#apparently i put this in drafts 2 weeks ago. i forgot why i did that but its still just so funny. i think the world needs to see

[mamawasatesttube]

one time my bestie @adjit and i were spitballing abt the concept of an au in which kon got magically turned into a dog for shenanigans. and they said one of the funniest things ever

[iwaisuke]

confessions; but not remembering it

ft. kita shinsuke, sakusa kiyoomi x sick fem!reader

genre: fluff

masterlist

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and then i rushed bc i was getting tired 🙃 also. sakusa's is a little ooc. sorry ab that

-» ˚⸙͎۪۫⋆

» the clean yet musty smell of rain filled the gym as the boys practiced. it was a surprisingly humid and rainy spring day today here in the country side of hyogo

» "achoo" you had been sneezing and coughing all day. you also had a terrible headache but took some medicine to see if it would help. the spring allergies really getting to you

» you didnt reay have the time to be worrying about yourself. As a 2nd year manager of the inarizaki team, (recommend by suna) and the boys working so hard practicing for nationals there was no way you'd let this little cold get in the way. you had to work just as hard as everyone else!

» "hold on, im about to hang up your jerseys to dry"

» "i got you guys some fresh towels!"

» "i can run and grab that coach. im headed that way anyways"

» the coach called for a short break to rest up for a bit. everyone was sore and exhausted from practicing every day. "here. i filled your water bottles up!" handing them to all the boys. "y/n you're all wet" akagi sounded concerned.

» "hm? oh its alright. I'll dry off in a minute. i took the shortcut to the drinking fountain to refill your waterbottles instead of taking the long way" you nonchalantly said. "so you ran through the rain like an idiot?" suna threw a clean towel over your damp hair and ruffled it. "suna!! stop!! you're gonna ruin my hair"

» "like i said. its alright" you reassured the boys.

» kita, on the other hand had noticed your fatigue. although he wasnt as perceptive on peoples feeling and thoughts as well as others, he could easily pick up signs like yours. he admired you dearly for how hard you always work for the team. how you willingly did anything to make them smile. how you always put others first before yours. needless to say, he had a bit of a crush on you.

» "l/n san. i think you should take a break too. there's no need for you to be running around for us while we're resting" kita assured you. "i still have a few things left on my list to do.. but afterwards I'll take a break!" kita let out a sigh. you were stubborn sometimes and kita knew you were the kind of person to not stop until you're finished.

» "I'll be right back. i gotta grab the laundry"

» making an excuse to leave, your heart was beating fast. you knew kita's words were the kind he'd say to anyone, but it made your heart feel fuzzy when he'd look out for you.

» the stone cold captain who you thought he was, actually was so kind. he was just a little awkward like you, and a little blunt with what he said sometimes. but you learned the great qualities he carries and how much he actually cares about others well being. he was a hard worker and you couldnt help but absentmindedly fall for the captain.

» running up the stairs to the second floor of the gym, you felt a shift in your step. head becoming dizzier than it was just 5 minutes ago. legs trembling, you started falling before feeling a presence behind.

» kita's arm wrapped around your waist, supporting you in efforts to not letting you fall over. "i told you to rest l/n san" kita said sternly. "you wont benefit anyone if you keep overworking like this."

» you knew kita was right, but you really didnt want to rest knowing you'll be letting the team down by not working hard.

» "i promise I'll rest as soon as im done with this one thing" pleading with kita. he let out a sigh, knowing you really wouldnt until you did finish so he allowed you to do so.

» finishing grabbing all of the dry jerseys and bringing them downstairs to pass out to everyone, you didnt really notice atsumu and osamu spiking volleyballs at each other until aran yelled

» "y/n! watch out!" honestly, you were too tired to move out of the way so you figured, it do be like that sometimes, and allowed the ball to hit you.

» or... so you had planned the ball to hit you.

» kita stood in front, blocking the impact of the spike that you had prepared yourself for. there was agitation in kita's eyes. more than you usually noticed when then twins were miss behaving. concern washing over, he looked you straight in the eyes

» "... is there something wrong kita san?" lifting up his hand to your forehead, he let out a sigh. "why didnt you tell me earlier you had a fever", then walking over to the coach meanwhile atsumu and osamu come over to apologise for being reckless.

» "get your stuff. we're going home" kita said bluntly.

» "huh? but practice is-"

» "please l/n san. for me"

» kita would only take yes for an answer this time. no if's ands or buts. so here you were, walking home with kita. only the sound of raindrops hitting your shared umbrella being heard.

» muscles starting to ache a little more and your legs becoming more tired than they were when you left the gym, you began to walk a little slower every step

» "get on my back l/n" "its ok kita san, i can walk. its already enough that you're walking me home" "i didnt ask if you wanted to. im telling you to"

» you couldnt tell if it was the fever that made your face warmer or if it was kita's words. nonetheless, you got on kita's back. he was a lot stronger than he looked and you couldnt help but stifen at being so close to your own crush like this.

» "relax. I'll make sure you get home." he reassured. you leaned into his back, warmth seeping in, your eyes began to feel heavy.

» "kita san" "yes?" "thank you for always watching out for me"

» a comfortable silence was met as the sound of rain filled your ears.

» "kita san" "hm?" "did you know..." your voice softened "i like you a lot kita san"

» did he hear you correctly? if he wasnt paying attention he wouldve missed what you had said, being drowed out through the pitter patter of water. now his heart thumping louder than ever before.

» "l/n san-" he was about to go on but was met with the gentle rise and fall of your chest and the soft snores of you on his back, knocked out from exertion. kita let out a light chuckle, finally relieved you were resting.

» you had missed the next day of school, but when you came back the whole volleyball team bombarded you with love.

» "WE'RE A FAILURE TO NOT NOTICE YOU FEELING SICK" atsumu cried. "how could we let our one and only precious manager get ill for taking care of us" akagi, clearly dissapointed in himself. "please let us know when we can take care of you too y/n" aran said.

» "its no big deal. really!" waving your hands in defense. "it was just a small cold. but i do have a question though"

» all the boys gathered around to hear what you had to say

» "how did i get home?? i really dont remember what happened after i almost got hit by atsumu"

» it shocked the guys honestly. you genuinely didnt remember a single thing due to your fever. "wait? you don't remember kita taking you home?" suna replied, your face becoming red. "k-kita san took me home-?" "yah. he left in the middle of practice to do so" osamu added.

» immediately, you got up to find the captain that apparently took you home the other day. he was in the storage closet cleaning and grabbing the equipment for todays practice.

» "kita san" "oh. l/n. glad you're feeling better" his smile brightened the musty closet. "about that, im sorry for troubling you and having you take me home the other day. i honestly dont remember what happened after i almost got hit by atsumu. my mind was really fuzzy that day, but im truly thankful for you going out of your way for me. it really means a lot"

» kita was dumbfounded. you really dont remember? "no need to apologize l/n. it was my responsibility as a captain. and afterall, what good would i be if i couldnt even take care of the person who means the most to me"

» your heart raced. 'person who means the most to me' ? cheeks blushing a rosy pink, you were internally thanking the musty store room from being dim.

» with arms full of equipment, kita walked by you and stopped.

» "by the way l/n san. did you know?"

» ears perking up at the vague yet familiar line

» "i like you a lot too l/n san"

» now we all know sakusa HATES germs and for the past week and a half, he's been telling you to keep up with washing your hands, wearing a mask at all times even when you eat omi it doesnt work like that. pls especially since you are prone to getting sick easily no matter how hygenic you are. your immune system just hated you. PERIODT

» you remembered sakusa scolding you for running out of hand sanitizer and then the next day you were out of commission. bed ridden with laryngitis, cough, slight fever, the whole works. it was like your body was making fun of you or something

» you texted komori, asking him to take notes in class for you and relay homework information while you were at home resting up. but there was one request you had and made komori PROMISE.

» DO NOT TELL SAKUSA YOU GOT SICK

» "he's probably gonna notice your absence y/n. he'll find out about it either way"

» "well if you dont tell him then he wont know. its not like he even cares about where i am like that"

» "thats what you might think. but i know he's gonna say something i can garuntee it"

» the next day at school, sakusa did notice your presence missing. it was quieter not having a 3rd person in the group of friends. not having you around to talk to him when komori was gone.

» pulling out his phone to text you, he asked where you were that day.

» "on a family trip :D !!! forgot to tell you, but I'll tell you all about it when i come back!" you wrote, attaching an old selfie of a different trip you went on to make it more believable.

» you had hoped this silly cold would get better in a day, but soon that day turned into 2 and then 3 and then 4... you pretty much missed the whole week of school at that point

» Friday rolled around and komori was on his phone all day. sakusa noticed his cousin fidget in his chair more than usual and it irked him to see him like that

» "what's with you today?" one eye raised, sakusa finally asked. "uhhh nothing really" komori wasnt very good at keeping secrets lets just start off with that, but he was trying his best.

» "well clearly somethings wrong. you're fidgeting." "well haven't you noticed somethings been different all week?" komori hinted

» sakusa sat there in thought. nothing's been different? he ate the same breakfast he usually does every morning. all his studies have been well. there were no tests this week so there was no reason to be anxious like komori was and even if there was, he would've done well anyways.

» "just tell me what it is." sakusa was starting to get annoyed. "y/n..." komori started. "y/n?" "do you know where she's been this week?"

» did you not tell komori about your family trip? you usually told komori everything, but then again you didn't tell him either until he asked you about it.

» "she said shes on a trip?" he nonchalantly said. komori's eyes started watering. "A TRIP TO THE HOSPITAL THATS WHAT IT IS" he blurted out. komori didnt mean to let it slip , he was just so worried about your well being.

» "hospital?? what are you talking about. did she get injured on her trip?" "no omi. shes been sick all week and her mom just texted me saying she went to the hospital today because shes had a fever for 3 days straight. there is no family trip"

» sakusa's heart shattered. you were sick and didnt even tell him?

» before both he and komori knew it, his legs were running faster to get to the hospital than he had ever imagined he could ever run.

» and there you were. fast asleep in a bed with an IV drip. your face flushed, forehead sweaty and shallow breaths escaping your chapped lips. you were a hot mess but sakusa didnt care. stepping to your bedside to greet your mother she explained to him that she had to go to work and asked if he could watch over you until she gets back.

» sakusa said yes without even hearing the whole thing. his heart and mind saying yes to whatever it took to get you to feel better.

» gosh how he hated hospitals, but what he hated even more was the fact that you were in the hospital and he didnt even know.

» the doctor came in for their evening round and ensured sakusa that you were indeed getting better! your fever had broken not too long ago and your body was working extra hard to heal itself up!

» "is there anything i can do to help?" sakusa asked. he felt helpless in this situation just watching your face distort in uncomfort every now and then, and coughing your lungs out.

» patting sakusa's shoulder, the doctor told him that just being here for you is enough. "you gotta be a strong boyfriend for her alright son? she'll be able to go home tomorrow first thing in the morning if her fever doesnt come back"

» sakusa slumped in his chair at your bedside, the doctors words ringing through his head. 'boyfriend huh?' he thought to himself. "if i was her boyfriend..." he whispered to himself, "i would be a failure for not even knowing my girl was sick..."

» to kiyoomi, you were beautiful. even now in this sad state you were in. deep down he locked these growing feelings he had for you inside of him because he always felt like you were a better match with someone else and after this stunt you pulled of lying to him about going on a family trip, it only made him feel worse.

» it was now night time and you finally began to stir in your sleep, the fever finally gone. sakusa reached out to move some hair that was stuck to your face, fingers tracing the outline of your jaw. your eyes slowly opened and met with his dark orbs.

» "y/n?" "saku- wait this is just a dream. omi wouldn't be here. he hates hospitals" you let out a forced laugh and then a sigh through your sore throat.

» you reached out to sakusa's hands that were resting on the side of your bed. "omi would never let me hold his hand because he'd say im passing germs to him so hopefully dream omi wont be the same" you were aimlessly talking to yourself, not even realizing that this really wasnt a dream.

» he squeezed your hand in return. hoping that you wouldnt let go any time soon. a funny smile appeared on your face just at the thought of him. "even if you're stupid for not realizing how much i like you... i cant wait to see you again omi" you whispered before falling asleep again.

» sakusa didnt know what to do. he sat there frozen in his chair. it was his first time hearing you call him omi. heck. you literally just confessed to the boy. his brain was running wild. groaning in distress he let go of your hand to step out for a breath of fresh air now that you were back asleep.

» it was 5am and your mother came back to the hospital and thanked sakusa for staying by your side. He left in a hurry to make sure you didnt see him there.

» Monday rolled around and sakusa was waiting outside of the school gates for you. he had planned on asking you about your "trip"

» "good morning sakusa!!" your bright and cheery voice rang through his ears. honestly he was trembling inside. the memory of you confessing to him still fresh in his mind.

» "how was your trip?" you stopped dead in your tracks. "haha... it was good !! sorry i forgot to get you a souvenir" you were trying to play it cool but sakusa could tell you were forcing yourself. "i wouldnt want a souvenir from where you came from so its fine" sakusa's words threw you off. "i - im not sure im understanding what you're saying sakusa?"

» you felt a tug on your hand. "dont you mean omi?" his voice husky as he whispered into your ear. cheeks flushed, your brain felt like it short circuted. you've always tried your hardest to not let it slip that you want to call him omi since he hated when people called him that.

» sakusa smirked at your cute reaction he got out of you. letting go of your hand he began to walk into the school leaving you at the gate dumbfounded. "and by the way. you're just as stupid for not realizing how long ive liked you too"

-» ˚⸙͎۪۫⋆

thank you for your order! enjoy~!

[arigatouiris]

animal instincts // inosuke x reader

Author’s Note: Another draft pick hahahahah. I headcanon that Inosuke is like this when he’s in love~ My poor misunderstood rough boi who deserves nothing but the world! I hope ya’ll like this, I put some effort into this one hahahaha. Thanks for reading!!

Word count: 4069

Pairing: Hashibira Inosuke x Reader

Warnings: fluff, slight spice (things get a bit heated here UwU) idk, slight angst, SPOILERS FOR THE KIMETSU MANGA

Zenitsu had a question plaguing his mind ever since (y/n) (l/n) came into his life. Not that he didn’t try wooing her and asking her to marry him, no, she turned him down rather decently and kindly, which forced him to think of her as a good friend. She was a demon slayer herself, having hailed from the same training that Kanao went through. 

As sweet and loving as she was, (y/n) could be just as violent; albeit, Zenitsu and the gang had only seen this side when she fought demons. Her violence was through a silent battle that she knew she would win, and her swordplay was fascinating to the eye. Her mother was a dancer, somewhat similar to Tanjiro’s father, and her mother had taught her everything she needed to know about dance.

However, life wasn’t too kind. (y/n) lost her mother when she was 12 and had been training under Shinobu to become a demon slayer since. She had learned the breath of the flower from Shinobu, but developed her own style scheme by performing different moves through dance. It was, to say the least, impressive.

(y/n) and Inosuke shared a rather weird relationship. 

The first time they met was in between their missions. All four of them were surrounded by a total of seven demons. Inosuke stepped in wanting to be the one to take down everyone, but quietly, (y/n) held him back (almost yelled at but the second Inosuke’s gaze met hers, he grew strangely quiet, which was unlike him). 

     “We need to plan this out. When you’re cornered, you don’t attack head-on. That’s suicide.”

She turned to Inosuke’s mask and grinned, “You’re better alive than dead, right?”

Zenitsu didn’t miss the fuwa fuwa that came out of his boar friend right then, but he was shitting his pants for something else entirely. It was after that did she introduce herself, rather peppily, and seemed like the most happy-go-lucky person they had ever laid their eyes on. Inosuke seemed particularly soft with her, which was very unlike him, but no one made any comment about it. 

     “So Inosuke, why did you become a demon slayer?” (y/n) asked, with a chirpy voice.

Zenitsu and Tanjiro watched as the white puffballs around Inosuke grew in number but the male grunted and walked away, leaving (y/n) there with a confused but happy smile.

     “What happened?”

Zenitsu hit himself on the forehead.

The thing that Zenitsu’s mind was plagued with was this: How would Inosuke behave if he was in love with someone?

For this, he’d need to understand how animals behaved. When an animal finds a potential mate, the male of the species would perform a series of activities in order to impress the female of the species. Like, in birds, the male bird would perform a wide range of dance moves or hops to impress the female, who would display her interest by signalling in and chirping accordingly.

Cut to what they were doing a few weeks ago. They were at the butterfly estate, all four of them, and Tanjiro and (y/n) were talking about him selling charcoal for a living. She was a good listener, and for Tanjiro, it was nice to be heard for a change. Perhaps, in Inosuke’s mind, Tanjiro was another male boar, showcasing his skills (Zenitsu wondered if ‘kindness’ can count as a skill) and (y/n) was considering him. Inosuke however, had a better skill—brisk loudness, and the ability to have anyone’s eye on him for longer durations of time because he was just that distracting.

     “(y/n)!” 

Ah yes, he also never forgot her name for a strange reason, but she only thought that was because he didn’t deem her a threat.

(y/n) were right, in a way.

She turned her head toward Inosuke who was holding his two swords near the courtyard. Zenitsu stood a few feet away from where (y/n) and Tanjiro sat, and watched with an unimpressed expression on his face. This wasn’t amusing in the slightest for the blond, for he had seen men pile up over women and behave in a way they otherwise wouldn’t do. But, in Inosuke’s case, it was definitely...weird.

Upon receiving (y/n)’s attention, Inosuke flipped his blades around in the air and did a few stunts, causing (y/n)’s eyes to widen with absolute amusement. Tanjiro smiled a tad bit, before turning to a disgruntled Zenitsu, and understanding thus what was going on. 

     “Whoa, that’s amazing, Inosuke!” (y/n) said, clapping her hands together.

Tanjiro noticed the white fluff balls come out of the boar boy’s head as his actions suddenly stopped. He might have been raised an animal, but Tanjiro’s heart melted at the realization that Inosuke craved the feelings of attention and kindness from people around him, just as much as he wanted to prove himself superior. Inosuke felt a range of things with the two of them, but with (y/n), he certainly felt softer. And whatever the reason might be, Tanjiro believed his friend deserved it—the boy was pure at heart. 

Coming back to the theory Zenitsu had. Tanjiro approached the boy that evening before having a quick word with him over Inosuke’s obsession with impressing you. Both of them knew that it was more than a crush, but it was also quite out of character. While Tanjiro could swallow Inosuke’s need to be softer with her, Zenitsu thought Inosuke believed it was a competition.

     “Well,” Tanjiro pondered, “It might be, in his head. That was how he was raised and that’s how he thinks? Maybe, if we don’t prove a threat to him, he’ll learn better on understanding how to communicate his feelings.”

Zenitsu scoffed, “That idiot won’t know what feelings are if it hit him on his face like a brick. He thinks like an animal!”

Tanjiro chuckled, “Doesn’t mean animals can’t love,” He turned to spot Inosuke and (y/n) in an animated conversation about butterflies, “Most often, they love better than the rest of us.”

Therefore, the two of them decided to watch Inosuke. Zenitsu did it for his own amusement, but Tanjiro enjoyed merely understanding his friend’s nature. There were three things that Inosuke had to fall under if he were in love with (y/n)—and this was all based on observation. Tanjiro knew how animals thought and behaved to a fair extent, and with his knowledge, analysing Inosuke’s behavior around her seemed like the perfect study.

#1. One mate is territorial over the other.

Zenitsu approached (y/n) one evening, wanting to call her over for dinner. She turned to the blond before waving at him, and having him sit beside her. 

     “Hi, Zenitsu-kun. Is there something you need?”

He wondered where his boar friend was at that second. There was no point to this exercise if Inosuke wasn’t around. Not that he minded having a conversation with (y/n), she was sweet. He turned to her after realizing Inosuke wasn’t around and wondered what she thought of him. 

     “So, Inosuke,” She blinked at his words, “He’s weird, right?”

     “Not at all. I think he’s really sweet.” 

Zenitsu blinked, “Really? Even though he doesn’t understand a lot of social cues? It’s because he was raised in the mountains—”

     “I find that bit fascinating, actually. Even though he was raised in the mountains, he’s so kind.”

     “How is he kind?” Zenitsu grumbled.

(y/n) blinked at the blond’s question. 

     “Do you...not like Inosuke-kun?”

Zenitsu shook his head, “It’s not like that, I just think he’s too much sometimes. Abrasive and rash—it’s like taking care of a loud kid!”

She giggled, “I like that about him! Keeps things lively.”

Zenitsu wasn’t sure now on who the weird one was. With (y/n) defending Inosuke like her life depended on it, it was certain that even she had a soft spot for the boy. But, he couldn’t tell if it was built out of sympathy or romantic feelings like he had. She was just kind, maybe, she defended Zenitsu behind his back (although this thought made him swoon on the inside). 

     “Where is he anyway?” (y/n) grumbled, frowning a bit.

It was at that second when Tanjiro came to the courtyard. (y/n) greeted the brown haired boy before blinking up at him. 

     “Tanjiro-kun, have you seen Inosuke-kun?”

Tanjiro hummed before saying, “Hm, I think he left with Kanao-chan somewhere?”

Zenitsu ‘ah’ed before understanding where the boar boy had gone now. Kanao and Inosuke had been training together for a bit, it wasn’t strange since Inosuke always wanted to get stronger than the others. With Tanjiro having beaten Kanao in that little game, Inosuke wanted to do the same. The boy thought everything was a competition. 

     “Oh?”

Tanjiro almost didn’t notice it, but it was good that he was great at capturing certain scents. Growing up with so many siblings had him understand how to differentiate between the scents of various emotions. When (y/n) stood up, waved to them and left, Tanjiro chuckled, catching Zenitsu’s attention. He wasn’t always certain about a lot of things, but he was sure that he had caught the right scent here.

     “What’s so funny?”

It was the scent of jealousy, he thought before shaking his head.

#2.  One mate tries to impress the other by being the best they can be.

Zenitsu hated missions, and he especially hated them when he had to go with Inosuke. However, the only thing holding his sanity together was that (y/n) had offered to tag along—since her crow was nowhere to be found. Inosuke was thrilled and secretly so was the blond, because now Inosuke seemed controllable. He didn’t know how it worked, but he was glad that it did.

They were to head to a village to find a demon behind a few missing people. Apparently, these people headed to work one day and never returned—and this being near a river, there were chances that this demon resided under water.

     “Can you swim, (y/n)-chan?” 

     “Yes, actually. I didn’t learn it the easy way, though. Shinobu-san basically threw me into the river and forced me to learn the hard way.” She said, dejectedly.

     “When you’re about to drown, your body learns to float!” Inosuke yelled, catching your attention.

     “Y-Yeah, I mean, I was the first one to learn too! Inosuke, I also know what plants you can eat from under water!”

     “You can eat underwater plants?!”

     “Yes! I’ll show you someday! When they’re added into your food, it’s so delicious!”

He couldn’t understand where the fuwa fuwa was coming from now—Zenitsu noticed that the fluffballs were everywhere. He wasn’t sure which mate was trying to impress the other here. 

Tanjiro, Zenitsu thought, who exactly is the animal here? 

He normally never did this, but Zenitsu was curious beyond belief! Therefore, he shut his eyes, paused for a brief moment and let his ears do the detective work. All he could hear were sounds of two hearts fluttering in harmony, an image stuck to his brain that he couldn’t wipe off (and if he was a softer, more mature individual, he would admit that the image was a rather sweet one), but Zenitsu being Zenitsu hated the fact that his mountain boy friend was in love with a sweet crackhead like (y/n)—who in retaliation was in love with a mountain boy as well.

#3. A manner of softness not seen anywhere else.

It was strange to see Inosuke being quiet—it was either only when he was in deep sleep or deep thought (which was very, very rare indeed). However, the mountain boy grew quiet a lot these days; especially because (y/n) hung out a lot whenever the boys were around. He’d watch her, observing her movements, trying to replicate whatever ‘decent’ moves she made like trying to eat with chopsticks or not wearing the mask as much when she’s around.

In all honestly, it was quite evident that Inosuke tried being a human being around her and it was sweet, Tanjiro noted, that he’d try so hard to accommodate to (y/n). 

However, Zenitsu didn’t think it was sweet. He wanted to vomit inside his mouth each time he thought of the boar boy being in love, particularly because it was the sort of love that was rare even for civilized people. The blond always had trouble finding people who accepted him for being who he was, and here was someone like Inosuke—whose personality was somehow revered instead of being shunned. 

What the hell is going on? He thought, grumbling, as he witnessed (y/n) crawl over to Inosuke, as if to sneak up on the boy. Normally, Zenitsu would have yelled and alerted his friend, but he just didn’t care anymore—it was comical, and he’d let it be.

     “Inosuke!” (y/n) pounced on the boar boy from the back, tackling him to the ground, surprising him.

Inosuke blinked, his face a dark red, before screaming in playful anger. 

     “What the hell are you doing?!”

     “Fight me!”

Inosuke’s eyes widened just for a brief moment before he growled and tackled her back, causing her to giggle and try to escape the boar boy’s advances. Now, he was chasing her around the estate, something little animals do when they play with one another. Tanjiro smiled at the sight before Zenitsu noticed fluffballs come around him.

I’ve had enough of this.

Walking over to his boar friend, he grabbed the boy from the back of his mask before yanking it off in one go. Inosuke would never mind beating the living daylight out of his blond friend, but the expression Zenitsu had just then caused him to still his movements. (y/n) paused before blinking up at Zenitsu, tilting her head slightly at the sudden halt.

     “Zenitsu-kun? Is something wrong?”

     “You two are what’s wrong!”

Inosuke growned, “What? You wanna—”

     “NO! I don’t want to fight! Do you honestly not see what’s going on here?!” 

(y/n) giggled before saying, “Inosuke and I are just fooling around—”

     “I thought we were fighting—”

     “We are, but it isn’t a fight where we hurt each other.”

     “Yes! I was thinking the same thing!”

Zenitsu slapped his forehead. He pointed to Inosuke and then pointed to (y/n). Tanjiro approached them before placing a calm hand on his blond friend. 

     “You are clearly in love with her and you are clearly in love with him!”

Inosuke didn’t look like he understood what Zenitsu had blurted out, but (y/n) was civilized where Inosuke wasn’t and just then Zenitsu had called her out rather harshly—but, it was the kind of harsh that was perhaps justified. Her eyes widened and she turned to spot Inosuke grab the blond and put him in a choke hold, but her movements stilled. She looked up to Tanjiro who gave her a kind smile before she bit her lip.

Of course she knew she loved Inosuke. Of course, she wasn’t blind. Ever since she first laid eyes on the beast boy, her mind was picked, her heart was his, and her body did things on its own—wanting to impress him, wanting to stand out and make sure Inosuke remembers her name instead of anyone else’s; she wanted to be special to him, and from all her tries, she was bound to know that her feelings for him were nothing short of romantic. 

However, could he perceive romance? Could Inosuke know what these feelings were and could he act on them? Was she the only one making the effort here? She turned to spot Inosuke fighting with Zenitsu the same way he was fighting with her and she began to wonder, ‘What if I’m actually no different?’

Tanjiro smelled the sudden hesitance radiating off of her, but before she could get anywhere, he approached her.

     “(y/n)-chan, I’m sure Inosuke feels the same way—”

     “Tanjiro-kun,” (y/n) wasn’t sure where the sudden hesitance grew inside her. “I just... I need to figure some things out on my own before I...” She turned to spot Inosuke taking off his mask, growling at the blond. 

She gave him a soft smile, confusing the hell out of him, before walking back inside the estate. 

     “Where’s she going?” Inosuke asked, blinking at her retrieving figure.

Tanjiro turned to his friend, curious. 

     “What do you feel for (y/n)-chan, Inosuke?”

     “HAH?” 

     “That’s what I’ve been trying to get him to talk about! But he keeps tackling me!” Zenitsu yelled from the background.

     “What feel for her? She’s (y/n)!”

Tanjiro’s eyes widened almost comically at how Inosuke remembered her name so accurately. 

     “Why do you remember her name so well?”

     “She’s important!”

Tanjiro blinked some more, “Important how?”

Inosuke growled, losing interest in this conversation, “(y/n) is...” He couldn’t find her and that bothered him. He looked to where she had gone off to before frowning some more.

     “Inosuke,” Tanjiro’s soft voice broke his reverie. “Do you love her?”

He didn’t know what love was, but there were a few things Inosuke was sure of. Whenever he saw (y/n), he wanted to be around her more—just like the pair of wolves he had come across as a child. The male wolf would wind its neck under the female’s whenever it was cold, and it was something Inosuke saw himself doing with her, and no one else. He remembered the swans dancing around in the water with one another, attaching themselves by every inch of their feathers and Inosuke wanted nothing more than to learn how her skin felt against his. 

He recalled the group of monkeys that was led by a strong male and a fat female, which was fat because the male had given her his babies. One day, Inosuke dreamed of having little Inosuke babies with (y/n).

If this was what love was then what Inosuke felt for (y/n) was much, much more.

Growling, he ran off to where (y/n) might have gone, and noticed you sitting by the engawa. Taking off his mask, Inosuke sat beside her without warning, and noticed her red face. His eyes widened when he saw that expression on (y/n)—and all the thoughts he had were starting to vanish. Sure, the animals looked happy and did things he wanted to do, but no animal could compare to how beautiful she looked right then. He gulped before leaning closer to her, smelling her face—unsure of what to do at a time like this. Inosuke didn’t want to scare her, but he was confident that she would not be scared.

Zenitsu did not count a fourth thing that Inosuke would fall under if he was in love. The ability to change and adapt for a certain someone.

     “Inosuke, do you... do you know what love is?”

He didn’t, and he sure as hell was scared to tell her that he had no idea.

     “What I feel for you... I want to be around you all the time. I want to hold your hand and... and hold you in my arms and touch your hair—”

Inosuke grabbed (y/n)’s hand forcefully before placing it on his hair, but paused when he noticed her wince.

     “Did I hurt you?”

(y/n) smiled warmly, her heart beating rapidly as she shook her head, “I’m not sure if you know what love is, Inosuke...” 

He frowned, “I don’t know what to tell you.” 

He was an animal, born and raised in conditions that other people could have perhaps not survived. There was very little he knew about the ways of how human beings displayed affection. However, there was one way he was sure of—one way that could perhaps show her what he felt. Prove to her that whatever this love emotion was, it had nothing on him.

Because what Inosuke felt for (y/n) was far, far stronger than some stupid emotion.

He leaned forward and kissed her, grabbing the back of her hair. (y/n) had no idea where he had learned how to kiss, and even if he knew what this meant, but a second later, Inosuke’s tongue darted downwards to her neck, biting it lightly, marking the texture of her soft skin. His hand was firm behind her head and he pulled lightly, pressing her to him—before leaning back and capturing her lips again.

(y/n)’s eyes were wide and she was almost breathless; unsure of how to react, her hands slowly travelled to his hair and she buried her fingers in his hair, marvelling at how soft his locks were. She kissed back slowly, and did not miss the passion Inosuke brought forth with what he was doing. Once again, he pulled away before reaching her collarbone and biting lightly. The second (y/n) let out a soft moan, Inosuke stopped.

     “Do you feel warm?”

Her face rivalled a spider lily. Of course she felt warm!

Inosuke looked at her and smirked, “A male marks his female, in the mountains, this is how beasts mark their mates.”

(y/n)’s eyes widened. Mate? She blinked before grabbing his face and studying it, almost enthralled with what she had learned.

     “Inosuke, there is so much you need to learn!”

But, the second she thought of how his tongue travelled to her neck and collarbone, maybe, he didn’t have to learn much after all.

*

When Inosuke’s firstborn son turned out to be a bit timid, Inosuke acquired the ability—acting out on empathy. (y/n) watched him, hold his five-year old son after the boy had fallen off a small tree and hurt his knee.

     “This is going to sting,” Inosuke said, before putting some pressure on to the little boy’s wound, along with a raw medicine he had made to prevent any infection. 

The boy cried instantly, which caused Inosuke to turn to (y/n), who was cradling their third born daughter, with a smile on her face. He wouldn’t reveal to a great many people that watching his son wince and cry hurt his chest more than anything ever had, but watching (y/n) smile back at him, as he sat there with a smile on his face made him appreciate everything that was soft in the world.

He had stopped asking people to fight him because honestly, it turned exhausting. After having three children, Inosuke had had enough—he wanted to mellow down and sit back, smell his wife’s hair and watch their children grow. He often wondered how Tanjiro and the others were doing, and he thought of how the life in the city was not one for him at all. He hoped that their paths would cross one day, but turning to (y/n), as their youngest daughter cooed in (y/n)’s arms, Inosuke was at peace.

     “What are you staring at!? Fight me!”

Inosuke narrowed his eyes and turned to his three-year old girl, whose expressions and personality rivalled his own. He heard (y/n) chuckle from the back before ignoring her and getting up, grabbing the little girl by her ankle and having her dangle upside down.

     “This—”

     “Stop it, runt.” 

Oh, but he would not deny how much he adored that feisty little spirit of hers. She growled before pinching her father’s hold, causing him to abruptly let her go, as she landed on the ground with a ‘thud’. She got back up and rushed to her father, hands around his neck, Inosuke grumbling before picking her up. If only he had understood that his cries ‘fight me’ were a sign of being touch-starved, he’d have avoided a great many unnecessary fights.

     “Let me go—”

     “Shut up.”

Inosuke’s hand wrapped around his small daughter’s form before running it up and down on her back, calming her down. The child’s eyes widened before she quieted down, and returning her father’s embrace.

A small tug at his sleeve made him look at his son now, who gave him a needy look as well. Inosuke knelt down and picked up his boy, before hugging both of them, standing like a tree in the middle of the house.

     “Never thought you’d turn into such a softie, Inosuke!” (y/n) giggled, before expecting a shout or a loud comeback.

Instead, her eyes widened when she saw him smile at her, each hand cradling his children, as he watched her, with the softest eyes he could conjure.

Honestly, she could never let down the way he told her he loved her each day, not through words, not through mindless actions, but merely by looking at her like his entire life belonged to her. For a man raised in the mountains, Inosuke knew how to love better than the rest of humanity itself.

If only Zenitsu could see the man now, she thought, chuckling.

[hockeyboysiguess]

driver’s license | b. boeser

a/n: so i was listening to driver’s license on repeat and this happened out of the blue in the last 2 hours. @brockadoodles, hope you like this surprise!

word count: 2,027

wine pairing recommendation: an old favorite, something you love and trust.

warnings: a couple swear words. 

You let out a long breath that lingered in the winter air inhabiting your car and cranked it slowly. The engine turned over a couple of times and you cursed a little under your breath. Your brother was supposed to have driven it while you were away, but he always said he forgot which was just his way of saying he hated your car. But she was Old Faithful for a reason and the engine turned on anyway. You breathed out a sigh of relief that turned into a groan as a familiar sound floated through your car of a voice you knew all too well saying your name softly. You slammed the button on the sound system to switch to the radio as your heart pounded in your chest. You didn’t need to hear that today. You weren’t sure you ever needed to hear that CD again. 

You didn’t even consider ejecting it from its permanent home in the otherwise unused CD slot. It lived there in your car that felt like a relic from a past life, a life in which the voice on that CD had a starring role in. That life wasn’t yours anymore, but we all keep tokens from the past, even from our lowest of years, because we can’t bear to part with things that once were our most prized possessions. 

You really should have paid attention to the radio station you had last played, but you didn’t and you paid the price for that decision. 

“Brock Boeser and the Vancouver Canucks were in town tonight and absolutely destroyed the Wild in a 3-0 shutout, with two goals from local Minnesotan Boeser. Remember his draft year? The Wild passed on him and I don’t think he’s ever forgotten it. He really feels like the one that got away for Minnesota, doesn’t he?” 

You switched radio stations, but the damage was already done and tears were clouding your vision. His name, just his name, was enough to do it sitting in this godforsaken car, the car he’d named, the car whose flat tires he’d changed at least five times, the car he’d jumped into the second after you’d gotten your license, the car you had driven aimlessly around his neighborhood once he left. But they had to say the one that got away, didn’t they? The radio show hosts had to be in cahoots with The Universe, who really wanted to pull the old scars over your heart apart with careless word choices and reminders of days that were so infinitely happier than the ones you were living now. 

Some dull pop song was flowing through your speakers now and you tried to focus on the entirely mediocre lyrics that matched the dull beat to center yourself in the mediocrity of it all. The opposite of your pain wasn’t happiness; it was the absolute middle between the two, the void where emotions didn’t inhabit. The problem was Brock Boeser hung over every inch of this car, every inch of this town, every inch of who you used to be. That emotionless void was entirely inaccessible to you in this moment. All you had was the ache in your chest with the terrible option to bury it under artificial joy. The pain you felt when you thought about him bled through your forced smile. It was too real, too raw still years later, the wound still somehow made fresh again by being back here to be covered. 

All you had was your pain, shitty pop music, and a passenger seat that somehow still belonged to Brock and it fucking sucked. 

You put the car in drive and turned right out of your driveway even though all your problems came with you anyway. The chill of the Minnesota winter was slowly dissipating as you drove mindlessly. Except no one ever really drove mindlessly. You made a series of lefts and rights without thinking, which meant your mind was really driving a path it knew so well you didn’t need to think about it as you did it. Minds, even when people thought they were being thoughtless, really weren’t all that random at all. You found yourself in Brock’s old neighborhood and you let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob that shook your aching chest. Of course your mind would bring you here when he was the only thing on it. 

The first time you drove through these suburban streets on your own was so long ago now, but you took the same path you were taking now. This was the first place you’d gone after getting your license, freshy and shiny and new, burning a hole in your wallet and the only place you’d wanted to go was to Brock’s. It hadn’t surprised your mother when you’d pulled up at your house fresh off your driver’s test and hadn’t even reached for the keys. She knew with one look where you wanted to go, and she waved you off as she got out. You’d had the biggest smile on your face as you drove these streets for the first time alone, heading straight for the person who had been the most excited for you to get your license. You had barely remembered to put the car in park before running to hug him and kiss him as words of pride spilled from his lips. He climbed into your passenger seat, where he practically lived that whole summer, where he told you he wanted to be with you forever, forever be in your passenger seat watching you achieve your dreams. 

Forever for Brock Boeser didn’t last past October of that year when he was in North Dakota and you were still here, driving the same goddamn streets you were driving now, driving through memories of your time together in your mind as you rolled through familiar intersections from your past. Years had gone by, and still a piece of Brock lived in a part of your heart like his voice lived on the mixtape still living in the CD slot of your car. You could go weeks, months even, without knowing he was there, especially when you weren’t in town, but something would always remind you of him. You’d see his face in a crowd, hear his name on the radio, drive past a road with the same name as one in his familiar neighborhood and you’d be reminded of him and the love for him that was embedded in your heart. That piece of him was so deep in your heart it couldn’t be surgically removed. There weren’t enough dates to go on, alcohol bottles to find the bottom of, enough love to try to create with other people, that would expel that piece of him you still carried in your heart. You hadn’t found anything that had even come close to him and the love you had for him. So your love for him stayed exactly where he’d left it in your heart and on a poorly burned CD in your car. 

Your friends had to hate you for him now, how you always compared everyone to him. They didn’t understand why you did and honestly, neither did you. You and Brock were young and reckless and stupid, but the love you shared was real and raw and clumsy and fucking beautiful. You knew what a sunset made of blood reds, vibrant oranges, sharp yellows and deep purples looked like; one that was just shades of yellow wouldn’t do. You couldn’t forget what loving him felt like, but as far as you could tell, he had forgotten what loving you was like. Maybe he just never felt about you like you’d felt out him, otherwise, how could he have moved on like he had? He had this whole life, this whole other world, in Vancouver you’d only heard about in poorly remembered stories from people with several degrees of separation between them and him. He sounded like he was doing fucking swell without you and all you could think was that forever apparently left you driving through his streets alone with only memories of him and red lights to keep you company. 

You hesitated before doing it because you knew what it would do, but you were already starting to cry again. All you wanted was to hear his voice again, hear the way it used to sound like when he talked about you sitting in this car, driving through these streets. You switched back to the CD and pressed play. 

“Hey baby, I hope this works? I don’t really know what I’m doing, but you got your license and I’m so proud of you. I can’t always be bugging you in your passenger seat, being the best DJ ever, so I figured I’d make you a little CD so you can have my amazing DJ talents with you wherever and whenever you go. I love you!”

The tears were flowing now. Hearing the way he told you he loved you, the way the words were somehow heard directly in your heart and made it twist in your chest, made you remember why it hadn’t worked out with anyone else. The way Brock told you he loved you was better than how anyone else had ever tried. You walked down sidewalks holding other people’s hands and remembered the way his hand used to feel in yours when you walked down the same sidewalks in this neighborhood you were in now, past the same front yards you were passing now. The way he loved you clouded every moment you had ever tried to deny that he wasn’t your one great love. He was the person you had envisioned your future with, a future that included buying the blue house at the end of the street you were on now and pulling into that very driveway every night, sliding into bed with him, living with him, loving him forever. 

Instead of that ideal forever, you were turning onto his street alone in the waning sunlight with tear-stained cheeks, remembering how much simpler and better everything was with him. The street was practically empty but as you got close to the house you knew as well as your own, your breath hitched in your throat with worry that someone would be there. Of all the empty houses, someone being in the driveway at Brock’s would be your luck. You came over the hill and exhaled upon seeing the driveway empty, before checking your rearview mirror and letting your car slow to a crawl. You could practically see him there, all the times he’d run out that front door and into the passenger seat, off to the lake, to your favorite dinner, to the fourth best but still your favorite park around, to even just driving around these same neighborhood streets when he needed to breathe and forget the weight he carried in that house. 

You slowed to almost a stop in front of his house, letting your car roll forward as you tried to will the memories to sit more comfortably on your mind and in your chest to no avail. You didn’t notice someone appear in the driveway until it was too late, until they had already seen you. Blonde hair peaked out the back of a blue hat that sat backwards on his head. An old beat up North Dakota sweatshirt covered his broad chest, broader now that it had been when he had been yours, gray sweatpants, and sneakers he had thrown on to do some mundane task, probably to get the mail for his dad. There he was, standing in the driveway, looking at you and for a second, you thought he was thinking the same things you were, longing for them in the same way you were. 

He mouthed your name, disbelief written on his face, and started walking toward your car. You shifted it into park, because after all this time, all the pain, all the broken promises of forever, he was still Brock Boeser and you couldn’t leave him hanging when he called your name.

[apriorisea]

Angst with yoongi or jungkook. Their girlfriend having a hard time but they didn't think it was smt serious so they weren't there for her and just focusing on work. She didn't say anything to them, just trying to deal with it alone but it's just keep getting worse. She lose some weight, always tired and not so cheerful like before. Eventually they realize it when she faint in their arms (i am sorry it's really long i hope you write smt like that, you are one of my fave writers 👍💜)

--Hi! As usual 😅I apologize that this took so long! Thank you so much for the idea and for your sweet compliments---I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it! I hope you enjoy 💕💜

“The Problem”You x Yoongi

“You really didn’t have to do this,” you say, smiling as you lean across the center console to kiss Yoongi’s cheek. Your smile grows bigger as you see the pleased expression cross his face and add: “But I’m really glad you did.”    He turns his head and kisses you firmly. “I love you,” he says softly. “I’ll take any chance I can to be with you.” He rests his hand on the back of your neck, playfully holding you in place. “In fact, why don’t you just blow off work today, come with me instead?”    You groan, leaning into his arm and brushing your lips against the inside of his wrist. “Don’t tempt me.”    He smiles. “I’m sorry I can’t pick you up tonight. Do you want me to send someone?”    “No.” You lean forward to ask for another kiss, smiling when he gives you what you want. “I’ll just see you at home tonight. Try not to stay too late, okay?” When he smiles an agreement, you give him a wink and climb out of the car. “Love you!”    You’re still smiling when you enter the building, and just before you settle in at your desk, you pull out your phone: This was a terrible idea…you better just come back and get me ;)    His answer comes just as you are opening your email: Perfect. Let’s just drive and drive and drive, yeah?     Two seconds later, he adds: I LOVE YOU.    Grinning, you don’t even read the title of the email before you open it.    The happy mood evaporates immediately. It’s 8:32am on a Monday morning, and your boss is already fuming. The project you and your team had put together had apparently not met his expectations and the deadline to turn in a new, better proposal was by the end of the day. Feeling your stomach twist into knots, you turn to scan the office for your coworkers—meeting the eyes of one of them, you exchange nervous looks. It’s going to be a long day. 

    “He’s just not going to be happy with any of this,” Coworker #2 says, tipping back in his seat irritably. “None of it.”    Another team member, Coworker #3, pushes a strand of hair back behind her ear. “That’s a cheerful outlook, thank you.”    “You know the mood he’s been in lately,” he says darkly. “This feels like a head hunt.”     Glancing at your watch, you struggle to catch your breath. It was 1:36pm and the three of you had been working for hours on a new project proposal. 25 minutes ago the boss had sent a warning email, his tone none the happier. “What do you mean a head hunt?”     He throws his arms in the air exasperatedly. “You know, like, looking to fire someone to get over his bad mood.”     Your other coworker slaps his arm. “Stop it!” she says, genuinely angry. “You don’t know anything about anything. He’s not going to fire anyone over this stupid project!”     The door clicks shut as the fourth and final member of your team walks in, holding a coffee cup. “He knows enough,” he says, sipping his drink. “Word on the street is that we need to downsize and almost anyone could be the target.”    Your anxiety increases at his presence and arrogant words. “He’s not going to fire a whole team over a minor-level project,” you say coolly.    He fixes you with a look. “You’re right. All he needs is one scapegoat.”    Taking a deep breath to stay calm, you give him a look. “Well then, let’s spend more time working and less time talking, huh?”    He eyes you but doesn’t respond, slinking slowly into his seat. Your attention is soon turned to other matters, but you never really lose the pit of nerves that his words had opened. It sits there, festering like an open wound, demanding your attention even when you refuse. By the end of the work day, you are exhausted, mentally and physically, and by the time you reach your apartment, you are an anxious mess: the inside of your lower lip is raw from the constant worried chewing and your head is pounding from the stress.     As you climb the stairs to your apartment, you think about the day: your team had managed to complete a rough draft for the new project proposal just in time, and, though he wasn’t thrilled, your boss had agreed to give you the rest of the week to complete it. You bite down on your lower lip again. It’s not terrible, but it’s also not great.    Reaching your front door, you’re suddenly frozen by the sound of your coworker’s words echoing in your mind: “All he needs is one scapegoat.” Your stomach twists and you force another deep breath before you can open the door.    Stepping out of your shoes, you drop your bag to the ground and survey the apartment: there’s a basket of laundry sitting in the corner of the living room, waiting to be done, and a few dishes still in the sink. Releasing a slow, even breath, you try to let the familiarity of home calm you down.     The team had worked straight through lunch, and you vaguely realized that part of the reason your hands were shaking was because you hadn’t eaten since your piece of toast this morning for breakfast. You open a cupboard door, but as soon as your eyes land on the coffee mugs, your heart races as you hear it again: One scapegoat. You trusted that particular coworker about as far as you could throw him, and the two of you had been at odds constantly lately. I wouldn’t put anything past him, you think, and your stomach lurches. You shut the cupboard and head for the sink.    Sick of hearing your own thoughts, you turn on the TV after you’d finished the dishes and settle in to fold some laundry, trying not to think about the gaping hole of worry eating its way through your stomach. I just have to do the best, you think. I have to be the best member of the team. Then I’m untouchable.    Halfway through the basket of laundry, you hear the door unlock. Yoongi comes in, looking slightly disheveled though his frown fades at the sight of you. “Hi sweetheart,” he says quietly, lining his shoes up next to yours carefully. “Here, I’ll finish that. I meant to do it last night.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head and joins you on the floor, reaching for the shirt in your hands.    His presence washes over you and you take a truly deep breath. “It’s okay,” you say, tipping your head over to rest on his shoulder. “How was your day?”    He sighs, and there’s so much in that simple sound that you forget all about your terrible day and turn to look at him.    “What’s going on?” you ask softly, reaching up to smooth a strand of his hair back.    “Long day. Taehyungie’s having a hard time lately, Jimin’s back is giving him problems…Namjoon has a bad case of writer’s block and we still need 4 more songs to even make a mini-album.” He folds the shirt and stacks it carefully on top of the others, then reaches for another. “We’re not sure if we can make the Australian tour happen.”    “Oh no,” you sympathize. “How come?”    “Venue availability, travel….basically everything.” He pauses in between shirts to rub his forehead tiredly.     You kiss his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know how important that tour is to you guys. I’m sure something will work out!”    The laundry now finished, he sighs again and sits back against the couch. Reaching out to pull you into his arms, he kisses your temple. “We’re going to figure it out,” he agrees. “But I’m going to be working a lot these next few days. Probably into the weekend,” he adds, waiting for your reaction.    You cuddle against him. “It’s okay, baby. Do what you need to do.”    “I love you,” he says softly, tipping your chin up so he can kiss you. “How was your day? Have you eaten already?”    The question knocks the wind from you. “Oh. It was fine. I…I already ate, yeah. Sorry.” You push out of his arms so he can’t feel the way your heart races at the lie. “Do you want me to make something?”    “Nope.” He gets to his feet. “We still have leftovers from last night. I’ll just have those. What did you have?”    You stack the folded laundry back in the basket and ignore the question. “I forgot about the leftovers. Hope they still taste good.”    “There’s a lot left,” he calls from the kitchen. “I’ll pack some up and you can take it for lunch tomorrow.”    You feel your stomach squirm. “Thanks.” You push the laundry basket back into the corner and cross your arms over your stomach, watching him as he moved around the kitchen, reheating his leftovers and packing yours for lunch tomorrow. Tomorrow. You think of your boss’ anger, the work left to do, your coworker’s sinister intent……Your hands go cold.    Yoongi brings his food into the living room, sitting on the couch and gesturing to the spot next to him. Some of the feeling returns to your fingers as you climb up next to him, curling up close and resting your head on his shoulder.     “Next week,” he says in-between bites. “We’re going to have date night every night for the whole week.”    You smile, grateful for the way his presence and words melt your icy worry. “That sounds amazing.”    “I mean it,” he insists around a mouth full of food. “Every night. We’ll go to that movie, get dinner at all of our favorite places, stay home and finish our show, go for a drive…anything we want to do. Anything you want to do.”    Turning your head to kiss his shoulder again, you say quietly, “I love you, Yoongi.”    He finishes eating quickly, hopping up to rinse his dish off and returning to you quickly. Through a yawn, he asks, “Are you ready for bed?”    With your mind so full of worry, you hadn’t been looking forward to a whole night of tossing and turning, but when he extends his hand to you, you realize everything would be okay. Putting your hand in his, you nod. “Yes.”    When you’re both settled in bed, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you back against his chest. Leaning down to kiss your neck, he rests his head against yours gently. “So I’m thinking one night we get burgers,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. “Pizza for our Netflix night…”    “Mmm.” You close your eyes, letting his soothing voice lull you into a calm. “We definitely need to do sushi one night.”    “Agreed. For our big fancy date night, let’s go to that nice restaurant with the giant steaks!”    You can’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “Whatever you want to do. I just want to spend time with you.”    He hugs you close. “I love you, sweetheart. Sleep tight, okay?”    And with him there to keep you safe and push the worries away, you actually do.

The next morning, you hear him get up extra early, but you’re too exhausted to stir. Before he leaves, he kisses your forehead gently. “Have a good day, sweetheart,” he whispers, and then he’s gone.    Your alarm goes off at the usual time, but when you pull your phone to you, you see a screen full of texts. Feeling your stomach lurch, you scan through them: 11 of them are from your coworkers, already panicked about the project. 1 of them is from your bank, reminding you that your payment for student loans was due next week. You set your phone down, heart pounding, and try not to panic. You wish Yoongi were still home.    But he was already gone, so you roll out of bed, get ready as quickly as possible, and force yourself to answer a few texts as you head to the kitchen for breakfast. After a little bit of coordination, you and two of your coworkers have a plan for the day—the third one (the problematic one) hadn’t responded yet. Just as you open your fridge to hunt for some food, you get a private message from your closest coworker: Watch out for SJ, she wrote. I’ve heard he was talking about you the other day during lunch.    Your stomach flips. I knew it. You shut the fridge hard, ignoring the ache in your guts. Pulling on your coat, you grab your bag and take a small breath. You wouldn’t let him get you today.     As you leave the house, you pull out your phone and send Yoongi a text: Is it just me, or is this the most Monday-feeling Tuesday ever???    You’re about to tuck the phone back into your pocket when it buzzes. Eagerly awaiting your boyfriend’s message, you look at the screen expectantly—    And find another text from your coworkers. It brings you back to earth immediately. Your stomach is in knots all the way to the office.

    “Just as long as her name is on it,” your coworker says dramatically, his voice clearly too loud to be a whisper.     Steeling yourself, you look up from your computer. “My name is on what?”    “Section 5,” he says unabashedly.     “What’s wrong with section 5?”    He raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious?”    “Stop being such an ass,” Coworker #2 interrupts, rolling his eyes. “What’s the problem?”    The Problem sighs. “Section 5 is the epitome of what was wrong with the last proposal.”    “According to who?” Your hands are balled into fists in your lap, hidden away from sight.     “The boss, obviously.”    “Oh, he told you that? Personally?” You stand your ground. “Last I knew, he didn’t even remember your name.”    His cheeks flush. “It was obvious. So I just want to make sure that your name is on it, so he knows who to credit when this falls apart.”    “It’s not going to fall apart!” interjects Coworker #3, smoothing her frazzled hair back into a ponytail. “Don’t even put that into the universe!”    “You’re welcome to re-work it,” says Coworker #2.    “You clearly have the time,” you add coolly.     The Problem doesn’t answer, pretending to suddenly be preoccupied with something on his phone. The tenuous silence returns.    The four of you work until lunch time—until 5 minutes before official lunch time, actually, because if you had to spend even 5 more minutes in the same room as him, you were going to murder someone—and as you put your laptop to sleep, you realize how hungry you are.     “Here,” Coworker #2 drops a packet of pretzels on your desk. “You like these, right?”    You nod. “Thanks.”    He gives a faint smile, reaching his arms above his head in a huge stretch. “Don’t let him get to you,” he adds, jerking his head towards the door after The Problem. “He sees you as a threat because you are the most competent person in the whole department.”    You smile. “I’m trying. But this is just more motivation to get this project sorted—then I can go back to ignoring his existence.”    Coworker #2 laughs and reaches out to fist-bump you. “Amen,” he agrees, then grabs his empty-coffee mug off the table and leaves.     Feeling a little lighter now that the you have the room to yourself, you open the packet of pretzels as your stomach growls. You manage to eat 7 before your phone goes off.    Coworker #3: SJ’s going to eat lunch with the Exec Crew today. Such a suck-up.    You set the packet of pretzels down and reply: Is the boss going?     Coworker #3: Of course. He’s probably going to offer to pay and everything.     The weight settles over your shoulders again. You remember the disgust in his eyes, the thinly veiled threats about your job—”And now he has the perfect opportunity,” you whisper to yourself. “He really is going to do whatever he can to get me fired.”    As if the universe had heard you, your phone buzzes with another text: it’s an alert from your bank, reminding you about the bills coming up soon. I can’t lose my job, you think, feeling the panic rush through your entire body.     Ignoring the reminder, you open Yoongi’s text thread. Any chance you’ll be done with work early today?? It joins your last still-unopened message. You stare at your phone for a full minute, hoping to see his return text as it comes in. It doesn’t.    You think about the leftovers sitting in the fridge in the break room and your stomach flips. Pushing the half-empty packet of pretzels away from you, you reboot your laptop. “I have to work harder.”

    You sink into the last empty bus seat, closing your eyes against the pain thundering through your head. It’s 79 minutes past quitting time and you hadn’t even had a chance to look at your phone since lunchtime. You pry your eyes open and fish for your phone, taking a small breath before unlocking it.     Three messages from Coworker #3, four from Coworker #2, and one sarcastic one-liner from The Problem. The pounding in your head increases.     32. From the time your team resumed its work after lunch until you had all finally left the building, The Problem had made 32 pointed comments towards you.     “You don’t even have seniority, you know that, right?”    “We talked about the project at lunch. What a shame you weren’t there.”    “Last quarter’s numbers weren’t ideal, that’s what he told me. There’s a lot of dead weight in the company, especially in our department. Especially on our team.”    Rubbing the back of your neck tiredly, you leave the text thread without replying and open the next new message. It’s another bank reminder: the deadline on your payment was coming a lot sooner than you remembered.      How did it get to this point? You stare out the window blankly. I used to love my job. What did I ever do to get this target on my back?     You open your phone again, navigating to your text-thread with your boyfriend. He still hasn’t read either of your earlier messages. You must be busy today.     Still no answer. You turn back to look out the window, ignoring the pain in your head and stomach. After almost missing your stop, you trudge towards your apartment, your mind too full to pay attention to anything else.     They talked about things at lunch. They must have talked about ME at lunch. He’s going to get me fired. You bump into someone and don’t bother apologizing. He is actually actively working to get rid of me. Why?     Fumbling for your phone again, you send a private message to Coworker #3: What does SJ gain by getting me fired??    Her return message comes as you are unlocking your door. You force yourself to get inside and out of your shoes and coat before looking at it.     Coworker #3: You’re obviously the biggest threat in the department. You know he’s looking for a fast-track promotion. If he can get rid of you, that’s one less hurdle he’ll have to jump. You okay? He was such an asshole today.     Dropping your bag on the floor angrily, you move to the kitchen, hunting for the bottle of aspirin. Everyday* you correct. But he’s crazy.  If our project tanks, he’ll go down with it. You down three tablets without water.     Coworker #3: He thinks he can weasel his way out of it, obviously.    Coworker #3: But anyway, don’t worry about it. We’re going to be fine. You doing okay? Did you even get a chance to eat lunch today???    You pause at this, setting your phone on the counter to pull open the fridge. Leftovers, milk, fruit, vegetables, eggs, kimchi, yogurt…You feel a pain in your stomach and can’t decide if it’s hunger or something else. Your gaze un-focuses as you stare, and suddenly all you can see are bills and numbers. The pain in your stomach grows and you slam the fridge shut.     I can’t lose this job. I have too many bills to pay. If I get fired, I’m going to be so far behind on every single payment. I CAN’T lose this job.     The buzz from your phone causes an immediate anxious reaction to jolt through your whole body: your chest feels tight, your heart starts pounding, the pain in your head feels blinding, your stomach flips. Forcing a deep breath, you slowly reach for the device again.     The knot in your stomach immediately untangles as soon as you see the name on the message. Exhaling roughly, you open Yoongi’s message eagerly.    Yoongi Hi sweetheart. I’m sorry ~ so busy today. And I’m going to be home late tonight. :(     Your relief fades quickly.    YoongiAre you okay? How was your day?     Glancing at the time, you feel the knot retie with a vengeance. When your boyfriend said “late,” he meant late. “He won’t be back before midnight,” you whisper to yourself. The apartment gets a little smaller around you. Trying to push the darkness away, you ignore his questions: I love you. Be safe!     Locking the screen, you turn back to the fridge. Holding the device close to your chest, you stare at the door. Replaying the images of what the fridge held, you tried to convince yourself to eat one of them—but with each mental picture, the knot grew tighter and you felt like you were going to throw up.     Turning away from the fridge explosively, you wandered into the living room. You realized suddenly how much you’d been relying on Yoongi’s presence to help ease the current of tension that was flowing nonstop through your entire body. Now, faced with the prospect of hours without him, you had nothing to distract you but the fear.     You watch Netflix (the volume up loud in an attempt to drown out your own thoughts) and play mindless phone games until 11:15pm. Your entire body aches with exhaustion and stress, but you still spend five more minutes staring at the front door in vain, waiting for him to come back. Eventually, you get slowly to your feet and trudge down the hall to the bedroom. You spend extra time washing your face, delaying the inevitable, but when you finally crawl into bed you’re exactly as distraught as you had expected.     Not even the white noise machine can help you tonight. You toss and turn for hours, watching the clock on your nightstand tick past midnight.     Every time you close your eyes, you’re bombarded with visions of bills and loans and banks and evil coworkers and your angry boss. You see papers stamped with bright red lettering: TERMINATED. The Problem’s words echo constantly. You manage to fall into a light, troubled sleep, and find yourself stuck in the dream-version of the day’s lunch. At the exact moment that your Dream-Boss and Dream-The-Problem turn to you in unison and say “YOU’RE FIRED” you startle awake. Glancing at the clock, you realize it’s 2am and you’re still alone. Squeezing your eyes shut tight, you feel the hot tears build underneath your eyelids and fight down the urge to call him. You struggle for another 20 minutes before sleep finally takes you.      Five minutes after you pass out, he comes home. 

The next morning, you startle awake at the sound of your alarm. Scrambling to turn it off, you realize that you can’t move easily. The panic eventually gives way to relief: you’re tangled in Yoongi’s arms, wrapped tight in his hug. Carefully, you manage to reach out an arm to shut off the alarm, then shift gingerly so you’re facing him. He stirs a little, his embrace tightening reflexively, and you give-in: burying your face in his chest, you give yourself the 10 snooze minutes.     Now that you’re wrapped in his arms, all the things that had kept you awake seemed distant and tiny. For the first time in the last 24 hours, you feel the pain in your stomach fade.     But too soon, your snooze alarm goes off. It’s time. Taking one last deep breath in his circle of safety, you gently untangle yourself from his grasp, unable to keep the faint smile off your face at his sleep-mumbled complaint. What I’d give to be able to stay right here, all day. But…    I need this job. I’ve got to fight.     So instead, you gently stroke his hair until he falls back into his deep-slumber. Realizing how late he must have gotten home, you fight down a pang of disappointment: he’d be asleep for a few hours more. Just what he needed, definitely, but you would be long gone by then. Pulling yourself together, you manage to get ready quietly and quickly, mentally preparing yourself for the day ahead.     You plant a soft kiss on Yoongi’s forehead before you go, drawing a last bit of strength before heading out to face your dragons.  

    10:00am. You feel your phone buzz in your pocket but ignore it. You’re sitting sandwiched between Coworkers #2 and #3, The Problem on the far end. The boss hasn’t spoken for the last 5 minutes.     Finally, he sighs. “I’ve come to expect much more from this department,” he says, meeting your eyes seriously. “This new proposal…it’s better. But is it really what it ought to be?”    The Problem jumps in before you can even blink. “No, sir, I completely agree. It’s not up to standards. It—”    “I think it can be fixed,” your boss continues, speaking over the other man easily. He meets your eyes again. “But it is going to take a lot of work. For example, the proposed direction in Section 4 seems a bit messy.”    The Problem is nodding. “Team Leader was in charge of that section.”   Coworker #2 stiffens next to you. “No, she wasn’t,” he snaps. “I-I mean,” the flush creeps up his neck. “Sir, our team worked together on each section and each proposal. Of course.”    You don’t look over at The Problem. This is exactly what you had been expecting.    “Of course, of course,” The Problem simpers. “But, obviously, we follow the direction of our project manager, don’t we, sir?”    Your boss raises one eyebrow at you. “Well?”    “We all worked together on this proposal, sir,” you say calmly, though your insides are twisting together again. “And, obviously, no part would have gone through without full consent from the entire team. Right?” you direct the question to The Problem, but don’t bother looking at him.    He clears his throat. “We follow your inspiration, team leader.”    You hear Coworker #3 hiss under her breath next to you.     Your boss is studying The Problem carefully. Finally, he looks back at his tablet screen. “Sections 4, 7, and 10 all need some re-working. Can you have it done by tomorrow?”    The tiny bit of satisfaction you felt at realizing none of those sections had been your assigned responsibility bleeds away at the deadline. Tomorrow??  Your head aches. After a moment, you realize he’s waiting for you to respond. “Absolutely, sir,” you agree steadily. “We will work hard.”    “I expect nothing less,” he agrees. “Make sure it is as streamlined as possible. We want no further problems going forward.”    “Yes, sir,” the three of you parrot together; The Problem’s answer is more drawn-out and sickeningly sweet. You don’t look at him as the four of you leave your boss’ office. 

    7pm. 2 hours past quitting time and the four of you were still holed-up in the conference room together.     The Problem gets to his feet loudly, heading for the door.   “Where are you going?” demands Coworker #2; his hair is messy and out of place, his glasses slightly askew.    “Smoke-break,” he answers. “Can’t be in this room for one second longer.” He lets the door slam shut behind him.    Coworker #3 rolls her shoulders out. “Funny,” she says darkly. “If he was in this room for one second longer, I think I’d rip his stupid little head off.”    Coworker #2 turns to you. “I don’t know how you managed to keep your cool all day today, honestly. I wanted to punch him in the mouth 3 times in that meeting alone.”    You sigh and sit back in your chair.  The atmosphere in the room had changed as soon as The Problem had left. “I just want to finish this project,” you say honestly. I have to be the best possible, so there’s no room for judgment or complaint. “The sooner it ends, the sooner we can get away from him.”    “I know where he parks his car,” Coworker #3 offers helpfully. “It would be such a shame if his tires got slashed somehow…”    You share a small grin with her; a grin that fades as you realize how long it’d been since you smiled. The muscles in your face ached from the simple gesture.    “Here,” Coworker #2 plops another bag of mini pretzels in front of you. “Snack break! Better eat now before he comes back and turns all our stomachs…”    You scoff humorlessly. Staring at the bag of snacks, you feel your stomach twist. The last thing you wanted to do was eat anything right now, but then you calculate how long it had been since you’d eaten anything. Oh. That’s probably not healthy. Opening the bag, you pretend not to notice how much your hands are shaking. I need to eat a little, you convince yourself. Every part of you is tired and aching. How much longer can I go on like this?    Until this is over, your stubborn side kicks in. Until the danger is passed. Until you know your job is safe. Suck it up.    You manage to eat ¾ of the bag before The Problem returns and, just as your coworkers predicted, as soon as he’s back in the room you’re no longer hungry. Pushing the pretzels away angrily, the four of you return to silent, tense work for another 2 hours. 

You climb into bed at 10pm that night, too exhausted to be kept up by worries. By tomorrow it’ll be all over. You vaguely wonder if you should be more worried about how much the dark edges around your vision are growing. The last thing you feel before falling into a dreamless sleep is how much your stomach hurts.     You’re startled awake at 12:03am.     “Sorry, sweetheart,” you hear Yoongi’s voice permeate the darkness.     Seconds later, you feel his arms wrap around you. You roll over immediately, snuggling against his chest.     “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he says hoarsely, pulling the blanket higher up over you. “I’m so sorry.”    You shake your head. “Are you okay?”     He sighs, a heavy and weary sound that goes straight to your heart.  “I’m fine.”    “Liar,” you accuse gently, hugging him a little tighter. “What’s going on?”    “Just busy. We’re working hard. Same as usual…”     You press a kiss to his collarbone. “I know. You need to get some rest.”     He crushes you closer. “I love you, sweetheart. I’m sorry I woke you up. You must be exhausted, too. Let’s get some rest, both of us, yeah?”    “Okay,” you breathe, already feeling your eyelids growing heavy again. “Goodnight, baby.”    He spreads a few soft kisses across your face. “Goodnight, my darling girl.”

The next morning, your alarms go off at the same time and you struggle awake together. You’re both moving too slow, so you’re almost late, but he still insists on driving you to work that day. On the way over, you don’t talk much, but he holds your hand over the center console like usual and that keeps you steady.    When he pulls up in front of your building, you lean over to give him a kiss. “Have a good day, Yoongi,” you say, but your attention is already on what awaits you inside.     “You too, sweetheart,” he says, but he doesn’t let go of your hand. Studying you, he frowns a little. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a little pale—”    You power-up a false smile. “Don’t worry. I love you!” You press another kiss to his cheek and escape under this pretense.     When you get out of the car, he reaches to roll your window down to call after you, but just then his phone buzzes so he abandons the idea and answers as he pulls away.    You don’t turn around to watch him go, but your heart still flips when you hear the car leave. Staring up at your office building, you feel a sudden rush of dizziness and have to shut your eyes for a moment until it passes.    The last day, you remind yourself. I need this job, I need this job, I need this job.    You walk into the office and see Coworkers #2 and #3 sitting at their desks already. #2 is on the phone, but he gives you a bright smile as you walk past.     “Hey! Are you—” Coworker #3′s voice falters as you move past her seat. “Whoa, are you okay?”    You hesitate only slightly. “What?”    She’s frowning. “You look really pale,” she says, lowering her voice slightly. “And have you lost weight?? You—”    “I’m fine.” You feel the tips of your ears burn: if The Problem heard talk like this, it would be yet another way he could take you down. “Just tired.”    “Are you sure? If—”    “Positive,” you cut her off again. “Thanks. Plus, today’s the day, right? After this, things will be better.” Your stomach aches at the reminder.  I can’t fail. “We better get to work!” You attempt cheerfulness and fail miserably.     Coworker #3 gives you a furtive look, but doesn’t bring it up again.     The Problem walks in exactly on time, sighing dramatically before flopping into his chair. Leaning back in his chair, he looks around the room, his gaze landing on you. “Well, here we are. I hope everyone is confident in their individual work…?” He lets it hang in the air.    Coworker #2 sets the phone down too hard, already irritated. “I’m sure we’re all confident in both our personal AND our group work. Right?” He stares at The Problem until the other man is forced to look away from you.     He pastes a sickening smile on his face. “Of course.”    “Then let’s get started,” you say, trying to keep your voice devoid of any emotion. “We’ve only got 8 hours left.”

    Hour 1: The four of you work in silence. The Problem gets up twice to refill his coffee, making much more noise than is necessary. You get another text from your bank.     Hour 2: A portion of Coworker #2′s work didn’t save correctly. The ensuing meltdown leaves you frazzled and The Problem gleeful.    Hour 3: The Problem sneaks away and is later found chatting in the staff room by Coworker #3. She doesn’t tell you everything he was saying, but the pit in your stomach knows well enough.    Hour 4: You make sure everyone triple saves their work as lunchtime nears. The Problem goes on another secret mission but returns deflated: the bosses are having a private lunch and he was not allowed to join. The secret satisfaction you feel at this fades as he critically looks over one portion of your work. You skip lunch to continue working.   Hour 5: Somehow, The Problem’s attitude has gotten even worse since lunch. He snarks and sneers and reluctantly helps Coworker #3 on their joint section. While they’re bickering, Coworker #2 sends you a file: it’s a list of incidents and complaints that he’s preparing to send to the boss and HR. You manage a tiny, real smile.    Hour 6: The Problem finally directly challenges you on a portion of the project that you’ve worked on. Backed by both of your other coworkers, the three of you manage to shout him down. He works half-heartedly on his assigned portion.    Hour 7: Your stomach hurts so much. Every time you take a small break from the work in front of you, it feels like it’s going to swallow you whole. You force yourself to drink some water, but it sloshes too uncomfortably in your empty stomach. Your head aches and you feel unbelievably tired. Almost there…   Hour 8: Fifteen minutes before the deadline, you save, double-save, triple-save, and back-up the project to 3 different locations.     “It’s finished,” Coworker #2 says, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at his eyes violently.    “I guess,” scoffs The Problem, getting to his feet. He locks eyes with you. “Hope you feel good about it, Team Leader.” Without waiting for a response, he turns on his heel and heads for the door. “See you guys in there. I’ve got something to do.”     Out of the corner of your eye, you see Coworker #2 add something to his list.    “Ignore him,” Coworker #3 encourages; she clearly is still very worried about you. “It’s going to be fine. I think we’ve done some good work here.”

     The walk from your shared office space to the boss’ office isn’t very far, but by the end of it, your legs feel like jelly, your heart is pounding, you’re short of breath, and your head is screaming. You sink into the nearest chair, trying to convince yourself that you were fine. Your stomach aches.    The meeting is short. The Problem tries 3 times to throw you under the bus, but at this point, you and your other two coworkers are prepared and unified. By the end, even your boss seems irritated with The Problem—at least, you think that’s what is happening. You can’t really be sure anymore, to be honest: your vision is going slightly blurry, the dark edges growing, and you feel incredibly light-headed.    45 minutes past usual quitting time, your boss gives you a solemn nod. “Well done,” he says seriously. “This project is much better and more what I was expecting. Thank you.”    The relief washes over you and you feel weak.     “Well done, Team Leader,” your boss adds, then gives Coworkers #2 and #3 a smile. “Now go home and get some rest.” It might be your current physical state, but you swear he gives The Problem a slightly disapproving look.     It must be real, because The Problem is the first to leave, disappearing without another look at any of you. Somewhat numb, you get to your feet with the other two, following them out of the office. As soon as the three of you are out of sight of the boss’ office, Coworker #2 gathers both of you into a giant hug.     “We did it!!!! Oh man!” He releases you with a huge exhale. “We should celebrate! Dinner? Drinks? Meat??”    Coworker #3 gives him a look, then tilts her head towards you meaningfully. “I think I’m just going to take our brilliant Team Leader home.”    He turns to look at you, and even in your fuzzy state you can see the look of concern that crosses his face. “Oh, right. Yeah. Let’s get some rest tonight. We can celebrate tomorrow!”    You manage a smile. “Sounds good. G-good job you guys.”    Coworker #3 loops her arm through yours securely. “It’s all because of you, oh fearless leader!” she quips. “Let’s go!”    Sitting in the passenger seat of her car, you try to relax; the last thing you wanted was for her to have to walk you up to your apartment door. So you fake a brighter smile, thank her for the ride, and hop out before she can offer to help. You turn to wave as she drives away, gritting your teeth against the way your head starts spinning, but wait until she’s gone before you move.     I did it. You think as you slowly climb the stairs. I made it. I’m not going to get fired. Things are going to be okay. Your stomach flips and you have to pause for a second: Don’t throw up, don’t throw up, don’t throw up.     You wait until the feeling passes.     I just need to get inside. Lie down for a while….maybe…maybe eat? The house will be cool and empty and calm.     Empty. You realize you hadn’t texted Yoongi all day. Now that things were over, you could finally relax around him, tell him the truth. You stumble on the last step, nearly face-planting but saving yourself at the last second.     Just need to…lie….down.     You punch in the door code, push it open, step inside—and are startled to see Yoongi sitting on the couch.     “Baby—” he gets to his feet, a smile on his face, but it disappears when he sees you.     The surprise is too much for your already-battered body. You try to step towards him and everything goes dark. 

    Fortunately for you, he was already moving towards you when you crumpled; he managed to catch you before you hit the floor, cradling you carefully against him in a state of controlled panic.     You wake up as the EMTs are loading you into the ambulance, and the only thing that stops you from freaking out is the sound of his voice.     “I don’t think she’s eaten for a while,” he’s saying as he climbs in next to you. “She’s overworked, overtired—Maybe dehydrated? I don’t—”    “It’s okay, sir,” one of the medics says. She gives him a small smile. “She’s going to be fine.”    “Yoongi…” you mumble, his name getting lost in the oxygen mask over your face, but at that moment he turns to look at you anyway.     Exhaling in relief, he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he reassures you, brushing your hair away from your face. “I’m here.”    Something about the combination of your complete exhaustion, the motion of the ambulance, the oxygen mask, and the warmth of Yoongi’s presence lulls you into a light sleep.     There’s a transfer from the ambulance to the emergency room, from gurney to hospital bed. There’s several people in scrubs and masks that look you over. You vaguely feel the prick of the IV in your arm. You’re asked a lot of questions and you give a lot of answers you can’t remember, but eventually, you’re left alone.    Almost.    Taking your hand, Yoongi leans down to kiss your forehead again. “You’re going to be okay,” he says softly against your skin. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”    You shake your head weakly. “You don’t have to apologize. I—”    “You’re extremely dehydrated,” he cuts over you, tightening his hold on your hand. “I don’t think you’ve slept well for days. And you…you said you hadn’t eaten for—since Monday?? Sweetheart, I….” he’s getting worked up.      You squeeze his hand. “It’s not your fault.”     Exhaling shakily, he meets your eyes. “Why?”     “Well—” you suddenly look at him. “Wait. Don’t you need to be at work right now? What about the tour problems? And Tae? And Jimin’s back. And—”    “Stop.” He finally pulls a chair close to the bed and sits. “I only need to be here right now. With you. This is where I should have been for the last few days, then maybe we wouldn’t be here right now.”    You close your eyes in embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”    Pressing the back of your knuckles to his lips, he shakes his head and murmurs. “Don’t say sorry. Let’s just talk. Tell me everything.”   So you do. You tell him all about the project, The Problem, your boss, your coworkers, the bank notifications, everything.     “And I just got so worked up over it,” you finish tiredly. “I didn’t want to talk about it. And then I knew you were busy, so I didn’t want to bother you….and things just got out of control.”    He nods slowly. “I should’ve paid better attention,” he says quietly. “We were both too wrapped up in our own things. Never again, I promise you.” He reaches up to brush your hair back again. “I will do better at my job of keeping you safe and healthy and happy, okay? I promise.”     You’re too tired to argue so you just nod.     Smiling, he reaches up to kiss you softly. “And in return,” he adds, stroking the side of your face, “You have to talk to me. About all the things, all right? Especially the ones that make you worried and want to stop eating. Can you do that?”     You nod again. “I think I can manage that.”     “Also, you have to promise to do whatever it takes to stay healthy, okay? I can’t live without you,” he smiles. “So it’s your responsibility to take care of the most precious thing on this earth. Understood?”      You roll your eyes but fondly. “I love you,” you say quietly.       He kisses the tip of your nose. “I love you more. Now, let’s get you some rest so we can go home and snuggle. Okay?”    You laugh lightly and agree.

    When you’re finally released from the hospital, Yoongi insists on pushing your hospital-mandated wheelchair out to the waiting car. He wraps an arm around your waist and basically carries you to the backseat, helping you in before shutting the door behind you both securely. He holds you close on the ride on home; you rest your head on his shoulder gratefully.     The babying continues when you arrive back at the apartment: he scoops you into his arms and carries you all the way up to your place, commenting in a displeased voice: “You’re too light, babygirl. You need to stay healthy.”    You give his neck a squeeze. “Whatever you say,” you agree, resting your head against his shoulder. At his light scoff-laugh, you smile. “I’m just trying to live up to my promises!”    “Sure, sure.”     As soon as you reach the apartment, he takes you straight to bed, settling you in your spot and tucking the blanket around you securely. Kissing your cheek, he says, “Now. What do you want to eat? Anything you want, baby.”    “Um….” you pretend to think hard. “Maybe…kimbap? BBQ? Pizza? Soup?” At his humored expression, you grin. “Everything sounds good!”    “Then everything,” he says, kissing your lips softly, “is what you shall have.”    While you both wait for the food to arrive, he never leaves your side. You cuddle against him, watching mindless TV and drinking from the water bottles he keeps pressing into your hands until he’s satisfied.     He insists on feeding you the first few bites of food until you finally rebel, accepting his kiss happily instead. The two of you eat in relative silence, and you realize just how hungry you are.    Tipping your head over onto his shoulder, you say softly, “I’m sorry I worried you.”    He turns slightly to kiss your temple again. “You’re safe, sweetheart. That’s all that matters.”    At that moment, your phone goes off. Your knee-jerk reaction is panic, but it immediately fades as you remember that everything is over and Yoongi is there next to you. Still, you take a small breath before reading the screen. The smile spreads across your face slowly.    Yoongi glances at you. “What is it?”    You turn the screen towards him:    Coworker #3: YOU GUYS. SJ just got transferred to another department!!!!!! He can never bug us again!!!!!!!!!    Yoongi grins with you. “That’s great news.” He kisses you again. “See? Everything is going to be fine.”    “You’re right.”     He clears the almost-empty food containers off the bed and when he climbs back in, you snuggle into his side automatically. He wraps his arms around you and presses a few soft kisses all over your face. “I love you so much,” he says in between kisses. “I’m so proud of you. You did it.”    “Yes,” you agree, feeling your eyes close all on their own. I did. 

[bronanlynch]

weekly (monthly?) media roundup

ok so I do want to actually do these on some sort of schedule but unfortunately, as you already know, brains,

listening: Malice in Wonderland by Fangbanger, which I found from a tumblr post that described them as band for “if you have a complicated relationship with gender, had a falling out with god, hate the government, or just think that vampires are neat" and y’know? yeah. my notes on this song from several weeks ago are that I might not know any of these people’s genders but I do know they’ve listened to MCR

reading: the new Cassandra Clare book, Chain of Iron. it’s boring and homophobic. in the first book of this series, we find out that the heroine’s brother is gay and in a relationship with a man who has no intention of ever coming out publicly because 1) the book is set in 1903 in England, it was literally illegal and 2) he’s trying to have a career in politics. the heroine decides that this means he’s ashamed of her brother and doesn’t deserve him, and she is present and active in their breakup conversation.

above is the relationship chart I made from the first book, it really hasn’t changed much except now the main guy and the main girl are married, the lesbians got back together and then broke up again, the main girl’s gay brother hooked up with one of her husband’s friend, who’s a Good Gay and therefore worthy of love unlike the Bad Gay ex who is constantly mocked by just about every character for. checks notes. caring about appearances and manners given that his life and career are based on those things. the brother and his new love interest break up because the brother still thinks he’s a bad person for ever having dated his ex. also the main girl has now platonically run off to Paris with her husband’s platonic soulmate who is allegedly in love with her but it’s really unconvincing that he’s not actually in love with her husband (he’s not for very stupid lore reasons, the whole ‘parabatai are magically prevented from being romantically in love, except for these two straight people, when historically parabatai pairs were two men’ makes my fucking blood boil)

you might ask why I still read these books even though they make me angry and the answer is the 1) the aesthetic slaps 2) some of the characters are fun 3) the premise has enough potential that it could be good if it was good 4) sometimes I need to get cathartically angry abt bad fiction bc it just. does not matter

watching: so many things that I’m gonna just. run through them real quick

Word of Honor: gestures vaguely at how it’s slowly taking over my blog

Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty: love a found family, eh about the politics, can’t believe I predictably got a new fave character within the last two episodes of the show because one of the main characters is betrayed by his second-in-command and I think treason is the sexiest part of a relationship

SamBucky show: in the original draft of this post I said that it was so boring that week (episode 3) that I completely forgot about it until I saw the draft below this one talking about how bad and boring it is. at least more happened in later episodes and they’re finally giving me some tasty queerbaiting but the premise and the politics are. wow. it sure is military propaganda

My Hero Academia: new season is fun, love a tournament arc. don’t love that they tell us right away that the double agent character is a double agent, it was more fun in the manga when you’re not sure if he’s a traitor or not for a pretty long time

Welcome to Demon School, Iruma-kun: new season is cute, there sure is some gender happening. there’s a tsundere bisexual catgirl

Backflip!!: I usually avoid high school sports anime for backstory reasons but my roommate wanted to watch it with me and oh boy these gymnasts sure are gay for each other huh

Joran: The Princess of Snow and Blood: my roommate pitched this to me as ‘cyberpunk but in the 1930s’ and there sure is dark lighting, lots of glowy neon stuff, and government oppression, which are the most important elements of cyberpunk apparently. not sure how I feel about it yet, because there’s a cool shapeshifting lady assassin with a revenge quest but there’s also a trans character who was revealed to be trans in a way that I personally did not enjoy. yes you can have transphobic villains but like. hmm. maybe the audience shouldn’t find out that someone is trans because the villain cuts his shirt away specifically to ~put him in his place. or maybe I personally am just sensitive to that but either way no thank you

on the other hand, the main character is sick as shit

The World Ends with You: god I love an anime about the power of friendship. I’ve only had these kids for two episodes and I would lay down my life for them

Nirvana in Fire: we’re only three episodes in and I did spend the first half of the first ep being like. oh god which of these people are actually important who am I supposed to care about here. and then by the end of the first ep I knew which ones I cared about and am now very afraid for their safety. do love the political intrigue though

playing: got through the first mission of Brigmore Witches. I love a good undercover mission, I wish I hadn’t been too afraid of like. alarms going off if I freed the other prisoners because I think Comrade Daud should do a jailbreak, and Lizzy Stride can call me anytime

also recently have played various ttrpgs including Firebrands, more Things, Eldritch and Terrifying, Link, and of course more Beam Saber (oh shit I meant to do my recap post for last session OOPS)

making: Zan and I made some real good chicken parm the other night, vaguely based on this recipe. by which I mean, we looked at the recipe to see how many eggs to use and how long to cook it and pretty much nothing else. the egg marinade step seemed unnecessary and I made the sauce the way I always make tomato sauce, which some day I should write down because it does in fact fuck. the secret is a shit-ton of oregano and basil and no chunks of tomato because fuck that. bad texture

Zan made the zucchini which also slapped, using some of the leftover bread crumbs

writing: I’ve posted a couple of things but most recently I wrote some rarepair femslash. this is the first fic for this ship on ao3 and the second ship in the f/f tag for this fandom that’s actually about the women in the show (as opposed to showing up in the f/f tag because it’s marked as “multi” or like. genderbent versions of the main m/m ship) but like. look at them. they’re terrible evil assassin women and they’re in love. anyway I’ve gotten over being embarrassed about having written a sex scene and moved on to wanting people to read my fic. there’s sparring as foreplay it’s a good time

[tundrainafrica]

Masterlist

This will serve as a personal tracker of all of the fics I have ever written, all of the books and series I have consumed etc. I wrote this out to help me organize my thoughts since I have time now to reflect on this closet hobby of mine. I also put it up just in case anyone has ever read my stuff and is curious about how these works are doing in my head space.

Some were written back when I was way younger so apologies for the quality.

ALEX RIDER

Come Home (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Memories don't keep people grounded in their present. They're the reason people think of what ifs and would haves, regrets and daydreams. Alex sees three dimensions of his reality and makes a decision. Set after Never Say Die.

Status: Done (I guess?), not posted on tumblr or AO3 yet

Killing (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Spoilers for Never Say Die. Killing is like learning to ride a bike as Alex is going to figure out very soon. For Spyfest 2017.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not posted on tumblr or AO3 yet

Transparency (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Although the bank robbery made national news, the young boy who saved the lives of all the people in the bank didn't. First hand witness accounts said the boy was a hero, the media said there was no young hero in the bank and one journalist tries to get to the bottom of it all.

Status:WIP (could probably still finish it, it’s almost done anyway), not posted on tumblr or AO3 yet)

Type II Error (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Written for Spyfest Week 3. Set before Ark Angel. The updates on payroll accounts and budgets lined up too well with mysterious deaths and undisclosed missions. An auditor working for MI6 decides for herself whether or not the orders of her bosses Blunt and Jones were worth prying into.

Status: Done (Oneshot), will post on tumblr yet

Unforeseen Circumstances (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

It's April, the time of year when most students start salvaging their grades. Missions had taken their toll on Alex's grades and he needs to start salvaging soon or risk repeating the year. Nature wasn't on his side though and it turned out that his devil's luck had just run out.

Status: WIP (8/15), On hold, not posted on tumblr yet

ATTACK ON TITAN

Levi and Hange’s Relationship in Erwin’s POV (Status: Completed, not posted yet)

A Tale of Two Slaves (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)  

"Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn't exist. Everything is a choice. At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him."

Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn't.

Status: WIP (6/?)

A Free Spot (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)  

Slight AU! Levi sacrifices himself in Chapter 132 instead of Hange and Hange deals with the consequences years later. Written for Levihan Angstober Week 4. Prompt: Free Spot 

Status: Done (Oneshot), not posted on FFN yet

Division of Labor (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)  

"The past years, we have noticed a lot of our fresh high school graduates knew nothing about responsibilities the that awaited them outside high school and even college. Many students do not master budgeting, taxes, household planning, loans and we hope to raise a generation who can navigate the adult world without the consequences of bad decisions they are bound to make going in blindly..."

Paradis High school starts a program incorporating adulting into their curriculum and Hange and Levi are paired together.

Status: WIP (1/?)

En Prise (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Hange already had the innate analysis skills and the quick wittedness to excel in the classroom. Chess should have come easy for her. As she processed her fifth loss to the man in front of her, she started to understand that there was more to the game than meets the eye.

College AU! Levi is a little too good at chess and Hange gets roped into studying the game further.

Status: WIP (1/18), will try to create a backlog before I post more.

Heroes or Victims (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Post Chapter 115, Hange reflects on emotions, relationships, war philosophies, and a future while taking care of a severely injured Levi.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not posted on FFN yet

Household Planning (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

"It was Levi's household. The plates were arranged and sorted by color and use, the way Levi liked it. The cabinets and the storage were arranged in a way which would be efficient for cooking, or at least the way Levi would have wanted to cook."

Levi gets sick and Hange is left to navigate household chores.

Status: Done (2/2)

Passion Project (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)    

Levi tries to ignore Hange but it never seems to last. A ficlet detailing the development of Levi and Hange's relationship before canon.

Status: WIP (1/3) Timeline written, Chapter 2 rough draft complete, not posted on FFN yet

Rough Day (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

It should have been apparent to Hange by the weight gain and the sudden lack of red days. Somehow, Levi noticed it first.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not posted on FFN yet, will probably write more fluff similar to this

Sugar Rush

(AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Marley brings the celebration of Halloween to Paradis. Hange and Levi go trick or treating with their child for the first time and start to realize how much the world has changed since the war.

A Halloween piece for the Levihan spookfest one year late.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not posted on FFN yet, will probably write more fluff similar to this

Would You Cry? (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Hange asks an innocent question and Levi finds himself reflecting on his emotions and his relationship with Hange. Written for LeviHan Week, Angstober 2020. Prompt: Silence/Screams

Status: Done (Oneshot)

Vulnerabilities (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Slight AU! Although Levi is humanity's strongest soldier in the battlefield, his rough childhood had left him weaker and more vulnerable to illness. Levi had always taken measures to prevent sickness nit anyone who has ever been close to him caught wind on it anyway. A series of oneshots throughout the story focusing on Levi's chronic weakness and others taking care of him.

Status: Sporadic updates depending on mood, not yet posted on ff and tumblr

Big Hero Six

Deal with the Devil  (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

When mourning becomes too much for him, Hiro finds himself resorting to prayers and deals to bring back the brother he lost. The devil may have had pity on him but he never promised to let Hiro go unscathed.

Status: WIP, on hold, probably could get back to it just need to rewatch the movie, not yet completely posted on AO3 and tumblr

Fatal Flaw  (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Grieving may be a long and painful process but in time most people do recover. For Hiro Hamada though something probably went wrong along the way because from what Aunt Cass could see, he was moving on yet at the same time, he wasn't.

Status: WIP, abandoned, completely forgot what I was planning, not yet posted on tumblr 

Coco

Dares, Pranks and Curses (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Written for the Coco Valentines Fanwork Exchange. The night of Dia de Los Muertos, Miguel ends up staying out late to play a little game with his friends in the cemetery. Hector, Imelda and Miguel reunite through a game of Ouija.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not yet posted on ff and tumblr

Somewhere between Life and Death (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Dia de los Muertos isn't the only day the dead can visit the living. Miguel is reunited with Hector, Imelda and his other relatives from the other side but in one of the worst ways possible and he finds himself caught in a struggle between life and death.

Status: WIP 9/20, on hold, timeline is complete just need to get it written, need to fix tumblr tags

Crossovers

Quest for Origin: Ranger’s Apprentice x Percy Jackson (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

A young boy gets washed up on the shore of Camp Half Blood with no memories whatsoever of his life before. How did he end up there? Is it all just a coincidence? Or is it a message from the Gods? What's with his uncanny skill with the bow?

Status: On Hold (25/35), timeline complete, will probably continue with PJO TV show comes out, not yet posted on ff and tumblr

Kingdom Hearts

Coded Connection  (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Post KH3. If Kairi keeps Sora's memory alive, he'll eventually call out to her right? Then it will be her turn to find him, hold him and never let go.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not yet posted on tumblr and ff

Kuroko no Basuke

Yellow, Red, Green, Blue and Purple  (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Collab with friend back in high school. All Kise wanted to do was complete one more level of Flow Free before practice starts. When you have teammates as lazy, eccentric, hyperactive, sociopathic or invisible as the Generation of Miracles though, sometimes the things that sound the simplest, can be the hardest to do. Crackfic

Status: Done (Oneshot), not yet posted on tumblr

Ranger’s Apprentice

Being a Ranger’s Wife  (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

As Will leaves on a suicide mission, Alyss ponders on her choice to have married him.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not yet posted on tumblr or AO3

Danger Zone (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Rangers are human. Humans make mistakes. The difference though between an ordinary human and a ranger is the consequences they'll eventually face for past mistakes. Will should have known that for rangers, this included being on the run from an angry group of pirates with his silver oakleaf on the line.

Status: Probably Abandoned, first fanfic I have ever written lmao, completely forgot where I was going with this, not yet posted on tumblr or ffn.

Farmer’s Apprentice  (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Will lied to Mr. Chubb about stealing from the kitchen years ago. How did that small decision change the course of the young boy's life? AU Crack fic.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not yet posted on tumblr or AO3

Masters, Apprentices and Sons (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Gilan accepts Morgarath's challenge in the Plains of Uthal and Halt is left to care for his apprentice in the aftermath of the battle. Halt wonders why it took him this long to realize that there was no fine line between an apprentice and a son.

Status: WIP. I have written out all the way until chapter 5 but I completely lost the files. I don’t know if my current frustration will allow me to continue this.

The Fall of a Hero  (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Will had fallen from his place as one of the top rangers in the corps and one of the top figures in Araluen and it's up to his friends to help pull him back up. Recovery Fic.

Status: WIP, timeline not written, could probably still continue this, just need to catch up to the series

Prince of Tennis

A Break from Ingenuity  (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Timing is everything. Fuji gets his timing wrong, makes one misstep then finds himself facing a career ending injury. Maybe, that's when everyone will realize that he's human too.

Status: WIP. Will probs continue if new POT content comes out.

Yuri on Ice

Surprises  (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

With all the stress piling up for the Japanese National Championship and more importantly, the World Championship, one can expect an athlete to get injured. To have the coach be the one struck by a career ending injury during practice is another story. That's exactly how Victor surprised the crowd though, maybe for the last time.

Status: WIP (3/?), not yet posted on tumblr

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Doyenne ~ Part 7 (Final Chapter)

Warnings: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy needs help from one of Birmingham’s most powerful underground gangs, the Hemlock Angels. Little does he know, he’s not the king of Birmingham after all.

Warnings: Murder, Illegal stuff (Is this even a warning for this show? Everything’s illegal) 

Word Count: 5867

A/N: Ahh! The last chapter!!! As I go back and re-read the last few chapters, I’m nervous Tommy has been a little OOC (I hadn’t watched the show in a few weeks). But oh well! Thank you for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy the finale! 

A/N 2: Also, all the monetary references have been adjusted for inflation. I think I forgot to mention it before. But, yeah. So 400 pounds was worth much more than 400 pounds now. 

___________________________________

Fuck Thomas Shelby. 

Fuck him and the way he treated everyone around him as if they were beneath him. Fuck him and the way he acted like people were expendable. Fuck him and the way he viewed everyone as pawns in his own overlord game of chess. Fuck him and the way he just blatantly called you out. Fuck him and the way he made you crave him.

Your encounter with him had been fulfilling in ways you hadn’t expected but it had also infuriated you, bringing back memories you’d struggled to suppress for the last two years. Memories brought out emotion and emotion was vulnerability and you had no room for that. But since Tommy had planted the seeds of memory in your mind, all you could do was feel the hidden rage and heartache you’d been concealing since Mason had screwed you over. 

Mason had been your lover years ago as the Hemlock Angels grew. He was a poor boy desperate for money and you were a poor entrepreneur desperate for people willing to do illegal work. A romance very quickly blossomed and he was the first and only man you could say you ever truly loved. You’re whole heart and soul was invested in him. 

He was tall and handsome with auburn hair that was slicked back on top but shook loose when he’d get into something he was doing - whether it was working hard loading crates, beating someone up who tried to cross you guys, or making love to you. He had a light smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose that gave his otherwise chiseled and angular face a soft touch. Toned muscles rippled across his perfect body and- 

Even today, after all this time, after all he’d done, you still felt love for him and you hated yourself for it. Once the Hemlock Angels took off as a whiskey exporter (though still a young and admittedly sloppy version of your current business in retrospect), he’d been caught at the docks with the cargo. He and the crates were seized by police and, with the promise of a very handsome monetary reward and legal immunity, he’d given the police the address of your distillery. Thankfully, you weren’t there when it had been raided but you lost everything you’d worked for because of him. ₤400 was worth your love and life’s work apparently. He took the money and ran off to Switzerland to avoid being drafted and lived off his money, leaving you to rebuild your empire. 

The betrayal had destroyed you, left you a complete shell of a person, incapable of trusting others, especially men. But it had allowed you to grow the Hemlock Angels. To avoid the pain, you threw yourself into rebuilding the distillery and developing more foolproof protocols for business operation. Never again would you make the mistake of allowing someone to double-cross you. It was why you conducted your business quietly, even quieter than, say, Alfie Solomons, who was also fairly underground as these sorts of businesses were concerned. 

Thomas Shelby made you feel things that Mason had made you feel and it terrified you to no end. The impending doom of repeated history loomed over you heavily, suffocating you and ripping your ability to breathe away. But it was a mistake that you kept feeling yourself drawn to making. 

Friday night had come around quickly and you found yourself awaiting Tommy in your main office yet again. The last thing that you wanted was to see him in this room, the ghost of his touch coming to haunt your skin. But no. This needed to happen here because meeting him on his turf gave him the upper hand. And now that Jameson and Brandon, the only thing you’d asked for in return for your work, had been killed, this was feeling more and more like a free favor. You refused to stake anything more than you already had on a free favor. 

“Y/N, Thomas Shelby is here for you.” Rita announced, peeking her head through the crack in the office door. You stiffened up, trying to play it off as just sitting up straighter but your prodege must have seen straight through you because she gave you a knowing glare. 

“See him in. Thank you.” Straight-forward, professional, and impersonal. That was going to be your new tactic. No more of the games you’d attempted to play with him, the same games that you were usually able to play successfully with everyone else. No more hot and cold, nice then firm. Tommy was able to worm his way through the small cracks of your professional wall to see the parts of even yourself that you tried to hide and that vulnerability stopped here. 

“Mr. Shelby,” You nodded in acknowledgement when he entered your office and you gestured to the chair across from you. Tommy’s eyes flashed with a hint of confusion. The entire energy of this interaction felt off already but nonetheless, he followed your gesture and sat down. 

You reached down and grabbed a leather bag from beneath your desk, dropping it on the table. Reaching up, you clicked the little locks on top open and pulled the material appart, revealing thousands of American bills, “Here is the final installment of the money. All the same as the first.” 

Tommy peeked into the bag, just to ensure that the money was in fact there. He lifted out a stack and flipped through them. They all appeared to be identical both to each other and to the last bag and if he hadn't known any better, he would think they were all legitimate notes. 

You leaned back and watched as he inspected the money, sure that he’d be satisfied with the work, before continuing, “There is a shipment going out to America tomorrow night. I need to know what it is that you’re shipping so I can be sure to leave enough room onboard.” 

The man shook his head, “I can’t tell you what it is that we’re shipping.”

“Then I can’t help you anymore.” You stated matter-of-factly, crossing your arms, “I need to know what I’m sticking my neck out for.” 

“Like I stuck my neck out for you?” 

“Yes.” Your eyes locked with his, refusing to back down or allow him to guilt trip you. 

Tommy sighed, “It’s snow.” 

Your eyebrow raised in surprise, “Didn’t have you pegged for a drug lord.” You actually were almost impressed. The man had range. 

“Just dabbling as you would put it,” he responded vaguely. 

So cocaine… It wasn’t the worst of the possibilities that you’d imagined. Ideas of dismembered body disposal or massive amounts of firearms or a million other worse things had occurred to you as possibilities. Of course, it depended on how much as well. “What’re the dimensions of the shipment?” 

“Half a cubic meter.” 

“Half a cubic fucking meter?!” You exclaimed, nearly choking on air, “How the hell did you come into that much blow?” 

Tommy put his hand up, “Now that I can’t tell you.” 

You nodded, “Alright, alright. I can respect that. A half cubic meter is an easy accommodation. Now, for the game plan…” 

Shipment days were anxiety producing enough as it was when you weren’t shipping thousands of pounds worth of cocaine along with it but tonight, your heart felt like it was in your throat. “Billy said the crates are all loaded at the distillery.” Rita announced to you, holding one ear to the receiving end of the phone and covering the mouthpiece with her hand. You finished loading your gun at the kitchen table inside of your shared house, slipping each bullet one by one into their slots with experienced skill.

“Good. Tell him we’ll meet him at the factory in forty-five minutes.” With a final spin of the chamber - a ritual you’d developed after telling yourself (with no real evidence) that it was good luck years ago - you clicked the metal pieces together and slid it into the holster at your side. 

“Forty five minutes? It’s only twenty minutes outside of town.” Rita questioned once she’d hung up the phone after relaying the information. 

You loaded Rita’s gun for her while you spoke and slid it across the table to her, “We are picking up Thomas and his brother Arthur to take them to the factory to load up their cargo.” 

She caught the gun and looked at you with wide cautious eyes, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Taking the Shelbys to the factory?” 

You sighed a knowing breath, “Yeah, I know. But he insisted that he remain in possession of the goods for as long as possible.” 

Rita’s face scrunched, “He knows he’s gonna have to relinquish possession at some point, right? What is he even shipping?” She slipped the gun into the pocket of her skirt. 

“Snow.” You confided with an impressed chuckle. 

She nearly snorted, “Really? Didn’t have him pegged for a drug lord.” 

A shocked laugh left your lips, “That’s what I said!”

Ten minutes later, you pulled up to the shipping yard that Tommy had said he’d be at with the cocaine and sure enough, there he was standing beside Arthur, both with cigarettes between their lips as they waited. In the shine of your headlights, you saw them both look over at you and move to pick up a wooden crate that was on the ground alongside an old military canvas bag. “Good evening, Y/N.” Tommy greeted politely once your tires came to a halt on the crunching gravel. 

“Good evening. This is it?” You confirmed once you got out of the car, pointing at the crate and bag full of money on the ground. 

He nodded, “Yes, this is it.” 

“Alright, we’ll just load those in the back seat for now,” You pointed back over your shoulder towards the black automobile behind you, “You must be Arthur. It’s nice to officially meet you. This is my right hand lady, Rita.” You introduced, first shaking his hand and then moving so Rita could as well. 

“Pleasure.” Arthur nodded to you both. 

“Well, should we get going?” 

Right on time, you arrived at the old factory you were meeting Billy, the man in charge of transport at the distillery, at. The factory was inconveniently located, even in its prime, set twenty minutes out of town, and had been abandoned since at least the 1880’s following a massive fire that had totally destroyed the structure and killed dozens of working men. The ghost stories surrounding it had kept it from ever being rebuilt and it had been abandoned for nearly half a century since, which now made it the perfect place for you to conduct business. 

“What the hell are we doin’ all the way out here?” Arthur asked when the car pulled up to the building. There had been nothing for miles and even now there was just your car and a large truck. 

After turning off the engine, you got out, the other three people in the car following, “I know it doesn’t look like… well… anything really. But trust me, this has worked well for us over the years.” 

“There’s no ports, no railroad stop. We had to take a dirt road to get here. How do you even move goods from this point?” Arthur questioned, skeptically. You could almost feel him reaching for his gun, convinced they were being ambushed or something and maybe, if you hadn’t been so eager to get this deal over with so you could stop whatever the hell was going on with Tommy, you would have dragged this out and messed with them a little bit. 

You pointed to the opposite side of the large factory - or what was left of it at least, “You can’t see it from here at night but there’s an old railroad track just on the other side of that wall. The train only comes through once every two weeks or so but thankfully it’s usually the same conductor. A few pounds buys us an unscheduled stop on his trips down to Gloucester where they load everything up onto a cargo ship and haul it off to America.” 

You were proud of your little system you’d developed. It had allowed you to grow into an international exporter and was the main source of your success. Tommy had seemed impressed last night when you developed the plan and explained everything to him then and now Arthur seemed to match his affections. 

The loud closing of a door drew all of your attention to the large truck. Billy, a stout, acne scarred man in his late forties, walked towards your group from the driver’s side of the truck. “Y/N! Will said the train is runnin’ a little late but should be ‘ere by 10:30.” He informed you in his thick Irish accent once he made it to you guys. A few other of your men jumped out of the passenger side but hung around the truck instead of approaching. 

Rita flipped out her pocket watch and checked the time, “We got about fifteen minutes then.” 

The next fifteen minutes were passed with pleasantries and conversation. Arthur never quite let his guard down and seemed on edge but had relaxed significantly. Honestly, you had as well. Something about tonight felt different than usual. There wasn’t the constant paranoia that the Shelbys were out to double cross you tonight you. Perhaps it was a mistake but, for once, you felt almost comfortable in his presence. 

The train came by right at 10:30, it’s crawling pace coming to a screeching halt with a loud hiss of steam. Billy went up to one of the old metal train cars and undid the locks. The door was slid open to reveal an empty space. “Alrighty, we’ll just move the boxes from the truck to here and then we’ll be on our way.” 

The other men who chose to stay by the truck had already lifted the canvas cover off the top and were carrying huge crates one by one, full with copious bottles of your illegal whiskey, to fill the train car. You stood off to the side with Rita, Thomas, and Arthur while your men worked, waiting patiently as they unloaded the truck. 

“Alright, Mr. Shelby. We have the space for your cargo now.” Billy invited, hands outstretched to take what Tommy had to ship. You noticed a nervous glance from the crate to Billy’s hands from Arthur. 

Tommy at least pretended that he trusted Billy, “Y/N told me that you travel with the shipment all the way to America,” He took out a picture from his pocket, “This is the man that will be awaiting your arrival there. Pass the goods off to him and only him, understand?” 

Billy nodded, inspecting the picture of the man before folding it into his coat, “Yes, sir.” 

Finally, Arthur relinquished possession of the cocaine to your man and he set it carefully on one of your boxes. After packing the duffel bag full of money, Billy hopped inside and the door was slid shut. 

The other men took the truck back to the distillery and you turned to Tommy, “I’ll call you when I get the call that it’s arrived in America. It usually takes between seven to ten days, depending on the weather.” 

 “Thank you. Perhaps, we could get a drink to celebrate.” He suggested as if you hadn’t had sex out of spite the other night. 

“What is there to celebrate?” You avoided the invitation. 

He gestured around, “A successful business transaction?”

You cocked an eyebrow at him, “I feel like you’d use anything as an excuse to drink. I have a hunch whiskey flows through your veins in place of blood.” 

He shrugged, “Nobody needs an excuse to drink.” 

“Fair point.” Internally, you smacked yourself but you ended up nodding a reluctant agreement, “Alright, one drink.” 

Tommy gave you a satisfied look that could have almost resembled a smile, “But this time I want to show you one of my establishments.” 

Thankfully, Tommy had agreed to your suggestion of Arthur and Rita joining the pair of you as well, using them as a buffer to ensure no other mistakes were made with the man who seemed to be your kryptonite. You’d taken everyone to the Garrison, a pub that you’d known to be under the control of the Peaky Blinders for the last several years, right after all the work at the factory had been finished. 

Tommy held the door for you as you passed through, Arthur taking over to hold it for Rita. Wordlessly, Tommy held up four fingers before ushering you away to a small booth in the back, along with his brother and Rita. All four of you slid along the cushion seats, making small talk yet again. Thankfully, now, after having been around each other for the last few hours, it was much less awkward and everyone was open to more conversation than initially. 

Arthur excused himself after a moment and when a poker game opened up between some of the other Blinders, Rita, an secret card shark, disappeared to swindle some poor, unsuspecting men of a few pounds. You and Tommy found yourselves alone, exactly what you’d hoped to avoid. 

“Sure she should be playing?” Tommy pointed over to Rita was his mostly empty glass of whiskey. You followed his gaze to see her with a disappointed look, one of the guys sliding his hand to take what you assumed were her chips. 

You snorted, “Oh, I’m sure. It’s your boys that should be looked after. Give ‘em a few more rounds. She’ll be leaving with most of their money.” 

Tommy almost smiled and nodded, “Aye,” He paused before beginning again, “Y’know, I can’t help but feel a little guilty. You helped us out with a lot and you didn’t exactly get your end of the bargain.” 

You inhaled deeply and looked away from him, bringing back up that professional front that you’d felt slowly slipping away throughout the night, “It happens sometimes I suppose. I thought about asking for more but a deal’s a deal and unlike some others, I don’t like to change my conditions once they’ve been agreed upon.” 

“And what is it that you would have asked for had you been one to change deals?” He leaned forward, listening intently to your next words. 

“Is Thomas Shelby feeling guilty for taking more than he gave?” You asked in shock, “I wouldn’t even do that.” Your tone quickly became jestful. “No, I’m only joking. You did end up coming to the rescue the other day which is more than others would have done.” 

Instead of seeming satisfied with your answer, though, he only raised his eyebrows and repeated the question, “What would you ask for?” 

Something told you that he was offering you new circumstances, an extra favor. Who did that? In this line of work, who knew what kind of horrible request would be made? 

What did you want? It was a good question. But did you have to answer honestly? Because an honest answer might jeopardize your life’s work and maybe even your life itself with some people. Tommy hadn’t double crossed you thus far though… 

After a long pause, you licked your lips, “A deal.” 

“Another deal?” He questioned curiously. 

You nodded, a small smirk on your face, “Yes. A deal between the Peaky Blinders and the Hemlock Angels. Business partners and an agreement to aid each other when needed. Neither of us offer the same services or sell the same goods, with the exception of the Garrison and my little establishment, so there’s no need to worry about losing business.” 

Tommy cocked an eyebrow, “I thought you didn’t trust me. A double crosser, I believe you called me when we first met?”

“I said that’s what other people had called you.” You defended, remembering your first interaction well. “But I must be honest, I had a hunch they were correct.” 

“Then why trust me now?” 

“I don’t,” You answered short and honest, “But I want to despite everything telling me not to. I figure this way, I can keep an eye on you.” You threatened in a joking tone, although you really weren’t joking all that much. As the saying goes, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Or, more fittingly for your scenario, keep your friends close and your acquaintance/ occasional hook up/ business partner who might backstab you closer. 

It took only a few moments for Tommy to weigh out the decision before nodding, “Alright, a deal then.” 

You raised your glass to him and he mirrored the action, a slight ting as your glasses tapped against each other in a celebration of a new alliance. The next twenty minutes or so was full of small talk, something that Tommy never found himself doing with anyone, so why was it so easy with you? Every now and then, there’s be grumbles of anger from the table playing poker as new opponents who insisted they could beat Rita lost a larger and larger fortune with each round. 

A quiet ding as the door opened made you twist your neck, curiously checking to see who came in. Then your heart stopped. “Fuck-” Your heart was caught in your throat and you wanted to vomit. 

Mason. 

He looked almost identical to how he did two years ago, just with a few more age lines. Time had been less kind to him than it had to you. He entered the room with a large casual air, surely unknowing of your presence. 

Tommy noticed your sudden panic when you uncharacteristically sunk into the the booth, hiding your face from the red-headed man who had entered the pub, “So that’s the man, eh?” 

You covered your face which had turned a shade somewhere between pink with embarrassment and red from rage. But nevertheless, you nodded, still side eyeing Mason from between your fingers as he ordered a glass of gin. 

“Gin?” Tommy noticed judgmentally, “Drinks like a woman.” 

Normally, under any other circumstances, you would have made some snarky comment about using your gender as an insult but you appreciated the effort to insult this man he’d never met, simply because he’d wronged you. “So what happened?” He inquired. 

You sighed, finally sitting up straight, just keeping your eyes on the table, “My ex. We were practically on the verge of marriage. He helped me start up the Hemlock Angles before he sold us out to the cops for a few hundred pounds. Ruined us for months.” 

Tommy listened to the story intently, watching the man out of the corner of his eye and quickly noticing that he seemed to have noticed your presence. At first, he glanced over nervously towards you before deciding to approach, a decision that Tommy had a hunch was the wrong one. 

“Four o’clock.” Tommy mumbled over the rim of his glass. Your eyes immediately shot to four o’clock to see Mason walking over, all too confident for your liking, a confidence you had every intention of destroying. 

“Y/-” He began, only getting half way through your name before you interrupted. 

“You have a lot of fucking nerve showing your face ‘round here.” You hissed, venom dripping from every word.

Mason put his hands up in defense. Those same hands that used to be calloused from work and you’d seen covered in blood looked as if they hadn’t so much as lifted a piece of wood in months. “I didn’t come looking for a fight. Just wanted to see how you were doing.” 

“You’re lucky I don’t shoot you dead where you stand right now you pathetic sack of shit.” Tommy sat back and watched as you destroyed this man with your words and he could only imagine the other stories about him you had. Your viper tongue had him on edge in the best possible ways. 

“I-” 

“No. You’re nothing.” You interrupted. 

He sighed, “I wanted to say I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for what I did! I miss us. I miss you.” He reached down, trying to take your hand, but you snatched it away. He looked down and eyed Tommy for half a second, trying to determine whether your relationship was romantic or platonic. 

You laughed a sadistic laugh, “You’re not sorry and you don’t miss me. You ran out of money didn’t you? Well I hate to tell you but you disappearing was the best fucking thing that ever happened to me. I run Birmingham now and it’s all thanks to you. Now get the fuck out of my city.” 

Then for a second, there was a brief flash of danger in his eyes, that same danger that you’d fallen in love with. But this time, that anger was directed at you. His fist slammed down hard on the table in front of you, just barely missing your face, but you didn’t even flinch, “Listen here,-” 

“She said fuck off, mate.” Tommy interjected finally. Both of you looked over at him and you could’ve sworn you almost forgot he was here. 

Mason snorted, “‘N who the hell are you?” 

“It doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is that you respect her wishes and kindly fuck off.” Tommy’s voice was calm, much calmer than yours, but still holding a very sincere threat. 

Mason looked between the two of you and chuckled as if he’d been the one who was wronged in all of this before turning away, like he was trying to laugh it off nonchalantly. All of a sudden, he drew his arm back and began to swing his down onto Tommy. Before the blow could connect, you had your pistol out in a second and pulled the trigger. 

The loud bang drew several startled yells from around the bar and everything got quiet as they looked at your booth to see Mason’s body crumble face first on top of the table, lifeless. When the realization of what you’d done hit you, your mouth fell open in shock. “Holy shit…” You whispered to yourself. 

Tommy had jumped when the gunshot went off but now looked just as surprised as you did to see Mason lying dead across the table between you, “I really didn’t think you had it in you.” He really didn’t. Sure, he’d seen you shoot Sabini’s men but the way you looked at and talked about Mason, he assumed it was one of those loves you’d never be able to harm no matter the damage they’d caused to you. But, boy, was he blissfully surprised. 

All the Blinders in the building, including two of the Shelby brothers, Finn and Arthur, jumped up, guns pointed and ready to take down the attacker. Tommy held up his hand, “It’s alright, boys! Hold your fire!” 

You stood up to avoid the blood that was now dripping off the table and onto where you sat, “‘m sorry.” You apologized for the mess but Tommy shook his head. 

“Don’t be. He looked like he had it comin’.” With a wave of his hand, a few Blinders that you didn’t know the names of stood up from their seats around the poker table and walked up, lifting the body off the table. You weren’t quite sure what to do or say. You’d actually shot him. You killed Mason. He wasn’t the first person you’d killed but that didn’t mean that you enjoyed doing it. Unless it was in a moment of grave danger, watching the life drain from someone’s eyes as they crumpled into a bloody heap never ceased to make you momentarily sick, thoughts of the family you may have ripped apart destroying you. 

But you knew Mason didn’t have any family. The only person you’d hurt was him. You’d freed yourself. 

You looked up at him as he now stood beside you and saw that he was gazing down at the body and then glanced over to you, nothing but pure impressed admiration on his face.  

Tommy liked that you were able to take care of yourself and that you spoke honestly. It made him feel like perhaps this deal that you two had struck up would prove to be beneficial and trust based and that, just maybe, if things went well, perhaps the two of you could build your own empire together. 

Tommy had always been rather daft (or perhaps was that he just didn’t care) when it came to other people’s emotions and he was well aware of this flaw. But now, it was like he could see every inch of confliction on your face. “You alright?” He asked when he’d noticed your eyes hadn’t left the body, even when the men’s forms had covered it. 

His voice shook you out of your daze and you blinked yourself into clarity, “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.” You turned away from the table to face the open room of the bar. Rita stood at the table, her chair tipped over on the ground behind her. She looked from you to Mason’s body that was being carried out back and back to you with a look of shock plastered on her face. The only other person who knew as much as you did about that situation was her. 

You walked up to the bar and threw a few coins on the bar, “I don’t care what it is, just make it strong.” 

“You don’t have to pay.” Tommy insisted but you ignored him, leaving the coins on the bar and taking the mystery drink that had been poured. Walking out the front door, Tommy trailed close behind.  

Finally, you parked yourself against the outer wall of the Garrison and downed the whole glass in one go, the fiery liquid burning a trail down your throat. Whatever the drink was, you had no idea. You set the glass down on the ground and lit a cigarette to replace the glass rim. 

Nobody spoke for a moment, until a small group of cops came running by. You tried your hardest to look innocent as they stopped and eye Tommy knowingly. “Tommy-” One of them started in a thick cockney accent. 

Tommy shook his head and pointed down the road, “Wasn’t us this time. Came from down the street.” 

It was clear from the looks on all three of the cops' faces that none of them believed a word that came out of his mouth but they weren’t about to cross Thomas Shelby. “There was a bit of a commotion from up there earlier before the shot.” You tried to reinforce the lie as smoothly and believably as possible. 

The cop looked a little more convinced when you agreed with Tommy and nodded before the trio ran off down the road looking for another gunman. This exact situation was why you didn’t get involved with the cops because they’re not going to believe you when you need to lie about something like this. 

As time passed, you became more calm, “I really am sorry about this, Tommy.” 

“I’ve never had a woman shoot someone ‘cause I was ‘bout to be punched. It was quite attractive, I can’t lie.” Tommy lit a cigarette as well, standing beside you, almost blocking the activity of the street in what seemed like an attempt to protect you.

A smile cracked on your face when you chuckled a little, the constant matter-of-factness of his tone making almost everything he said sound like business, even when he was complimenting you, “Well, like you said, it had been a long time coming.” 

You felt like you were being dramatic. Wasn’t killing just part of this gig afterall? “Y’know, I swear I can usually shoot someone without breaking down.” You tried to defend yourself with a weak laugh. 

Tommy shook his head, “It’s not always easy, I know. My hands get the shakes at night. Just because it’s part of the deal doesn’t mean you have to enjoy it.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “You know, I haven’t felt the way I feel around you in a long time.” 

His confession was simple and, while a small part of you wanted to smack him for his terrible timing, a larger part of you felt the same way. “Neither have I. I’m used to being airtight but you make me weak… and I hate it.” You looked away from him, avoiding his deep, knowing eyes. 

“Whoever said that this had to be weakness?” He inquired, a hand running along your arm. 

A scoff left your lips as you rolled your eyes, “And you don’t believe that romance is weakness?” It wasn’t until the words left your mouth that you remembered he’d lost Grace and a pang of guilt struck your chest for bringing up the memory. But you also weren’t about to revoke the question. It just further illustrated your fear.

Tommy looked at the ground a for moment, remembering what it was like to hold the love of his life in his arms as she died, knowing it was fault, and thinking about how it felt to relive that pain every time he looked at a portrait of her or his own son. 

Finally, he nodded, “We’ve both lost people we loved but we also still have people we care about, whether they’re family or friends. A lesson that’s been very difficult for me to learn over the last decade or so is that it is impossible to completely rid yourself of all weaknesses.” 

Again, an almost humorous comment coming from Thomas Shelby, who everyone had known to be as secure and weakness-free as you were. You thought about his words, though, and tried to convince yourself that this was a bad idea - that an alliance and romance with Thomas Shelby was only sure to blow up eventually. 

“So?” He urged, his voice low and gravelly, after a few moments of silence. 

Silently, you found yourself trailing your eyes from his chest that was straight ahead up to his lips and then to his eyes. You took just a step closer, closing the already thin gap between the two of you and placed your hand around his neck, slowly coming to lean up on your toes. The movement was slow, giving him more than enough time to protest or pull away from you but he didn’t. 

Tommy’s hand lightly landed itself on your hip and he leaned down, meeting your lips in the middle. Unlike the last time your lips had met, this was soft and gentle, a side of Tommy that you had no idea even existed anymore. 

The two of you stayed like that for a while before finally parting your lips. Your faces still rested just beside each other’s, bodies close enough to feel the other’s warmth through the cool night. Your eyes slid open finally to see Tommy already looking down at you, waiting to see if this was a kiss of new beginnings or of closure. 

“Don’t make me regret risking everything for you.”

_________

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The Wonders of Sleep - Chap 1/5  “Productive Night)

Summary: A bunch of oneshots on Virgil making sure the other sides sleep after long days of work and being busy. This time, Logan has worked until the next day and still refuses to sleep until a certain intervention stops him from getting more coffee.

Tw: trigger?? nO only SOFT RIGHTS, analogical, virgil, logan, nap, softness, domestic fluff. Fluff. Self care, trust, sleep, snuggles, cuddles, naps

 ao3 ! / next chapter .

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Story under the cut! (1326 Words)

Loud typing filled the air of the commons. Tips and traps were emitted by the consistently pestered keyboard as Logan was writing away at a first draft of logical facts that would end up woven into the latest script of yet another episode of the Sanders Sides series Thomathy had created.

 His unoccupied hand reached for the cup of coffee, his fingers wrapping around its handle. It was cream white. A colour fitting into basically any setting. This is why Logan appreciated it. No matter what or where, a good cream colour fit any occasion or location.

It definitely aligned with the rest of furniture Patton had asked Roman to put into their common space.

 When he brought the cup up to his lips, eyes still fixed on the illuminating screen, he stilled down. It was empty. While a bit of remaining smell of dark, unsweetened and bitter coffee greeted him, there was no replenishing liquid left to clear up his senses.

Not to speak of his expanding on his capacity to stay awake further.

 “How unfortunate”, he mumbled to himself as he placed the mug back onto the table and retreated his hand to finish typing up his section.

Finally.

He was not fully done but at least a part of it was ready to be send over to Roman.

 He closed his laptop, glancing over the time in the bottom left corner of the screen.

2:49 am

This was not exactly the prime time of productivity but he had yet to write a frame of safety measurements and otherwise logistic concerns for Roman to consider. It was just a list of things he had to bring up in a meeting with the others in order to make these short videos Thomas made, as well.

To be fair, it just made him remember “vines”. To Logan, these compilations of short sketches were nothing but “vines”. They had to be put into quotations as they were not actual vines such as the plants.

 He got u-.

No, he did not.

Instead of raising to his feet, Logan got somewhat stuck in the process. His butt barely left the soft couch but did not get any further. A certain amount of weight pushed him back down to his seat.

 How odd.

 Logan looked down, mug in his hand and nothing but an empty grab into air with his unoccupied fingers.

Apparently Virgil had placed himself onto his lap while he was immersed in work - not literally, of course, just mentally. It was another of these metaphorical expressions he had picked up.

 “Virgil, what are you doing here?”

 There was no answer.

Huh, strange. Virgil was usually more than fast to shoot back any retort but there was really nothing but silence, not even a flinch.

Any movement and sound were cancelled out.

 Logan squinted, leaning a bit over Virgil to look at his face. It was mostly covered in his bangs. Other than that, he was facing away from Logan, more towards the table with the laptop on it. He had not even realised the weight of a whole head and a pair of shoulders nestling on his lap.

Now there was Virgil and he could not get up to the coffee machine and make himself more coffee.

 “Virgil, please, this is highly unproductive.”

 Maybe it was one of these practical jokes Virgil explained to him? It was worth a “shot” to try and appeal to Virgil from blocking him.

 “This is highly unproductive. It is almost 3am, please let me continue on with my work. Anxiety? Are you ignoring me?” He stared into the closed yes he could see with his back arching a bit further. Virgil looked peaceful.

 They had accepted him a while ago and it had become more and more usual for him to come around and hang out with them despite him having enough after even a few minutes. It must have been due to a lack of consistent social interaction, Logan assumed, for now Virgil was more likely to stay even when a lot of them were together and actively engaging.

It was nice to have a calm person around, especially when Roman and Patton had especially intense days of being... an extra “handful”. Logan did not even know how to phrase it.

 He blinked.

 Now that he thought about it, the weight was sort of nice, maybe hindering him from getting more coffee and postponing his sleep further, yet still somewhat comforting.

It sounded odd but apparently, people sleep better with extra weight since it reduces anxiety and gives the body a feeling of comfort.

 “Virgil?”

 He did not want to wake up the other but he still called for him. It was another illogical action he found himself indulge in more and more.

Sometimes it felt as if the interactions he had with the others made him somewhat dense to sensible actions. Why would he say Virgil’s name for no reason? The idea of risking his sleep was rather bad, to be frank. Virgil needed sleep, it was also 3 am - since when was Virgil on his lap?

 When did Logan get his last coffee? He only remembered sitting down to start on his work in the evening and now it was very early in the morning.

 Well, he did still have a lot of work left to finish . . . Thomathy relied on him.

 “Virgil, please, I have work to do. I really need to keep going.”

 He looked down at the unmoving body and sighed.

 Nothing, not even a single reaction.

If Virgil was secretly awake, he was being rather persistent albeit rather calm about it. Usually, even the slightest bit of stress had him react intensely - which made sense considering he was the metaphysical embodiment of anxiety.

 “I have to finish. Roman and Patton will be lost without me and it will cause you more work to deal with, Virgil.”

 He glanced over the laptop and opened again.

If Virgil did not move, then he would work until he would pass ou-

 Wait.

 Exhausting himself until late into the night and even further meant that Thomathy had to be awake still, had to be awake because of him.

 Logan shoved his glasses up and rubbed his closed eyes. They were so warm.

He cleared his throat and opened up his mouth to speak to nobody in particular.

 “I.. I consider this a good time to catch up on my lost weeks of sleep as there is nothing better to do. Seeing as Virgil has fallen asleep on me”, he declared. Maybe he was addressing Virgil. He certainly was shutting down his idea laptop and putting it back into its respective bag.

 “Well, then. I will succumb to temporary nonsense for now - but only for as long as my mind needs to rest."

 His fingers pushed away the packed up laptop which nudged the empty coffee mug. Another hand wrapped around Virgil in the now completely dark room.

With the light of the laptop gone, only the faint lights in the kitchen (a sort of night light Patton had insisted on) illuminated the living-room a bit.

 Logan adjusted a bit and managed to eventually bring his legs around Virgil’s body and pull the other close to his chest before he buried them in a big blanket.

Props to Patton for keeping blankets in about any space this house knew. A freezing Morality was an inventive side, Logan noted down in appreciation.

 As he cuddled into the couch cushion, he wrapped his arms around Virgil, glasses abandoned on the coffee table.

  “Thanks for the reminder, Virgil. I really forgot how late it had gotten.”

 The logical side allowed himself to fall asleep to the regular rhythm of Virgil’s calm breathing. He could not see the curled up side smile but he knew for a fact that the other was less asleep than he pretended to be.

 One side down.

[phoenixrisesoncemore]

I was tagged by @wangxianbunnydoodles (oh my, this is long and you might regret it; also I don’t follow instructions well 😉). I tend not to be very good at these things (sorry to anyone else who has tagged me in these kinds of things before—this is a rare event happening mostly because I wanna talk about Tolkien books and ships) but here goes:

Top 3 Ships

I don’t actively ship characters that often. I’m not sure why that is. I do enjoy reading fic with pairings either canon or not, but I don’t often go “all in” on ships in most narratives I consume. There are notable exceptions (more than three but these are the three most recent—I have no idea how to identify my top ships):

WangXian (CQL). This is surely obvious from the current state of my blog, right? I blame The Untamed and its impossibly tender, only-subtextual-by-a-hair’s-breadth romance. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a show express ultimate devotion, deep affection, true appreciation, complete understanding (eventually), and the sheer *necessity of the other* between two people quite like this one has. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen two characters and desperately wanted them together and happy as much as I have these two, so bravo to the cast and crew for generating such second-hand devotion in me.

Silvergifting (Tolkien). This is all @thearrogantemu’s fault. I’d read some Silvergifting before I read These Gifts That You Have Given Me, mostly out of curiosity (some good stuff, too!), but I had never read any Tolkien fic that convinced me it was *true* (on many, many levels, though the ship level is the one pertinent to this post). In any canon-like universe this ship hurts, but in the Gifts universe it hurts the most; it hurts like Hell. It hurts in the way only razor-sharp, sorry-the-universe-works-this-way, oh-are-those-my-entrails-on-the-floor-I-didn’t-even-feel-the-knife tragedy can hurt. And it’s so convincing that it’s just...a fact now. Tolkien just forgot to tell us. So now I ship Silvergifting, but most deeply, specifically THAT Silvergifting. (Meanwhile, 14 year old me continues to look at *significantly* older me like I’m insane.)

ZeLink (Legend of Zelda). Deep down I’m still 12 years old and no amount of fine lines and wrinkles is going to change that. When is Breath of the Wild 2 coming out?

Last Song

I listen to soundtracks and bombastic and dramatic orchestral pieces much more often than I listen to what people mean when they say “songs,” and a significant chunk of the “songs” I listen to are from musicals/operas.

Earlier today it was Hanz Zimmer’s soundtrack to Dark Phoenix (don’t start me up on the continuing disappointment that Phoenix adaptations continue to be to me—you don’t want to hear it; even I don’t want to hear it).

Before that it was Barbra Streisand’s The Broadway Album. (I prefer her outer space cover of “Somewhere” to the actual thing. Fight me.)

Before that it was Carmina Burana (One of my favorite things ever was when we went to a live performance of Carmina Burana and a boy who couldn’t have been more than 7 years old sat in the aisle in front of us and head-banged enthusiastically through “O Fortuna.” It was so metal. You go, kid. You get it.).

Before that it was a splattering of Billy Joel hits with emphasis on “2000 Years”, “River of Dreams”, “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant”, “The Stranger”, and “Only the Good Die Young” (thanks to that outstanding WangXian interpretation!).

Of course the soundtracks to The Untamed/CQL have been on repeat for weeks around here, particularly every single iteration of “WuJi” and the flute-heavy instrumental pieces (man, those are good!).

Not long ago I had Sarah Brightman’s covers of “Figlio Perduto” from La Luna and “Glosoli” and “One Day Like This” from Dreamchaser burning through my iPhone battery (yes, I like popera).

Enya, and especially Shepherd Moons and The Track Which Shall Not Be Named has been on repeat a lot.

Last Movie

I don’t sit down to watch movies that often any more. It just takes too much stillness and undivided attention and more resistance to multi-tasking than I have. The actual last movie that I watched (in a “have it on on another screen while I work” kind of way) was Raiders of the Lost Ark, which, of course, I’ve seen umpteen times and which followed a similar rewatch of the Back to the Future trilogy. The last movie I watched completely without distraction was Book Smart; I don’t watch comedies very often, but I really enjoyed it in an “OMG, I can totally relate to this” kind of way (except for the class president thing—that would have required that I interact with other people my own age and also not be homeschooled). Before that I think it was the Tolkien biopic. Man, I still haven’t written anything about that.

Currently Reading (in order of when I started them)

Oh dear.

The Familiar: part 1, Mark Z Danielewski. *sigh* For as much as I think Danielewski is brilliant and House of Leaves is one of my favorite books ever, I’ve just not been able to get into much of his other work. It’s universally a time and energy investment to penetrate and puzzle through, and I just don’t have as much of that as I used to. House of Leaves makes that investment worth it from early on and is absolutely a page-turner once you settle in, but other than The Fifty Year Sword I’ve just not been able to get into the rest of his work. The Familiar: part 1 is supposed to be the first in a 26 part series which is currently halted at part 4, I think. Without a guarantee of all parts ever being published, I don’t think I’m ready to invest more time into part 1 and may end up abandoning it, unfortunately.

History of The Hobbit, Douglas Anderson. Anderson did what Christopher didn’t and gave The Hobbit the HoMe treatment (if a bit less literal and opaque in format). It’s fascinating (I mean, there’s the Beren and Luthien name drop you were not expecting right there in the first draft), but reading essentially the same passages with only small changes over and over can be a slog, so reading it has been an ongoing project for over a year now.

Splintered Light: Logos and Language in Tolkien’s World, Verlyn Fleiger. This is Fleiger’s look at Tolkien’s Middle-earth in light of his association with Owen Barfield. Particularly, she is examining Tolkien’s work in conjunction with Barfield’s Poetic Diction and his thoughts on language and meaning. I have not read Poetic Diction, but I probably will now since it apparently addresses language formation as related to the origin of human consciousness which is SO up my alley.

New Seeds of Contemplation, Thomas Merton. My late sister-in-law had a masters in theology from Notre Dame and became a huge Merton fan. Meanwhile, my best friend actually spent a weekend retreat at The Abbey of Gethsemani. Between hearing about him from the two of them, I developed an interest in Merton. I happened to read “Moral Theology of the Devil” a couple of years ago. It was one of the most illuminating theological things I have read and deeply inspired my own Tolkien fic-writing (let’s just say the progress there is otherwise slow). This book is a collection of pieces which happens to contain that piece, and I’ve been skipping around through it for a while now.

The Lord of the Rings reread (Tolkien, obviously). I hate this, but I am so deep in so many critical Tolkien books that I’ve not had the chance to really sit down and relax into my reread for months and months and will likely just end up starting over. Plus I want to read it concurrently with the next entry in this list and the next entry is taking longer to get through because of its format. That entry being:

The Lord of the the Rings: A Reader’s Companion, Hammond and Scull. This is a treasure trove of data and insights for those really wanting to dig critically-historically into The Lord of the Rings on a chapter-by-chapter, passage-by-passage basis. The only issue with it is that jumping back and forth between the two (as you have to: this is a reference book) tends to kill the mood of The Lord of the Rings when read as it’s meant to be read: for enjoyment!

The Power of Limits: Proportional Harmonies in Nature, Art, and Architecture, Gyorgy Doczi. This has been an ongoing read here and there since Christmas, especially as I work on two personal projects.

The Gospel in a Pluralist Society, Lesslie Newbigin. To be honest I don’t think I am going to finish this one. I like a few of the things he says, things I think are truthful and which need to be confronted in American Christian culture in particular, but it’s just too much Calvin for my taste, too many assumptions I do not share being the heretic that I am, and I spend too much time anger-notating about theology to read it with grace.

In Full Measure I Return to You, thearrogantemu. This is a reread of the (relatively) happy AU fic for my most favoritest Tolkien fic (Gifts), but I’ve put my reread on hold while I finish one of the two projects, after which I am diving in and screw the rest of this list for the time being.

Food Craving

Sushi. My kingdom for some good sushi. I’ve only had sushi once since we got back from NY and while it was the best sushi I have had locally IT WAS NOT OMAKASE AT SUSHI NOZ. It also didn’t require a personal loan to pay for, but *shrug* I’m spoiled now and will forever crave what I can no longer have.

People I’d Like To Get To Know Better

I hate tagging people in these things because I’m awkward and shy and do them so rarely myself that it feels hypocritical for me to ask it of others. That being said: if you’re a follower of my blog and you want to do this, please do! And please tag me! I’d love to get to know more about you 😊.

[michelles-garden-of-evil]

Episode 35 Review: In Which Matt Calls Out Jean Paul

{ Not available on YouTube }

{ Synopses: Debby Graham | Bryan Gruszka }

{ Screencaps }

Welcome back to Maljardin, the beautiful tropical “paradise” that is, in reality, a deadly prison for the guests of Jean Paul Desmond and his demonic lookalike ancestor Jacques Eloi des Mondes. Tensions mount as more and more characters realize that the island’s multimillionaire owner god refuses to let them escape and pushes for a séance in order to contact his late wife. One, Reverend Matthew Dawson, ex-minister and current stalker of one Holly Marshall, has reached the breaking point and now dares challenge Jean Paul.

Now, I know that I briefly compared and contrasted Matt with Reverend Trask (specifically, the second Reverend Trask) from Dark Shadows in my Episode 10 review last year. There are a handful of similarities--including both running boarding schools of questionable ethics (which I forgot to list in that review)--but they remain characters with fundamentally different personalities at their cores. In spite of this, Matt does share one of the favorite hobbies of the men of the Trask family: YELLING in an exaggerated Mid-Atlantic accent in long and emotional speeches! That’s what happens for a good portion of the episode, and I can’t deny that I find this sort of soap opera shouting match highly entertaining.

We open with Jean Paul descending the Great Hall’s staircase while wearing the Blue Suit of Sexiness, which he will continue to wear for the next few episodes. He sees Matt staring at the portrait of THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES and asks him if he’s “mesmerized by” him. (How could anyone not be, I wonder, before reminding myself that Matt is straight.)

“It seems everyone is, or at least the evil Raxl fears he’s spreading,” is the Reverend’s response.

“And you?”

“There is evil here, Mr. Desmond, but I don't believe in devils. I attribute it more realistically to a live, active human being.”

And then they exchange pissy faces to dramatic music.

I’ve noted before that I didn’t expect a minister like Matt (especially one who believes in other supernatural phenomena) to admit that he doesn’t believe in devils. Still, even if he did, that’s no guarantee that he would make a distinction between Jean Paul and Jacques or think anything of his sudden switches of personality beyond grief and/or mental illness.

The first shot of the glass-top table set up for the séance. Kind of odd that Jean Paul just happens to have a table with astrological symbols on it just lying around.

Just then, Raxl and Quito enter, and the former announces to Jean Paul, “It is foretold that the Conjure Woman one day will find death on Maljardin!” Jean Paul ignores this and tells Vangie (who also conveniently just entered) that she must hold the séance and he must speak to Erica.

Some Jean Paul crazy eyes. Shades of Gérard “Crazy Eyes” Berner, discussed in this entry.

“Master! In the Temple of the Serpent, the Conjure Woman was told that this séance must not take place! The spirits have spoken!” Raxl protests, but he ignores her. Remember, this is a man who announced three episodes ago that he is willing even to perform blood sacrifices to get his Erica back. He is crazy in love--literally. His obsession with Erica makes Matt’s decision to quit his ministry to stalk Holly seem sane.

“On Maljardin, only I speak!” Jean Paul declares, eyes wide and burning like the blue flames on a gas stove. He uses his “on this island, I am God” tone of voice, but sadly Jacques isn’t cheering him on this time. Speaking of Jacques, he immediately storms over to the portrait and shouts, “I must have contact with my darling!” as though he thinks that Jacques will willingly provide that. Oh, Jean Paul, my sweet summer child, if only you knew that he has no intention of resurrecting your dear, sweet Erica.

Alison arrives just in time to overhear him tell Matt that, as an “undesirable element that would ensure its failure,” he shouldn’t take part in the séance. He starts to ask Alison to join him, but then decides he would rather make a passive-aggressive comment about how Matt probably doesn’t believe in souls (WTF?), which triggers the following argument:

Jean Paul: "And the theologian, not because he believes in the soul, but because..."   Matt: "Because he is tolerant, Mr. Desmond!" Jean Paul: "Tolerant of what? My madness, perhaps?" Matt: "I did not say that!" Jean Paul: "Are you prepared to face the dead?"

He tries to get Vangie to let him choose who will participate in the séance, but she refuses because she understands spiritualist matters better than he does. (Also, she can teleport to and from Maljardin, so it’s not like she’s trapped on the island like the other guests. This means that she can stand up to Jean Paul without the risk of him imprisoning her.)

Raxl brings up the missing notes about Erica. Alison demands to know how she knows about them, and she claims that she knows because of how often she and Dan discussed them. Raxl accuses Alison of trying to hide the notes in the cove (but why would she store them so far from the lab?). Matt has a point when he says the following line:

I am accused of pushing Holly Marshall down the stairs, Dan Forrest is accused of tampering with the cryonics capsule, Mrs. Marshall is accused of trying to kill her own daughter, and you are accused of concealing Dr. Menkin’s notes that might bring Erica Desmond to life again!...Now, a séance. Who knows what new accusations we will hear and against whom, and I wonder who will make them?

Raxl, Vangie, and Quito visit the temple to pray for the protection of everyone during the séance. This is probably the point where Tarasca would have appeared and vanished for the first time in the original draft, but we may never know for sure. Meanwhile, Jean Paul brags both to Jacques’ portrait and to my hysterical laughter that he is now in full control of himself. Sure, Jan Jean.

I really like this shot of Jean Paul with his arms outstretched in front of Jacques' portrait. Taken out of context, it looks like he’s trying to hug Jacques. "Caressing" evil, indeed.

Matt approaches the stairway to the crypt, but Jean Paul stops him. Matt then remembers that he threatened to kill anyone who trespassed into the crypt, which shocks Alison. “Does it upset you that I want to protect your sister’s return?” he asks her, and this triggers a second, much longer argument between Jean Paul and Matt. As usual with long conversations on this show, I will only include the highlights and summarize the rest.

It starts out with Matt repeating that everyone on Maljardin is Jean Paul’s prisoner. He accuses him of making them all suspect each other as a deliberate act of divide-and-conquer. I think that, in order for that to be true, it would require Jean Paul to be both omniscient and omnipotent, neither of which he is. (Even his hidden camera system only covers certain rooms.) Matt also accuses Raxl and Vangie of “seeking guidance for further accusations,” whatever the hell that means.

“Do you fear to face your judgment day?” Jean Paul asks him, which momentarily shuts him up. He stares at Jean Paul, stunned at the thinly-veiled threat.

Meanwhile in the temple, Raxl and Vangie decide who should and shouldn’t attend the séance. In short, neither Holly nor Dan should attend, but Quito should.

When Raxl asks if Jean Paul should attend, Vangie faints onto the temple floor!

When Matt recovers, he makes a whole list of over-the-top accusations against Jean Paul: "Hear me! Be a little god on your insane Island, manipulate our lives, play games with our reason! Be both judge and jailer! Yes, raise the dead, walk on water! That will be next. Crucify yourself, but remember, you, too, will be judged!"

Matt trying to look intimidating.

Jean Paul (thinking): “Please. When I said I was God on this island, I didn’t mean it in that way.”

You know, Jean Paul’s behavior this week reminds me of someone--and no, I’m not referring to whom you probably think I’m going to. I’m thinking instead of Jerry Layton, the show’s co-creator, producer, and “so-called production expert” who apparently shared some notable personality traits with early Jean Paul. According to the show’s floor director, Bob Wilson:

To be honest with you I always thought, and I’m not the only one who thought this, that the Jean Paul Desmond character was really Jerry Layton.  Oh yes.  He was mad.  He was crazy.  He would rant and rave about the simplest thing.  And we would all stand around and wait until he did his little thing.  And it was almost like an actor taking his lines and just running amok with them.  I recall that--it was very easy to be intimidated by this character.   I remember [technical producer André “Andy” Moujean] and I coming away from that dinner and saying to each other--What are we getting ourselves into?[1]

According to StrangeParadise.net, Layton insisted on running the show on next to no budget, which earned him the nickname “Mickey Mouse” among the production team. There’s a hilarious photo on there of Colin Fox with a Mickey Mouse pin pinned on one of Jean Paul’s dressing gowns and a mischievous smile on his face. There’s also this one in the website’s archive of the wall where John Pashley, one of the cameramen, wrote the comment “While my prose will not compare with Proust, thank f.....g Christ for Mickey Mouse.”[2] Notable examples of Layton’s mismanagement of the show include the lack of air conditioning in the studio while filming in August (as noted in this quote on Fox’s IMDb page) and the grueling schedule for the cast and crew, which Wilson also mentioned in his interview:

We all put in horrendous hours, not only in the production, but in getting the thing together.  ...  There were an awful lot of people who stayed [in Chelsea, at Crawley studios] overnight.  I was not one of them, but I can remember the sound guys staying overnight, trying to meet deadlines, with their effects.  I can remember the lighting guys staying overnight, trying to get the right look on a particular scene. [...] The bus would deliver, say, 25 people, and at night, maybe 17 would go back, because the other people were staying overnight to try to make deadlines.[3]

Despite these similarities, however, I doubt that Jean Paul is based on Jerry Layton. First, there is no evidence that Ian Martin actually ever visited the set, despite his position as headwriter. In fact, according to Wilson, he never did:

SRS: I was curious whether you ever met Ian Martin--he was the guy who wrote the first seven or eight weeks.

BW: I did not. To the best of my knowledge, I don’t believe--which is an unbelievable statement to make, but I’m pretty sure I’m right in saying this--I do not believe that any of the writers ever attended a production meeting, when we were at the studio. Now if Ian Martin was there, it would have been fleetingly, and he was the initial writer. The reason I’m even bringing this up is it was the bane of the actors’ existence that this didn’t happen. Many times they would say, “How can this guy continue writing [the show]--he hasn’t even been here to see, to get the feel of the set, of the ambience...”

SRS: He was writing it, but you were taping at that point well in advance of the broadcast--I see on this plan [of the set, which BW had] here, there’s a date--”August 11, ’69, programs number 2 and 3”--I’m taking from this that the original production of the actual show began in August of ’69. I don’t believe it began running on Canadian television until October of ’69.

BW: That would be correct.

SRS: So Mr. Martin is happily writing his scripts, but he’s not viewing any of the episodes... So he’s just spinning it off in his little room.

BW: Which was a sin, because we could feel the way it should have gone, we could feel where it could go--we weren’t writers, and when I say “we” I include cast and crew, because we were a family, we were very much a family.  ... Had any one of the writers, Ian Martin or any one of the writers after that come out and even just spent some time, it would have paid so many dividends. As I say, I stand to be corrected, but to the best of my knowledge, that never took place.[4]

Second, such megalomaniacal types tend not to have a sense of humor regarding their own shortcomings. If Layton had even suspected that Jean Paul was supposed to represent him (assuming that he behaved as Wilson claims he did), I think that he would have insisted on changing his characterization earlier on. Most likely, Jean Paul’s characterization derives from the archetype of the Byronic lord of the manor, an extremely popular character trope in Gothic literature. Examples include Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre, Nicholas van Ryn from Dragonwyck, and (eventually) Richard Morgan from Martin’s 1979 novel Shadow Over Seventh Heaven. Despite this, I have to wonder if, when the actors were rehearsing this script, they were thinking of Mickey Mouse and his own so-called production expertise and putting their feelings about him into it.

Some delicious Raxl scenery-chewing in the Not-So-Hidden Temple after Vangie faints. “It is the prophecy,” she recalls in reference to Vangie’s prediction that she will die on Maljardin. “MUST IT BE NOW?”

Returning to our recap, Alison tries to shut Matt up because “Jean Paul is under a strain,” but he won’t have it. He proceeds to criticize Jean Paul to his face, and one has to wonder if some of these lines reminded Dan MacDonald of Mickey Mouse:

Why is it that no one’s feelings are to be considered, only his? There is no one, it seems, in all the world that has ever suffered except Jean Paul Desmond! No one has ever lost a loved one, only Jean Paul Desmond and his unique sorrow for his beloved Erica!

Colin Fox doing some literal backacting.

Jean Paul getting pissy.

We wondered whether we had seen him change into another man, one man one moment, another man the next! Now we are seeing the real man…A man who ignores the suffering of others, who is indifferent to the pain he inflicts upon them, who is willing to imprison them for all their lives for the sake of an impossible experiment in bringing back the dead, in getting what he wants because he suffers, because he is willing to punish the whole world in order to get what he wants out of blind selfishness masquerading as strength, this selfish thing! So great is his love of himself, which he calls love for his dear Erica!

 For the most part, he’s right about Jean Paul, save for the part about him being indifferent to others’ suffering. He’s indifferent to the detained guests’ wishes to escape the island, yes, but not to Alison’s mourning of her sister or Holly’s of her father. He just doesn’t want the tabloid press to find out about the cryonics situation and spread scandalous rumors (or, perhaps, a scandalous truth) about him and Erica. Matt thinks that the whole cryonics experiment is just as blasphemous and ridiculous as Jean Paul’s insistence that he is God on his island.

Jean Paul’s anger is so intense that it’s starting to mess up his shellacked hairdo.

Now it’s Jean Paul’s turn to fling accusations at him: "I did not pursue a young girl in the name of God and good works. I did not beset and harass a mere child out of a sick desire. And I did not strike the girl unseen and secretly fling her down the stairs because she knew, knew what you were!" A reminder: Holly is almost twenty-one, and yet Jean Paul refers to her as not just a child, but a young one. The way the characters keep talking about Holly like she’s seventeen is just baffling. Like I’ve said before, Matt’s attraction to Holly is already creepy enough without those kinds of implications, simply because of the former captor/former captive power dynamics involved.

Just after Jean Paul says that he is responsible for everyone on the island, Quito arrives, carrying Vangie. “Your responsibilities grow,” Matt tells him. “Now you have the soul [line flub for “blood?”] of Evangeline Abbott on your hands.” However, it turns out he spoke too soon, for Vangie soon recovers, albeit with a vision of death!

“Jean Paul, I saw death!” she says upon recovering. “The death I saw was not my own ending. A figure--it wasn’t clear.” And then she points to Jacques’ portrait and shouts, “That man! The Devil!”

This leads Alison to beg Jean Paul to cancel the séance. Jean Paul is surprised that "now the scientist believes in the devil." Jean Paul, being extremely stubborn, insists again on going through with the séance. But what unholy death and destruction will this séance wreak on Maljardin?

Jean Paul sitting down at the séance table during the credits.

Coming up next: The séance and a return to the YouTube episodes. (Am I the only one who’s been missing the ridiculous automatic captions? I hope not.) Shortly after that, the next part of my review of Shadow Over Seventh Heaven, which I would have posted before this one, but I was so much farther along with this one that I decided to post it first.

{<- Previous: Episode 34   ||   Next: Episode 36 ->}

Notes

[1] Bob Wilson, interview with S. R. Shutt, Ottawa, October 15, 2002. Wilson is also the one who called Layton the “so-called production expert,” which reminds me of David Benioff, the “so-called production expert” behind Game of Thrones whose mismanagement of that series is well-documented on the YouTube channel The Dragon Demands. In a sense, Benioff and Weiss wrote it like a soap opera, changing characterizations and “subverting expectations” at will with random plot twists--which is fine until you remember that they were running a high-budget adaptation of an unfinished book series.

[2] Another funny photo of the wall can be found here, On this one, someone dubbed the show “Canada’s own all-American T.V. series!” and used the Mark of Death (from a future storyline--not saying any more about it until later) as an unofficial logo.

[3] Wilson.

[4] Ibid.

[maikatc]

black sun tale but it’s the original first draft i wrote back in seventh grade like three or four years ago

and yes, i mean the entire 2k words of it, unedited too

Hyhqwv

“I wonder what’s going on right now,” I was in my living room couch and checked out the latest news on YouTube from my black laptop. New York City has been going wild on the internet lately. There have been pictures and videos of dead bodies and people proclaiming that they saw monsters. News stations are even going on saying that deaths are occurring at random places with no evidence for a reason. The subway, buildings, even some at the theme park. The unknown cases are causing major panic for most, parents aren’t even letting their children go outside. 

“I don’t think anything will happen today,” my dad replied to me while he was in the kitchen. 

“And you probably just jinxed it,” I continued scrolling through the page, skimming at the titles until I found something. The headline said Children Are Not Safe Anymore. I clicked on the video, there was a dead small girl inside a house. She looked like she was only five years old. No injuries at all. The babysitter said she was in the kitchen while the child named Alexa was in her bedroom playing with her dolls. Apparently, Alexa was the daughter of a new model, Lumi Katsmann, and she was too busy to have much time with her. I suppose she kept the little girl inside like most would but now there’s no certainty that would work. 

I went on my phone to see if Twitter or Instagram has anything. When I turn on my phone, there was a text notification from Sora. Saying that I was late 

Sora has been my friend since middle school because of me being the first person she met. She’s nice, but does have a bit of a temper, doesn’t really matter though. When summer began, we planned to meet up the day after she comes back from her summer trip, July 2nd at 3:15. 

2:31

Sora: Jackson, you’re late

Jackson: But I thought you said at 3:15

Sora: I said 2:15

I scrolled through my phone all the way until I got to when we planned the outing. As I looked at the conversation, I realized that she did say 2:15. Well shit. I got up from the couch I was laying on, my legs wobbled from not standing up for a few hours. All I had on were bowers and a T-shirt I used when I sleep so I decided to change clothes. 

“Are you going anywhere,” I forgot to tell dad. 

“I’m just meeting up with Sora at the park,” I spoke while rushing to get myself ready. I put on a white shirt with black stripes, blue jeans and a pair of Nike shoes. Before I left, I grabbed my phone just in case something else happens today and went off. 

“Bye dad.”

“Be careful Jackson.”

“‘Kay,” as I close the door. 

I turned around to go to the destined land, the park. Sora would be a bit moody when I make it there for being late but I guess I should tell her what’s been happening lately. She would at least be intrigued, she’s interested in mystery. I know enough things about her that people would think we’re childhood friends, but we’ve only known each other for five years. Now thinking about it, we’ve been together for a long time. I remember in freshman year, I even got interested in her, but I knew things would get awkward between us, especially if something bad happened. At the end, I decided to not say anything, eventually the interest faded away. Now, everything’s chill and we’d hang out every few days or so

Some good breeze was passing through me while walking. The weather said this was one of the best summer days ironically. Aside from that kid’s death, perfect weather , good time of relaxing, it has been an enjoyable day so far. And now I’m about to be at the park.

Wrgdb Eulqjv Wkh Ixwxuh

It’ll be a few seconds before I make it to the assigned area. It was more silent than usually, no sound at all really. I stood as I got to the entrance. The breeze flew throughout knocking some leaves off the trees while I saw something terrifying.

Blood.

Dead bodies.

Sora’s dead body.

Right in front of me.

Impaled.

Her brunette hair dyed with blood.

What happened?

What caused this to happened?

Why is everybody dead?

Their guts are even showing.

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why?

I see something over there.

It looks big.

It looks like

A Chinese dragon.

It has claws.

They’re covered in blood.

Buried in blood.

Run.

Run.

Run!

RUN!

I ran as fast as I could in the wish of survival. A girl, light brown hair, walk past me, walking to where it was. 

I stopped. “Don’t go there! You’ll get yourself killed!”

She paused her walking and turned around. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine,” she smiled while her hazel eyes glistened in the distance as she continues to the land of demise. 

I have no time to save her, she would die either way, so what’s the  point? She chose to go there. It doesn’t matter now.

My mind was in survival mode, the side of humans which doesn’t make them think heroically in the shows. Reality is different, we’re selfish in this mode, you do whatever to survive. People probably don’t except this fact, hell, even I don’t like to except it sometimes, but one day they have to. 

I was running through the streets. Bumping into people the entire time. Looking at me like they should. I looked like I saw the depths of hell and ran like a madman. I didn’t care, I saw something that could’ve killed me. I was getting tired, I needed to rest. I was about to come up to an alley, I turned to the dark surroundings, sat down and closed my eyes for a second. 

“Wow, how ironic you came here,” the voice sounded like a kid’s. I opened my eyes, Nike shorts with bright green sneakers. Looking up I saw more of the child, white shirt with a few stains, a black hoodie with bright blue highlights, half zipped. I wasn’t sure if they were a boy or girl. Their black hair was droopy and went down to the middle of their neck, but by the voice, I’m guessing it’s a boy. What really caught my attention was his eyes. The left one was only a deep sea blue, somewhat rare but still normal. Then there was his right eye. There wasn’t even a pupil or iris. It was silver in background but covering most was a design that looked like a black sun.

“Alleyways are popular here aren’t they? And you came to the alley where I live,” I looked around and saw it was decorated a little bit. A calendar and a few papers on the wall which contains drawings that each said ‘accomplishment’. There was even a small dream-catcher.

After a few seconds, I noticed, “How old are you?”

“Ummm, I’m about to turn thirteen soon, but don’t think about messing with me,” he was definitely lying. He was much shorter than me and his voice was barely deep. He seemed like he was in around the end of elementary school. What questioned me was that he was saying he lived in the alley. He was too young, he’d die. “Wait a minute, what’s that on your forehead?”

My black hair covers the majority of my forehead, but it looked like he saw something there. He began to reach it with his hand. 

“What do you think you’re doing,” as he split the front hair. His face started looking surprised, confused, but had some excitement.

“Woah,” he smiled,” you’re one of us,” he turned around and paused for a second to think. I was in confusion the entire time. Who is he? Why is his eye like that? What does he mean by one of us?

“Let’s go,” he grabbed my hand immediately and got me up with incredible strength for his size.

“Hey Aladdin! I have defeated the dragon th-,” then appeared the girl with light brown hair.

Phhwlqjv

“Wow, finally we found somebody else,” the girl has a yin-yang T-shirt and blue baggy shorts, nothing that revealing, but there was something black poking out of her chest.

“Who are you people,” how was she still alive,and she said she defeated that thing. Why did she call that kid Aladdin? That’s a fictional character, who would name their kid Aladdin?

“Glad you asked! We are Black Sun Tale! We are people who have special abilities and defeat these monster, creature things. And you’re apart of it!”

“What,” These people are insane. How am I apart of this? I thought to myself.

“You didn’t explain everything Annette.”

“Why don’t you call me by Belle?”

“Because your ‘code names’ are stupid.”

“I think they’re cool,” she said in a pouty face

“They’re fairy tales!”

I saw them bicker at each other for the next two minutes until I had enough, “Can you explain to me what is going on? I don’t know who both of you are and somehow I’m a part of this group? Why?”

“Well-” the girl called Annette started speaking until the sun-eyed boy stopped her.

“Let me do this, explaining it with your peppy attitude will make him think we’re insane.”

“Fine,” she said with crossed arms.

“Okay, so see my eye? Well Annette-”

“Belle!”

“Whatever, Belle, has a black sun mark too. Show it.” the so-called Belle lowered her shirt to show a black sun mark on the top of the left side of her chest. 

“And if you look at your forehead, you have one too. Oh and for a bit more detail, we have three members so far and I’m the leader.”

“How are you the leader.” I questioned him. I didn’t believe a group that defeats creatures that kills would be a little kid.

“I was the one who got this stuff in the first place and found all of you guys. I’ve also been though some traumatising shit, how do you think I’m living here? My family kicked me out? Why the hell would they do that,” his voice filled with anger, it looked like he was about to cry.

“Can you calm down. Look sure I’ll join whatever you’re doing. I just have a few more questions.”

Belle came into the conversation, “Um sure. What do you wanna ask?”

“Well you said that there are three members right? Well then who’s the third member?”

“Oh! Well, um, uhh she’s not that active with the group lately. She’s the youngest in the group, turning twelve in two weeks, but she’s, what do you call them, oh, a shut in. She was to be somewhat hyper like me, and she annoyed Aladdin even more than me because of her being a fangirl over stuff like anime and such. Now, she’s consumed by the internet and almost never goes out. She also sleeps more at day than she does at night, but I think she’s Aurora, or Briar if you like the book more, from Sleeping Beauty!”

“Second, what are your real names?”

“Oh fine, since you’re in the group. I’m Annette Jasofy, Aladdin’s name is Ayu, he never told me his last name for private reasons, and Briar’s is Roselle Karzen. Oh I forgot to ask, what’s your name?”

“Jackson Bardsly,” I wasn’t hesitant, they were younger than me, they couldn’t do anything. “Lastly, how old are you guy’s?”

“I’m fourteen, Aladdin-”

“Ayu!”

“Yeah yeah, he’s twelve and Briar is as I said, eleven. And we’re wondering about your age?”

“Seventeen.”

“Thanks, I can’t wait to see your power, so Aladdin what do you want to do now?”

I didn’t notice but Ayu was observing the whole conversation. He had a bored look but still had a bit of curiosity in his eyes.

“I don’t know, shouldn’t we let the newbie choose,” he spoke with a somewhat sarcastic tone but looked at me. 

“I would like to meet the third member,” Ayu looked at me with a face that said he did not want to go there at all, “but I think I’ll  go home… My friend was at the park.”

It was silent, even Annette wasn’t sure what to say. Ayu then grew dejection on his face. He walked up to me slowly and raised his arm to my shoulder. Having small tippy toes and eyes down to the ground. 

“It’s fine, you can come here anytime… We’ll help I guess.... And don’t worry, something like that happened to me too,” he was quiet at first but by the end he was smiling with some hope in his eyes. 

After we said our goodbyes, I left to my house. Unsure of what to tell my dad, and thinking of what to do tomorrow. Should I just stay home and be on my laptop all day? Or should I hang out with those kids. Questions flying all around on what to do.

“I’m back, Dad.”

“How was your date?”

I froze for a moment, thinking back on what happens, but I about that aside.

“First of all, it wasn’t a date. And… Nothing really happened.”

[panickedvulture]

Found this in my drafts, so I’m posting it with no shame to give this blog some life while I’m busy trying to deal with post-endgame feels in the mcu sector of tumblr:

So I had a dream last night that made me realize I spend too much time on this site because it included some of my mutuals and people I enjoy like @theuriearchives ,@yagirlcammmm ,@i-think-im-ready-to-go ,@canyousevmyheavydirtysoul ,@dunjosephurieimagines , and @andbeingblueisbetter to name a few.

I have very vivid dreams and since I write all of them down I figured why not write it here where everyone can see it.

The genre for this dream: a mystery.

The setting: A beautiful cabin (apparently mine) plucked straight out of a “Visiting your SO’s family for the holidays” or a “fake-dating for a visit to your frenemy’s family” AU, my personal favorite. And there was a snowstorm going on outside.

I should also mention everybody had their own appearance. Usually I attach someone’s name with the face in their profile pic, meaning about everybody in this I previously imagined as Brendon Urie at different angles and in different lighting. But thanks to my brain randomly generating faces for everybody, I will be greatly confused in the case that I ever learn what you actually look like.

So, the topic at hand is, as it always is, Brendon Urie. Everybody’s cuddled up on the couch and on the floor in their pajamas drinking hot chocolate, eating dessert, and writing/giving ideas. In the background AFYCSO plays on an old record player, the fire is flickering beautifully alongside some black and white videos of old Panic! performances playing on one of those old big-backed TVs with lines across the screen – at this moment I feel like I am once again a preschooler laying on my stomach and watching movies in a pile of other preschoolers at my old after-school program but I digress–

Then somebody has the audacity to break into my house.

Me being the host of this gathering, I feel obligated to check on the noise. It doesn’t help that literally everyone stops what they’re doing to push me in the direction of the mysterious noise before going back to talking about the size of Brendon Urie’s dick (a conversation brought up by i-think-im-ready-to-go, just thought I should mention that).

So I get up, the second my back is turned nobody cares and I go into the bathroom only to find it flooded because this intruder flushed literally everything it could down the toilet.

To name a few things, it flushed:

1) The monstrous dildo linked on a post by beautiful-tragic-fallout (i don’t mean to call anybody out but its been on my dash with every damn refresh for the past week), who i-think-im-ready-to-go and theuriearchives make a point to explain is out of the house buying us more chocolate-covered strawberries.

2) Every single piece of Pretty. Odd. memorabilia I can imagine because someone just has it out for that album.

3) For those of you who have seen Monsters Inc, the toys Boo flushed down the toilet in that one scene.

4) An entire manuscript that my mind recognizes as smut written by @xxip-smut

5) And pink, fucking, crocs

So I walk back into the living room and round everybody up, declaring we’re on a manhunt for whoever the fuck had the audacity to break into my house, and with that we separate into groups. Accompanying me is Cam who wields a flamethrower while wearing pastel yellow pajamas with baby elephants printed on them.

Eventually after getting tired of Cam pointing the flamethrower at my head even when in ‘resting position’ and scaring the shit out of me, we go into the basement only to find everybody else chose to search the basement and the rest of you have been arguing about who actually gets to search the basement.

Long story short, the basement doesn’t get searched.

Instead to deal with the tension, dunjosephurieimagines suggests we all go back to talking about Brendon’s dick. So we go back to talking about Brendon’s dick.

We sit on the floor in a circle in this basement not realizing its dark and creepy as hell, and if you’ve seen That 70s Show the ‘camera’ moves around in this circle to focus on the face of whoever’s talking. The conversation adds up to smut, theuriearchives pulls out a blunt and i-think-im-ready-to-go pulls out a gun, we start playing russian roulette. Out of guilt for not writing a request sent to me months ago because I suck, I give andbeingblueisbetter a free shot at me. Being a saint they don’t take the opportunity yet.

So anyway, being high and creative a thought comes to us all at once. This thought…where the fuck is @loverontheleft ?

Now we’re all mad and sad and scared and alone because where, the fuck, is cece? Everybody starts asking everybody if they’ve seen her, we conclude the answer is no and we all start freaking out.

Then we realize canyousevmyheavydirtysoul (codename: Sev) is being really quiet.

We all turn and just stare like “So um….whats up?”

Flash-forward, this is all of us trying to figure out cece’s identity, sev is just sitting on the floor smiling and reacting to everything we say with reaction gifs they pull up on their phone, meanwhile we’re all screaming running around, we’ve made a literal office out of this basement and we have glasses and slip-on ties on top of our pajamas.

Then there’s a noise upstairs because we forgot there was someone who broke into my house.

Y’all turn on me and push me up the stairs to my death, I realize this is the cabin that appears in the bodyguard series at one point (wonderfully written by canyousevmyheavydirtysoul, binge it), and in front of me is the super fancy dining room table. There’s mail on it, some envelopes, and I’m like uh no and turn around to come back downstairs.

But you’re all at the bottom of the stairs staring at me and threatening me with your knives and Cam’s flamethrower – where you got the knives I don’t know. I hesitate in turning around for a second so andbeingblueisbetter shoots me.

But I’m like, you know, walk it off. So I do and I go to the table. I’m terrified, break out into a nervous sweat, but it’s fine.

I go and open the folder.

And O - fucking - kay

If you haven’t read the bodyguard series or ready to leap I’m not gonna detail any spoilers, just the main plot given right away, and even if you have it probably won’t help this make any more sense. Here….is the story:

Our beloved Cece started off as a teacher, right? But not just any teacher, Ms. fucking Milton, who started a relationship with the music teacher of her high school, Mr. Urie, who in this case is in fact Brendon Urie of our universe and lead singer of Panic! at the Disco. But the deal with him is that he got tired of the fame and through extensive work he managed to get rid of all the files that legally point to him as being Brendon Urie of Panic! at the Disco. And for the first few years of his teaching, all the kids knew he was Brendon Urie I mean come on, but eventually the whole school and town settle on the idea that this is just one of those situations where twins are separated at birth and coincidentally given the same exact name. So boom, they do what they do – but newsflash, Cece is Y/n from the Bodyguard series and knowing Mr. Urie’s relationship with Ms. Milton, S.H.I.E.L.D pulls a Hydra Bucky Barnes situation in order to train Brendon into the best damn bodyguard the world could imagine because Cece is a valuable asset that needs the absolute best protection. Canyousevmyheavydirtysoul was like a journalist or something for S.H.I.E.L.D and witnessed all of this go down, knows every little thing about these two. So they get trained, they get close, drama happens, then they’re all put under-cover. Brendon goes back to being Brendon Urie of Panic! at the Disco, Sev and Cece are assigned to live their current lives and specifically assigned to write their stories for this Tumblr community to get everybody off their trails.

And then I look up. And there’s cece and I think…

“She is about to fucking, kill me.”

I try to throw the folders at her but for some reason I can’t throw anything in my dreams, so I get frustrated that my arm just won’t work, Cece in the meanwhile uses this time to approach me. My mind can’t even generate her an appearance and I think that she’s wearing a disguise because she’s like a spy or something that did after all break into my house to clog my toilet with dildos.

We maintain eye contact for what my dream-self recalls as a long time. I feel this energy in my soul I have never felt before and it is not fun, I don’t like it.

She takes the folder from me and gives me a red one.

And with her eyes piercing my soul, I get this feeling that literally has my skin vibrating even after I wake up, and I hear this voice that’s like “I know you know. And I’m watching you.”

So I woke up in a cold sweat obviously and tried to suppress this whole thing but it kinda lingered in the back of my mind all day. Then the weird tiny details came back to haunt me when I saw the elephants at the zoo. 

[lokibannerpool]

Update on the Mun

so i have been lurking on here for a while, not really doing any drafts or replies. I’m not abandoning this blog and these muses, I just haven’t had the motivation lately to be active on this account. I have been active on my other blogs for the most part. you can find me on @forcedintoperfection @thevirginandthefool @worldsfastestpredator @strongestcullen  @zorii-unknown and/or @brokenprincessofasgard  

Now for the shitstorm that is my life right now.

If you’re basically homeless and you know it clap your hands  *clap clap*

So we (by we I mean my mom, little brother and I) finally got evicted for reals like around Feburary-ish. My mom’s bright idea for temporary living was to move in with the worst person possible, her crazy ass aunt (on my grandpa’s side). 

Not only was the move stressful, but living here is terrible, and most of that is because my mother’s aunt (i have disowned her so no she’s not my great aunt) is doing everything in her power to make us feel unwelcome. Before I go into details, let me point out that my brother refused to come stay here because he has never felt welcome in this house, so he’s staying with family from our grandmother’s side (still crazy, but slightly more reasonable). And although I technically still have a room there, I did not stay because they hate animals and the great aunt that lives there once told me that if she could make it up the stairs to our old apartment she’d kill my cats. Later she denied it, but yeah... that’s the kind of crazy on that side’ of the family.

I was going to take my cats and live in a hotel from paycheck to paycheck. i had done the math and i could afford 7 days from one paycheck if i literally didn’t buy anything else, and the hotel had free breakfast i didn’t have to worry about food at least if i could save some of the breakfast for lunch then probably do dinner at a family member’s house. (yeah not the best plan but for me if I’m giving up my cats to a shelter I’m giving up on life. plus hotel accepted animals and was legit cheaper than a putting them in a pet hotel which would have been 22 a night per cat... i have 5 cats and a part time job) BUT low and behold my mother pulls some strings with the aunt (only after catching me crying on eviction day because I didn’t know what to do with my babies) and suddenly I can keep the cats as long as they stay in the basement. Not ideal, but more affordable for me so I take it.

Now back to the hell house I’m trapped in.

1) It took a while to move everything in, but I think we were almost full settled in by a Friday or Saturday night. On the Monday (which was like day 3 of living there) my mother’s aunt not only called me repeatedly on my phone, she kept yelling my name from the first floor. When I finally become conscious enough to go see what she wants, she is telling me that I sleep too much, It’s ridiculous how much I sleep, I need to go get a job, I’m not going to sleep my life away in HER house, yada yada, then she goes on about how by my age she was living on her own and paying off her own car (both were confirmed to be lies by sources that were alive at that time. crazy bitch was still sleeping in the bed with her mother at 22).. Now maybe you think that’s not so bad? but I forgot to mention one little detail. 

It was only 8:10 AM  and I had class at 10 am.

My alarm clock was literally set to go off 20 minutes from that time. Not only was it early as fuck, but I had a class to go to so it wasn’t like i was going to be staying in the house all day. SHE KNEW I HAD CLASS, THAT WAS WHAT PISSED ME OFF THE MOST. I had literally been discussing my classes with her for weeks prior to even moving in with her. Another thing that interested me was how she conveniently waited until my mother had left to start harassing me. anyway, so i get dressed because im mad as hell by this point, and i get ready to leave in under 15 minutes so we’re around 8:30am by this point. When I get downstairs she is demanding that I come into her room, and against my better judgement I do but I’m in no mood to talk. She takes one look at my face and asks me “why are you pissed off?”  As if she didn’t know why. I don’t want to curse her out because I wasn’t raised to do things like that so i keep my mouth shut. She keeps trying to get me to talk, and at this point angry tears that I have been trying so hard to hold back are falling and she tells me I’m being dramatic and I’m over reacting. I tell her I have to go to class more than once and she’s still demanding that I sit and talk with her, so I just walk out.    She calls my phone more than once but I don’t answer because I am a) driving and b) still mad as hell. she leaves voicemails. 1 saying that im being overreacting and stuff. the second comes a few hours later with a fake apology after she apparently talked to my mother. I later find out that she lied to my mom and told her that she forgot I had school, yet when I was not trying to talk to her she was telling me i had 2 hours before i had to be in class.. so yeah and that was only the start of day 3 of living there.

2) Fast forward a few days because in this family, we apparently just go on like nothing happened after conflicts like this. My mom comes to me in the morning and warns me that the aunt had threatened to call the human society to take my cats away because I ‘don’t spend enough time with them’. Which pissed off my mom as much as me because she’s seen what I’ve done for these cats in the past 2 years. (especially with Brenda, who is a rescue stray I took in after she was covered in tape by strangers and either dropped at our door or she limped her way up the stairs to us for help, and the two litters of kittens she had in our apartment) 

The aunt confronts me about this after I come down to feed them by asking me “do you really want the cats” and then telling me not to get an attitude when I say “of course I do” rather defensively. She tells me the b.s. she told my mom to which i point out that we literally just got here, i have classes 5 days a week and work 7 days a week. Plus, she’s usually sleep when I come in after work so she doesn’t see me dragging my aching body (still sore from doing the brunt of the moving) down to the basement to replace the food and water and spend time with them before I go to bed and I would literally be sleeping down there if it wasn’t for my mom nagging me about my health (which tbh comes second to the cats in my opinion but she disagrees). She doesn’t seem all that convinced, and my anxiety was through the roof for the longest because i wasn’t sure if i was going to come back to a cat-less basement after work. 

My therapist has been having an earful btw. Literally the week before I knew we were being evicted I spent most of a session trying to find something to talk to her about and now I have at least one new problem ever week. 

3) This woman has no respect for me or my mother. She’s verbally attacked my mother and berated her more than once. (today included) and at one point accused my mom of using her father for money(who died only 2 years prior, and who is the only one who took responsibility for making all the funeral arrangements and is still struggling to pay that bill because no one else wanted to help). This is sidetracking a little, but my mom did a lot for my grandfather. Brought his medical supplies with a loan she had taken out from her job, literally came to wash him up multiple times because his in house nurse wasn’t doing it, and pretty much ran every errand he asked for her and if she couldn’t do it she had me do it for her... so yeah to say she was using him was really fucked up and it really hurt my mom.

3.5) One morning (last week) i literally caught her and her ‘tenant’ (aka her brother’s ex girlfriend who he left for his wife 2 years ago and refuses to leave his family’s home) talking shit about me and my mom. How we’re dirty,  my mom walks too loud, complaining about us having mini conversations late at night (which only happened once), calling my mom fat, and saying that she’s not  ‘dainty’ and ‘feminine’ enough and they don’t know how she kept a man for so long... really just talking trash while im standing at the top of the stairs listening. I wait until they finish to say anything and they’re not even ashamed or apologetic. The aunt literally says “good. now you can tell your mom what i said” after  i said i heard just about all of it. She seemed offended when I refused to be her messenger. She then tried to talk shit about my mom to me, going as far to tell me that my mother a ‘fat slob’. And because I don’t want to be kicked out before we find a place, I have to bite my tongue and just walk away while she purposely baits me and tells me to ‘speak my mind’. 

There is so much more I could write about, like how she (a woman who has never had a cat in her life) is always telling me how to take care of my cats like I don’t know what I’m doing, yet she’s basing this all off the dog she had (but didn’t really want or take care of) over 10 years ago.  Or how she likes to try to provoke me or my mom (but mostly me because I’m the easier target I guess) whenever she’s bored. The fact that she forced cable boxes on us, then demanded my mom pay her $400 for the installation of the cable despite us both making it very clear we didn’t want it. How she’s always trying to say someone is trying to use her as if my mom isn’t paying $800 a month for two little ass rooms and a bathroom/kitchen we have to share with two other people And sooo much more. 

I’ve ended up self harming for the first time in about two-ish years while staying here. My suicidal thoughts are  happening very often and honestly I’ve turned to drinking my feelings away when I’m not cutting them away. I’ve literally been so stressed that my period disappeared for like 3 months (no im not pregnant. gotta be sexually active to get pregnant so yes its stress) and I’m pretty sure I’m developing some sort of repressed anger issues that I should probably mention to my therapist but I keep forgetting. 

So that’s pretty much what’s been going on in my life lately. 

And I don’t know how to end this so... there

[internethorrorfan]

Commentarypasta: Jana the Killer (origionally posted on Deviantart in 2017)

So while I take time off from riffing Childhood to recover from the severe mental scarring, I thought it'd be fun to spotlight the perennial thorn in the side of any true creepypasta fan: Jeff the Killer rip off OC stories. Submitted for the approval of the midnight society, I call this story: Jana the Killer by someone I don't know: Me, Nina, Oh here we go. Liu, and Jeff are brother and sisters We're literally one line into this and we're already hitting the "my OC is related to a popular character!" cliché. .....beautiful brown haired and blue eyed babies Were any of these characters ever described as having "brown hair and blue eyes"? Also where's the context to this line? .....It all started a long time ago.....before I went INSANE Look out guys we got a real BADASS ON OUR HANDS BECAUSE THEY USE ALL CAPS! .....we were babies... Which means you don't remember a single thing about your siblings. back then we were so happy and Cheerful. I'll never forget how much we did together Yes you did because you were babies. but then... Is William Shatner narrating this story? What's with all the ellipsis? We're only in the second sentence, folks. for a unknown reason are family got taken apart... Really? That's all the explanation we're going to get? "For an unknown reason"? Families don't just get separated for no reason at all. Jeff and Liu stayed together When multiple children are put up for adoption ...but me and Nina Why was Nina ever popular? when to different families. "When" to different families? You don't have to use the first draft, you know. But the family I went to was a abusive one Of course it was an abusive one! It's always an abusive one! All abuse victims become psychotic killers who murder innocent people for fun  .......When I was 15 they took me to a some high school where I made a bunch of friends. How dare they let you go to a school where you have a bunch of friends! The nerve of those people! You might as well be listening to Simple Plan as you complain about getting the wrong sports car for your birthday. There also were these Girls that would bully me.... Because every Jeff wannabe is bullied. I would of stopped them but they had knives What is up with these kinds of stories and people getting ludicrously easy access to weapons they shouldn't be able to? I mean, 12 year olds carrying guns, high school students wielding knives, hell I wouldn't be surprised if one of these "killer' stories had 3 year olds carrying rocket launchers. I mean, why not? Childhood taught me 3 year olds were the smartest beings on Earth. No I'm not letting that go! ....and I felt if I tried to stop them they would Kill me Tell a teacher or principal to call the police. Idiot. .....HAHAH BUT IT WAS THE OTHER WAY AROUND. They killed themselves because you didn't try to stop them? Later that day Later what day? we had to go home early. No one knew why but we did Because reasons for things happening are apparently nonexistent in this reality. .....After the normal bus ride home. I noticed something.....different. Good God putting a million ellipsis in your story doesn't enhance it or make it more dramatic in anyway! Something was in my room at my house, as I walked toward my room I heard a voice more Like a whisper it said "She's coming..HIDE!!" Then they jumped out and said "Surprise! Happy birthday"! This is when I rushed to my bedroom door to find the window opened and my floor.......covered in a clear liquid........Out of curiosity I sniffed the liquid....turns out the liquid wasn't what I thought It was What did you think it was? Would it kill this story to go into any detail about literally anything? .......it was gasoline. You couldn't tell it was gasoline from the smell? I looked though the window to find to jerks What jerks? Do you mean the girls with knives you were talking about earlier? standing there with a lighter in their hands. They flicked on the lighters and threw them at my house. I'd ask for the reason why 2 people decided to burn down Jana's house but I know I'm getting one. Before I knew it my house burst in flames. That escalated quickly. The jerks ran away...Later a girl that looked familiar to showed up my doorstep with a fire extinguisher in her hand. Unfortunately it was hours too late and Jana was burnt to a crisp along with her house. Luckily for me my front door was opened. It turned out that she had called a ambulance before she came to my house. Why would she call an ambulance before getting a fire extinguisher and putting the fire out herself? The girl put out most of the fire then she took one glance at me........then she just fainted. Oh hi Jane Arkensaw! I don't remember much at the hospital but the day when I my bandages off Oh by the way I went to the hospital and had bandages put on me. Completely unlike any other character called 'the killer". I was shocked at myself I said "M-my skin....m-my hair......what the hell happened to me." Skin was white like snow....My hair was pure Black..... Remember kids, fire doesn't burn you or melt your skin, it just turns you into the average Hot Topic customer.  I remember nothing else but I will tell you how I became insane. How can you tell a story you don't remember? Plus, call me crazy, but I highly doubt the esteemed author of "Jana the Killer" knew how insanity worked. It was just a week after accident the girl that saved came to my house. Which she did because... she said "Hello? Is anybody here?" I replied and said "We are upstairs. Come join us."  She Walked up stairs to me and no one else because they were behind me in a messy pile, blood dripped everywhere. A "messy pile"? As apposed to what, a neat and tidy pile of freshly stabbed corpses? I killed them. Thanks couldn't have put that together myself. The girl was in shock "D-Did you do that?" She said in a scared voice "Yes..and What is your name?" "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die". "N-Nina. Nina W-Woods." I replied Since when the hell was Nina ever related to Jeff? Wasn't she in love with him or something in the story? And, wait, you replied? As in, Jana replied? Is Jana the one saying she's Nina? Who is talking right now?  looking like a psychopath. So you looked like a completely normal person? Psychopathic personality disorder isn't exactly known for being visual. she stared at my face. I stared right back at her with tears coming down cheaks."W-Wait are you by any chance Jana Woods?"  she asked with tears starting down her face. "I am Jana Woods*I replied. Nina hugged me "I missed you my sister" You were mere infants the last time you saw each other, there's no way you two should have any memories of the other person! she cried in my shoulder and I cried in hers. Then Nina grab my arm and said "We must leave. I don't wanna see my sister in Jail." That's rich coming from a serial killer. We left my house. That's all I remember...... Who said you forgot anything? ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Well that was a whole lot of nothing. The grammar's bad, the story uses way too many ellipsis and we don't know anything about Jana as a character or anything about her personality. Plus things constantly get brought up and never mentioned again. Her adoptive family being abusive, her making lots of friends at school, her being bullied by girls with knives, hell Jana being Jeff and Liu's sister are never mentioned again after being first introduced. I'd say there seemed like very little motivation for Jana to become a murderer but I don't know, maybe there was! The story sure didn't tell me. There's at least one thing I can say in it's favor however: it's short which means it's infinitely better than Childhood.

[avidfanficwriter]

Unforeseen Circumstances

Jeremy Renner X OFC.

Summary: “How would he explain it to the child? How would he explain it to Willa? Years together and now it’s all gone. There’s no way, Willa would never forgive him. How could she look at him and still feel love. He stands up facing Julienne, his heart in his throat  and words coming out of his mouth before he realizes. “Will you Marry Me?” Jeremy stares at her in silence, unsure of what answer he wants from her. If he even should be asking that question. He had to ask her, it was the right thing to do. Even if she wasn’t the one he loved. “

Rated: T.

Warnings: Unfaithfulness, break up, depression; Language, Baby Mama Drama. 

Authors Note: I actually forgot all about this story, this chapter and the second chapter have been sitting in my drafts for apparently six months. Plus this was suppose to be a Reader fic but god i got so bloody tired of writing in that view so, it’s OFC. Hope ya’ll enjoy. 

Chapter 1. Chapter 2.  Chapter 3. 

Willa’s eyes leave the laptop screen with a wide grin on her lips. “Guess what the new rumor is?” She says, turning to face her boyfriend of ten years, Jeremy Renner.

He doesn’t move or even acknowledge that she spoke. He’s lost in the new script he’s just received. “Babe?”

“Yeah?” He responds, his head lifting from the script to face her, his eyes lighting up when they meet hers. 

“Did you hear me?”

“No.” he says, refocusing his attention back to the script

She chuckles, “Guess what the new rumor is about you?”

‘Hmm?” 

Willa turns back to the laptops screen, reading the title of the article. “Jeremy Renner cheats on longtime girlfriend with dumb bimbo model.” she chuckles finding it amusing. It was one of their shared interests, reading the ridiculous headlines that the gossip articles wrote to attract attention. Now that Jeremy had his name attached to ‘Avengers’ movie he was getting more gossip spreading about him than every before.p>

Jeremy lifts his head from the script, his face goes white as his breath hitches in his throat. His eyes slowly move back to her and he smiles slightly. “Oh?” 

“Yeah, Apparently, you two have been a thing for a few weeks now.” 

“Is that so?” 

Willa smiles, her eyes continue to read the article; her smile never leaving. 

Jeremy’s eyes linger on Willa for a while longer, he’s panicking. Fighting his heart rate and the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. His jaw clenches as he tried to refocus his attention to the script ahead of him. Jeremy stares at the paper desperate to read the words though it’s no use as they blur, each letter going in and out of focus. He breathes deeply, trying to regain his composure. 

“I’m gotta take a shower babe.” Jeremy finally says, tossing the script onto the glass coffee table. Willa nods in response, her attention to still on the article. Jeremy quietly walks up the stairs, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath he takes. It’s like a cartoon, his stomach bubbling with nausea, his heart breaking off as he goes up the stairs; his eyes filling with enough tears to fill a pool. 

He didn’t plan this, he didn’t even plan to hide it from Willa. It just happened, plain and simple. A piss poor excuse but that was the truth. A single moment turned into something more. 

From that it continued, A month turned into two and before he knew it, he was a failure. A failure as a boyfriend. A failure as a man. It was his biggest mistake, the biggest regret he would ever find himself committing. He wasn’t a child, he could atone for his mistakes but they continued. One missed date, one missed event and soon after he’d missed their anniversary. All because of another woman. 

A woman that would never compare to Willa. A woman would meant nothing to him.  By the time, he reached the upstairs bathroom, he locked the door, and was resting his back on the cold wood.   He pulled out his cell phone and entered his pass code, a new feature he’d added on. Yet another thing he’d lied to Willa about.

“Where’s your phone, Jer? I have to call my boss and my phone is completely shot.” Willa says coming down the stairs, dressed in nothing but a tank top and yoga pants. Jeremy is lost in her appearance, figure fitting clothing that showed every curve, he face make up less showcasing her natural beauty. “Jer?”

“Oh, it’s on the counter.” He points in front of him to the kitchen. Willa walks past Jeremy who's laying on the couch, passing the time as he watches crappy tv. 

“Since. When do you have a lock?” Her voice forces his eyes to shoot open

“Oh, some of the guys kept trying to go through my phone for the past week so I put a lock on it so they couldn’t get in.” He feels like he deserves a pat on the back for how quickly he thought of that trick. 

“I will never understand men.” Willa says shaking her head. “Pass code is?” “2982.” 

Jeremy scrolls through his contacts, searching for the pseudonym name that he put ‘her’ under.

‘Oscar.’

He stares at the contact information for a while deciding if he should call her or text her. He opts for a text. Fearing that Willa may pass by and overhear a part of the conversation that she never should. 

Jeremy tosses the phone onto the counter, proceeding to start the shower.  He raises his hand to his face, rubbing his eyes while starring at his reflection in the mirror. He pulls his shirt off tossing it on the floor when his phone chimes. He grabs the phone quickly, reading the text message.

He let’s out a sharp exhale, shaking his head

‘Oscar’ responds quicker this time, Jeremy doesn’t even have a time to put his phone down before he received two responses

Jeremy groans, loudly. The small bathroom is beginning to fill with steam, clouding his mirror and his phone screen. He doesn’t have to think of what to say, Willa means more to him than he would ever be able to admit and he wasn’t going to do anything else to mess it up. He responds:

This time before the response is received, Jeremy manages to get out of his jeans. He walks to the shower and grips the waist band of his briefs when the phone chimes again.

Jeremy stares at the phone is disbelief, the woman he’d meet months ago was nicer, sweeter not an ounce of bad blood in her body. He doesn’t argue, he can’t argue, if she’s willingly to inform the media about their relationship who knows how far she would take it, if he refused her again. 

Jeremy tosses his phone into the counter, he hears the sound of glass shatter, not caring at all. 

After Jeremy finishes his shower, he returns downstairs to find Willa sitting on the leather sofa watching television. He walks behind her, wrapping his arms around her chest and planting a kiss on her head. It feels wrong when not even half an hour ago he was talking to the woman he cheated on her with. When here in front of him, the woman whose hands were holding his, the one he called his for ten years, he’d hurt in the worst way possible and couldn’t bring himself to confess to it.

He didn’t want to see the pain on her face. The tears that would fall. How her bottom lip would quiver while she tried to speak. When she couldn’t hold back her emotions and her hands would grip her shirt. He couldn’t imagine causing her pain.  

“Are you hungry?” She asks, nudging her head against his chest.

“No.” He says, quietly.

“I have to stay late tomorrow.”

“What?”

“We have to do night scene tomorrow and they want us to come in the same time but stay late as well.”

“Oh.” Willa says, shaking her head. “I don’t understand actors.”

Jeremy smiles, “That’s what everyone who works in an office says.”

“I enjoy my job. A lawyer’s life is fulfilling and I can be home at normal times unlike someone.”

The rest of the night went by smoothly, the pair sat on the couch for the remainder of the night. Falling asleep in each other’s arms, Jeremy had one hand wrapped with her waist and the other entangled in her hair. The leather couch they owned was their least favorite piece of furniture, it could be comfortable for an hour but after any exposed skin would stick to it. Or there would be an outline of your body imprinted on the couch.l Yet when the two fell asleep on it, the discomforts no longer caused conflict.Willa nuzzled gently into Jeremy’s chest and his arms wrapped tightly around her. Willa is awoken by a constant buzzing, shaking the glass coffee table it rested on. She pulls the phone from the table, reading the name. Her hand softly shakes Jeremy awake holding the phone near him.

“Yeah?”

“Oscar is calling you.” Jeremy nods in response, slowly drifting back to sleep. 

Willa smiles and places the still vibrating cell phone on his chest, Jeremy gasps in response grabbing the phone off his body. He lazily holds the phone to his ear,  desperately trying to not succumb to sleep. A woman’s voice begins speaking and instantly he realizes who he’s talking too. He shoots up, sitting and nearly knocking Willa off of the couch with the movement. He holds her head into his chest as a sign of apology before slowly getting off the couch. Willa watches him as he uses his opposite hand to point to the phone, Jeremy leaves the living room retreating to the Office, he closes the french doors and locks them. He then moves further away from the door as he possible can, backing himself into a corner.

“Why are you calling me?” He whispers, his eyes focused on the doorknob.

She scoffs. “I changed my mind. You need to come over here tonight.”

Jeremy closes his eyes, “Tonight? Are you crazy? I can’t tonight. I already came home.”

“You need to come over here.” She insists.

Jeremy leans his back on the wall and exhales deeply, “I can’t.” He pleads.

“You need to come over here now!” She shouts and Jeremy obliges. He stuffs the phone into his pocket and walks to the door. He holds the door handle in his hand and takes a few deep breath. It’s another lie he has to create another excuse he has to make.

Jeremy walks out of the room and leans on the door frame, he smiles at Willa who’s curled up in a ball, her eyes closed. She looks like she is sound asleep, resting peacefully.

“You awake?” He asks, Willa nods her head ‘No.’

“I have to go. They need us to go over out contracts. So we have to do it tonight while the main producer is in town.”

Willa nods and gives him a small smile, still refusing to open her eyes. She’s tried he doesn’t blame her but he’s glad that he won’t have to look her in the eyes and lie to her once again.

“I love you.” She whispers, quietly.

“I love you too.”

As Jeremy, made his way to ‘her’ home, he felt wrong. The road wasn’t right, the route was longer; his heart beat at a ragged pace. He didn’t feel like a man. He promised himself that the last time he was with her would indeed be that, the last. He wouldn’t associate with her. That was the end of that. 

He arrives and she doesn’t give him any time for warning, ‘her’ Julienne takes little time to hit him with the news. 

“I’m pregnant.” The words stun Jeremy, he steps back, stumbling. He lands on the couch and is speechless. He doesn’t ask her if it’s his or even if she's’ positive shes’ pregnant he was raised better than that. As a child, he was always told nothing happens that you can’t handle. He sits back and begins to panic.

“How far along?” he asks, quietly.

“A few weeks.” Jeremy nods, resting his hand on his chin. He’s happy and disappointed in himself. He’s just hurt the only woman he’s ever loved and now he’s never going to take it back. the news of fatherhood brought a smile to his face but this wasn’t how he wanted it. He’d always pictured it with Willa, that she’d be the one who surprised him with the news. He was going to have a child with the wrong woman.

How would he explain it to the child? How would he explain it to Willa? Years together and now it’s all gone. There’s no way, Willa would never forgive him. How could she look at him and still feel love. He stands up facing Julienne, his heart in his throat  and words coming out of his mouth before he realizes. “Will you Marry Me?” Jeremy stares at her in silence, unsure of what answer he wants from her. If he even should be asking that question. He had to ask her, it was the right thing to do. Even if she wasn’t the one he loved. 

Julienne takes a moment to think, she smiles. “Yes.” The young woman is happy, smiling beyond belief. 

Neither of the two think of Willa or the situation they’ve now found themselves in. It’s the future, he’ll have to focus on now. A future without his true love. A future where, he’s thrown everything he’s ever cared about away for the wrong girl.

It doesn’t take long for a feeling of nausea to hit Jeremy as he holds Julienne in his arm, he loosens his grip on the younger woman and is back on the couch in seconds, she’s speaking about their wedding. Jeremy stayed the night at Julienne’s home, drowning himself in alcohol; begging that when he woke up this would have just been a cruel dream.

The next morning, Julienne tells him about a doctor’s appointment she has scheduled for the baby, that she’s excited for him to go. She’s overly happy, the happiest he’s ever seen. 

He spends three days holding off the information from Willa, every minute he found her eyes on his own, his heart broke just a little more. He loved her, there was no doubt about that, she was his world but he’d ruined everything. 

Jeremy and Willa were in the bedroom, he was watching her get ready for work. Dressing to perfection as she paid little to no attention to him. When she sits down next to Jeremy to put on her heels he feels his heart catch in his throat. 

He watches her, “I cheated on you.” He confesses. Willa expression changes, her eyes grow wide and a look of confusion capturing her face as she slowly turns her head to look into his eyes. 

“What?” she asks in a quiet voice. 

He clears his throat, hiding his eyes. “I cheated on you.” 

Willa mouth drops open slightly, her hand coming up to run through her hair as she stares at Jeremy. “Okay.” She says, slowly she slips out of her heel and rises to her feet standing in front of him. 

Jeremy watches a collection of emotions overcome her face. She puts her hand up to her mouth while Jeremy stares at her. 

“Alright… w-w-we can work through this.” Willa says, nodding her head. 

Jeremy takes a deep breathe, “No.” is all he says, in a low voice. 

“What?” he can hear the sound of her heart break in her voice and the sound of her heart shattering following. 

“I asked her to marry me.” Jeremy says, in another low voice. 

Her breath catches in her throat, her jaw quivering as she stares at him. Her eyes full of tears. “Y-You what?” She breathing deeply, taking yet another step back. “You did what?” Her voice breaks. 

“She’s pregnant with my child.” Jeremy argues. 

“What about me? What about us?” It’s the last word that makes her realize what’s happening. Just  what Jeremy’s intentions are. There was never going to continue on being them. 

That night, Jeremy felt like less of a man. He’d broken nearly every rule he’d set out to have in his adult life. The woman, he’d spend ten years of his life with was going to be left alone to mend the broken pieces of her heart. He listened to her beg, to her hold onto his shirt and beg him to not leave. She tried everything, she could to make him stay. This woman–his woman was fighting for him. 

“Jer… Jeremy, please.” She begs, her tears falling rapidly. Her hands balled up in his shirt as he sits on the bed. He looks at the floor, knowing fully well if he were to look Willa in the eyes, he’d break. He too would cry. “I love you.” She whispers, pulling him into her. Wrapping her hands around his back and leaning her head against his. 

Jeremy looks towards the ceiling, trying to blink away the tears. He lets one hand wrap around her, holding her while she cries. He places a small kiss on her shoulder and another on her cheek before standing up, holding her against him. They embrace one another, Willa knowing she’s lost Jeremy. 

It hurts. The pain courses throw her body and the tears don’t stop. She doesn’t want to let him go, she doesn’t want him to leave, she wants him to stay. To take it all back. She wishes her were a crappy man who didn’t care about his ‘child’ but it’s selfish, even she knows that. Willa just wishes, she didn’t have to loose the only man she’d come to love. 

Jeremy’s hand unravel from her body, his tear stained shirt sticking to his body as he begins to walk away. The sobs from Willa haunting him as he makes his way out of the home. It was their last interaction, she was his weakness. He knew, given the opportunity, he would run back to her but he couldn’t do that. he had a child on the way and needed to do what was best for the child. 

Jeremy and Julienne spent three miserable years together, she was the one to end it. Serving Jeremy with Divorce papers while he was away filming. When he returned home, she was gone along with their daughter, Macy. He tried for three weeks to make her stay, promising he would be a better man but nothing worked. Neither of them were happy and their child was suffering. He knew that but he didn’t want their daughter to grow up in a broken home. 

In the beginning, he dreaded sleeping in the same bed with her, he dreaded having to hold her in his arms at times he hated even the sound of her breathing. Even putting his hand on her swollen stomach when she was pregnant was something he hated doing.  Things had drastically changed the day she left for good, he longed for her. The bed seemed empty, cold even. The house was quieter and he missed the smell of her perfume. 

A year after she moved out, their divorce was finalized, they would share joint custody of Macy, Julienne getting Macy the majority of the time and Jeremy getting her on any of his days off. It worked, Julienne and Jeremy getting along for the most part. 

Of course, they still had their fights as well as the unfortunate moments of passion where they’d wind up in bed together but it meant little to him. In reality, he still longed for Willa. He’d looked into the eyes of his child and wished they resembled Willa’s instead of Julienne. 

This small child who he loved to death, who was his entire world shared DNA with a woman he would never truly love. 

Their daughter nearing six was now school and learning everything there was about the world. Julienne however had married again with her second child on the way and her new husband trying to take on the role of father far more than need be. With a  new sibling on the way and a new stepfather, it meant the young child’s curiosity was peaking in regards to Jeremy and her mother’s relationship. 

This week was Jeremy’s and he was more than happy to spend it with her. She was becoming her own little person, a beautiful personality and a wonderful child. Everything Jeremy had hoped for. They’re getting ready for dinner as Macy sits at the table playing with a set of zoo animals when he pushes the toys out of the way for her food. 

“Do you love mommy?” His young daughter asks as she leans over the plate of pasta, Jeremy’s placed in front of her. His breath catches in his throat at the question. 

“Why do you ask that sweetie?” he asks, sitting next to her. He watches the small brunette use her fork to play with the noodles. 

“Because Lilly said that her mom said that you and mommy didn’t love each other. That you two only were together because you had a baby.” her voice is low. 

It’s another bombshell that nearly causes him to forget how to breathe. He knew this day would come but he hoped that she was older when she posed the question or better yet she wouldn’t ever ask. He held his hands close to his mouth as he stared at her clueless as to what to say. 

“Baby, see…It’s–It’s–It’s complicated.” He says closing his eyes. “You’ll understand when you’re older.” 

“Mommy says she didn’t love you.” she says barely audible. 

“What?” 

“Mommy told my other daddy that she didn’t love you.” Jeremy bites his lip, anger brewing in his body as he stares at his own plate of pasta in disbelief. These past few years weren’t easy, custody battle after custody battle that took it’s toll. It seemed that every time he and Julienne found themselves in a room together a fight ensued and back to court the pair went. Even with her new marriage and her new baby on the way, something was bound to tick her off and he would be at fault. 

As he sat at his dinner table and looked at his young daughters face who was desperately trying to understand the conversation, he had no words. No way of fixing what was said. She was right both Macy and Julienne. 

Julienne didn’t love him. 

And he didn’t love her. 

She was a mistake and a child was born because of it. You can’t explain that to a child, let alone a five year old. This situation that the three found themselves in would never be easy to understand. 

He didn’t answer his daughter, he changed the subject but the words repeated in his mind, just the knowledge that Julienne would confess that in front of their daughter. That her friends parents were discussing their lives. it ate at him.

Their week together seemed less enjoyable, every waking moment Jeremy found himself thinking of what he would say to Julienne, how the situation would progress. Sunday came quicker than he expected and her mother and step-father showed up at his door. 

“Is Macy ready?” Julienne asks with a hand on her stomach. 

He has to bite his tongue to point of blood seeping into his mouth from not saying anything. The things he could say to this woman. It was bad enough her new hubby was forcing his daughter to refer to him as ‘Daddy’ but now she was talking about him behind his back with Macy in earshot. 

Only after her, ‘Daddy’ leaves to put Macy in the car does he mention it. “What are you saying to Macy about us?”

She looks at him with a dead stare, “The truth.”

“Which is?” 

“That we screwed around and Macy was born.” Jeremy was in no way a perfect man, this entire situation had proved that. Yet in the eyes of his daughter, he never wanted her to think less of him, he never wanted be less of  a man. 

Julienne taps her foot, annoyed while Jeremy stands still, Macy’s bag in his hand and trying to remain clam and collected. 

“Why are you telling her that? She’s a child.” 

“She asked about us.” Julienne shrugs her shoulder, oblivious to the issues Jeremy sees. 

“Asked or not, she didn’t kneed to know that.” 

“I’m not going to lie to her.”

“She’s a child, Julienne. She doesn’t need to know how we got together.”

“What you mean that her daddy is a lying cheating bastard?” Julienne says,  turning up her nose. 

If looks could kill, Jeremy’s was close to it. He stared at her with disgust. “Dont you dare pull that card, Your’re just as guilty as i am.:”

The words do little to phase her, she stares blankly at him, almost annoyed. Jeremy doesn’t know what to say or how to feel, there are so many things he could spout at her. The choices are unlimited.

yet like a timer goes off, Julienne rips the child’s bag out of his hand and drops yet another bombshell. “By the way, i need you to sign the papers that my lawyer will be dropping off for you on a few days.”

A look of confusion over comes Jeremy’s face as he chases her outside, “What papers? What have you done now?” he asks, half hoping the answer he receives is nothing actually bad. Yet words fail Jeremy as Julienne confesses, “Adoption, papers… For Rick.” He nearly looses all sense of function when the words spill from her mouth. 

Ricks leans against the car, watching the interaction between the ex-husband and ex-wife. It’s a sight for sore eyes.

“If I sign those papers…” He would never sign those papers, even faced with the option of death, he’d never sign away his daughter. He’s sooner die. “You won’t get any child support.” He hopes with the realization that the money would be cut off, her actions would cease. Much to his amazement, she does the latter. Defending her reasoning, accusing Jeremy of cheating and being a evil husband.

“My attorney will speak to you about the case.” She says, brushing off everything that he’s said.

“You are not serious.” He asks, his heart racing.

“Rick wants to be her father. We want to be a family.”

Jeremy could feel his heart falling out of his chest, the same feeling he’d experienced the night he told Willa he was leaving her. The realization that he was loosing a part of his life. 

Saying goodbye to: Willa seemed easier than his current situation. They’d been together for ten years but this was his daughter, his baby girl; the five year old that shared his eyes and his smile. The five year old who grabbed his finger just mere seconds after she was born.

“I’m not signing those damn papers.” He says loudly as Julienne attempts to get into the car She’s annoyed at him.

“You will.”

“I’ll take you back to court.” He says angered, his voice rising.

“Have it your way.” She says just as angered.

Rock chimes in much to Jeremy’s disappointment. “Just sign the papers you’ll get rid of the kid, its not like you spend enough time to qualify as a dad.” Rick moves to stand in front of Jeremy, the younger man who was nearing his mid thirties attempting to stand his ground.

Rick was taller than Jeremy, he’s built far from average and looked as though he could knock Jeremy out in one hit but Jeremy was not one to back down. This fight however would be one that he would not loose.

“You’ve been around for what two months and all of a sudden you’re a better dad then me? Because a kid inside of Julienne’s uterus makes you so experienced.” Jeremy says angered. “What the hell did you at about my wife?”

“How about you take care of your own and I take care of mine? Macy is mine.”

Rick once again, attempts to stand his ground. “I’m married to Julienne which makes Macy’s mine. I’m a far better father than you could ever be. At least I can keep it in my pants.”

Jeremy grabs the mans, collar slamming his back forcefully into the side of the car. He grunts in pain before either knew it Jeremy’s fist was raised just begging to hit the mans face. Just moments before his fist crashes into ricks sorry face, he looks over and there behind the glass is his daughters green eyes peering at him. He sees the look of horror on her face and he stops, lowering his fist. The grip he holds on Ricks collar tightens.

“If you think I’d let you take Macy, you got another thing coming, boy.” It was true, Julienne husband was a boy compared to Jeremy.  With he nearing fifty and the husband just barely 33 years old age, he had much more experience in life than him.

He let’s the man go, his threat going straight to the mans core. He watches the broken shell of a man retreat to the car and eventually drive off as fast as he can. The car leaving tire tracks on Jeremy’s driveway.

He takes a moment to contain himself, slamming his foot into a ceramic pot resting near his driveway that shatters to pieces upon impact to the floor. Soils spills to the ground and the Lilly’s he and Macy planted months prior are both smashed And stained by the black dirt.

Not even a day later, the papers and a lawyer arrive. She’s a young female lawyer who looks like this is her first solo case. He recognized the look from Willa. She too shared the same look when a lawyer had her join him in court, she sat at the table with her heart racing and her palms sweating.

Jeremy spent the early hours of the morning, convincing her that she would be fine as well as that she wouldn’t throw up her Breakfast. As he expected, she did it perfectly. There was no trouble at all.

He starred at the young blonde woman, her eyes wide and her words stumbling as she presented him with the paperwork. Normally, he would introduce himself and be polite but now he refused too. He wanted nothing more than to throw her out of his home. His anger was directed at the wrong person, it would be Julienne who deserved the anger not this young lawyer.

She presented her case, telling Jeremy this would go over smoothly if he did simply just sign the paper work or if he wanted to hire his own lawyer and try the case. It’d be a long battle she warned.

He did the latter. Soon as she left, he reached out to everyone he knew in search for a lawyer. He made an appointment for the following week and awaited anxiously as every day passed.

The paperwork mimicked his divorce papers they too rested on his counter, untouched. A sense of denial overtook the man as he would come face to face with the papers. He didn’t believe it was true, that his life had meet this fate. That at the age of 46, he was a divorced single father who was on the verge of loosing custody of his daughter to a teenager.

His actions also mimicked his earlier one, a beer with every meal; a beer every time he was home. A closet alcoholic.

 The day of his appointment, he tried to clean up but there was no will. He didn’t shave, his face was sporting more than a five o’clock shadow, bags were present under his eyes. Even with a decent suit on he still resembled a depressed man, which he was.

“You’re my nine o’clock?” A man says, straightening out his tie as Jeremy enters his office. 

“Yes, Jeremy Renner.” Jeremy says, smiling, reaching his hand out to shake his. 

“You called about a…” He glances down at his desk, “a child custody case?”

“Yes.” 

“Well, here’s the deal.” He says, his hand pointing towards the chair in front of his desk. “I don’t typically take child custody cases. You’re high profile which means you’re going to get a lot of attention and i think you’d be better suit for someone else to handle your case.” 

Jeremy remains expression list, his hand on his side clenching into a fist. “Who would you refer me to?” 

 He takes a look at his computer screen, scrolling a few minutes and mumbling to himself before pulling out a piece of paper and writes on it. “Two floors up, there’s a bunch of lawyers with far more experience in child custody than i am. They should be able to help you.” He hands the paper over to Jeremy who glances at it, His cane number he assumes. “I’ll let them know you’re on your way. Good luck.” 

Jeremy leaves, clutching the paper in his hand and his level of anxiety on high, between his fit with Rick in front of his daughter and now the new fight he was having to prepare himself for. It was beginning to take a toll on his body. 

When he arrives at the second floor, the atmosphere feels different, like it’s damper; heavier up here.There’s people walking back and fourth, pounds of paperwork stacked in their arms and phone going off in every direction, before he has a chance to ask the receptionist for direction she speaks. 

“You’re the guy that Eric sent up?”  She says, stepping out from behind her desk, a smile forming on her face.

“Ye–yes.” He says.

“Follow me.” She walks ahead of him, her heels clacking on the marble floor. “I don’t know whose schedule is free at the moment, so please allow me to ask around.”

He nods. “Please wait here.” she says as she knocks on a wooden door. She steps inside of the room for no longer than two minutes before coming back out with another smile on her face. ‘We’ll have to try the next one.”

The same deal with the next one, he’s busy or he turned her down. While shes’s inside of their third attempt, her news is better than he expected. “Alright, Jamesson said he wouldn’t be able to take you on. His schedule wouldn’t be able to fit you but he thinks our last associate may be able too. Please follow me.”

Once again, the process is repeated but there’s no answer to the door, She opens the door but its empty. “Oh dear.” she says, quietly.

“Callie, can I help you?” A female voice says from behind you.

“Oh, this is the man from downstairs, Eric didn’t have the expertise to help him so he sent him to us. Are you available?”

Jeremy gets ready to fall apart, he’s no way prepared for another let down. He turns around slowly but his entire body language changes when he meets the woman whose responsible to the voice.

“I do–” She starts to say before stopping mid sentence to face him. It’s like someone had gotten a hold of a time machine and set the dial back to six years ago. There standing directly in front of him was Wila. Her eyes the same light hazel, her hair a lighter shade of brown but she didn’t look even the slightest different from the day he left. He stares at her dumbfounded, in a state of shock as her eyes face his again.

“This is the–him?”Willa says as she forces a smile on her face, her eyes quickly leave Jeremy’s to face Callie.

“Yes. Are you able to take him on?” She asks, in a polite voice. Willa nibbles on her lower lip, quickly walking past Jeremy and grabbing Callie’s arm, forcefully pulling her into the office where she closes the door gently. Jeremy however can hear everything that is being said between the two woman.

“What’s his case?” Willa asks

“Child custody.”

“For fucks sake.” Willa says, hissing.

“What is something wrong?”

“How far into the case is he?” Willa asks changing the subject

“Not any, today was his first meeting.”

“I’ll do a consultation with him but i’m not saying that I’ll take his case, okay?” Callie fills the room with ‘thank yous’ as she leaves.

“Okay, Mr. Renner, Willa will see you know.” Callie holds the door open for Jeremy who takes a deep breath before entering. The door closes behind him as his eyes lock onto the woman he once called his own.

“Willa, I–” He starts to to say before she interrupts him.

“Now Mr. Renner, Callie says that you’re here for a child custody case. Please take a seat and tell me what exactly it is your seeking?” She says from behind her desk, her hand extends out to the chair in front of her while she makes little to no eye contact with Jeremy. She glances at her computer and pulls out a notepad from her desk, sitting it on the desk and beginning to write on it. .

Jeremy cautiously sits down in front of her, his heart is racing. “My–my… Are you sure you don’t want anyone else to do this?”

She sighs, “Look Mr. Renner, right now there’s no one else to do this.”

Jeremy’s taken back, Willa is acting as though nothing happened between the two. Like they are simply employee and employer.

“My ex-wife is trying to petition the court to get my parental rights terminated and given to her new husband.” For a moment on Willa’s face as she writes, he swears a see’s a small smirk but it’s quick to disappear.

“How long have they been married?”

“A little over six months.”

“Are you up to date on child support payments?”

“Yes.”

“Child welfare? Are you providing a stable and safe environment for her?”

“Yes.”

“i’m sure you two had a previous custody agreement prior to this correct?”

“Yeah, I had Macy on any day i had off and she had her the other days.” he can tell even with little expression on her face, the words stung.

“Tell me, what exactly it is you’re planning to gain should this go to court?” Finally, Willa’s eyes land on him. He glances at her hand, no wedding ring. Her desk is empty other than a few photos and loose papers.

“I don’t want my rights taken away. I’ll push for sole custody if i have too. His voice raises.

“Just so you know, if this does go to court, it will be messy.” She sets her pen down and crossing her arms over her chest. “Messy for not only you and your ex-wife but the child you share as well.”

Jeremy nods and she continues. “Legal options, you legally do not have to sign your parental rights away. If you can prove that you’re a fit father  then your chances of keeping custody are high. You pay child support and make time to see your child, that plays in your favor as well. However seeing as though this a new husband is trying to provide for his new family that also has some set backs. I’m not saying that it’s going to go in their favor but you have to be aware of all options if this were to proceed.”

“She… My ex-wife filed paperwork to terminate my parental rights, what are my options now?” Jeremy asked realizing how awkward this situation was. he was asking for advice from his ex-girlfriend about what to do with his ex-wife who was his mistress at that time.

“Do you have the paperwork? I assume either she or another lawyer dropped them off with you?”

“Yes…here.” Jeremy says reaching into his breast pocket to pull out the paperwork. She takes the paper away from Jeremy quickly, refusing to hold her hand out near his any longer.

“This says that you’ve failed to meet the standards that a parent should.” She skims through the documents. “That you’re home is unsafe and unfit for a child of her age as well as you’ve been keeping her from school.”

“I haven’t done any of those.”

“Okay, if you do indeed choose us to take on your case, this would be the problem. Not only would we have to prove that your a fit parent but we’d have to open a case with child protective services.  but it could turn into a he-said-she-said type deal. Which is even worse.”

“Is there any way to keep this out of the courts, Willa?” he asks using her name for the second time. immediately, Willa eyes change, threes a hint of sadness in them.

“If you hadn’t of received these papers, you probably could have avoided that but now it seems that court is most likely going to happen.”

“How bad is this going to get, Willa?”

She chuckles and puts her arms on the table, “Mr. Renner, I’m not–”

“Jeremy stands up from the seat, bumping into the table. “Will,  you stop with the whole. ‘Mr. Renner’ thing? I’m not Mr. Renner to you, you know me better than that.”

Willa also stands, “Then what are you to me?”

“Jeremy.” he says almost pleading.

“Not in here.” She says, sternly. “In here, it’s Mr. Renner and Miss Koehler. Nothing more.”

her words catch Jeremy off guard. it’s hostile. As it should be. He sits back and thinks of what he did to her, how she deserved to treat him like crap rather than take the time out of her day to help him. She should have cursed him out the minute she saw him but she simply accepted it and sat down.

“How much do you guys charge per hour?” Jeremy asks in a small voice as he sat back down.

“It’s pro bono, don’t worry about it.” She says, starring at him.

“No… I’ll pay.”

“No, you won’t. The firm needs ex amount of pro bono hours and each associate has a certain amount of hours to meet.”

Jeremy nods in response.  “Please however do me a favor, i need your full name, your address and contact information.” She hands him a piece of paper and reaches into one of her drawers pulling out a business card. “here’s my business card to give to your ex-wife. from now on, you don’t say anything to her unless it’s pertaining to your daughter even then the conversations are to be held to a minimum. If she or her husband have anything to say to you, they will direct it to me or the firm.”

it was less than a normal interaction between them, he wanted to apologize to her, to say something, he wanted to tell her that he never stopped thinking about her. That he missed her every single day but considering how they parted, he didn’t have the right to say any of that.

He left her office without saying another word. He didn’t mention their pas he bit his tongue and walked away. When he was outside, the California air did little to help him relax. he stood outside the building, looking around him like the answer to his problems would just show up. He left in search of a convenience store or gas station some place in where his need for a cigarette could be met quickly. There was no explanation as to why he was craving a cigarette, he hand’t smoked in years. Not since Willa had printed out countless articles, plastering them to the walls about cigarette related deaths.

“What is this?” Jeremy asked, pulling a paper away from the wall as he enters the home, Willa is sitting on the couch, a book in her lap. .

“An article.”

“I see that. Why is it on the wall?” he asked leaning down to kiss Willa on the top of her head.

“I just figured if you want to smoke you might as well know the ways you’re going to die.”

“God, you’re such a sweet woman.” He said, smiling at her. “You know those things wont kill me for at least another forty years?”

“So, you’re saying we aren’t going to be together for another forty some years?” She says in a shocked voice.

Jeremy walks over to the couch, leaning down next to Willa. He rests his face directly in front of hers and smiles. “Maybe I’ll get tired of you after thirty-five.” 

He pays the clerk with a gash in his heart, they hadn’t even made it to thirty-five years. They barely made it to ten. He pulls a cigarette out from the small cardboard box, lighting it with ease. He stares it watching the smoke rise. When he finally takes a small puff, he lets it linger in his lungs, burning away the pain. He looks at his ring finger, remembering the gold band he once wore. The gold band that he once wore, coincidentally the same gold band that he looked at purchasing when he and Willa were together was also the ring he wore to symbolize his ‘love’ with Julienne. 

The tobacco burns his lungs and throat, reminding him of his youth. When the days were simpler, when the only thing on his mind was what party he was going to attend that night. Not fighting for custody for his daughter or fearing what would happen with his future.