#and his little welcome of old d is just so matter of fact

[per-the-jellicle-magician]

Put on some Warsaw to cheer myself up (it worked) and then remembered I had more audio of it so put the 2006 one on to check smth

And damn, while it has some good moments I instantly remembered why I don't like it

[cinnaminsvga]

Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits. 

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country. 

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend. 

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly. 

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank). 

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored. 

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that. 

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was. 

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment. 

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage. 

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction. 

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!” 

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?” 

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks. 

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding. 

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone. 

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still. 

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him. 

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident. 

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way. 

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture. 

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you. 

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture. 

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt. 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat. 

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk. 

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence. 

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away. 

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door. 

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice. 

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off. 

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note. 

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you. 

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole. 

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero. 

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation. 

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you. 

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”? 

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot. 

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly. 

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute. 

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night. 

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. 

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?” 

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively. 

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically. 

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying. 

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason. 

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching. 

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding. 

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly. 

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face. 

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you. 

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text. 

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time. 

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy. 

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense. 

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him. 

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement. 

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him. 

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same. 

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray. 

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes. 

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him. 

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream. 

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name? 

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers. 

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform. 

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?” 

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful. 

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything. 

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight. 

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom. 

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through. 

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do? 

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought. 

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift. 

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance. 

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage. 

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology. 

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years. 

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here. 

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts. 

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug. 

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache. 

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor. 

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. 

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well. 

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song. 

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers. 

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten. 

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him. 

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him. 

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick. 

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses. 

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer. 

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you. 

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears. 

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant. 

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder. 

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back. 

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky. 

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought. 

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster. 

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one. 

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook. 

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind. 

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you. 

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs. 

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again. 

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out. 

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you. 

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent. 

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix. 

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it. 

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow. 

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles. 

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter. 

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope. 

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that. 

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it. 

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears. 

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer. 

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too. 

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers. 

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare. 

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind. 

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class. 

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel. 

But you do know, the universe responds. 

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond? 

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing. 

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation. 

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat. 

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance? 

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air. 

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.  

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you. 

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door. 

[alucarddear]

Position anon again, would you please write a NSFW alphabet for Alucard? Pretty please? 🥺

Alucard N S F W Alphabet*

I'm personally offended that I haven't done this for Lulu before. Anyway, rather than just spelling out his name, I'll give you the entire alphabet. Heh. This is LONG! Your thoughts and keyboard smashes are welcome. 🤭

P.S. I go explicit and specific; read at your own risk. I also tried my best to keep it as gender-neutral as possible, so this is [Alucard x You]. However, I did have a little self-indulgent fun with W: wild card, the only section with an obvious she/her indication. Just so you know!

A: Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Aftercare is not optional to this dhampir. It's a must. It doesn't matter if you had a quick romp or a long night, he'd still take the time to treat you right, especially if he'd been rather rough with you.

Forehead kisses, soft caresses, helping clean you up—you name it and he's got it covered. It's all about making sure you feel loved, appreciated, and cared for.

Alucard is not one to just up and leave or make you feel used. In fact, it's noticeable how much more he dotes on you after actually using you up good and fucking you raw into next week. 😏

B: Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and their partner’s)

Your neck. Let's not even pretend that Alucard doesn't gravitate towards it. As you ride him, he buries his face in the crook of your neck and nips and pecks at your throat. There's a part of him that wants to sink his fangs into you then and there and another that wants nothing more than to whisper sweet nothings against your skin as you throw your head back in bliss.

Alucard likes his hands—the way they're so large against yours; how perfectly your hands feel in his own. He likes his hands gripping your thighs or hips, his hand coming down to slap your ass, his hands caressing every inch of you. The way his hand closes around your wrist, encircling it completely as if it was made to do nothing but. The way he pushes you down with his hand on the small of your back as he prepares to take you from behind. Most of all, all of the things his hands can do to make you cum.

C: Cum (anything to do with cum)

Alucard's desire to spill his seed inside you is next to nothing sometimes. If you'd let him, he'd bury himself balls-deep and cum inside you each and every time.

He loves to make you cum, loves the way you sound—the hitching of your breath, your begging, the way you can barely keep yourself from shaking as he coaxes yet another orgasm out of you. He loves to praise you for it. "God, you're fucking beautiful," is something you hear often. It just never gets old.

D: Dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

Alucard loves when you allow him to bend you over whichever way he pleases. Loves how tiny and pliable you look underneath him, adjusting and propping your arms and legs as he sees fit. Just the sight of you like that, it's enough to push him over the edge.

So, you know he draws you—you are his muse after all. You've seen his sketches. But not the ones of your beautiful, naked body. Not even the tasteful pieces he draws as you sleep. Not the ones where, try as he might, he just can't replicate how utterly divine you look when he fucks you. He's a talented artist, but nothing tops the real thing.

E: Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Is he very experienced? No. Does he know what he's doing? Hell yes. His mother was a doctor and his father is a man of science. He lives in a castle full of resources. He has deep knowledge of biology—he's got the theory down pat. Sure, he fumbled a little the first few times, but he quickly learnt how you like to be pleased.

Besides, being a dhampir, Alucard is in tune with your body's responses to his ministrations. When you're intimate, he can practically feel your heart racing, dear. He knows when you're close, can tell when he's hitting it good, need I say more?

F: Favourite position (this goes without saying)

Mastery. He sits on the edge of the bed, feet flat on the floor to support you sitting on top of him with your legs bent on either side of him, your feet flat on the bed. This position allows you to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss. It lets you start off slow, very intimate—with you grinding against and riding him. Once you're a little tired (or he starts growing impatient), he simply grips your hips and pounds up into you until you're a screaming wreck. His grip on your hips and his feet securely planted on the floor allows him to rut into you fast. And the view? Fucking fantastic. He loves watching you come undone like this, seeing you throw your head back and expose your throat to him. Yes.

For a quick romp, you can't go wrong with doggy style. When you're in his study and you both get a little too distracted? He’ll bend you over his desk and have his way with you.

G: Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Oh, he's very serious about giving both of you a good time, alright. He might do something that makes you giggle, sure, but for the most part it's probably accidental and not his intention. Sex with Alucard can be intimate and sweet or downright animals humping in the undergrowth (👀), no in between. He's not here for the shits and giggles, darling.

H: Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It does match. Maybe not all the time completely bare, but he keeps himself neat and tidy. Do you see his luxurious hair? He takes care of himself down there too.

I: Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Alucard loves to see you and hear you. He's considerate and goes out of his way to find what works for you. So much so he probably has ruined you for anyone else. You'll never find a more receptive lover; it’s time to accept that.

When you make sweet love, he whispers sweet nothings against your skin. He peppers kisses all over you and makes you feel like the most gorgeous being on the planet. He's not afraid to voice his thoughts out loud too, praising you and urging you on.

J: Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

You remember those naughty sketches of you? Yep. He has used them a couple times while you were away. You're in his thoughts whenever he touches himself.

K: Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Edging. He not-so-secretly loves it when you beg. How are you to know how much more you can take? He'll just have to show you.

When you moan his name as you grip the sheets and quake beneath him? Yeah. He loves it, especially when you can barely even make out the words for “Adrian, please, please, please.”

When you take control and ride him like your life depends on it, it does something to his brain. You on top, taking control and looking absolutely beautiful as you do so... he could cum just from the thought of it.

There is a part of him that likes the thought of cumming deep inside you and breeding you. Maybe it's that loneliness that sometimes nags at him, maybe he yearns for a family, but he can't lie this feels utterly divine.

L: Location (favourite places to do the do)

The bed is cliche, but it works and is comfortable. Your kitchen counter, desk, against the wall or a tree, table, or out at some secluded clearing by the lake... Alucard is truly not that picky, as long as you're not out in the public for other eyes to see and you’re both comfortable.

M: Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Your reactions and enthusiasm. Knowing you're into it just as much as he is.

When you sashay towards him, crooking your finger at him to beckon him closer? He's right there with you in a heartbeat.

When you wear his shirt and it swallows your smaller frame? It turns him on more than he lets on.

When you moan his name and gasp and writhe in pleasure. When you beg for him to take you harder, faster, and deeper. It just about short-circuits his brain.

N: No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Any form of bondage or restrictions to his movement. It brings up unnecessary trauma and makes him feel that he's not in control or safe. He is mostly a switch, sure, letting you take control and dominate too, but tying him up is just a no-go for him.

He won't transform into a wolf. It's practically bestiality, which he's not down for.

Somnophilia or any other act where consent can be dubious. He's just big on consent and trust, for obvious reasons.

O: Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves having absolute control over your pleasure, knowing it's him coaxing the sighs and moans and screams out of you. He enjoys how easily he can make you cum and drive you mad.

That said, he also loves watching you pleasure him, taking as much of his hard length as you can, especially whenever you greedily swallow his load.

P: Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It really depends. Sex can be whatever it needs to be in the moment. While he loves nothing more than to take his time and make sweet love to you, he also loves ravaging you and leaving you utterly spent. It's satisfying either way.

The usual case is he begins slowly and sensually, but by the end of it (and sometimes without warning), he's rutting into you like his life depends on it.

Q: Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He isn't above having a quickie if that is all time permits, but he would really much rather have his way with you properly!

R: Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Given that he's a dhampir, he knows exactly how to go unseen or unnoticed. It's likely his risk assessment is much more honed. You might think you're being risky, but he is well aware of the chances of you getting caught in the act.

As for experimenting—other than his hard reservations (the ones listed in N), he is game to experiment and try different things you may be curious about as long as you both feel safe and comfortable about them.

S: Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He's a dhampir... need I say more? The chances of you exhausting him first is little. Sorry to burst your bubble. 😆 He's got stamina for days, honey.

T: Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Alucard is not above using toys to pleasure you. But what can a toy do that he can't do better? Hah. Chances are he will attempt to learn how it pleases you and try to replicate that with his own cock, mouth, and hands.

U: Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He can be such a little tease. You know the way he banters. That snark and sass can sometimes make their way inside the bedroom too.

"What was that, darling?" he'd ask, as if his amazing sense of hearing wasn't enough to register your begging as he edges you for the nth time. "Tsk. Patience, my love..." he would even dare chide you!

Alucard also loves to glide his fangs over your skin, just enough to leave a faint mark but not enough to draw blood.

V: Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not shy to let you know he’s having a good time, but he’s also not overly loud. He gasps, moans, and curses, a tight-lipped “Fuck!” slipping out once in a while.

W: Wild card (a random headcanon)

He loves to praise you. His way of talking dirty is to let you know how good you feel around him. How ethereal you are, how perfect for him, how you taste so sweet.

He encourages you as he pushes you over the limit. “Yes, yes, darling, you can take it. Cum for me,” he would say. He’d place a kiss on your open mouth as you convulse around him as he rips yet another orgasm out of you. “My sweet darling,” he would groan, wiping the sweat off your brow. “How perfect you are. Good girl.” And just like that, he’s about to do it all over again. RIP. 😫

X: X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s active and it shows. He’s well built without being overly bulky. It suits him—muscular/toned yet elegant and lean.

He’s packing a just-about-above average penis, but nothing you cannot handle. The man’s over six foot, it just fits.

Y: Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Alucard is the type to yearn and pine, so set the volume level up cause he cannot get enough of you. Enough said.

Z: Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Sometimes you drift off to sleep together, but you usually fall asleep first.

He’s a night owl. He’d take you in his arms and stroke your hair as you sleep, admiring the way you glow under the moonlight, and wonder how he got so lucky to have found you. 🤍🌙

[im-not-corrupted]

Because I'm totally normal about your writing (you can hear me hiding a pile of your writing that reaches my head behind my back) can you do 6-Should I write you a poem instead? For the Valentines Game (yes I feel really funny for choosing that)

<333

Mar!! Hi!! :D I hope you enjoy <3

---------

Dream has always enjoyed gift giving.

He has always been the one to gift things to others. To adorn lovers in jewels, to weave tales and compose poems for them. It is no hardship; when he loves, he falls hard and fast, and often to the point of ruin. Before they reach that point, though, he has always found it delightful to gift those who have captured his attentions ways to assure them of his adoration, ways to prove just how significant they are to him.

It has never been any hardship, and Dream thinks it unlikely that it should ever become one. There will never be any greater joy than the chance to see one he loves taken aback by his gifts, than being able to prove his devotion in some real, tangible way.

There is a lot that went into the creation of the gift he wishes for Hob to have. He does not consider a gift until Hob mentioned one of humanity's popular traditions off-handedly—Valentine's Day, he called it, and though he claimed it mattered little to him, he also stated he enjoys the gift-giving aspect of it in the same sentence.

Valentine's Day is not something Dream was familiar with, before he returned to the Dreaming after that particular conversation to conduct some research. He had considered asking Matthew, but then reconsidered. While Matthew was certainly the leading expert in the Dreaming regarding human traditions, he has yet to voice his own feelings for Hob. Has yet to put words to the tangled mess inside his chest, at least not in the Dreaming.

He thinks it is obvious anyway. His realm has embraced spring, flowers blooming through the cracks of his castle, the sky a pleasant blue, the air clear and cool. The Dreaming takes all those feelings and puts them on full display for all his creations to see. It is obvious. He needs not voice such things, not yet.

And he believes Hob knows, too. They have grown steadily closer since Dream's return, thirty-three years late and full of a fierce hope that he wasn't too late. That he hadn't ruined everything by failing so terribly to escape his prison, to make it to their meeting in 1989. Dream has already stated that Hob is important to him, and has made an effort to be more present in his friend's life. Despite the fact that he has not put words for the tangle of feelings inside his chest, he has not made them a secret.

No, Hob must know. He must, surely; there is little chance he does not.

Of course, it is possible Dream has been misunderstood. Hob has been...reciprocative of his attentions, his stares lingering, his touches more purposeful now instead of accidental brushes of their shoulders, but he has not put anything to words either. Still continues to call Dream old friend, an endearment that makes the traitorous thing inside his chest tug almost painfully.

That, he supposes, is the point of his gift. He wants Hob to know just how much he means to him. Wants to put those thoughts to words; to stop dancing around his own feelings. He is sure Hob feels similarly, even if Dream cannot quite understand why; he would not risk ruining their friendship this way otherwise. It means far too much to him for that.

It's late, when he turns up at Hob's door for Valentine's Day. It feels appropriate, knowing the meaning behind this tradition, to give his gift to Hob on this day instead of any other.

As always, he is welcomed inside with that same, lovely smile he has adored the sight of since he was first gifted it the day of his return. It is blinding in its radiance, so lovely, and Dream thinks he understands the meaning of reverence every time he sees it. It is a gift in and of itself, that warmth, that joy at seeing him, and he is selfish enough to hold the memory of it close to his chest, to return to the Waking for the sole purpose of being blessed with it once more.

It has become quite a problem. His mind turns so often to Hob Gadling, to that smile, that he has begun to create dreams of comfort and succour around it. Lucienne's knowing look the last time it happened remains forever ingrained inside his mind, now.

"Wasn't expecting to see you today," Hob tells him, but he sounds pleased about it. Somehow, he always does. Dream remains ever-baffled by that particular fact, but is too selfish to risk giving it up by questioning it. "How're you, love? How's your day been?"

Inside his chest, his heart warms. He has no use for a heart, not really. It does nothing for him. He does not typically have one, either, but there is something about being here, with Hob, that makes him stray a little closer towards humanity. He can feel the warmth of Hob's apartment, the cosiness that leads to a sense of security, greater this way. He does not mind fashioning himself a little more human for the sake of those things, however unconsciously.

"Well," he answers. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. The gift in his pocket seems...heavier, suddenly, or perhaps he is all-too aware of it. "I have a gift. For you."

Eyes widening, Hob blinks at him. "Oh, do you?" he asks, and he already sounds delighted. It soothes some of the nerves that have made themselves known, and Dream sighs softly. "You didn't have to do that, love."

"I wanted to. You mean...much to me, Hob Gadling." It is stilted, that admission, more than he wants it to be.

He is rewarded with a faint flush to Hob's cheeks regardless as he steps closer to Dream, that smile growing wider. "And you mean much to me too, Dream. I have to admit, I'm curious now."

He digs his hand into the pocket of his coat. It is functional only when he wants it to be; he hadn't wanted to lose this gift to the galaxies that line it, not when it is so important.

When he pulls his hand away, he holds out a small, black box and holds it towards Hob. His heart is in his throat now, terrified and nervous. "For you, my friend."

His excitement is palpable when he takes the box from Dream's hand, fingertips brushing his palm for just a moment. When he opens it, his eyes widen further for a moment, until he eventually plucks the ring from the box. "Dream." His voice is choked when he says it. "This is..."

The gold of the ring shines in the low light of Hob's apartment, the ruby shard glinting. "It was made by my own power," he explains. "The jewel is a shard from my own ruby. You can...communicate with me through it, should you wish to." This, Hob has mentioned already—I'd like some way to contact you, if possible, he'd whispered softly, not long after Dream gained the courage to tell the story surrounding his absence in 1989. In case...In case something like that happens again.

It was, in the end, a small request. One he thought he could fulfil easily.

The silence that grows between the two of them now, though, makes him think differently. "Should I have written you a poem instead?" he asks. It is a lot, he supposes, to gift his friend a ring of all things, even if he wishes to be a little bit more with said friend. Perhaps he should've asked Matthew for his opinion after all. "You need not—"

Whatever he was going to finish that sentence with gets quickly cut off when Hob meets his eyes. There's a faint sheen to them, the beginnings of tears, and Dream has only a moment to panic over the sight before his friend slips the ring on his finger. It fits perfectly, just as he planned for it to, and he begins to say as such, but he's interrupted when Hob strides forward, closing the distance between the two of them.

The expression on his face is open, warm. "If I'm mistaken," he whispers softly, "I apologise. Please don't smite me for asking, but—may I kiss you, Dream?"

His heart jumps. "Yes," he breathes. "I would like that."

Lips quirking, Hob says, "Good," before he cups the back of Dream's head, fingers weaving through his hair and gripping lightly, and kisses Dream lightly.

It is tender. Warm and loving. Something snaps inside him instantly, whatever restraint he let hold him back abandoning him as he grasps his friend's waist and pulls him closer, allowing his lips to move against Hob's. It is lovely, everything Dream has imagined it could be.

Eventually, Hob pulls away, resting his forehead against Dream's. "Not mistaken, then," he murmurs between them, chuckling softly. He continues to play with the hair at the back of his head, and Dream shivers.

"Not at all," he says, and kisses Hob once more.

[happy-hermit]

LAST LIFE SCAR ANGST PART TWO BABY :D

Thank you everyone for your enthusiasm with this fic akdkjdh it really kept me going. ( @stiffyck this is still for you)( @hopepetal here’s the tag u asked for I love your writing by the way I’m so happy you like this fic alskjdjd)

Part One

———

A few days pass where nothing and everything happens in equal measurements. The returned hermits work on settling back into normal — well, relatively normal — life, and they tend to only see each other in passing. They get caught up in old and new projects, filled with an urgency that came from being away for so long.

Scar himself spends most of his time gathering items. It’s mindless, repetitive work. Time consuming. Calming, almost. It’s boring enough that he doesn’t think anyone will bother to bother him. (He ignores the way his chest pangs at the thought. It doesn’t matter. It can’t.)

Jellie follows him around most of the time, even if he can’t always see her. She’s a comforting presence, and he knows that she’s only there because she wants to be. He doesn’t have to write up a contract to convince her to stay. She’s there for him. It’s just… nice, is all. To know that.

Scar wanders around with shulker boxes full of wood and leaves and sand and he pretends that he’s not avoiding everyone. It’s not like he doesn’t see them at all, and in fact he always grins and waves when he happens to run into someone. He just — doesn’t stay long. Doesn’t want to overstay a welcome he isn’t sure he has.

Daytime is easier. He can be busy during the day. He can forget. At night, though, he lays in bed and he hurts. His chest aches, and he’s cold, and he’s alone, always. Jellie is there, sure, and she counts, of course, but—

Well. Jellie can’t hug him. She can’t talk to him. She doesn’t know why he’s sad.

More than once, he finds himself outside of a Boatem member’s base in the dead of night, hand poised to knock and heart tugging him forward. He can’t do it, though. He doesn’t really know why — doesn’t want to think about it for too long. He’s pretty sure his mind would lead him back to an isolated mountain with a single bed set haphazardly in a corner. Thinks he would only be reminded of the way people had only ever visited if they’d wanted something from him.

He never knocks, those nights. He instead demolishes frankly absurd amounts of land for resources he doesn’t yet have plans for. He doesn’t sleep at night. It’s fine.

He manages to believe that for two weeks before it all falls apart.

———

The nights have been getting colder, since they all got back. Maybe it’s the season changing, or maybe it’s whatever has started happening with the moon; either way, Scar is thankful that he’s wearing a jacket. The fact that he’s soaked through to the bone is a little less ideal.

It’s a well known side effect of glow squid hunting, though, so he can’t really blame it on anyone but himself. It certainly ensured that he wouldn’t be falling asleep on his feet anytime soon. Of which there was a very real danger, if the cotton stuffed into his head and the lead weighing down his eyelids is any indication. The glow ink splattered on his hands and sleeves is starting to look a little blurry, and he instead focuses on just making it back to the Swaggon without keeling over.

The universe has it out for him, though, so when the first phantom crashes talons-first into his back, all he can do is fall.

He hits the ground with a strangled yelp, his sack of hard-earned glow squid ink flying out of his hand and splattering across the grass. It’s pretty. And heartbreaking. He supposes he hadn’t really needed it for anything…

The phantoms screech angrily overhead, and his back throbs and he scrambles to roll over onto it anyway, because he can’t stand up just yet and he at least wants to be able to see what’s coming—

He lurches to the right as another phantom dives towards him, and the talons only connect with his upper arm as opposed to his chest. He’ll call that one a win.

“Oh geez— Ow, come on, you can’t kick a man when he’s down!” Scar scrambles backwards across the grass, voice high and eyes wide as he resorts to attempting to reason with things that don’t understand him.

There are three of them circling him, and he scrambles to his feet just in time to catch a set of razor-sharp teeth in his shoulder. He yells and swats at it blindly, somehow managing to hit its eyes and smear glow ink across its wildly flapping wing. The phantom detaches itself from him, and he doesn’t even have time to be relieved before another is diving towards him.

He runs.

His shoulder hurts and his arm hurts and his back hurts and he’s cold and wet and no one has touched him gently in months, and he runs.

He doesn’t mean to go to Grian’s house. He had wanted to go home. (Maybe it’s telling, that he’d ended up here instead.)

A phantom bites at his leg as he reaches the alleyway, fake stars shining above him and horrifying undead creatures punishing him for his insomnia close behind him. Pain ricochets up his calf and down his ankle and he frantically tries to shake it loose, crashing to the ground again and crying out when the impact aggravates his other wounds. He knows without looking that his health is getting low. Dangerously low. And he hates respawning, he doesn’t want to, and maybe it won’t even work, maybe he’s used up his last life and he’s going to die alone just like he lived alone, and all he’ll be is a ghost haunting a world that barely notices his absence.

(That’s maybe too dramatic, but he’s dying and he’s tired and every night he holds his own hand and pretends he’s not alone. He feels entitled to a breakdown.)

He curls up against the ground with his eyes shut tight, resigned to the fact that he’ll have to get up and pick up his scattered items in a few minutes, resigned to the body aches that will follow him around for the next few days, resigned to the jokes that will pop up in chat after his death message goes out.

All he can hear is his own heartbeat in his ears, phantoms screeching and injuries stinging in a way that feels distant. Any second now. Any moment.

A hand lands on his shoulder, distinctly and painfully human, and he gasps, eyes flying open as he scrambles into a sitting position. His leg throbs angrily and his arm sends shocks of pain throughout his entire body and Scar tries his best to stay quiet — no one can know he’s hurt, they’ll kill him, they’ll make him give up a life — but a high-pitched sound of pain escapes his throat anyway. The blurry shape of a person kneeling in front of him freezes.

“—an you hear me? Scar?” The voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater, but it’s familiar. It feels like safe and danger at the same time. It sounds worried. “You’re hurt, please—“

“‘m fine,” Scar manages to get out, strained and quiet and mostly on autopilot.

“Wha— Scar, you are not fine, you absolute…”

The voice trails off into grumbling and Scar blinks slowly, looking down at himself. He’s covered in glow ink and his own blood and torn clothes. The clothes don’t look like the right color. He’s pretty sure they’re supposed to be purple.

“Wrong…” Scar mumbles, poking at his clothes. It seems important.

“Maybe because you’re bleeding all over it, Scar, just—“ The figure huffs, just a blob of red and tan, and something is moving behind him. Scar squints. The person seems angry. His weak heart rate picks up.

“D’ you… want a life?” Scar asks, confused and hurt. He can’t think. “I won’t… not for free. Let’s… A deal?”

The blurry person makes some sort of noise that makes Scar think he said something wrong. It sounds like it was punched out of them. Something’s wrong, he said something wrong. Scar’s eyelids are starting to droop, but he forces them open with a whine. The person lurches forward a bit, like they’re trying to catch him, but he’s not falling. Is he?

“D… Don’t go,” Scar pleads, mind scrambling to put together a sales pitch on why they should stay. “I can… I have— if you…”

His vision goes darker around the edges, as his own voice starts to echo in his head. The figure is saying something again, sounding frantic, scared. He wonders why. He hadn’t meant to be scary. He doesn’t think he’s in a condition to even try to be.

The last thing he sees before the darkness takes hold is a hand reaching out.

———

The first thing he’s aware of, when he wakes up, is not pain. It’s the gentle touch of a hand on his arm, lifting it and wrapping something around it. It still stings, but less so; most likely he’d been given a health potion. He feels warm. Sleepy. He opens his eyes.

The last thing he remembers is phantoms chasing him into Grian’s alley, and then someone finding him. Now with a slightly clearer head, he can only assume it had been Grian himself.

Slowly, he turns his head against the pillow he’s resting on, and he blinks sluggishly at the person currently bandaging his arm. It is Grian, with lines of worry in his face and his wings folded right against his back in that way that meant he was scared. Scar’s brow furrowed.

“…G?” His voice is hoarse, quiet, but Grian’s head still snaps up as if he’d shouted. “What’s wrong?”

Grian’s wings fluff up a little, something like angry disbelief swirling in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Grian repeats, half-hysterical. He drops the roll of bandages onto the bed and gestures wildly at Scar’s body. “You keel over in my alley dying of blood loss and you’re asking me what’s wrong?”

“Well, you do seem to be taking it harder than I am,” Scar jokes half-heartedly, attempting to sit up. Grian immediately pushes him back down, and Scar is too shocked to protest.

“Nope, you don’t get to deflect,” Grian says, and somehow it’s as gentle as it is stern. “I know what phantoms mean, Scar, and — and you didn’t even know who I was when I found you. So— so get talking. I know you know how.”

Nerves flare in his stomach, and he breaks eye contact to stare at the wall, inspecting all the random knick knacks on the shelves. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to explain what he’s been feeling since the games, especially since everyone else seems to have moved on already. It feels silly, suddenly, for his biggest problem to be that he’s lonely. That he doesn’t think anyone wants him around.

“Scar,” Grian says, and it’s softer now. “I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.”

There’s a lump in his throat and a burning in his eyes, and for just a moment Scar pretends that his heartbreak is anger. He sits up, ignoring Grian’s protesting, and he points an accusing finger at the avian.

“Now you want to stay?” Scar says, powering through even when his voice cracks. “Because last I checked, all— all you wanted to do was leave.”

“Scar, what—“

“No, you wanted me to talk! I’m talking!” Scar’s chest hurts, and his hands are cold, and something in him has been breaking for a very long time. “You— you couldn’t wait to tell me that any alliance from the last games were over. And then when I— When I thought I had Mumbo you came and took him away, too.” Scar cradles his shaking hands close to his stomach and looks away, anger slowly draining. “And then Joel— and then I had no one. And no one wanted to— I tried, Grian, but no one wanted to—“

He closes his eyes tightly, trying to stop the inevitable. “No one wanted to stay,” he finishes quietly. “I… I don’t know what I did. I don’t know why no one…”

Scar trails off, laughing a little and rubbing at his eyes, trying to stop the tears before they fall on Grian’s blanket. “I’m sorry. I don’t— I’m just tired.”

“Scar,” Grian says softly, and something about his voice is strange. “Please look at me.”

Scar looks. Grian has asked him, and he looks.

Grian is looking back at him — a small, sad smile on his face — and he’s crying. Scar blinks in surprise, staring, and Grian laughs quietly, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. Scar doesn’t know what’s happening anymore.

“Grian?” Scar says uncertainly.

“Scar,” Grian says, and he sounds both intensely fond and profoundly guilty. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

Scar’s heart skips a beat in his chest, and he swallows hard. Grian keeps going.

“And I’m so sorry,” Grian says, voice cracking. He reaches out a hand and grabs Scar’s, squeezing it tightly. Scar’s breath hitches, his fingers twitching. The touch feels foreign. It almost hurts. He never wants to let go. Grian tugs on his hand, gently, and Scar looks back up at him. Grian looks heartbroken, but focused. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone,” he says.

“Then why did you?” Scar blurts, unable to help it. He feels a little bit pathetic. He can’t care anymore. “Why did everyone—“

“I don’t know,” Grian says, sad and frustrated and desperate. “I know why I did, I— We didn’t end well the first time. Scar, I couldn’t— I couldn’t kill you again. I looked at you and all I could see was…”

(Bloody knuckles. Sandy clothes. Only one gets to win.)

“I know,” Scar says, quietly, both an apology and forgiveness. And then, softer, “I was alone.” His shoulders curl forwards a little. “Everyone had someone and I was…”

Grian puts his other hand on Scar’s uninjured shoulder, and Scar meets his gaze. The avian’s eyes are full of fire, intense determination mingling with stubborn care.

“Never again,” Grian says, like he’s stating a fact of the universe. Like he’s challenging some malevolent god. Then he softens. “You’re not alone, Scar. Not anymore. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Scar opens his mouth to say something eloquent and thankful and graceful. Instead, he bursts into tears.

Grian pulls him into a hug by the hand he’s still holding, wings coming up to surround them, and for the first time in a long time Scar feels warm. The ache in his chest is fading. His hands aren’t cold. Grian is breathing shakily next to his ear, and he’s being so very careful as to avoid Scar’s injuries, and he’s hugging him.

Scar tucks his face into Grian’s shoulder and cries.

———

In the morning, Pearl busts down the door with soup and a vendetta against apparently unwelcomed emotions.

(“I heard someone was sad. I’m here to beat it up.” She’s grinning, and Scar can’t help but laugh.)

Impulse arrives a few minutes later and drops Jellie into his lap, smiling softly.

(“I think this one missed you somehow more than we did!” Jellie curls up by his injured leg, and if Scar tears up, no one mentions it.)

Mumbo bursts in last, the salvaged remains of the glow squid ink he’d collected gathered into a little bottle.

(“I tried to get you the fresh stuff, but there wasn’t really a way for them to— to ethically sacrifice themselves. Sorry, mate.” Mumbo is covered in glowing ink, looking genuinely apologetic, and Scar laughs until his ribs hurt.)

And he is not alone.

[brynnmclean]

hi Brynn!! if you feel like it, no pressure :) 💬 ❤️

Stitch!!! Hello there!!! :D Thank you, friend!

For 💬 I'll pull from the Forge chapter in fell in love with the fire:

“Did Curumo tell you where I was?” Mairon asks finally, and watches Aulë’s mouth twist beneath his beard into half of a smile. “Yes, but I spoke with Ulmo first. It made sense for you to have gone to the Sea and to stay in Alqualondë.” He must catch Mairon’s bewilderment even at a half-glance because he nods again, solemnly. “I know you go to the shore when you are upset. You have since Almaren.” Almaren. Almaren. “Oh, you noticed?” Mairon says, fury flaring so sudden it leaves him reeling. “And what is it that upset me this time, I wonder? Could it have been the Great Enemy that walked in through the door?” The air around Aulë ripples with heat, but he is otherwise unmoved. “Melkor served his sentence. He is welcome in Valmar and is kept under the watchful eye of all of us.” Mairon grips the edge of the table at his back and bares his teeth. “Why was he allowed in here? He has no craft, he can make nothing. He only—” Pinned Mairon to a wall, pressed a heavy hand on his chest, and crooned in his ear a mouthful of lies that still echo in the sweet, sickening dark: I see you, I know what you crave, I will make you a king at my side, you will build such wonderful things for me, my bright thing— “He brings ruin. He should not be here.” Aulë’s fingers run over a bend in the tilkal, calluses rasping along the surface. “We must obey the judgment of Manwë,” he says. “We who defend authority against rebellion must not ourselves rebel. And I have also erred in the past and gone against the will of the One. Repentance and redemption is possible.”

There is SO MUCH that Aulë and Mairon don't talk about, and little bits and pieces are finally coming out in this chapter, but there are still underlying things that aren't voiced. I had Aulë work with tilkal very intentionally-- it's the metal that the chain that bound Melkor was made of. I like the thought that even though Aulë has to obey Manwë's judgment and in some part agrees with it-- at least the possibility of Melkor's repentance being true-- there is a part of him that is disquieted enough that he is working with a metal that he knows has bound Melkor before. Of course Mairon is too distressed to recognize that.

For the ❤️, keeping to the subject of Mairon and Aulë just a little, I went back to an end to bitter frosts and found this section in chapter 9 and even though it's long, I couldn't bear to cut any of it out!

Durin grunts. “Never trust an Elf to build something that lasts,” he tells Halbrand. “Dwarves build to endure. Elves are far too fond of rebuilding to have learnt to make things that last.” An unfair retelling of the lost kingdoms of Beleriand. “Elves are more used to their cities falling to ruin,” Halbrand says diplomatically. The king eyes him narrowly, but only says, “Dwarven kingdoms do not fall to ruin.” “All things come to ruin when they are abandoned,” Halbrand says, thinking of Nogrod and Belegost, the Dwarven realms of the First Age. They survived the drowning of Beleriand, but their peoples left them anyway, journeying east to Khazad-dûm and beyond.  “There’s a difference between outgrowing something and abandoning it,” Durin says peevishly. “You’re old enough to have learnt that by now.” Halbrand considers this. “There’s a semantic difference, perhaps. I’m not sure there’s a difference in effect, though. Motive doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been abandoned.” Durin looks at him sharply, his eyes seeing far more than Halbrand would like them to do. “Perhaps not,” he says slowly. “But understanding motives can help you recover from abandonment. Particularly if it wasn’t about you at all.” “That’s worse,” Halbrand says before he can think better of it. “That just means you didn’t matter.” Durin is quiet for a long moment. “Wounds to the spirit cut deep,” he says at last, “and they heal but slowly. I cannot speak to your past, Sindri. But Khazad-dûm will not abandon you—not unless you abandon us first.” As comforts go, it’s hollow. Why must everyone set conditions on their commitment? Shouldn’t commitment be unconditional? His commitment to the Khazâd, to Galadriel, is unconditional. To Galadriel especially—she could do nothing that would turn him from her. She could turn from him—she could betray him to the host of the Valar—she could kill this fana—he would still love her, still be loyal to her, still seek to advance her ends even from the other side of the world. She wants a better world; he would forge one for her, even if she would not admit him to it.  He might resort to armies and sieges and battering rams to stand at her side again—but he would not turn from her, as she has made clear she will turn from him if he breaks their accord.  “All relationships are conditional,” the king says, the words too close to Halbrand’s thoughts for comfort. “Everyone has limits—things they cannot tolerate. I’m sure you do, too.” Halbrand shakes his head.  “You left Mahal’s forge,” Durin points out, almost gently. “Was that not an abandonment?” Left is such a bland euphemism for what had happened. He had fled; he had been driven out. But he had been abandoned first.  But what good would it do to say that to the descendent of Durin the Deathless, Aulë’s most beloved student, a Dwarf whose people still revere Aulë as Lord of Making and their creator, whose alliance with him and Galadriel is founded in large part on their shared connection to Aulë? There is no advantage to saying any of this.  He says nothing.  Durin nods, as though this confirms something, and likewise keeps his silence.

I still adore that fic as a whole and how you write Halbrand in general-- calculating and slowly (reluctantly, I might even say!) learning from past mistakes. I can't say I'm the biggest fan of Durin III as a character in Rings of Power but I LOVE how you write the interactions between him and Halbrand in your fic and this scene in particular is fascinating-- the insight that Durin has on Halbrand, even as Halbrand doesn't seem to realize it. And you know I'm ravenous for any mention of the relationship between Halbrand and Aulë!!!!!

[ask me about fic quotes!] 

[vashsscoreboardofpain]

WELCOME BACK SPORTS FANS ;D

Just 5 volumes to go, how's the audience feeling so far. Maybe last round was a little bit of a bump in the road but everyone is still excited to see what the contestant has for today!

Probably more classic sad shenanigans but we're about to see!

Lets begin volume 10!

Chap 1:

-The contestant still isn't here :D that's why we were 99% sure

Chap 2:

-OH THANK GOD HE'S HERE- I mean um. Dear audience please welcome the contestant! After a volume without him we are sure excited to see how he does this time

Chap 3:

-AND WE START, 1 "bad event" point for getting shot from basically all the angles possible

-1 "bad event" specifically for that bullet that hit his side but was pulled out by the feathers

-1 "bad event" point for being reminded of how old he is. thank you wolfwood! what would we do without you

Chap 4:

-1 "bad event" for trying to put some sense into wolfwood and then BAM, cover explodes

-1 "traumatizing event" for one of the worst moments so far. the contestant holds his dear boyfriend as he dies, feeling death in his already injured body. he knows how this will end, but that doesnt mean anything.

-AND WE CANNOT HAVE SHIT, 1 "bad event" point for being fucking stabbed while processing everything

Chap 5:

-1 "traumatic event" point for technically being forced to only watch as wolfwood fights alone

Chap 6:

-1 "traumatic event" point for, again, not being able to intervene. however, he gets a point because instead of trying to reason with wolfwood he just suffers in silence. in fact, he keeps people away from wolfwood. even though this is not what he wants to do, he does it for wolfwood.

Chap 7:

-1 "action" point for his lack of reaction when "finding out" who wolfwood was. it doesnt matter. it never did

-the audience is in tears, the contestant stays frozen in place, looking at the sky. praying. hoping

-no one wants to see the last play the mvp had for vash

-it happens. there are truly no number that can measure the amount of damage the last scene has caused the contestant. 1 "traumatic event" point for the tragedy that has fallen over our contestant. but we all know no number will be ever enough

Chap 8:

-and this is when he start the lighting round: 1 "traumatic event" point for having to bury wolfwood

-1 "sad outburst" point (although it could also be counted as a angry outburst) for defending wolfwood's home by using more of his power. it makes him weaker, closer to death. but it doesnt matter

-1 "action" point for the coping mechanism so soon after his death. the method isnt bad, but it is terrible that the contestant doesnt get enough time to mourn

Well...wasnt that a volume. do not worry dear audience, a few employees are giving away tissues for your tears

The contestant has officially surpassed 98 vash, putting him in first place. This volume and the final moves by the mvp got trimax vash 13 points. His new total is 269 points

but at what cost

Please....keep tuning in for...the sports...jaja...

[matan4il]

Why I will never give up on Canon Buddie..... Listen I am just a little straight girl who grew up on romance novels. You want Eddie with a women. Well, I mean Vanessa was perfect if you were a writer.

One dare I say she was a better version of Anna and 2 with a little manipulation she could be the girl version of Buck. I mean no one ever could, so don't come for me with pitchforks I just meant in general. She was beautiful, fun, a little heartbroken and didn't add stress to Eddie. Telling the story?? So easy it's a tale as old as time. She shares his culture so let's fake date to throw our tias off. Become friends. Maybe meet Chris. Maybe hesitate to do more because she's jaded and worried it won't work out and how will that effect Chris. Like I have seriously read this story a million times yet the writers never pull the trigger.

My second thing. Again I am a moderately attractive straight single girl. It is not that hard for me to find a relationship. I can throw a rock and find companionship you know?? No disservice to us straights it's just facts. So the fact that the writers intentionally get this wrong while being so loud about the couch screams volumes to me. Especially when you couple it with the fact these 2 do not wing man for each other, talk about sex lives and only refer to the significant other to tell them to dump them. That is the loudest part about their living in each other's back pocket BFF forever relationship. I mean Eddie couldn't even process Buck taking care of himself.

In conclusion 911 if you want me to stop shipping them this all on you. I mean I will never stop. But you could at least try!!

Awww, Nonnie! :D Welcome to the hopeless romantics club! We got comfy cushions for you, as well as cookies. ;)

Regarding Vanessa, yeah. I have seen plenty of rom coms that start off with the exactly interaction she and Eddie had. He's not ready, she's not ready, they come to the date with the intent to let each other down easy, and when they realize they were never an option for the other person, it intrigues them. It could have easily developed in the direction of "instead of going through this repeatedly, how about we fake date to get our Tias off our cases?" and slowly falling for each other. TBH, I wouldn't have been surprised if that's what 911 would go with, since so many shows would. I'm glad it didn't, that the point really was to help Eddie progress on his romantic journey rather than set him up with yet another LI.

I agree with you! I already thought it was eyebrow raising when 911 let Buddie be single throughout the entirety of s3 and a respectable chunk of 4a. Now in s6, they're both once again very single. And we're talking young, good looking, heroic firefighters. It should not be hard for them to find romance, yet out of almost 5 seasons of them being on the show together, roughly 2.5 they spend with both of them being single men. When they're the only single members of the main cast! That is VERY unusual, it's not the route most TV shows would take with their only single characters, you know? That Buck and Eddie are directly responsible for this state of double singleness a part of the time just makes it all more hilarious. XD

I've said it before, I will always ship Buddie. Which means as long as the show is on air and both of their characters are alive, I will hope for canon Buddie. But even if that doesn't happen, Buddie is canon to me. The show has written and filmed their epic love story, and I can't unsee that no matter what. In my head, it will always be just a matter of time before these two morons figure it out.

Thank you so much for this ask, lovely! Have a wonderful day. As always, my ask tag. xoxox

[kilikrungpotmeister]

3 Years Too Late

Ao3: link

<prev Chapter 4 next>

Fire tried to hug his father’s legs tighter to keep him from leaving again, but having expended so much of his energy already, he couldn’t do much.

Slowly Kilik crouched down to be at his son’s height.

Fire would look up into his father’s eyes. The weapon’s eyes filled with tears and seemed as brittle as a freshly frozen pane of ice. While Kilik’s looked old, worn out and broken.

“Why would you ever think I was disappointed in you two. you silly little pot?” Kilik said under his breath before hugging his son in a tight embrace. “I loved you both so much. You and Thunder were the world to me. You were my pride and joy.”

The weapon couldn’t help but let out a yelp as he was pulled in closer. He wasn’t expecting this, he also didn’t expect to like this so much. With all he’s done to them, all the worry, the pain, and now all the lies. The meister shouldn’t even have the right to talk to him, let alone hug him like this. However, he can't deny Kilik’s arms brought a sense of safety to the boy's mind, even after all these years. Even though his physical appearance changed so much, even though he seemed like he was literally a dead man walking, his warmth was still the same, welcoming feeling. It made his flames feel cold.

Slowly he melted into his father's arms and hugged him back. His mind started to fade off into the black, he really did push himself with all those flames.

Relaxing into this father more he couldn’t help but realize, there was something that was even more different. He couldn’t get as close to Kilik as he used to. Not in a physical sense but in a spiritual one. This used to be an instantaneous thing. For him to be able to easily resonate with Kilik and be as close to his father as he could. He remembered how safe it felt having his soul so close. But now he could barely feel it, but this is more than just him keeping away. Fire couldn’t feel Kilik’s soul.

He tried to look up at the mister to ask but he was too weak to move. “D..ad..wh-” was all he could say before finally passing out in his father’s arms.

Kilik held his son close in his arms and sighed as he looked down at him. Hearing Fire call him dad stung a little.

“You really are a silly little pot.” He smiled for a quarter of a second. He could feel the boy shivering already. Kilik knew that usually Fire’s internal heat is able to keep him warm even in this weather. Seeing him must’ve really put a lot of stress on him. Changing the position of his arms so the boy laid comfortably in his arm, he got up carrying him. “I hope my heat is enough to fill you for now kiddo, eat up.”

Kilik started trudging out of the snow covered cemetery. He already knew the address Kidd had decided to put his old team and his kids in. Lord Kidd was the first he reported to when he got back into the city. The shinigami updated him on the current state of his family. Even as cold as the meister had become in his time alone, learning about how the two had spiraled down so fast because of him hurt him deeply. No matter how you looked at it, Kilik failed them as a father.

For that reason the current head of DWMA recommended keeping a distance from his old team including the rest of Spartio for now, so that Kidd and his team could figure out how to ease the fact of Kilik’s survival to them.

It stung knowing that he was this close and yet cant meet his family, but he agreed with Kidd’s decision and understood that contact with them now would’ve caused more harm than good.

Thankfully his team seemed to be getting better now, at least he hoped they were. But with what just happened he doubted he’d be of any help to them. If anything he’d cause them nothing more but more pain. It would’ve been better if he just faded away like he planned to do.

[jane-gunson123]

Dead Boys.

When a geordie boxer looses her brother to suicied a week before the biggest fight of her career and walks out to her boyfriends song, Dead Boys.

Main masterlist

Sam Fender masterlist

Growing up with brothers meant Lacey was always fighting. Whether it was with her brothers, Jordan and kyle or other people, it was all she seamed to do. Her oldest brother, Jordan had a different mam to her and Kyle, and grew up in Sunderland meaning they only saw him a few days a week but that didn’t matter they were still siblings. 

When Lacey was 15 Jordan had signed a contract at liverpool and his football career started to take off and Kyle was 17, a year away from leaving for uni to become whatever his heart desired, he was intelligent enough to do anything, really. 

Lacey was never very academically gifted, she much preferred to be out on the streets doing what ever she pleased. She hated how much control authority figures had over her. The only reason she kept going was to one, make her brothers proud and two, see her best friends everyday, Sam, Dean and Abi. The four of them had ran North Shields ragged in their youth, terrorising the neighbors and business owners all there teens.   

On the 18th August 2012, Lacey had gotten her GCSE results back, they were shocking, 4 D’s and 1 C in PE the only thing she was good at, she had laughed it off at first, until she realised she couldn’t even apply for a proper collage course without resitting them. She hated exam's and refused to even attempt her GCSE’s again. 

After wondering aimlessly around North Shields for the better part of 2 hours, she decided to let of some steam and wondered into a boxing gym she had passed many a times. That was probably the best decision he had ever made to this day, for that was the day her life changed forever. 

That was about 11 years ago now and Lacey Henderson was very quickly becoming a household name in women's boxing. She was a mear 2 weeks away from the biggest fight of her career against Katie Taylor for the WBA,IFB and WBC belts while also putting her own belt she had defender 3 times already the WBO belt.

Her life had changed dramatically in the past 11  years, she had gone from living a life of poverty to upper middle class but yet she still refused to live anywhere apart from North Shields. 

She was still extremely close to both her brother, she had watched Jordan’s devastating defeat in the Euros final a mere few months ago and Kyle had just welcomed a little girl, Bella into the world with his girlfriend, Rosie 10 months ago. They had met at a bar in the quayside, Rosie being a English teacher at her old high school and Kyle being a fireman ment they often only saw each other for a couple hours day but the love they shared was unbeatable.

Lacey still remained close to her best friends, so close in fact she was in bed with one of them. Her and sam had always loved each other more than friends but had only actually gotten together about 6 months before lockdown and what was even more surprising was catching Abi and Dean the other half of there group in Abi’s bed after a practically, heavy drinking session the day before after lockdown rules had been lifted. 

6 days till fight night, she had her friend, boyfriend and team around her. Jordan and Kyle were only expected to show up a day before her fight but both rang her everyday to show their support. Lacey and Kyle had lost their mam to an overdose 3 weeks before Lacey’s 18th birthday and then the three hd lost their father to cancer 5 years ago, so they only really had each other as family now, even if they did have about a 100 cousins up and down the country thanks to their dads Gypies roots.

After finishing a sparring session, Lacey had picked up her phone to see 7 missed calls from Rosie, Kyle's girlfriend, 5 off Jordan and 3 off Sam, who was only back at the house they owned in London, which happened to be next to the Gym she attended their and Wembley arena where the fight was due to happen in 6 days time.

Lacey had decided to stay behind while everyone else had left and continue to work on her form with the punching bag.

Pulling the tape of her hands once she had finished her training for the day, Laceys phone began to ring, “Hello.” Lacey answered. 

“Lace.” Rosie answered back in hysterics.

“Woah, what’s the matter, Rose? Is everyone okay?” lacey asked, anxious. She never really showed emotion but she had never heard Rosie sound so distressed.

“He’s gone, lace.” She sobbed.

“Who’s gone? What u on about?” Lacey questioned again.

“Kyle,” Rosie sobbed, “He's dead.”

The room began to spin and lights began to blur, it was like Lacey had no control over her body as she fell to her knee and her phone slipped out of her hands.

She didn’t know how long she had been on her knees, staring at the wall in frount of her but what she did know was no tears fell. It was like she went blank and just simply couldn’t process the information she had been told.

Pulled out of her thoughts by her phone ringing once again, it was Sam but she didn’t answer. Just simply declined the call, stood up and walked toward the locker room in the gym.

After showering and changing into a tracksuit she had stolen of Sam a few weeks ago, Lacey simply packed her bag and began her walk home to hers and Sam’s house.

Nobody had heard from her in over an hour since she had found out about her brother and they were beginning to panic she would do something silly, you never know how dark someone’s mind can go after hearing news like that.

Unlocking the front door, she was engulfed into Sam’s arms, he had been waiting for her to arrive him since he had heard about Kyle.

“It’s alright love, I promise I’m always here, whenever you need me, okay?” Sam reassured her.

“I’m okay Sam, honest” Lacey replied, but Sam had know the girl since she was 5 and could tell when she tried to hide what she was feeling, her big blue eyes usually gave it away.

“You might think u are but your not. It’s okay to cry darlin’, just let it all out.” Sam rubbed her back pulling her onto his knee on the floor.

“I just can’t believe he’s gone.” She spoke meekly, tears pooling in her eyes.

Soon the water works started and they didn’t stop, not until late into the night anyways.

That was 5 days ago and nobody apart from close family and friends knew what had happened to her brother. She didn’t want it to get out before her fight and everybody was completely understanding.

Jordan had arrived about 2 hours ago with his wife to watch her weigh ins. He was worried about Lacey. Worried that she break in the ring, that it would all be to overwhelming for.

Lacey stepped on the scaled making her weight by 5 pounds, it was weird for her not wearing anything about from an underwear set, and yet she had never felt more confident and Sam thought she looked stunning witch he was sure going to tell her later on when he had he to him self.

Katie Taylor had also made her weight and the two nearly ended up in a fight on the stage. It was entertaining for the fans but also fuelled a fire with in Lacey that couldn’t be put out.

The next 24 hours flew by, she had slept and eaten but could really remember doing anything else. Usually in the locker room before a fight nerves are high and adrenaline is pumping but in all honestly Lacey’s team had never seen her so mellow.

She was sat in the corner getting her hands wrapped with AirPod in calm, listening to music in a world of her own.

It was eventually time for her to walk out, with a sigh Lacey stood up and made her way to the tunnel to walk out. Her team were waiting for her walk out song to start playing, it had been picked weeks ago, shortly after the fight had been announced, so imagine there supprise when instead of Get up 10 by Cardi B Dead Boys by none other than her boyfriend Sam Fender started playing.

Her team knew it was a not so subtle nod to her now passed brother but everyone else was clueless. After a slow walk out, Lacey jumped in the ring and smirked at Katie Taylor as Dead Boys finished playing, Lacey pulled her walk out outfit off with the help of her coach, Peter Roberts.

“You got this kid,” Peter said lightly grabbing her head. Lacey just nodded and smiled. She had this and he knew it.

“Fighting out of the blue corner, all the way from Bray, Northern Ireland, Katie ‘The Bray Bomber’ Taylor, weighting in at 66 kilos, 5ft5 with a reach of 66 inches. 22 wins, 6 by K.O. Undefeated champion, with three belts on the line, WBA, IFB and WBO” the announcer screamed over the speakers.

“The challenger, fighting out of the red corner, all the way from North Shields, Newcastle, England, Lacey “The Siren” Henderson, weight in at 65.95 kilos, 5ft7 with a reach of 70 inches. Undefeated with 13 wins, 7 by K.O with the WBO belt on the line, but looking to take all four titles in her weight class.” The announcement had finished.

With the touch of gloves the fight had began, they were going for 12, 3 minute rounds to decide the champ.

It was neck to neck going into the 7th round but Katie was getting tired, while Lacey was only just starting.

Katie went in to attack but left her chin u guarded, so Lacey used that to her advantage, a swift left hook to Katie’s jaw, followed buy an uppercut and a jab to the stomach sent Katie flying onto the canvas.

After the count of 10 Katie was still unmoved, she had done it she was world champion and had all 4 belts.

Ripping her gloves off with her teeth and chucking them, she ran and jumped up onto the ropes, kissing her fingers, before putting both arms in the air and looking up.

“That’s for you big brother.” She mumbled, it was inaudible to anyone else but she knew her brother was there with her, he was in her heart and always would be.

Her team flooded the ring, hosting her on their shoulders before they cleared off and let her grab the refs had before he raised it announcing she now had all 4 belts.

She was pulled aside to talk to a reporter, tears were streaming down her face.

“So, what was that celebration aimed at?” The reporter asked.

Sam wrapped his arm around her shoulder and moods his head encouraging her to continue.

“I lost me older brother, Kyle, 6 days ago. He was meant to be here tonight, buts he’s not, he took his own life after losing a long hard battle with depression, and I never want anymore of me family to feel like they have no one cos I’ve been there before and it’s a dark and lonely place. Boxing saved is but if I hadn’t stumbled into that gym at 16, I can guarantee I wouldn’t be here today.” The tears streamed steadily down the young Geordie’s face, her accent become almost incomprehensible.

“You were the underdog going into that fight, how does it feel to come out on top?” The report asked, scribbling down her last answer.

“I’ve always been the fucken underdog, nouts changed. I just like proving people wrong.”

“What can we expect to see from you in the next year?”

“I want a family, and while I would love me own kids, it’s not the right time in my career or me partners, so maybe a new member to me family, we want to adopt. And fighting wise, who knows the world I’d ready for my to conquer. I’m 26 and already have won every single belt there is too win, so I divint nar to be honest”

“And finally is there any one you would like to call out?” The reporter asked.

“Anyone who thinks they can take these belts of me, come and give it a try.”

They story of her brother was now public knowledge as 4 days later there was hoards of reports outside Newcastle Crematorium as they laid Kyle to rest. The service was beautiful and Sam and Jordan never left her side once.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, but I’m so fucken proud of you, after everything your still here and fighting.” Jordan said as he pulled her closer and kissed her forehead .

He shielded Lacey away from the flashing cameras of the newspaper as he guided her out to his car with Sam and Rebecca, Jordan’s wife and Rosie not far behind.

They pulled up outside of the Low Lights in North Shields to give there brother a proper send off and that was just what they did. They drank the day away with stories of the last and their youth all the way up to the last time they had all been together at Lacey and Sam’s house for Christmas, when Sam burnt the turkey and Jordan got that drunk he fell on top of the Christmas tree, knocking over Lacey’s candles, nearly setting the house on fire.

They had laughed, cried and grieved together but this wasn’t the hardest part of kissing there brother that part was still to come but Lacey would be fine, Sam would be by her side thought everything, just like he had been every time Lacey needed him and even when she didn’t he was there and for that she was forever great full for him.

In the months to come Lacey and Sam would become parents, just not in the way they thought, as it turns out Rosie had been 4 months pregnant when Kyle had passed. After finding out she was 6 months gone and was not getting rid of it.

The pregnancy was stressful and hard but Lacey was by her side thought it all, even when she took her last breath after delivering a beautiful little boy into the world.

It had been Sam and Lacey to take her brother and sister in laws children in. They would raise the two kids as there own but never letting them forgot how brave and strong there parents really were.

Rosie was buried next to Kyle and Sam and Lacey would take the kids to visit there parents every few weeks.

Little did they know at the time but the two children would be forever great full for there aunt and uncle.

Growing old together was all Sam and Lacey ever wanted and that was what they did. They had raised two kids, and being grandparents to their kids and many dogs and both had extremely successful careers so when they both passed at the age of 86 together in the home in North Shields, everyone knew they had lived fulfilling lives and had no regrets.

It was a perfect end to a story with a horrible start but everyone deserves a happy ending eventually.

[foxydivaxx]

Gossip Girl Prequel: Z After Dark Chapter 2

Idol by Yoasobi is gonna be referenced here. In universe, a certain virtual idol who is Zoro's sister in this verse is the singer of that song.

Mihawk runs a hand through his hair as he paces around the room, a glass of Hennessy in hand. He managed to enlist the services of longtime Roronoa family lawyer, Boa Hancock to handle not just the divorce proceedings but the other possible legal issues that could arise.

So far, himself, Shanks and Buggy have managed to weed out the Terra loyalists and reinstate those that served not just Arashi but the entire Roronoa family for years.

He still remembers the day he found out the true extent of Terra's monstrous greed and ambition. He asked Crocodile and Monkey D. Dragon to help him track down the asylum that Terra locked up Arashi in.

The fact that this woman chose to do this shortly after Arashi's accident years ago did not help matters. Zoro was 3 then. His baby sister Miku was just a year old then. Making matters worse, she sent Miku off to Japan to be sold to her current agency. Unfortunately for Terra, she did not know that Grandma Roronoa ran the place. That is why Miku is not as messed up as her older brother.

"Everything is all set. Terra has been alerted and is trying to countersue." Boa reports. Mihawk snorts. "Hmmph. Let that bitch try. This time I am ready for her." Boa nods. "How is Zoro-kun?"

"He is a lot stable now. Eating a lot better than normal." he says. "That's great to hear. I have spoken to the record label to terminate their current contract for him. Went through it and it is obvious that this woman signed that contract for him and placed the dubious clauses there."

"Enough reason to throw her behind bars." says Mihawk. "Enough said." They both whip around and in walks Arashi Roronoa. Arashi looks a lot better compared to 12 years ago when Terra threw him into that asylum.

He looks a lot healthier and radiates the same charisma that he had when they were kids. His long teal hair was packed into a ponytail and he wore dark sunglasses with a black suit with silver bling. It is obvious where Zoro got the looks, talent and fashion sense from.

"Look at you man!!" Mihawk exclaims as he and his old friend hug each other for the first time in years. Arashi grins. "Long time no see Hawkie." Mihawk nods and pats him on the back. "Welcome home dude."

"Great to see you boss." says Boa. "Ah Boa-chan lovely to see you." she nods. "I will leave you two to catch up. Gonna go handle the rest of the proceedings." With that,she excuses herself.

Both men stare at each other. "I cannot behave that we allowed that woman to poison us." says Arashi. "I should have seen those red flags and ran for my life." says Mihawk. "Thank you for saving my family."

"Oh it's nothing bro. You and your family saved my ass years ago. It's only fair I return the favour. Either way, we need to get going. Zoro has to see you." Arashi nods and the duo leave.

Zoro was a master at pretending. Pretending to be untouchable. Pretending to be cool. Acting as someone he knows he isn’t. No one knew for years. No one suspected as he learned how to be the perfect son for his mother.

He pretended to be her little trophy son. A replacement for her seemingly defective, incompetent father. He tried finding out what had become of the man but she said that he left on his own accord. What a terrible lie that was.

Once he learned the truth about his father, he lost control. His brain shattered as he came to terms with the truth about the woman he calls his mother.

Rather than take it out on her, he took it out on himself. He would cut his hands and legs with razor blades every night thinking that that would stop the pain. But that did nothing. Instead the pain worsened.

He began to party nonstop indulging in a never ending well of drugs, alcohol and sex. Yes, he is no longer the squeaky clean popstar his mother tried to market him as for years. He lost his virginity much earlier than people expected and a now former friend of his ratted him out to the press.

The media knew this and gleefully watched his every move like the hungry sharks that they are. All that intense attention plus the abuse made him spiral out of control and contributed to his declining popularity.

The truth is he never cared about the fame per se. All he wanted to do was perform, act and do what he loves. Yet, that came at a price to the point where he questions his passion and hard work. He was at Mihawk's home as the doctors discharged him the next day. Having to deal with the press and paparazzi on his way out was a nightmare.

"Nii-chan?"

He lifts up his head, tears in his eyes as coming into view is his younger sister Miku, popularly known worldwide as Hatsune Miku. Miku is a famous idol like him.

Miku was not dressed in her typical idol style. She put her hair down and she was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of dark blue skinny jeans. She walks over to her brother and sits down next to him.

"Please do not be hard on yourself. None of this is your fault. Mamma let her greed get the better of her." He just nods. "I...I am just tired of pretending."

"You have held onto that pain for too long. You did a great job with your songs. I listened to them and I cried but at the same time, I prayed and cheered you on because I know you nii-chan. No matter how hard life gets you, you will always get back up."

"I remembered how you used to sacrifice yourself to protect not just me but any kid that got bullied. I mean, you met your friends that way. Forget what the haters say. Forget what mother or her goons have been trying to brainwash you with. You Zoro Roronoa are an awesome person. You have to start loving yourself and trusting yourself again. That freedom she took from you, you can get it back."

He smiles softly. "Thanks Miku-chan." She then pulls out her phone. "Listen to this." She then goes to YouTube and plays a song for him:

Muteki no egao de arasu media Shiritai sono himitsu misuteriasu Nuketeru toko sae kanojo no eria Kanpeki de usotsuki na kimi wa Tensaitekina aidoru sama

Zoro listens to the song with a huge smile on his face. "I-Is this about me?" Miku nods. "It is about the struggles all idols go through on a daily basis but I was describing your situation. You no longer need to wear a mask." He gives his baby sister a big hug.

Arashi leans by the doorway and watches his two children interact. Zoro catches a glimpse of his dad and freezes." P-Papa?!" He was back to being his kid self again.

Miku immediately gets up, runs towards her dad and hugs him. "Otousan!!" She starts breaking down in tears. Zoro gets up as well and runs to his dad and hugs him as well.

"Papa...I...I missed you...."Arashi tries to fight back tears. "My beloved angels. I missed you too. I am so happy and proud of both of you. I cannot believe that you are both grown."

Mihawk and the others watch the reunion from afar with smiles on their faces. "Awww." says Kuina. Yosaku tries not to cry whilst Johnny starts bawling. Mihawk grins. Mission accomplished for phase 1.

[lifeintheneurolane]

My daily neurodivergent journal/diary

Hi lovely people of Tumblr! I'm J and I am an autistic ADHD'er. I have been diagnosed with AD(h)D since December 2023 and have been diagnosed with autism for about a month. Recently I have been keeping a diary/journal because I noticed I had a lot of recurring negative thoughts and I also wanted to keep track of my emotions for my therapy sessions (bc I always forget what I felt during the week I don't see my therapist). I have personally found that reading others experiences helped me a lot because; 1. I found a lot of recognition. 2. I could compare how symptoms presented in others with ADHD/Autism. 3. I have a new hyperfyxation and want to know everything there is to know about neurodivergence lol. I also like to write in my diary as if im writing a book or to an audience so there's that. So if any of these (or something else ofc) applies to you; welcome to my blog!

But before I start I thought I would share my story for anyone that's interested.

For as long as I could possibly remember (doesn't say a lot) I have felt extremely different from everyone else around me. I would overthink things, even as a little girl. I remember as a little girl people would always tell me "J it doesn't matter, stop overthinking and do it". Funny thing that is, because when I graduated flight attendant school two years ago they gave me a note along with my 100% exam score that said: "Stop thinking, just do". As you can tell, this has followed me my entire life. My head has been full of thoughts and music and movie sentences & so so much more. When I learned that this wasn't normal, things were already falling into place for me a bit. I don't belong here, in this society, surrounded by these people. But hey I was a kid! what do I know?

Having these thoughts I went through my teenage years, trough high school and college (imagine dramatic DUNDUNDUN sounds right here). I always felt like I was in a social hell. Honestly, the learning didn't even bother me (don't get me started on homework tho). It was just the social interactions of walking to class, having lunch, passing people in hallways, working in groups (I think you get it now). I had very bad anxiety but wouldn't let anyone know, especially growing up in a household that hates therapists (bc they blamed them lol). Let me sum up my time in highschool and college real quick; problems concentrating,procastinating,close group of friends, always late, almost expelled bc of my low attendance, low/average grades on normal tests but absolutely excelled on exams, could have a high degree but couldn't be arsed so went for average. How do I have 2 diplomas you ask? no clue except for I was kinda sorta smart except for the fact im not smart but just hyper fixated the night before every exam :)

Soo after all of that I became a flight attendant at 19 yrs old, and absolutely hated every second of it. Oh, don't even get me started on the extreme sensory overload. I did have a lot of bad experiences with colleagues so maybe im a little spooked by that, but overall 1/10 experience. The initial training summed up: almost got kicked out bc I was late 2 times (which was the limit), trouble making friends bc I thought no one liked me, extreme insecurities because of multiple exams, I arrived sweaty and anxious every morning, almost got kicked out because I was tired a lot and almost fell asleep, I couldn't concentrate on the 10/12h lectures, I couldn't concentrate because my heels were killing my feet, the clothing & so much makeup annoyed me. Honestly I could go on but I think this sums up my time because the training only lasted 2 weeks ;)

I flew for 9 months and most of the things above were the same during that time. I arrived sweaty every morning because I had so much stress. Before every flight they ask you safety questions & I had to learn every morning all over again because I kept forgetting everything & all the tiny details. Also the social aspect was so horrifying for me, every flight there was an entire new crew so there was excruciatingly much small talk (which Im not very good at). I think I called in sick 12 times because of sleep trouble, I felt sick, I felt stressed out, I just couldn't handle it. Everyone around me was so proud of me, until the end of my summer contract and I didn't go back. I don't think ive ever felt as much disappointment towards me as when I told my family I didn't like being a FA and basically wasted four years of my life going to flight attendant school (college).

After all that bull# I became a receptionist, I welcomed important business partners at the head office of T-Mobile. I did a lot of administrative tasks and social stuff (I did it to myself atp). And guys you'll never guess what!? I absolutely hated my time there. I did have a great colleague but for some reason I always felt she wasn't being genuine with me. She loved shopping and so did I (a lil too much) and together we would shop online, and this is where my neuro journey starts.

I started shopping so much until I had no money left, but I still needed to shop. I had such an extreme urge to shop anything I would know give me a good feeling. I started buying stuff with apps like Klarna and Afterpay to the point it was impossible for me to pay on the deadlines. I will sum it up bc im not ready to share the entire story yet, but best believe I was in a loooot of trouble and this was also when the worst year of my life would start. I went to a clinic for addiction ad had weekly talks with a therapist. We found out very quickly that something else was going on, something that caused my shopping addiction. So the psychiatrist there got involved, initially they thought of ASD but me and my stupid prejudices wouldn't have it. A week after that conversation with the psychiatrist he tested me for ADHD and dingdingding! There it was, and almost a perfect score might I add. Finally I had a reason for being so.. me. I started doing research and reading books which helped me feel a lot of recognition. Still, something didn't entirely feel right. They couldn't start medications because I was there for addiction initially so I had to wait until I could go to a psychiatrist (waitlists here in Europe are a nightmare).

In January this year I stopped going to the clinic and got prescriptions for my medications from my gp/doctor. I tried 2 types of meds but still, there was this part of me that said "what now?, nothing has changed yet.. is it ever going to?" something still felt missing. In March I had my first appointment with my new and current therapist. I was so extremely nervous because I honestly didn't even know what exactly I needed help with. I just felt lost and wanted to fix my life again. I started telling my entire story to this new therapist and immediately I felt he understood me. I told him about my former therapist and psychiatrist's initial thoughts of ASD and he said we could see if there was any reason for looking into ASD if I felt comfortable with that. I told him I was, even though it freaked me out but I wanted/needed to know. So he gave me two forms to fill out which were general questions to figure out if there was even any reason to think about ASD. I emailed him the forms so he would have an answer by the time we would meet again. Sure enough, when we met a week later he told me there was indeed reason to start a ASD diagnosis interview because I scored in all aspects. So we did do a interview and a week or so after that I was officially diagnosed with Autism. During the entire week after the interview I couldn't get out of the house. I was afraid to tell my parents but I did anyway, and my mom's reaction was "surely you don't have it, I know so many autistic people and you are not like them". Well mom, how wrong you were. This entire month has been such a rollercoaster of emotions. I am now an autistic woman with ADHD, yay?. It makes lots of sense now, but in the beginning I kept picturing this 8 year old autistic boy that was in my class, who kept trying to fight me because I thought I was Travis Barker drumming on my table. The boy who wore big bright red headphones and would sit in a corner, facing the wall and rocking so fast it gave me the creeps. The boy who would fight and scream and no one liked. That wasn't me, it couldn't be, it can't be. After doing my research I found out this indeed was't me, but autism presents different in everyone. Especially after reading Ellie Middleton's (love her so much) unmasked I finally understood myself. I'm not yet at that phase of acceptance because yes I have autism and that's why people think im weird sometimes, im just wired differently. It just still doesn't take away the fact im still weird and an outcast. I don't relate to a lot of other autistic people, I don't relate to most neurotypicals, so what do I do now?

I guess that's why I started this blog. I want to find out and when I finally get to that point of acceptance, or at least contempt, I can look back at how I got where I am at that point.

If anyone has any tips or anything feel free to message me or comment under my posts. This is a judgement free zone but if I said something wrong please feel free to correct me and educate me if needed :) Also if anyone ever wants to talk, im here! I may not be good at social stuff but if you made it to here, you'll know why.

Love & hugs,

J

[scarletwix]

omg hi its the anon who sent the jasico superhero au that was bouncin round my cranium u posted a response to back in like april if u recall i only just realised i never actually sent anything back but i was reading through my old reblogs and wanted to say the stuff u wrote fucks, like its so neat.

i love the groundworks for the worldbuilding stuff u have set up, mentioning unions and insurance stuff its so cool, and the way u gave nico like a kind of lois lane-ish journalist/possibly blogger idk vibe was stellar.

u mentioned debating whether nico would have powers, and id never considered it but immediately my brain went 'what if he doesnt at first, but gets them later on, has to deal with the implications of that on his life and such, and is just confronted with the truth of jason's secret identity, possibly without jason even knowing' idk u don't have to use that if u do wanna write more with it i just figured id share bc it just instantly popped up nagging my thoughts.

anyway yah it was super awesome to see the little idea that rolled around my mind half formed harassing me turned into something so brilliant!!!

(also ty for posting nimona stuff all over my dash ive wanted to watch it and u let me know that it actually came out lol)

OMG NONNY HI HOW DID I MISS THIS

WELCOME BACK TO THE CIRCUS this au has not left my mind literally every time I hear "Last of the Real Ones" by FoB my brain screeches away from whatever I'm writing and straight into jasico superhero au

I'm so glad you enjoyed it!! That makes me so happy to hear :D as for the worldbuilding I was blatantly inspired by the book Hench by Natalie Zina Walschots, but I took it in a different direction. The idea of Superhero unions fascinates me, and looking at a world and going "how would people react if this became a normal thing" is something I find really fun when doing worldbuilding.

And yay! I struggled a bit trying to decide what Nico was doing and decided Journalism Major fit his vibes enough that I wanted to run with it!! I hadn't even considered the Lois angle but aslksdflfk that's so fun. Too bad his superman made a terrible impression ey?

also that is a DELIGHTFUL idea. I love having to explore the repercussions of suddenly being at the same caliber of power as the heroes he writes about, trying to decide whether or not he's going to DO anything about this information... Mmmm I love that.

I had given it a lot of thought and my main sticking point was "do I want Bianca to also be alive in this au" because my initial thought was that a lot of Nico's trepidation towards heroes comes from the fact that Bianca was one and was either injured too badly in the line of duty to continue heroing, or was killed outright. I thought it would be interesting to see Nico grappling with that aspect of his sister who he looked up to, and what that profession eventually cost her, especially if she was just too injured to keep going, which would leave room for Nico's initial hero worship of Tonitro while also giving him the skepticism of "this is an inherently unfair system." In the end it didn't matter much to the snippet itself, but if/when I go back and write more (I'll be honest it's not even an if or a when because it's just so much fun for me that I have written a few more little snippets here and there of the au, just nothing polished enough to publish lol).

In any case, I was thinking about Nico having powers at the time of the Tonitro & Waterspout teamup in the ficlet and that he could/would use them to try and find Jason and potentially even help with the evacuation effort. I've got half of a scene written in my head that I now think would work really well as an accidental-identity-reveal that Jason doesn't even realize has happened. That is such a fun concept nonny, tyty

Your idea super inspired me, and I have to thank you so much for sending it over!! I'm so glad that you enjoyed it as much as I do :D

(ALSO LOL I HOPE YOU GOT TO WATCH NIMONA what a good movie. So proud of Nate tbh like what a journey he's been on. I remember reading the webcomic on the Nimona website back in the day and it's wild to see how far he's come.)

[deadly-virtues]

> CH_0 PT_3.5

> Continue > The Room Chosen was: > The Library

After a moment of deliberation, Jester pointed to a pair of double doors. He winced the moment he pointed but he was able to say. “There-!” Once he pointed, D turned his head to the door and nodded. “Alright then let's get going, we still have other places to see.” 

With that Jester grabbed D’s hand and squeezed it tightly as he walked over to the doors and opened them up to look inside, wondering what would be on the other side…

Upon entering the library they found it to be a little more welcoming than all the other rooms they had been in before. Instead of concrete, the floor was seemingly wooden. Though upon walking onto it, the sound of D's shoes making a hollower noise compared to wood made it obvious that it was just vinyl flooring. But the wood that broke up the cold harsh colors of the area made it acceptable, the tiring look of the grey concrete floors was starting to overwhelm Jester. So he took in the look of the wood around as he moved his eyes from the floors to the tables that were set up in the room and then then to the bookshelves that lined the back walls and were filled with books. There were currently no chairs in the room but hopefully there would be some somewhere in another room because suddenly the thought of being able to read in a room that wasn’t as bleak as the rest seemed like a wonderful idea to Jester.

But his thoughts didn't stay good for long because he then noticed who was in the room.

It had been the Redhead who flipped him off earlier, reading through one of the books from the shelves in the back of the room. It was hard to see what the book was but it didn't matter, the individual putting the book down as they turned their head to the two of them. D approached them while Jester stayed near the doors to the room. Whilst staying back he was able to watch as the person scoffed and adjusted their glasses.

“Oh look, it's the old man and the dumb kid." It seemed like they were still not over the earlier shock. "Did you come over to give all of us another shock because the first one wasn't enough?" They weren't stopping with the comments clearly trying to rub in the previous incident and make Jester feel worse about it. But that wasn't going to slide, D only responding with a calmness in his voice.

"Hey. We're all stuck here with no ideas of what's going on so I'd prefer you be somewhat nicer to Jester. He hurt us… but that doesn't give you any reason to keep berating him." To that they laughed before saying. "I have no reason to keep berating him? Hm? You got hurt too and you're still defending the brat?" D opened his mouth before saying nothing, the Redhead crossing their arms as they walked towards him. Quickly blowing on his face which caused him to jolt back. Letting them take the glasses off his face as they spoke. "See? you don't even know why. You clearly have the glasses too but they're just too fogged up to let you realize." 

They then threw the glasses back to him, D fumbling as he tried to catch the glasses, managing to do so as they spoke more. "Now what the hell do you idiots want?"

At the hostile reaction Jester felt the urge to leave, creeping ever so carefully towards the door before D spoke. “We’re trying to get an idea of the place and trying to get to know everyone around. So come on, at least humor us with your name.”  They only rolled their eyes and thought about it before reaching into their pocket and pulling out the index card from earlier. Moving to hold it out as they spoke. “Here or whatever.”

D read it for a bit before they pulled it back quickly and spoke. “There. You happy?” He nodded and gestured for Jester to come over, the Circus performer hesitating before walking to the old man and staying right behind him. He figured that D would be the one line of defense between him and whoever this person was. Letting D talk for him as he did. “Yes, in fact I’m very happy to meet you Cosine. And Jester is too.” He looked behind himself and down to Jester who had been shaking his head. He did not like this person and it was not good to meet them. But he didn’t get to have a say about that because D just added. “I’m D, and I'm hoping that even after that rough start to our… day? We can forgive that and try to get along.” D was doing what seemed like his best to defuse the situation but Cosine only had one thing to say in response. “You wish.” They weren’t going to be nicer now that they knew him. But they seemed tolerant to both his and Jester's presence. “Now if you excuse me, I want to get back to this book and see if it can actually be helpful.” They then picked up the book and got back to reading it. While D respected their wishes of wanting to be alone, Jester didn't. D turned to walk away before Jester looked back at the book and its title. 

To this he let out a noise and tried to point while tugging on D’s coat as he spoke. “Wait! Uh-! Have you found anything in there?” With his sudden speech Cosine glanced at him before looking back at the book and saying.

“No”

They then sighed and moved to hold the book against their chest as they spoke. “There are so many ultimates in this book. And not to mention each title has multiple names under them thanks to every country having their own person with the title. So even if we were in here it'd probably be too hard to figure out. Plus it seems like there's pages ripped out.” D looked back to Jester and Cosine, raising a brow before saying. “So we could've been in there?” 

Cosine only nodded as Jester said. “They thought about the fact that we’d check-” 

“Or they made it like that to dangle it over our heads.” They said as they turned the book to Jester and D. Showing a ripped out page in the middle of titles starting with M. “I’d be in it here… if they didn’t rip it out.” As D and Cosine talked about it Jester sighed, moving to walk away as the Detective spoke. “So we can’t just figure our names out that way… well we can try something else eventually. But me and Jester are going to get going. Hopefully you can find something while we're out of here. Good luck.” The older man waved goodbye before going over to Jester and taking his hand. Walking him out of the library so they can go and look in the other rooms.

D looking at Jester once they were out of the library and saying. “Let's see where we can go next alright?”

> CH_0 PT_3.5 END > To Be Continued ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ > CH_0 PT_3 > ???

[frontproofmedia]

JOSH TAYLOR VS. JACK CATTERALL 2 MANCHESTER PRESS CONFERENCE QUOTES

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Published: February 20, 2024

JOSH TAYLOR VS. JACK CATTERALL 2 MANCHESTER PRESS CONFERENCE QUOTES

  Eddie Hearn, Matchroom Sport Chairman:   "Welcome to Manchester for part two of a slightly lively press conference ahead of the British fight of the year, the rematch between Josh Taylor and Jack Catterall, April 27 in Leeds. We have a night that you are not going to forget.    "The controversy of the first fight will be settled in an unbelievable night live and exclusive on DAZN around the world, part of your subscription on the global home of boxing."

  Josh Taylor:   "I’m looking forward to getting this fight done. The first one is done, he couldn’t beat me the first time and he certainly won't beat me this time, so I’m looking forward to it. "It’s been a long two years coming. We tried to get the fight done straight away and it never happened, the mandatory then came in. But we’re here now, there’s no point in keeping on talking about what happened, we’re going to settle the score on April 27.You need to have a word with your man, that’s three times he’s tried to put his hands on me, he’s meant to be a professional athlete. Keep your hands to yourself you little rat.    "It is must-win, it’s a crossroads fight for us both, when I beat him this time again, he’s got nowhere to go. His biggest night is me and when I beat him again, he’ll have nowhere to go and he’ll retire without a prime, with no belts and he’ll never be a World champion.    "You’re in the wrong game if you don’t believe in yourself, so of course he’ll think that, but he’s never knocked anyone out in his life, not anyone credible.     "On April 27, I end Jack Catterall’s career, one that he never got going, and he’ll never be a World champion."    Joe McNally:    "I’m 100 per cent confident in Josh. the first fight was a cracker and I just hope that we get the opportunity for Josh to showcase his skills, Jack with his counter-punching and we have the right official, so there’s no holding and clinching and they let the fight flow. If we get that, we’ll get a good fight and we’ll be in for a good night.    "We’re in professional boxing, small gloves, anyone can be knocked out, but Jack isn’t a knockout puncher and that’s a fact. He couldn’t get an old, shot Jorge Linares out of there, so to think he’s going to get Josh out of there? Not a chance. I just hope he performs and he’s ready because he’s with a fantastic team, because Josh will be ready, may the best man win and we’re really confident.    "There were a few things that needed addressing in the camp with Teofimo, I personally think we shouldn’t have gone ahead with the fight off the injury that he had. But it was one of those fights that a round here or there, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now, he’d be fighting a Devin Haney or Gervonta Davis. We never got the decision so we’re sitting here because of Josh, not Jack, that’s a fact. I’m excited for it and to go into this one all guns blazing."   Tom Grant:    "This is what it’s about, these domestic dust-up are what the fans come out for. All that matters is what happens on April 27 now, and that is that Josh Taylor is going to beat Jack Catterall on April 27 and all these people are going to struggle watching it."      Jack Catterall:   "I want to thank everybody that has come out today. It’s an exciting fights, it gets the juices flowing, it’s been talked about for the last two years and it’s the same for Josh, everyone always asking when the rematch is, so it’s good to have the rematch locked in, and I’m ready to settle it.    "You know what it is, they’ve said it’s the England vs. Scotland heritage, but it’s more of me just fighting a pr*ck. He’s just not a nice person. That’s it.    "I know what lies ahead of me. As much as we have the press conferences and the weigh-ins, I have a job to do on April 27. I’m preparing for the best of Josh Taylor, so when I beat him and do it convincingly, I can move on with my career.     "I think he’s there to be beaten and I’ve got his number, and it’s only a matter of time before he touches the canvas again. Can we get some more tickets for the fight Eddie, please? We’ve had a great response and that’s expected with a big domestic fight, so I’m very grateful for everyone’s support. "Josh, you are finished after this fight. In nine weeks' time, we get to put him to bed." Jamie Moore:    "I’ve always been a big believer in Jack, I’ve always said the day that he came into our gym that he would be a World champion. I’ve just done loads of interviews and basically said the same thing, this is such a good fight because it’s been created by that narrative. It was a controversial decision in the first fight, and the vast majority thought Jack won. The two years in between has created a better story and made people more interested in it now than when it first should have taken place six months afterwards.    "You have kept Jack busy, he’s active and that’s the main thing that’s not been good for him over the last five years. He’s always in the gym. Josh has had that one loss, but I don’t buy into the fact that he’s on the slide because he’s lost to Teofimo Lopez because he’s an unbelievable fighter. So, we’re going into the fight knowing we’re going to get the best version of Josh Taylor because it’s such a grudge match and we’re going to train hard for it.    "The first fight is irrelevant now, all that matters is what happens on April 27."   Sam Jones:   "Yesterday we were in the great city of Edinburgh, and it is a great city, but it’s not a patch on Chorley. I didn’t hear what Tom said yesterday, he mentioned Ben Shalom for some reason, but they have a bit in common, they both got the charisma of the weather outside.     "It’s a fantastic fight, we’ve got two of the best trainers in the country up here today, all I want is for Josh not to make any excuses. He demanded it to be at 140lbs, I think that is a ready-made excuse right there, but it’s just a fantastic fight, British boxing needs rivalries like this, with two great fighter, one former undisputed champion and one guy that should have been undisputed, and it’s going to be a great fight, and as I said yesterday, Jack Catterall is going to whoop Josh Taylor on April 27."

(Featured Photo: Mark Robinson/Matchroom Boxing)

[biribaa]

Can I get some gaurdian x trans male reader fluff? If you're not comfy with that just gaurdian x reader fluff please :D

Guardian x Trans male! Reader

Scenario: You are the only human in the giant city full of robots, plus a trans man(swag) and your """FRIEND""", the Guardian, compliments your top scars even though he doesn't know what it is

This is my first time writing a reader that is specifically transmasc- But still I'm glad to have this request, I love writing new stuff :)

Because you offered me the reader as trans, I thought I should write something that has to do with that, because the information of the reader being trans would be useless. The idea of ​​"dysphoria" doesn't suit me well, I never thought it was a good idea to write about it, then my silly mad scientist mind said "Oh just do something cute n silly Biriba everyone likes silly and cute things. You like top scars, right? Write bout this then" Then i did

Also nice Chrissy pfp. Question: do u wake up?

As much as you are safe, with food and clothes, the fact that you are the only human still... scares you. A strange feeling of loneliness. You admit you miss certain people after the incidents, but... What matters now is now, and what matters is that you are alive, and with machine company.

After all how long have you been here? 1 year? Woah time goes by fast... At first it was difficult for you, you hardly had any kind of food or place to stay, but the rumors about you spread quickly. "Have you heard of the human?" "What does he want here?" "Will he be a problem?" Blah blah blah. At least that's what you thought they spoke, you didn't understand their language back then

Over time, the robots stopped looking at you strangely and started talking to you directly which I will mention again, you didn't understand anything of their language, so you just nodded . Some were curious kids, some were adults, there were even people offering you gifts! You started to feel much more welcome in this place than before

One of the machines that caught your attention the most was the Guardian, someone quite loyal and humble. Since you met him you already respected him, everyone obeyed him and after all he had a great spirit of leader, how can you not respect a guy like him? Plus! He was very kind to you and even offered to teach you some of their language so you could socialize, and you did the same so he could communicate better with you.

He said that he would be responsible for you, so you don't make any kind of "mess". And you're glad he said that, because nowadays you're roommates! You sleep in his house and in time Guardian has simply accepted that you will now live with him, and luckily you two have created a great attachment and trust with each other

You felt accepted and safe in this place ignoring the zurks, and you feel that's just what you need to stay in this place...

You positioned yourself in your supposed room that you shared with Guardian, and no, you don't sleep with him, the guardian gave you a mattress for you to sleep on the floor. Guardian had recently arrived, it was rare for you to see him at home, usually he doesn't even turn off to prevent get stressed about his role in the slums

It turns out that today you slept all day and didn't leave the house, the reason why you're shirtless and with sweatpants. You looked at yourself in a large rectangular mirror, wanting to prevent any kind of messy hair or rumpled face. You ran your hand through your hair and patted your face a few, right! You are now ready for social interaction with your partner!

You walked to the doorless entrance that led to the main room, with an old counch, but enough, and old tables in the corner with Guardian's utensils. You admit, the Guardian's house had an amazing aesthetic and the yellow lights and a but of blue lights with a little dim lighting maked it all better.

Your eyes stayed on the iron head that appears to be on the couch, which was free to be bothered by some friend. You smiled, and walked to the back of the couch, placed one hand against the fabric, and pulled all your weight to snuggle into the couch next to Guardian. He jumped and faced you with what appeared to be a shocked cartoonist-style face, your face showed otherwise, you chuckled

In your friend's case, he was without the red robe but still with the hat on, your silly human logic said he might be naked, but he didn't have any genitals so...

"Hi, hi friendo!" You exclaimed, of course, in the language Guardian was used to but obviously as I don't know that language and it's not even available in the translator mainly because it's fictional let's assume it's translated here, in the oneshot, but in the scene you and Guardian are actually speaking in that language

"What a surprise to see you, normally you do nothing all day and because of that I rarely see you" The Guardian joked, in a calm tone as his personality

"What– I should be saying this, you rarely see me because you stay at your job all day!" You argued with crossed arms, your tone getting "aggressive", but with the joke still in the air

"Yes, to protect you and others" He replied monotonously

You even opened your mouth to make one more argument, but you gave up, you weren't capable of debating with a good-hearted robot

"Ah... Dang it, you're a gentleman... You're lucky I like you" You leaned your back against the couch with a smile plastered on your face as Guardian turned his head towards you.

"And what would you do if you didn't like me?" The machine protested, his first impression was a neutral face

"Well I... wouldn't be your friend?" You looked at Guardian with one eyebrow up and one eyebrow down, your voice came out more hesitant than you imagined as you explained

And after the answer, Guardian looked at the nothing in front of him "Oh" A brief pause of a few seconds... "Devastating"

You gave a soft and low chuckle with the answer. You placed your hands over your head and comforted yourself on the couch with eyes closed.

And no matter what, of course you had to get the Guardian's attention, don't blame him... He can't help it, he can't get an explanation, he just has to give you all of his attention all of a sudden. Admiring your beauty? Why? You've only been friends for 1 year and you already have great intimacy and live together. Why would he admire you because of love? He has no time for love! He got a city to protect, he got you to protect

But you. You always have to muddy his thoughts in his artificial mind in one of his days of jobo. He should be mad about that, shouldn't he? Usually people get angry when someone bothers them, right? But why doesn't this happens when it's you? The person who somehow managed to liven up his life with your original personality and appearance?... ALRIGHT ALRIGHT, what if he was actually in love with you? Can robots fall in love? Would he have time for you? What would it be like to have a relationship with you? The main question... Would you by any chance accept his feelings? Will there be a moment where he can tell someone that you're his boyfriend? Or even his husband? A human and a robot having a romantic relationship... It feels like a fantasy to him, not because it's just any human, because it's you, the amazing and unique you.

Everyday. Every day it's the same thought that comes to the same conclusion of how much Guardian admires you. Of how grateful he is to have you as his friend, even though he wants the two of you to be more than friends, lovers. Every day he thinks about you as much as it doesn't seem like it. Your soft and smooth skin, no no no... The skin coming specifically from your hand, he wants to hold it, squeeze it and admire it, hold your wrist on a cold, dark night under the blankets, and then admire your veins, nails, and maybe even the body hair on your arms. Your hair, whether short or long, wavy or straight, it's something he's not used to, but even so, your hair is so good to... put his hand, to feel. And then– and then theres your eyes! And your personality and–– and– and!... Urgh...

Everything, everything about you makes Guardian happy. For him, you are everything. A miracle that happened to him

Guardian slightly turned his head towards you, it looked like you were or started to sleep, so it would be okay for him to admire you for just a few seconds, right? Wait... wouldn't that be considered wrong, would it?

IT DOESN'T MATTER! He was already admiring your face, how your nose fit the rest of your face, your eyelids(Bonus part for people with dark circles: Guardian noticed the dark smudges under your eyelid, he couldn't help but be slightly worried and wondering if it was any health problem, but even so, that was a hint of originality in you), your cheeks, your ears, your... lips...

And then, his head moved to your hand, remembering his secret desire to squeeze it. Feel your warm and veined fingers with his cold, metal fingers, you are the complete opposite of him and he love it

He took a quick look at your chest, not wanting to stare too long, no matter how much you are or at least appear to be sleeping, he was embarrassed to do that, especially to you

But, he noticed certain scars under your nipples

Several questions arose, what kind of battles did you participate in to receive such scars? How did your enemy hit you to make your scar look like this? Wait... Did you participate in battles?

Guardian felt 30 times happy. You? The person he most loves and admires sharing the feeling of a deadly battle? He could be smiling forever if he had lips and teeth, so he simply added a smiley face to his screen

"Did you... participate in battles Y/N?"

"Hm?" You muttered, opening one of your eyes and looking towards your friend

"You know, fights, I've noticed your scars and I'm... curious about your stories" Guardian queries "Of course, only if you're comfortable with sharing some memoirs, in my opinion these scars... they suit you"

"Scars? What scars-" You would question with both eyes already open, when realization hit your head "Wait–" You lower your head to your chest, spotting your set of cicayries "Are you talking about these?" You responded along with the sound of your laughter

"Yes" Guardian acknowledged

It didn't matter if maybe it sounded offensive, but you had to laugh at Guardian's naivete, but wait...you actually never told him that? About who you were, about your scars, your transition and all? GEEZ DUDE!

"Well uh– Oh! Yeah yeah! Those are battle scars!" You jested proudly, it was notable Guardian crossing his legs and putting his fingers together, making it obvious that he became more interested.

"Serious?" He questioned, you responded by nodding your head sterically

"Let's say... It was a battle for me to become who I really wanted to be!" You cajoled lifting a finger up while your free hand was on your waist, and on your face was a proud smile while Guardian seemed to be paying close attention

"Can you be more specific, for example, who were your enemies? Where did your battles take place? What weapon did you use?"

Okay seriously, you need to stop playing games with him. You rest your shoulder on the side of the armrest of the counch and cup your head in your palm of the supported arm and gave soft laughs. Guardian looked at you, and twist his head, as if the question was already on his face.

"You still don't get it, do you?" You said smiling

Guardian's on-screen face changes to his default face

You chuckled "Guardian i'm trans"

Guardian's head straightened again, it looked like he was processing the new information given.

"Let's say you are that gender, but you are not comfortable with that gender, so you change your gender to the gender you are most comfortable with." You smiled "And in my situation, I feel more comfortable with the male gender, and these scars-" you point to your scars on your chest "-it's a surgery I had to have a more masculine body."

You removed your arm from the armrest of the counch just as you took your head out of your hand, a brief moment of silence ensued...

This information only made you more and more interesting in the Guardian's "eyes". It's more information about you, the person he loves the most. Why wouldn't he be happy to hear good news about you?

"Ha... I don't know how I forgot to tell you this, but still I...uh...I hope you'll accept me" You told breaking the silence . Your tone of voice sounded much more serious than it normally is.

"Why wouldn't I?" He began, now with a smiley face on his screen "There's no problem with that. If you're happy with it, so am I." The simple words reached your heart almost immediately, and so, you eternally smiled.

You pulled Guardian into a hug, pressing your arms against your friend's metal torso, you nuzzled your head on his shoulder like a happy child after winning their favorite candy. It took a while for Guardian to respond to the hug and realize that you were actually hugging him, your body was so warm and comfortable, if he could he would hold you forever. He hesitantly placed his arms over you, and enjoyed the warm, and soft hug from his dear and lovely human friend.

———

I admit, I'm cis and I was kind of anxious to write this and accidentally offend someone, as much as I've researched bout transmasc and top scars I'm still afraid that instead of making you comfortable, I maked u disgusted

If i did, i beg to yall be patient with me and not already point fingers at me saying im transphobic cuz i tried

BUUUT AT THE ORHER SIDE

I FOUND THIS PLOT ADORABLE JASJHSH i loved to write the big texts about how much Guardian loves you and blahblahblah JSHHDHSUWHS

Loved to write this