple daily pieces in case something took longer or less so you could make sure to be able to move things accordingly. You didn't want him to get overworked, you had said. He had smiled.

"Thanks- and you can go inside, no problem." He says, and you nod. "I know you don't make a mess, like someone else here." He says, hinting at Namjoon, who was known to be quite clumsy- yet a mastermind when it came to designing pieces he struggled with. Jungkook stayed at your front desk for a bit, making you tilt your head a bit, as you tried not to stare. He always took so much care of himself, you would have had to be blind not to see how attractive he actually was. But then again, you didn't get your hopes up- after all, he was nice to almost everyone around. "You've never been in there, right?" He asks, and you shake your head. You haven't been in his space at all- too scared to invade his privacy and making him upset in the process. "I mean- you got time right now? I can show you around." He casually tells you, and you look at your computer screen in front of you. Everything had been filed for today- so you probably had a bit of time to spare.

"Sure." You said, taking your phone and standing up from your chair, making sure to lock the pc so no one would accidentally make a mess out of your tabs. Or worse; close them. God knows all hell would break loose.

Jungkook had to really force himself not to let out any noise as you walked next to him.

You were so tiny next to him.

He wasn't that tall to be honest- with Namjoon and Taehyung both taller than him, he knew he was average at best. And for the longest time, he'd had a thing for tall girls, all elegant and confident. He still liked their aesthetic, yes- but now that he spotted you, he could really see the appeal of having a shorter significant other.

You were so cute.

You carefully stepped inside when Jungkook lifted the curtain that was used instead of a door, surprised to see how.. organized everything was. A little.. off- some things seemed to be randomly put somewhere, but in general, it seemed like everything had their proper spot. "I like to have it like this." He comments, and you nod your head to that, finally spotting his tattoo-gun. It was made out of purple steel- polished, and changing its hue depending on how you looked at it. It was absolutely beautiful, even though you had a rather limited understanding of these things. "Was a present from Taehyung last year." Jungkook says, sitting down on his chair. "I never asked- are you inked at all?" He asks, leaning backwards as you stand there a little awkwardly. "You can sit down somewhere, don't be so tense." He chuckles, and you look around, before you sit on the stretcher across from him. You shake your head, and Jungkook isn't surprised. Your pink converse sway back and forth as you sit on the stretcher, legs too short to reach the floor anymore as you rest your hands underneath your thighs; hem of your dress revealing more of them than he can usually see.

"I don't have any tattoos yet, but I've been talking to Namjoon about it." You said, and Jungkooks saliva tastes a little bitter at that. He doesn't want to pout or give away that it's bugging him at all that you're not talking to him about it- but he fails miserably. "Namjoon actually said I should talk to you about it, since the style I want fits you best." You say, and he can't hide his smile, bunny teeth on full display as he leans forward a bit.

"You'd let me tattoo you?" He asks, and you shrug, before nodding. "What do you have in Mind?" He instantly asks, not even bothering to hide his excitement.

If only you knew that it's because of you; and not just because he's gonna be the first to ink you.

You've both agreed on a design you want, and Jungkook can't deny that he thinks it's absolutely perfect on you.

"Are you scared?" Jungkook asks you as he prepares everything, his sweater's sleeves rolled up, revealing his own body art to you, as well as some bracelets; one that you recognize as the wooden-bead bracelet you had gifted him last year for his birthday. It was weird to see him wear it.

"I.. no. Just nervous." You say. "I'm worried I might cry and make a fool out of myself." You say with a laugh, and Jungkook chuckles, placing a reassuring and warm hand on your upper arm.

"It's fine. I've seen grown man cry like kids on this stretcher before." He casually says. "Don't worry; I won't think any less of you just because of some tears." He says with a smile, and you nod, turning your head to look at his room's walls instead; covered in drawings, sketches, and pictures of finished works he was most proud of. "Do you want anything to hold onto?" He asks, as he starts to shave the skin of your thigh to make sure he can work as best as possible. He's so into his work, so concentrated on doing everything perfect, that he doesn't even take much into account that you're laying in only your panties and oversized sweater; skirt neatly placed on a chair in the corner of the room, to get it out of the way.

"It's fine" You mumble, although you really want to. So instead you curl your fingers around the fabric of your sweater- something that doesn't go unnoticed by Jungkook, who decides not to comment on it for now. He simply throws the one-time razor away as well as the tissues used to clean your skin, before he carefully places the tracing paper onto where he seems fit.

"I think it would look great right here." He says lowly, carefully removing the paper to reveal the lines he's gonna trace with his gun in a few minutes. "You wanna look at it again?" He asks, and you shake your head. "Alright." He says, before he gets up and walks out his room; only to return with your small squishy and round unicorn plush that's usually sitting on your desk. "To hold onto." He winks, and you chuckle at that.

Jungkook really pays attention.

"So, Taehyung has told me you're a bit younger than me." Jungkook says to start casual chit-chat, trying to help your nervousness as his tattoo-gun starts to buzz to live. "Only a Year if I remember correctly." He says, and you nod.

"Yeah.." You say, and can't hide your dissapoinment flooding your voice. Jungkook, until now, only had relationships with girls older than him. He's even said before that he just likes having someone older than him around- which made you even more nervous around him.

"You sound upset about that." He chuckles, and gently holds onto your thigh as you jump a bit when he first presses the tip of the gun down. "Sorry. I'll be gentle." He lowly tells you, and you swallow.

Not the time Y/N, not the time.

"Uhm.." You say, fingers digging into the squishy plush in your hands. "I.. there's someone I like, but he.. only likes older girls, so.." You say, and Jungkook glances at you. You're already interested in someone? He continues to trace the lines, wiping afterwards to get the excess ink and blood off. "But I mean, then again I don't think I have a chance with him anyways." You chuckle, and Jungkook can't help but shake his head. Even if you're interested in someone else, he shouldn't let you have thoughts like that.

"Highly doubt that." He says. "If he doesn't see you, he's blind." He tells you, and you giggle, glad that he's able to make you feel a bit better about everything. "I'm serious." He says, and you nod at that, watching his inked arm flex every now and then as he draws with absolute concentration; black facemask hiding half of his face. You can see the way his eyebrows furrow, eyes fixated on his work as he moves with absolute routine. "Do I know the guy?" He casually asks, before he dips the tip of his gun in the tiny pot of ink again.

You don't know what to say.

He looks at you for a second, and decides not to dig. "You don't have to tell me. Sorry if I seemed nosy; didn't mean to." He apologizes, and you shake your head to let him know its fine. It's quiet for a moment afterwards, only the buzzing of his gun and your occasional whine of pain. "Sorry; it'll hurt a bit more now since I'm getting close to your inner thigh- that's always a little more sensitive." He comments, and you really hope he doesn't pay much attention to your panties.

When you can see his eyes stick to them for a second, you really want to just disappear.

He doesn't comment on it though. What is he suppsosed to say? He really doesn't want to make you uncomfortable, and considering that you already have a crush on someone else, he doesn't want to get himself in too deep as well. He simply works away, finally finishing the thin and delicate outlines of your piece- the first step, before he will see you again for color and shading. He finally connects the last line, and doesn't think twice about what he says next.

"Good girl."

It takes a second that feels way too long for the both of you to register the words, and Jungkook quickly occupies himself with turning off his gun and cleaning up your skin and his workspace to get the awkwardness out of his room. You try to instantly stand up, but his palm holds onto your leg- silently ordering you to stay put, which you do. He rubs something over the piece, before he gently lifts your leg to wrap it. "I'll give you a bottle of lotion for it. Leave that bandage on for.. I'd say until tomorrow morning at least. Afterwards, apply the lotion everyday to help it heal properly." He lectures you with a gentle voice, before letting you sit up.

"Thanks." You say, grinning eagerly at the now hidden artwork on your leg. Jungkook chuckles.

"We're not done yet, but I'll take it." He says. "I uh.." He starts, as you jump off the stretcher and go to take on your skirt. "uhm, you up for some fast food?" He asks, a bit hurried, before he can chicken out again. And he hates himself for a moment, because you had literally told him just half an hour before that you already had interest in someone else. But maybe you were too innocent to get his innuendo, maybe you wouldn't get that he was asking you on a date-

"Like a date?" You ask, and he really wants to hit himself.

"I mean, if you want it to be?" He says, swallowing as he averts his gaze, a sight very weird. His hand runs through his hair, chain around his neck and piercings on his ears clattering against each other and making sounds as he moves, his combat boots nervously tapping the floor a little. "It doesn't have to be.. I know you're already-"

"I'd love to." You say however, now fully dressed again, as you grin with your bright sparkling eyes.

And Jungkook feels like he's won the lottery.

It's your third time laying on Jungkooks' stretcher like this- waiting for him to work on your art, finishing it today. But the energy is different.

Things are different between you two in general.

After some casual movie dates and rounds of overwatch, Jungkook had admitted to you that he had a crush. It was rushed, while he was driving, so he didn't have to look at you and instantly get hit by your reaction. But then, you had told him that you felt the same- and the two of you agreed to let things process from then on. Whatever would happen; you would let happen.

And Jungkook was starting to flirt with you.

It was a little weird to get close to him like that. While everyone seeing you two was a little taken aback- with your dresses and skirts, and colorful and almost childish personality, he seemed like the absolute opposite- quiet, all dark and dangerous while carrying your milkshake so you could put your phone away into your purse.

"Alright doll, let's finish this." He said with newfound enthusiasm, winking at you as you laughed at his demeanor.

"You seemed more excited than me!" You say, and he chuckles. "You're really desperate to have me gone?" You say in a playfully upset tone, and he simply huffs out a breath, before cockily looking at you for a second.

"That's not true." He says. "I'd just rather have you laid out somewhere else than in my studio, that's all." He casually says, and you shut your mouth at that, cheeks red as he laughs at your cute display of embarrassment. He routinely prepares your skin, before he starts his gun. "Too much?" He asks, and you know he's not talking about the pressure of his ink filled gun on your skin.

"No-" You start, and he now seriously speaks to you, voice a bit muffled through his facemask.

"Please tell me if I ever make you uncomfortable." He says. "You're not upsetting me if you tell me I'm going to far." He says, and you nod, knowing that he now needs a proper answer. Jungkook is way more attentive and romantic than people may think he is. He's a gentleman pulled out of a dictionary- careful and gentle with you, and always keen on getting to know you for you, and not for the person you like to portray yourself as. He wants to know what you like, what you don't like, what you dream of, and what you hate about yourself.

"Don't worry- I will." You say, watching him work on your skin. "Jungkook?" You ask, and he hums a reply to let you know he's listening. "Is it okay if I sleep?" You ask, and he chuckles.

"Didn't I tell you not to stay up for too long before I left yesterday?" He teasingly retorts back to you, and you pout at him- with no hard feelings behind it. He had left last night after eating with you for dinner at your place; and he did indeed tell you to go to sleep a little earlier since he knew you would have an early shift today, opening up the store. "I'm really tempted to say no." He says, eyes now on your skin again as he dips the tip of his gun in a pot of color. "You know, as punishment for not listening." He mumbles, and you almost don't catch it.

Almost.

"Jungkook?" Taehyung stands in his doorway, finally finding him sitting at his desk. "Oh?" He says in a surprised tone, spotting your sleeping figure on his coworkers lap- head resting against the inside of his shoulder, with your arms around his middle.

"Yeah?" Jungkook asks, not at all shy or fazed by the fact that Taehyung is looking at you. "What is it?" He asks again, as Taehyung smiles, giving the younger man his small booklet that you usually give him every morning.

"Nothing left for today." He said. "Just wanted to tell you good work and send you home." The older one explains, zipping up his own jacket. "Guess she'll be coming with you?" He asks teasingly, but Jungkook doesn't bite the bait at all.

"Yeah. Don't burn the house down while we're gone, you two. " He says, slipping the booklet into his pocket before he pats your back. "Come on doll, let's go home." He tells you, waking you up at least enough to put on your shoes and lead you out the store to his car.

He buckles your seatbelt as the engine comes alive, radio playing its tune softly in the background as he drives you home. "You awake doll?" He asks, and you nod your head, turning towards him with barely open eyes. "You haven't had anything proper to eat today, so I'll make us some ramen at my place, ok?" He asks, and you nod, before your eyebrows scrunch up. "What is it?" He chuckles, and you now grow more awake.

"Wait- but if we eat at yours then you're gonna have to drive me home late." You say, and he shrugs. "Noo, Kook, what if you crash the car because you're sleepy?" You tell him with a whine, genuinely concerned for him, as he has the audacity to laugh. "Kookie, it's not funny I swear to god-!" You say, and he apologizes.

"I mean." He starts, casually dropping what he had wanted to ask you for a couple of weeks now. "You could always just stay over." He tells you, and you look at him, meeting his gaze at the red light he stops at, his head turned towards you for a moment until the lights turn green again.

"We.. would have to stop at mine so I could get some stuff though.." You mumble, and Jungkook looks at you with newfound enthusiasm, setting his turning lights to enter a different road.

It's in a parking lot that you first unintentionally confront him with your biggest insecurities and flaws.

You've tripped over a stray stone you didn't see laying on the ground, leading you to fall onto your hands and scraping your knees open. Just like any normal human being, you dust yourself off, instantly hoping that Jungkook inside the shop hadn't seen you fail at something so basic as walking. You had carried some of the items you two had bought into the car while also returning the shopping cart while he had payed- and by the look on his face, he had definitely seen you.

He wasn't laughing, or hiding his grin, or anything alike. He looked concerned, taking his card back from the cashier before walking out the store, jogging towards you, who sat in the open trunk, ready to get laughed at. Even though somewhere deep in your mind you didn't think he would, past experiences had led to you now having that fear, no matter with whom. "Are you okay?" Jungkook asks, looking at you as he squats down to take a look at your bleeding knees. He reaches into one of the shopping bags, taking out a water bottle and a pack of tissues, before he wets it, one hand holding your leg by the backside of your knee, while the other carefully cleans the small wound. "You gotta be careful Baby." He chuckles a little- nothing like the laughter you had expected.

"I'm fine." You say, not looking up at him.

"It's okay to cry, you know?" He says, and you stay quiet, trying not to breathe too much as you desperately hold them back. "I won't laugh." He promises, deciding not to look at you as to give you a bit more space.

"People will stare though.." You quietly murmur towards him, and he finishes his job, before he goes to throw the now used tissue away in a nearby trashcan. When he returns, he's taking his jacket off, the item way too large on your form as he throws it over you, pulling the hood up as you look at him for the first time since your little accident, eyes sparkling with unshed tears when he pulls the sides of the hood towards him a little. "There." He says, a reassuring smile on his face. "Now no one can see you but me." He tells you. "And I will never, ever, laugh at you." He promises, and pulls your head against his chest, as you start to let go.

He really hates to see you cry- but he's glad that you're letting him in enough to let him see you this way.

Jungkook is frustrated.

He tries not to really show it, because he doesn't want to blow up in your face like that, but then again, you're kind of the reason he feels the way he does. Because even though he thought you both had a genuine connection, you're yet to let him touch you.

And not just hugging and holding hands.

It's not that he's impatient- its because he knows you, at one point, wanted him that way as well. But something happened, something he didn't notice, that made you take ten steps backwards from him. You seemed to be retreating, giving up, and he has no idea what he had done to make you react that way.

As far as he knows, he had done everything right.

But then he sees them; the messages sent back and forth between you and Hana, a returning customer at the shop- well known to flirt with everyone around here. Jungkook himself had actually considered hooking up with her once a year back, simply to make her shut up, but then again, he wasn't into one-night-stands. And she had never truly been his type anyways.

'Ah yeah, just re-schedule that then, I don't mind at all! Just make sure we have enough time together, since we haven't had time to catch up on things recently, if you know what I mean.' She had sent, a week ago; exactly the timeframe you had started to distance yourself. He knew he shouldn't look into it, but then again- this was his business too. He had the right to know.

'Sure? I can give you an appointment at around 4 PM then, so you'll be the last one. Would that be okay with you? Again, sorry for re-scheduling on such short notice.' You had written, and Jungkook can't decide if you had been oblivious to her implication (which was bullshit), or if you were simply too polite to call her out. But it's the next messages that make him fume.

'Again, no troubles. As I said, I only care that its Jungkookie, I don't really trust anyone else with my body that way ;). 4 PM is perfect, you guys still close at around 6 PM right? He's got skilled hands, I'm sure we don't need much more time, if you know what I mean.' she has the audacity to write.

But its your answer that makes him fume.

'Good to know.'

"Jungkook?" You say, looking at the screen, as you suddenly dash forwards, trying to shut the screen off- as if that would make any difference. But he catches your wrist with ease, holding it in his palm as he looks at you.

"Do you think I'm sleeping with her?" He asks, and you try to escape his grasp; and he lets you, staying at your workspace however as he keeps you locked in place with his gaze. "Y/N." He urges, making you look away from him.

"It's none of my business." You say, shrugging. "I.. No, it's-" You start, but he cuts you off.

"No, finish that sentence. 'No' what?" He says, and you've never heard him talk like that.

"I just.. didn't think you'd.. do that." You meekly say, murmuring it as he tilts your head gently upwards to look at him; his face now more relaxed as he softly smiles.

"That's good that you think that way." He tells you. "Because I don't do that at all." He says. "She likes to start drama all the time- was probably bitter I turned her down so much. You know what?" He suddenly says, turning towards the screen as he clicks to change the account, opening his own Inbox as he starts to write an E-Mail.

'Appointment is cancelled, be glad I'm not suing you for defamation. JK.'

"Jungkook-" You say, trying to get him not to send it- but it's already gone. "Why would you do that? Just because I misunderstood?" You whine, and he chuckles, shutting down the system as he looks at the clock, signaling that it's closing time.

"No." He says. "But because I don't want her around anyways, and this gives me a proper reason." He tells you, ruffling your hair as he looks at you. "You coming?" He asks, and you nod, taking your bag and coat before following him out the shop.

In the car, you finally speak up. "Jungkook?" You ask, and he hums out a reply. "Do you.. think I'm attractive?" You ask, and he clears his throat at the unexpected question.

"I- what?" He asks, unsure what you mean.

"Just.. Namjoon said, that he thinks you.. see me as a friend only? Because I'm nothing like the girls you dated before.. If I misunderstood something here then Oh my god-" You start to ramble, and Jungkook laughs suddenly.

"You think I'm not into you?" He asks, and you shrug. "Of course I want to fuck you doll." He casually comments, and you can't help but feel your cheeks redden. "Wait- did you really think I didn't?" He asks, face showing genuine horror as he looks over at you.

"I mean.. you never really initiated anything so I thought.." You started, and he groans out.

Thank god you're staying the night.

"Looks so pretty, does it?" He hums out, palm running over the tattoo on your thigh, delicate lines and well-placed shadings complimenting the colors perfectly. "You know why I love it most?" He starts, hand suddenly gripping the flesh for a moment, before he pulls you closer on his lap by the small of your back. "Because that's mine." He says, before he leans in, placing an open mouthed kiss against your pulse. "The ink that's under your skin, the design, the idea-" He mumbles against your skin. "And the body it's drawn on." You whine at his tone, dark and low, as he urges you back and forth on his clothed thigh- your panties suddenly feeling uncomfortable. "Isn't it like that, baby?" He asks, and you nod, furiously, and he chuckles. "Hm, you seem out of breath baby.." He grins at you, like a predator.

"Jungkook.." You whine, not knowing what you're asking for.

He wordlessly moves, helping you lay down on his bed before he crawls over you, his lips instantly attached to the skin of your neck, hands helping you out of your dress wordlessly, as he can't help but let his gaze linger on your body for a moment. "I can't believe that-" He says, pulling off your overknee socks. "-you'd ever think of yourself anything less than perfect." He says, placing a gentle kiss to the colorful image now forever placed under your skin by his skilled hands. He continues to display his affection over your skin, wandering over your stomach up to your chest, where he playfully bites just above your breast. He struggles with the front of your bra for a second, unsure how to open the undergarment without breaking it, as you help a little; letting them spring free. But only for a moment.

Because in the next, he's got them in his hands, palms gently moving over them, feeling their softness as he groans. "You're so sweet." he comments, as he finally kisses your lips, smile interrupting him every now and then. "So soft." Another kiss. "So delicate." Another one. "And all mine, yeah?" He asks, and you nod, smiling as he grins back, the expression making him look so young and carefree you can't help but wonder how anyone could ever think he's a bad man.

He's anything but.

He's so careful touching you, so delicate in moving his palms over your skin, as if its the most divine thing he's ever felt. He's still smiling, as if in a trance, while he can't stop kissing you. Your hands move into his hair- way softer than you thought it would be, and he groans into your mouth at the feeling of your fingers running over his scalp.

There's no urgency in anything he does.

He slowly moves again, hands opening your legs for him as he sits back on his heels, playfully pulling you closer by the backs of your knees, making you giggle. "You sound so sweet baby." He tells you, innocently, as if he's not currently placing his hand onto your center, ring finger collecting your already leaking wetness before he spreads it, moving his thumb over your most sensitive bundle of nerves while his ring finger enters you slowly. You whine at the feeling, not enough to get you as riled up as you'd like to be. Also; this is the first time you're genuinely experiencing foreplay. You don't know what to do- and Jungkook seems to pick up on that. "You good?" He asks, and you nod.

"I.." You say, breathless as he tilts his head, smile still present on his lips. "What should I do?" You ask, as his eyes widen.

"You?" He wonders, before he stops for a moment. "Don't tell me- this is your first time?" He asks, now genuinely worried he might've gone too fast.

"No.." You admit. "But uhm.. no one's ever, like.. you know, what you're doing.." You say, and that's when it clicks for him.

What kind of guys did you date before him that never gave you any attention like this? He's upset by it, but also weirdly cheered on by that simple fact; it gives him even more reason to make sure you'll get the most out of it. "Ah, I see.." He humms out, letting another finger stretch your entrance for him. "..well, I'm not like that." He explains, before he moves, face now close to your center- and you're unsure what he's going to do. "Trust me." He says, mumbles out, before his tongue places itself flat onto your clit, licking painfully slow as you move your hands over your mouth, trying to keep your noises in. "nuh-uh baby." He scolds, free hand pulling yours away. "Let me hear you." He demands, before he places his mouth back where it was.

Your mind is completely blank at this moment, the only thing you can really concentrate on being Jungkook, working you up so quickly you feel dizzy. It's new, and it's a little weird- but it's more than anything you've ever experienced before. And it brings you towards your end so suddenly you suddenly gasp out, back arching off the mattress as you grab at the sheets below, one hand grasping for Jungkooks, who lets you ride out your high to its fullest. "So pretty." He comments after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, smiling at your blissed out state.

"Kook-" You say, moving as you sit up, less shy now that your brain is still clouded by pleasure.

"Ah- you don't have to." He tells you, but you shake your head, and he lets you. He slips out of his clothes, finally bare, and you would've taken time to look at all the different pieces of art decorating his body- if it wasn't for his cock, red and ready in front of you. Usually, you would've let your insecurities and doubts get the best of you. But this was Jungkook. And you wanted to really believe that nothing you would do could ever be judged by him. So there was no hesitation as your hands reached out for him, gently moving, before you took him in, your lips wrapping themselves around his tip, before you moved downwards, fitting as much as you comfortably could. Meanwhile, Jungkook himself was steadying himself with one hand on the mattress, while the other was buried into your hair, his own head thrown back as he closed his eyes.

Of course he had fantasized about this every now and then; but he had never thought you'd actually be comfortable doing it. And even if- nothing he could've imagined would've ever compared to the real deal happening. There was something absolutely mindblowing about the way that you handled him, your sweet and pretty presence looking so divine doing such a sinful act with him. He had to pull you off by your hair, gently, because any more, and he would've been a goner. "G-Good god baby." He chuckles, pushing you a bit so you were on your back again, reaching for his bedside table to search for a condom. "I swear to god if I- HAH!" He tells you in victory, hands making quick work of opening the foil package and wrapping the safety over his length. "I swear I would've run out butt naked to buy one if I wouldn't have found this." He says with a grin, making you laugh.

"That's weird." You comment, and he chuckles, entering you slowly as to not hurt you, his breathing labored as he still kept the lighthearted energy going.

"You think?" He asks, and you nod, giggling as your eyes close, the feeling of him filling you up too good to keep them open. "Hm no." He said breathlessly. "Would've probably put on some pants maybe." He says, before he starts thrusting. "Doesn't matter if it means I'd get to fuck you." He says, and you giggle again.

"Kook!" You scold him, and he still continues to thrust into you, exhaling forcefully as he kisses your neck.

"What?" He whines high pitched as if to imitate you.

"Be serious!" You tell him, but can't help your own smile either.

"Oh, why though?" He says. "We're making love, not war baby." He whispers into your ear, and you still laugh at it.

"I can't believe you!" You complain playfully, moaning out when he suddenly thrusts with more force, obscene noises now interrupting you two as he picks up his pace, clenching his jaw.

"And-" He starts. "I can't believe how fucking good you feel." He presses out, hand now reaching between the two of you as he brings you towards an earth-shattering orgasm, making you mewl as you can feel yourself bursting. "Good girl!" He praises, watching as you squirt all over him, his own orgasm hitting him soon after as he grunts out, finally slowing down until he stills completely, his mouth attached to your neck to place gentle kisses and teasing bites near your pulse point.

"I love you." He mumbles out, and your eyes sting.

Because yeah, you love him- you absolutely do, but hearing it from him, hearing it in such an honest and warm-hearted tone, having this final proof of his own feelings towards you, makes you emotional. "Baby, why're you crying?" He chuckles out of breath, wiping your tears as you smile, and finally look at him with glossy eyes.

"Cause I love you too." You say. "So much."

And he can't help but grin at you.

You really are the sweetest thing.

You watch as Hana walks out of Taehyungs studio, arm wrapped up in clear foil as she walks towards your counter, pulling out her purse. "Taehyung agreed on 345." She says, until Taehyung yells another number out of his studio, making her eyes roll. She wasn't supposed to come back- but Taehyung had agreed to finish her piece at least. "Alright, here you go." She says, watching as you counted the money. "Does Jungkook work today?" She asks, and you nod. "I'm just gonna go say hi then. You can finish the receipt yeah?" She says overly sweet, and you're about to tell her that Jungkook doesn't want anyone entering without his permission, but he's already walking out his studio, black sweater and silver necklaces on full display as he walks towards you. "Jungkookie!" Hana exclaims, but her face drops almost chomically as she watches Jungkook walk up behind you, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder as he looks over it onto your screen.

"Oh, looks like I'm done for the day. You need anything Hana?" He asks innocently, one hand on your desk while the other rests on your chair behind your back.

"I- just wanted to apologize for uhm.. the emails. I didn't know you'd read them." She says, and you slowly close all programs, while Jungkooks humms out something.

"Yeah, I figured." He says, before he shakes his head. "As I said, I'm letting it go. No hard feelings." He says, shrugging, before he walks towards his studio again, stopping in his tracks for a second. "Ah, baby, can you text Jin-Hyung and ask him if we can come now? I'm actually starving I swear." He says, and you nod with red cheeks, pulling out your phone.

"Huh." Comes from Hana, as she takes the receipt from you. "I honestly.. would've never thought." She mumbles, before she simply leaves, without any more words.

Yeah. You would've honestly never thought either.

(c)Bonny-Kookoo. Please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi.com/bonnykookoo. Thank you for reading.

[piduai]

my first ever anime was probably pokemon when i was like 6 but it didn't impress me much. like it was in romanian dub (a sin against god) and i still remember ash's voice. i remember an episode where he was stuck in a cave with all of his animal child soldiers being all sad dying and shit. other than that nothing much but misty was cute. 2/10

first actual title that has put a beginning to the brain damage that will never heal was sailor moon. it was on a russian channel, in russian dub. everyone else has kept their japanese names but they made usagi into bunny for some reason??? they aired one episode per week on saturdays at 11 am. my parents didn't like that i was so invested in this cartoon so they made the channel it aired on inaccessible from our tvs, and every saturday i'd religiously go to my bff's house to watch it. we were 8 and we were watching sailor moon. when hotaru appeared it did something horrible to me, i was literally SO obsessed with her it felt like i was possessed. i've never seen the whole thing as a kid tho, they cut it off midway the season when those cross-dressers appeared, and i watched it all as an adult about 4 years ago. it's not a good title, objectively speaking. but it IS iconic as hell. 5.5/10

we had this romanian channel that aired cartoons for toddlers the whole day but would change its whole brand (including the name) at 8:00 pm and only show japanese anime. most of it was aired in original with romanian subtitles, tho a few titles were in english dub with romanian subtitles for some reason. anyway my bff stumbled upon inuyasha there one day and was like you should check it out it's just like sailor moon! and at first i refused. because it felt like if i did i would be betraying sailor moon. some would call it autistic stubbornness (which it was) but i like to think it was my guardian angel trying to shield me from a future of pathetic nerdom (failed, alas). i did end up checking it out though, and man... it was BAD. because unlike sailor moon, it was airing monday-friday at 8:45 pm. this 8-9 years old child has been lost to society. kikyo is still my fucking queen i'd die for. they never showed the whole thing, idk maybe they didn't buy it entirely or didn't sub it entirely but they'd cut off at around episode 110 so i finished it as an adult. i rewatch inuyasha every 4-5 years and honestly my bias aside it's not a bad series. a bit corny and repetitive but it comes with the genre i guess. objectively it's a 6, but i'll give it a 7/10 because it's the series of my childhood.

slayers would air before it, at 8:20 pm. i liked it but was never overly invested, probably because the character designs are ugly as hell. all the openings slap to this day. due to not being particularly invested i don't remember much except that they never showed the degenerate side of it so i never met the bikini girl, thankfully. i think that it's way better than most of the trash yall grew up with and lina is best girl. 6/10

the stuff after would change often, but i remember that trigun and cowboy bebop were kind of on rotation at 9:10 pm because they are short. both good, solid titles. rewatched them both as an adult. trigun is better than cowboy bebop but both are 8/10.

third thing that was on rotation was kiddy grade, which nobody knows about because it's weird ecchi. idk why it was there. i was obsessed nevertheless. or rather, OBSESSED. lumiere from there was on the same level as hotaru and kikyo (mostly bc my bff and i each had an assigned girl lmao she was an usagi/kagome/eclair kind of girl). it felt weirdly pretentious for something that showed so many pantyshots of supposedly underaged girls. rewatched it as an adult too and like... i can't be objective here lol i loved it so much as a kid. 5/10. the objective score would be lower. but the ending song is SO good i'm still obsessed with it...

when the short stuff all completed their rotation they started airing yu yu hakusho at some point. i fucking hated it so much, it was SO boring, yuusuke was a repulsive asshole, botan was boring and pink so i didn't like her, keiko was just some guy and i hated literally everyone else. except kurama. i liked him because he looked and sounded like a pretty girl so he was one in my head, and his demon form looked like inuyasha (i hated the dude himself but loved the title you see). i've been a shounen hater since birth i guess but i was frothing at the mouth as i watched all 100+ episodes of that shit like 3 or 4 times in a row. all they do is train and fight and there's no girls. lame! 3/10

[kuiinncedes]

relight that spark

jatp au - chapter 1 - part 2/15? - 9,385 words

the prologue/part 1 (tumblr link) if you missed it!! (ao3 link) :D

so obviously this is pretty slowly updating already and it probably willll get worse 🤪 i might post the next part in like a week tho, it's not a full "episode" chapter and i already have it fully written and i'm pretty happy with it 😗✌️

this chapter is pretty long and i apologize for that bc i know i get annoyed when i have to stop in the middle of a long chapter and then my phone like loses my spot or whatever lakdshgjfs but idk how else to do it so .. just have my apology lol sorryyy <3 the next "episode" chapter is looking to be longer tho sdlkhglsj

LASTLY BUT NOT LEASTLY A HUGE MASSIVE FUCKING THANK YOU TO MEG @neversatisfiedwithlife FOR BETA READING THIS FOR MEEEE AND BEING SO SUPPORTIVE AND WONDERFUL LOVE YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU SM 💞💖💓💗💕

chapter title and lyrics in this part from "wake up" from the julie and the phantoms soundtrack (whichhh if you haven't heard it... you should listen to it after reading maybe 👀)

plot and a lot of the dialogue from julie and the phantoms so like credit to all those creators and writers 🤪

warnings for this chapter: grief, mentioned character death (regarding kurt's mom)

read below the cut or here on ao3!! <3

--

2020

There’s a deep-seated weight of dread in Kurt’s stomach that he’s unable to ignore for the entire morning.

His last chance at the music program -- he needs to play again today, for the first time in over a year, or he’s done.

It’s all he can think about all day. He makes it through his first few classes, somehow, walking through the halls almost mindlessly, thoughts far away and only worrying about what he’s going to do, barely paying attention to who he’s almost running into, because he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

It almost feels like last year again, when school started and everyone knew and everyone was staring at him in the hallways, even though he knows that they’re not right now and he knows most of these people couldn’t care less about him not being able to play at this point, but in his head it feels like they all know, like they’re all waiting, waiting and watching for him to play again and sing again.

He has been, too, for over a year.

He stops at his locker to wait for Mercedes before going to class.

“We’re gonna get tattoos together,” comes her familiar voice out of nowhere.

Involuntarily, Kurt smiles a little, turning to Mercedes. “Umm…?”

She shrugs and smiles back at him. “You know, when we’re adults and out in New York together or something. Just -- you know, at some point.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, silently saying, where the hell did this come from. Mercedes raises both of hers as if to say, answer the question. “Just curious,” she adds out loud. “Could start planning them now.”

He chuckles. “Of course. I’ll get all the matching tattoos with you.”

Grins and silent agreement pass between them and they both turn toward the lockers, a welcome break in the slowest part of the day, the voices and noises of other students filling the air.

“I know you don’t want me to ask, but…” Mercedes starts slowly after a moment, and Kurt nods his head in acknowledgement; he knows what she’s going to say. “Do you know what you’re going to do today?”

He puts some books in his backpack, mainly for something to do. “I’ll know in the moment,” he says, somewhat truthfully. He could just say what he thinks will happen, which is nothing. But Mercedes can see right through him anyway, so might as well stay somewhat positive until it happens. Or rather, doesn’t happen.

Mercedes sighs a little. “Mrs. Harrison said today is your last chance,” she tries, leaning on her side against the lockers.

“I know, I was there,” Kurt says lightly, letting his eyes scan the contents of his locker a tenth time. Mercedes reaches over and squeezes his hand lightly. Her eyes tell him that she’ll stop talking about it for now, and he squeezes back gratefully.

The conversation with Mercedes has really helped, though; it always does. If he’s going to spectacularly embarrass himself in front of his music class, and probably for the last time, at least he’ll have Mercedes there.

She sees it in his smile, and she sends it back. You always will, is her silent whisper.

A sharp, cheery voice pierces the air and makes them both turn their heads, and the uplifted mood from the conversation with Mercedes disappears when Kurt sees none other than Quinn Fabray, in her Cheerios! uniform, complete with a tight ponytail and perfect smile as she hands out what appears to be flyers to passing students, who are immediately won over by her status, closeness, sweetness. Finn Hudson lingers behind her with his guitar case and his own stack of flyers that he’s not handing out nearly as enthusiastically.

“Spirit rally Friday!” Quinn’s saying as she all but shoves another flyer into the face of a nervous freshman who takes it and scurries away, doing a double-take once they pass her. “Come see the Cheerios! do their new routine, and my group, the Unholy Trinity, perform our brand new original song!”

“What’s she handing out?” Kurt whispers to Mercedes. A corner of his lip quirks up despite the general unpleasantness of seeing Quinn.

“Desperation?” she answers with a small smirk. When Kurt turns back, Quinn is in front of him. He holds back a grimace at her fake smile and cheeriness.

“Hey, guys!” she chirps, as if they’re just any two other students at this school. “Here you go, my group’s performing at the spirit assembly on Friday!”

Kurt flinches back a little as a flyer appears much too close to his face and he takes it instinctively, holding it lightly in his fingertips. It truly looks like something Quinn designed -- perfectly professional, impressive, eye-catching -- and he can’t say it looks bad, as much as he might want to. He eyes Quinn over the top of the flyer.

“I’m sure you guys have nothing better to do,” Quinn continues, that smile still on her face, and there are the claws, Kurt thinks as he resists the urge to rip up the flyer right in front of her.

“Oh, my gosh, Quinn, thank you!” Mercedes says in an exaggeratedly sweet voice, clearly -- or at least clearly to Kurt, and likely Quinn as well -- imitating the specific tone of voice that Quinn takes, and Kurt stifles a laugh.

“Oh my gosh, Cedes, don’t bother coming!” Quinn says with a wide smile, turning away with a whip of her ponytail to continue pushing her flyers.

Kurt looks back at Mercedes, mumbling, “She did not just call you Cedes,” while Mercedes crumples up the flyer in her hands.

“Well, she did,” Mercedes says. Kurt can see the anger behind her eyes and he raises a concerned eyebrow. “I’m fine. She just… you know.” She dismisses his silent question.

“Yeah.” He loops his arm through Mercedes’ and they head down the hallway, almost running into Finn not three steps from Kurt’s locker.

“Oh, hey, sorry guys!” he says with a sheepish but genuine smile that contains all the warmth missing from Quinn’s. “Did you -- I guess Quinn already got -- ”

“Yep, she got to us,” Cedes says quickly, steering Kurt around Finn. “Thanks, Finn, bye!”

“Please tell me you are over him,” Mercedes says when they’re in a quieter area at the end of the row of lockers. Kurt realizes he’s staring and quickly looks away.

“Yeah, I am.” Mercedes looks at him skeptically and he insists, “I am, promise! You just… don’t find a nice jock like him around here that much.”

She nods, satisfied, and raises her eyebrows meaningfully. “You know they’re going to get married and have a bunch of demon babies.”

Kurt’s jaw drops open slightly and he laughs. “You can’t say Finn isn’t a sweetheart.”

“Only one of them has to be a demon to make a demon baby,” Mercedes says matter-of-factly.

“What… it’s a dominant gene?”

“Of course.” Mercedes turns back toward Quinn and raises her voice. “Demon!”

The two of them push against the wall, hiding behind the end of the lockers, when Quinn snaps her gaze back. Kurt can’t hold his laughs in this time, and he feels a little bad about it, but… considering what Quinn’s done to them, he can let himself and Cedes get away with it.

“There’s that smile,” Mercedes says gently as they gather themselves. “Now let’s go prove everybody wrong.” She pulls him toward the music room and slowly but surely, the sickening feeling in his stomach returns. He sits down next to Mercedes and just breathes. She squeezes his hand again.

Mrs. Harrison starts class soon after they arrive, getting into the last of the progress performances which are both a chance for the students to show off to their classmates, and also a checkpoint for participation in the music program, which is the part Kurt’s concerned about.

He barely hears as Finn finishes his drum solo and everyone claps and then Mrs. Harrison is calling his name and he’s standing and walking to the piano and oh god.

“Take your time,” Mrs. Harrison says gently.

That’s all he’s been doing for almost a year, just taking his time, but nothing has come of it. He sits down slowly, opening his music in front of him but it’s like his eyes don’t see the notes and just gloss over the page. He looks down at the keys, sets his fingers in place reluctantly.

It’s been so long that the keys almost feel foreign under his fingers when they once were the most familiar thing in the world. It’s been so long that he barely remembers how the song should go and why did he think he could just do this, it doesn’t matter how good at sightreading he’s always been. It’s been so long of him locking the memories in a chained and padlocked safe in the back of his mind and he’s terrified of playing again being what opens it because playing and singing and music has always always meant Mom, and she’s gone which he still sometimes forgets and it always hurts like hell to remember again, so letting himself remember so much more will only make reality that much worse. It’s been so long and what if he’s forgotten, what if he opens himself to the memories just to find that they don’t exist anymore?

It’s been so long; it’s been over a year, but doesn’t that mean he should be fine by now?

He knows avoiding the memories hasn’t been the best idea, but right now he can’t think of anything he could have done differently, can’t linger and regret his choices because he feels so vulnerable and exposed finally sitting at the piano in front of his whole class for the first time in a year, and the choice is right there and maybe he could do it but not in front of everyone his brain screams, and he can almost feel Quinn’s sharp, judging, so far from friendly gaze fixed on him and that is what breaks it, that is something he definitely can’t take and he pulls his hands back with a short inhale and the whirlwind in his mind stops and he can mostly breathe again.

It’s been so long.

Heart still pounding, he gets up and apologizes to Mrs. Harrison because she really has tried to help him and he appreciates it but he still can’t, and Quinn makes some comment and Mercedes fires something back but he doesn’t hear any of it, he just has to leave.

He knows Mercedes follows him out and she calls out his name when he’s halfway down the stairs. He’s started crying at some point and he doesn’t know when. All of it is just such a mess and so present in his mind; he was so close to music again, to Mom, but he’s not ready. He’s scared.

“Kurt,” Cedes calls again, quieter, her voice soft and choked, pleading. “Come on, please. Come back… and show them you can sing .”

He turns to look at her at the top of the stairs. “I can’t,” he says, voice rough with tears. “I’ve tried, for over a year I’ve tried…. I’ve tried for Dad, I’ve tried for Mrs. Harrison, fuck, I’ve even tried for Quinn.” He gives a short, bitter laugh as more tears spill down his cheeks.

“I’ve tried so hard for you.” He gestures up to her, voice breaking. “I’ve tried for Mom.” He closes his eyes for a moment, takes a breath. “And I’ve tried for myself.” Mercedes is also crying a little now.

“For over a year, I’ve tried,” Kurt continues weakly. “But I just -- I can’t. Not… not now.”

He runs down the rest of the stairs and out the door, and he knows he just got himself kicked out of music, knows he just ruined everything.

--

From mercedes 💖, 2:04 pm:

Are you leaving?

From mercedes 💖, 2:06

Tell me when you get home. I love you

To mercedes 💖, 2:08 pm:

i will, at the park for now

From mercedes 💖, 2:10 pm:

I’ll bring your stuff around later.

To mercedes 💖, 2:10 pm:

thank you

To mercedes 💖, 2:11 pm:

i love you. i’m sorry

From mercedes 💖, 2:12 pm:

Nothing to be sorry for, just take care of yourself okay?

From mercedes 💖, 2:13 pm:

Give yourself a hug from me until I get there to do it for you

--

“Hey, kiddo, how was your day?” Burt asks as he walks in, putting a hand on Kurt’s shoulder who’s doing homework at the kitchen table.

“It was okay,” Kurt responds with a small but hopefully convincing smile to hide the worry eating away at him inside, because if the school’s already contacted his dad about today, about Kurt ruining his last chance…

“I gotta go again in a bit,” Burt says, taking a drink of water. “Some guy really needs a car fix by tomorrow morning, but I’ll be done by dinner.” Kurt nods, some relief flooding his veins. He turns back to his homework.

“Oh, another thing,” Burt says and Kurt stiffens again. “I wanted to come and check in with you -- I talked to a real estate agent today, and they said if we’re serious about selling the house, we need to take some pictures and stuff, clean everything… and I was wondering if you’re up for cleaning Mom’s studio?”

Kurt’s immediate surprise and hesitance must show on his face even as he tries to keep his composure, because Burt quickly assures, “It’s okay if you’re not ready, I promise; we have time. You know I just -- I wouldn’t even know where to start in there.”

Kurt smiles a little. “No, it’s okay,” he says. “I can try tonight.”

“Awesome.” Burt ruffles Kurt’s hair, which from anyone else other than maybe Mercedes would not end particularly well, but Kurt just laughs and tries to brush the loose strands out of his eyes. “I’ll see you later, Kurt. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

Kurt exhales slowly as his dad leaves again.

Cleaning out the studio means having to confront exactly what he’s tried to avoid for a year. The disaster that was music class today doesn’t make him feel better about it… but at least this time he’ll be alone -- none of the pressure of having to live up to the standards of well-meaning teachers or aggressive ex-best friends, none of the pressure of having to play at all, especially from the competitive nature at school. And… maybe he needs it.

Moving from here will only help you move on. Kurt’s aunt’s words echo in his mind. A part of him recoils at the idea of leaving his childhood home -- leaving the spaces his mom used to inhabit and her light and energy used to fill to the brim -- and starting over, someplace where there are none of those memories… he can’t tell if that’s a good thing. It feels like more of the running away that he’s been doing for a year, and he wonders if it really will solve anything.

But maybe he does need it. If staying in this house for the last year hasn’t helped, a change would be good, right?

Turning back to his work, he takes a deep breath and starts planning dinner in his head. He’ll tackle the studio after dinner’s ready.

--

To Dad, 7:39 pm:

dinner’s done, i’ll be in the studio

Kurt takes a slow breath as he opens the doors to the garage.

It’s not that it’s his first time in the studio after his mom died -- someone had to water the plants -- but he kept any interaction with the rest of the room minimal, so it still feels different to take in the full space instead of just rushing to the plants in the back with his head down. It always came with some guilt; it felt like the least he could do to keep some life in the studio when he could barely even bring himself to enter, let alone fill it with music as it needs to be.

He walks in slowly, some apprehension tickling the back of his neck, trying to stay calm. The familiarity is almost overwhelming this time as he looks around, actually taking in the room. The guitars on the wall, the couch and table, all of his mom’s decorations and knick-knacks. The chairs on the ceiling, story told with a fond smile from his dad about his mom wanting to decorate in a fun special way even while 7 months pregnant. The plants in the back, flourishing in front of the wall of windows positioned to let in the sunrise beautifully, not that Kurt has seen it happen recently.

And the grand piano -- in the center of the room, covered with a sheet, neglected for over a year. Kurt pulls it off now absentmindedly, letting the fabric pool over his feet. He takes a deep breath even though he probably just filled the air with dust, and goes over to the bench. He doesn’t open the lid, not yet. Some sheet music is on the seat and he places it on the piano without looking, sits down and gently touches the fallboard, inhaling shakily, not opening it to reveal the keys but just… remembering what it used to be, what it used to -- still means….

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut, “that I haven’t been here.”

With his eyes closed against the dark emptiness of the room, he can almost forget. It’s too easy to think that when he opens his eyes, his mom will be there, and she’ll be writing a song with him, or she’ll be playing, or they’ll just be talking…

Before the idea can flood his mind and leave him reeling when he returns to reality, Kurt stands and looks around the room again. There really is a strangeness to the place now. What used to be so comfortable and an extension of home -- sometimes even more home than the main house -- was always warm and brimming with emotion and joy and music and life -- now cold and dark and hollow, quiet. The familiar bones have an unsettling foreign emptiness around them. It feels wrong.

It needs to be filled. But… Kurt can’t do that.

He misses his mom -- always, but it’s amplified in this space that was always hers. He misses the feeling that the studio used to bring, that spirit that is now dimmed and suppressed. Covered, but still there. He can feel it like a gentle heat behind his skin. Not bad, but overwhelming, and he just….

The loft, Kurt decides suddenly. He’ll start with the loft. There aren’t memories and emotions so confusing and thick there that he’s barely able to avoid it, to push his way through with no energy left to untangle and understand. The loft is just full of random old stuff that his mom wouldn’t throw out and his dad teased her about.

So the loft first. And then he can ease into the rest when he’s more ready. After all, his dad did say they have time.

It’s significantly dustier in the loft; old instruments and random bags full of clothes are scattered and piled across the floor, his own electric keyboard propped up against the wall. Kurt stands on the stepladder a few steps below the actual loft floor, looks around a little, his eyes landing on a CD case lying on the ground -- black with a simple stark white word design: Sunset Curve. He picks it up, eyeing it thoughtfully, brings it back down to the main floor and decides to put it into the old CD player.

He doesn’t really know why he has such an urge all of a sudden. He’s listened to some music, but not nearly as much as before, and has actually chosen to listen to music only a handful of times since his mom died.

But… the studio needs music. As an apology for a year of neglect, and as a goodbye, he can let this music redeem the studio’s spirit a little, fill what he’s left hollow.

And he doesn’t want to be alone in the silence with his memories while he’s going through everything, even just in the loft. As something completely unfamiliar and random, this can give him the distraction and none of the pain. At least, that’s the plan.

Stepping down from the loft stairs, he glances at the picture in the CD case as he opens it -- a band of four who all look like teenagers, staring seriously into the camera -- he doesn’t get a good look at them, just slides the disc into the CD player and takes a seat on the couch.

The opening song starts strong with a gritty guitar riff and a 1, 2, 3! counting the band in. Despite himself, Kurt starts nodding along to the beat. It really is a great song, unique and upbeat…

Then some kind of… panicked screaming makes itself heard, first quietly and he thinks it could be part of the song, but it crescendos and gets unbearably loud --

And then there are three strangers appearing out of thin air before his eyes, screaming as they fall to the ground heavily. Kurt would wince at the sound of the impact --

That part’s certainly unlike any CD he’s listened to before.

He’s frozen, heart hammering and eyes widening as he stares at the three strangers picking themselves up off the ground, taking in their surroundings a little…

“How’d we get back here?” the middle one -- a shorter guy with black hair -- says breathlessly.

Kurt screams.

--

It’s not his finest moment, but three complete strangers just appeared in his mom’s studio, seemingly just popping into the air, and he can’t say he’s never been superstitious in his entire life or that he isn’t drawing immediate conclusions -- supernatural conclusions, fucking ridiculous conclusions. He doesn’t love that he runs into his dad on his way back into the house which may have also involved a little yelling about seeing ghosts (ghosts who screamed back, for the record), but he makes it to the safety of his room and texts Mercedes frantically, who doesn’t respond.

“Come on, Cedes,” he hisses to himself, shooting off another text. “Answer me!”

A knock from his doorway startles him and he just barely manages to hold back a shout, turning to see his dad leaning into his room hesitantly.

“You okay?”

Kurt gives him what must be a hysterical-looking attempt at a reassuring smile, all wide eyes and clenched teeth. “Yeah, no, totally fine, sorry for -- scaring you,” he replies choppily, tone not even convincing to himself. “Just, um, practicing for a school play.”

Burt definitely doesn’t believe him, but nods slowly anyway. “Well, I’m gonna go clean up -- ” He gestures over his shoulder with a grease-covered hand. “Dinner in like, ten minutes?”

“Yeah. Sounds good,” Kurt says shortly, forcing another smile and a thumbs-up.

As soon as the door closes, Kurt turns back toward his window and tries to get a glance of the studio, but it’s blocked from this angle by the trees in their yard. Apprehensively, he heads back to the garage, thankfully not running into his dad this time, phone in hand and thumb hovering over Mercedes’ phone contact.

When he goes in, it’s empty; no sign of anything out of the ordinary happening.

He scans the space warily, feeling jumpy and nervous, but nothing happens and he mumbles, “I know I saw something, I’m not crazy.”

He hears a soft popping noise and then, “Well, we’re all a little crazy,” from behind him and he turns with a sharp gasp.

“Oh, my god, who are you?” Kurt yells, maybe a little too loud because the black-haired boy winces slightly and all three of them step back a little. “What the hell are you doing in my mom’s studio?”

“Your mom’s studio?” the black-haired guy scoffs. “This is our studio!”

The tall blonde guy bounces forward. “Yeah, like, the piano’s new, but -- ” He looks to the right and his face lights up. “My couch!” he calls, running over and jumping straight onto it.

The girl -- hair black and in braids -- rolls her eyes. “Not your couch, Sam.”

The blonde -- Sam? -- sits up indignantly, stabbing a finger in the cushions. “Hey, I spent more time on this couch than any of you. Pretty sure it’s mine at this point.”

Kurt just watches them with wide eyes, jaw hanging open, with absolutely no idea what to do.

“But these aren’t our instruments,” the black-haired guy says warily, looking around. At some point he and the girl have linked arms, Kurt notices. He watches as they all take in the studio, faces getting increasingly confused and worried. Kurt raises an eyebrow that apparently can go higher than it already is.

“Because… it’s my mom’s studio…” he manages to say again, mind still whirling at the hurricane of new and completely nonsensical information.

“Can you just -- give us a minute?” Sam says, jumping over the coffee table to join his friends. They turn away to talk in a huddle, and Kurt stands awkwardly as they talk in failed attempts at hushed tones.

--

Tina’s trying to ignore the pounding of her possibly-only-theoretical heart -- she’s dead, how can she even feel a heartbeat -- as she watches Blaine and Sam talk to the… living person in front of them. Sam makes his usual comment about “his couch” and Tina snarks back with her usual response and it gives her some comfort, some familiarity even in this studio which should feel like home, has for so long, and it still does to an extent, but everything here is suddenly different.

The comment does send the strange boy’s attention back to her, though, which she doesn’t really like. Blaine wraps an arm around hers and she squeezes his forearm in gratitude. He did that a lot when they were alive -- knew how and when to offer her his touch to reassure her a little.

At least there’s something that’s still the same.

At least her boys are still the same.

She tries to focus on Blaine’s arm in hers, on Sam’s dumb comments as he comes bounding back to them, hissing, “Guys, what is going on here?”

Tina shrugs. Blaine whispers, “Who is he?”

“He can hear you,” the person in question says pointedly from behind them, but Sam ignores him and says, “Maybe he’s a witch.” He looks up, pointing. “There are chairs on the ceiling.”

“There’s no such thing as witches,” Tina hisses.

“Are you sure?” Sam shoots back. “Because I used to think there was no such thing as ghosts!”

Tina swallows. “That’s fair.”

“So we’re going with witch?” Blaine asks.

“No!” Tina waves her hands at both of them. “No, come on. You guys are just -- he’s probably just overwhelmed, okay? Let someone with a softer touch handle this.”

Maybe “softer touch” wasn’t the right phrase to use in this instance, she thinks, but she really just wants answers and figures she might as well be straightforward. “Why are you in our studio?” she asks, maybe a little too aggressively, stepping up to the alive stranger.

He looks down with a shocked expression and Tina realizes she accidentally got close enough to touch him -- or… pass her hand through his, partially. They both watch as he brings his hand through hers again. It’s a weird feeling -- warm and kind of tingly, or like she’s putting her hand through water.

“Oh my god,” he says, eyes wide. “How did you do that?”

Tina raises their eyebrows a little. “Okay, clearly you don’t -- clearly, he doesn’t get it,” she says, addressing the guys behind her. She turns back to the stranger, gesturing to herself and the others as she explains, “We’re ghosts. We’re just three ghosts, and we’re really happy to be home, so… thank you for the flowers; they really brighten up the room.” She tries to smile at him.

“We’re actually in a band called Sunset Curve,” Blaine pipes up, stepping up to flank her on the left.

“Tell your friends!” chimes Sam on her right.

“Last night was a really big night for us,” Blaine says, a little sadly. “It was gonna change our lives.”

Tina whispers, “Uh, I’m pretty sure it did.” Blaine huffs and elbows her gently.

“This is freaking me out,” the stranger says, shaking his head as he takes something from his pocket.

“What is that; what are you doing?” Blaine asks.

Alive Stranger looks up, fingers still touching the face of the object. “It’s my phone -- nope, stop talking to them! There’s no such thing as cute ghosts,” he says, seemingly to himself.

Sam gasps. “Think we’re cute?” He raises an eyebrow, making one of his insufferable Sam faces; Tina almost laughs.

The boy looks up again with wide eyes, gaze flitting to each of them as if watching for a reaction, swallowing and going back to his phone.

“Who’re you calling?” Tina asks, trying to see the side facing him because that doesn’t look like any phone she’s ever seen.

“I’m googling Sunset Swerve.”

“Sunset Curve!” Blaine, Sam, and Tina correct him at the same time, Sam drawing a curve in the air with his finger.

The stranger laughs nervously, staring at them with wide eyes and then back at his phone. “Okay… so there is a Sunset Curve.” He swallows again. “You guys did die. But not last night.” Tina’s stomach drops a little; Blaine and Sam get closer.

“Twenty-five… years ago,” the boy finishes, a confused look in his eyes.

Tina barely has time to register this before Sam says, “That’s impossible. All we did after we floated out of the car was go to that weird dark room where Tina cried.”

Her mouth drops open. “I wasn’t -- I -- we -- ” she squeaks, voice jumping up an octave. “I think we were all pretty upset,” she says, but she supposes Sam is right.

He pats her back and doesn’t have a chance to respond again because Blaine steps in, “That was just for, like, an hour, though. We just showed up here.” Tina and Sam nod.

“Look,” the living one says, finally turning his “phone” toward them. They lean forward to see a screen with a photo of them -- and Artie, Tina thinks distantly; she feels his absence acutely and it spikes through her chest -- taken for their summer tour, and a bunch of small text around it that she can’t read, a bold headline at the top reading, Sunset Curve: A Hollywood Tragedy. “I’m just telling you what my phone says,” he explains. “You guys died in 1995. It’s now 2020.”

“So this is the future?” Sam asks incredulously as the boy pulls his phone back. Something else sticks out in Tina’s mind, though.

“So -- it has been twenty-five years,” she says, pausing to gather her thoughts. “I have been crying for twenty-five years -- how is that possible?!”

“You’re a very emotional person,” Sam reasons.

“I am not!” she insists, but the tears already pressing in the back of her throat want to prove otherwise. Distantly, she reminds herself that she’s with her friends who’ve seen it all and she doesn’t need to hold back, but the presence of this complete stranger also overrides the ease of her relationship with the guys. Sam rubs a comforting hand over her shoulder, and she swallows the tears down.

Alive Stranger shakes his head. “I gotta go… eat dinner,” he says slowly. He turns back around once he’s walked past the three of them and says, “Look, I’m really sorry for what happened to you guys, but this isn’t your studio anymore. You have to leave.”

“But we -- ” Blaine starts, starting to go forward but a sharp glare stops him and he clears his throat. “We didn’t even get your name.”

“It’s Kurt,” the stranger snaps.

“Cool, I’m -- Blaine,” Blaine says hesitantly. “And this is…”

“Sam, hey.”

“Tina, how’s it going…”

“Ba-da,” Blaine sings weakly, gesturing his hands in front of them like he’s presenting them to Kurt.

They all watch for Kurt’s reaction, but he just sighs and leaves the studio. He leaves the doors open, probably to remind them that they technically just got kicked out of their studio -- or, Kurt’s mom’s studio -- someone’s studio, but really it’s been their home for so long…

“Kurt seems nice,” Sam says cheerfully, trying to lighten the mood.

Tina turns to him. “Did you miss the part where he kicked us out, or…” she says drily. Sam shrugs, a hint of a smirk on his face. “Okay,” Tina mutters, turning to wander around the studio some more. If they’re going to be kicked out, she wants to spend as much more time as she can here.

--

Kurt’s mind is a storm. He doesn’t know where to start with this new information -- with an evening that took such a sharp turn from reminiscing and sad and somewhat painful into just… something so completely different and unexpected.

Dinner Kurt can do. He can put the craziness of ghosts aside because dinner is easy, dinner is simple; dinner is important.

His dad has already set everything out so Kurt takes his seat across from him, sending a not-completely-true nvm everything’s fine, sorry for worrying you text to Mercedes, who finally got back to him at some point when he was distracted…

Distracted talking to ghosts.

“How’s it going?” Burt asks as he sits down and it takes Kurt a second to remember he must be talking about cleaning the studio, and not actually about ghost musicians.

Ghosts don’t exist. There are no ghosts in the garage. Don’t think about ghosts.

“It’s good,” Kurt says, poking at his food a little. “I’m starting with the loft.”

Burt smiles. “Those old instruments need a home.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, returning the smile. “Mom would like that.”

The instruments probably belong to some ghosts, Kurt realizes, but… nothing he can really do about that. And that’s if the ghosts can even touch objects.

They eat in comfortable silence for a while and then Burt sets down his fork. Kurt looks up apprehensively.

“So I got an email from the school today,” he starts. Kurt fiddles with his fork and drops his gaze.

“Hey, it’s okay, Kurt, I’m not mad,” Burt promises.

You should be, Kurt thinks -- all that money spent for him to audition for and attend the music program, and for private lessons and sheet music and piano maintenance, just for him to throw it all away.

“I know those classes can be hard,” his dad says, and Kurt almost can’t take his gentle tone, feels guilty about it even though he appreciates it. “But… you still like music, don’t you?”

Kurt shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe?”

“I know the memories are hard, believe me, Kurt. But, every time I see you, I see Mom, you know? And I love that, I really do. Maybe, if you give yourself a chance, you can, too.” Kurt looks up hesitantly to see his dad’s gentle, loving expression and eyes slightly glassy with tears. Looking down again, he swallows, and nods.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I will. I’ll try.”

Because what he said to Mercedes earlier on the staircase is true, but… he’ll always try harder for his dad.

“It’s okay, Kurt,” Burt assures him. “We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

Kurt smiles and almost starts eating again, but music suddenly blares from outside, startling both of them, Kurt barely holding back a loud swear.

“What is that?” Burt says, getting up but Kurt rushes to reassure him, saying quickly, “I must have just left the CD player on in the garage! It’s fine, I’ll go get it!”

He runs back to the studio where the ghosts are still there apparently, and have somehow gotten instruments from the loft and set everything up to start playing, and play really loudly -- and it honestly sounds good but Kurt can’t focus on that because they’re going to disturb the entire neighborhood and get the cops called on them for a noise complaint and what is he supposed to say -- no officer, it was just the three ghosts in the garage being idiots, sorry?

Kurt yells for them to stop but it’s useless; he can barely even hear himself over how incredibly loudly they’re playing. Blaine, on an electric guitar that Kurt remembers seeing in the loft, turns and sees Kurt, walking towards him and finally playing one last chord when Kurt makes a horizontal cutting motion with his hand, and Sam, on the bass, follows, Tina playing one last short drum roll, looking up with a wide grin.

They all look… alive, Kurt thinks, despite literally being dead, so different from the confusion he left them with -- relaxed and loose and faces lit up, the energy flowing through them almost visible. If he didn’t know they were ghosts and made of air, he’d expect to be able to reach out and feel them, breaths hot and fast from the exertion and adrenaline, skin warm and slightly sweaty, hearts beating strong like the steady percussion of their band.

It reminds him of how music used to make him feel.

“Cut it out!” Kurt snaps, trying not to raise his voice too much. “The whole neighborhood could hear you! I thought I told you to leave!”

Blaine looks back at his bandmates, bewildered. “People -- people can hear us play?”

“Yes!” Kurt says exasperatedly. “My dad heard you from inside!”

“… What did he think?” Blaine asks after a moment. Kurt opens his mouth for an irritated response --

“Everything okay in here?”

Kurt whips around to see his dad in the doorway and smiles with wide eyes. “Yeah! I just -- had to turn off the CD player,” he lies.

People have told Kurt before that he’s a good liar; he really hopes that’s true after the evening he’s had -- he's having.

Burt’s attention is elsewhere, though, seemingly forgetting about the chaos from just a moment earlier. “Wait, is this the junk that was in the loft?” he says, excitedly eyeing the instruments and… the ghosts that he can’t see.

“Junk?” Blaine exclaims. Tina stands up, her eyes on Burt, drumsticks gripped tightly in one hand.

They all watch apprehensively as Burt weaves through the instruments, even going so far as to rattle Tina’s cymbals and tap the drums, much to her horror. She fixes Kurt with wide, urgent eyes, to which Kurt just shrugs and gives her a helpless look. Hey Dad, actually, the ghost drummer wants you to stop, so…

“Hey, this stuff’s in pretty good shape,” Burt says excitedly. “Maybe we can make a couple bucks, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees weakly, mostly just watching as Tina fails to push Burt away from the drums.

“I like the song you had on,” Burt says, finally stepping away from the instruments. Tina rubs down a cymbal with her sleeve.

“Sweet! We’re Sunset Curve,” Blaine pipes up.

“Tell your friends!” Sam says, to a fond eye-roll from Tina.

“It’s just an old CD I found,” Kurt says, ripping his attention from the ghosts.

“Well, it’s nice that you’re listening to music again,” Burt says sincerely. “Out here, you can play whatever you want, whenever you want.” He waves his hands out on either side for emphasis, going through Sam and Blaine’s bodies. Kurt chuckles weakly.

“Oh,” Sam says, looking down at where Burt’s hand was in his stomach just a moment before. “That’s nice.”

“Stay out of this,” Kurt hisses.

“Sorry, Kurt, I’m just trying to help -- ”

“Oh! No, not you, Dad,” Kurt says quickly. For fuck’s sake -- “Just -- just give me a minute -- ” He starts pulling his dad toward the door. Burt stops him and says, “Hey, we’re gonna figure out this music program thing, okay?”

“Thanks, Dad,” Kurt says with a smile, and gestures for him to leave.

Once Burt is out of sight, he turns back to the ghosts.

“Wait -- ” Tina waves her drumsticks around a little. “So -- only you can see us, but everyone can hear us?” Kurt nods in confirmation. “What kind of ghosts are we?” Tina says.

“Who cares, dude!” Sam says, stepping up to Tina’s drum kit with a grin. “People can hear us play!” The three exchange fist-bumps as Blaine says happily, “We might be dead, but our music isn’t.”

“And Kurt’s dad likes our music!” Sam cheers.

“He’s a dad, it doesn’t count,” Tina mumbles, smiling and pushing Sam playfully when he turns to her with an offended look.

Confusion and annoyance bubble up inside Kurt along with something like anger at, just, all of it and he groans and says loudly, “Why can’t you guys just be normal ghosts? You know, go hang out at an old mansion or something! I hear Pasadena’s nice!” and turns to leave, slamming the door on his way out.

He just… has had too much going on today. He needs to -- ignore his homework and the problem with school and maybe just sleep in for the next two days. That would be really nice.

He’s so caught up in his head and he jumps and yells when a ghost appears in front of him with no warning.

“Don’t do that!” Kurt exclaims.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Blaine says quickly. “ -- You do know how rad this is though, right? People -- people can hear us play!”

“Yeah, good for you,” Kurt replies, a little too harshly. “It’s just that I’ve had a really, really, awful day. I’ve gotta go.”

He walks past Blaine just to turn around again when he says, “I’m really sorry you had a bad day.” Kurt nods; he can tell Blaine wants to say more, so he waits.

Blaine continues slowly, “I just… three ghosts just found out they had a bad twenty-five years, and then they find out that the one thing they lived for in the first place, they can still do. So you can kick us out, but -- we’re not giving up music. We can play again; that’s a gift no musician would ever turn down,” he says earnestly, eyes wide and almost pleading.

That hurts in Kurt’s chest a little more than it should and he looks down again to avoid the passion and excitement shining clearly in Blaine’s eyes, in his voice, in his words. He swallows down the feeling that statement unearths inside of him, but suddenly his bad day is at the forefront of his mind again -- his bad year.

That’s a gift no musician would ever turn down … some musician he is, then. But he already knew that.

Blaine says softly, “You’ve gotta know that. Clearly your mom is into music.”

Kurt swallows. “Was,” he says, monotone and quiet. “She passed away.”

He hates that it’s become easier to say; he wants to either spit the words out or break down sobbing but he manages to keep his voice steady. (In the back of his mind, he wonders why he just told that to a random ghost he just met. Maybe he’s just going crazy. He’s literally talking to ghosts, after all.)

Blaine’s face falls. “I -- I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“Yeah, we -- we didn’t know,” Sam says quietly. He and Tina have also left the studio, standing on the other side of the low wall separating the garage area from the pathway back to the house. They look up with sympathetic eyes and Kurt looks away from them too -- can’t meet any of their wide, well-meaning gazes right now.

“It’s fine,” he dismisses. “Sorry I got mad.” The ghosts are thankfully looking at each other now, seemingly silent conversation passing between their glances. “You guys are pretty good,” Kurt says, trying to change the subject and lighten the atmosphere.

Blaine raises an eyebrow, turning his gaze back to Kurt. “‘Pretty good’? You know that’s just, like, 25 years of rust being dusted off, right?”

“Do you play, too?” Tina asks.

“No, no, I don’t play.” It’s not exactly a lie anymore but it scrapes in Kurt’s throat with his haste to answer. “That’s all my mom’s stuff in there.”

“She’s an amazing songwriter,” Blaine says.

“Yeah, she was,” Kurt answers. “Wait… how do you know?”

Blaine opens his mouth, glancing at the others for a second. “We found a song on the piano,” he says. “If it’s hers… your mom was really talented.”

Kurt nods. She really, really was.

He feels like he doesn’t have the energy to say it again, so he just stays quiet. Somewhat awkwardly, he turns to leave, sensing the end of the conversation and part of him desperately wanting to just leave and not have to see these ghosts again….

So Kurt surprises even himself when he pauses and turns back to face them. “I guess,” he starts, and their gazes snap back up to him. “If you need a place to stay… you can stay in there.” He nods toward the studio and the ghosts’ faces light up. Kurt can’t help but smile back. “There’s a couch that turns into a bed, and in the back there’s a bathroom with a shower, if you still need any of that stuff.”

“Awesome!” Sam exclaims quietly, earning an elbow in the side and a questioning look from Tina. “What? Dude, I just really like showers,” he defends.

Tina rolls her eyes. Kurt takes a breath, raising his hands to gesture vaguely at the three of them. “This is just… too weird.” He nods to himself, finally leaving this time, leaving the ghosts to… do what they will.

The fact that there are ghosts in his mom’s studio…. Maybe there’s a chance that Mom knows them -- sent them, he thinks… but decides to not get his hopes up. She’s gone and he needs to just keep it at that.

What he really wants is to tell Mercedes, but he doesn’t know how.

What would you say if I told you there were three ghosts living in my mom’s studio? Kurt thinks on his way back to his room.

You’d say I’m crazy.

--

It’s some point in the night; they figured out that they don’t need to sleep -- can’t sleep, it seems like, which is honestly really annoying in Tina’s opinion because they’re ghosts with literally nothing to do for too many hours at a time -- so they’re just hanging out in the studio, with the lights outside giving them a little visibility through the garage windows, but it’s kind of nice to just sit in the dark.

Tina has been on the couch with Sam, lying on their backs, heads in opposite directions, legs pressed up against each other. Sam’s bass is unplugged, laid on his stomach and extending over Tina’s legs. He plucks out notes and Tina accompanies with a soft beat using just her hands and body parts as instruments. Sometimes it’s a familiar bassline -- a Sunset Curve song rehearsed or performed or recorded before -- and they also hum the harmonies that they know, and sometimes they improvise -- Tina storing the good bits in her mind for a future writing session.

Blaine is in the loft where they hoped a light could be on and maybe go unnoticed. Tina assumes that he’s writing; he always was when they were alive. And of course, now he has 25 years of dark room and relative nothingness to catch up on writing about.

It feels like another quiet night from when they were alive, each of them with an excuse to escape their homes for the night, and they’d all crash here, filling the studio with soft music and noise. Blaine would stay up writing and sometimes singing while Sam and Tina (and Artie) would try to sleep, telling him to stop humming, or, since the main house inhabitants who would care about the noise were rarely there, they would sometimes join along with him and make it a Sunset Curve midnight rehearsal.

They’ve never had the best sleep schedules anyway.

Tina giggles quietly as she and Sam play into nothingness, both parts running uncontrolled and unable to get back on track. They both stop and Sam starts playing a familiar line -- parts they’d worked out before with bass, drums, and both guitars, but never actually put into a song. Tina waits for a moment to come in with her part.

She’s nearly startled off the couch when Blaine poofs down beside the couch with his guitar and starts his part. Tina starts laughing -- probably too loud but they’re pretty sure only their music can be heard anyway -- and slides off the couch to sit on the ground, picking the drumming back up on her legs.

“You guys wanna check out this teleportation thing?” Blaine asks, playing the challenging guitar riff meant for electric guitar messily on his acoustic without a pick.

Sam sits up and puts his bass to the side. “Absolutely,” he says. “Where’re we going?”

“I have an idea,” Blaine says, setting his guitar down. He pulls Tina up and extends a hand out for Sam. “I think I can take you guys with me.”

“What?” Tina squeaks, but a second later, she’s sitting far above the ground, outside, on top of the marquee of the Orpheum. “Oh my god,” she mutters, looking down dizzily at the people passing by on the sidewalk. Her body tingles with a weird uncomfortable energy for just a few seconds before it fades.

“Yes!” Blaine laughs, kicking his legs up excitedly. “I mean, I know being a ghost isn’t our first choice, but it sure is easy getting around!”

“Easy for you, maybe!” Sam cries on Blaine’s other side. “I lost my shirt on that one!”

Tina looks over and sure enough, Sam is shirtless. She stifles a laugh behind her hand. “Like that’s a concern,” she pipes up, but Sam’s shirt appears right as she says it. They all laugh and sit in silence for a moment.

“So why’d you bring us here?” Tina asks, looking out across Hollywood Boulevard, the new and old buildings and shops, the people and cars of the future. The light of the Orpheum’s neon sign shines in her periphery, same as it did on a night twenty-five years ago. “Just another reminder of where we never got to play,” she says wryly, turning to face Blaine on her left, patting his shoulder. “Thanks, Blaine.”

Blaine rolls his eyes. “I’m telling you guys, it’s not over yet!” Tina reappears on the sidewalk right below them, almost losing her balance and falling through a person walking past. She shoots a glare at Blaine for teleporting them with no warning again, but he just grins back and starts down the sidewalk, Sam following. “Let’s see how many places we can play tonight, yeah? Check out the music scene of the future? And no trouble getting into those clubs anymore!”

Tina laughs, falling into step with them. She watches Sam walk straight through someone going in the opposite direction and doesn’t realize someone is in her way, which shouldn't be a problem, until she bumps into them.

She feels them.

“Hey!” she says involuntarily, turning to see who it was -- another ghost? A tall man with a cape and top hat nods at her with an acknowledging and almost menacing gleam in his eye, then turns again and walks away.

He could see her, he could touch her -- he has to be another ghost, right?

“Tina, you coming?” Sam calls. She swallows and takes one last look, the other ghost having disappeared among the other people on the sidewalk, before turning and running to catch back up with the guys.

“I just ran into someone,” she says, a little breathless -- she doesn’t know if that’s from running, which she doesn’t think she can actually get breathless from, or the fact that she ran into someone.

“Another ghost?” Blaine says.

“I mean, it has to be, right? Uh, Kurt -- Kurt can see us but he can’t touch us…”

“And his dad couldn’t either,” Sam adds.

“It must have been another ghost. He looked like a… performer, or something.” Tina wrinkles their nose a little as she remembers his whole get-up, completely out of place among what she’s seen so far of 21st century street fashion. (But then again, so is she, and her friends.)

“… I guess we’re not alone, then,” Blaine says, breaking a short bewildered silence.

“We’re never alone!” Sam exclaims, walking between them to throw his arms around Blaine and Tina’s shoulders. Tina laughs and grabs his forearm, mystery ghost forgotten for the time being.

Blaine responds with a grin, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

--

Kurt wakes up earlier than usual the next morning. He thinks he still has school -- he doesn’t know how being removed from the music program works, but no one told him not to come and besides, he does have non-music classes to keep up with, even if he doesn’t necessarily want to. He gets ready as usual, leaving breakfast out for his dad, and there’s still half an hour before Mercedes should be getting here.

Perfect. There’s something he needs to try by himself… for himself.

He heads out to the studio with his things, a fluttering feeling in his stomach, but it’s different from the feeling before he tried to play in class yesterday, like the butterflies had turned to stone and were rolling around inside him, weighing him down and making him nauseous. This time it’s promising, hopeful, familiar -- butterflies fluttering normally, peacefully.

The room is empty when Kurt pushes the doors open and drops his backpack by the entrance.

“Guys?” he calls hesitantly, to no response.

He wonders if he should be worried about where the ghosts might be, or relieved for if they really did leave after all, since that is what he wanted… but he realizes relief is not at all what he feels at that possibility.

But if the ghosts aren’t here, then all the better for what he wants to do, so he decides to ignore their absence for now.

Kurt walks up to the grand piano in the middle of the room, thinking. There’s something… something deep loosening in his chest -- something about Blaine and the others and their intense passion for music that is so different from the intense judgment and competition at school that made it so impossible for him to play yesterday.

The way Blaine had talked about music…

The one thing they lived for in the first place -- they can still do.

A gift.

Kurt spreads out the sheet music that he found yesterday, just placed on the piano lid without a glance and it’s still there, so Blaine and the others must have just taken a look at it. He recognizes his mother’s handwriting, achingly familiar and beautiful in a minimalistic way, the neat notes and lyrics, clean and legible even without the help of staff lines. His heart stutters and he gasps a little as he reads some of it -- he recognizes the song. Something his mom told him she was writing when she got sick.

Kurt used to be so involved in her songwriting, but as she got worse and Kurt grew away from the piano (and from his voice), he never asked about this song.

She’d finished it.

Here’s the one thing I want you to know, you got someplace to go…

And he needs to hear it.

His fingers tremble slightly as he places them gingerly on the keys over the starting notes of the song. It feels completely different than it did yesterday; he doesn’t know if it’s the lack of teacher and students watching, the insanity of yesterday evening in between, the song itself… but the stones turned back into butterflies and it almost feels like it did before….

He wants to play, to make music. For the first time in a year, he actually feels like he can. And he needs to.

And if -- when -- it unlocks the memories… he thinks he’s ready.

Kurt takes a deep breath and plays.

[lannister-slings-and-arrows]

Chapter Two of See You in the Morning Time

The third in a Rafael Barba/Reader/Frederick Chilton threesome verse written in collaboration with @pascalispretty . Gif by @mrsrafaelbarba . Yep. We did this. Was it necessary? No. Did we enjoy it? Sometimes. Are you going to read it? I sure hope you do and that you like it! Cross posted to ao3!

Part Three of the series So Much Easier than You Realize

Chapter One: A Different Feeling Entirely Chapter Two: Show Me the New

Warnings: Frederick being an anxious (and sad. and repressed) little weenie, discussions of period typical homophobia, bi panic, completely invented backstory (you got on this ride folks lol), Rafael being surprisingly supportive, cuddling, and of course a little bit of teasing Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 2293 Summary: It's not often that Fred instigates anything with Rafael except an argument.

It’s late by the time Fred and Rafael finally make their way to bed. They shower and put pajamas on while waiting for the food to arrive and once they eat, they finish the bottle of wine that Fred had opened earlier and spend the rest of the evening chatting and watching some dumb movie on TV.

Lying in Fred’s bed in his borrowed clothes, Rafael can’t help but smile to himself. After weeks of skittishness from Fred he had finally made it past some of the walls that the doctor had put up. Fred curled close to Rafael while they watched the movie, dragging a blanket over the two of them and cozying up entirely unprompted.

When Fred comes out of the bathroom and flicks the lights off, he’s even more pleased that Fred doesn’t seem to hesitate to lie close to him in bed or reach out for his hand.

“Thank you for letting me stay,” Rafael murmurs, to break the silence more than anything. He hears Fred scoff.

“I was hardly going to kick you out as soon as we were done.” As best as he can, Rafael turns on his side trying to make Fred out in the darkness of the room.

“I know. I just wasn’t sure how you’d feel.” He’s not at his most eloquent or subtle, but he wants to acknowledge what happened between them. “You were… hesitant at first and I just want to make sure you didn’t feel like you had to do this. As of a few days ago you were still pretty clear that you were not comfortable with the two of us having sex.”

Rafael doesn’t want to force a confidence, but he feels like he has to make sure. He’s coming to care too deeply about the arrogant chronically awkward man next to him to just let this go with vague assurances. He hears Fred shift onto his back and wants nothing more than to drag him into his arms and kiss his stupid, conceited face, but he holds himself still and waits for Fred to answer him, giving him the space he clearly wants.

“This wasn’t as sudden as you think it was,” Fred assures him eventually, face still pointed at the ceiling. “I’ve been thinking about this since, you know, that first time.” Rafael can practically feel Fred’s blush from his side of the bed and grins. “And my reticence was never about you, you know that, yes?”

Rafael nods, realizes Fred probably can’t see him, and clears his throat.

“Yeah, I figured as much. I am, after all, a damn catch.”

Rafael yelps as Fred reaches out, faster than he thought was possible for a well-fed psychiatrist who sits behind a desk all day, and smacks him on the chest.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, together in the dark cocoon of Fred’s bedroom, before Rafael sighs. He can’t help but notice the similarities between the blank peacefulness of Fred’s minimalist design and the deliberately organized calm of a therapist’s office and wonders if he did that on purpose. Maybe it’s a natural inclination, he muses idly. It invites honesty. The sharing of secrets.

“I’m only eighteen months younger than Benn, you know,” Fred says eventually, and it’s so unexpected that Rafael finds himself frowning a little in confusion. “All the way through school, I was Bennett Chilton’s younger brother; just the little brother of the handsome quarterback that everyone adored.” Rafael has seen photos of Bennett, tall and painfully handsome. He can see that it might have been hard to grow up in that shadow.

“He came out when he was sixteen, and I was fourteen. And I’m sure you can imagine what that was like at an all-boys Catholic school in Virginia in the eighties.” Rafael winces in the dark. He remembers well enough the attitudes in his own high school, in marginally more liberal New York. He can’t imagine what it must have been like in a place without a visible community to look up to.

“People were mostly smart enough not to say anything to Benn’s face--he was a six foot two starter who never backed down from a fight, they would have had to have been stupid--and our parents were supportive. But the things people said about him behind his back--” Fred shudders, an involuntary shiver that makes Rafael want to wrap his arms around him and never let go.

Instead, he just squeezes Fred’s hand reassuringly and waits for him to continue. For someone who has trouble shutting up at the very best of times--staying silent isn’t Rafael’s forte--he is doing an admirable job tonight. His desire to prove he’s worthy of this unexpected vulnerability from Fred is more than enough to keep him quiet. Rafael is desperate to know more, to know everything about Fred; about what makes him tick, about why he was so reticent, so reserved, when clearly this is something that he enjoys.

“It was awful. The kind of things you never want to hear about somebody you love. And I was hardly in any position to be giving out bloody noses or black eyes whenever someone called him a fag, or made some crack about AIDS.” Rafael shifts slightly nearer, still not saying anything. He smiles to himself when he feels one of Fred’s hands reach up to rest on Rafael’s hip.

“I was a short, scrawny child--I spent a lot of time in the hospital and home sick--and I couldn’t afford to give the other boys in my school one more reason to pick on me so I just… didn’t say anything. I’m not proud of it, but it’s not like Benn had any trouble sticking up for himself. I doubt he would have appreciated anyone stealing his opportunity to get into one more fight anyways.”

Rafael covers the hand Fred has on his hip with his own, deciding now is not the time to joke that he can’t ever imagine Fred as scrawny. Fred clears his throat again and continues in the same calm, rehearsed manner. Like this is something that he witnessed happening to someone else.

“It wasn’t long after that that I had my own month of absolute pure terror and confusion. It was one of Bennett’s teammates from the swim team that actually sent me over the edge. His name was Bobby and he was gorgeous. He had never made any jokes about Bennett, never joked about changing somewhere else in the locker room. He was a little stupid, I can admit that now, but back then I thought he was perfect. I worshipped my brother and this pretty boy clearly did the same.

“Well, I was horrified. Up until then I had been fully and completely in love with a girl I had known practically since infancy. Was all of that a lie? Was being gay genetic? Was Billy going to go through the same thing? It took me a whole month before I had the guts to ask Bennett and I nearly stabbed him with our father’s letter opener when he laughed at me.”

Rafael winces again, knowing how touchy Fred is now, a grown adult well-respected in his professional field and still a little obsessed with slights, perceived and real. Fred huffs, forcing any trace of bitterness out of his voice.

“He told me that you can like girls and boys at the same time and that I should go see if I still liked jerking off to pictures of Jennifer Connolly.” Rafael isn’t able to suppress his snort.

“I always liked Carrie Fisher,” he tells Fred, smiling over at him.

“You would, you pervert,” Fred shoots back. “Probably loved that bikini, didn’t you?”

“I think I’ll plead the Fifth on that one.”

Fred shakes his head and sighs deeply.

“Well, naturally, that was enough humiliation for me for one afternoon and so I threw a throw pillow at him and bolted for my room.”

“Did you jerk off to Jennifer Connolly?”

“Rafael, I can still kick you out of this apartment.”

“Sorry.” Rafael is silent for all of twelve seconds before he asks again, “Come on Fred, I’ve got to know; did you?”

“...Maybe,” Fred reluctantly admits. Rafael laughs and squeezes his hand.

“Moving on from your prurient obsession with my teenaged masturbatory life,” Fred says pointedly, managing to sound arch, offended, and haughty all at the same time. “I contemplated for a while what Benn had told me. A long time actually--that percolated in my brain all throughout the rest of high school. I only ever dated girls, I ignored it completely every time I was even remotely attracted to another boy, but I kept thinking about that. Not only did I have a lifelong conviction that if Bennett said it it must be so, but it just sort of felt right, you know?”

Rafael nods, remembering a similar feeling he had when he was younger. Despite what the other boys in his neighborhood said about “queers”, despite what the Church said, and despite what he knew his father would do to him if he heard Rafael’s thoughts, he was what he was and that was that. Fuck anyone who said different, he remembered thinking. It’s not like he could change it, even if he wanted to.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he answers when it’s clear that Fred requires some encouragement to continue. Fred twines his fingers with Rafael’s before carrying on.

“I lived with Benn in college. Our father bought him an apartment in Cambridge the day he got his acceptance letter from Harvard, and it only seemed logical that I’d move in once I got accepted too. And, I don’t know. It was a little easier there.” Rafael thinks he grimaces, but it’s hard to tell in the dark.

“It has been a while though, since I’ve indulged. And I've never participated frequently.” Every word seems like it’s forced out of Fred’s mouth.

“All this to say, Rafael,” Fred murmurs, inching closer across the sheets, “Is that the problem was never you.”

Rafael gathers him into his arms this time. Fred goes willingly, releasing a heavy, shaky breath and clearly relieved to not be talking about this anymore.

“I know,” Rafael reassures him. “I know it wasn’t me. I was just… I don’t know. I was worried.” He smiles, giving Fred another squeeze. “You’re a delicate little flower Freddie, I want to make sure I don’t trample all over you.”

“Get out of this bed this instant.”

Rafael laughs and they settle down to sleep.

***

The three of them celebrate in Rafael’s tiny Brooklyn apartment when Fred returns from Baltimore. He insists that he wants to cook and, though he had his doubts about his equally minuscule kitchen, manages to turn out an incredible ropa vieja. His mother would be proud.

When the empty plates are discarded on his coffee table, stacked haphazardly and waiting to eventually be washed by whoever loses the inevitable game of ‘who had the harder day’, Rafael sinks back into the couch and smiles benignly basking in the praise of the two of them and their company. Four days is starting to become too long to go between times when they’re all together and though he wants to frown at the unpleasant feeling of missing the both of them when they aren’t around he loves it a little bit as well. Every other wandering thought was of the two of them and he can’t deny that it's nice to feel these first desperate stirrings of a relationship again.

“I don’t know how you made all of that, Rafael. I’m pretty sure my cousin Caroline had a bigger kitchen in her dollhouse.” Fred surprises him when he leans closer to Rafael, snuggling contentedly against him. Rafael had told the third of their little trio that he and Fred had finally slept together--hiding things in a threesome was the quickest way to hurt feelings. Everyone was going to eventually do things without everyone involved and it’s best to just let that out in the open--but he hadn’t expected Fred to offer such casual affection so freely.

Rafael catches her looking at the two of them with a soft smile on her face and returns it with one of his own. She hid it well but she was a little disappointed during their FaceTime when he had warned her that Fred might not be overly demonstrative yet. Rafael knew she felt a little--guilty wasn’t the word she would use, he knew, if he could ever get her to talk about it--uncomfortable about how much more open Fred was with her than he was with Rafael. He loves how hard she tries to remind him that Fred is just anxious, cautious, a little scared. Rafael is a grown man and doesn’t need his hand held, but the fact that she tries to anyways makes his heart feel like it’s growing through his ribcage sometimes.

When Rafael looks back down at Fred he looks like he’s about to fall asleep with his head nuzzled against Rafael’s shoulder. He would describe it as endearing until Fred moves one of his hands high onto Rafael’s thigh. Rafael smirks.

“All it took was one night and he’s already falling for me,” he says to her in a stage whisper. Fred is unfortunately still awake enough to jab Rafael in the ribs, settling down only after the air is knocked out of Rafael’s lungs with an “oof”.

“As long as you remember to invite me to the wedding,” she teases. Rafael watches her duck admirably as Fred throws a cushion at her head.

“You’re supposed to throw a bouquet at me, not a pillow!”

[justletmeplayminecraft]

xisuma doesn’t smooth over a server glitch fast enough. the others have to save him from the consequences.

in this fic, i play loosely with minecraft mechanics to create angst. very loosely. don’t think too much about ‘em. you can also date how long i’ve spent on this by the projects they’re working on. 

featuring: being an admin gives you a connection to the server, xisuma has a less than stellar day, angst/comfort, zed is an ender hybrid, false & tango are minor admins, getting stuck in blocks is not a fun experience, the hermits care a lot about each other.

warnings: sensory deprivation, starvation, suffocation, its a death loop babyyy, a fair amount of panic, fighting code, glitches, helplessness, it’s pretty whumpy before the comfort. let me know if something’s missing here.

also on ao3. link in replies.

Xisuma sighs as the sun beats down on him. It's barely let up, even on the outskirts of the jungle. He enjoys the brief stints in the shadow of the giant quartz walls. Even then, waves of heat come off them. All of the structures in his base are a heat trap. Clearing out several layers of dirt and stone is a necessity he should've left for another day. With a click, he tugs his helmet off his head. The humidity outside is worse than his filtered air. He tucks the helmet under his arm, pushing sweat slicked hair from his face.

He's made good progress levelling this arena space. He leaves his helmet on his bed and heads to the temporary storage chests. They're filling up quickly, he notices, as he starts emptying his inventory into them. Except, something's broken. The stacks of blocks aren't all moving. He tries a few times before sighing, ruffling his hair. When he turns to the area he's been mining, it's still empty. It's been a long time since they've had desync this bad. He's not even sure when it started.

Stepping gently across the stone, he can feel the heat rising from them. He'll rollback the world and then he'll relax by Keralis's river. The farm is delightfully cool. Anything will be better than this oppressive heat.

He's almost reached his bed when something takes hold in his chest and pulls.

He stumbles forward with a gasp. Of course, the server decides to fix itself this time. He forces his feet forward, trying to reach his helmet so he can smooth things over. He only makes it two steps until his eyes are forced shut as the server reloads. For a split second, all he feels is the chill of the void as chunks reload around him.

He opens his eyes to darkness. It feels like he's suspended in space, unable to move. There's a suffocating pressure around him. Though it's with shallow breaths, he can still breathe. Did something go wrong? He blinks hard. All of his limbs are accounted for, he's certainly present. Even when he's working in the void there are still particles around him. His attempt to raise his arm fails, finding it impossible to open his back up admin panel. His helmet is- where even is his helmet?

His breath hitches, a feeling of panic escaping his controlled calm. He feels like he can't breathe. He can't move. He's trapped in his own body.

What's happening?

-

[MumboJumbo] anybody else just experience some major desync?

[Keralis1] Oh, is that what that was?

[Zedaph] I had nearly finished my redstone! All of that work, gone!

[FalseSymmetry] didn't you notice you weren't actually... losing anything from your inventory?

[Tango] he was probably too caught up in his supposed mastery

[FalseSymmetry] everybody okay though?

[Grian] all good here!

[Zedaph] Only my pride's wounded.

-

False looks down at the bedrock layer at her base. Like half an hour spent placing glass, all gone to waste. She groans, closing her chat as it pings away. Sure, she can rib Zedaph, but that doesn't change the fact she just did the exact same thing. She kicks off the sidewalk, gliding to the bedrock layer. She can feel the cold of the void float up with specks of grey.

"Good going, False," she murmurs. Some patches of glass survived. It's almost worse, that's going to be so much less satisfying to fill in. She takes her goggles off, tugging her hair loose to tie it in a low ponytail. Usually Xisuma gives them a warning before the server resets like that. It always messes up her hair, leaves it floaty and static.

She adjusts her goggles on her head, opening the player menu. Xisuma's currently online. She checks chat. He hasn't said anything. She considers it strange, but it's not unusual. Maybe he's been at a farm and isn't AFKing. She types out a private message, sending it across to him.

[FalseSymmetry to Xisuma] hey x, server blipped, might need to check it when you get back.

She'll see if he returns her message. She's got glass to place.

-

Iskall looks through his in-progress sorting system with a frown. It's broken somewhere. The stupid server reload has glitched it out and he can't find how. He's checked the redstone, he's checked the hoppers and he's checked the chests! Which means it's glitched. Either Xisuma reloads the chunk for him, or he's going to have to tear it down.

Actually, he'll probably have to tear it down anyway. Reloading the chunk will only roll it back.

At least he's not the only person who's redstone has been ruined. The thought brings some comfort. If he has to be miserable, somebody else should be too. He opens his communicator, checking who's around at the moment. That might take his mind off it.

He notices that Xisuma's online. Their admin has been quiet in chat since the reload. Maybe there's something going on behind the scenes he's having to sort out. He'll reach out to Mumbo and Grian, but first, he sends a message X's way.

[iskall85 to Xisuma] hey is everything alright? nothing broke?

[iskall85 to Xisuma] don't forget you can reach out to us if you need help.

-

He has no idea how much time has passed. Usually he's connected intrinsically to the server. It helps him keep track of the world, dig out any errors or mishaps - sometimes before his suit alerts him. It's essential for his job in order to keep things running smoothly. The server is always there, at the edges of his consciousness.

In this nothing, he can't even keep track of his internal clock. Perhaps it's his own panic, but the code he tries to reach out to feels fuzzy. It feels like it's glitching, sending shooting pains through his head if he focuses too hard. He couldn't take a guess how long he's been trapped. His breathing still comes too fast and shallow, ignoring his attempts to calm down.

He's completely helpless here. And he doesn't even know where here is.

-

Tango stares up at the stars on his ceiling. He checks his inventory again, counting aloud. He flicks it off with a frown. Yeah, he's definitely missing some. It's not a massive deal, Impulse will be happy to help out. But if he's having problems then some of the other hermits might be. Perhaps they fell and despawned in the reload. Either way.

"Tangoooooo!" The cry is accompanied by several rockets, something hitting the ground and the sound of damage. He chuckles, stepping away as Zed soars over the edge, stumbling forward with a flutter of his elytra. Tango straightens him up with his free hand.

"No, I'm not doing your redstone for you." Zedaph gasps, dusting off his jeans. He bounces up with a grin.

"You really think I'd come all this way for that?" Zed questions.

"So why have you come all the way here?"

"I'm bored," Zed replies. "And it still stings too much to do my redstone again." Tango laughs, opening up his chat. Xisuma's online, though Tango doesn't expect an immediate response.

"How do you feel about some wither grinding?" He types a message to Xisuma, Zedaph attempting to peer over his shoulder.

"Mmm, I don't see why not."

[Tango to Xisuma] Hey, seem to have lost some stars when the server reset

[Tango to Xisuma] might wanna check nothing important got eaten.

"Right, let's go."

-

Keralis hums, staring at the plot he was about to start building on. The area has been a bit... Funny. He'll break and replace a block, only to have it switch again. He might have to work on another area until it sorts itself out. His attempts at working here started after the reload, so he doesn't know if that caused it. He's not been able to spot Xisuma nearby either. He's been online, but Keralis hasn't spotted him in chat for a while.

He sighs as he watches the last blocks he placed switch back as if nothing happened. Crossing his arms, he examines the area. He wonders how big this is. Definitely more than one chunk. His new house is going to have to wait. He was excited to show Xisuma around, too.

With a glance at the sky, he realises it's late afternoon. He yawns, stretching his back out. Perhaps it'll be best to settle in his office and work on some future designs. He'll drop a message in chat first, in case this is affecting anyone else. It might give him an excuse to hunt down Shishwamy. He always feels guilty bothering him about things. Their admin takes far too much responsibility on his shoulders. They’re all adults. Keralis wishes he’d ask for help sometimes.

-

[Keralis1] Has anyone else been having glitchy blocks?

[iskall85] some of my redstone is broken but it's no biggie

[Tango] lost some of my nether stars with the reload but it's been fine since.

[FalseSymmetry] been placing glass without any problems since the reset

[MumboJumbo] I haven't had any problems either.

[Keralis1] A bunch of chunks around our bases are glitching

[Keralis1] but it seems like Shishwamy is busy :(

[Grian] well it looks like he just went afk

[iskall85] that answers that lol

-

His mind is becoming blurry. It's hard to focus on... Anything. He can't tell if it's because he's struggling to breathe, or something further, tugging him down and away. He tries to fight against it but there's nothing he can do to stay present. He can't hear anything, barely even his shallow breaths. He can only feel the consistent pressure on every inch of his body, the wet tears on his cheeks. He tries pulling on every one of his senses, but nothing comes up.

He slips under.

-

False empties the last of this glass stack, stepping back at a job well done. She smiles, rubbing her aching hands. It's nice to finally work on this part of her base. Even better now it's not going to pick itself up. At least she hopes so. She'll be right annoyed if it happens again. Something's been tingling at the back of her head, though. She wonders if it's because of the reset.

She looks up at the late afternoon sky. That's enough work for today. As she stretches, she can feel each and every ache in her body. She brushes away her hair, already falling loose. Maybe she'll have something nice for dinner. Some steak, potatoes and pumpkin pie. If she has pumpkin, of course. Xisuma was planning to build a pumpkin farm, wasn't he? His traditional pumpkin and melon combination. She chuckles to herself as she pulls out her rockets.

No matter how things change from season to season, there will always be things that don't. Hermits might come and go, but they'll always be her family.

She launches up, shooting through the water barrier. It's fast enough it doesn't stick. She lands gracefully, making her way to the kitchen. She hopes this nudging in her head doesn't get worse. She just wants to enjoy a nice meal. That's all.

-

"Well, I think we have a plan," Grian declares, grinning from his perch. His legs are crossed, hands resting in his lap.

"I mean, we didn't exactly need a plan to fix our redstone," Mumbo replies, slouched in his chair the way he only ever does in front of them. Iskall chuckles, resting his hands behind his head. They've really helped take his mind off the broken redstone. Mumbo had a similar problem, so tomorrow they'll meet up again and attempt some fixes.

"Always helps," Iskall says, shrugging. "Especially when one of us spends so much time in the Nether depths, now." Grian laughs, his legs kicking.

"Hey, I'm doing good work out there!" Mumbo yawns, looking between them.

"Well I don't know about you two, but I'm exhausted."

"Food then sleep?" Grian suggests. Iskall nods. It's been a long day.

-

It's dark as Zedaph and Tango return from The End. Zedaph yawns, running a hand through his hair, messing it up. Tango rubs the side of his own hair. Something's been bothering him, but he can't tell what. Like there's something just not... Right. Zedaph is chatting beside him, a bounce in his step. It's like he doesn't feel it at all.

"Do you want to have dinner together?" Zed asks, twirling his sword by his side. They've repaired their tools, done everything properly. It's been a hard day's work, but they've achieved a lot, even with the setback.

"Yeah, dinner sounds good." He looks at the night sky, squinting his eyes. Zedaph tilts his head at him. The purple eyes are concerned, particles floating up in his worry.

"Tango, are you okay? You seem... Off." Tango sighs, waving Zedaph's worry away.

"Something's nagging me. It's not a big deal." Zedaph's still frowning, but the particles die down.

"Let's just get you something to eat, yeah?" Tango nods, leaning into Zedaph when he squeezes his shoulder.

"Sounds good to me."

-

Keralis watches the night sky overhead. He's sat in the doorway to his office, a blanket around his shoulders. The stars are always a beautiful sight. It's the perfect way to relax after such a, hm, busy day. Not busy in a conventional sense, no, but still busy. His specially commissioned noteblock song plays in the background, a perfect accompaniment in the peaceful night. He thinks it's strange how the stars always seem the same no matter what world they're in. Maybe he should ask Xisuma about it in the future.

He pops up his screens open. Xisuma is still afk. He misses seeing his neighbour out and about. Xisuma often spends time at his farms, it's nothing new. But Keralis enjoys saying hello to him! Especially after missing well... Years of his life. He tries not to think about that.

With a sigh, he lies against the doorway. Time for bed soon. He laughs at the sound of Bubbles' voice in his head. His communicator beeps and he glances over to it.

Huh. That's interesting.

-

Xisuma is thrown into full consciousness. His stomach is still cramping with phantom hunger. He opens his eyes and finds...

Black.

No, no, he died. He died. Why has he respawned here? He chokes on his sob, realising no air is entering his lungs. His cheeks are still wet with tears, more leaking out as he gasps at nothing. His lungs burn, unable to take the shallow breaths he needs to. Would it even help? He wants to curl up, clutch at the growing pain in his chest. But he can't move an inch. Heaviness sinks into his limbs and head.

He wakes again in the same place. He doesn't know if he wants to scream or cry. There's not enough air for him to scream, anyway.

-

[Xisuma starved to death]

[MumboJumbo] X?? mate?

[Tango] X?

[FalseSymmetry] do we need to get your stuff?

[Keralis1] I'm by his base.

[Tango] he's not afk anymore

[Grian] x???????

[iskall85] maybe he's getting his stuff rn

[Keralis1] Shishwammmmyyyyyyy

[MumboJumbo] starving isn't a nice way to go

[Zedaph] It really isn't.

[Xisuma suffocated]

[iskall85] oh no

[FalseSymmetry] x???? im going over

[Keralis1] so am i

[Tango] this isn't right, this really isn't right

[Xisuma suffocated]

[Grian] what's going on???

-

False shimmies back into her elytra, reaching for the one jacket potato that finished cooking. So much for having a sit-down meal. She rubs her head, pushing away the fear that has something to do with this. Her communicator continues beeping as she grabs her rockets. She runs to the entrance, kicking off and launching into the air.

-

"We should go and help," Iskall decides, already picking up his armour.

"Thought you'd never say." Mumbo straps his elytra on, grabbing a spare shulker box and an ender chest. Grian nods with a seriousness that doesn't fit on his face.

"Let's go."

-

"We're going?" Zed asks. He's already stuffing food into his mouth. Tango rubs his temples, nodding. He takes the elytra that's thrusted into his hand.

"Yeah. We're definitely going." He watches the particles floating off Zed in waves, glowing the same purple as his pupils. Tango presses his eyes shut against another spike of pain as their communicators beep. "C'mon."

-

Keralis scrabbles until he balances on the tower roof. He's searched each one and not found X anywhere. Tapping his foot, he meddles with his communicator to turn some settings on. He has no minor admin powers - that he has to leave to False and Tango - but he can at least try this.

"Ah-hah!" He grins as hitboxes light up beneath him, hopefully a better clue where his currently red coloured friend may be. He scans the towers closely, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary. There are a few mobs, especially as night sets in. Then he sees Xisuma's new build.

He has to take a step back at the sight. The chunks look- a mess. The outline of the blocks are overlapped or flickering. It hurts to look at. Blocks aren't meant to highlight like that. He glides across the treetops. It not only covers the area he was trying to work earlier but spreads into Xisuma's current build. Yeah that's- that's bad. That's not good. His communicator has continued to beep with messages as he searched. He goes to read it, and spots different colours in the mess. The red of an eyeline. He stands on his toes, leaning off the leaves. The outline flickers in and out, accompanied by a beep.

He thinks he's found X.

-

[Xisuma suffocated]

[Keralis1] he's in his new build!

[Keralis1] I think I can see him in the ground

[Keralis1] it is very very broken

[FalseSymmetry] tango? you on your way?

[Tango] as we speak

[Tango] been a long time since we've had to use these powers

[FalseSymmetry] not long enough

-

Tango and Zedaph are the first to land by Keralis's side. They kick up loose powder from the road, taking in the massive structure in front of them. Tango's shoulders raise, cringing at the sight.

"That's definitely broken," he agrees, his eyes twisting as they focus.

"And Xisuma's in the middle of it?" Zedaph looks at Keralis. He nods, usually big eyes sharply focused. He points beyond the walls.

"You can just see his name tag. I think the glitched blocks have got him stuck. I tried to build there earlier but nothing would stay." Tango presses his lips together in thought as False lands. They nod to each other in acknowledgement.

"How long does it take until the blocks pop back?"

Keralis hums, tapping his chin before answering, "About ten seconds, I think."

"That's not going to be enough time to reach him," Zed says. "Can't you just teleport him?" He looks at Tango and False. Tango opens his console menu, typing something in. Zed can tell the answer before Tango says it.

"What ideas do we have?" Keralis asks. "We can't just leave him there!"

"Of course not!" Tango replies, sounding shocked at the suggestion. "We just- need a plan." False nods.

"We're not as powerful as X," she explains, "Together we should be able to roll back these chunks but- I have no idea what that would mean for Xisuma. We don't really work with player code." She brushes her hair back. The conversation is paused as the trio of Grian, Iskall and Mumbo land beside them. The three slot in, listening as they're caught up.

"There has to be something that's making him spawn there." Iskall points out, his hand held towards the structure. False searches through the control panel, whilst Keralis and Tango simply examine the messed up blocks.

"He has a bed in there," Tango answers. False taps where Xisuma's spawn is tied to on her screen.

"Since the blocks are glitched, it must mean the bed isn't like... Registering them. Since they don't fully exist." She thinks about it carefully, putting the pieces together as she explains.

"So if we break the bed, he'll respawn at the world spawn?" Grian suggests.

"But how do we get down there?" Mumbo turns to look. It's pretty far down in the ground. They'd have to move quick to get near where Xisuma is.

"There's a few of us." Iskall waves at the gathered group. "I say with enough TNT and manpower, we could do it."

"Wait-" Zedaph holds his hand up, "-Get me close enough and I can teleport in there, get the bed. Less blocks to destroy."

"Zed." Tango turns to him, glaring at the blond. "That's a stupid idea, don't you get how dangerous that is-"

"Xisuma is stuck in a death loop, Tango!" Zed cuts in, raising his voice. The others fall silent, not sure how to handle this exchange. "Sure, I might die a bit! That's nothing compared to what Xisuma's currently experiencing."

"TNT will destroy a fair amount, but it already puts us on a time limit," Grian adds, a sideways agreement.

"I'm willing to do it. Either we reach the bed, or I teleport in." Zed says it with finality. The others don't argue. False checks his spawn point. Zedaph will respawn back in his cave, safe and sound. Even if it goes wrong, it'll be recoverable.

"We need to be ready to roll back the chunks," False says, focusing on Tango. "If I have this headache for much longer I'm going to go insane." Tango smiles tiredly.

"Fine. Let's try this." He shrugs. "I don't think we have a better idea."

"Well, come on! Let's go!" Keralis claps, placing an ender chest. Tango sighs, typing in a command.

"I think I'm allowed this time," he says, a stack of TNT appearing in his hand.

"And other times?" Grian asks. Even through the teasing, they can hear the fear in his voice.

"Don't push it."

-

There's noises. He blinks his eyes open into the unending darkness. He tries to focus past his burning chest and the weight of his body. There's... Definitely noises up above him. It sounds like explosions. The space he's stuck in shakes slightly. After another lapse, he gasps back to life in the same position. He wants to scream, tell somebody he's down here. This opportunity might not come again.

Then he feels a sharp stab of pain. Something is there, near him. Everything hurts and he still can't breathe. For a moment, he thinks he hears the trill of an Enderman. His tired mind can't figure out how as he runs out of air.

He wakes up to a chill. He slightly opens his eyes, spotting yellow sand as he falls, blacking out.

-

[Xisuma suffocated]

[Zedaph suffocated]

[Grian] have we done it?

[Keralis1] he's at worldspawn! got him!

[iskall85] YES!!!

[Zedaph] Oh thank goodness I don't want to do that again

[World reloaded]

[Tango] Z, you okay?

[Zedaph] I'm good. Bring my stuff? I'm going to worldspawn

[FalseSymmetry] will do

-

"Keralis!" Zedaph's elytra beats as he lands, feet digging into the sand. "Is he okay?" Keralis nods. Xisuma's head is resting in his lap. The admin's eyes are closed as he breathes slowly. His expression is relaxed. It's a good sight to see. The spawn island is lit up well, but Keralis keeps his eye on the surrounding oceans.

"He's sleeping," Keralis says, messing with strands of brown hair. "I don't think I'm strong enough to move him on my own." Zedaph drops onto the sand next to them, crossing his legs. There are still bright particles floating off him, his eyes fully purple. "What about you, Zee?" Zedaph seems to notice Keralis's focus, ducking away to hide his eyes.

"Um, not the best. That kind of sucked. But, it worked, and that's what matters!"

"Make sure you look after yourself, too," Keralis tells him. "Fighting the server's code isn't easy." Zedaph laughs, resting on his hands.

"Can say that again. Forgot we have anti-enderman griefing." Keralis cringes, realising why Zed looks so much like he might collapse. It'll pass, but it's never fun to go against programming like that. The architech trio arrives next. All of them look relieved to see the three on the island.

"Oh, Zedaph, I have your stuff." Mumbo starts emptying it out, the few things Zedaph couldn't fit in an ender chest. Zedaph smiles, tugging his helmet on and feeling a lot more comfortable. He tries not to meet anybody's eyes.

"Tango and False will be on their way. They're just checking everything's good," Grian tells them, hands moving quickly as he talks.

"Should we try moving X somewhere safer?" Iskall suggests. "The shopping district isn't that far."

"If you're willing to boat him." Keralis is firm. "I don't want him dropped in the ocean."

"I swear nothing will happen to him under our watch." Grian puts his hand on his heart. Iskall and Mumbo nod in agreement.

"It'll be the safest boat journey on the server." Iskall's hands are on his hips. Keralis tilts his head up.

"Look into my eyes and nothing but my eyes, if anything happens to my Shishwamy, I will not hold back." The architechs look suitably threatened.

"Can I boat with someone?" Zedaph asks. "I nearly crashed so many times flying over here."

"Hop in the back of mine!" Iskall calls, placing one in the water. Grian plucks Xisuma into his arms, carrying him to the edge of the water. He sets the admin in the boat before climbing in himself. Keralis checks him over before nodding and allowing Grian to keep him.

"I've told the others to meet us there," Mumbo says. "I'm going to fly across and see where's best to bunker down. I think we could all use some sleep."

Zedaph looks at the moon hanging overhead, "Yeah, I think we could."

-

[MumboJumbo] we're heading to the shopping district.

[FalseSymmetry] thats a good plan

[MumboJumbo] any idea who's shop we could stay in?

[FalseSymmetry] my dimension shop is pretty empty

[FalseSymmetry] plenty of room for some beds. pretty warm.

[Tango] we'll get it set up for you

[MumboJumbo] ok. ill protect the others

[Keralis1] so will I.

-

The first thing Xisuma picks up on is the talking. He stays still, trying to tell if his brain is playing tricks on him after so long in the nothing. His body is like a rock. He's barely able to move. His lungs still ache and it takes some conscious effort to continue breathing. He blinks his eyes open, wincing at bright lights. Light. There's light. He rolls forward, a sob leaving his lips before he can catch it.

"Xisuma, hey, hey." The voice is soft, casting a shadow over him. Xisuma forces his eyes open now the worst of the brightness is blocked out. Keralis is crouching in front of the bed. His fingers gently brush across Xisuma's cheek. For once, Xisuma doesn't feel the dried tears that had become his constant. "You're okay, you're safe. We got you." Xisuma takes a shaking breath in, squeezing his arms to feel the pressure of his own touch.

"Do you want your helmet?" He flits to look at False. The mere sight of his helmet is overwhelming. He reaches out and wraps it close to his chest. Keralis laughs gently, scratching through Xisuma's hair. The admin sighs, his eyes slipping closed once more.

"There you go." He can hear the smile in Keralis's voice. "We've got you, right here." The sound of movement. Cracking his eyes open reveals False sitting in front of the bed, weaving her hand into Xisuma's. He squeezes it gently.

"You're in my shop, in the shopping district," she tells him. "It's past midnight. You're completely safe here. We've got things sorted, there's nothing you need to worry about." A tear slips from his eye. Keralis wipes it away.

"What happened?" He can't make his voice louder than a whisper, and even that hurts.

"Something went wrong with the world reload," False tells him. He can trust her not to sugarcoat things. "We all had a few bugs, but the chunks around you glitched out badly. Created a bunch of like... Invisible blocks, but they were visible, if you get what I mean? They weren't fully there. Ugh, Tango's better at all this technical stuff." Xisuma tries to peer around for him, but the light still hurts if he looks for too long.

"You were stuck in a bunch of them," Keralis finishes. "We didn't realise until you starved and got stuck in a death loop. I'm really sorry, Xisuma."

"We broke your bed to get you out. Well, Zedaph did. The others got him close enough then Tango and I fixed the area. It's all sorted." Xisuma forces his sluggish brain to put the pieces together. He didn't dream up that enderman sound. That was-

"He's over there, sleeping. Tango's with him." Keralis points at a bed nearby. Tango's back blocks any sight of their part Ender friend, but Xisuma can see purple particles floating into the air. A concerning amount of them.

"What did Zed do?" He asks, the vice around his lungs tightening in concern.

"Um," Keralis answers, False looking at him. "He mentioned fighting the anti-enderman griefing code? So I think he picked the bed up." Xisuma's stomach drops. He tries to push himself up but collapses onto his back again.

"Hey, X, careful," False warns. Her voice is stern but Xisuma shakes his head.

"No- I-" He shuts his eyes, fighting off disorientation. "The server's going to keep fighting him. I've got to reset it." False helps him sit up, but she still watches him with concern. He picks up his helmet, pulling it on and relaxing slightly as all the displays flicker to life. Now when he looks at Zedaph he can see the extent of the damage. His very code seems to be fighting itself. "Help me up?"

False gets an arm around his chest. He ends up leaning his weight against her to stand, his legs shaking. She's firm, grip only tightening to accommodate his need. Keralis hovers nearby, ready to jump in if he has to. They take slow steps across the room. Xisuma strains to see under the light, but the tint of his helmet helps. He can see the architechs sat nearby, watching without any attempt at discretion.

Tango looks up as they approach. Xisuma can see the resignation on his face.

"This isn't going to fix itself, is it?" He asks. His hand in clasped tightly in Zedaph's, whose usually bright expression is twisted in pain. His skin is all too pale, black freckles spreading into larger patches across his face. He doesn't open his eyes, not even as Tango moves so Xisuma can sit down. The grip on each other's hand remains tight.

"I need to reset the code that's attacking him," Xisuma explains. His words have a tired slur he can't quite hide. "I'm gonna write an exception, I can't believe I haven't already just- not right now. Don't wanna do it wrong."

"Xisuma, it's okay." Tango smiles, pinched but genuine. "I'm sorry you need to do this." Xisuma shakes his head.

"It's nobody's fault," False says, "Do what you need to do, X. Then you're going back to bed." Keralis hums in agreement. Xisuma laughs softly as the command screens in his helmet boot up.

He zones out the others around him, leaning on Keralis's shoulder when his friend perches beside him. He scrolls through information as he brings up Zedaph's data on one screen. With one eye on it, he unlocks the data packs, searching through them. He gives voice instructions with his microphone muted to the outside world. Finding the pack he needs, he disables it and checks Zedaph's data. It looks like his code is straightening out again. Thank goodness. He makes sure all activity is deactivated before he turns the pack back on.

"That should do it," he mumbles, before realising his microphone is still off. He reactivates it before repeating himself.

"Maybe you should teach us a bit more sometime," False squeezes his shoulder, helping him up. Xisuma slings his arm over False with a nod. That would be good.

"Thank you, X." Tango smiles. He rubs his thumb across Zedaph's hand. The ender hybrid has relaxed, face slack. It looks like he's properly sleeping now. Xisuma can finally rest.

"Come on. Don't you fall asleep here, I don't want to carry you across." Xisuma hums, too tired to commit to any words. Before he knows it, he's sitting down on the comfortable bed again.

"Shishwam, lemme get your helmet." Xisuma nods, tilting his head up so Keralis can unlatch it and bring it off. His head rolls onto his shoulder the moment it's gone. Keralis giggles, ruffling his hair. "Come on, sleepy time." False lies him down, his helmet tucked safely in his arms. Keralis's hand slips into his. Xisuma shuts his eyes, before blinking them open again.

"Stay?" He asks, too tired to worry about being needy. He doesn't want to be alone in that darkness again.

"Of course," False replies.

"We're not going anywhere," Keralis adds. Xisuma smiles at them both, eyes slipping closed. The darkness is manageable with his friends by his side.

-

"Don't you dare wake them up," False hisses, watching as Grian and Iskall play with redstone. The morning sun is beginning to shine through the cracks in the windows. She's exhausted, having only caught a quick nap. Keralis is asleep next to Xisuma, sitting on the floor with his head resting on the bed. Tango's slid into bed beside Zedaph, holding him close to his chest. Mumbo's dead to the world across the room.

"We won't!" Grian calls, trying to figure out the game he could make out of this mechanic. Iskall has a Statues book open, an armour stand sat in front of a piston.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if the two people who have done this with armour stands were helping," Iskall points out, flicking through the pages.

"We're fine, it's part of the adventure!" Grian watches as the piston shoots the armour stand across the room. False smiles, leaning back against the bed. Some of the other hermits have been coming online with the early morning. Thankfully, they don't seem to know about everything that went down yesterday. It's best things are quiet for Xisuma whilst he rests. She's sure he’ll tell them about it. She'll make sure he does.

As the sun grows higher with the dawn, she dozes off again. Grian is yawning, him and Iskall only catching a few hours of sleep. He's still buzzing with activity. He'll crash later, easy enough.

It's to this quiet atmosphere that Xisuma wakes up. Iskall and Grian are still experimenting. Grian’s laughter rings out as the armour stand bounces in the air. The beat of the piston is monotonous, but they're nearly falling over each other at the sight. Xisuma watches with a soft smile, eyes barely opened.

"It we got one on top, do you think it would-" Grian holds his hand up, demonstrating an armour stand shaking up and down aggressively. Iskall chuckles, shaking his head.

"It's only the morning, we don't need to break physics yet."

"It's for science," Grian protests. He sounds breathless, half-delirious with his need for sleep.

"Please don't make me do work," Xisuma whispers, all too aware of the sleeping hermits around him. Grian perks up, Iskall turning to him with a grin.

"'Suma!" Iskall calls. Xisuma smiles at both of them, making no attempt to move. He's comfortable here and he doesn't want to wake his friends.

"Exy-Suma!" Grian slides across, leaving a gap from the sleeping hermits. Iskall stands by his side, resting his hand on Grian's shoulder. "How are you feeling?" Xisuma wraps his arm tighter around his helmet.

"Not the best, my friend," he answers honestly. "But I'm certainly better than before."

"Well, we'll just have to make that even better then." Grian is committed to the cause now. He's going to make Xisuma's day.

"You don't have to rush back into things," Iskall says, offering a smile. "I'm sure we can handle ourselves today."

"I don't think I'm getting out of this bed anytime soon." Xisuma looks down at Keralis, dark hair brushing Xisuma's chest plate. False is asleep slouched in the chair beside him. Even without being able to see the other occupants of the room, he can still tell they're sleeping. "Feels a bit weird not going for a jog at this time, though."

"I'm sure your legs won't wither away after one morning, X," Iskall jokes. "Be lazy like the rest of us." Grian grins.

"We could always play some mini-games later, too!" Xisuma laughs, stretching as much as he can without shifting Keralis. He's beginning to regret sleeping in his armour, but it's too late now.

The three chat with each other, Xisuma offering advice now he's awake. They're gradually building up a system to launch the armour stand across the room. Sure, they'll have to clean it all up later, but it passes the time and it makes them laugh. Hearing Xisuma laughing is good for all three of them, despite the roughness reminding them of last night's ordeal. It's safe to say that nobody envies Xisuma's experience.

The three jump at a strange, shrill noise, until the realisation kicks in. Zed is sitting up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Hair is falling into his face, ruffled from sleep. Tango remains slumped against him. He even rolls into the warmth Zedaph leaves behind. It takes a few seconds until the hybrid notices his audience. Zedaph jumps, smiling sheepishly.

"Oh, hi, sorry! Forgot I wasn't alone." His eyes are glowing brightly in the morning light. He looks down at the arm lazily clinging to his waist. "This oaf is used to it."

"No, no, you're okay," Xisuma tells him. False is stirring beside him, blinking to life, but Keralis remains out. "How are you feeling?" Zedaph taps his chin, resting his finger on his lip.

"Pretty well-rested, actually." Then his attention turns to Xisuma. "What about you? I should be asking you that question!" Xisuma laughs, flexing his fingers against his helmet.

"I'm okay. Taking it easy." He tilts his head towards Grian and Iskall. "Whether I like it or not, it seems."

"Too right," False agrees, yawning. "T'others can handle admin duties for today. You're ours."

"Is that a threat?"

"We can make it one!" Iskall tells him, his voice a lot more cheerful than the implication of his words. "We just need a good leash-"

"Oh absolutely not! Don't you dare!" Keralis pokes his head up next to him, trying to tune into the conversation. Zedaph laughs from across the room. He's tugging a bleary Tango to rest on his shoulder so he can wrap the blanket around them both.

"Oh come on, X, it'll be fun!" Grian wraps his arms around Iskall's shoulders. Xisuma shakes his head.

"You two are terrible. Absolutely terrible. Goodness me."

"I'm sure X will agree to take a day off willingly," False says, sounding far too threatening as she rubs sleep from her eyes.

"I already agreed. No leash required!"

"Why are we talking about leashes?" Keralis finally asks, looking more confused than anything. They break down into laughter.

-

[Grian] hello everyone

[iskall85] HALLO!

[iskall85] we are stealing your admin for the day!

[Grian] yeah he's ours.

[falsesymmetry] x had a rough night so he's having a day off

[falsesymmetry] so if any admins besides tango, x and i could step up please?

[cubfan135] yeah I'm on it.

[joehillssays] of course, and send our well wishes to our dear admin!

[Xisuma] your dear admin thanks you :-)

[Xisuma] please try not to break anything

[Etho] have a fun day lol

[joehillssays] don't make us lock you out of your screens, x!

[Keralis1] Nothing will get past us.

[iskall85] he's been suitably threatened.

[Renthedog] Should uh... We be concerned?

[Grian] about x-i-sooma finally getting a break?

[falsesymmetry] he's in safe hands. promise.

-

"Should we get this day started?" Tango asks. Grian is about to answer, only to yawn. He covers his mouth, face turning red.

"Another hour of sleep first?" False suggests. They look around the room, everyone in varying states of awareness.

"It never hurt anyone." Iskall shoves Mumbo over, fitting into bed beside him. "See y'all in an hour." Keralis smiles at Xisuma. He bumps their heads together.

"You deserve a break without being traumatised first, you know that Shishwamy?" He checks. Xisuma laughs, pressing their foreheads together.

"Yeah, I know." He leans back. "And I think I've got some good friends to remind me." False pats his back, getting comfortable enough to doze off again.

"And don't you forget it." Xisuma looks around the room. The architechs are fighting over the bed, Tango and Zedaph curled back up on theirs. He smiles, the fear from last night already on its way to being a distant memory.

"Don't think I can."

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Girl Group | Pepper Potts, Laura Barton, Wanda Maximoff, & Sharon Carter

Hi y'all— I was going to work on other things and then I saw this post from @imaginearyparties and got inspired to write about these women having a support group of sorts. I hope you enjoy this heal piece— I spent too long today writing it LOL

Synopsis: The story of four not so unlikely friends and how their girl group saves them.

Characters: Pepper Potts Stark, Laura Barton, Wanda Maximoff, Sharon Carter

Tags: Angst, mentions of death, funerals, toxic men, alcohol, girl friends, positive female relationships, Laura Barton being a mama bear, Pepper and Wanda and Sharon losing their shit

Word count: 3.2k

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴���➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵

It starts as an accident— it starts at a funeral. Three funerals, actually; Tony would have wanted to share his with the Widow and the Robot, after all.

Pepper Stark, Sharon Carter, Wanda Maximoff, and Laura Barton stand in a broken line in front of the water, all suspended with the same overarching, mixed feelings of dread and peace. For four women who look strikingly different from one another— especially Laura as she stands shadowed under Pepper’s goddess frame— they all do look quite indistinguishable. Maybe that’s just the black, though— maybe mourning blurs individuals into masses.

“I don’t think I can do it.” Pepper doesn’t cry when she admits her fears— she doesn’t have any tears left. “I don’t think I can raise her on my own.”

Laura, who’s been holding her hand for the better part of three days, squeezes it gently. “You aren’t alone, Pep. You’ll never be alone. You’ll always have a home with me.”

Laura and Pepper may be vastly different— an off the grid, stay at home mom and a business tycoon CEO— but the brunette means every word; she has since Tony introduced Pepper all those years ago.

Pepper nods. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“She’s something special,” Sharon pipes in from the other end of the line, her shoulder brushing a silent Wanda. “I could never.”

Sharon doesn’t know either of them as well as they know each other but still she stands by their sides, her own black dress just as itchy as theirs— sisters now branded together in the inevitabile uncomfort that comes with loss. She can’t stay long— she knows that— but Wanda had called her out of the blue, somehow, sounding more lost than ever, and the blonde has never been one to turn down a girl in a spiral.

Or, in this case, three.

Laura laughs lightly, sounding just as tired as she looks, and Wanda rubs her arm absentmindedly, her own voice a whisper compared to the other, stronger women. “I think I would have wanted children. Vis and I spoke about it a few times. Thinking about it now, though, it seems silly.”

Barely twenty-six and basically a widow herself, Wanda can’t feel her fingers shake as she tightens the cardigan around her shoulders. Sharon notices and acts— she’s good at that— taking her fingers and wrapping them in her own.

“It’s not silly— you would be a great mother.” She then projects her voice back to Pepper. “And you’re already a great mom, Pepper. You have a great kid.”

She’s not very good at comforting people but she has to try. Neither of the women comment back, but that’s okay. Sharon isn’t really expecting them to.

Instead, Wanda rests her head on the blonde’s shoulder. “When do you have to leave again?”

Sharon sighs— both from the way Wanda tries to hide her disappointment and from her own disappointment that’s bubbling in her throat. Because she is— disappointed— in the world and in some of the men in their lives. How Sharon Carter always manages to surround herself with men who can save the world but can’t find a spare moment to save her, she doesn’t know, but she can’t find it in herself to feel guilty over her anger.

“Tomorrow, probably.” She says bitterly. “You’re okay with me crashing one more night on your couch, right?”

Wanda could scoff— in fact, she does— Sharon should already know the answer. “I’d be okay if you crashed the rest of your life on my couch. I’d be okay if you all did.”

There’s more silence— it’s becoming a staple in their renegade band of misfit moms and runaway fugitives— and in that silence they unknowingly take a collective step closer together. Mourning gravitating towards mourning, women gravitating towards each other— Pepper throwing her arm around Laura’s shoulders and managing to give Wanda an I hear you scratch.

Laura— soft, sweet, tired Laura— is the one who breaks the silence—

“I have two bottles of Moscatto?”

— and for the first time in three days, Wanda laughs.

“I have a bottle of Stolichnaya— and every season of Bewitched.”

It progresses into a semi-regular thing after that— branching from funerals (and the sleepovers that follow them) into more casual, running-from-the-law type gatherings.

Wanda and Sharon stand once more in black, only this time they aren’t mourning— they’re getting ready for a party and standing around a shiny macbook air.

“What’s this function you two are going to again?” Laura’s voice— still tired but this time in a significantly less existential way— crackles through the speaker.

Her video, which is taking up half the screen, displays that of a full grown woman in a pink and darker pink striped onesie and a steaming cup of coffee in her hands. In the background, just visible enough to read, her stovetop flashes 5:46. Similarly, on the other side of the screen, Pepper’s messy knot of red hair— and her significantly more adult pyjamas— are illuminated by the glow of her alarm clock. 6:46.

“It’s just an art show—” Sharon answers, smiling into the camera for a quick moment before going back to righting the studs in her ears— “You know you didn’t have to wake up so early. You should both be getting as much sleep as possible— I hear being a mom is tough work.”

Both Laura and Pepper share a laugh at that and Wanda smiles too, not missing the tinge of you’re crazy for having kids in Sharon’s voice.

Laura takes a sip from her mug, humming her agreement. “It is but you know I wouldn’t miss our calls for the world. Besides, Clint is worse. The lug woke me up at five on his way out the door to check the frost damage. Husbands are more work.”

For a moment no one says anything and none of them can tell if it’s because everyone’s in their own little world of coffee and clothing or if it’s to give the two red heads a moment to clear their throats.

“Don’t I know it.” Pepper sighs.

Laura’s eyes, even through the screen, flash with sympathy but she doesn’t retract her statement or apologize. She knows she doesn’t need to— that’s not how their little group works. There’s no use in apologizing for things you can’t fix— especially not to Pepper.

Instead, Wanda turns to her sister-in-hair and asks her outright: “How are you holding up?”

Directness is always the best approach— it always garners an honest answer.

“I feel like shit.” Pepper laughs. “Half the time I can’t sleep and the other half I can’t drag myself out of bed. If it weren’t for Morgan I don’t know what I’d do. Rot, probably.”

Wanda huffs, turning so that Sharon can zip her silk dress. It’s significantly more comfortable than the one she had worn half a year ago. Bless Sharon Carter and her affinity for designer clothing.

“Can we consider Sharon my child then? Because without her I’m pretty sure I’d be in the same boat. Making sure she doesn’t burn down the apartment when she makes dinner is the only thing keeping me going.”

“Hey!” Wanda receives a light whap for the comment but it’s landed lovingly— after all, Sharon knows she can’t cook.

“You ladies are eating enough, right? And properly?” Laura chimes in, ever the mother in a group of moms.

Sharon and Wanda share a look that has Laura groaning from her dark kitchen table— not even time zones can stop her from worrying about the youngest members. She stands quickly to refill her mug and, as she does, hears the giggled response of—

“Does red wine and leftover burgers count?”

Laura doesn’t think it can get worse until Pepper chimes in. “I see we’re all on the same diet then.”

For a moment Wanda and Sharon disappear, most likely to look through Sharon’s collection of jewelry, and in their absence Laura and Pepper share a short, but very much needed, conversation.

“You’re still off work right now, right?” Laura asks, resting her heavy head in her hand.

Pepper nods once, rooting around the top of her side table for the damn remote— it’s like Tony’s still here, misplacing all her things. “Yeah— I don’t know when I’m going to go back. It’s just— it’s too soon, you know? I don’t know if I can. I don’t— god where’s the fucking remote! I could have sworn—”

Laura cuts Pepper off as her voice begins to turn frenzied— begins to crack. “I think you and Morgan should come stay with me for a little while. Like, for a few weeks. I think it would be good for you.” She watches Pepper cringe and before she can object, adds— “and for me. Clint’s been working a lot recently. I could really use some good company.”

Laura may be the simplest woman in the group but by no means does that make her the slowest— she knows the only way to get Pepper to agree to her idea is to play to her own motherly instincts.

As she’s expecting— it works. “Are you absolutely sure we wouldn’t be putting you and Clint out in any way?”

Laura can hear the exasperated relief starting to drip into her friend’s voice and has to swallow the lump in her own throat. “Of course it wouldn’t be— you’d never be putting me out, Pep.”

Pep. She hasn’t heard that in a while. She misses it— she misses a lot of things. A lot of people. The Bartons being some of them. It’s why she caves.

“Okay.”

Just as Laura nods— and finishes the last of her second coffee— the two fugitives that have been absent come ambling back, now dripping in flashy gemstones and expensive watches. Time has passed, enough that the girls have to scramble for the finishing touches of their outfits— something which can be heard when Sharon asks Wanda where she left the lipgloss.

“It’s already in my bag— your lips are glossed to perfection, stop worrying.” The red head fluffs her mane quickly before turning to the screen with a slight pout on her lips. “I can’t believe we just started the call and now we have to hang up. I hate time zones.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Pepper coos, “you both look incredible.”

“Edible.” Laura chimes in, giggling. “Go enjoy yourselves.”

The girls echo each other’s thank you, dallying with their goodbye’s but reiterating their I’ll call you later’s.

As an afterthought, right before Sharon can hit the power button on her macbook, Laura also adds— “Make sure to drink water!”

In no time semi-regular becomes regular and soon they all have a favourite hangout spot. Unfortunately, none of their favourite spots coincide with the others.

“You know—” Laura groans as she plunks down in her seat at the high up table— “I still don’t know what a gastropub is?”

“Tough—” Pepper rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her diet coke and tutting at her friend. “We all know you would rather be at the Starbucks down the road but some of us need more than coffee to run, Mrs. Barton.”

She’s decided to lay off the rosé for a little while and, in a show of solidarity, so has everyone else. Laura hmphs into the ginger ale that had already been waiting for her on the table but can’t keep the grin from turning up her lips— after all, Pepper’s right; she does want coffee. Wanda swirls her own cherry coke, giggling at their antics. Secretly she’s thinking the same thing but it was Pepper’s choice this time and she’ll eat just about anything.

“It’s a fancy word for comfort food—” Sharon snorts, actually answering, her eyes glued to the menu between her and Wanda as they decide which appetizer they want to share— “an easy way to cheat you out of twenty-six bucks for mac n’ cheese… Hey, look at these— buffalo cauliflower bites— you wanna’ try them?”

The red head nods enthusiastically. “You know I’ll take any chance to pretend to be healthy.”

The blonde laughs, shaking her head. “You’re literally perfect, Wan— all those fancy spells have to be burning, like, what? A thousand calories an hour?” Sharon turns her eyes to the other women who’re already listening with knowing grins. “You should’ve seen the men in Madripoor— and the women! Falling all over her— it was incredible!”

“Oh says you.” Wanda giggles back, catching the other red haired woman’s attention.

Pepper reaches across the table, swatting Sharon’s hand gently and whining. “You didn’t tell me about any men! Now I feel left out.”

“Don’t—” Sharon assures her, sobering suddenly at the topic change— “there are no men. I’m done with them— they’re more trouble than they’re worth. Even the ones you think are good.”

Especially those ones, she wants to add but keeps it to herself. Everyone here already knows how she feels anyway, mostly towards a certain golden-boy super-soldier. She lost everything for him— her home, her job, years she could have spent with her family— and for what? Just so he could turn around and literally fight time itself to be with her great aunt? To think, some women get a man who will invent time travel to be with them and she had to all but beg a man to clear her name for aiding a super hero.

Yeah— she’s still bitter, even after Sam worked his Captain America card to get her off the bureau’s watch list. It sure is funny how the literal Winter Soldier got his pardon before she got hers but— hey— that’s misogyny for you. She chases the acid in her mouth with a sip of orange soda. Fuck men.

“You know you can talk about it.” Laura reminds her gently, setting her own menu down— she doesn’t really need to look at it, she orders the same thing everytime.

“What’s there to talk about? I risked my life for him and he screwed me over. I get it— he’s more of a hero than I’ll ever be— but I guess I was kind of figuring I would get saved with, you know, the rest of the world. Sue me, I guess.”

Wanda slips her fingers between Sharon’s, nodding along. “I think some people forget that he—” she avoids saying Steve’s name; it’s for the best— “was as human as the rest of us. That he could be just as selfish as the rest of us.”

“And that they can get tired, too.” Pepper adds, her mind on Tony— her mind is always on Tony.

“And that they’re just like us— even if they think they’re not allowed to be.” Always the mother, Laura frowns at Wanda because, although she’s also thinking of her husband, the ginger needs to hear it as well.

“Whatever.” Sharon grumbles as she spots their waiter approaching, her mind shifting from her fallout with America’s golden-boy to the twenty-six dollar mac n’ cheese she’s going to obliterate. “I think I hate men. I’m happy just being with you.”

As has become custom, she receives three reactions: an awe from Laura, a me too from Pepper, and a kiss to her cheek from Wanda. It’s in that moment that she knows she isn’t lying— she really is content with her small group of girls.

They even— eventually— go on vacation together.

Four girls— two gingers, one blonde, and a brunette— lounge around a deliciously quiet poolside, soaking in as much of the Grecian sunshine as they can. One of them— the youngest— soaks in a little too much. Thankfully her friends are keeping a closer eye on her than she is.

“Wanda, you’re going pink. C’mere honey.” Laura sits up on her deck chair, patting the spot next to her. “Let’s touch your sunscreen up.”

Wanda— warm with sleep and sun— doesn’t put up a fuss, slipping in front of the brunette and pulling her hair into a sloppy bun to save it from the zinc cream. She sighs into Laura’s touch, her eyes closing as the woman works her thumbs into her shoulders. Laura Barton gives quite possibly the best back rubs on the planet. Well, besides Vision— his were better.

Wanda doesn’t realize that she’s balled her hands into fists until Laura’s soft voice breaks past her barrier. “What’s on your mind, sunshine?”

Sighing, the witch answers her friend honestly. “I miss him. Vis, I mean. It’s not fair. It’s just—”

“It’s not fair.” Laura finishes for her, hearing the crack in her facade and pushing— sometimes you just need a little bit of a gentle push. “It’s not and you don’t have to pretend like it is.”

Okay— maybe it’s not as gentle as she thinks it is.

“I hate it!” Wanda snaps, her tiny hands balling once more and pounding against her thighs. “I feel like I’m dying all the time— I feel like I died when he did! And no matter what I do now I screw it up! I hate it, Laura— I hate everything!”

The small witch’s furious rage quickly fizzles into heart wrenching sobs and Laura— just as quickly— plasters herself to Wanda’s back the same way she had done with the sun cream. She trembles in Laura’s hold— a mini storm in a cage of limbs and hair— and Laura just pets her head because this has been due for too long.

“I know, sunshine— we’re alone now, though. You can cry it out. No one’s going to hold it against you.”

“I— I hate— I—” Wanda can’t even finish her sentence— she hasn’t been able to for a year now.

Soft hands land on her knees and she cracks an eye open to a more composed— but still crying— Pepper. “I hate it too, hun. I hate everything.”

Pepper’s skin— unlike Wanda’s— has gone a golden brown in the sun, her freckles emerging one by one over the week which Wanda gets a closer view of when Pepper wraps her arms around her. She smells like strawberry daiquiris and salt and Wanda cries harder, clinging to the woman who is stronger than she ever will be.

A cold, wet hand lands on the back of her neck— the cold, wet hand of Sharon Carter— and with it comes one more— “I fucking hate everything.”

And, for some reason unknown to her, Wanda laughs.

She can’t help it— life sucks. Death sucks. Men and calories and loss suck. But her friends? No, they don’t suck. Not even when they’re with her at three-in-one funerals— not even when they’re half a world away. Especially not when they’re in Greece, holding her while she cries and laughs like a complete and utter maniac.

No— their little girl group doesn’t suck at all.

“I hope you all know how much I love you.” Wanda laughs around a particularly raucous sob— “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Laura is the one who answers— the universe wouldn’t be right if she wasn’t— “We know it, honey.”

The universe also wouldn’t be right if it wasn’t Pepper who gets the last word.

“Is anyone else feeling some pizza right about now?”

[ssa-dg]

Undercover part 2

part 1, part 2

Overview: the BAU has gone undercover to find a potential unsub who has been drugging, raping and murdering women. It own becomes a potential victim. Having to play her part to catch the bad guy, you go to the party all dressed up and dance with a potential murderer all while pretending he is someone else, Spencer Reid.

TW: drugs, rape (it is mentioned how the unsub rapes his victims. the reader is drugged and the unsub takes advantage of her being drugged and begins to take off her dress), murder, sex, adult themes. if these types of things are triggering for you please don’t read. I’m just a average person who tried their best to not cause people to be upset. If this is problematic I’m sorry I didn’t mean for it to be and will take it down.

Relationship: Spencer Reid x (female)reader

word count: 3228

Author’s note: This is part 2 read part 1 here--so this is my first ever Criminal Minds story. If it garners enough attention I will do more parts (honestly even if it doesn’t I probably will lol) PSA: I have never been under the influence of MDMA and honestly I don’t judge if people who do it consensually and safely (which is harder said then done). this is how I imagine it to be like to be on it. Also I like writing and I like sharing my writing because all of the great fan fics that cause me happiness, if I can cause that reaction just to one person that’s enough for me

You knew you were fucked when you woke up just as disoriented as you went out. It felt like your skin was on fire and not in a bad way. You brought your hand up and examined the feeling of the movement. Then you placed it on your face and dragged it all the way down your neck and over your chest. You closed your eyes in ecstasy, a small moan escaping your lips. You breathed heavily as the feel of your hand caused immense pleasure over your skin. 

“Feels good doesn’t it? I dosed you with my very own special mixture of MDMA,” said the beautiful looking man in front of you, Alistair. You lazily nodded your head. He grabbed your hands and pulled you up to stand in front of him. You didn’t stand a chance of fighting him or getting out of the current situation you were in but your body and mind couldn’t control themselves. He walked around you and placed himself directly behind you. He pressed his body against your back. The touch and heat of his body made your brain feel pleasure. A louder moan then before escaping your lips. He snaked his hands up and down your body. “I don’t want this,” you moaned out. “Of course you do,” he whispered. His lips touching your ear that didn’t have the bug in it and his breath caused shivers to run down your spine. “You can push me away if you want,” he sinisterly laughed and moved to stand in front of you. The look on his face was one of a boy who got everything he ever wanted and he knew he was just going to get it again. But you had to try. You lazily brought your hands up and placed them on his chest. You internally screamed at your hands to push but instead the feeling of the fabric of his suit on your fingertips was too distracting. It felt amazing like nothing you never felt before. “I can’t,” you whispered as you distractedly pinched and rolled the fabric. His hands gripped your waist and pulled you close with a sinister smile. “That’s what I thought,” and he spun you around so he was behind you again. It felt like flying. ”I love that,” you whispered as the feeling died down slowly. “I have something you’ll love even more,” his hot breath gracing your skin again. He slowly took your dress’ zipper in his hands and pulled it down. His fingers danced down your now exposed spine. “I want you to beg for me,” he whispered, taking his fingers off your burning back. You knew you shouldn’t, but your brain wasn’t functioning like it should. You let out a shaky breath. “Please,” you moaned desperately. He chuckled menacingly at your high disoriented begging. 

The door crashed open and it revealed a glowing angel. “Spencer” you cried out in happiness. “Get out,” Alistair screamed, and pushed you behind him. “She’s here on her own accord. She’s mine,” he snarled as he looked at your best friends. You smiled as the other teammates came into the room. You felt lighter than ever, “My friends, I love you all.” You called out and reached for them but Alistair’s grip on you tightened. Quick as ever he brought you in front of him and placed you in a choke hold.

It should have caused fear to run through you, and maybe that’s why it caused such a reaction out of you. Maybe your brain knew it should feel fear but couldn’t produce it so instead it produced happiness and pleasure. You couldn’t control it so you closed your eyes taking in the happiness of being touched on your neck. 

“You need to let her go,” JJ spoke, “we understand the approval of your family is important, do you think they’d be happy to find you doing this?” JJ asked, trying to get him to think about the situation. “Yes! All my family has ever wanted from me was a perfect partner! That was my dad’s dying wish! And finally I’ve found the one and we will consummate it tonight,” he yelled at your friends. That’s when your brain finally was able to produce fear. Consummate? There wasn’t anything you could do to even protect yourself right now. You tried to move but every movement created a false release of serotonin in your brain. Then the anxiety hit. You couldn’t even control your own emotions let alone produce normal ones. It was like an un-rational bubble of anxiety was building in your chest. You couldn’t control anything at this moment. 

“Alistair?” Whispered a soft but horrified voice. “mom?” He responded, “I did it! I finally found her. The one dad always wanted me to have,” proudness dripped from his voice and he went tighter on your neck. Your breathing finally labored. “She’s…she is wonderful, but you need to let her go. She needs to feel safe. That’s the job of a husband to protect and make her happy,” Mrs. Constantine spoke. “I am!” He yelled back. He sounded like a young toddler who thought they did something right but actually didn’t and just wanted someone to be proud of him. Alistair was breaking down, and Spencer saw it. “I gave her the MDMA to help her feel true ecstasy, like dad used to do, with all those women. He made them feel good,” he smiled as if recalling a fond memory. The mother took a shaky breath. “Honey, your dad wasn’t making those girls feel good,” she cried. That’s when JJ stepped in, “He lied to you when you caught him drugging and raping those women. You always saw him as a hero, and he didn’t want you to see him as any different. All dads want their kids to be better than them. Let her go, and be better than your dad,” JJ finished. That got him. He dropped you and you fell immediately to the ground. You felt the beautiful feeling of coldness on your cheeks and realized you were crying. Your fear and anxiety was still there but you could feel the fake happiness creeping back up. You kept trying to push your dress back on your shoulder but you couldn’t get it to stay. Matt and JJ were the one who arrested Alistair. The rest surveyed the room looking for possible souvenirs of the past victims. It was Spencer that came to you. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His voice sounded higher than usual. “No, no,” you breathed out anxiously. You grabbed him by the fabric of his suit blazer, “I can’t, Spencer, I can’t come down,” You panicked, as you felt the ecstasy take over. You closed your eyes in the moment of happiness. Seeing you like this was painful for Spencer. He knew the feeling of not being able to gain control over your emotions, and he knew it was scary. Your skin was burning and sweat made every curve caught in the light glisten. 

Spencer shifted around to your back. He began to zip up your dress slowly. Where his fingertips touched, made your skin feel like it was burning. Your heart race sped up and your breathing was labored. You closed your eyes and rolled your neck trying to shake the feeling of his touch. Part of Spencer was disgusted by what was happening to you, even though he knew your reaction wasn’t your fault. The disgust also came from a place of self-hatred as he knew what it was like to feel so good being high on something, and even though he was sober now and didn’t want to be high, he was envious of you and he hated that. 

A small breathy moan escaped your lips as he gently placed his hands on your waist to help you up. At this moment Spencer felt himself blush. You looked crazy and frenzied, a desperate look in your eyes for human contact, and that was quite attractive. You stumbled to get up with the help of Spencer and fell back into him. He instinctively fully wrapped his arm around your waist. When you settled on your feet, Spencer moved to let you go but you held tightly to his arm. “Please don’t, it helps me feel like I’m not floating away,” you panicked. Spencer looked uncomfortable and in any other situation that would have broken your heart but right now all you could focus on was his beauty. His long wonderful brown hair, the sharp angles of his jaw and cheek bones, and his soft lips. You wish you could see him smile right now because you loved his smile. You remember the moment you realized his smile was why you fell in love with him. You were out with JJ, Emily, Penelope, and Tara and this time you were the designated driver. So when you dropped off JJ and Spencer was babysitting. You helped JJ get into the house as she was stumbling very badly. Spencer was there on the couch waiting for her reading a book. “Can you get a glass of water and some aspirin? She’s going to need it in the morning,” you spoke as you brought her to the guest bedroom on the first floor (you weren’t even going to try to get her up the stairs). Spencer wasn’t too far behind you and placed the water and pills on the side table. “SPENCER,” JJ yelled at him excitedly. “Oh my gosh Spencer we were just talking about you in the car. And how much we love you and appreciate you. What did you say about him,” JJ asked, turning to you. You blushed greatly and regretted ever hanging out with a drunk JJ. “Nothing important. It’s time you go to bed missy,” you responded as she flopped down on the pillows. Spencer and you walked out of the room into the hallway. He was smiling amusingly at the interaction. He turned that smile to you. That’s when you knew you were in love with that smile. It was such a mundane moment but it was so important to you. (And for the rest of the week he tried to get you to tell him what you said about him, but you didn’t budge.) 

“How is she?” You heard Emily ask Spencer, which snapped you out of your daze. You looked at your unit chief and instantly felt love for her. What a wonderful strong woman. She was everything you could ever hope to be. It was so important to see women like her in the workforce. “I’m not sure how much he gave her, but she’s pretty delirious. Her body temperature is high due to the increase of Norepinephrine released in her brain. We should probably take her to the hospital and have them check her heart rate and her blood pressure,” he reported. “I love the way you talk,” you giggled, “your words are always so fancy and so smart. I hope one day I can be as smart as you.” Spencer gave Emily a look and they both let out a small stressed laugh. 

You couldn’t help the headache that was raging war on you when you woke up. You let out a groan of tiredness when you tried to get yourself up. You felt like a soggy heavy noodle. You opened your eyes to see you were in a hospital room. Images from the night before flashed before your mind causing your headache to intensify. You swung your legs over the side of the hospital bed about to try and get up to see if someone could help you get home. “Glad to see you’re up,” a voice spoke from the doorway. You raised your face up slowly to see none other than Spencer Reid. Your real life knight and shining armor. As fast as relief and safety flooded you, shame and embarrassment replaced it. You looked away from his gaze quickly and hoped he wouldn’t ask about it. “JJ had me bring some clothes you can change into,” he motioned to the bag in his hands. You nodded still not looking him in the eyes “thanks,” you got up slowly and grabbed the bag. You went to the little bathroom in the corner and changed into jeans, a tank top and a sports blazer. When you came out of the room you saw Spencer looking over your medical chart. Once again a rush of shame filled you as flashes of the past night flooded your brain. Spencer sat down in a chair that was close to your bedside. Instantly you knew he was the one who moved that chair by your bedside. You decided to sit down on the bed. You nervously played with the rings on your fingers, twisting them back and forth. “You look much better,” Spencer looked at you. You nodded, not really knowing how to answer him. The shame you felt was deep, of course you looked better than you did last night. “How are you feeling?” He asked you. You knew that this question was coming, and you were ready to lie through your teeth. You didn’t want to delve into what had happened, but the sound of Spencer’s concern caused you to look up into those deep brown eyes you desperately avoided. You couldn’t lie to the eyes you were so madly in love with. “I… I don’t know,” you whisper, “I don’t know how to feel right now. I was almost raped, Spencer. And I should have been scared and filled with fear but all I can remember was wanting it. I wanted it so bad,” you whispered while returning your gaze to your fidgeting hands. You heard Spencer get out of his seat and felt your heart drop. He was leaving, he didn’t want to be around a now damaged person. But then you felt the bed sink next to you and looked up to find Spencer sitting there with concern in his eyes. A soft sad smile graced your lips. “All I feel right now is shame, how can I feel bad for myself if the only memory I have from it is pleasure?” You asked yourself more than Spencer. “You shouldn’t feel shame. It’s not fair to yourself. Everything you felt last night was artificially made. You had no control,” he whispered. A small mocking laugh left your lips and you shook your head in disagreement. More tears fell from your eyes because of the kindness Spencer was showing you. “Its been such a long time since I’ve been happy. It felt nice to feel happy like I did last night. Even if it was artificial, “ you confessed. Spencer didn’t know what to respond to your confession. It broke his heart knowing you didn’t feel happy, and that in a sick way you enjoyed last night. “MDMA causes greater release of serotonin, norepinephrine, and dopamine. Because of the excess release of these neurotransmitter levels, it causes the brain to significantly deplete its sources of the neurotransmitter. This contributes to the negative psychological aftereffects of taking MDMA,” he responded, and from the look of the confusion on your face he translated, “You are not able to produce happiness right now. That is why you feel like you haven’t been happy in a really long time.” You looked at his brown eyes, and recalled, “I love the way you talk.” You heard him let out a small laugh. 

Getting on the jet was terrible. The way everyone stared at you like you were about to break, was causing you to panic. You couldn’t even produce a smile to comfort them. Instead you gave them a small nod, and went to the back of the jet away from everyone. Spencer, gave you space even though all you wanted was him near you. You wanted him next to you, to feel supported. It wasn’t until 10 minutes after the jet took off for everyone to fall into their usual routine. JJ, Tara, and David sitting around the table, Matt already working on his report so he could get back to his family. Luke was on his phone probably checking in with his dog sitter, and Spencer was talking to Emily. Everyone was okay, just another case in their back pockets, but for you right now you felt anger and sorrow. You put your team through an unnecessary amount of stress and struggle, and yet they all seemed fine. Even Spencer who in some sick way you thought would be struggling the most looked fine. It wasn’t fair that your emotions were so confusing. You wanted the team to be fine, you didn’t want to be the reason to cause them pain or stress, but also you didn’t want them to be okay because if they could be okay after something like this happening you then maybe they didn’t care for you like you thought they did. And the feeling of neglect ate away at you more than anything. 

Emily was the first to come talk to you on the jet. Spencer sat on the opposite end of the plane pretending to read after he was done talking to Emily. He tried to tell her about how you were feeling. He warned Emily about all negative effects of MDMA. As in most situations he used his knowledge to help him figure out the best course of action, this was no different, except that it was you. When it came to you he couldn’t ignore the feelings that shadowed his thoughts. He didn’t know how to help you, other than give you a moment to yourself. Emily told you that she wanted you to take 30 days off, with some bureau provided therapy with an evaluation at the end. It was something you were not happy about. You couldn’t help but feel like you were letting the team down. By going on leave, the team would be down one less person, but with that thought came the one about if they end up doing better without you then you were unneeded. It was wrong of you to think that way. You knew that, but your brain kept taking you to dark places you didn’t want to be in. 

When the jet landed, and the team was brought back to the FBI HQ-BAU office, you gathered your things quickly shoving them in your bags. You looked up to see everyone doing the same. Then the whole team came by your desk, “if you need anything, while you are on leave, let us know,” JJ reassured. “We’ve all been in a similar situation before. There is no shame in that,” Luke insisted. You nodded your head in thanks, too afraid to speak and cause the tear in your eyes to fall. “You did good,” Rossi said as he clapped you on the back. Small touches, and whispers of comfort came from your team as they all filled out. The last waiting for you was Spencer. He stood there with his leather satchel around his shoulder and his hands in his pockets. He rocked back and forth on his feet. “I thought we could take the metro together,” he offered. You nodded your head. He looked like he wanted to say more but didn’t. 

[soulwillower]

buttercup • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested: Would you mind writing a Richie Tozier X reader soulmate AU where Richie is VERY self conscious and he finds out that the reader is his soulmate and the reader is well known and very pretty, so he’s just like djjdjfgjjcbvnfnf but once they actually meet she really likes him? :0 thanks if you consider!

warning: swearing, angst, richie being edgy and also a bit unstable (king shit), neuroatypical richie!!!, fluff, soulmate au!! <33 also sorry this may be rough, i havent edited it at all

[reader + losers are in college]

lmk what u guys think of this one,... idk LOL

4.1k words

♡

richie was about to be sick. yes, he really, really was going to vomit in approximately ten seconds and he didn’t know what he was going to do. the room, full of barely-adults chugging jungle juice was sweaty and bustling and the walls were closing in on him quick. those people who weren't in the main rooms were doing sniff in the bathrooms and blocking his pathway to heaven (the toilet) so he quickly stumbles towards the sliding-glass door.

he passes a guy who claps his shoulder and says in a deep voice, "you good, bro?"

no, no. he's not good, bro. thanks for asking, though.

as he finally breaks free of the plastic, out of the crusty balloon that was holding his body hostage, he takes a deep breath and sprawls himself on the back deck, staring up at the clouds in the nighttime sky. maybe he should go home and mull this over, before he crams it down his own throat and chokes to death, alone and broken on the back deck of a 22 year old business major's rental house.

he laughs to himself - an image which he's sure would be a full on maniacal scene to an onlooker - as he lights a cigarette with very shaky fingers. even if he chooses to give this situation some thought, he will end up being forced regardless because this is, quite literally, richard tozier's destiny.

y/n y/l/n is richie's destiny, and it makes him feel like complete shit.

you see - his whole life, richie knew about the fucking soulmate tattoos. of course he did, everybody did - it was, like, one of the first things you learn, ever. he knows that there's basically a soulmate for every person and often times the soulmate marks were different, the ways of finding your soulmate were wide and far.

for most of richie's life - actually, almost all of it up until the last month - he'd had a big, fat 0 tattooed on his arm and below it a humiliating phrase that was quite the epitome of richie himself.

yet it never changed, which led him, his friends, and his parents to determine that he'd gotten a time-counter soulmate mark, which he likes to pride himself on believing he did not give a single fuck about.

the number is supposed to count the amount of time that you've spent with your soulmate, and there's usually a sentence or phrase that's associated with your soulmate's first thoughts of you below it. and yeah, of course the first thing the lucky guy or gal thought of richie is 'wow, those are the ugliest socks ever.' pretty fucking on-brand, if richie says so himself.

so yeah, he never really paid attention to his soulmate mark - partly because the thought of emotionally opening up to someone enough for them to know his whole and true self was repulsive and terrifying enough to make him physically ill, enough for him to develop a crazy sense of humor as a less-than proficient coping mechanism for the insecurity and fear that lives in his mind rent-free, 24/7 365. but mostly he didn't pay attention to the mark because, you know, he thought it was lame.

that is, until it changed from the 0.

it happened on the first day of classes fall semester of this, his freshman year of college.

which, honestly, was a huge fucking bummer, because he literally came into contact with almost 800 new people that first day through classes, dorms, walking around campus, and the dining hall. and yet, as he got back to his dorm and smoked a bowl with bill, he'd noticed that his arm had said 00:51:26.

bill had been so excited he'd almost lifted richie through the roof, because 'holy sh-shit, rich, y-you did it!'

it was hard to believe someone was out there for him, though. and yeah, he didn't give a fuck about it, but he also kind of did.

richie, now thinking back on that day, groans a bit. if he'd just known, if he had just fucking looked at the thigh of the girl in front of him with the soft-looking grin and the alluring scent of orange creamsicle shampoo, who'd smiled a bit when he borrowed a pen - if he'd just known then that y/n was meant to spend the rest of her life with him, he could've... well, he's not really sure what he could have done.

he thinks to that moment in time, as he was blowing smoke out the dorm window with bill and giggling as he ate an entire bag of cheez-its, and how much he wanted to know who it was back then.

but tonight, it had become a nightmare when the information practically fell into his lap. he's at this house party in late september, and about five minutes ago it was just boring enough to warrant sitting on the rug in the living room and just fun enough to actually stay.

“-yeah, she said the first time you guys met was in microeconomics, right?” ben says, and richie huffs in agreement as he picks at the skin on his nails. ben was talking about her again, and richie's heart was beating stupidly hard. y/n, one of his closest friends that he'd made outside of the losers, never failed to make his heart run a goddamn marathon.

“-she told me the first thing she noticed was that you were wearing socks with sandals. and she thought that your socks were really ugly.” he finishes with a laugh and richie’s head snaps up at that. he feels chills spill over back as if he’d been doused with ice water and he gapes at ben. “wait, what?” richie shudders, the words escaping his lips quietly enough that his friends mistake it for a forceful exhale brought on by offense at the word 'ugly.'

“well she was right to think that.” stan says from behind his solo cup, carefree, as if richie’s life wasn’t crashing to an alarming and unbelievable halt. eddie giggles faintly somewhere from the floor where the losers are sitting, but richie’s mind is reeling too much for him to react to or even comprehend anything.

“rich, i th-thought i got you to st-stop wearing socks and sandals so long ago.” bill adds, laughing into his hand. but richie’s barely registering any other fucking information because he’s staring at ben, who is finally noticing his friend’s perplexed face. “you good, rich?” ben asks carefully.

“wh-er, wait. what exactly did she say?” richie asks, really not wanting to know the answer and yet wanting to know more than life itself. it can't be her. he’s getting odd looks from everyone now, but he's starting to breathe quickly and he thinks he might vomit. he kind of regrets never showing anybody but big bill his soulmate mark, because he's suffocating right now in embarrassment and bill is a little too drunk to assume what richie's assuming right now.

“wait, y/n y/l/n, right? from my dorm. she’s here tonight, she told me- oh, y/n!” stan calls, looking directly over richie’s shoulder. it happens so fast. y/n, in the flesh, walks past at just that moment, breaking out into a breath-taking, world-halting smile. richie's chest hurts worse than it ever has before as she waves and bustles over to plop herself next to richie. and holy shit, she's wearing shorts because even though it's cold out, the house is warm and richie can see dark ink on her thigh. a soulmate tattoo. he can't draw his eyes away even though his brain is screaming to knock it off because there's going to be something there he doesn't want to accept, but he then does it anyways.

he almost hyperventilates as he reads the words emblazoned on her thigh,

27:36:08 and right below it: "holy hell her hair smells like orange creamsicle"

he almost sobs right then and there as she greets him with a soft hand on his shoulder, completely unaware of their fate and richie has to stand up abruptly because he can literally feel the numbers changing on his arm as the seconds go by with y/n at his side.

and now, mere minutes later he's out here, laying in self pity as anxiety claws at every inch of his body and fear tingles on him like the slight presence of snowflakes falling on his skin - briefly he wonders if, as an older man, he'll wonder how he never got cold wearing nothing, vulnerable as he welcomes in that falling snow.

he would be totally daft not to wonder how he ended up with a soulmate like her, someone not only so fucking attractive but so kind and undeserving of a monstrosity of a human like him. she is, in every place he isn't, a complete and utter success of a person; he's a hurricane where she's whitecaps in the sea, he's loud and abrupt while she is kind and outgoing. maybe they do work well together, hell - they spend enough time on study dates outside of class for him to know that he does really like her. but richie also knows his standoffish, happy-go-lucky and untamed personality paired with his unwillingness to make himself appear vulnerable to most people will probably have a very large impact on... whatever it is that happens with y/n.

because that's really the point, isn't it?

she is stuck with him. bucky beaver, the trashmouth, mr. i-can't-keep-my-trap-shut-for-three-seconds. y/n, the most incredible person in this world, is the kind of person that was designed for richie to admire from afar, as he is so willing to suffer through. because as much as it hurts to watch her and to love her without loving her, it is a thousand times safer for both of them than the inevitable look of disappointment that will befall y/n’s angelic features when she discovers who her burden of a soulmate is.

the thought makes richie choke out a weak sob, sitting up and digging the heel of his palms into his sockets, trying to scrub out the image of himself from his brain. awful, awful, bad.

he takes a long drag from his cigarette and for a brief moment he wonders if, just maybe, she’ll love him back eventually. the thought makes him feel like crying all over again.

huge nose, big teeth, awkwardly skinny and too tall. maybe he's got nice hair, but he sometimes wakes up too late and can only brush his teeth and swipe on deodorant before he's sprinting out his dorm with his pickle socks and stan's old sandals, trudging to class and getting in the way of y/n's future.

but he is her future, after all - how can that be right?

he doesn't have enough time to take another drag from his cig as he hears the glass door open, the noise from the party bursting through the gap in the foundation of the house and sending him back to five minutes, ago, inside. he cranes his neck and can't bring himself to be surprised when he sees her, backlit from the party inside and figure in his mind standing like the only being in the world.

she thinks he looks devastatingly beautiful tonight. she loves the awkwardness in his bones, the way he carries himself with confidence although she's not sure he always really has it. he's wearing some dumb socks again as usual, though they're mostly covered by his black pants and red high-tops this time. it makes her smile softly.

she wants to know him, really know him, as more than just a classmate, a crush, a boy who's friends with stan uris from the floor above her own room. she wants to feel his large hands on her in more than just fleeting greetings, knucks to the shoulder or jaw. she wants the sharp taste of nicotine and mint from those life savers he was always sucking on in her own mouth as he holds her tightly against him, she wants to know everything about him and be with him, even if they aren't somehow destined to be forever. which, she thinks with an array of wild animals tumbling around her chest, they might be.

after all, someone at this party is her soulmate, and she's almost 99.8% sure it's richie. it gives her the most beautiful butterflies she's ever had, even when he stares at her from the deck with glassy eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

"what’s up, buttercup?” is all she says, in her mind because he's stunned her to near-silence once again by just existing, and in his mind because she is the most perfect being.

he doesn't respond despite being completely charmed by her, because he's breathing in the nicotine and its making his fingers twitch and even though he's sober by now, he thinks he may be tweaking a bit, mostly from the overwhelming set of information that just smacked into his face when y/n walked over into that room.

he watches as suddenly she's dropping herself so she's sat next to him, her legs swinging off the edge of the deck. she eyes his cigarette. "that's so unhealthy, rich." she says softly, teasing but with a lacing of truth behind it that really makes richie itch to never smoke ever again in his life. but he's a stubborn ass, so he instead takes a deeper drag, maintaining eye contact. he can feel one tear slip from his eye and he feels so fucking melodramatic as he does so, but he's at the lowest he's been in a while, so he gives himself a bit of credit.

she reaches out and pulls the cigarette directly from between his lips, sending him a pointed look as she presses it out on the finished wood of the deck. he wipes the tear away when she's not looking. and as she turns back he smirks, unsure what else to do, as he blows the smoke out of his mouth towards her face.

"hi, toots." he says in what he hopes is a normal tone, despite his blotchy and tear-trailed face. she blinks her eyes owlishly at him but just shrugs, "you left a little prematurely back there. what, do i smell that bad?" she jokes. no, he thinks, you smell like orange creamsicles.

it's bittersweet, the irony in her statement. because he knows that she probably knows what she smells like every day, as it's literally tattooed right on the meat of her leg, on display for her and whoever else lucky enough to find themselves being acquainted with the skin of her upper thigh. the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

maybe if he were feeling a little less in-the-dumps, a little less like a complete and utter disappointment and failure that ruined this sweet girl's life, he would have ribbed her back a bit. you know, grind her gears in typical tozier fashion.

but he's exhausted and so distraught that he can't bring himself to even look at her. "i'm not in the mood" he grumbles, his heart pounding. she frowns, tilting her head.

"okay, what's wrong, richie?" she asks, and it's in that caring voice that she uses that isn't pitying but simply solicitous in nature. her calming force on him is obvious and immediate and his teeth stop rattling around in his head

he wants to scream because she's burning warm and perfect while he's frigid cold inside his body; a wasteland full of broken slinkies and half-formulated 'your mom' jokes that are melded to the crust of him with the tar that's been sucked straight from those damn ciggies. for crying out loud, if he were to so much as touch her, she'd get corrupted.

she notices as he scoots a bit away from her, and her heart hurts. he's so upset, clearly, and yet it hurts her that he can't trust himself or her enough to open up; no fault of his own surely, but heartbreaking all the same. "i care about you, and i really want to be here for you." she says it like there's going to be more, but the words kind of die in her throat as she realizes the extend of her words.

holy shit, she thinks, i'd go to the ends of the earth for him. if richie asked me to, i think i'd probably kill the queen.

"i stubbed my toe, and it really hurts." he says then, and the absurdity of his excuse makes her laugh out loud, head tilting back towards the moon as the bubbly giggles tumble from her lips. she looks at him after and his face is a twisted mix of affection and utter pain, a combination that hurts her to her core but lights a fuel in her that makes her want to help him.

"it's true." he mutters, motioning to his shoe limply, and she looks at his foot, the tip of his converse scribbled in sharpie with the word 'half-brain' and then a bunch of hearts.

"i like your socks." she says absentmindedly, grinning at him as she says it, voice teasing. but the reaction she was hoping for was nowhere to be seen as richie suddenly heaves a hiccup-sob, one so upsetting and quiet that she thinks she misheard it.

but he's keeling over and clutching his face with his hands, shaking his head, and her heart breaks. "richie, honey please tell me what's going on. or i can just sit here, if you'd rather-"

her sentence is cut off with richies own rushed words, expelled from his mouth so quickly that it's almost as if they were trying to escape while his lips tried to hold them in.

"-you're going to have to spend the rest of your life trying to force yourself to love me, and that terrifies me.”

as he says it, his stomach twists itself inwards at his admission and he thinks he's going to be sick. he doesn't deserve you, you're going to resent him for it. she's silent for a few moments, and he doesn't dare look anywhere near her as tears trail down his solemn cheekbones and drop onto the black corduroy that wraps around his jittering legs.

"richie, please, what are you trying to say?" she says quietly, sounding scared, nervous, upset... richie did that. it's his fault. he tilts his head back, his brain buzzing in guilt. "fuck," he says, and it comes out broken, "you... i- you're my soulmate." he says, looking down to where his chest rises and falls almost unnaturally, a consequence of muscle memory being tampered with by the lethally college combination of nicotine, alcohol and marijuana on an empty stomach.

earlier he was afraid that if he opened his mouth too wide he would lose control of his tongue and then the words would come out without him wanting them to, but he knows he's basically sober by now, as sober as y/n is next to him - he's just neurotic, but he doesn't want her to know that, because oh god, what if she hated him for it?

she wouldn't, right? isn't she supposed to find a way to love him?

this was a really stupid idea, but in his mind it was one that had to be done. shutting his eyes, he tugs the sleeve of his left arm upwards, taking a shaky breath. again, it's silent as she reads the words written there. wow, those are the ugliest socks ever.

she stares at the words, and the number above it, then she looks at her own thigh, where the exact same number counts on in time with his.

he wastes no time, though: "-don't worry, doll. i've got it figured out, we can just- maybe we can get yours covered and you don't have to think about it anymore. fi-find someone better, like, oh, bill - he'd treat you nice i think. just- we don't have to think about it, i'm sorry." he says in one breath, not looking at her at all.

"richie, how can i be yours if you're not mine?" she says thickly because she's fighting off tears wondering how someone so incredible and full of life could feel so undeserving.

"you can't want me, you can't." he insists, not looking at her as she gapes at him because if he were to look at her expression he may lose it. it's quiet again in their own little world here, the air silent and numbing as y/n takes a breath.

"oh my god, wait richie how are we this stupid?" she asks, perking up and lightly slapping his arm. he looks at her in shock as she begins to laugh, "we've been alone together so many times. how did we not notice?" she asks, and he chuckles a bit, shrugging.

"maybe we're not the sharpest crayons in the drawer, toots. all i'm sayin' is that i figured it out first." he says cheekily, and secretly both of them are shocked to see how quickly they fell together, as if the knowledge that they were made for each other made all their insecurities fall away.

her face softens again. "you know, i saw my timer counting tonight and i was hoping more than anything that you'd be here. that we'd be-" she adds softly, a hand landing lightly on richie's thigh, sending licks of flames up his body. she takes a breath and restarts. "do you know how fucking bad i wanted it to be you?"

and just like that, y/n unintentionally provides a luscious mix of words and tricks that fill him with barely enough confidence to let him bet when he knows he should fold.

what's life without a little risk?

he meets her eyes for the first time in a few minutes and hers are large and hopeful as they wait patiently for him to give her something. but he still can't speak without running his mouth, so instead he cups her cheeks. her lips part slowly and he stares in awe at her raw beauty, unable to hold it in longer.

he presses his lips to her quickly and to her it feels like he is trying to prove something. it makes her heart soar as he comes alive against her, pressing as enthusiastically as she is into him. he tastes, as she'd guessed, like nicotine but mostly like a mint and it makes her grin as he pulls back.

"is this okay?" he's asking then, his thumb soothing over her cheek sweetly and giving her the same butterflies she gets when he smiles; the very same butterflies that release when he says anything to her, when he comes to her dorm for a study date with two red bulls in his hand, and when she realized their tattoos beat the same.

"yeah, of course." she whispers against his lips, the feeling of his teasing lightly making her sniffle. she presses their lips together again, this time warmer, more comfortably and his hands move to her hips and tug her closer, her hands winding to his neck as his own hands explore her body, caressing her sides gently. he pulls back and holds her softly.

"your hair smells nice." he says sheepishly, and she grins so widely she thinks she may split in two. her heart flutters as she looks into his eyes, finding nothing but love. "orange creamsicle, huh?" she asks with pink cheeks, and he laughs lightly, nodding his head. "best smell ever, babe."

"you make me happy." she says it onto his lips again, and the shiver that runs down his spine is a feeling he wouldn't mind feeling forever. his heart soars because he believes her, he trusts her. she wouldn't lie to him.

"we're so dramatic, aren't we?" richie jokes, his walls sliding back up a bit, but as y/n cuddles into his chest, head against his beating heart as she presses kisses to his neck, he realizes she accepts him.

"yeah, well. we're made for each other, aren't we rich?" she asks gently as his hand falls to brush over her thigh, right over the words. "that's right, toots." he says softly, looking down at her hairline softly, still in disbelief that it worked out for him. she turns to look at him, cheeks dusted a bit as she leans up to press a kiss on his lips.

tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings​ @stenbrozier​ @simplesammyx​ @dickology64​ @clownsloveyou​ @baby-yoda-a @moon-shine-baby​ @daughter-of-the-stars11 @lets-vibe-bro​ @trashedfortozier​ @oceandog13​ @finnskindofwoman​  @kait-tozier​ @upamongthestarss​ @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs 

[secretive3amramenmaker]

My Opinions On Jujutsu Kaisen That Literally Nobody Asked For

I finished binging the Jujutsu Kaisen manga in 48 hours. I am having some expresso, because I’m depresso.

Here’s a Sad Stitch to show you how I feel.

(And of course, warnings for discussion/ranting/kinda meta on the Jujutsu Kaisen manga below the cut, so please read at your own discretion!)

Sukuna is truly a Bastard™, along with Mahito. 

I just- *cries in Shibuya Arc aka PAIN*

*Pulls out megaphone* Nanamin. 

That’s all folks. Thanks for reading, have a nice day!

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(Just kidding!)

Ugh, NANAMIN 👏 WHAT 👏 A 👏 MAN 😭 😭 😭 😭 I became a certified Nanami stan once I saw the tired business man aesthetic (plus, his words about how work is shit? Truer words have never been spoken), and his little speech about adults and responsibility, how children no matter their circumstances are still children, and should be given the opportunity to act as such. Because, YES, FINALLY, A RESPONSIBLE ADULT WITH THE VOICE OF AN ANGEL aka the voice of Kenjiro Tsuda

Anyways, I love how the Jujutsu Kaisen manga shows that adults can handle things, and that is A-OKAY!!! If Jujutsu Tech follows the Japanese school system, Yuji is a first year in high school, so he’s probably 15 or 16 years old, way too early to go through Shibuya level of trauma (though, I think anybody is too young to have to go through what happened to Yuji in Shibuya). 

Children should have the privilege to be children. That doesn’t mean coddling, it means that children should have plenty of time to experience new things, enjoy being a child, and I’m so happy Nanami says this! 

In conclusion, Nanami deserves happiness and a vacation to Kuantan 🥺

YOSHINO JUNPEI!!! He and his mom deserve happiness, they’re both precious beans. I didn’t even realize Junpei was dead until 5+ chapters later. But it was too late, for I had already gotten attached!!! *cue curse worthy screeching* 

I was so excited for Junpei to join Jujutsu Tech, too! I had this whole headcanon of Junpei being HAPPY again, talking about movies with Yuji, interacting with the other first years, him seeing Panda for the first time!!! The thing was, back then, it wasn’t headcanon! I thought it was going to be facts, until Gege said ‘lol, you thought, peasant’, before spitting on any hope of mine for a happy Junpei.

(On a completely different tangent, I would be SO psyched if I got to meet a talking panda, we could act out all of “Kung Fu Panda” together, especially the chopstick scene, and maybe we could go to a zoo, just to mess with the zookeepers about a honest to god PANDA walking on its hind legs around the zoo)

‘If Junpei had lived’ is a phrase I think about a lot, and I think that is why the “Young Fish and Reverse Punishment” arc  was so crucial to the story and yet so tragic. 

Junpei has so much potential to be happy, and then he didn’t get the happiness he deserves. It really sets the tone, the high stakes to the whole manga, for we see the amount of damage a curse inflicts on somebody who could be in a situation like Junpei. 

As the readers, we understand the reasoning behind Junpei’s ideology, sympathizing with him as we see what horrible torment he has to go through. That very first scene of this arc, where the bullies made him eat the cockroach and BURNED HIM WITH A LIT CIGARETTE, and the teacher who saw all of this happening, JUST TURNS AWAY!!! It was haunting. But finally, finally, we get a light at the tunnel for Junpei in the form of our lord and saviour, the cinnamon roll of cinnamon rolls, Itadori Yuji. HERE is a person who is able to connect with Junpei, who wouldn’t dismiss how Junpei’s circumstances or feelings. and then Junpei dies.

(look at this cute face, how could you Mahito?!)

Also, the symbolism in the opening? The Junpei fish ENLARGING??? HNKDJSFLJDSF JUNPEI NOOO-

Also ALSO (sorry this is the last ‘also’), did we ever learn if Junpei was a sorcerer, or was he a window that possessed enough talent to summon a shikigami? I at first thought Junpei was a window, since he was able to see Mahito, and was hoping that we’d get a more detailed explanation of what windows actually do. (Do they just wander around Tokyo, or wherever they live, and act all ‘La Dee Da, just living my regular, normal life, oOOHHH is that a special grade? Tell that to the sorcerers, maybe I’ll get a bonus!’ Is their life basically a demented version of Pokemon Go? I have so many questions-)

All the villains were well written, and had super cool character designs. My top three villains other than Sukuna, my top three villains are Geto, and Mahito.

Geto’s backstory in the Hidden Inventory arc was so incredibly written, I especially liked the way Gege wrote how Getou’s righteous ideals gradually deteriorating throughout the Hidden Inventory arc as he realizes the depth of the curses of humanity, the dark hatred the “weak” hold towards things they have no understanding of. (i.e. Riko’s death by the Star Religious Group, Haibara’s death, and finally the villagers ignorant treatment and abuse towards Geto’s twins, Mimiko and Nanako, beating and imprisoning them for “causing” the deaths of the villagers) Geto’s chilling charisma and the reasoning behind his actions as a villain makes him a top tier villain in my eyes. 

As for Mahito, I love to hate him, and that why I think he is a great antagonist. I guess I’ve just been seeing a lot of villains that because of their tragic backstories, the readers or characters sympathize with them and rationalising their actions, turning the villain into a flaky antihero of lesser impact. It’s very refreshing to have a villain who is just pure evil. 

I think that Mahito fulfilled his purpose as an antagonist very well; his twisted ideals on the worth of human life foiling Itadori’s own ideals of giving others a “proper death”, the curse making Yuji continuously adapt both physically and mentally to defeat him. Physically, by learning new spells and techniques to defeat Mahito, such as the Black Flash (and possibly his own cursed technique! The weird “Past That Never Happened” in the fights with Choso and Todo), or mentally, by questioning his ideals, such as what exactly is a “proper death”, after Yuji had to kill the transfigured humans. 

(Ew look at this worm.)

Some Honorable Mentions of Good Villains IMO: Jogo, because I find his ideals of curses, who stem from the true emotions of hatred and fear, being superior yet suppressed by the emotionally faceted humans is definitely fascinating, and eerily reminds me of Geto’s hatred towards non sorcerers.  Dagon was pretty cute in his Cursed Womb stage, and I really liked Hanami because the eldritch environmentalist aesthetic is pretty coolio  👌 .

How do Inumaki children learn to speak if all the adults barely talk, only saying inane words like “salmon” and NOT ACTUALLY meaning “salmon, the fish” but an adult secret code for a definition that you might not even know?? Or do the adults just charmspeak the kids, like “SPEAK small child, and have full language comprehension, O tiny ball of pudge!” and boom! Babies talking in complete sentences, maybe understanding weird adult customs. Will the child know when then adult actually mean salmon, the fish, and not the code word salmon?

Let’s assume that Inumaki clan children from learning to speak to four or six years old will be able to speak normally until the clan technique sets in (because that’s when the jjk wiki says cursed techniques kick in). How do you explain to a toddler: “Hey sweetie, happy birthday, have a present! Oh, by the way, those cool tattoos of yours mean that you can’t talk normally to anybody anymore, EVER. Only using these specific words as code to mean these specific meanings, restricting any chance of normal interactions with non-sorcerers if by some inane chance you DON’T want to become a child soldier jujutsu sorcerer. Welp, guess you have to become a jujutsu sorcerer now! Make sure to restrict your choice of words, you could kill somebody! Have fun playing with your Legos honey, welcome to adult life.” Like, EXCUSE ME? 

You can’t tell mw a four year old is expected to understand that (or didn’t kill somebody by accident via cursed speech. That MUST have happened at least once). 

This is all an elaborate way of saying please give us Inumaki backstory, I’m very curious.

Anyways, thank you for reading my post, and I hope you have a nice day!

[thecassadilla]

Thankful

Pairing: Kristanna

Word Count: 3,202/AO3

Summary: Anna and Kristoff have some special news to share with their family at Thanksgiving - though, the idea of sharing it brings forth some anxiety on Anna's behalf.

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! This is my contribution for Kristanna Week Day 2 - Orange! Funny story about this one - it came to me in a dream. Literally. I was having a really difficult time coming up with an idea for this prompt and then two weeks ago, I had a really vivid dream that involved Anna and Kristoff talking in their kitchen and preparing for Thanksgiving. Long story short, I was really giddy when I woke up because my subconscious brain did all of the thinking for me (except actually write the fic - when I figure out how to do that I’ll let you know lol). Enjoy!!!

“Okay, okay, okay,” Anna started, running her fingers through her hair. “We have one hour before everyone gets here.”

“Please calm down,” Kristoff begged. 

“I can’t help being nervous. The real question is, how are you not nervous?”

“I’m more nervous about the possibility of you breaking your ankles in those heels - why are you wearing them in the house?”

“I want to look nice.”

“You look great,” he assured her. 

“But you can tell? It’s obvious?”

“No I can’t tell. Your outfit does a great job of hiding it.”

Wearing a billowy top tucked into low-waisted pants seemed to have done the trick, just like the Internet said it would. Her hand fluttered to her abdomen and she looked down. “I can tell.”

He chuckled. “Because it’s your body. Of course you can tell.”

“My boobs,” she said suddenly. “They’re going to notice that my boobs are huge.”

“That would be a strange thing to talk about over Thanksgiving dinner.”

“They don’t have to talk about it, they just have to notice. And they’re going to notice when I’m not drinking, either.”

“I thought we were going to tell them today.”

“We could,” she faltered. “Or we could wait until Christmas.”

“You want to wait another four weeks?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

His face softened. “If that’s what you want, then we can wait.”

“I want to tell them, but I’m nervous. There’s really no harm in waiting, right?”

“Well, you’re already thirteen weeks. Fourteen weeks on Sunday. And the doctor said everything looked great last week. But if you really want to wait another month…”

She shook her head and exhaled. “You’re right, we should tell them today.”

“If you want, I’ll be the one to tell them. You can sit there and smile and hold my hand and you won’t have to say a word until they start congratulating us and asking questions.”

“Do you think I should be the one to tell them? You know, because I’m the pregnant one.”

“Whatever you want, Anna. We can do this however you want to.”

“We should probably start by taking the ultrasound pictures off of the fridge,” she said, rushing over to the fridge and pulling the pictures off. “Why did we decide to host Thanksgiving, again?”

“It was your idea,” he reminded her with a chuckle. “You wanted to show off the house.”

“Oh. Right.” She looked down at the pictures of their baby and smiled before holding them out to him. “Here, hide these somewhere.”

He took them. “I’m not going to hide them. Your sister will want to see them.”

“You have to put them somewhere for now. Unless that’s how you want to tell them - by thrusting pictures into their hands and saying ‘surprise, here’s a picture of the baby that’s going to come catapulting out of my wife in six months.’”

“You,” he said, wagging his finger at her and standing up, “are a very funny lady. I will put these in the dining room, where no one can see them, so that way when the time comes I can pull them out and show everyone.”

“Okay, and while you’re doing that, I’ll check on the turkey.”

“The turkey won’t be ready for another couple of hours,” he called as he walked toward the dining room.

“Then I’ll check to make sure the table is set.”

“You set it this morning,” he reminded her.

“Well I need something to distract me.”

She walked into the dining room and observed the set table; a cream colored tablecloth rested on the table, and on top of it was an orange runner decorated with beaded leaves. The table was exactly as she’d left it; five plates, five sets of cutlery, five cloth napkins, and five glasses. This time next year, there’d be a high chair. It was surreal to think about.

“I think you came to see where I was putting the pictures,” he teased.

“I didn’t, but where did you put them?”

“In the hutch.”

“What if my sister goes in there?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head. “Your sister is not going to rummage through our hutch.”

“No, but if she wants another plate, she may go in there.”

“Fine,” he said, opening the door and retrieving the pictures. “I will put them on top of the hutch. No one can reach it other than me, and no one has any reason to be looking for something on top of our furniture.”

“Okay,” she agreed with a sigh.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed, gently prodding her back towards the kitchen.

“That feels so good,” she moaned, tilting her head back. “Will you rub my feet later?”

“As you wish,” he promised, giving her one last squeeze before kissing her cheek. He washed his hands before walking over to the stove and turning off one of the burners. “And with those shoes, you’re definitely going to need it.”

“You could say that again.”

He walked over to the sink and drained the water from the pot he was holding, sending a cloud of steam into the air. “I really don’t think you should wear them.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He sighed, placing the pot back on the stove. “I’m going to finish up with the mashed potatoes, do you want to put the rolls in the oven?”

“Sure.”

“I figured we could eat the salad and the rolls first. And then we’ll heat up all of the sides again before we eat the main course.”

“There’s going to be so much food,” she commented, retrieving the baking tray from one of the cabinets and the dough from the refrigerator. 

“At least we’ll have plenty of leftovers.”

She arranged the dough on the tray before sticking it into the over. “When do you think we should tell them? When they first get here?”

“I don’t think we should set a designated time. I think we should just let it happen how it happens.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

“And you have to try to act like yourself - they’re going to notice something’s up if you keep acting all...weird.”

“I know,” she said, burying her face in her hands. “I’m nervous and excited and overwhelmed.”

“It’s just Elsa, and Honeymaren, and Ryder. We know them. They’re going to be happy for us. Thrilled,” he assured her. “And frankly, I’m still kind of surprised that you didn’t tell your sister the moment the test came up positive.”

“I wanted to, but I also wanted to wait until we saw the doctor and confirmed that everything looked good. Maybe next time I’ll tell her right away.”

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself,” he warned with a chuckle. “How about we focus on the one who’s not even here yet instead of the next one?”

The doorbell rang before she could respond and she froze in place.

“Breathe,” he reminded her. “I’m going to get the door, you try to stay calm.”

“Okay,” she nodded. 

He held out two hands, instructing her to stay, before darting off to answer the door. The house was instantly flooded with voices and before she knew it, they were walking into the kitchen.

“Hi,” she smiled tensely. “I’m so glad you all came.”

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Honeymaren assured her.

“We brought a bunch of different desserts, and a sweet potato casserole with marshmallows, and green beans,” Elsa said excitedly, setting a bag down on the counter.

“We have just about everything else,” Kristoff chuckled. 

“And we brought wine,” Honeymaren added, patting the bag that was slung over her shoulder. “Lots and lots of wine.”

Anna and Kristoff exchanged a glance before Kristoff spoke up. “Actually we’re actually not drinking tonight, so there will be more for you guys.”

“What? Why?”

“Bet,” Anna answered quickly. “We’re trying to see who can go the longest without drinking alcohol and I am determined to win because the loser has to -”

“La, la la,” Ryder interrupted, placing his hands over his ears. “We don’t have to know what weird, kinky stuff the loser has to do.”

“I was going to say do all of the dishes for a month, but okay.”

“Sorry that my brother doesn’t have any manners,” Honeymaren said, glaring at the younger man. “I’m also sorry that he doesn’t know how to dress for special occasions.”

“I don’t understand why you’re all so dressed up for a holiday that’s about eating,” Ryder remarked. “You aren’t going to look so nice if you spill food on yourself and you’re going to wish that you wore stretchy pants by the end of the night.”

“I doubt any of us are going to spill food on ourselves,” Kristoff pointed out. “We’re all adults here.”

“I know...you’re really starting to look like a dad, man.”

Kristoff burst out laughing. “What on earth does that mean?”

Ryder motioned to his clothes. “I don’t know, you’re, like, wearing dad jeans and a sweater over a button-down. You look like your someone’s father. Or like your wife dressed you.”

“That’s enough,” Honey interrupted, placing a hand over Ryder’s mouth. 

“I’ll show you all to the dining room,” Anna said, changing the subject. “You can sit down and make yourselves comfortable, and we’ll bring in the salad and the rolls.”

She led them to the dining room, and they took their seats. Kristoff brought in as much as he could carry, setting it down on the table and then going back for more. 

“Help yourselves,” Anna insisted, returning to the kitchen for one last moment of solace. She placed a hand over her tiny belly, hoping that it would reassure the baby as much as it reassured herself. 

When she finally sat down a few minutes later, she was immediately overcome by an obnoxious odor, though she couldn’t place what the scent was. After a few more breaths, she realized that it was the vinaigrette that dressed the salad, which happened to be placed right in front of her on the table. Her nose was sensitive from the hormones and she knew that if she was forced to continue breathing the scent in, she would be very sick. She swallowed, attempting to breathe through her mouth so the smell of the vinaigrette wouldn’t upset her stomach any further. 

Elsa raised a concerned eyebrow. “Anna, are you okay? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” she answered shakily before abruptly standing up. “I’m just going to go check on the turkey.”

Three pairs of eyes watched as she practically ran from the dining room, before diverting their attention to Kristoff. “I’ll, uh, go make sure she’s okay.”

He found Anna standing over the sink, her hand clamped firmly over her mouth. 

“What’s the matter?” he whispered, glancing back to make sure that no one else had followed them into the kitchen.

“You have to move that salad away from me. The smell is making me sick.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “When we go back in there, I’ll move it.”

She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, the nausea slowly but surely fading away. “I really should check on the turkey while I’m in here.”

“Take your time, there’s no need to rush.”

After a few more moments of controlled breathing, the nausea passed. She opened the oven, a burst of warm air hitting her in the face as she peered inside. “Oh, the timer thing popped out. I should take it out.”

She grabbed two oven mitts and leaned down to remove the pan from the oven, but Kristoff stopped her. “You shouldn’t be lifting something that heavy.”

“It’s not heavy at all.”

“Let me do it, please.”

“Fine,” she groaned, sliding the mitts off of her hands and thrusting them at him. 

He slid the pan out and placed it on the trivet that was laying on the counter. “We have to let it rest for a while before we can start carving it. Do you feel well enough to go back inside?”

“Yes,” she answered, taking one last deep breath. 

“Turkey’s done,” Kristoff announced to their guests when they returned. Said guests were staring at the couple with anticipatory eyes. “Is everyone done with the salad?”

A chorus of yes’s rang out, and Kristoff removed the dish from the table completely, bringing it back to the kitchen. Anna breathed a sigh of relief and sat back down, grateful that the smell had dissipated from the room.

“Are you okay?” Elsa asked again.

“Me? I’m fantastic,” Anna answered, an unconvincing laugh escaping from her throat.

“It’s just that you looked a little...unwell.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “I swear, I’m fine.”

Elsa exchanged a sidelong glance with Honeymaren, but the conversation was dropped. The rest of the meal was spent discussing current events and shopping plans as opposed to Anna’s health. She mostly stood quiet, holding Kristoff’s hand under the table and allowing the gathering to happen around her as opposed to being a part of it.

“You’re being uncharacteristically quiet, Anna,” Honeymaren remarked with a smile.

“Hmm?” she hummed, her head snapping up. “Oh, sorry. I must’ve been daydreaming. What did I miss?”

“We were just talking about the trip Elsa and I went on to Alaska.”

“Oh right! How was that?”

“It was great,” Elsa piped up in a strained voice, and it became clear to Anna that she had missed the entire Alaska discussion. “We went to the Aurora Ice Museum, and the Running Reindeer Ranch, and we got to see the Aurora Borealis. It was a lovely trip.”

“That sounds really nice,” Anna smiled. 

Kristoff cleared his throat. “How about you all go relax in the living room? Anna and I will get things cleaned up in here and ready for dessert and then we’ll join you.”

“We can help,” Elsa offered. “It’ll be quicker.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he insisted. “You’re our guests.”

The trio hesitantly stood up, exchanging a few harrowing looks before heading towards the living room. In the meantime, Anna and Kristoff collected all of the dirty dishes and silverware and brought them into the kitchen.

“Just put all of the dishes in the sink,” she directed. “That’s tomorrow’s problem.”

“Have you decided what we’re going to do?”

“About what?”

“The baby,” he whispered. “We’re telling them tonight, right?”

“Oh. Yes?” she said, her voice laced with uncertainty.

He cocked his head. “Anna.”

“What?”

“We have to tell them.”

“You’re right,” she nodded. “You’re absolutely right.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Good.”

“When the time is right, though. It has to come up naturally.”

“Fine,” he agreed. “But if it doesn’t come up naturally, I’m going to spill the beans.”

“Deal.”

They wrapped up their chores in the kitchen, prepared the dining room table for dessert and headed into the living room to join the rest of the group. Ryder had made himself at home in the reclining chair, and Honey and Elsa had claimed part of the sectional to themselves. Anna and Kristoff sat at the opposite end, relaxing into the soft cushions.

“Anna, you’re going to love the dessert we brought,” Honeymaren said. “Chocolate cream pie!”

“Oh, I can’t eat chocolate. It makes me sick,” she responded nonchalantly. She didn’t realize what she’d said until the words had already escaped her lips, instantly growing flustered.

Elsa’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “What? Since when?”

She looked to Kristoff for guidance, and he offered her a small nod of encouragement before wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She exhaled deeply before blurting, “I’m pregnant.”

“You are?!” Elsa exclaimed, bringing a shaky hand to cover her mouth. “That’s so wonderful, oh my god.”

“Congratulations,” Honey gushed.

Ryder pointed an accusatory finger at Kristoff. “I knew you were dressing like a dad for a reason!” 

Honey reached over and gently smacked him upside the head. “Ryder, stop being rude.”

“Oh, right. Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Anna smiled, all of her anxiety finally melting away. She looked over at Kristoff, who was smiling just as brightly. “Would you mind getting the pictures?”

He nodded, and made his way to the dining room to retrieve the pictures. 

“Can I hug you?” Elsa sniffled, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Of course,” Anna said, standing up. She pulled her older sister into her arms and hugged her tightly.

“I was worrying about you all night. I was convinced that you were really sick and didn’t want to spoil the holiday,” Elsa explained. “But I’m so, so happy for you and Kristoff.”

“Who wants to see the pictures?” Kristoff asked.

“Elsa first,” Honey insisted.

Elsa pulled away from her younger sister and accepted the pictures from her brother-in-law. “Oh my goodness,” she breathed. “How precious. 

“When are you due?” Honeymaren asked.

“Late May,” Anna answered with a smile.

“Are you going to find out the sex?’

“We haven’t decided yet. I want it to be a surprise but she wants to know,” Kristoff said, nudging Anna with his elbow.

“I’m a little impatient,” she giggled. “I really want to know.”

Elsa passed the pictures to Honey, who curled her lip at the sight of them. “Awww.”

“Wow, it actually looks like a baby,” Ryder commented as he peeked over his sister's shoulder to get a glance at the pictures.

“You’re never going to be invited here again,” Honey warned.

“Most importantly, how have you been feeling, Anna?” Elsa asked, ignoring the minor sibling squabble.

“I’ve been really feeling good aside from the morning sickness,” she laughed. “More like all day sickness - I can’t even smell certain things or I get sick. But other than that, I’ve been feeling really good.”

“I’m so happy for both of you,” Elsa said jovially. “I want to know everything.”

“How about we tell you everything over dessert?” Anna suggested. “Chocolate may make me sick, but I still have quite the sweet tooth.”

Elsa nodded, and Anna exchanged a relieved look with Kristoff. His reassuring smile reminded her that he’d been right all along; their family was thrilled and excited, and there had been nothing to worry about.

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

“My feet are so sore,” Anna whined, as she collapsed on the bed that night. “I hope you’re ready to make good on your promise, mister.”

“I’m ready,” Kristoff said, sitting at the foot of the bed. He took one of her feet in his hands and began to massage it. “Tonight went really well.”

“I know, I’m so happy,” she said, sighing contentedly and relaxing against her pillow. “And I’m so relieved that everyone knows now.”

“See?” he remarked. “And to think that you wanted to wait until Christmas.”

“What was I thinking?” she giggled. 

“You were worried. It’s normal.”

“Now I have one less thing to worry about,” she pointed out. “We don’t even have to worry about doing the dishes tomorrow anymore because my sister and Honey did them.”

“And we have a lot to be thankful for.”

She nodded in agreement. “I’m thankful for you, and the baby, and our incredibly supportive family.”

He smiled warmly, giving the foot in his hand a tight squeeze. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

[embeanwrites]

Finding Home Gavin Reed x Reader

Chapter 15

Masterlist

Connor had driven me home after we finished the movie and now, I was laying in bed looking at my phone. I decided to send Gavin a text before heading to bed.

 How’s burning the midnight oil with Nines?

 lame, i wish i was with my cats

 Me too lol

 how was dinner

 Pretty good, we watched Into the Spider-Verse after. Connor had never seen it!

 i haven’t either

 You’re joking, right? Is this the Jameson and Ginger Ale thing again?

 i barely have time for new movies, let alone old ones

 We’re watching it ASAP

 lol ok pipsqueak

hey i have bad news

 Damn, you couldn’t secure a place for the Dead Mom Society to meet? Or is the bakery out of chocolate chip cookies?

 no i have to work through lunch on monday

 :(

What are you going to have for lunch then?

 idk a pb&j from the breakroom

 Would it ruin your “working through lunch” if I brought you lunch and we eat it in the breakroom?

 nines wont be too happy

 Tell him it’s revenge for lying and setting us up!

 ok ill work on him and let u know

 Awesome! Good luck saving the city tonight, Batman!

 ur the biggest nerd ive ever met

yet for some reason i like u

 Awwwwww you like me

 …hm

 Yeah, yeah I like you too

I gotta go to bed, talk to you later

 Sleep tight, pipsqueak

I smiled at the screen for a moment, even if that nickname was rude and had started as an insult, it was his thing for me now. I'm an adult woman. A nickname shouldn't make me feel this giddy, but here I am, grinning at a now black phone screen, thinking about how he only grins and never smiles and how handsome it is when half his face scrunches up to accommodate those grins. I wonder if he's grinning now, a small one at his desk, maybe into a cup of coffee to hide it while he returns to his case files. I hope he's grinning, feeling like a stupid teenager. I hope he likes me as much as I'm starting to like him. I fell asleep soon after, thinking of what I should bring him for lunch, trying to guess what would surprise him most without being too flashy, what I could do to make him grin for me again.

 I woke up the next morning around 10 am, and laid in bed for a moment questioning how necessary it was for me to get out of this nice warm cocoon of blankets, with the sunlight streaming in gently just out of my eyes, and sighed loudly when I remembered that it was indeed necessary that I get out of bed, as Tina would be here to pick me up at 11:30. I kicked the covers off, grabbing my phone off the charger and moving to sit on the edge of the bed to check it before truly getting up. The first notification was a text from Gavin, sent around 5 a.m. 

u can come on monday probs around 11 bring whatever im not picky

 Will do, Batman!

I turned on a throwback playlist while I got ready, a quick shower where I debated too long over shaving my legs before I actually did so, thinking about how Tina might have me try on a suit or dress for the wedding. I hadn't decided what I wanted to go for yet, hence the indecisiveness with the razor. Eventually I bit the bullet and just took the extra five minutes to shave just to the tops of my knees, not bothering with my thighs as I highly doubted I'd be wearing a mini dress to a formal event, though it might be fun to see how Gavin would react to more revealing clothes. I filed the thought away while I got out of the shower, toweling off and tying the towel around my hair and brushing my teeth. By the time I had thrown on a pair of well loved jeans and a plain tee, Tina was calling me, I answered and before I could even put the phone to my ear, I could hear music blaring in the background, and then Tina screamed "HERE BITCH!" and promptly hung up. I pocketed the phone, and hurried looking for my Birkenstocks, of course they weren't by the door, they were in front of the fridge, where I had stopped last night upon arriving home to grab some food before heading to bed. I slid the sandals on, stopping for a moment to grab two packets of the applesauce squeezies for a quick breakfast. 

By the time I got to the car, Tina was listening to a different song, but the volume was the same, I'm sure my poor neighbors who were trying to sleep in on a Sunday morning were not very pleased. I opened the door and slid in, Tina turned the volume down. What a shame, she had excellent taste in music, ‘Do I Wanna Know?’ by Arctic Monkeys isn't a song you just turn down! 

"Took you long enough!" She laughed, a smile stretching across her face. 

"Shut up I couldn't find my shoes!" I shouted, holding up my feet and wiggling my toes in the most comfortable pair of shoes ever made. She looked at my feet and raised her eyebrows, snorting.

"Jesus Christ I’m a lesbian and I still wouldn’t wear those ugly ass shoes, (Y/n)!” I gasped and smacked her arm. 

“You’re disrespecting your culture!” I shouted, as the car silently started and began to pull out into the street, heading towards the dress store. Tina just giggled and I huffed. 

“For that, I’m not giving you the applesauce I brought for you.” I tore open the packets, double fisting them and squeezing all their contents into my mouth. Tina howled with laughter 

“What are you, fucking two years old! I cannot believe you!” 

“You’re just jealous that you aren’t as stylish as me and now I’ve had a healthy breakfast which I assume you didn’t as you were at the station all night. I was going to be a good, kind, maid of honor and offer you sustenance but if you disrespect the birks, you disrespect me.” I joked, crossing my arms and looking out the windshield past her. 

“Oh my god my maid of honor is two years old!!” 

“Hey! That’s uncalled for, I’m not a toddler, if anything I’m like a seven year old, I make sense but just barely.” I joked. She laughed and nodded. 

“Still can’t buy booze.”

“That’s why there are other best people who are of age who can.” 

There was a natural pause in the conversation, the song changed and we both listened for a moment before Tina turned to me, a devilish grin on her face making me nervous. 

“What?”

“So, I noticed something strange at work last night.”

“Yeah, what did you notice?” I laughed.

“A certain someone kept texting on their phone and smiling AND Nines wasn’t giving them a hard time for being on their phone.” She smirked. “I thought the date went bad?”

“How do you even know it was me, future Detective Chen?”

“Well, I may have glanced over his shoulder at some point and saw your name.” I laughed.

“Tina! I was going to tell you. You didn’t have to spy on Gavin!” She laughed.

“It was the heat of the moment. I promise the next time I spy on him I won’t tell you.” I shoved her shoulder and we both laughed.

“Man, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” The automatic car pulled into the bridal shop and we both squealed, jumping out of the car and practically running inside.

"I win." Tina said smugly as she crossed the threshold of the store before me. 

"Hey who's the kid now!"

Time went by fast in the shop, the consultants immediately brought us back to a sitting area, offering us complimentary champagne that we happily took. Our consultant, a happy-go-lucky android named Lance, brought out a selection of pantsuits for Tina to try, and offered excellent counsel on all of Tina's concerns. She wanted something elegant and more masculine. She tried a couple things before deciding pinstripe made her feel like a mobster and that white was definitely not her color. Lance was always smiling and laughing with them, not minding at all when they laughed at one of the options or didn't like what he had brought for her. He was very efficient in bringing options, and after three 'no's' he brought out a selection of black jackets and pants, assisting her in a pair of slim fit high waisted slacks with a center vertical pleat to help her look taller, a simple white dress shirt with a short popped collar, and a sleek black satin jacket, with a black lining. The fabric shone nicely in the light, a little bit of a sparkle in the thread. She looked gorgeous, and I could tell she felt it too, the way her eyes shone a bit, and her cheeks flushed, though she would probably blame that on the champagne if I brought it up later.

“You should try on some bridesmaids’ dresses. I’ve got my suit and now I want to judge others!”  Tina plopped down on the couch next to me and took my champagne from me.

"You haven't even decided on the style you want! Are you matching both bridal parties? Doesn't Valerie have a say in it then!" I squawked, reaching for the champagne flute she'd stolen from me. 

"We actually have talked about it, and we decided that as long as everyone has blush pink or yellow in their outfit, whatever style they want is best. It eliminates the drama and keeps our wedding day happy." Tina said, tipping her head back and downing my champagne in one big gulp. I smacked her arm. 

"Ah, I'd be happy to help you find a dress Miss. (L/N)." Lance offered, moving to sit next to me and offered out his hand, images of dresses popping up on his hand. 

"What are you thinking Miss (L/N)? Would you prefer the blush tone or yellow?" Lance asked, looking at my face instead of his hand. 

"Ah, blush please." I requested. 

"Not a problem, it's a popular color so we have a lot of options. Now, what style cut do you like?" I looked at him like a fish out of water. 

"I'm not sure, what do you think would look best, Lance?" He smiled, before pulling up a couple of images on his hand and explaining the styles and what design choices would flatter my features. I nodded, and he guided me back to the dressing room. 

"I'm going to run and grab some of the options we discussed Miss. (L/N)." He told me, before shutting the door. He knocked when he returned about five minutes later, hanging six dresses on the wall for me. "When you're ready, join us in the showing room, and we can adjust the fit and see what the bride thinks." He told me. I shouted 'Thanks!' through the door before turning to decide which dress I wanted to try first. 

 “Wow.” I murmured looking at myself in the mirror. From the tag on the dress I learned it’s a ‘long chiffon dress with halter neckline.’ I didn’t really understand what any of those words meant, but this dress was…amazing. It made me feel like a goddamn princess. 

“What’s taking so long!” I heard Tina shout.

“Give me a minute, you drunk!” I walked out of the dressing room, towards where Tina was sitting.

“Holy shit.” I laughed and spun around.

“It’s pretty good, right?” She got up and walked towards me.

“You’re getting this one. No question. I’m not letting you leave without it!”

“Are you sure? I can try a light-yellow dress if you want.”

“No, this one is perfect.” She smashed her cheek on mine and we both looked at ourselves in the mirror. I was smiling so wide my face was starting to hurt. She quickly grabbed her phone and snapped a picture of us, and I laughed.

“Tina!”

“What! I want to remember this moment.” She kissed my cheek. “I can’t wait to come back here with you when Gavin proposes.” She teased, causing you to laugh. 

“We’ve gone on one date! How much champagne have you had?” She shook her head.

“Just three glasses, I’m drunk on happiness! Come on, change back and buy that dress!” I laughed and walked back to the changing room. I picked up my phone and saw Tina had sent me the picture already. Smiling, I sent the picture to my dad.

 Got my dress for the wedding!

 Beautiful kiddo!

[eirenare]

“The Rise of Kylo Ren” + TROS theory (with TROKR pics)

I’ll probably look like a clown in 16-17 days when “The Rise of Kylo Ren” #2 releases but whatever lol—after TROS I believe even more that the former leader of the Knights of Ren (Ren) is Ben from another timeline or a future gone (more) wrong

Anyways, my thoughts on this:

1) remember the outrageous “Ben sets the temple ablaze and runs away” from the Visual Guide? I’m sure it’s probably just even more retconning (like a ton of stuff from the VD), but what if it’s literal—except it’s just that the Ben who does it isn’t the Ben we know, therefore making it true while retaining “our” Ben’s innocence. Another option (painful but, I think, absolutely plausible) is that Ben himself accidentally set on fire the temple with his rage and sorrow unleashing a Force storm. However, the way the “prologue” of TROKR #1 ends (I’ll talk about later on in this post) seems kind of like a foreshadowing that Ben (well, “our” Ben) didn’t do it...? Kind of interesting, and hopefully we won’t have to wait until issues #3 and #4 (february and march) to know about that important detail

2) this interview with Charles Soule (the writer) and Will Sliney (the artist) dedicates, curiously, the first 3-4 paragraphs solely to talking about Ren—and the article, which is from the official SW webpage (an article called “Introducing ‘Ren’ in Marvel’s The Rise of Kylo Ren”), starts like this: “they call him Ren, but that wasn’t always his name”. Which is also how the comic starts:

... Tell me this doesn’t sound suspicious as kriff and like foreshadowing

And the interview keeps going like this: “Born out of the flames,” as artist Will Sliney puts it, the leader of the Knights of Ren in the opening pages of the new comic Star Wars: The Rise of Kylo Ren #1, arrives battle-scarred and wearing a fearsome, featureless mask — a blank expression save for a smattering of claw-like gouges. Concealed within is a charismatic leader, the exact type of person who would be able to seduce young Ben Solo away from the path of the Jedi.” Then they basically proceed to spend the first 4 paragraphs talking a lot about Ren besides talking about Ben (and then, lastly, about Snoke—and, fun fact: they knew about the Snoke twist of TROS beforehand), although I think they talk less about Ben even

3) Ben being compared to Anakin while Ren is compared to Darth Vader, except Charles Soule wanted Ren to read “like a more charming Darth Vader. “A Vader who is charismatic and who is appealing. That’s why [Ren’s] skin is burned and he sort of looks the way that he does. He’s embracing the seductiveness and the damage that the dark side does. Darth Vader, as impressive and imposing and terrifying as he is, is remote and cold and distant because he has the suit surrounding him. Whereas Ren isn’t hiding behind it. He’s someone you could have a beer with, in theory.”

4) more interesting interview stuff. “Designed purposefully for the new comic series, with issue #1 out now, Ren feeds the evolution of Kylo Ren. “The entire seductiveness of the dark side poured into one character engineered for Ben Solo is Ren,” Soule says. “He’s sort of a charming evil rascal that can be really fun to write and I really like where he goes in the series. But if Kylo Ren is going to take over the Knights of Ren, which we know that’s what happens, there should be some transition.”

Also: “I think the key to writing Ben Solo is to write him as a lost teenager who is deeply in touch with emotions that teenagers often feel,” Soule says. “He feels like no one understands him, no one sees him the way he actually is, he’s utterly alone and there’s no one else out there in the universe. So when he sees Ren, he’s like, ‘Wait a minute — maybe there is somebody like me in the universe. Maybe there is a path for a guy like me. Look at the choices he’s made. I could make those choices, too, and I could be cool.’”

So... This is interesting. We have Snoke manipulating Ben to go to him, at first making himself appear friendly, while on some measure Palpatine’s pulling the strings from Snoke (I don’t think he would be like a puppet with Palps’ voice, though, given that chapter of the TLJ non-junior novelization that has a lot of stuff from Snoke’s perspective, but who knows). But then, Ben Solo’s basically obsessed with Vader... and, apparently, this Ren’s a walking dark side temptation for Ben. Well... We’ll see what happens, I guess

Also, crying inside at reading that “wait a minute—maybe there is somebody like me in the universe. Maybe there is a path for a guy like me. Look at the choices he’s made. I could make those choices, too, and I could be cool”. If Ren really was Ben from another time seeking to change things (probably something related to Rey): the implications that this has, the emotions that this has, the power that this has

Interesting, too, that it hasn’t been said if it’s Snoke who’s “the master” of the KoR (yes, they do have a master on top of their own leader), but that only gets weirder because the KoR were revealed time ago to be only loyal to their leader and to the “Ren philosophy” (which also makes possible ties with Snoke alone impossible)—so, if Snoke and the First Order aren’t, then who is it? Palpatine? Still, again, there’s the philosophy thing of following only their group leader...

Oh and: the Ren philosophy sounds very intriguing and I’m liking it a lot

(For context of the next pics: there are two brothers, being one of them Force-sensitive, and both the KoR and someone called SecSec are trying to recruit them—but the non-Force-sensitive one kills the other, which means the KoR doesn’t accept him, and Ren kills him)

5) just after that panel, in this pic below they talk a bit about “the master” here, being Ren who says it. Also it’s interesting that, after that happens, the KoR part ends with Ren saying "let’s go find something to burn”:

After that there’s a page as if this kind of prologue has finished, showing a page with the logo of the comic and all that... and then, next page it’s Ben standing in front of the fire and ruins of the temple all shocked (a note here: on that page it reads “now” and the name of the location, and the “prologue” happened “long ago”). I’d say that really looks like foreshadowing...

Now the thing is... If the KoR are not affiliated in any way with the First Order nor Snoke, and the KoR is only interested in recruiting Force-sensitives for their ranks, then how come they could’ve arrived in Luke’s Jedi temple... just at that right time to burn it down? I mean, right, there can be coincidences, but— uh, that might be a bit too much of a coincidence, perhaps? Who knows...

6) interview intensifies. “Born out of the flames”, is how Sliney describes Ren—well, thought it was worth mentioning this because guess what mythological being is born out of the flames too. Also, funny the parallel between that and the publisher’s summary of “The Rise of Kylo Ren” #3 (scheduled for February 12th): “Soon, BEN SOLO'S path will end in a place of fire and blood, and a shadow will rise to take his place. He is with the KNIGHTS OF REN now, and they will welcome him, if he can pay their price.” Well, given that “our” Ben starts becoming Kylo Ren after what happens at the temple, and that they describe Ren (referring to the former leader of the KoR) like being “born out of the flames”... this does nothing to deterr me from believing this theory, to be honest

7) more from the interview. “ The creative team engineered some surprises for this charming dark sider, a foil in many ways to Darth Vader hiding beneath his protective covering. “You expect the dude hiding his face under a mask like that to be all messed up, particularly with his body looking the way it does,” Soule says. But in issue #2 we’ll see what he’s truly concealing, a reveal that speaks to Ben on a whole other level” … This whole paragraph, I swear. Sounds like when they talked in the times between TFA and TLJ about Ben’s face behind his mask, and about his unmasking. Also, the talk about the face reveal…

What kind of “reveal that speaks to Ben on a whole other level” could it be? I don’t think they’d be referring to that with something more going on in his face, as in, scars or charred skin. In fact, it wouldn’t make sense for Ren to cover that up given that he shows with pride his scarred body

And faces of men he might know? The probabilities just lower and narrow soooo much here. We have yet to see, however, if Ben gets the reveal as a kid or an adult, which could make a difference. Still, back to “what man could this guy be”, I just can’t think of someone that he’d recognize and have this impact on him... ... And now it’s when it’s a Ben clone from another timeline, lol

8) that big panel on “The Rise of Kylo Ren” #2 where the KoR and Ren are facing Luke, Ben and Lor San Tekka, and Ben and Ren seem to mirror poses:

9) this is jut something that came to my mind, but… It still bugs me to this day the phrase “it is you” that Ben says regarding Rey on the TFA novelization (when she calls forth the Legacy lightsaber), because Ben didn’t know back then about them being a dyad, nor have we seen any mentions to him having dreamt of Rey before or anything—so maybe Ben’s encounter (encounters? Still not sure about it) with Ren involved Ren telling him something that will happen in the future? Something which could also tackle that random “which girl?”

The sad thing, if Ren was really Ben from the future? Like I said in my previous post about this teory (pre-TROS): ... that Ben would’ve literally killed himself, and therefore made true what he told Han that his son is dead and that he’d killed him (which then is reversed in TROS with that “Kylo Ren is dead, my son is alive”). That would be such a kriffing trauma for Ben that I don’t know if I could stomach it, after seeing Ben’s death in TROS... I mean, we would literally be seeing another Ben die... even if somehow his actions meant a worse future would have been avoided

Anyways my brain seems to find fuel in angst (why), because now reading “Ren” only makes me think of Ben’s name but taking on the “R” from Rey if in that future something happened to her...  (Or that the Knights would be called “of Ren” in reference to Ben and Rey)

... And now it’s when we’ve been played like a fiddle all along and the novels, with their differences/expanded material as hints (like the “it is you” in the TFA novelizations), are but one of the timelines. Can you imagine? To cite the TLJ non-junior novelization: “time is a circle. The end is the beginning”. At this point I believe anything could happen, specially after seeing TROS and how wtf it’s all that surrounds it...

10) to finish the post, the thing that made me start thinking Ren could be Ben: the hair that peeks from below the helmet looks apparently like Ben’s both in shape and color (an interesting detail is how the color of their hair seems to match in tone: in issue #1 it’s brownish for the both of them even though one’s surrounded by fire and the other by ice, and on the preview pages of issue #2 their hair is shown black). And in a universe so diverse as SW, and given that Ren and Ben are characters so connected, that’s a pretty... interesting choice. Here are some more images for comparison between Ben and Ren:

[thebiasrekkers]

Breathe: For The Reunion | PJM

For the @bangtanscenery​ - April Showers Bring May Flowers Project in celebration of the Spring Season!

Plot: Jimin’s curse is broken, allowing him to return to his own time. But there is a sense of emptiness that lingers inside of him as he readjusts to his former life. Just as things start to make sense again, he’s greeted by a face he’s longed to see once more.

Rating: PG-13 // SFW

Genre: time-slip!au | modern fantasy!au | angst | romance | drama | fluff

Pairing: Park Jimin x Female OC (Brianna Larkins)

Warnings: Mild language, mental health issues, implication of curses/magic

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 8.2K

AN: Well, we finally made it here guys. We made it and now I'm sad that it's over. But I'm also happy I made it this far. I never imagined I would write a story like this and now that I have, I want to incorporate time-slip themes every chance I get. LOL. Thank you all for who has followed and loved this story. And thank you to those who will stumble across this in the future. You're awesome and you are loved.

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

“Yo, Jimin! Stop spacing out and come on!”

Rolling his eyes, Jimin followed behind the others as they made their way up a large, grassy hill. Spring was in full force and his allergies were acting up. He didn’t want to come out there in the first place. The countryside was nice, but only when he had the time to spare to enjoy it. Assignments were piling up now that he was about to finish Grad School. His friends were insistent that he take a break before he burnt himself out. Jimin didn’t mind the burn out. It meant he was putting his whole heart into something.

Trekking up the mountain, however, felt like a colossal waste of his time.

“Jimin Hyung, you’re too slow!” yelled Taehyung as he motioned for him to hurry up.

Jimin scoffed as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, clambering up the hill. Out of the seven of them, he was lagging behind. Mostly because he was in no real hurry to get to their destination. He wasn’t the superstitious type, but he indulged his friends every once in a while.

Hence why they were making this trip up the mountain in the first place.

“The house isn’t going anywhere, Taehyung-ah,” he called back, adjusting his sunglasses, “and neither is the old woman, I’m sure.”

He finally made it to the top of the hill where the others were taking a break to hydrate themselves. Even though they started their journey up the mountain in the morning, it was already nearing midday. The heat was slowly intensifying and Jimin could only wipe at the sweat on his neck and brow with his handkerchief.

Jungkook tossed a bottle of water over to him as he made his to the others. Yoongi and Namjoon were busy looking at a map while Hoseok fussed over Taehyung for not putting on enough sunscreen. Seokjin rifled through his pack to hand out granola bars for everyone. Jimin sighed, admiring the image while worrying about his mid-term assignments in the back of his mind.

“How much further, Hyung?” Jimin asked as he sipped from the bottle.

“Honestly? I’d say another mile.” Yoongi scratched at the back of his neck as he pushed the map off to a confused Namjoon. “If we follow Namjoon’s directions, we’ll stumble across the gateway to the Underworld.”

Namjoon scoffed as he clicked his tongue behind his teeth. “Not true, but okay, Hyung.”

Seokjin waved his hands back and forth in an attempt to chase away the tension. “Now, now,” he said, handing off the granola bars, “stop being so uptight. You guys clearly need an energy boost.”

Jungkook crushed the wrapper and shoved it into his pocket after having devoured his snack in two bites. He was still chewing. “Not that I have anything against it, but I can’t believe we’re going to a witch’s house.”

“Hey,” Taehyung said, sucking air through his teeth, “she’s not a witch! She’s a powerful shaman.”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Oh geez…”

“I can’t believe I was dragged out of bed to hike up a mountain for half the day,” muttered Yoongi as he bit into the granola bar, “I’m already behind on my work.”

“You can work anytime,” said Namjoon as he bumped shoulders with him, “you need some sun.”

Hoseok smirked as he handed Yoongi a water bottle. “It’s true, Hyung. You can’t stay trapped in your basement all day.”

Yoongi frowned. “It’s my studio, guys.” 

Suddenly, Jungkook threw himself onto Yoongi’s back in a playful hug. “Aw, c’mon, Hyung! You’re starting to sound like Jimin Hyung, obsessed with work all the time!”

“I’m still in school, you dummy,” Jimin snapped as he reached out to poke Jungkook’s cheek, “and so are you. You should take it more seriously.”

He watched his friend pout, still clinging to Yoongi. “After college, that’s it. I’m never going back to school again!”

Jimin smirked as he shook his head. Jungkook had a plan, albeit a simple one, and if his parents hadn’t forced him to go to college in the first place, he’d already be joining the workforce like an adult. Having a college education didn’t make things better, but it would be nice if the world didn’t treat him like the simpleton he always portrayed himself to be. Thankfully, Hoseok and Seokjin helped him with his studies. Taehyung worked full-time and only gave himself time off to poke at Jimin since, out of the two of them, Jimin was the one who decided to attend Grad School.

Taehyung peered over Namjoon’s shoulder at the map, then looked over where another hill crested off just to the North. “Uh, shouldn’t it be just over that hill up there?”

Jimin watched Yoongi’s chest swell with pride. “You mean the one a mile off?”

“Yeah.”

A low groan came from Namjoon. Without saying a word, Yoongi held his hand out and Namjoon placed some bills into his palm. When had a wager been made?

“Well, let’s go,” said Seokjin, readjusting his pack into a more comfortable position, “the sooner we get there, the sooner we can get our fortunes read and head back down the mountain.”

“Agreed,” mused Jimin, already starting off toward the hill, “I have a paper due next week and I need to get started on it.”

Taehyung sidled up next to him and nudged his side with his elbow, causing Jimin to side-step to the left. “You’re telling me it’s not the first draft? I find that hard to believe.”

Jimin shrugged as they all started off toward the hill. “I had to help Grandma with her rice cake shop while she was going through treatment.”

He watched Taehyung’s playful demeanor deflate immediately. “Oh, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me? I could have swung by.”

“It’s fine,” he said, reaching out to pat Taehyung’s head like he was a child. Jimin laughed at the way his friend pouted, his cheeks puffing out in defiance. “She’s a lot better now. Just routine stuff and to get her prescription. You know how Granny likes to overwork herself.”

“Even so,” muttered Taehyung, “next time, just freakin’ call me, dude.”

“I will. I will.”

The trek up the hill wasn’t bad. In fact, it didn’t even feel like it was a mile at all. Everyone was talking all at once about different things. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Jimin really had missed his friends. They all grew up together in the roughneck parts of Seoul, but they’d grown up to be pretty decent human beings.

Maybe it was because they had each other. Or maybe because they feared getting beat into the next century by their families. Either way, they all managed to walk the path they felt was best suited for them.

Namjoon reached the top of the hill first, determined to salvage some of his dignity from having lost his bet with Yoongi. He pointed to the house just further up the hill, surrounded by wildflowers and canvassed by a small cluster of trees near the back of the house. They all stopped, blinking slightly at the stark contrast of the house’s architectural design. Last they checked, they were definitely still in South Korea and while it wasn’t uncommon for structures to have a western look to it, it seemed a little farfetched to have one this far out in the countryside.

On the outside, it looked like a Tudor cottage with natural brick and molding. Everything else was white or a soft yellow color for the trimming, the roof tiles a rich cobalt blue. No one said anything, but it was clear that all they could do was silently marvel at the house’s appearance. Jimin had to wonder if the person residing in this house was, in fact, a witch, and not a shaman like Taehyung claimed.

“See? I told you it was a witch’s house!” exclaimed Jungkook, giving voice to what all of them were clearly thinking.

Taehyung cleared his throat. “Who said that the shaman was Korean?”

“Give it a rest, you two,” said Hoseok in mid-sigh. He peered at Yoongi who was visibly battling with something internally. “Everything alright, Hyung?”

Yoongi bit his thumbnail, a telltale sign that he was uncomfortable. “...I think we should leave.”

Seokjin blinked as he managed to grunt out a noise in confusion. “Huh? Wha-already?”

Again, Jimin wasn’t the superstitious sort. But he learned to trust Yoongi’s hunches over the years. If their friend said they needed to leave, then they should have been hightailing it down the mountain. But even he couldn’t hide his own curiosity. Nothing was even happening yet. Why was he already wanting to leave?

“I feel like something is going to happen.”

“Like what?” Jungkook tilted his head slightly. “Something bad?”

“No,” Yoongi replied slowly, his line of sight shifting to look back at the house, “just...something different than what we’re probably expecting.”

Taehyung raspberried and then laughed. “Oh, come on, Hyung. You make it sound so ominous. We came up here to get our fortunes read, so let’s just do that and then we can leave.”

In that sense, Jimin couldn’t really argue with him there. They came all this way. Superstitious or not, he didn’t want to leave without having something to show for it.

Suddenly, the door to the house opened and out stepped a woman. She looked to be in her mid to late thirties. Her dark auburn hair fell across her shoulders and back in thick ringlets. She wore a garland of flowers on her head like a crown and her clothing made her appear to have stepped out of the Victorian Era - a long and flowing black gown with a white corset cinched tightly around her waist. The sleeves belled out at the elbows, covering her hands, and there was a golden sash draped across her chest - a black crest of a one-winged dragon emblazoned along it.

She took measured steps from the front porch of the house, her dress a point of reference against all the natural colors surrounding her. Her eyes were closed, but it was clear that she had no problem seeing if anyone were to assume she was blind. Turning her face slowly to look in the direction of the sun, Jimin couldn’t help wondering if the woman had seen them at all.

“I just finished making a pot of tea,” she said, and Jimin could feel everyone’s shoulders stiffen from the tension, including his own. The woman turned her head to face them, but her eyes were still closed. She smiled. “Would you all care to join me?”

They all began crowding Yoongi and speaking at once.

“What are we gonna do?”

“Do we go in? Yes? No?”

“She looks really pretty. I bet she is a witch!”

“I mean, we came all this way, right?”

“Dammit, I told you she was a shaman!”

“Since when are Westerners considered shamans?”

Yoongi angrily huffed air from his nostrils. “Shut-up!” he snapped, glaring at all of them, “I can’t fuckin’ think!”

“You came to have your fortunes read, did you not?” They all looked back up at the woman who gestured with one of her bell sleeves to the door. “Then please, come inside and make yourselves comfortable.”

There was a bit of reticence sparking inside of Jimin. But he resigned himself to do whatever his friends wanted, since that was the reason he allowed himself to be dragged out there in the first place. He couldn’t deny his curiosity, but he was just as much a skeptic as any other.

Taehyung, not waiting for them to decide, strode up the hill. Jungkook quickly followed suit until the others were left with no choice but to do the same. The fragrant smell of tea and something sweet seemed to linger from the doorway and the aroma eased whatever trepidation they may have had. Maybe this wouldn’t have been as bad as they were imagining it to be.

Upon entering the house, they were all stunned near the entrance. Everything inside the interior of the house was white. The walls. The ceiling. The floor. There wasn’t a single pigment adorning anything on the surface level. However, everything was decorated with flowers of various shades and sizes. The smell nearly overwhelmed Jimin and he quickly covered his mouth to keep an oncoming migraine at bay.

A small calico cat meowed at the appearance of guests intruding on its home. Jungkook and Taehyung immediately attempted to pet the cat, but it danced just out of reach. Instead, it strode to the far corner of the main living room area, sitting down to observe them from afar. It may have been a trick of the light, but Jimin swore the cat was looking directly at him more than the others.

“Don’t mind her,” said the woman as she closed the door, “she’s always been finicky around strangers.”

The woman gestured for them to have a seat wherever they liked just as the kettle whistled with life. The sound of dishes clinking showed that she was busying herself with preparations. The sweet smell of something freshly baked was even more powerful now that they were inside. Jungkook made a comment about it, to which the woman laughed but said nothing more.

It went without saying that the house, itself, was strange. The woman in question was even stranger. No one said anything about it. At least not yet. Jimin could see Yoongi across the room, rifling with what to speak out about in regards to their current situation.

“How did you even find out about this place, Namjoon?” Seokjin asked suddenly. Yoongi looked at him as if he’d read his mind.

Namjoon shrugged as he peered at a large fern hanging from the wall. “I read about it in some magazine article.”

Hoseok blinked. “A magazine article? Really?” He craned his neck to look at the woman as she started pouring tea. “Did you have an interview, Miss?”

“No,” she replied simply, “I haven’t been interviewed by anyone. I rarely get visitors as it is.”

“I see,” Jimin said slowly as he shot Namjoon a dubious look, “makes me wonder what magazine you were nosing through.”

He watched Namjoon’s expression change to one clearly offended. “You make it sound like I was reading porn.” He folded his arms across his chest. “It was just some magazine a friend gave to me while we were hanging out. Figured it would be a cool place to go check out.”

“So you dragged us out here on a whim?” Yoongi arched a brow. “Because of a magazine article, Namjoon-ah?”

“Come now. There’s no need for such hostility.” The woman approached them, carrying a large tray with tea and small butter cookies. “As I said, I rarely get visitors and your energy really livens up the place.”

Jungkook took the tray from her and bowed his head, even though she still had her eyes closed. “We’re sorry to intrude.”

She gestured to the large table off to the right. While the others sat in the chairs, he shook his head some. He didn’t remember the table being there earlier. Or had his mind been playing tricks on him while he was focused on something else?

The woman waited for them all to take a seat before slowly sitting down at the head of the table. With a wide flourish, she lifted her right arm up. As the bell of her sleeve slid down, revealing her pale skin, there was a large deck of cards clasped between her fingers. Some of his friends gasped in delightful surprise and even Taehyung clapped. Seokjin flashed an open-mouthed grin as he lifted the cup to his lips. Hoseok blinked curiously, his eyes full of wonder as to what would happen next. Jimin merely folded his arms across his chest, not really impressed but not dismissive either.

“I do not read fortunes so much as I read futures.” She placed the deck on the table, spreading the large cards out in a semi-circle in front of her. “Are any of you familiar with Tarot?”

As far as Jimin knew, none of them were really into the occult. Things regarding fortunes were often told through talismans and rice or even bowls of water. Cards weren’t really used and talismans were only brought out for exorcisms. These were all things that Jimin didn’t believe in to begin with. Superstitious practices were coupled with customs that all Koreans performed out of habit and from being raised in certain household environments that kept true to the old ways.

Again, Jimin just didn’t buy into that sort of nonsense.

The woman smiled warmly when a few replied that they did not, in fact, know about Tarot. “Wonderful,” she said as she gently clapped her hands together, “then you’re all in for a treat. Can I ask that you all please choose a card from the pile?”

Each of them looked to the other, before shrugging. Jungkook was the first to grab a card, followed by Taehyung. One by one, they all picked a card, with Jimin being the last to pull from the deck.

“Now, I want you all to place your card face up on the table.”

They each did as they were asked. The woman waited, her eyes closed, but it seemed like she was able to see regardless. She made little noises, nodding her head a few times, and then paused when she looked in Jimin’s direction. He didn’t know what card he was looking at, but it must have been something interesting enough to cause the woman to not say anything. Instead, she placed a finger on her chin and tapped it a few times. Her full lips formed into a small ‘O’ before shifting into a smirk.

“Well, well,” she finally said, folding her hands in her lap, “it seems that all of you have pretty good luck.” She turned her head to face Jimin, her elegant smile still present. “All except you. You have the worst luck of them all.”

His friends all turned to face him and his cheeks instantly grew hot, both from embarrassment and outrage. How could she determine something like that from a simple card draw?!

Not willing to accept her words at face value, Jimin scoffed loudly. “What makes you say that?”

She picked up his card and held it up so he could see it. “This is The Tower. It signifies a sudden change that is to occur, one that is completely outside of your control.”

He arched a single brow. “So?”

Again, the woman’s smile remained. “It means that you, a man who takes pride in your level of control, is about to have that control stolen from you.” Her smile widened a small measure. “And that pride of yours will be shattered as well.”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “That’s insane.”

“Is it?” She gave a slight tilt of her head. “As someone as practical and rational as yourself, are you certain that you would not break if such a thing were to occur?” The woman placed the card among the pile, grabbing for the others, and then shuffled them in a wide circle. She gestured to Jimin, then to the pile. “Draw again, please.”

“Whatever,” he said, reaching for the pile and picking up a card. When he looked at it, his eyes widened. “What the hell is this?” Jimin stared at the woman, watching her smile grow a fraction more. It was like she already knew what he’d drawn.

He drew The Tower once more.

“See? I told you that you have the worst luck of them all.” Jimin was too flabbergasted to come up with a decent rebuttal. Instead, he could only watch the woman take the card back and place it back into the pile. Her hands shuffled the cards once more. She picked up a card and turned it face up on the table. “The Wheel of Fortune is what you fear. You fear change because change means having to adjust your current way of thinking; your current outlook on life. You also take many things for granted, but most people do.” She turned to face him again. “You fool yourself into believing that you don’t, smothering your selfish desires down in the hopes of keeping them hidden from those closest to you.”

Jimin balked, unable to process everything this woman was saying. Who did she think she was? She didn’t know him! She didn’t know how he thought or of the struggles he had to endure in order to get this far in his life. He was young and still had more things to experience; to learn. But that didn’t mean he was some bump on a log. He knew that due diligence and perseverance mattered when achieving a goal. Focusing on those goals was what led to dreams being reality.

Nothing came from simply sitting around idly and doing nothing. And in that case, Jimin didn’t believe in luck either.

He didn’t even bother stifling the laugh that burst out of him. It startled his friends, because they knew that laugh. It wasn’t a joyous sound. No.

It was an angry one.

“You’ve got some nerve, Lady,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “you don’t even know me. And what? You think flipping over a few cards means you can tell me all about my life? Like you’ve been there to see any of it? Don’t fucking kid yourself!”

“J-Jimin-ah,” called Hoseok gently, trying to get Jimin to calm down a little.

But it was too late. Jimin was furious.

Because what right did this woman have to expose him like that in front of his friends? His struggles were his own. His merits were his own. No one had a right to them because Jimin worked hard to get where he was. He was still working hard to maintain it. Winding up purposeless and with no drive was a nightmare he wouldn’t even dream of suffering through.

At the end of the day, who gave a damn about smelling the roses? Enjoying the little things in life didn’t erase the reality that he had to face. Small indulgences like being with his friends was more for them than for him. Because, in the end, he would have to deal with his problems by himself. No one else would be able to help him and, as such, he ultimately couldn’t rely on anyone but himself.

For the first time since they arrived, the woman’s smile fell. She even looked a little disappointed. “It truly is a shame you feel that way.” Shaking her head, she picked up another card and held it up to show Jimin. “And because of that, because of your lack of trust in others, as well as your own guarded selfishness, this is your fate.”

He glared at the words on the card, only to realize that she was holding it upside down. He quickly deciphered the backwards writing, then blinked in confusion.

It was The Hermit.

“You have lost your way, Jimin Park. You have deluded yourself into believing you have a purpose when, in fact, you do not understand your true purpose at all.”

Jimin’s gaze met the woman’s, causing him to shift back harshly in the chair. The legs scraped loudly on the floor, the noise sending an unpleasant chill to spread throughout his entire body. It wasn’t the fact that she knew his name, even though it wasn’t given in its entirety. That wasn’t what startled him.

It was her eyes.

Her eyes were finally open, revealing swirls of purple and blue the likes of which he’d never seen before. The house began to shake violently, causing the tea cups to rattle off the table and crash to the floor. When he looked around, he realized that his friends were gone. Only he was alone with the woman and he stood up quickly, forcing the chair to fall to the floor. The woman, however, remained seated. She seemed unaffected by what was happening and all Jimin could do was look around helplessly as he yelled for his friends who, for all intents and purposes, vanished into thin air.

“And until you are able to truly understand who you are, you will never be able to become who you are meant to be.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” he snarled at her. “And what did you do with my friends?!”

“You will be alone. Isolated. For as long as it takes.” Her eyes narrowed. “Until you recognize your mistakes. Until you can see beyond your own desires. The world that you’ve never bothered to give a second glance will now ignore you in return.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. He didn’t fully understand what that meant, but Jimin had an idea and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.

“And the day that it finally looks back at you, that will be the moment when you will have to make a choice. You will have to choose between the world...or yourself.”

And before Jimin could question what she meant by those ominous words, an array of colors burst forth from around her, nearly blinding him. He shielded his eyes, crying out into the void, before being swallowed up into a swirling galaxy of stars and nebulas. A place where he knew, in his heart of hearts, that he would be alone.

That he would be alone for a very long time.

Pain.

Hurt.

Everything hurt.

Jimin could feel himself fighting with it, struggling to climb to the surface of his consciousness. He was at the precipice of it. He knew he was so close to reaching that moment where he would be able to process everything. Most likely it would hit him all at once, but it was better than drowning in the darkness. So deeply submerged that there was little chance of him escaping.

There was warmth. And sound. A steady, rhythmic beat that seemed to rest along his skin. It was muffled at first, until it became clearer with each passing second.

It was a beeping sound.

His brows furrowed and a low groan escaped his throat. Rustling noises came from both sides and he finally managed to open his eyes. Everything came into focus all at once, including the bright light that nearly blinded him. Jimin squinted and lifted one arm to shield his face from the intruding brightness. 

“Jimin!”

“Jimin-ah!”

“Hyung!”

As he continued to shield his face, Jimin wrestled with the familiar voices. He was in pain, but it wasn’t in the way that he could remember it. Shouldn’t his shoulder have been hurting more than it was? And he remembered drifting off somewhere. Was he sleeping? Had it all been a dream?

“Don’t go!” shouted Bree as she tried to jump and reach for him, but he was too far away.

Was this really the end?

“I love you!” Jimin yelled suddenly, causing Bree to stop her attempts to pull him back.

She blinked up at him. “J-Jimin…”

A sad smile formed on his lips. This was inevitable. There was nothing they could do to stop this. He was going back to his own time now; to his own world.

“I love you so much…”

Bree gasped, covering her mouth. But when it seemed he would pass through the ceiling, she lowered her hands and flashed the same sad smile back up to him.

“…I love you too.”

Gasping, Jimin bolted upright and clawed at the air. His eyes, wide and full of tears, burned as colors flooded his vision. “BREE!”

Hands gripped at his shoulders, attempting to push him back down onto the plush surface he was resting on. Jimin struggled against them, his shoulders jerking in either direction as he yelled and bucked his hips off the mattress. Everyone called his name, trying to get him to calm down, but this made him rage against them further. He could feel the vein bulging near his neck as his eyes strained from the pressure building up behind them.

His eyes focused on those around him; familiar faces. His friends. They were all clearly worried about him, some even a little apprehensive about his response after just waking up. But the image of Bree wouldn’t leave the forefront of his mind. 

“L-Let go of me!” he shouted, lunging his upper body forward. “LET ME GO!”

A nurse swiftly pushed through his friends, pulling out a needle and injecting it into his IV. It didn’t take long for the sedative to work, Jimin’s vision growing cloudy. But he could tell it wasn’t meant to knock him out. His thundering heartbeat settled slowly and a heavy weight forced him to push his body back into the plush cushions. After the nurse whispered something to Seokjin, the others quickly surrounded him but made sure not to crowd him too much.

Jungkook sat on the edge of the bed slowly, his shoulders tense as he wrangled with what to say. “...Hyung?”

He blinked slowly as he rolled his neck to look at him. “J-Jungkook-ah?” Jimin shifted his gaze to Taehyung. “What’s going on?”

“You passed out,” Taehyung murmured, draping a hand along the back of his neck, “so we took you to the hospital.”

Jimin licked his lips as he rubbed at one of his eyes. “How long have I been out?”

“A couple of hours,” Namjoon answered, causing Jimin to jump slightly, “not too long.”

He’d only been out for a few hours? That couldn’t have been right. Years went by as he traveled through all those different places! It didn’t seem feasible that he’d only been knocked out for mere hours.

Again, he tried to sit up. This time, Hoseok helped him so he could get more comfortable. “What about that woman?” His gaze met Hoseok’s and he noted the confusion etched on his friend’s face. “What happened?”

Hoseok tilted his head slightly. “What woman?” Jimin frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“That witch-shaman-fortune teller lady!” Jimin looked between all of his friends and they looked just as puzzled as Hoseok. What was going on?! “We went to the mountains to get our fortunes read, and--”

“No,” stressed Yoongi as he folded his arms across his chest, “we were about to board the train for Gwangju and you passed out at the terminal.”

Jimin’s heart skipped, a bead of sweat forming on his temple. “W-What?” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “The train?”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed as he nodded. “Yeah. We were going to Gwangju for a few days to start off Summer Break, remember?”

Pain hummed behind Jimin’s eyes. He pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead in an attempt to settle his nerves. They hadn’t gone to the mountains. They hadn’t met that woman who cursed him, trapping him in that house and sending him into an unexpected journey. They never even left Seoul!

So, it’s really broken, he thought, his hand moving to cover his mouth while staring at the bed sheets, I’m really back.

Bree’s smiling face flashed in his mind as she held Juno in her arms. What happened to them? Were they stuck in the house in his place? Had he condemned them to his fate once his curse was lifted?

An overwhelming sense of guilt exploded across his chest, causing Jimin to cover his face with his hands as he openly sobbed into them. He felt his brothers’ comforting embraces holding him as he cried. He knew they were probably thinking that Jimin was just confused and disoriented and, in truth, he was. 

But the true pain that seeped throughout his entire body was the thought of leaving Bree to suffer what was once his fate...alone.

Days bled into weeks. It was one giant blur for Jimin. After getting over his disorientation, he was able to regain some functionality in his daily life. His friends insisted they cancel their trip to Gwangju and just stay in Seoul, but Jimin said there wasn’t a need. He didn’t want to ruin their holiday because of his dysfunctionalism and he probably needed the break himself. After so many years of not working, studying, and even doing anything remotely productive during his travels, Jimin wasn’t sure if he was ready to get back into the swing of things.

After they returned from their trip, he contacted his advisors and professors to let them know he would be taking the semester off after he turned in his assignments. He was barely able to struggle through his paper and he couldn’t even remember what his term paper was initially about anymore. Sure, he’d left himself notes and even written an outline, but his head was jumbled with too many other concerns to focus on school.

His parents were extremely disappointed with his decision to withdraw from school, but Jimin couldn’t bring himself to change his mind. If it was still taking him over a month to remember what year it was, he knew he would just stress himself out in the middle of his classes. He needed a break. He needed something else to focus his attention on while also allowing himself to feel productive in the meantime. Jimin wasn’t giving up on school completely, but he knew that it just wasn’t for him right now.

He moved back to Busan to be closer to his family and to also help his grandmother with her rice cake shop. She was beyond ecstatic for the company and this allowed her time to pay more attention to her own health. Kneading dough and the smell of rice powder brought a sense of calm to Jimin’s routine. Meeting and interacting with customers, as well as doing research to help bolster sales, allowed him to momentarily forget the loneliness he felt.

But at night, everything always came back full circle. Jimin often had night terrors filled with visions of Bree blaming him for abandoning her; for leaving her behind in that perpetually never ending cycle. Jimin may have gotten used to it, but the inability to escape his prison, a prison he’d brought upon himself, was a concept he was sure would drive anyone mad.

If I left her there like that…

He could never finish the thought that followed swiftly after waking up from a nightmare. Jimin was too afraid to finish it. Because giving it a voice, even a silent one, would mean that there was a chance it would come true.

Every day and every night, Jimin thought about looking for Bree. But he honestly didn’t know where to start his search. Looking for her by name was one thing, but he couldn’t imagine how many “Brianna Larkins” would turn up. He didn’t have much money so hiring a private investigator was almost out of the question. It wasn’t like he lived in the new millennium where the internet and smartphones were regular things. This was the only thing that granted him a bit of solace, knowing he returned to only a decade after her time.

But who was to say that Bree was actually a person of the 80s? Just because her friends happened to have an 80's radio? For all he knew, they could have just been a bunch of trendy hipsters who wanted to seem eclectic by having an old-fashioned portable radio. Jimin traveled enough through the past and future to know that a person couldn’t always judge everything at face value.

What if she wasn’t even born yet?

These, and many other anxieties, haunted Jimin at almost every turn. Taehyung often visited him when he had the chance, as did the others, but nothing could chase away the panic-induced terror that threatened to suffocate him each and every single night.

His grandmother finally suggested that he see a therapist. Mental health wasn’t a strongly advocated subject at the time, but anything was better than falling into a tailspin of depression he wouldn’t be able to escape from. There were specialists in Busan, but the best psychiatrists were in Seoul. Taehyung supported his need for some kind of medical attention, even if it meant just sitting down and talking to someone unrelated to him. 

Jimin set his first appointment for the following week.

He didn’t think he’d be this nervous. 

After filling out all the paperwork, Jimin found himself wringing his hands together as he waited for someone to call him to the back. Taehyung and Yoongi both recommended this particular clinic because of the well-known specialists who hailed from different parts of the world and practiced medicine internationally. He wasn’t one to knock something until he tried it. Or at least that was how he felt he was now . Jimin was pretty confident his old self would never have entertained the idea of seeing a psychiatrist.

There was a first time for everything. Even this.

He fiddled with some magazines until he was called. Something to keep his hands busy. Part of him wanted to bolt out of the door and never look back. There was an old part of him that lingered in the deep recesses of his mind. About how this was just all in his head and he would just need some time to get over it. 

But he’d spent years in isolation. Regardless of whether it was in his own head or not wasn’t the point. Those moments were real to him and the mind was a powerful thing. The pain he felt was real to him. The feelings he experienced were real to him.

In essence, that was all that mattered.

I can’t keep running from this, he thought as he clenched his fists together, running is what got me into trouble in the first place.

“Park Jimin-ssi?” He lifted his head to see the receptionist waving at him. “The doctor will see you now.”

Standing, Jimin moved to the door as it opened and the receptionist smiled as she held a clipboard to her chest. She gestured for him to follow behind her and they walked down a small corridor. She opened the door before he could see the name on the outside, ushering him to go inside.

“The doctor will be with you shortly,” she said, bowing her head slightly, “would you like some tea?”

Jimin bowed his head awkwardly in return. “Uh, yes, please. Thank you.”

She bowed again. “Of course. I’ll be right back. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

She closed the door gently behind her and Jimin slowly sat down on the couch in front of a large glass and metal desk. It was littered with various books, mostly fairy tales and some self-help books. Others were reference materials and even subjects alluding to science fiction. Jimin couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth. It reminded him of the months he spent with Bree, studying various texts to get even a vague idea of what his circumstances entailed. 

She’d been so selfless in wanting to help him. There was nothing to gain from doing so. All she wanted was for him to be able to return to his family; to his own world.

Again, the phantom ache of guilt pounded against his chest, causing Jimin to absentmindedly rub at it. He was here so he could put a voice to the remorse that ripped through him. Letting it eat away and fester inside wasn’t going to help things. There was no way to get back to Bree, but he wanted to believe that she hadn’t met the same fate.

Wanting to find something to distract his thoughts, he peered at the walls of the room and admired some of the paintings that decorated the doctor’s office. Some were simple ones - replicas of Monet’s work and some of Dali. But what gave Jimin pause was the silver-framed picture sitting on the doctor’s desk. 

It was a picture of a calico cat playing around in the flowers. The letters monogrammed on the lower half of the frame had Jimin’s jaw dropping.

JUNO

Suddenly, the door opened and Jimin jumped to his feet. His eyes focused on the person now in the room, but their back was to him. Her attire was simple, comfortable, but she still carried an air of professionalism. Her thick auburn curls were pulled into a low ponytail and silver hoops dangled from her ears. The door latch catching sounded like muffled cannon fire in his ears. 

“Sorry for the wait, Mr. Jimin Park,” she said, her voice laced with amusement; a voice he could never forget, “I like your name. I’m Doctor Brianna Larkins.” She turned around, a smile still on her face, but it fell instantly when her eyes locked with his.

Jimin could hardly believe what he was seeing. Even the loud clatter of her clipboard hitting the ground wasn’t enough to rattle his thoughts. Bree continued to stand by the door as Jimin remained where he was near the couch. 

For a while, neither of them moved. Jimin was too scared. He was afraid of what would happen the very moment he took a step forward. Would everything fizzle into smoke before his eyes? Would he lose her again?

And just like the last time, Bree was the one to speak first. 

“J-Jimin…”

Her eyes were full of unshed tears and Jimin’s own vision began to wobble. “B-Bree?”

He watched her tears fall and he felt like the universe was being created at that moment, her smile so radiant that he couldn’t believe that he was the reason for it. Not even for a second. 

Jimin soaked in her presence. She was older now. Of course she was. Even though he was the older one when they’d first met, it was clear that time hadn’t frozen for her. She was there with him, in his own time. Bree wasn’t trapped in his prison, made to suffer for his own transgressions.

He didn’t care about the why or the how. Jimin only cared that she was there with him and not traveling through space and time alone. She was free. They were free.

Rushing forward, Jimin closed the distance between them. His chest slammed up against hers and he wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him. They both let out a sob at the same time and he could feel her fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder blades. Their bodies shook from the emotions overwhelming them until their legs could no longer hold them up. Sinking to the floor, Jimin cradled the back of her head in his hand as they cried their hearts out in each other’s arms.

“27. And you?”

“32.” She laughed while shaking her head. “Goddamn, I’m old.”

“You’re not old.” He brushed a stray curl back and tucked it behind her ear. “You still look the same, even now.”

Bree rolled her eyes. “Whatever, you’re crazy.” She was still smiling.

Jimin squeezed her hand as they sat on the couch together. He was too afraid of letting her hand go, worried that she might disappear when he did. She must have felt the same, because she didn’t try to pull away from him. Not even once.

After they’d calmed down a bit, Bree suggested that they at least look like they were having a session. The last thing she wanted was for the receptionist to come in and see them both hysterical messes on the floor. When she collected the clipboard and placed it on her desk, the receptionist brought Jimin his tea and swiftly left the room. 

He cupped her cheek with his palm, turning her face toward him. It was true. To him, she hadn’t aged a single bit. She still had the same healthy brown tint to her skin, her former dark curls were dyed a deep shade of red that he liked, and her eyes held a hint of the hazel glow he remembered. Her cheeks were tinted a soft pink, probably because he was staring so intently at her but he couldn’t help himself. Jimin pinched his forearm to make sure he wasn’t actually dreaming and Bree smacked his hand, forcing him to pout.

“Hey!”

She frowned. “Stop that. You’re going to give yourself bruises.”

He huffed. “It doesn’t matter.” Jimin twirled his fingers through the lower half of her curls. “...I still can’t believe it.”

“Neither can I,” Bree whispered, wrapping her fingers around his wrist, “I was beginning to think I’d dreamed the whole thing.”

“I don’t blame you.” Jimin’s brows furrowed as he leaned in a little closer. “For me, it’s only been a few months. But for you, it’s been years.”

She lifted her eyes to meet his. “Fourteen, to be exact.”

Jimin pressed his forehead against hers, cradling her face in his hands as he closed his eyes. “God, I am so sorry, Bree…”

Bree lightly patted his cheek, pulling back a bit to look at him. “Sorry for what? In what way was any of that your fault?” She shook her head before flashing him a reassuring smile. “I’m just glad that you were able to get back to your own time.”

He nodded in agreement, albeit reluctantly. “So, why psychiatry?’ 

“Truthfully? I did it for myself. After everything that happened, I was a little worried I’d gone mental or something.” Bree laughed, as if she’d just flubbed up the colors in a coloring book. “But as time went on, I wanted to believe that I’d see you again. And if you were half as messed up as I was, then you were going to need someone to help you through it.”

It felt like a lead weight collapsed into his stomach. Even after everything, she was still looking out for him. Bree hadn’t given up on the idea that they would reunite. Whatever her dreams and goals were prior to their meeting, she shifted gears and changed her life, hoping that chance would bring them just a little bit closer.

Jimin laughed, covering his face with his hand. “You don’t know the half of it,” he said, his shoulders trembling, “it’s been absolute hell trying to readjust.” He lowered his hand and looked at her. “Though, I guess a good portion of my nightmares will stop now that I’ve seen you again.”

Bree nodded, brushing some of the fringe from his forehead. “The other half will just take some time.” She grinned cheekily at him. “And now that I’m a licensed professional, you’re guaranteed to get better.”

Rolling his eyes, he pulled Bree a little closer until their noses were barely touching. “I can’t wait for you to tell me everything that’s happened. Fourteen years is a long time.” 

“It is. And Juno is going to give you a stern talking to.” 

He raised his brows. “I can’t believe she’s still around.”

Bree shrugged. “She’s stubborn. That and I think it took some time for her body to get back in sync with the whole aging process.” She smirked. “That’s just my best educated guess though. I’m no scientist.”

Leaning forward, Jimin gently pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her full lips. He heard her gasp, felt her taking in a sharp breath, and then moved his mouth to brush over her cheeks and nose. Her hand grasped for his wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. He paused at her forehead, his lips barely touching her skin there. Even after all this time, she still smelled the same. Her lips tasted the same.

Like cherries. 

“I missed you,” Jimin whispered, his voice shaking a measure, “I missed you so much.”

“Me too.” She leaned her head back to peer at his face, his vision of her blurring slightly from the tears collecting in his eyes. “I missed you too, Jimin.”

“I live in Busan now.” His smile fell a bit. “But...but I can come to Seoul any time.”

She grinned. “And I’m a therapist, Jimin. I can move my practice anywhere.”

Jimin sighed, shaking his head but his smile returned. “I run a rice cake shop with my grandmother. I kinda like it. I think you might like it too.”

“I can’t wait to see it.”

Taking a breath, Jimin sealed his lips over hers and pressed his body across her own. She fell back against the couch and he wrapped one arm around her waist, practically pulling her into his lap. Her hands fell along his shoulders as he took every single moment given to him to nip, pull, and lavish his affections on her lips. They would be swollen from his attention, but he didn’t care. No matter how many years would pass by after that moment, he would never get tired of the taste of her mouth; of cherry lip balm.

Breaking the kiss, he quickly wiped at the tears on Bree’s face. She laughed, using the sleeve of her coat to do the same for him. He gave her little pecks to the mouth before pulling her into his arms once more - the steady cadence of her beating heart matching his own.

Craning his neck, he buried his face into her hair as she held him just as tightly against her. “...now that we have the time.”

Time that would never be taken advantage of ever again.

[dr-astormylasthurrah]

DR:ASLH AMA (10/21/2020)

so today i decided to sit down and answer a whole bunch of questions on discord!

this DOES contain spoilers up through the end of ch5, just a warning! if you’re on mobile i’m so sorry.

Who is your favorite character?

THAT IS THE MEANEST QUESTION YOU COULD EVER ASK DID YOU KNOW THIS. This varies a lot depending on the day but usually... tied Chiyo/Tatsumaru. I love them both so much. I think Ryouji's my favorite to write, though. If ASLH were someone else's story, I think my favorite would undeniably be Chiyo, because I'm nearly always biased towards protagonists.

What’s been the most enjoyable part of the story process? Why?

Honestly? Getting to see how people react to it. It's the validation luv. Maybe it's selfish, but I really do like seeing how people are affected by my work LOL.

who is on what side of the pineapple on pizza discourse?

Likes it: Amal, Kanemori, Claude, Aster Neutral: Tristan, Tatsumaru, Sentarou Hates it: Ryouji, Chiyo, Ririka, Brendan Doesn't like pizza: Tiana, Hirono, Alexei, Tsukino, Iris Ryouji, Chiyo, and Ririka make fun of Amal.

For the trials of aslh, which trial has been your favorite so far? In terms of planning the case itself, plot beats, character developments, anything really. But which one still makes you lose it when you think about it.

That's a tough one, I don't like writing trials. I liked the structure of ch3, though. The way that the trial stops being "who killed Amal" and instead becomes "who is Aster". The Tatsu POV. The story title drop. And the way the execution just wrecks everything, immediately? Yeah, vibes.

I also feel like ch4's trial deserves a special mention because of how I wrote it while I was sick with the flu, and yet if you ask me that was still probably the most emotionally intense trial- wait I forgot ch2- and ch5- y'know what, forget it. At least it's on par!

If you could change anything about aslh on any level, what would it be & why?

In general, I think it needed more planning. I'm a very on-the-fly planner and writer, but there were a lot of unknowns I didn't consider until late-game that made it hard to bring up and resolve cleanly. It could also probably have used a little bit more clarity with regards to the lore - things like "how does the memory replacement work" weren't decided until super late in the project. I didn't have a backstory for Tatsu until I wrote ch2 or ch3, so before that point their scars were much less extensive and I think they were cut-shaped instead of burns? That was kind of important for at least continuity's sake, and it irks me.

Also, Hirono deserved better. I didn't plan out her arc as extensively as the others (she was, pre-story, the last survivor to be locked and she had traded with Kanemori), so she sort of stagnated in the story. Which wasn't a bad thing, because not everyone's going to get shoved off a balcony or watch their friend get shot, but it kind of sucks that the most "defining" moment she had was that Ririka and Iris died, neither of which she actually witnessed, or the name confession in ch4 trial which kind of got brushed over. Like all the rest of the survivors have Big Defining Moments, except her.

To be honest, ASLH is the first huge writing project I've ever completed, so there's a lot of things I could have done better. But it was also the first huge writing project I've ever completed, so I'm cutting myself some slack there.

What's your philosophy, or even your strategy when it comes to character design? What do you go for first or emphasize, where do you think you could experiment more?

Most of my designs are based around a core "ooh I want to try this thing". Sometimes I take character inspirations, sometimes it's a cool garment, sometimes I'm just redesigning characters. I mostly emphasize clothing, patterns, and colors, but I also reuse a lot of the same clothing styles and patterns. I could definitely experiment more with shape language and silhouette - usually, that's like the last thing I think about, but one of the more important things to have in an ensemble cast. Mostly, though, I just like drawing clothes.

What do you think is the crowning moment of aslh? Like if someone asked you what would be a moment that gets to the heart of the story the most. What would it be?

DEFINITELY the ch5 execution. Like, the emotional resonance? The narration shift? The drama of it all? Peak ASLHcore.

what factored most into your decision-making progress? why did you decide this death order and this mastermind(s)?

My decision making process is entirely me sitting in a fugue state mumbling out details that I need to fix and then sporadically sitting bolt upright and screaming a parallel or tangent I've pieced together.

The mastermind question is easier to put together - I'd always had in mind that this was going to be a revenge game, and that one mastermind was so difficult to take seriously it wasn't even funny and that the other decided to bail halfway through. So I built the characters around that. The points I usually pay attention to with fangan planning (these days) are: ch1 is to establish the status quo and tone of the story, ch3 is to overturn the status quo, and ch5 forces ch6 to happen. So the ch3 case revolved around Sen dying, and then I was like "how can I fuck up the status quo more" and killed Amal and Aster too.

The biggest factor in my decision making process is "what would be really cool". I tend to make a lot of decisions that fuck up the structure of what a fangan "should" be because I think it goes hard as hell when we throw out rules that the characters are unaware of anyway.

was there a draft of aslh that looks drastically different from what we ended up with?

Great question, and fuck you for reminding me!

ASLH actually started as a bullet point fangan called What Tempestuous Despair. It was a much more international cast until I was like "fangans are supposed to be mostly Japanese casts!" and changed a bunch of characters' nationalities, which in hindsight was dumb. Ririka, Kanemori, Tsukino, and Iris were victims of this. Also Amal was the protagonist and I am SO GLAD that didn't stick they are SO DIFFICULT to write the POV from.

I've spoken on a few occasions about how the cast itself changed, and I never got around to plotting out arcs (other than "Amal learns to trust people and allows themself to truly grieve Rin after holding everyone at length for so long"), but some assorted things:

The cast had a bunch of characters who were swapped out. Included in this tally are Rin Matsumoto (whose personality was recycled into Hisaichi, Ryouji's cousin, and their name was recycled into Shuichi's school friend), Leon Mercury Kahahawai (who’s in CYAH), Haywire Asturias, Puck Ganka (who’s also in CYAH), a few characters/designs who I ended up giving away... And also Hayato Kikuchi.

Iris was always a killer, because I really wanted her to have a downfall-that-wasn't-a-downfall-but-rather-a-reflection-of-the-true-self arc. This was always a lategame case so I'd have time to establish her as terrible. Originally, she killed Leon.

Tiana was also always a killer. I think he killed Hayato via electrocution, so as you can tell that's always been around in some form or another.

(Tristan killing Chiyo in ch5 in the current version, btw, was specifically to mirror Tiana's murder. While Tiana killed to get themself out of the KG, Tristan killed to get everyone else out.)

who was considered for mastermind throughout making aslh? what would their reasons have been?

The masterminds have never changed, except that the characters for them didn't exist back in WTD. But the personalities of the characters they replaced were about 1:1 anyway, so yeah basically they've never changed.

what is one thing you really loved about the beta and what is one thing you really hated about the beta

One thing I really loved about the beta was the ch3 case (which I've spoken about at length before), but other than that... honestly Tiana? Tiana's the one character that I had fully developed as of WTD, they just sprung into my head completely materialized. Their entire personality and design somehow stayed the same since conceptualization.

One thing I really hated? I would say "all of it", but specifically, we don't talk about white Tristan. That was so bad. I was trying so hard to design him so that he'd look nonthreatening and I was like "why is this so hard" and then I changed his ethnicity and I was like "oh right, white gamer boy characters just have cursed energies" and moved on with my life.

what would be an ideal day for tiana murdock. what would make them happy.

An ideal day is honestly one where they get a lot done. They're not one to relax or know what to do with free time, but they get a lot of satisfaction out of being productive, so if they manage to finish a lot of work and not end up exhausted? They're happy. They've probably gotta work on learning to enjoy their free time. They do like traveling, though, and- oh my god I should make them friends with Tsukino.

What would the cast's careers be if they lived to be adults?

Chiyo: Elementary school teacher and scifi author! Really wish I'd leaned more into the fact that she loves scifi, honestly. Amal: Journalist, probably, except they'd actually take classes in it this time instead of just writing op-eds constantly Tatsumaru: LIBRARIAN TATSU TRUE ENDING!!! Sentarou: Freelance pianist/composer. I have this whole headverse where he and Alexei are somehow friends with Claude, and together they plot to kill Enji Sekisada. Or Claude and Alexei plot to kill Enji and Sen sits there with his head in his hands. Iris: In universes where she's able to reconcile with academia, she works in ecology + chemistry. In universes where she doesn't, she's a florist. Aster: SERIOUSLY depends on the AU because every time I try to put Aster in a normal AU they're different. Jokes about becoming a flight attendant to travel with Tsukino. Claude: Secretary. No, seriously. May have something to do with killing Enji Sekisada. Hirono: Photojournalist! Photography reminds her of Ekuko. :') Alexei: Veterinary assistant for a specialized bird clinic Tsukino: Pilot, obviously Brendan: Mechanical engineer but sometime around age 30 has enough stress to just quit and become a college professor instead. Tiana: Museum docent, he's coworkers with Laurent Sinclair thanks Ryouji: He's... not sure. In normal AUs does take up food service for a while before getting uncomfortable with his family and quitting. In ASLH canon, he skips this step and goes into law with the intent of helping other killing game survivors sort out their lives. Tristan: Web designer, still makes a few games on the side with his friends. Mostly point and clicks because he ain't about this life Kanemori: Volleyball coach, because he knows a lot more about that than soccer honestly

what part of aslh was the hardest to write?

Deadly life. Always. I can crank the chapters out really fast, but I hate the case part of fangans and they're painful to plan.

For each case, what is your out of universe reason for wanting each person to die when? Like not counting the motives or anything, but why you wanted each person to die then?

- Brendan: He was the OC I had the longest. He had to die. Goodbye you little shit. - Kanemori: He was actually a survivor originally, and Hirono was the ch1 killer for the same "OC longevity" reason but then I realized I don't have anything for Kanemori to do. So... Sorry dude.

- Claude: Y'all ever notice how no one... EVER... puts plot relevant information in ch2s? Anyway. - Tiana: As discussed, they've always been a killer. Putting them as a killer here was a good balance - far enough from ch1 to build up their relationship with Tristan, but also not so far into the story that it conflicts with the general endgame fall-apart-ness.

- Amal, Sentarou, Aster: This case sprung into my head entirely materialized. Like, this was the one that BUILT the story, so it didn't change much. Mostly I just thought it'd be narratively fun to kill off the deuteragonist, the mastermind, AND the ??? in one go. I didn't plan for Chiyal to be a thing so when that became a thing this chapter got better/worse.

- Iris: I always wanted her to be a killer to really expose that "she's not a good person" stuff (she was more of a snake in WTD), but she didn't become a victim until when I was actually writing. She was supposed to have a trial and then I got sick of writing her. Whoops. - Ririka: I had arc ideas for everyone else, and it could have gone either way between Ryouji and Ririka getting that "close to my best friend who is now dead"... in the end it went down to gender balance in survivors. At the time it was Ryouji or Ririka + Kanemori + Tsukino + Tatsumaru, but then once Kanemori got swapped to Hirono just... yeahhh Ririka got stuck in ch4. Sorry. - Alexei: Special shoutout, he was supposed to die in ch4 as just an "oh no this is what happened, how sad" but then it was super narratively unsatisfying and now he's alive.

- Chiyo: For the sake of pain. But like, poignant, meaningful pain. I don't believe in making plot decisions just because they hurt, they've also got to mean something. Considering that a major theme of the story is "death before its time is a complete tragedy", and Chiyo's motifs include death... uh. Yeah... yeah. When it came time to ask myself who'd die in ch5 for this motive, well. I miss Chiyo. - Tristan: Meant to mirror Tiana's killing in ch2, as stated above, had the "selfish kill vs selfless kill" thing. Look if you're going to have a duo in a fangan and don't get to make cool dichotomy/theming what's the POINT. Ended up surviving because when there were only four survivors, there were... really no stakes for the ch6 trial.

- Tatsumaru: I just wanted them to be alive. I didn't know WHY, exactly... I just knew I needed them to live. So. I guess they're alive? Also I thought it'd be really interesting to have a killer protagonist, and a remorseful killer protagonist. - Ryouji: To be honest I didn't have a solid arc for him, aside from Ririka's death I'd decided I was going to figure it out as I went. And I guess I did? I love him. And not gonna lie, since Tatsu became the protagonist and Ryouji's still pissed at them, the perspective/dynamic became VERY INTERESTING. - Tsukino: Originally in beta!ASLH, her schtick was "gilded exterior with a heart of jerk with a hidden, smaller heart of gold" but that didn't transfer over to ASLH itself. Then when I realized "oh shit Tsukino wants to be a hero" it was all over. At first her arc was very "tone yourself down and stop rushing into things" which wasn't... ideal, I think you can still be enthusiastic and upbeat while being mindful and that was not how I had gone about it lol. Fun fact, Tsukino's survived every draft of ASLH, including the beta one - I think she and Amal were closer friends in that. - Hirono: See Kanemori, I just thought she had more survivor potential than him. The problem was that by the time I made the decision to swap them, everyone else was sort of locked by necessity, so Hirono became a survivor by default. Again, I didn't quite have an idea of what she was going to do other than get leeched off of by Iris. Ririka wasn't even part of it, we just had that cooking thing in 2-3 and Ririka was like "this is my problem now" and I was like "what?" so now we're here.

What's everyone's coffee/tea/other preferences?

Coffee: Tiana, Tristan, Brendan Tea: RYOUJI, Tatsumaru, Chiyo, Iris Hot chocolate: Claude, Sentarou Soda: Amal, Ririka Soda but only fruit flavored: Tsukino Water, thanks: Aster, Kanemori, Hirono, Alexei

What was the hardest decision to make, writing wise, for aslh? Like you wanted the story to go one way, but you couldn't force it, or a scene you felt you needed but was difficult to decide upon, anything like that?

Hm... okay see the thing is I'm generally pretty good at writing on the fly so if I make decisions I CAN force them to happen, so there's really not too much that comes to mind. Mostly this happens with trials - I make outlines for my trials and drag my cast along with it. Except they tend to go off-topic, and then I have to drag them back on topic. And sometimes the points don't make sense when you go out of order so I have to ad lib stuff. Ch4 trial was the most off-script one, it was supposed to be a lot slower and made more sense but then the cast just went out of order and I was bonking my head against the wall trying to get it to make sense.

The only real thing I had consistent difficulty with is locations. I did not fucking plan any of this shit and hate making maps so much- oh my god I need to do the ch6 map still.

who would deliberately salt their coffee and who would accidentally do it

Deliberately: Tristan, Tiana, Tsukino, Hirono Accidentally: Kanemori, Amal, Sentarou, Chiyo, Brendan, Iris "Why?": Claude, Alexei, Aster, Tatsumaru, Ryouji, Ririka

[lllluka]

A LUXY Conversation with a Debatable Amount of Eye Contact

Been doing assignments and exams all week, so I’m doing all my LUXY week content late. Here’s my day one (on day 5 lol). ‘Eye Contact’. @luxyweek .

This is the same Universe as: 

1. ‘THIS IS WHY XY ISN’T ALLOWED TO WEAR SHIRTS WITH TEXT ON THEM’ - A comedy oneshot about a shirt selection gone awry. 

2. ‘ ONESHOT ’ - In which Bob Roth and Anarka Couffaine are now ‘drinking buddies’ and XY stays over on the houseboat. Luka hates him. Luka hates him SO much. 

3. ‘THIS IS WHY LUKA SHOULDN’T LOSE HIS MIND AND COOK DINNER’

 - A chaotic comedy/unique horror crack-scenario from the POV of a 26 y/o Marinette.

From start to finish this experience had been living Hell for Luka, and as more and more time passed by, Luka began to mirror his feelings about this whole ordeal with his body language; leaning on doorways, brooding, with his arms folded- sitting near Bob and his mother as they attempted to play poker on the deck, with his guitar, but ONLY electing to ‘tune’. At some points it seemed as though Bob was about ready to say something in reaction to his purposeful intermissions, but Anarka somehow managed to grasp the old man’s attention back whenever his moustache-endowed lips begged to open.

The worst part about Bob and Anarka hanging out so much recently, wasn’t even the presence of the producer in his home space. For the most part, Bob just minded his business and didn’t really acknowledge Anarka’s adult live-in son. It was Bob’s OWN live-in son that was actually the problem, and this was specifically because the SOB (Son of a Bob) had not only brazenly stolen his band’s music, pissed off his former love, AND gotten him Akumatized on multiple occasions, but was now rubbing his decorated fingers all over Luka’s equipment. He figured, save from physical violence, the best he could do was try to drive the company away at the source, hence the live tuning entertainment, but… there was apparently no budging.

One particular night, after playing the same four-note riff about a quarter of a thousand times, Luka begrudgingly picked up his guitar and headed downstairs to call it a night. Now, as much has he’d been worried about XY snooping about and digging through his equipment, it hadn’t occurred to him until now just what an inattentive, easily distractible person could do to his bedroom. The air was suddenly deathly quiet, as his footsteps creaked the pastel floorboards, body allowing for an involuntary shudder as he approached the poorly-designed door handle to his bedroom. After hefting the majority of his bodyweight into it, he opened the door.

Luka just about had a heart attack when he realised XY was not there. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He worked out how to turn the doorhandles? He’d just figured Xavier was too stupid to consider turning it with both hands. So much for that, it’s not like that guy could not be trusted on such a delicate vehicle-slash-home. God forbid the asshole got into the controls or sunk the boat.

It was definite. He had to be found, and that was not an action Luka had voluntarily elected for in the past. Though there was an extreme sense of urgency, Luka, of course, did not forget to stop and gently tuck his guitar under the sheets of his bed—leaning over once the instrument looked cosy, to kiss it good night. The strings rung out in tangy appreciation, and that’s how he knew he did a good job. God, he’d make a great father- but that was a thought for later. NOW, at least, he should probably redirect his attention to finding the hidden celebrity.

Just as he rammed back through the door, he saw the guy. Xavier was just standing there, staring blankly, with a half-eaten cup of noodles in one hand, and chopsticks in the other.

“What are you looking for?” He inquired, twisting more noodles onto his chopsticks. Luka stared egregiously at the man, first thinking ‘he’s eating my food’, and then ‘he can use chopsticks??’. He would have figured, with the guy being XY and all, he would have just mistaken them for, like, rectal thermometres or something. …You know, after consideration, he should probably start hiding everything that a second-grader wouldn’t recognise. Especially eating utensils.

“You.” Luka replied cautiously, a hand lingering on the doorframe. To be honest, he was still completely spun from the situation, and watched at half-attention as XY continued slurping up the ‘dles.

“That’s sweet. Want an autograph?” After blowing out the steam of his last bite, XY pecked an air kiss in Luka’s general direction, although his eyes were still fully focal on the food. It irritated Luka a lot, that the guy didn’t even have the decency to look him in the eye when he mock-kissed at him. Like, really. Where is the etiquette? Didn’t XY learn this in bully school? Luka bit the inside of his cheek for a moment.

“No thanks, I’m fine.” The words were civil, the tone was tense. It at least earned a double-brow raise from the disk jockey, but still no eye-contact.

“You know,” Xavier began, “you’re really mean to me.” Luka was more than taken aback. He had never been called mean in his LIFE. Not by anybody, and not at any point. He felt his flesh freeze under his skin, stomach wobbling with tense anxiety. The worst part about it was that he couldn’t even say that it was untrue. He’d been nothing but a jerk to XY since he’d gotten there, and even before. …Maybe they had some old beef, and he didn’t care for Xavier’s taste, but… he had to admit, out of the two of them, the guy had been pretty civil this whole time.

‘Oh God’, Luka realised. ‘The asshole might have been me all along’. It was physically nauseating to him, and he struggled to find anything to say. All he could do was stare intensely at the guy.

At the silence, Xavier finally lifted his gaze, double-taking-in Luka’s stunned face with pleasure.

“See! You totally know it too! I knew I wasn’t wrong!” He seemed delighted to have struck a chord (haha). Luka swallowed, shaking his head through throbbing confusion.

“I’m not mean.” It was the only thing he could think to say, though it was tense, almost like a question. XY nodded, getting through another mouthful of noodles.

“No, I know. I didn’t say you were mean, I said you were mean to me.” He elaborated, moving to rest his shoulder on the doorframe, next to Luka’s hand. “And because I know that you’re, like, this SUPER goody-goody guy to everybody else, it’s kinda, like… twice as mean that you’re only being like this to me.”

The shock didn’t fade in Luka, but the already-seated distaste for XY caused him to swallow the guilt for a singular moment. “I’m just being myself. It’s pretty hard to get me to dislike somebody, but, yeah, someone being amoral is one of the things I can’t stand.” …He couldn’t forget. XY was worse, and in action. He was a thief, and a liar, and a senseless egotist who didn’t care about music, or other people. “You’re the one who’s… mean.”

Xavier didn’t flinch. His voice fluttered away, casual as can be.

“Yeah, I’m mean, but I’m not mean to you.”

The polar opposite of Luka, apparently. …And yeah, maybe there was a point there. He’d been suspiciously tame around Luka, despite being incredibly judgemental of everybody else. No where near what Luka had anticipated when he’d found out he’d be in the presence of XY again.

He wondered why that was.

“…Yeah, but why?” Well, that was an easy way to coax an answer. Maybe he was just too lazy to fight with him, or… maybe XY was, like, in love with him or something, like that lady that kept ordering pizzas at his last job.

He scrunched his face at the thought.

XY shrugged, draining the cup of its broth and then moving to place it on a barrel within arms-reach.

“That’s not an answer.” Well, not really. At least not one that satiated Luka’s curiosity. With a pained sigh, Xavier waved his hands back and forth like he was using his hands for invisible pinball. He seemed to be considering his reasoning.

“…I don’t know, dude. I just don’t feel like that toward you. …I mean, it’s not you, it’s me. I just need a little time to focus on myself-“

“You don’t feel... mean toward me? Wh---Are you using breakup lines?” Luka stared incredulously. A light in XY’s mind popped, and bright realisation appeared on his face.

“Oh, shaa! I guess I was just copying my old convos.”

It took all of Luka’s willpower to not slug XY right in the face. His fists balled, but he let out a long breath. One of these days, he really should to get back into meditation, lest he be in jail for hot-blooded murder due to some rage fit.

“…XY-“

“It’s because I respect you.”

Luka paused, opening his eyes to meet a strong blue gaze from the other artist.

“What?” Wire-pitched numbness took over the fuzz in the guitarist’s head.

“Your music, and stuff. …Like, it was good enough for someone like me to draw inspiration from.” XY shrugged once again. ‘Inspiration’, yeah, right. He tried that line years ago as well, if he recalled correctly. …Still, there was something weirdly flattering about it.

“Oh.” Thanks. Say thanks, Luka. “………What the fuck.”

That wasn’t it. …But still, the unexpected reaction made XY laugh out loud, chuckling hysterically in waves that he evidently couldn’t contain. Luka watched blankly at his reaction, his neck feeling itchy all of a sudden, and his face very red- a reaction surprisingly hard to evoke within him.

When he watched XY straighten his posture and finally wipe the tears from his eyes, a smile of his own peeked out, but soon faded to neutral in stubbornness; a natural response, whenever Xavier made eye-contact.