#but also it's perfectly FINE i just gotta cope.

[stabbyfoxandrew]

okie, i am gonna post shit that i'm not 100% happy with and I AM GONNA GET OVER IT

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 49 Burnt Cereal with Milk Posting

Alright, dear void. It's time. I put on my powerscaler hat and turned on the stove.

Never ever let me cook again though- apparently I'm just as shitty at it online as I am IRL. We are going to Eye Scars at the temple next. Well, "we" meaning Hakuri, Uruha, and some fodder since the train fight DIDN'T HAPPEN. Yet. Is it too delusional to think that we could get the super cool stuff with Uruha fighting off the mooks somehow? Because damn, I was really looking forward to more than what we got...

It's alright though. I can cope with the power of even stronger delusions.

Wasn't there LITERALLY any better way to do this than pulling on Uruha's hair, Hakuri?!

Still enjoying the fact that Chihiro can yell out a random word and Hakuri will instantly understand his full intent. They don't have to plan shit- they just figure it out and it works.

Yeah, they both would know that "Centipede" is referring to Kyora's usage of Magatsumi's ability, but Chihiro improvising the move on the spot and Hakuri adjusting perfectly is awesome. Sad they're separated for now, but hopefully we get more of this stuff through the whole series. They're so busted when they work together because soulmate coding.

But this new Kuro technique is probably why John keeps pressing the assault and forcing Chihiro to act: he adapts and improves at an incredible rate when he's under pressure. Still don't know why John needs him to be extremely powerful and full of hatred for his plans, but maybe Hiruhiko will spill the beans. He's a chatty bastard who gets his jollies from extreme methods after all.

Fuck these guys.

Hiruhiko is the king of "it's just a prank bro, don't get so upset brooooooooooo" assholes everywhere. His origami powers are pretty neat though, I gotta admit. The editor's note for this week was something along the lines of "Uruha's will is also carried on [Chihiro's] blade"... I want that pretty face to get bloodied and beaten, man. I actually detest flippant long-haired guys as an entire character archetype so please let him have an agonizing death. I want to look forward to it no matter how long it takes.

Speaking of the Hishaku, do they have the world's freakiest training camp for new members or something? Ch. 32

Ch. 49

Literal bloodbath of a series.

This is the second time Chihiro's been blinded with blood in a fight. It's a cool and intelligent tactic but like, why? Use the wrong person's blood and Chihiro will die to some horrible infection or disease before those seeds of hatred can mature, my dudes. But I kinda wonder... Chs. 32 & 49 again:

Hiruhiko proceeds to taunt Chihiro like nothing happened after being violently stabbed out of a moving train.

There's something freaky about how the marked Hishaku members are totally OK with being skewered and losing limbs. Even Chihiro winces in pain when he's hit hard enough to lose his arm, y'know? Is it just because this is an ultra-violent action series and the villains need to stay threatening?

No insights, just pure glazing. This panel absolutely stunning... I can clearly see the motion and imagine exactly how it's happening. I held my breath in anticipation while reading this and was not at all disappointed by the gorgeous spread on the next page. God I love the fights in Kagurabachi.

Yet another "Hakuri needs time to recover" reminder. It's been constant since the arc started in Chapter 45... just for the dramatic tension, probably. I've already said my piece about relying on this particular tool too much, so let's move on.

As this site's #1 Hakuri Agendaposter, I think he's gonna be okay in the short term. We don't know if the Hishaku have accounted for him or not, but the focus right now is on the Bearers. He'll be fine. Surely. I can see him going too far to be "useful" and knocking himself out to transport Kumeyuri and possibly Eye Scar's blade- or maybe Hiyuki to their current location if Hokazono-sensei's feeling funny-, but no torture or suffering flags have been raised. Yet. He's just going to be running on fumes for a while...

Official Tier List Drop

Chihiro corrected Hakuri's "nonsense" estimations for all the powerscalers out there, how kind of him. I kind of went on a fuckhuge tangent here but I can't be assed to retake all the screenshots to post separately. So suffer (or skip if you're sane)!

But who could beat Goku?!?!?!/1/1 Obviously, equipped nuke bearers and Hiyuki are in a class of their own. A step down are uniquely strong fighters like Azami, Shiba, Hiruhiko, and John. Then there's the endless Datenseki fodder who are only scary when they're in a group and not exploded yet.

I don't give a flying fuck about who would win against Ultra SSJ Gigaturbo Pepsimaxx'd Goku. However, I do like it when there are clearly established tiers of power. NOT the graded tiers style where things are neatly ranked from coughing baby to hydrogen bomb, mind you. That is the laziest way to explain a universe's relative power dynamic. It also lets me know that the protagonist is going to single-handedly wreck the balance via powercreep not even halfway through the series (unless it's HxH, which only applies to one series: HxH).

I much prefer Kagurabachi's fuzzy approach. The stakes are clearly established: the Enchanted Blades and Hiyuki's Enkotsu are a Big Fucking Deal. They are incredibly strong and all the characters treat them as such. So Chihiro, Hiyuki, and armed Bearers are at the top.

Yet even within that small selection there's a notable differential in power between those who have mastered the weapon and those who haven't. Chihiro is hella strong, but Shiba let us know early on that he's still got a long way to go before he's truly formidable. We've seen Chihiro get bodied by Sojo, a genius who only had Kuregumo for a few weeks; he's in tune with Enten, but he's got a hell of a lot to learn about fighting strong opponents still. He's probably closer in strength to an Elite Sorcerer than a veteran Bearer like Uruha. (The whole thing about hardly ever fighting fully healed and rested up is also a sticking point, but not gonna digress on that.)

Beneath that tier are strong Elite sorcerers. Azami was noted by Uruha as being as "reassuring" as Hiyuki in terms of his abilities, and Chihiro put Shiba, John, and Hiruhiko on par with him. So I think it's reasonable to infer that the strength of their sorcery and their experience as fighters would put them so close to the Bearers in terms of power. The elite Kamunabi guards and task force, by comparison, make up for their shortcomings by working together as a team. They'd be at the bottom of this category -possibly another step below- individually, but their teamwork and experience put them much closer to a Bearer's strength. The Sazanami Tou would be in this category too despite mostly being off-screened by Shiba (he's just that good).

And then there are run-of-the-mill guys like the Trauma, Mud Clone, and regular Sazanami sorcerers. They're very strong compared to an average person but need those Datenseki shards to compete with the elites. This is the true "miminum strength" floor in Kaugrabachi. If you can't hold your own against a rando sorcerer hireling, you have no business being involved in the fights. Of course the Hiruhikos and Shibas of the world will outclass you horribly, but that's the risk you take when being unnamed fodder in Kagurabachi.

This high of a power floor is why I'm glad we don't see regular people like Hinao anywhere near the skirmishes- a sorcerer can easily manhandle them, and the fights Chihiro gets involved in are far more lethal than they can safely stand around to provide commentary for. This means all the insightful remarks come from the fighters themselves and only rarely an omniscient narrator, which is so much more interesting than listening to a non-combatant give a play-by-play. It's refreshing to see the fighting left to the warriors while the regular folks actually run away to safety for once, you know?

That's a key component of why the fights in Kagurabachi feel so different from other shounen so far. I don't need someone who's never thrown hands telling me how amazing Chihiro looks and explaining what he's doing: the author is showing me while Chihiro himself tells me what he's thinking. And when we do get third-party commentary, it's limited to providing vital context. We aren't wasting panels to glaze the fighters and explain everything in excruciating detail. We just see it play out and understand that yes, this is absolutely awesome and it works because of the quality of the composition. And because we don't need a door stopper of a novel to explain what each ability does (this is JJK shade, come at me).

OK, tangent within a tangent aside... where does that leave outliers like Hakuri, Tafuku, Ice Lady, and unarmed bearers?

Tafuku's sorcery has insane utility, but it looks like he himself doesn't get any direct combat boost. So he really needs a partner like Hiyuki to make the most of it.

I'd say he's probably in the Elite tier considering he has no issues dealing with the rank-and-file sorcerers and guards at the auction. He's plenty used to defending himself while Hiyuki wreaks havoc at least. So the combination of skill, utility, and experience make up for the lack of raw power.

So far it seems as though folks like Char and Ice Lady aren't much better off than non-sorcerers. In fact, we've only seen these traits cause a great deal of suffering at the hands of people who want to exploit them...

Their natural traits seem to provide passive benefits that can negate sorcery side-effects in specific situations (like the nausea caused by Shiba's teleportation in Char's case), but so far there's no evidence that they provide any advantages against actual techniques. They're below the minimum power threshold but a smidge above average civilians for now. This could change if we get more information and examples, though.

So Chihiro said, but...

Dude's still looking mighty fine to me.

If all the former bearers are on the same level as Uruha, then they're not truly "defenseless". However, they definitely do need help when facing Elites and many average sorcerers. They're probably in the middle of the "ordinary" sorcerer tier without their blades- competent against the minimum, but at risk against anything tougher.

So yeah. Uruha's not gonna get shanked by a regular non-magical enemy- he's just defenseless compared to most of the relevant combatants in this universe right now. And as soon as he gets Kumeyuri back, he'll be at the apex. He should be able to handle the trash still on the train just fine until then.

Potential Man incarnate

Hakuri's in a weird spot.

He's the first genius in his clan's 200-year history since the OG patriarch and has a huge amount of potential. Even in the wider world he's quite exceptional for having two sorcery abilities available to him. But the actual mechanics of how he allocates his sorcery and trains it are big unknowns right now. Hakuri's basically got infinite potential, maybe enough to put him in the same tier as the Bearers and Hiyuki. But will he have the time and narrative attention to get there? We don't know. He can't even use his powers without knocking himself out at the moment, so it'll be a while before we see any movement on that too.

He's off to the side with a big question mark over his head for now. I need more information and screen time of him fighting while rested to place him. Which reminds me, actually... Kazane's in the same position. He was supposed to be the trump card in the Sojo fight but lost his arm and most of his comrades before he got to do anything. So he and Hakuri can chill on the sidelines until it's time to see them in action once more.

Thanks for tuning in to the worst cooking show on Tumblr, dear void. Next up: Eye Scars, maybe! Chihiro fighting through the streets to get vengeance on Uruha's behalf! Uruha and Hakuri possibly also making an appearance! Stay fresh, bachibros.

[icekingofhope]

for many people depicting SA in fiction is a coping mechanism because people take back control of a situation they were part of and had no control over

this is a recommended mechanism that is RECOMMENDED by psychotherapists. If you are uncomfortable with it that’s fine, but ultimately it’s your responsibility to avoid it

so stop with the whole invalidation and “MUH FEELINGS IM UPSET YOU ARE COPING IN A WAY I DONT AGREE WITH” like some sort of mean, petty bitch and high school bully

Buddy im not saying its wrong to represent SA in media I am saying its wrong cause proshippers fetishing and romanticizing it

and it’s the fact most of these people literally go to kids shows FOR CHILDREN AND DEPICT STUFF such as this where child can get influenced and taught that “hey being sexually assaulted is ok” or “a minor being with a adult is ok” and such

im Not invailding trauma responses like if you wanna represent sa in media go ahead but you gotta do it respectfully and such and not to romanticize or fetishize it especially with a character from a kids show and especially if you draw a art piece depicting or writing a full on detail of sa

i know artists or show writers and authors that have represent sa perfectly the problem with proshippers they fetishized it and make it seem it’s a good thing for people who get influenced especially little kids

I remember the time when I was in the undertale fandom when I was way younger and so many of the fans are proshippers who made me thought many things in that fandom was ok I thought Frans was ok which is a ship between a minor and a adult and such I thought stuff about sancest was ok and I thought sa abuse etc was ok cause that’s what the undertale fandom taught me it wasn’t till later I realized how bad it is

I have no time arguing with you about this but know I am not trying to be this fucking mean bully that bullies people like if people wanna represent their trauma it’s fine I have done so myself but when your fetishizing romanticizing and full on sexualizing it

Then there is a problem especially when it has to do with kid shows where I see mostly proshippers active at where children could see

im not upset that people are trying to cope I’m upset that proshippers just think they can do whatever they want by fetishing very problematic stuff especially when kids could see and people who went threw it could see it

also next time please don’t just assume I meant you can’t represent dark topics in media cause you can but you gotta do it respectfully and responsibly especially if you went threw that type of things

[thegamingcatmom]

Hullo! As always love your blog and the service you're doing for the un-holy trinity bc there's not enough content about them and that's sad. I'm pretty sure you will know who this is but oh well, i guess I'm just shy to actually ask without the anon-thingy option. Today i come seeking advice for writing, if you can provide it, if not that's perfectly fine. You see I write for myself, a coping mechanism of sorts and when i got back to the fandom after so many years and got struck with teh Denali obsession i used to write The sisters/OC, but as I became more obsessed with Irina I changed the relationship because I found it easier, we all have our versions of the characters in the end so of course MY version of the sisters will be different from anybody else (perhaps), in my story Tanya and Kate are more carefree, Tanya being the msot responable one since she's the leader while Kate is more on the playful side meanwhile Irina is the most cuddly, loving, affectionate and needy of them, even clingy, especially emotionally (Once you've reached her heart ofc bc is hard to get tehre XD), I think this version of her turned like this because as I mentioned writing is a coping mechanism so it is what I kind of needed to feel better at the time if that makes any sense and now I struggle to write the three of them with MC again because no matter how hard I try I always feel like MC gravitates towards Irina, like magnets yk and I feel bad for the other two bc I feel is not fair XD ANYWAY I would like to ask, any advice on how to balance that? The attention they recieve, the way they itneract without each other without feeling as if the others are left out? because i am frustrated that i want to write them all and it doesn't feel idk, natural? When I read your HCs, despite the tantrums thrown around their interactions with MC seem natural, effortless in a way that i am honestly jealous of because you make it look easy! (Totes adore your writing style btw <3) IDK if any of this made any sense? i struggle to put in words what I mean to say but I hope you can shine some light in my dilemma, thank you in advance and have a wonderful day/weekend <333

Heya!

First of all: Thank you, as always, for your lovely words. ❤️

I totally agree that there isn´t NEARLY enough content about them out there, so we all gotta change that! 💪

Also, I think I do know who this is. 😉🫶

Which: Anon asks are absolutely fine, really. Whatever you feel most comfortable with. 🫶🫶

We all have our ways to cope with things, and I totally get writing being one of those. I write to unwind after a long day or just to provide some new stimuli for those grey cells of mine. It´s immensely helpful with reducing stress or anxiety as well. ^^

My point is: You write whatever makes you feel good, what feels right for you. It´s your story, you decide how it´s gonna play out. 🫵

Tanya and Kate are more carefree, Tanya being the msot responable one since she's the leader while Kate is more on the playful side meanwhile Irina is the most cuddly, loving, affectionate and needy of them, even clingy, especially emotionally (Once you've reached her heart ofc bc is hard to get tehre XD)

Yknow, that´s kinda my view on them too. xD

(Except Tanya´s much more hornier, LMAO.)

Look, we all got our favorites, and I´m pretty sure mine shines through in some of my writing too. It´s only natural to have your MC / OC gravitate more towards the person that you yourself would rather spend time with irl. There´s always gonna be bits and pieces of ourselves flowing into our writing I think. 😅

...I mean, in my case (The Sisters), Tanya gets little to no luving because I really love making em work for it. The clingiest one gets the least attention, that´s the principle I go by here because I love watching em suffer. 🤷‍♀️

.

.

.

As for giving advice:

First off: ALSKNFLSAFNLF, tysm for your words. 😭❤️

I feel absolutely honored that someone would come to me, asking for writing advice. 🥺❤️

Right so, you already know how you view them, that´s good. Let that flow into their interactions with each other and with MC. Think of a scenario you´d like to see them in. Think about the different ways the sisters would react to that scenario, depending on their characteristics. Everything else builds on that.

E.g.: Celebrating MC´s birthday

Tanya: carefree yet responsible

did most of the organizing (responsible)

which...she will let MC know

receives lots of praise for it because it does look amazing

much to the annoyance (and jealousy) of her sisters (🙄🙄)

the first to give MC a present because she´s the leader (🙄🙄)

the present is a lingerie set (🙄🙄)

(which is really more a present for herself)

entirely chill about it (carefree) whilst MC´s turned as red as a lobster

will take that as her cue to get reallll close and whisper into MC´s ear how good she´s gonna look in that

much to the annoyance (and jealousy) of her sisters (🙄🙄)

will perhaps even go so far and hold it up to get a first...impression (carefree)

...🙄🙄

Kate: carefree, playful

the only one to wear a party hat (playful)

much to the annoyance (and jealousy) of her sisters because, as it turns out, MC loves party hats

I mean it

Irina and Tanya can only watch in utter agony as she receives all those cheek-squishes and smooches for being the absolute cutest in the room

as soon as MC´s back is turned, she´s gonna turn to her sisters in utter smugness

her plan worked out

her present is a roboter (you decide which one)

MC fucking loves it

Kate fucking loves it

(whose present was it again?)

both of them end up spending most of their time with that thing (carefree, playful), together ofc ❤️

...🙄🙄

Irina: cuddly/loving/affectionate/clingy

immediately wraps MC in a hug

nose rubs

whispers b-day wishes into MC´s ear

the sweetest b-day kiss

and one more

and one more

and-

the coughing behind her reminds her that, ah yes-

presents MC her gift a lil sheepishly because she almost forgot about it since she was entirely focused on...other things

has the most hopeful/attentive look on her face when MC opens it

the present is a photo album containing all their adventures/special moments together, with date and all

MC tears up and throws herself at her

they stay like that for a while

and another while

and another-

🙄🙄

...

...🥹🥹

That´s kinda how I would do it. Just get a feel for how they would react first. What makes them different from one another? What´s something that makes you go "ahh ye, that´s totally them"? Their interaction comes more naturally then because it will feel more natural.

Well, I hope that made sense? I´m not sure if that´s the advice you were looking for, or if it´s any helpful at all. But that´s pretty much how I do it. 😅

If you have any more questions, I´d be happy to answer them to the best of my ability! ^^

Wonderful day/week to you as well &

Thanks a lot for that lovely ask! 💋

EDIT:

I mentioned it in the comments, but I´m putting it here as well because I think that´s also very good advice:

There doesn´t always have to be a balance.

Sometimes, good storytelling thrives on imbalance. It spices things up and encourages you to approach/view certain situations from a different perspective. It can also inspire new thoughts and ideas. 💡

There is no "right" or "wrong" when it comes to writing. ☝️ ^^

[onestormeynight]

The Only House On The Left

Penelope had spent the last several days alone with Rosalie. While she did love her baby, she was craving conversation with someone who didn't spit up half of their lunch. Calling the Harpers had even crossed her mind once. Briefly. One psychotic moment.

There was a knock at the door. Her door. Her door in the middle of Harper Valley, with nothing around for miles. At first Penelope thought she had imagined it. Rosalie was babbling and pointing a saliva slick finger at the door.

There was another knock. Penelope almost knocked over a chair on her way there.

A young woman stood there looking oddly serene about being perfectly out of place. She looked maybe six years older than Penelope.

"HI!" Penelope said, maybe with a big too much enthusiasm.

"Uh, hey," the woman said. "Sorry to bother you, it's just I'm lost. Like, soooo lost. I was looking for Henford on Bagley?"

"Oh! Well, you're almost there," Penelope said. "You just want to keep following the road -- well, what's left of it, really -- east and you'll run straight into it. It's about an hour and a half away."

"Hey thanks. I'm Annabelle but I go by B."

"I'm Penelope. Penny or Pen is also fine."

B was looking around the empty valley and at Penelope's little home. Inside Rosalie could be heard cooing and rattling about in her crib with her bear. Penelope sneaked a quick look through the window to make sure she was still safe.

"This looks like a great place to live, honestly," B said finally. "All this nature? It's like, totally beautiful out here. But the internet has to be whack, though. I couldn't cope with that, no ma'am. I gotta play my simsforever."

Impulsively, Penelope blurted out "do you wanna stay for dinner?"

B gave her a couple of blinks.

"It's just...I'm sorry, I'm so clumsy. Look, I'm almost finished cooking anyways so you can eat in like, ten minutes. The only person I've had to talk to really is Rosie and while she's cute, she does spit up on all my nice shirts and isn't the best conversationalist. You seem really cool."

"Oh." B looked her up and down. "Wow. Aren't you like, what, 18?"

Penelope got a little nervous. "17."

"You have a baby?"

"I do. A daughter. She's still an infant."

"Woah." B nodded serenely and smiled. "Hardcore sis. And you're living out here alone? With a baby? Absolutely rad. I'd love to stay."

"Come in, she's in her bear suit right now and there's nothing sweeter in the world," Penelope said, opening the door. "Seriously, call your dentist because you're going to have cavities after you see her."

"Alright, that's cool."

Penelope picked up her giggling and slightly sticky daughter and handed her over to B. B smiled and bounced Rosie into further laughter. "Wild, man. Absolutely wild. Your story must be so interesting Penny."

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours, B."

Ending Credits: "With A Little Help From My Friends" - Joe Anderson, Jim Sturgess

((prev)) ((next))

((The Soundtrack))

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

the entirety of Death of An Optimist by Grandson can be applied to Ford. hear me out

Death of an Optimist // Intro - this can be a few different things- stan mourning him after accidentally trapping him in the multiverse, ford's mindset after stan broke his project, or ford's mindset after bill's betrayal/while he's in the multiverse. the rising intensity at the end, just to suddenly cut off makes me think of ford's rising anxiety/paranoia as weirdmaggedon draws closer

In Over My Head - ford being pressured all his life to do incredible things (getting famous/making millions, creating an interdimensional portal in just a year, attempting to kill bill, etc.) and the increasing stress that comes with it

Identity - this can be two different things i think (both at once?). ford after stan broke the project and was kicked out and/or ford post-portal. not entirely knowing who is, especially once he's in the portal, resigning himself to just 'destroy bill' and nothing else

Left Behind - 'i'm feeling like i don't have a reason to believe in' and 'i don't wanna move on, but i don’t wanna get left behind'. again, it's the pressure of having to do incredible things and do them quick. have you ever noticed how quickly he dropped everything to focus on the portal? One year. he was working himself to death

Dirty - the difference between ford and bord (or just bill in general). ford encompasses the first bits of lyrics- for example, ‘is it time to lead-?’, ‘is it time to speak up-?’, ‘is it time for peace-?’ and of course ‘is there anybody out there that’s paying attention?’. bord (bill) encompasses the second half- ‘or is it time to die?’, ‘or is it time for silence?’, ‘or is it time for violence?’. a conversation between the two, with ‘tell me, what you tryna hide?’ and ‘and what you running from inside?’. the chorus being entirely from ford

The Ballad of G and X // Interlude - the ballad of ford and bill. really just listen to the lyrics- lines like ‘he’s in my head, he makes me sick, he makes me antisocial’ and ‘losing my mind, i wanna find a way to keep composure’ and ‘i try to close my eyes, i’m haunted in my nightmares’ for example

We Did It!!! - ford with bill’s influence. ford and also bord at times. ford and also if bill can change his vocabulary, who’s to say what else was changed? who’s to say there’s not shards of yellow buried deep in ford’s mind like sea glass hidden beneath sand?

WWIII - Ford's experience with the portal (seeing as he was essentially trapped in a 'war' between Bill's side and everyone opposing him). in this interpretation, 'when you ship me off to war' turns into 'when you pushed me through that portal'

Riptide - ford struggling with guilt, regret, and self-loathing. struggling to picture himself in this happy ending, even though he so badly wants to. ‘i tried getting better, did all of the twelve steps. whoever would’ve thought, whoever could’ve guessed? the harder that i chase it, the further that it gets’ and ‘i’ve been caught up in the riptide, for too long cause it’s all i know’

Pain Shopping - ‘i just wanna fuck my hand up, through the wall- i need help, no one there to stand up when i call’, ‘looking for the proof that i’m still alive, i wanna feel something. cause all that i’ve got is nothing’, ‘i’m feeling all this pressure, it’s a weight on my shoulders. i thought that it would all be great when i’m older’, and ‘never mind my heavy mind, i’ll get in line, i’ll get behind. and every time i said i’m fine, whatever, i meant never mind’. ford struggling with his mental health. feeling pressured and alone with him not wanting his family to know how much he’s struggling

Drop Dead - ford and stan. everything feels terrible and we’re not entirely sure what to do about it, but at least we’re in it together right?

Welcome to Paradise // Outro - unhealthy coping mechanisms. ford pretending that he’s perfectly fine and happy to his family. ‘you ain’t gotta hurt no more. didn’t you hear? the war’s over. just don’t look behind that door. you don’t wanna get that much closer.’ the ‘you’ is both ford trying to convince himself and stan that everything’s okay. ‘conversation with my echo’

i would really recommend listening to all of these if/when you have time, especially since i couldn’t cover all the lyrics in one post. maybe i’ll go over each lyric sometime in the future, but for now i think these were enough to explain what i meant

[jaybleeps]

Season 7 episode 5 spoilers

I’m sorry, excuse me but what just happened?

Don’t get me wrong, it was amazing, I couldn’t take my eyes off of the screen. This is probably just gonna be my thoughts on the episode.

Evil Morty

He got his backstory! Yippe! Not that I really needed it nor didn’t want it. It’s nice to see how his backstory is formatted in the same way as C137’s.

I wonder if Evil Morty’s mentality broke faster than other Mortys, or it’s because his Rick didn’t use the mindblower’s enough to keep him in line, or maybe it’s just the way he is.

Evil Morty describing the “horrors of the infinity” as “another day in paradise”. He’s really content with where he’s at right now. Also he definitely can handle dangerous situations on his own, might I even say, better than Rick (?).

This makes me worry. It’s fair that Evil Morty doesn’t want a friend right away. The boy must have a LOT of trust issues, and undoubtedly wants to go solo nowadays. Though the idea of escaping the shackles of your predetermined fate, have and CAN do anything you want, but is ultimately alone. The idea of Mortys unable to make friends. Through that is the link between yourself and the destiny you’re trying to break away from. (I am reading waaaay into this than it needed to be, still its a cool angst prompt)

Every time Rick shoot at Evil Morty, I cackled. It’s such a silly gag. A tiny detail I notice from Evil Morty is whenever he goes “mhmm” and “uh-huh”.

Evil Morty being an independent person, tackling problems head-on, staying calm and responsive, that I wished Morty Prime to be.

Morty Prime

I think everyone is on the same page with him this early in the season. He’s being sidelined. I suppose it’s because Marta and the others are still trapped in the Roy machine.

Furthermore, I also think Morty’s there to be a comic relief, a character that the audience can relate how confusing and exciting this ‘whole Rick and Mortys vs Rick Prime’ is. Like look at how happy Morty is after the fiasco, similar to us viewers (or some viewers, I was flabbergasted at the end).

Ex:

Evil Morty: The biggest turd is a pizza.

Morty: How is the biggest turd a-a pizza??

What are you guys trying to do? Catch him like a small wild animal? like a pokemon??

Overall, Morty is a nice relief from this stressful episode.

Rick Prime

On my first watch, I was confused on why they just ended Prime that quickly (assuming that they did kill him off). Then after some careful considerations, I figured that: They want to end it ASAP in order to focus on character development, or to go back to Rick and Morty classic episodes with a tint of character growth, which is fine with my standards, since this show is called Rick and Morty, it should focus on those two and equally so as well.

Though I’m quite disappointed that they end him like that, or at least direct us to that idea. He has as little screen time as Evil Morty.

But I’m delusional and can’t let my psychotic husband go just yet. There’s always that clone tube, cameos in hallucinations, dreams, maybe AI Prime’s voice installed in some gadget? I need to cope with the slight chance of never seeing Prime ever again so I don’t be get my hopes up and get disappointed in the long run.

The scene where Rick Prime got beaten up by C137 was phenomenal. I’m sure people can use their literacy skills to take it apart nicely, but I’m going to give you my uncensored opinion of it: They’re both so hot omg omg, they’re so gay dangggg, two men kissing will be less homoerotic than whatever they have.

I’m not gonna give any opinions on Rick C137 since I think many excellent posts have already perfectly encapsulated that.

Though I gotta say: Is Rick’s path now going to be similar to Simon Petrikov? Finding purpose again? Will the journey to be fulfilled be assisted by Morty?

S7E5 is fast paced and escalated quicker than I imagine, which reminds me of the time I saw Rick potion #9. Both episodes are ones that will impact heavily the future from now on, the turning page.

[positivementalaxolotl]

Maybe let's let people make jokes about things that are serious because it's far more helpful for people to acknowledge things in a more digestible and less-depressing way than to tell people to just lay down and cry because they can't do anything else

Also let's acknowledge that people have the capacity to focus on more than one issue at a time. I'm literally doing that in this post we need to chill out.

I know with everything going on, some people are getting frustrated with a government that was made on the basis of listening to the people, but are failing to do so, but that isn't the fault of people who need to joke about things in order to do anything constructive with it. As I said, it's far better to joke about something serious, then to be serious about it and start suffering because of it. You're most likely not the reason all this messed up shit is happening so you shouldn't be paying the price for it. Joking and acknowledgment absolutely can go hand in hand, and we need to stop treating it like it isn't. Obviously only joke about dark themes, serious problems, and problematic idea's around other people who are okay with it, but if you're complaining because there's a group of people making jokes online, then you can just leave and push out that serious acknowledgement of the situation yourself. You're not yelling at the people who aren't talking about it at all, so stop yelling at the people who are talking about it in an unconventional way. People gotta cope somehow man.

(Also I've seen like 2 posts in total making jokes about the situation, the majority of the internet is taking this hella seriously, you're apple-picking a few targeted people who are making jokes about this and saying the entire internet isn't taking it seriously)

(PS: As a they/them non-binary person, it/itself pronouns are perfectly fine, stop policing people's identities and calling people's identities "infantilizing" because you're not talking to a child, you're talking about a person who's expressing themselves in the way that's most comfortable to them. Telling other people what they can/can't do with their pronouns is transphobic so long as it isn't openly hateful or disingenuous. The whole point of being non-binary is being outside the box others are putting you in, so stop putting people in boxes. If you're non-binary and doing this then please do some self reflection.)

[overwheat]

This is just a venting, putting feels into words and off my chest post.

In the end I'll know I'll be fine, just gotta feel my feels, continue to work on managing my emotions and just take things one day at a time.

---------

Being self aware of your emotional triggers, while a good thing, really sucks when they randomly get hit by such little things and throws you off cause now you're emotionally down while mentally working to not let your thoughts spiral and dramatically overthink everything.

The big one for me that's been hitting lately, probably due to it being winter and holiday season now (woo seasonal depression), has been seemingly getting sidelined and ignored by people which makes me feel excluded, like I'm not wanted and so my fear of abandonment goes off.

When those feelings overtake me all I instinctively want to do is just withdraw from everything and isolate myself but, having figured out it was a coping mechanism I developed as a kid, I've grown to really not like doing it.

For me I know it can be a good thing to do for a little while to process emotions and such but, I also know it can turn long-term which is the part I don't like and am afraid of doing cause I don't wanna shut people out.

-----

I was on my own a lot growing up due to my mom and first step-dad working all the time and throughout elementary and middle school I had almost no friends so I was rarely invited to anything and got bullied a lot.

I wasn't aware of the impact this would have on me at that time and didn't realize how lonely I actually was until High School when the friend group I became a part of did stuff together constantly, hung out everyday after school and on weekends and this continued after graduating and well into our twenties, it was awesome.

Suddenly I had a group of people that included me and wanted me there, it was a sense of family I hadn't experienced until then and slowly over the last decade I've been realizing how fucked my childhood really was.

Now being in my mid-thirties, most everyone I'm still friends with from then and my early twenties have other priorities in their own families, spouses, careers with differing schedules and personal projects they focus on so we're not doing stuff all the time like we used to.

I am genuinely happy for all of them, I fully understand that life happens and it's not like I'm expecting them to make me a priority or anything.

It's just with being single (have been my entire adult life) and better understanding what I went through in my childhood, that feeling of loneliness is back cause I'm mostly on my own again.

I can function fine on my own and be perfectly content with entertaining myself since that was my entire childhood, so it's not that I have a hard time doing that, it's just that it's all I ever really knew until High School and since having gotten that experience of being with people that wanted me around and included me, I really don't want to go back to being that alone.

Logically I know none of what I'm feeling is really true but seeing everyone I know finding love, success and striving in their personal growth I feel like I'm falling behind and being outgrown. I feel like I'm not good enough for anyone to be deeply close to, to be a constant part of their life, I feel like I'm not wanted around anymore and that I'm easily replaced and that I don't matter to anyone.

I know it's not fair to myself to compare where I'm at with others but emotions do what emotions do and when these feelings manage to hit, they hit painfully hard and makes pulling myself out difficult.

----

Earlier this year I found out about and figured out that I identify as demisexual, which made a lot of past experiences make so much more sense and why it always felt like I was constantly late to the party in wanting to woo anyone.

It just takes me longer to know if I actually have a romantic interest in someone since I need a strong emotional connection with them. Also explains why I've always been a fan of the friends to lovers trope in media.

With most of my past experiences by the time the realization I was interested happened, the other person was already romantically unavailable.

Ultimately in life I really want someone to be partners with, not just in a romantic relationship.

I want a best friend to go on random adventures with, to snuggle up and watch shows and movies, to sleep & wake up next to, a partner in crime, someone to love and be loved by, someone to fully trust can be there for me and for them to have that trust in me when either of us need support and for us to want and put in the work on growing and building our partnership and individual selves, someone to just experience life with and come home to and talk about our day.

I want to be emotionally and intimately wanted and to know, to trust, that want is genuine and to give that feeling to someone in return.

I am absolutely terrified though that I'll never have that experience, forever be the third wheel and that I'll die as alone as I was growing up.

[buglaur]

answered asks below cut! 

@studythensims hello, thank you so much for this ask! sorry i held on to it for so long, it was really nice to have in my inbox to read everytime i went there 🥺 and it really does mean a lot to me, thank you so much!!

hi!

hello anon! i got a similar ask a few days ago where i recommended a sims 4 render tutorial thats pretty much the same as my process. i’m also gonna make my own speed render next time i have a big idea for one but i’m all out of inspo right now lol

thank you very much! however my fire was literally just a transparent png of a flame i put on a plane positioned over the candle 😭 no cool effects here, just plain old trickery. however here are some tutorials + resources i used for other effects i’ve done in the past! i’m also always down to answer questions

grass | mirror | ghost effect | free lighting presets + textures 

raffy and roxana will meet sophie in tomorrows post! surprisingly they’re kind of indifferent about her. i knew rafael would be fine with it but i thought roxana might go a bit off the rails, but she didn’t! this was the face sophie made when she saw her though.. i don’t think she was in any hurry to get to know the twins.

i’m so excited too anon!! this high school pack aligned perfectly with the macmahon timeline 😭 i literally am just so excited to have her mess everything up. just absolutely destroy everyone. i really hope suspensions aren’t part of the pack.. she’ll be allowed in for an hour every week before they kick her out again🤦‍♀️

hey!! i’m glad you enjoyed the legacy so far 🥰 i actually do not prepare at all, i went straight in with all original ea townies and i now face the consequences of having hideous townie offspring populating my world. what's worse is they have every pose accessory under the sun attached to them.

the only reason that you see pretty sims in my gameplay shots is because i struggle daily to capture shots where guys like this aren’t poking into the frame 😭 thank you sm though!! sorry i’ve got not advice

fashion icon

@falsetochild he sure is but i am not letting it happen 😭 he’s already broken one gen rule with her, i’m not letting him break another. he deserves to be happy and she genuinely seems to have an interest in him, but no, sorry theo. he literally performed horribly at work the last time i played because he was in a flirty mood for 8 whole hours. c’mon man you’ve got a country to run get your head out of the clouds. but thank you sm i’m glad you enjoy it!!

@acuar-io ahh thank you sm!! i really hope you like the direction i’m going to take it in, i’ve got the majority of it planned out in my notes app lol

after all the set up posts i think they’ll be pretty frequent, and i’m more or less going to follow this structure. i can’t wait either but i know i gotta pace the posts or else i’ll run out of them 😭😭 thank you for your support!!! ❤️

i am a terrible person i completely just leave him in the background of everything at this point 😭 he’s good he’s just not up to much because i’m a sucker for his sister lmaoo. he practices the violin like 8 hours a day in the living room because i forget to cancel the action 🤦‍♀️ how am i gonna cope next gen when theres tons of kids if i can’t focus on two. i’ll try and include him more soon i promise 😔✊

@noiice 😭😭😭 very fitting of her. hopefully not many people make her mad though, teen roxana has the ability to use that voodoo doll she has 😔

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love and Medicine ~ 12

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,815ish

Summary: You are still trying to cope with the fact that Steve’s married. (Read note at the end of the chapter.)

I do not own Grey’s Anatomy or Marvel.

You and Natasha eventually found your way back to your house and into your bedroom’s adjoining bathroom. Natasha was in the bathtub as you laid on the floor.

“It's not us. It's them,” you said. “Them and their stupid boy penises. They didn't tell me they had a wife. They gave absolutely no warning that they were going to break up with you.”

“It's not that Banner broke up with me,” Natasha began. “It's how he broke up with me. Like it was business. Like it was a business transition like he's the boss of me!”

“He is the boss of you.”

“And what's worse is that I care.”

"I'm gonna throw up again.” You moved so that you were leaned over the toilet bowl. "No. Wait. False alarm.”

“Look, the problem is estrogen.”

“No, the problem is tequila.”

“I used to be all business, and then he goes and gets me pregnant.”

“With the stupid boy penis.”

“Now, I'm having hormone surges. He ruined me. I'm ruined. He turned me into this fat, stupid, pregnant girl. Who cares! Estrogen!”

Having heard the commotion from your bathroom, Val, Scott, and Clint found themselves standing in the doorway.

“Penises,” you stated. “Penises Val.”

“Estrogen, Scott. Estrogen,” Nat added.

“Okay…” Scott said, looking around. “What did I miss?”

“I came home to full on vomit drama,” Val explained. “Apparently she dumped Derek and her—“ Val pointed Nat’s way. “She’s been sleeping with Banner!”

“What?”

“So you really broke up with Rogers?” Clint asked.

“I feel empty,” you responded.

“Two hours of vomiting will do that to you,” Val said with a shrug.

“You’re lucky,” Nat added. “I feel pissed off.”

~~~

Arriving in the parking garage, you could clearly see Steve waiting for you. Getting out of your car, you slammed the door as he came closer.

“Stop,” you growled at him.

“What?” Steve questioned, pretending to be all innocent.

“You're stalking me. Stop it.” You continued into the building with Steve following you.

“Did we not communicate last night?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear what I was saying?”

“Your wife screwed your best friend.”

“And then from that point on she no longer existed to me anymore.”

“You had marital amnesia?”

“No.” Steve reached out and grabbed your arm, successfully stopping you. “Come on I bared my soul to you last night.”

“It's not enough.”

“How can that be not enough?”

“When you waited 2 months to tell me and I had to find out by her showing up, all leggy and fabulous and telling me herself, you pulled the plug. I'm a sink with an open drain. Anything that you say runs right out. There is no enough.” You pulled away hurrying inside with your friends after you.

“She probably could've picked a better metaphor,” Clint commented.

“Give her a break,” Scott said. “She’s got a hangover.”

With a huff, Steve followed. Tony, who was also coming in, quickly caught up to him.

“Dr. Rogers!” He called.

“Dr. Stark,” Steve replied.

“We have an organ donor coming in this afternoon. We're doing a harvest.”

“Commendable, but—“

“In OR one at four.”

“I’m in OR one at four.”

“Your surgery is non-critical.”

“You can’t bump me!”

“As Chief, I can. You’ll be first up tomorrow.”

“Interim Chief. Bump somebody else!”

“You’re in the OR we need.”

“Why can’t the harvest be done somewhere else?”

“Cause the donor’s coming in from a small facility. We have the location, the airport nearby and the staff. Your surgery is rescheduled.” Then Tony turned, heading away.

“I’m not done talking about this, Stark!”

“Well, I am! See ya around Rogers!”

~~~

Rounds weren’t too bad, especially because you successfully ignored both Peggy and Steve. It even became slightly better when Gamora called you in for a bowel obstruction. Except the guy wouldn’t tell you what he ingested.

“You know, Mr. Sanders, it would be easier if you just told us what you ingested,” you pried, taking him to radiology. “We’ll know anyone, once we see the films.”

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Mr. Sanders responded.

“Mr. Sanders, whatever you’ve ingested could kill you. Are you sure you don’t just want to tell me?”

“It might offend you.”

“It might? Is it drugs?”

“No.”

“Mr. Sanders.”

“It’s not drugs, I promise.”

“Well, good, I’m glad.”

“I… Nope, not going to tell you.”

“Fine by me. We just reached radiology, so I’m going to find out anyway.”

It wasn’t long before Mr. Sanders was back in his room and the radiologist had found you with the scans.

“It’s drugs,” the radiologist stated handing the scans over to you. “Looks like at least 13 small balloons in the bowel. My guess, cocaine.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, holding up the scans up to the light. 

They didn’t totally look like balloons, so you weren’t completely convinced. Before you made any judgement calls, you found Gamora.

“It’s drugs,” you told her, handing her the scans. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered, placing the scans onto a screen. “One burst and he’s dead in minutes. Okay, what do we do?”

“Run his bowel.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Running the bowel entails removing all 36 feet of the intestine from the body cavity, hand searching for the balloons and then cutting them out.”

“Good. Book an OR and get two other interns on board, need all the hands we can get.”

“Dr. Gamora,” Y/N called as Gamora tired to leave. 

“Yes?”

“Are you sure they’re balloons?”

“You have reason to believe they’re not?”

“Well, the more I look the more I realize that this one,” you pointed to the scans, “has a face.” Gamora looked closer. “And this one… they all do.”

“I’ll be damned. They’re Barbies. He swallowed 13 Barbie doll heads.”

~~~

“Barbie heads?” Scott repeated after you told him, Natasha, and Peter what happened.

“Yeah,” you responded. “And Gamora wants two of you to join us in surgery.”

“I’m already booked.”

“I can do it,” Natasha said.

“Me too,” Peter said.

“My foster mothers used to buy me Barbie dolls. All sorts of them.”

“I also wanted one,” you added. “My parents never let me.”

“I dissected them. Cut off their arms, shaved their heads.”

“You’re a little scary,” Scott stated. “You know that?”

“I try.”

“Sounds like there’s a sick and twisted story behind this,” Peter said.

“No, they’re sexist, distorted devil toys that create unrealistic expectations carrying to the porn driven minds of men,” Natasha expressed.

“You swallow a bitter pill this morning, Romanoff?” Gamora questioned, coming up to you interns. “They’re just dolls. Quill, call for a psych consult. Then see if he has family.”

“Should I still book the OR?” You wondered.

“Blocked bowels become necrotic bowels. Check with Dr. Stark, see if we can bump someone. Those Barbies gotta come out today.”

~~~

Gamora had given Clint the impossible assignment to revive a patient. And, unfortunately for him, he was stuck with Laura.

“Any family members waiting?” He asked as he stapled up the man’s chest.

“Still trying to reach them,” Laura responded.

“Good. Well, I mean, not good that we haven’t reached anyone. Good that I don’t have to, uh…”

“It’s always hard.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry about Peter.”

“It’s fine. It’s good. No need to talk about it.”

“You do understand that I had sex with him before you, not during, right? Because when you and I were together—“

“I understand.”

“I just wanted to clear the air.”

“Oh, it’s clear. Perfectly clear… okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“And about the syphilis—“

“We really on’t have to talk about it.”

“Which is, I mean, I didn’t know I had it. I definitely should have, I’m a nurse. Like, there was a sore and I was all itchy.”

“Okay!” He backed away almost knocked the tray beside him over. “You know I, uh, got it. You know things happen.” He moved to the door, away from Laura.

“They really do. Things you wish you could change.”

Clint’s pager rang and he looked down. “It’s the Chief, I gotta take this.”

“Sure… Clint.”

“Yes?”

“You have to call it.”

“Call it?”

“Him.”

“Oh, yeah.” He looked at his watch. “Time of death 1:37.” He turned to leave again.

“And, Clint,” he paused, not turning around this time, “if we could, I wouldn’t mind trying again.”

“Maybe… some day…”

~~~

Tony was walking down the hall with Maria, going over the donor surgery.

“When is the donor getting here?” He asked.

“Should be here at 3. Harvest team’s not heir way in.”

“I also need to touch base with the transplant center about a patient here getting his son’s liver.”

You walked up. “Dr. Stark,” you called. “Dr. Gamora needs an OR and they’re all booked.”

“For?”

“An emergent bowel obstruction.” She handed him the scans.

“Drugs?”

“Barbie heads. 13 of them.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Maria looked at the films. “I can see their little faces,” she commented. “That patient must have serious issues.”

“Hill, can your hernia in 1 be bumped?” Tony asked.

“Most likely.”

“Do it.”

“On it.” Maria left.

“Thank you, Dr. Stark,” you said, moving to go.

Tony grabbed your wrist and stopped you. “Y/N, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not. I’m really fine.” And you pulled away.

~~~

You, Gamora, and a doctor from psych were currently discussing the psych evaluation on Mr. Sanders.

“He’s not talking. It could be pica,” the psych doctor stated. “Doubtful for a man his age. Maybe an oedipal complex or an idolization of the doll as his partners. Or it could be that he simply enjoys it.”

“Now I've seen a lot of strange things in strange places but how does he enjoy this?” Gamora questioned.

“He’d enjoy it when they came out.”

“I didn’t need to hear that.”

“Dr. L/N,” Peggy called as she walked back. “May I speak with you for a moment?” You looked at Gamora for help.

“Don’t look at me. I’m not gonna help you.”

With a sigh, you went to Peggy and the two of you began walking away.

“I assume he told you why he left me,” she said.

Annoyed, you stopped in front of her. “Look, Dr. Rogers, will all do respect, this has nothing to do with me,” you said.

“Really? So you didn’t take him back. Good girl.”

“And int he future, I’d appreciate it if we could keep our relationship strictly professional.” You walked away.

“Y/N!” You stopped and turned back slightly to give Peggy your attention. “Sometimes people do desperate things to get someone’s attention.” You shook your head and started walking again. “There are two sides to every story!”

~~~

You, Peter, and Scott arrived at lunch first. The three of you picked a large table farthest away from the others.

“Look what I went out and got,” Peter said, putting a grocery bag on the table.  Opening the bag, he revealed 13 headless Barbie dolls.

“Really, Quill?” You wondered.

“That’s gross,” Scott cringed.

“I think it’s funny,” Peter said, smiling, as he laid them out on the table.

“Of course you do,” you muttered.

“Oh! That is sick!” Clint commented as him, Natasha, and Val walked up.

“Who would do that?” Val asked. They looked to see Peter smiling.

“Oh, look!” Natasha said, picking up a doll. “See Barbie fly.” She throw it at Peter, who ducked.

“Hey, Clint,” Laura greeted, walking by.

“Hey,” he replied, sitting down at not looking at you. The interns all gave him a look. “What?”

“She was trying to make up with you, Clint,” you told him. “You should go eat with her.”

“No, I shouldn’t…. No.”

“She’s cute and she likes you,” Scott said.

“You shouldn’t let a little syph get in the way of that,” Val added.

“It’s not the syph,” Clint insisted.

“It’s so the syph,” Natasha said.

“It’s not the syph!”

“Then what is it?” Val asked. Clint didn’t answer, looking down. “Oh.”

“What?” You wondered. Clint simply shrugged. “What is it?”

“There’s this other girl,” Val responded.

“Val!” Clint exclaimed.

“Other girl?” Natasha questioned. “You have another girl?!”

“He hasn’t told her that he likes her yet,” Val said.

“Val!” Clint exclaimed again. “This isn’t high school.”

“Clint has a little crush.”

“I do not… It’s a thing, a very personal thing. One day I would like to build on this thing with this other girl—woman. She’s all woman.”

“What are you doing, Clint?” You asked, slightly harsh.

“I-I don’t—“

“With Laura. What are you doing with her?”

“Oh. Nothing.”

“You’re letting her think you’re emotionally available. You’re letting her think she has a chance. And there is nothing worse in the world than think you have a chance when you really don’t!”

“Y/N is right,” Natasha said. “Tell her that there’s someone else. And tell her why, Clint. I mean— I mean at least give her the chance to have some feelings about it!”

“Why are you both yelling at me?” Clint asked.

“Because of the estrogen Clint! Because of all the estrogen!”

~~~

“Was it an act of desperation?” You asked Mr. Sanders as you headed into his surgery.

“Not at all,” he replied.

“Something to attract attention?”

“No.”

“I’m just trying to understand here. Why 13 doll heads?”

“Well because 14 would’ve been too much.”

You cringed and helped the nurses get Mr. Sanders on the operating table before going to scrub. It was Gamora, you, Peter, Val, and Natasha in the surgery.

“I think it has something to do with his mother,” Val suggested. “Maybe she always wanted a girl and gave him Barbie dolls because of it.”

“Ah, ah, I’ve got another one,” Peter said, showing the head in the intestine.

“Uh!” You groaned.

“Doyen clamps to Romanoff,” Gamora ordered. “L/N, push the head up to the incision.” You began to squeeze the doll head up through the intestine.

“Maybe his mother looked like a Barbie doll and he’s into voodoo,” Peter suggested. “Instead of sticking pins in… well…”

Dr. Stark entered the OR. “You good here?” He asked Gamora, observing you though.

“Couple more heads to go,” Gamora responded.

“Then L/N stay here. All you other interns I need you on other cases.”

You met Tony’s eyes before he walked out of the OR.

~~~

Clint was put on a case with Steve. They were about to go separate ways so that Clint could run labs, when Steve stopped. He looked back at Clint.

“Is she okay?” Steve asked.

“Who?” Clint questioned. He looked up at Steve and knew. “Y/N? She’s… hanging in there.”

“Look out for her.”

“I will.”

Then Steve walked away. Before Clint could get really far, Laura found him.

“The family of the guy we worked on this morning is here,” she told him.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Clint responded.

“Clint, I just want an answers, so that I can get on with my life if I need to.”

“Look, maybe I’m not over the Peter thing yet or the syph thing… And I really want to be, but there’s also another girl. And, to me, it doesn’t matter there’s this other guy and frankly I wouldn’t care if she gave me the Ebola virus… I like you, Laura, I really do. Just… I—“

“You’re going to need some time.”

“Yeah.” He kissed her forehead. “Thank you for understanding.”

~~~

Steve was standing alone in the elevator when Peggy walked in, both dressed to leave.

“Just when the day was improving,” he murmured.

“You told Y/N what happened?” Peggy asked.

“I did. Why? What did you tell her?”

“That sometimes people do desperate things to attract attention.”

“What? Wow. That's your side of this? That I didn't pay you enough attention. Is that you were thinking when you got naked with my best friend?”

Peggy reached over and stopped the elevator. "No, by that point I wasn't thinking at all Steve. By that point I was just scratching an itch. We got successful you and me. We got busy and we got lazy. We didn't even bother to fight any more Steve. And Bucky was there and I missed you. And now I'm sorry.” Steve restarted the elevator. “I’m more sorry than you can possibly imagine. But at least I'm talking to you about it.” The doors opened and Steve walked out. “Steve.”

“I’m a sink with an open drain, honey.”

~~~

“Did you get them all?” Mr. Sanders asked. You were checking on him, post-surgery.

“Yes,” you replied. “It wasn’t easy or very pleasant. How do you feel?”

“Empty… I feel empty now.”

“Yeah. I've been feeling a little bit of that myself lately.”

“I can tell.”

“Mr. Sanders, why does eating doll heads fill you up? What’s the satisfaction?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Would it be too much information?”

“Might.”

“Maybe I’m better left in the dark.”

next chapter >

I leave for Disney World in a week. It is the last big family vacation that I will be on for a while. Because of that, I will not be on tumblr March 19th through March 24th. I will actually be deleting the app so that it’s not a distraction.

Most likely, nothing will be posted during that time. If something is, it will have been queued up. Things that are posted while I’m out of town will not have tag lists attached. I will put this note in all the fic posts until then.

So do not come at me for spending time with my family instead of including the tag list. (I say that knowing that people won’t care and still come at me.... be respectful and get over yourself.)

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

[teacupfulofstarshine]

living in the real world (ain’t it fun) CHAPTER 10

CW: panic attacks, shouting, cursing, touch starvation, threats of bodily harm, self-deprecation, self-hatred, negative thought spirals, unsympathetic actions, unhealthy handling of emotions, unhealthy work habits, unhealthy emotional coping mechanisms

are you prepared for the roman/anxiety confrontation? i promise you are not >:3

huge thank you to @flamingfawkes​ for beta’ing!

wordcount: ~4.6k

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // chapter 6 // chapter 7 // chapter 8 // chapter 9 // read it on ao3!!

Anxiety stays in Logan’s lap for almost ten minutes. No one speaks while he sits there, hugging Logan tightly. Logan tries to shift, but Anxiety whines and presses closer. “Is - can we stay?” he whispers. “I feel like if you let go of me, I’m going to float away.”

“You are likely touch-starved, to a fairly extreme degree,” Logan says.

“If you don’t want to touch me, you can let me go.”

“I will do no such thing.” Logan sounds almost offended at Anxiety’s implications. “You are hurting, Anxiety. I will not allow you to continue hurting if I can alleviate your suffering in any way. You are not hurting me by touching me.”

“You hate being touched,” Roman says. Anxiety presses his face further into Logan’s shoulder, hiding, and Logan turns to stare straight through Roman.

“I have a low tolerance for touch, Roman, much lower than you and Patton. But I require it to subsist, as we all do. Thomas is a human, and all humans need touch and social connections to survive. We represent his desires, his wants, his needs - we share them. I am not opposed to providing and receiving touch, but I am easily overwhelmed.”

“Lemme know when you gotta stop,” Anxiety says.

“I assure you that I will, Anxiety. However, I am alright, so there is no reason for you to move.”

Patton slides off the bed, kneeling next to Logan. “Anxiety? Kiddo, can I touch you?”

Anxiety turns to look at him, and Patton lifts one hand. “Just your shoulder. I wanna put my hand on it, maybe squeeze it a little. Is that alright with you?”

“Yeah,” Anxiety says, pulling his face out of Logan’s shoulder. Patton gently rests his hand on Anxiety’s shoulder, squeezing, and rubbing his thumb back and forth. Patton takes a deep breath, like he’s gathering his courage for something, and then he winces. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m just old,” Patton laughs. “As old as Thomas is, anyway. And that means I can’t sit on my feet for too long without them falling asleep. Gotta move around a little!” He shifts to sit cross-legged, wincing with Thomas when his knees crack audibly, and then he puts his hand back on Anxiety’s shoulder.

“Kiddo,” Patton says, and then, "Anxiety. It's my turn to apologize, okay?"

"You - you don't have to," Anxiety says. "You were trying your best, weren’t you? Just like Logan? I just misinterpreted your intentions, like I did with his, so -"

"No. I do need to apologize," Patton insists. "Is it alright if I apologize to you?"

Anxiety blinks. “You . . . if you think you need to, Patton.”

Patton looks serious, unusually so. “I do. I do need to.”

“Do you want to stay where you are?” Logan asks Anxiety. “You can move, if you like.”

“If you’re comfortable, I’m okay staying.” Logan nods, and Anxiety turns his eyes back to Patton. Thomas takes a deep breath, and Patton smiles gratefully as his chest swells with fresh air. He curls his free hand into a fist, squeezes it so Thomas can feel the indents of his nails in his palm, and then he relaxes it.

"Anxiety, I’m sorry," Patton says. "I - I'm at the core of Thomas’s emotions, and the stronger they are, the more affected I am. I experience all of them, but I try to only express the happy ones, because the negative emotions . . . I don’t really like them that much. I mean, does anyone? They make me feel all icky inside." Anxiety visibly deflates at that. "Wait - no, Anxiety, I didn’t mean - I wasn’t talking about you, I -”

Anxiety sighs, patting Logan’s shoulder before shifting out of his lap and sitting across from Patton. "You're not wrong, though. I am a negative emotion. I'm just - I bring Thomas down, I know that. And I bring everyone else down with me. I'm -"

"Stop!" Patton cries, and his face shines bright blue as tears pour down all of their faces yet again.

"Patton?"

"Anxiety, you - I - just listen, please? Listen to me? I can't - I want to tell you that the emotion you represent doesn’t have negative repercussions more often than not. I want to tell you that anxiety like Thomas’s is inherently a good thing, and negative effects are few and far between. I want to tell you that, but I can't because - because that would be a lie. But that's - that doesn’t mean - you are not a bad person, Anxiety."

Anxiety’s mouth hangs open in shock. “I’m -”

"- Not a bad person," Patton repeats. "Anxiety can be really difficult to handle sometimes. I know you know that better than any of us. But that doesn't mean that you are a bad person! When I told you that you were being silly it - it was because I - because you - I -”

Patton drags a hand down his face. “Anxiety, I was afraid to handle my own negative emotions. I pushed you away because - because - I was afraid that having you around would make it harder to conceal my negative emotions. I’ve been hiding them for so long that I’ve forgotten how to feel them in a healthy way, how to deal with them in a healthy way. I didn't want to admit that I had emotions that were anything less than the happy-pappy-Patton-pending sunshine that I project. And that was wrong of me. Just because emotions aren't happy doesn't mean that they're bad. And I never meant to make you feel invalid. I never wanted you to think that - that I don't value you or your contributions to Thomas, because you do contribute to Thomas. You’re more than the monochrome villain that we painted you as, and we - I - have done a truly abhorrent job of making you feel welcome or accepted or validated and -"

Thomas swipes the back of his hand across his eyes; Logan puts his fingers to his face and frowns when they come away wet; Anxiety scrubs his sleeve across his eyes. Patton pulls away from Anxiety’s shoulder, folding both hands in his lap before lowering his head. "I am so sorry that I tried to ignore the emotions that you bring to the table because I - I was afraid to feel them. You are not a bad person, Anxiety, and I made you feel like you were when you were just doing your job. And I - I will always hate myself for that. I'm - you don't have to, but if - if you can find it in you - I - I'm so sorry, Anxiety, I promise that I am, I -"

Anxiety surprises all of them by leaning forward and hugging Patton; Patton holds him back like he thinks Anxiety will shatter if he loosens his grip. “Pat,” Anxiety says. “You - you made mistakes, mistakes that hurt me. And it’s going to take a while for me to be okay with that. But you - you sound like you’re really sorry for hurting me.”

“I am,” Patton whispers.

“I forgive you,” Anxiety says. “I believe that you’re going to try and do better, and that’s - that means a lot, Patton. I forgive you.”

“Thank you.”

“And Pat?”

“Yeah?”

Anxiety leans back, staring directly into Patton’s eyes. "You don't have to hate yourself forever."

"What?"

"You said you would always hate yourself for making me feel like I was a bad person, but it wasn't just you. You know that, right? And I - you were doing your best, Patton. I mean, I don't know about Princey over there, but you and Logan appear to have been trying, at the very least, and I can respect that. I forgive you, Patton, and that means you don't have to hate yourself, right?" He looks anxious about the idea of Patton hating himself forever, and Patton smiles through his tears.

"Oh, kiddo." Thomas feels something warm swelling in his chest as Patton and Anxiety hug, again, and then Anxiety slides out of Patton’s lap. Patton stands up, pulling Anxiety and then Logan to their feet, and then Thomas turns to look at Roman, still sitting in the corner by the closet. There’s a strange look in his eyes, and Thomas tries to match it with the tangle of negative emotions sitting heavily in his stomach. It’s jealousy, he thinks, but there’s something else mixed up in it - sadness, he thinks.

“Roman?” Thomas asks. Roman flinches a little, looking up at him. “Are you okay?”

Roman looks away from Thomas, staring resolutely out the window. “Fine.”

“Roman, you also have to apologize to Anxiety,” Thomas says firmly.

"What's the point? I suck at it, and he's not gonna accept it anyway! He already said so. Yell at me all you want, I don't fucking care."

"Language," Patton says. Roman rolls his eyes and turns his back to them. Anxiety stands up, taking one, two, three careful steps towards him.

“Princey, I never said I wouldn’t accept your apology.”

“I tried! I already tried apologizing to you, and you rejected it!”

“It wasn’t a real apology,” Logan says calmly. “You apologized because you felt obligated to, not because you felt genuine remorse.

“Yeah,” Anxiety says, kicking the carpet. “I dunno what you think I am, Roman, but it’s - it’s probably not right.”

Roman, who has been fidgeting a little, sits perfectly, ramrod still. “What I think you are?” His voice is quiet, flat, and Thomas is a little bit scared of the sudden lack of emotion in his chest. “You want to know what I think you are, Anxiety?”

He stands up, curling his hands into fists, and when he turns around his eyes are furious. “What you are,” he spits, and Thomas is honestly surprised that fire doesn’t spew from his mouth, “is a menace. What you are is a disgrace! Every single time I come up with something beautiful, something wonderful, something amazing, every single time I push Thomas towards an opportunity that would only catapult him upwards, it is you who drags me down!”

He gestures to Patton and Logan, and the fire Thomas expected out of Roman’s mouth is now blazing through his chest. “Specs squared over there is at least capable of pretending to support my ambitions! But oh, no, not you, Anxiety! You just appear out of the shadows, like a villain, like a god damn demon, and you tear me to ribbons!”

Anxiety stands his ground as Roman gets closer, balling his fists. He’s putting on a brave face, but Thomas can feel his heart beating so fast it’s vibrating. As Roman gets closer, Thomas suddenly becomes acutely aware of the height difference between Roman, a young adult, and Anxiety, a child.

“You offer nothing!” Roman’s voice is venomous, and Anxiety isn’t the only one whose hands are shaking. “You don’t do anything useful! All you do is look for the darkness in a situation, and you refuse to see the light! Hell, you could be looking at the purest sunbeam there ever was - you could be looking at Patton himself and you would still find something wrong!”

“I’m not perfect, Roman,” Patton starts, but Roman is on a roll and he’s not stopping now.

“You’re pathetic! If you can’t find the darkness, you’ll create some just to ruin everything for everyone else! You refuse to believe in anything happy! All you do is look for flaws!”

“That’s my job!” Anxiety bites back.

“It’s a shitty job, and no one needs you to do it! We’d all be better off without you! Thomas, especially, would be better off without you! Your job is meaningless to me, and - and so are you!”

Anxiety’s whole body is shaking, but he steps closer to Roman, pushing his shoulders back. “Did you ever consider that maybe -”

“No! I don’t want to hear any more negativity out of you! Do you have any idea how happy I was when we woke up and I thought you hadn’t manifested?” Roman laughs, bitterly, dragging his hands through his hair and tugging it so tightly everyone else winces. “I thought I could finally create freely, finally help Thomas achieve his ambitions! And now here you are to ruin my life, yet again!”

“I don’t ruin your life on purpose, you know!”

“Oh, really? You coulda fooled me! We were all getting along just fine, and then you showed up, and we almost crashed the car! That could have killed Thomas, who you claim to be protecting! Then you ran away, which hurt Thomas, and then you bit me, which hurt Thomas even more! All you do is hurt Thomas! We were better off without you!”

Thomas isn’t sure when he stood up, but he’s on his feet, and so are Patton and Logan. Outrage is searing through all of them, but Anxiety stares up at Roman, face setting like flint. Before anyone else can speak, Anxiety leans forward, and sneers, “Got it all out of your system, Princey?”

Oh, this is going to be a disaster.

"Did it ever occur to you, in the midst of your little pity party, that what you wanted wasn't best for Thomas either?"

Roman bristles. "How dare you -"

"How dare I?! You think you know me? Well, I know you too, buddy! You run yourself ragged trying to come up with ideas constantly - if Thomas listened to you all the time he'd never get anything done in the real world! He'd stretch himself too thin doing too much and he'd kill himself, Roman! The only reason you haven't died yet is because you aren't fucking real!"

Anxiety lifts his chin, glaring directly into Roman’s eyes. He’s not backing down. "There's nothing wrong with being creative, Roman. But you push so hard that if I wasn't around to reign you in, Thomas would burn out! If that happened, he'd lose you completely! Do you even know what that feels like?"

"I - wh -"

"No! You don't! Do you know why you don’t? Because I keep it from happening! You like to play the big hero, the prince, the knight in shining armor, but I know the truth! You may swan around acting like you’re some grand protector of Thomas’s psyche, but the only one who actually does any protecting around here is me!"

Anxiety’s voice is starting to distort, to double and layer and twist the way it had when he’d first appeared and made Thomas pull over, and Thomas sits down, hard, nearly floored by the terror running through him.

“You think that I don’t know what you really think? I am Thomas’s anxiety! I am his negativity! I am self-loathing and hatred and fear and doubt and all the dark and dirty little secrets you hate about yourself, which means that I know EXACTLY what you think about me, because it’s what you think about YOURSELF!”

Roman’s face loses all color instantly. “Wh -”

“Roman?” Patton asks, soft and feather-light, and Thomas feels like he’s about to break.

“You HATE yourself! You think you’re not good enough for Thomas, so you consistently push yourself past your limits so that you can maybe, finally, prove yourself worthy of being his creativity! So that you can maybe, finally live up to this princely persona you’ve built for yourself to camouflage your massive insecurities! But you don’t want to DEAL with those insecurities, so you project all your fears and self-hatred onto me! It’s the perfect solution - I’m already a villain, right? Already the bad guy? Newsflash, asshole - YOU CAN’T JUST SHUNT YOUR SHIT OFF ONTO ME SO THAT YOU DON’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH YOUR PROBLEMS, ROMAN!”

Roman’s entire body is shaking. Patton has his hands pressed over his mouth; Logan is running his hands up and down his tie repeatedly, rocking back and forth. Thomas looks between them rapidly. “Roman?” Thomas whispers.

Roman drops to his knees, presses a hand over his mouth, and the freshly-ended tears spill over again.

Before anyone else can react, Anxiety kneels in front of Roman and hugs him. Roman sits perfectly still for a moment before his face breaks and his shoulders shake and he crumples against Anxiety like wet paper. Thomas’s chest heaves with his sobs.

“Roman -”

“I’m sorry!” Roman chokes. “I’m sorry, is that what you want me to say? I’m sorry, Anxiety, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

“Roman, you’re panicking -”

“Oh, well spotted, Panic at the Everywhere!”

“Roman, stop!”

“Why?! I thought you wanted an apology from me? Well, here you go!” Roman pulls out of Anxiety’s hug and does a mocking bow before tugging at his hair again. “The great Prince Roman, reduced to an undignified, snivelling mess at your feet, admitting to all his faults and flaws and -”

“Jesus, Princey, BREATHE.” Roman’s chest is heaving, and he’s choking on his sobs, meaning the rest of them are as well. “Come on, you have to breathe, you’re gonna suffocate at this rate - Thomas, I need you to help me, please!”

“Wh - how can I -” Thomas is struggling to get air in, and he’s starting to get a little bit lightheaded.

“Listen to me, Thomas. Breathe in for four seconds. Logan, help him count?”

Logan nods, counting the seconds aloud and pressing two fingers against his carotid artery. Thomas, Anxiety, and Patton breathe along to Logan’s counts as Anxiety takes Roman’s hands and holds them tightly to keep them out of his hair. “You too, Princey, come on. In for four, hold for seven . . ."

They all sit and breathe together while Logan counts, in-for-four hold-for-seven out-for-eight. Eventually, Roman’s breathing evens to almost normal, and Anxiety squeezes his hands tightly.

“Prin - Roman.” Anxiety’s voice is still distorted, but it’s a little less harsh on the ears.

“What,” Roman says miserably.

“We need to talk about that."

“We really don’t.” Anxiety sighs.

“Roman -”

“Roman,” Patton says. Anxiety turns to look at Patton, whose face is shining blue and purple, and he shifts out of the way, letting Patton kneel in front of Roman. Roman flinches when Patton takes his hands, but he looks up at him anyway. "It's - it's okay to have negative feelings. And I know I’m the biggest hypocrite in the world for saying this, but you can't bottle them up or pretend that they don't exist. You have to acknowledge them and talk about them if you want to feel better. Ignoring them feels good in the moment, feels like you’re handling it, but . . . it just hurts everyone when it explodes. Because it will explode.”

Patton gestures to the room at large. “It did explode."

“I know,” Roman whispers miserably. He looks down at Patton’s hands around his. “I just - I hate this! I hate talking about the negative stuff. I’m the dreamy fantasy guy! I'm not supposed to feel like this! I’m not supposed to feel sad or unimportant or worthless or - or - or broken.”

"Fuck that noise," Anxiety says. "Not - not your feelings, but your feelings about your feelings. That came out weird - um - geez, I - Roman, what you feel . . . it's . . . it's not wrong. You aren't broken for having feelings that aren't good. Nobody feels good all the time."

"But - but I feel this way so much," Roman protests. "I - I should be better than that. And half the time there's nothing actually wrong with me anyway! The thoughts just show up, unwanted, and I just - I - it's stupid. I’m stupid, for feeling this way."

“Roman,” Patton and Thomas say.

"Roman," Anxiety says. "Whatever you feel isn't stupid. No matter how long you're feeling like that - hell, even if you always feel this way - it's still valid. It's not stupid or bad or wrong. You're not stupid or bad or wrong."

“But - but I don’t want to feel this way.”

“I don’t want to feel this way either, most of the time,” Anxiety admits. “I know my job is important, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t have its downsides. It has a lot of downsides, I’m not gonna lie. And it sucks, it sucks so much, Roman, but - but it’s - it’s okay.”

“How is any of this okay?”

“It’s okay to not be okay, Roman,” Anxiety says quietly. “It’s okay to say ‘I’m not okay right now’ out loud.” Roman stays silent, and Anxiety exhales. “Roman, you have to say it."

"Say what?" Roman mutters. He glares at Anxiety, but the words and the glare are both completely devoid of venom.

"That you're not okay. If you wanna feel better, you . . . you have to admit that you aren't feeling great right now. It's gonna suck, but you have to. It's important. And no one’s gonna think you’re stupid for saying it. I'm not gonna think you're stupid for saying it. Hell, I say it all the time. You have to say it, Roman, so you can start feeling better."

Roman looks to Thomas. “I’m not going to think you’re stupid, Roman.” Roman squeezes his eyes shut and stays silent for a long time, but Anxiety just waits, patiently. Finally, Roman breathes the words out.

"I'm - I'm not okay."

"And that's okay," Anxiety says softly. "It's okay to not be okay, Roman."

Roman looks up like Anxiety’s just grown a second head ". . . Say that again?"

"It's okay for you to not be okay right now, because you will be okay. You aren't right now, and that’s okay, because you will be."

Roman pulls his hands out of Patton’s, stands up, and offers a hand to Anxiety, Anxiety eyes it for a second before letting Roman pull him to his feet. “I am sorry,” Roman says - quiet, sincere, lacking all of the bluster and force of his earlier apology. "I - you're right. I was projecting onto you. And I said some - some truly unforgivable things, back there. Some truly ungallant things, things that any real knight or prince would never say. And I - I didn't - well, I meant them at the time, but now I recognize the error of my ways. I’m - Anxiety, I’m -”

“Virgil,” Anxiety says.

Everyone in the room does a double-take. Anxiety’s face turns from pale to pink to red, and he won’t meet anyone’s eyes. “My name. It’s Virgil. I just - you know everyone else’s, and I’m not hiding from you guys anymore, so - I figure you might as well -”

“Virgil,” Roman says, and Thomas’s heart aches at the tenderness in his voice. "Virgil, you - if you never forgave me, I would understand. But I want you to know that I am so, so sorry, Virgil. I - I tied you up, I dropped you, I told you all of the horrible things I think about myself because I hoped it would make me feel better. But now I just feel guilty, and horrible, and - and I am so, so sorry.”

"I forgive you, Princey.” Roman looks shell-shocked, but Virgil continues. “And for what it's worth . . . I’m sorry too. I know I can be harsher than I have to, sometimes, and I usually feel pretty bad about it afterwards. But I admit that I was a lot less careful with you because you always acted so above-it-all, and you so clearly hated me that it was easy to overreact and get carried away. We fueled each other’s fires, so . . . yeah. 'M sorry, too."

Roman opens his arms, and Virgil only hesitates a moment before stepping into them. They hug, Roman pressing his face into Virgil’s hair, and Thomas swears he hears Virgil’s shoulders crack with the force of Roman’s hug. Patton’s face is shining yellow, and Logan has shifted from rubbing his tie to flapping one hand.

Thomas feels his chest lighten, like some of the steel bands have snapped, but he knows that there’s one last apology that has to be made. “Virgil,” he says. Roman gives Virgil one last squeeze before letting go, and then Virgil takes a step back, looking at Thomas.

“Yes?” He still sounds hesitant, nervous, and Thomas wants to destroy that tone forever.

“Come over here, please?”

Virgil shuffles over, feet dragging against the carpet, and Thomas exhales. “It’s my turn now.” He gently takes Virgil’s hands in his own, and for the first time he notices how small and fragile they are. They’ve been building Virgil - no, not Virgil, Anxiety - up into a monster for so long, but his hands feel like bird bones in Thomas’s. He looks up at Thomas with wide eyes, and Thomas feels his heart break a little at the vulnerability he sees there.

He takes a deep breath, takes a moment to compose himself. He looks past Virgil and sees Patton smiling encouragingly, Logan nodding, Roman giving him a thumbs up. He thinks about what they’d all said, and then looks back at Virgil.

"Virgil, I'm sorry. Earlier, you said I treated you like you were something foreign, and you - you were right. People always talked about my anxiety like it was nothing more than a disorder, and I thought that way too. I was convinced that if I could just manage my anxiety, all the problems in my life would magically disappear. I . . . I think a lot of your villainization came from me. I looked at my anxiety and I saw nothing more than a flaw. But here, now, looking at you, I don't see a flaw. I see a strong, selfless person who constantly sacrifices everything to protect the people he loves - people who up until today have done a really shitty job of appreciating everything he does for them."

"Thomas . . ." Virgil whispers. His eyes are wet, but Thomas’s are finally dry.

"Virgil, you are important," Thomas says firmly. "You - you are so important to me. Sometimes you can be a little excessive, but I can see why you felt you had to be, given the way we all reacted to you. We can work on that together, we can work on all of this together. I'm sorry that I made you feel like I didn't want you here. And - and maybe I didn't want plain old anxiety, but I definitely want Virgil. You're not bad, you're just . . . you were just trying to do your job. You just wanted to keep me safe.”

“I wanted to keep you all safe,” Virgil says. “Even though you never thought of me that way, I have always considered you four to be my family. And I take the job of protecting my family very seriously.” He glances down at his body and snorts. “I mean, generally I don’t look like a fuckin’ twelve-year-old when I’m performing that job, but I’m still capable.” He looks back at Thomas. “I know I hindered you too much on more than one occasion, and I’m really sorry about that. Protecting you is all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

"I know that now," Thomas says. "We can work on being a better family together, all of us, but honestly? There’s nothing wrong with who you are. I'm sorry I made you feel unwanted just for doing your job - just for being who you are. But I promise, I do want you here. I want you here exactly the way you are, because there's nothing wrong with the way you are."

Virgil smiles at him, a shy, genuine smile. Thomas lets go of his hands and opens his arms. “You don’t have to, Virgil, but if you want to, I -”

Virgil is in his arms before he knows what’s happening. “I forgive you, Thomas, of course I do, I was never mad at you, I just wanted to keep you safe I - I’m so sorry that I hurt you, I -”

“Stop apologizing, Anx - Virgil,” Roman says. “That’s gonna take some getting used to, but I’m happy to make the adjustment.”

Virgil twists in Thomas’s embrace to look at Roman. “I mean, I should probably apologize for biting you in the woods.”

“I mean, I was behaving like a jackass at the time, and I did hogtie you in said woods. So . . . call it even?” Virgil laughs, and it’s watery and weak but it’s enough to set off everyone else.

“Yeah, Princey. Call it even.”

[checkmatedsmpau]

honestly love this series. very well written, clearly there's so much love for it. the trauma feels so real. the healing process isn't linear. dream's utter possesiveness is chilling to the bone. all of the different characters work together so well.

i especially liked the part with george kinda... helping tommy get back to dream? i hate when people make george all perfectly morally perfect. he's struggling with his own shit especially regarding to dream. in general, all of the characters feel like real people with their own struggles. it wasn't fully as if they wanted to not help tommy or each other- they just had their own lives and problems, and sometimes that shit happens.

i also like tubbo's characterization. he's... god, he's so stressed. it really puts into perspective how he, tommy, and tubbo are all kids. tommy's anger at tubbo is so justified, definitely. but tubbo had to make so many difficult decisions being president. exiling tommy was probably the worst. the guilt of this, on top of losing ranboo. being alone and the only way to cope would be to lose himself in his work... GOD. really fantastic. especially his reaction to tommy for the first time.

also, the sheer amount of content for this au. DEAR GOD. i love it. im confident i've never seen anyone more dedicated to an au.

i don't know what you have planned, but i suppose somethings i would like to see would be tommy relapsing somehow in the progress. majorly enough that it's an issue. and / or getting angry. trauma doesn't just manifest in fear, or panic attacks, and i think it's in character for tommy to lash out at some point.

another thing (i hope this doesn't come off as a critique, just something to point out-) would be ranboo is clearly working SO hard to help tommy. i feel like the series brushes over ranboo being stuck in a box for a whole year.. just a bit?. he obviously has his own issues he's gotta work through. i was happy to read the bit where ranboo was worried about going to the nether because of his time in the box. and his issues with sleeping in the box???!

ranboo isn't perfect. he won't always say the right thing for tommy to hear, which is fine. it would be impossible to demand that from anyone.

to add on, i don't think ranboo should be purposefully stupid about tommy's trauma. it just... there's so many things in regard to tommy's exile and his time with dream that nobody knows about still. this could cause communication issues. i just really think ranboo deserves to have his own issues addressed.

that being said, tommy's issues being addressed is so good. there are an endless amount of fics that just write the angst. no shade to them of course. it just... it's great to see this character go through so much, and to be broken. to cling to someone who hurt them and feeling all alone. and then to have people who want to help, and moving past things.

i do love angst, but healing and the process of recovery is just as good to me. the way it's treated, with such a huge support system... GOD it's so good. it gives me a lot of hope.

i also feel like tommy taking a life from sapnap should be... kinda addressed more??. yes. he was so abused and hurt by dream, he was jealous and was desperate for dream to not leave him. but it happened nonetheless.

i fully apologize if any of this is worded bluntly or cruel. it doesn't come from a place of meanness, i just have a lot of thoughts about this series and i want to express them!

i would like to say i haven't read every bit yet, so if any of this has happened, i'm sorry! i just wanted to write my thoughts out lol. thanks for reading, can't wait to see what's next!

No apology needed!!! It’s amazing to see someone so passionate about the series! I’ll try and answer everything as best as I can without giving away too many spoilers for what I have planned for the future!

First, George and Tubbo, I’m really glad you like them. Figuring out how to characterize Tubbo was a BITCH but I’m happy with how he turned out and where he’s going. And Gogy very quickly became one of my favorite characters in this AU, and he will continue to be because I’ve got a lot planned with him and I’m so very excited to continue writing so I can execute these plans!

I’ve definitely made a lot of content for this AU XD so much content…

Tommy lashing out would be very in character and I have many a plan for that, don’t you worry.

Ranboo definitely isn’t perfect, close to it but unfortunately… nobody is perfect. There will be some hiccups. And the brushing over the Nether is intentional! He’ll have to face it sometime but he’s got a lot of motivation to repress it at the moment. Actually he’s repressed a lot… more on that later :)

I plan on trying to balance out the angst and trauma and healing and recovery evenly and realistically to the best of my ability.

I was actually just planning a thing with George and Sapnap about the whole Tommy-taking-a-life thing. Don’t worry, that will be addressed. A lot of things will.

Thank you so much for reading! I’m really glad you’re enjoying the series!

Stay tuned! 💙🥰💕

[1oserjk]

— full stop | 03

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a series.

a messy divorce, unrequited feelings, and a five year old. 

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02 ⇋ 04

x full stop masterlist | x masterlist

shit is 16k .. sry 

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full stop | 03: unhappy birthday

Hyejin has always been a ball of fury when you poked at the wrong buttons on her. But something about Jungkook and the aftermath of the divorce has made her even more apprehensive of the man, and you can only do so much to shift her opinions elsewhere.

“Fuck him over. Somehow, someway — just do it.”

You choke.

Eyes widening, sputtering out, “H-Hyejin..” 

“I’m not kidding,” she deadpans, already rolling up her sleeves, “How many times do I have to tell you that fucker will never learn?” 

A hand comes up, “Okay wait.” You pause. “Are we going to collectively forget Jungkook is my daughter’s father?” 

Her head shakes. “Not relevant—and also hard for me to care when it comes to him.” 

You exhale, eyes fluttering closed and palms resting flat on her kitchen table. “Look, I know he’s not the most liked between everybody right now. But, I can’t just tell him no.. That’s not fair.” 

“But there’s boundaries,” she points and argues, then prompts, “What kind of outcome does he expect when he goes out with the one person who caused most of the mess two years ago.”

Your eyes roll back. “She took a micro-portion of it.” 

“Her presence was still there and highly significant if I'm judging from most of the nights you came to me for!” 

“Hyejin.” You glare. 

“And don’t even try to do That Thing where you deduce your own valid feelings and assume everybody else’s choices and actions are reasonable when it’s clearly not!” You glare and she blatantly ignores it, waving you off, “And I know you’re keeping everything within yourself for the sake of being a better co-parent, or whatever fucking advice you read in the facebook group you’ve recently planted yourself in, but god. I’m mad, anyone would be mad, so let me be mad for you.” 

“No one is going to be mad about this,” you finally decide. “There’s nothing to be mad about. He is his own person and he can make his own decisions.” She pins her stare at your nails that you pick at. You feel it. “Even if it means going out with someone younger, more exciting, who prances around with a pen in her hand as if she’s really doing something useful all the fucking time for whatever goddamn reason. I could care less,” you can’t help but mutter under your breath shortly after. 

“Ha!” One of her acrylics poke at you and you flinch. “You are mad.” 

You groan out loudly. “I’m not mad,” you exasperate. “All I’m saying is for him to have at least decent taste if he’s going to date. Not someone so expectant after a divorce.” 

Her eyes narrow. 

“But that’s not the point,” you make sure to add right after. Fingers run through your hair and you sigh. “Look,” you ease gently. “I’m trying to be alright in this, okay? The last thing I want to do is stomp in like a madwoman and refuse a relationship that would’ve happened sooner or later.” 

Of course, she disagrees. “God,” she stands, grabbing both of your mugs and heading to the sink. “You’re turning into one of those Milf’s that stand by to live, laugh, and love—it’s grossing me out.” 

Your ears perk at attention and you smile smugly. “You think I’m a Milf?” 

“Shut up. You’re flattered.” She turns it on to soak both of your cups before the coffee sticks. “I only dropped by to tell you that it’s okay to freak out once in a while.” 

The only reason she’s been keening on you to go apeshit in front of your ex-husband, was the frantic phone call you left on the night of ditching Jungkook in your own kitchen. Being that she was here now, claiming that Kiumin ached for a playdate with Yeona, when in reality, her only goal was to scold you for not swinging at the doll Jungkook pranced around with as of late. 

She puts a hand on her hip and leans towards the counter. “Turning to corny coping mechanisms like following a Bob Ross tutorial isn’t going to fix your rage you’ve been pushing down.” 

“Okay, but that’s only because Jungkook still has some of his supplies laying around and the only thing I could come up with was painting a fucking sunset. Sue me,” you defend, throwing your arms up. “Besides, you weren’t there to see him, Hyejin. He was getting out of his office for once, smiling even, a-and it was different. A good different, and..” You’re completely at a loss, mouth opening, then shutting back closed, because what was even the point. 

“..You don’t want to take that away from him,” she finishes, a tilt to her head and a consoling expression gracing her features. 

“Exactly,” you exhale. “I can’t even be mad that she’s actually getting him out there, taking him to things that didn’t involve work. Something I couldn’t even do-“ 

“Hey, no,” she stops you, head firmly shaking. “No, you don’t get to do that. You were there and present, even on the days you were close to giving up before you actually did — you were there, trying your absolute hardest, clinging onto what he barely gave you. You were never the problem, okay?” 

You meekly nod, tired eyes on her when she takes a firm hold of both of your hands. 

She makes it clear, saying, “As a wife and a mother, you were always there and that is something nobody can take away from you.”

“I know,” you confess. “I’m just in a weird position right now, and I’m stressed out from it. Not mad—stressed.” 

“And you don’t have to be, alright?” She shakes on your shoulder. “I know I insisted on breaking some plates and screaming, but hearing you out, I’m sure you would rather stray from the subject as a whole.” 

“Please.” 

“Alright. I’ll get out of your hair for now, and if I come up with something to do for us that doesn’t involve egging someone’s car—“

“Hyejin!”

“—then I’ll let you know.” 

You huff out a breath and finally stand, entering into her arms she spans out. “I’ll always be worried about you, babe.” 

“I know,” you mumble, “And I’ll keep telling you I’m fine every single time you ask.” She pinches your side that earns a loud yelp from you and a hiss of pain a second later. 

“Love you.” 

“Always,” you promise and then remind, “Please save some space for Yeona’s birthday that’s coming up, and be prepared for any phone-calls beforehand of me crying because my baby’s growing up and I have no control to slow down time for it.” 

“Ah, that’s right,” she says. “Tell me if you need any help planning, alright?”

“Of course.” 

“Kiumin, baby,” she calls out, heading towards the living space, “Buddy, let’s go. We gotta get home before dinnertime.” 

Both of your children are on the floor, several toys in front of them and a television with brightly lit characters and colors that did not have to be at a high-volume as it was right now. 

“Aw,” the little boy pouts, “Okay.” He turns to your daughter and waves hesitantly. 

“Bye Kiumin,” Yeona yells out, clambering across the floor to get a hug. Short arms wrap around tiny figures and it’s absolutely adorable. Your eyes can sense a hint of red on Kiumin’s cheeks when your daughter’s hands tug tightly onto his. “See you soon, maybe.” She shrugs. 

“Don’t worry, Yeonie,” Hyejin promises. “We’ll meet up again soon.” 

At that, Yeona nods enthusiastically and shuffles herself forward for another hug directed towards your best friend. “Bye, aunt Hyejin.” She receives a soft pat to her head. 

“Be safe on the way home,” you order. 

They make their leave swiftly, and it finally gives you time to properly breathe—and think for a long while. 

-

Tiny fingers pinch the paper in between them, a determination set in her eyes as she excitedly jumps around in her seat. “It’s done,” she announces. 

Your eyes resemble a wink when you squint at her, sun shining way too brightly for it to be this early in the morning. It practically reflects Yeona’s attitude in starting the day like this, while you sit pathetically in an oversized shirt and coffee in hand. 

Taking the time in the morning for yourself was barely a thing, especially when it came to your daughter and her way too early sleep schedule her school had willed her on. 

Instead of sleeping in, you’re dealt with Yeona already being wide-eyed in her bed, making grabby hands at the toys in her bedroom you’ve put the time in cleaning up on the floor from the night before. 

Even staying home in her matching sweats her father had gifted her, she would still request her hair up and out of her face for the rest of the day. So, you’d be taking fifteen minutes to slick her hair up in her choice of a ponytail or pigtails instead of preciously sleeping in. Even right after, she’d become hungry, wanting breakfast to go along with her cartoons she had downloaded on her tablet. 

Which was perfectly fine, you’d be up soon anyway, so it would be better overall to just start the day off a bit earlier. It would only just leave you a bit off-looking and disoriented in the things you’d do for yourself. 

Years back, when Yeona was younger and you were still married, the routine was easier and much steadier when you would tag-team in getting ready for the day, passing off your daughter after one task would be done for the other and it would be your own turn for yours. 

At first, it left you frazzled when you were alone most days, but now, since the separation has settled in, it’d been okay for the most part. It just meant that some of the things and time you put aside for yourself were sacrificed, and that you would have to save your self care routine for later in the night when Yeona would flutter her eyelashes closed for slumber. 

You excitedly clap a few times and reach eagerly. “Can I see?” 

Yeona’s birthday was reaching close and for most of them, you would be able to know exactly what she’d want for that particular year. Normally, it would be a themed party of whatever she had been obsessed with at that time, and obviously the gifts you would drown her in. Last year went with a breeze. You were glad at that time when most of the conflict between you and Jungkook had faded when the time came, solely focusing on your daughter and that was it. But now, with the way things had left between the two of you recently, you were worried it wouldn’t be the same as this year. 

Yeona had declared she wanted something different this year and decided that she’d write it all out in a list. Still unsure and a bit confused, you complied and set out her supplies for her to take over on the paper. It was only fifteen minutes after she claimed that she was finished. 

Leaning towards her paper, you expected it to be drowned in color and design, taking the same artistic habits as her father. But to no avail, it was left blank. 

Your brows furrow. “I thought you were done?”

She nods. “I am!” 

“So.. Where—“ You awkwardly left off, wondering if she was hiding it beneath the table or behind her back. She giggles when you curiously dip your head under the tabletop. 

“In here,” she points. A single finger pokes at her head and she proudly smiles before explaining, “The list is in my head! If you read all of it at once, then it wouldn’t be fun, so I’ll tell Mommy the first thing now and the rest for later.” 

Your mouth opens in a sound of realization, and your eyes glint at how clever she became. “So,” you excitedly lean towards her more, landing a soft peck on her forehead. “What does my baby want for her birthday?” 

“No party,” she firstly says with a firm shake to her head. 

Your eyes widened. “No party?” Since the beginning, it’s always been one. 

“Nope.” Her lips purse out with a crinkle to her nose. “Mommy,” she says, eyes twinkling. “I’m growing, so big girls don’t have parties.” 

You hum, “Is that so?” 

She nods dramatically. 

“So what would you want this year?” 

“I would like to ask if we could have my birthday at Uncle Jin and Joonie’s beach house.” 

Your brows shoot up. “That’s all the way in Jeju..” 

She nods. “We could all take the ferry!” Then, she pouts. “We never go on the ferry.” 

Her idea runs through your mind for a few seconds before theorizing with her, mindlessly murmuring to yourself, “We could take the one in Busan and visit Grandma and Grandpa on the way..” You were sure they would want to see Yeona on the day of her birthday. 

Her eyes brighten when she picks up on your mumbles, grappling your wrist and shaking it, “Yes, Mommy! We’ll take everybody, like, Daddy’s co-workers and Kiumin!” 

It seems that you were already confirming the idea instead of considering it, though it all seemed like a perfect idea that wouldn’t take a lot of effort or stress. You can already imagine the small gathering for the weekend getaway, already knowing how much the others would like some time off, especially the guys that would always be cooped up in the suffocated shop filled with needles and ink. It would be a nice way of switching a few things up and catching up with the rest of the inner circle you’ve accumulated from the time of being with Jungkook. 

“Well,” you start, “Let me have a conversation with your Daddy and then maybe,” you halt when she begins to turn giddy, “Maybe it will happen. But he’s going to have to ask Uncle Jin and Joon if it’s alright, so it's honestly up to them to decide..” 

“Okay,” she quickly obliges, confidence set in her tone and smile, telling you that she was completely sure of her idea and their compliance to it.

-

“Of course!” 

Jungkook’s head drops down in embarrassment while you sit across from him, mouth almost gaping. 

“S-Seokjin,” you sputter. “You barely even gave it a few seconds to think about.” 

He shakes a hand back and forth, “Why would I need to?”

“You can’t just..“ You lead off hopelessly. Turning to the lanky man next to him, you raise a brow. “Namjoon?”

“Fine by me,” he says over a mouthful of noodles, “We barely even use the house, anyway.” 

“O-Okay, but-“ 

“We should go a week before the date to check up on it,” Seokjin suggests to Namjoon. 

“You’re right, just in case anything is out of place,” he replies. 

“The fireplace should be okay, right? I heard it rained last weekend.” 

And then they fall into their own conversation, leaving you and Jungkook, the real parents in this situation — silent. 

“I guess.. It’s happening?” You squeak out. The expensive couch sits uncomfortably on your bum, and you grow sweaty from being left to bask in the tension between the man across from you. It’s awkward, almost dragging on since you’ve entered the flat and sat down with Jungkook.

You were thankful at first, when Seokjin had butted in the conversation, boyfriend in tow. 

The last time you’ve encountered your ex-husband, were only the past few weeks of dropping off Yeona on his days off, stoically handing her to him and running off until you would have to pick her up again. 

It was childish, you knew that. You knew it exactly when you turned your back to him and completely shut him out three weeks ago. But at this point, it was the only way you were able to cope with however you were feeling about him, and simmering down most of your anger. But seeing that you would have to deal with him sooner rather than later, being that Yeona’s birthday was coming up, you were reluctantly willing to face him. 

“Yeah, I don’t think we have a choice,” he chuckles, palms nervously rubbing against his knees. A small part of you is definitely basking in the way he squirms under your scrutiny. 

“It’s fine,” you say, “This was the biggest part of Yeona’s list, anyway. She really wanted this.” 

He offers a quirk to his lips, and your heart immediately seizes, having to force yourself to stop looking at him so obnoxiously. It’s gross, really, how you’ve managed to be so affected by him - good or bad, since the very start. 

A throat clears, and it’s Namjoon, one hand stuffed in his pocket while the other on Seokjin’s lower back. You grow curious if he noticed. “Tell Yeona we can have her birthday at our house in Jeju.” 

“Thank you, really—to you both. She really wanted this, and for you guys to be there too.” 

“Of course, we’ll send a message to the rest that they’re invited.” 

With a smile, you stand and wrap your arms around both of them on your way out. “Thank you, again,” you can’t help but repeat. They only chuckle in your tight grasp that clearly proved how grateful you were to them.

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Jungkook offers when he stands. 

You shake your head, “It’s alright. I took a bus here.” 

“Then, I’ll drive you back.” 

“Jungkook, no, it’s okay-“ 

Already disappearing into his room, he makes a grab for his jacket and shoes to head out. 

Seokjin chuckles when you whip around to face back the both of them, “Stubborn.” 

You’re breathless when you repeat in stress, “Yeah.” 

“Have a good night, _____.” Namjoon and Seokjin simultaneously wave, sending you both out the door. You embarrassingly let out a light laugh, waving back and wishing the same for them. 

You rush to the side of Jungkook when they disappear. 

Nobody talks, even until you’ve reached his car, unlocking the doors and allowing you to slip in the passenger side. 

He got the vehicle shortly after finalizing his move out of the house, offering the one you previously shared and owned. You didn’t have much of a choice when he slipped the keys in your hand and left shortly after without any argument. You were more nervous that if you pushed more for him to take it, he’d go out and buy you a new one the next day. 

For Jungkook driving the sleek black car everyday, it practically seems unused, leather seats still having that particular smell and everything still being tidy around it. Then again, Yeona is now older and less messy than before. 

Everything in the car is so exactly him, and you weren’t quite sure how to feel about it. 

After buckling up and properly settling in, he slides the keys in the slot, leaving you to stare at the hanging car accessory up at the rearview mirror. 

It’s a picture of you and Yeona, laid out on the floor. You remember the memory clearly, Yeona declaring a tickle fight and sprawling out on the floor for a fair match. Even with Yeona sat on top of you, it seemed that you were winning in the game with how her head was thrown back and a wide grin on her face, you could practically hear the squeal she was letting out in the picture. 

He still had it. 

For a second, you smile back at it. 

You barely even notice the car already moving and him asking the question, “Why didn’t you drive?” 

Your head flicks to him, and your eyes stay right at his jaw when he makes a smooth turn. You shrug, “It was nearby, I didn’t mind.” 

“You should’ve told me,” he says, “I would have come home instead of you travelling all this way for me.” 

Home. He still called it home, like it’d be any day now for him to return to it, that this was all a temporary fix until everything would get less foggy. 

“It’s fine,” you pass off. “I didn’t think you would see the offer as worthy since Yeona is at my mom’s place right now.” 

His head shakes, turning away from the road to catch your eyes for a split second. “I don’t need any reason to see you, _____. Just tell me, and I’ll be there.” It’s with vigour and promise, you almost turn flustered. 

You let out a small scoff before looking down at your hands. “If you said that a long time ago, we would’ve still been married,” you joke, though it comes out bitter. “Thanks for the offer, though,” you sarcastically add. 

The car suddenly halts and you look up, the red traffic light flashes in front of you. 

Jungkook shuts his eyes before tiredly letting out a sigh. 

You grow anxious, looking out the window from the side. Some of the restaurants and shops are surprisingly still open and you focus on the windows with bright lighting inside of the buildings. Friends and couples are eating out, some are laughing, and you wonder what some of their conversation consisted of. You surmise it’s something foolish when one of them throws their head back in a fit of laughter. 

Your hands grip each other when a pair from the opposite side of your vision pucker up and kiss. It turns personal way too quickly and you immediately feel like you're intruding, grateful that the light turns green and you finally move away from the intimate image, wondering if you would ever get close to that phase of your life again.

The silent minute brings you to announce abruptly, “We’re going to take the ferry in Busan instead of here, so that she would be able to see your parents before leaving.” 

“Sounds fine,” he replies. “My mother would like that.”

You nod. 

“What about yours?” He suggests.

You sigh, head hitting the headrest of the seat softly. “Another detox trip. They said they would send her a birthday card before they would leave. Probably why they’re spending as much time with her as they can before they leave.” 

Even with eyes on the road, he still seems to be listening intently. He hesitates a few seconds before asking, “How’s your dad?” 

You send him a smile, the least you could do before answering, “Still hates you.” 

He snorts. “Yeah,” he says, “I figured.” 

You swallow tightly and decide to ask, “How’s settling with Seokjin?” It’s been a couple of years, but still, it all still feels new and something you haven’t gotten around to asking ever since. 

He hums, “It’s quiet most of the time since he’s at Namjoon’s nearly everyday..” 

“The place is practically yours then,” you attempt to joke again, but it comes out as hardly, not exactly comfortable to throw that specific tone around.

He shrugs. “Wish he would let me pay more than half of the rent, but it’s tolerable.” 

“Are you ever planning to get your own place soon?” 

“Huh,” he thinks. “Haven’t put much thought into it.” 

“Well, if you ever do, I can always help out,” you quietly suggest and he takes a quick glimpse at you to see if you were actually being serious. 

“Really?”

You nod. “Yeah. I actually think it would be cool for Yeona to have a second room at your place. So it’s home over there for her as it is with me.” 

Another red light, and his eyes blink close for a moment. The conversation is going too fast and all of a sudden, it starts to hurt. 

Jungkook doesn’t want another home, a place that reads that he is officially separated from you and out of his reach, not when it doesn’t include you in it. 

It would hurt him even more if you would egg it on, support him and the move away from you, like you would want him to, and maybe you really did. He would understand why. Still, it hurts when you talk so freely like this, seemingly eager to get rid of him.

Jungkook doesn’t voice his disagreement, avoiding talking at all and keeping his mouth closed instead. 

The conversation falls off after that, and he most likely figured that would be the most he got out of you for the rest of the car ride. 

That was until you spoke up again. 

It was quiet, almost barely heard, and it’s said quickly. “You can invite her, you know?” 

His fingers unknowingly grip on the steering wheel. 

You look back down. “I don’t mind and I don’t want you to think that I’ll hold you back from doing so.” 

They want to reach out, grasp for your hands you keep fiddling with, scold you for biting on your lip too harshly, everything he used to do, he wanted to fall back and do it all at once. 

They keep clinging to the wheel. 

“I was mad back then,” you guiltily admit and he immediately shakes his head. 

“You had every right to be.” 

“I probably looked silly for being so mad on something I have no control over.” You move your eyes back over the window and the blurry images that pass by solemnly. “Especially when everything’s been said and done with, right?” You turn to him and he gulps. His heart drops at how quick and firm you said, as if it was that easy. 

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly. 

“Maybe this is a learning curve for us,” you nod to yourself. “So, I’m open to having her with us this year.” 

He had no idea why you were so sure that everything between Seol and himself were solid enough to introduce her as his girlfriend, fuck, even he wasn’t sure he could spit the word out himself. 

Everything was going by way too fast, too much to process. 

He only nods, clinging onto actions rather than words to speak for him. 

His throat clears and the car slows down to a clear stop. You peak over his head and find your house already being presented as the car decreases in speed. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah,” is all he says.

“Well,” your buckle releases and you slide out onto the edge of the seat, already gripping onto the handle. You offer him a smile. “Thanks, Jungkook.” 

The door opens and he stiffly nods and doesn’t pull out of his spot until his own two eyes have watched your figure disappear into the entrance of the house. 

-

“Did you double-check that you have everything?” 

She nods. 

“Okay, then I think we’re ready.” You clap, zipping up the rest of your bags. 

She can’t even stand still with her excitement, having to run around at times when it got too much. 

Ever since the beginning of planning this weekend trip, you surprisingly had a lot of time on your hands from the immense help of everybody else who volunteered to plan. You were glad that they reached out, but you also became antsy at the fact you had no control over the outcome of this gathering. In anything that Yeona wanted, you strived to make sure it would happen with reasonability. Being away from most of the planning had left you anxious on most days, wondering what Seokjin would be pulling under his sleeve on Yeona’s celebration. 

“Here.” You hand her backpack to her, silently ushering her to turn around so you could slip it through her arms. “Sit on the couch and watch your show for now. Your father will be here soon to pick us up.” 

She complies easily, shuffling towards the cushioned chair. 

Before she becomes too absorbed in the cartoon, you ask a mindless theory for her to answer, “If Daddy shows up with a friend—that is a girl.. You’ll be nice, right?” 

Her head tilts and her brows crease. “Girl—friend?” 

Your fingers tighten against the hem of your sundress. “M-Maybe? I’m not sure, he hasn’t told me a lot about her..”

“That’s not right,” she notes. “Daddy should tell Mommy so she knows..” 

You send her a softened smile that holds a sad shift in it. “Not this time, baby.” You look down at your hands. “Just be nice to her, okay?” 

She only nods. 

You brush off your knees when you stand back up, moving back towards your room to grab whatever else you might’ve forgotten and rush through most of your makeup bag to fix yourself up a bit. 

You debated a few times in your head to switch up your dress for another one in your bag. Usually, you never cared, but this time, oddly, you wanted to satisfy more than yourself with the way you currently looked and dressed as - for whatever reason you cannot decipher as. But having to change, you would also have to switch out Yeona’s dress since you both decided to match today. 

You decided not to bother since it would take too much time, especially since you hear the buttons being pressed at your front door, buzzing when the code punches in and indicating that Jungkook was finally here. 

You quickly pull and clip on a necklace that was mindlessly set on your bedside table, and rush out the room with your bags. 

When both of them come into view, you already see Yeona attached to Jungkook’s hip. No one else. 

“Hey,” you breathlessly greet with a nod, trying not to seem blunt by focusing on the front door to see if a certain person tagged alone. “I hope this isn’t too much—? I cut down most of it last night..” 

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it,” then looks down at the bags, “But—uh, are you sure you need all of this? It’s only a couple of days.” 

“Yeah, but,” you hesitate, pushing some strands of your hair away, “It’s clothes, swimsuits, sunscreen, shower products, presents—“ 

“Presents?” Yeona brightens. 

“No,” You and Jungkook rush. 

“Mommy meant something else..” 

“Oh.” Her expression flattens. “Then what did she mean?” She presses. 

Jungkook’s mouth gapes and he attempts to spit out an answer before you boisterly interrupt, “Oh no! We’re running late.” 

He nods comically when he meets eyes with you. “Y-You’re right! Let me take your bags,” he offers. 

You practically shove them into his hands when you switch positions, taking Yeona into your own and softly letting her down. 

When you stand up straight, he eyes the both of you in awe when he notices. 

“You’re both matching.” 

You grow heated under his gaze and shyly nod, straightening out the flimsy skirt of your dress. “She’s been hounding me to get a mini size for her when I wear mine, so this was her first gift from me.” 

Her tiny hands cling onto your fingers and squeezes them, “Yup! We wanted to look pretty for Daddy.” 

You practically choke out a small cough at her statement as he arches a brow towards you, your cheeks dusting a shade of embarrassment immediately. 

“T-There was no set intent for doing this exactly,” you defend with a growing pout before you childishly point at Yeona and sputter, “It was her idea and I just went with it.” 

He chuckles, encouraging the dusty rose to spread to your ears and neck. “Well,” he starts and confirms, “You both look beautiful.” He’s already turning away and moving towards the door before you can react. “I’ll compliment you more when we get in the car, but we should hurry.” 

You both scurry in front of him, and a firm hand lands on the small of your back to lead you out. Whipping around slightly, you turn surprised from the mere gesture. 

A certain feeling washes over you — it’s nostalgic, almost drowning you from the blunt force when his fingers land on only the thin material that separates your skin from his. For a second, it feels like what it has always been. 

Even as false pretense or even reassurance, you bask in the feeling you can only assume is melancholy and warmth, all at the same time. It’s bittersweet, but it’s something and it’s clearly there.

He offers a smile, and it’s not a polite one you usually send each other when you would interact, it’s not a forced one either. It was genuine, and it was towards you. 

A smile that read this weekend would be a memorable one, like all of the other birthdays you celebrated each year. 

For a split second, you feel like a family again. 

The door clicks shut and you finally all head out to fulfill Yeona’s birthday journey. 

-

“God,” he rubs at his shoulder that aches. “What did you pack in here to make me feel like this four floors down?” 

Rolling your eyes, your daughter’s leg brushes against you when it kicks up for the minute of buckling her up. You don’t bother asking her to stop, silently allowing her to start playing with your hair when you lean over the other side of her carseat. You adjust her sandals while you’re at it. “We took the elevator, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” 

“You weren’t the one carrying it,” he argues, shutting the trunk closed. 

Finally finished with making sure Yeona would ride safely in the backseat, you recover your crouched form and rise. “You offered.” 

He sighs, hands on his hips, and a smile creeping on his face he managed to halt before your eyes would land on them. “You never answered my question.” 

Both of you make it to the front of the car and slip in, shutting the car doors simultaneously in coincidence. 

You wave a hand in dismissal before reaching up for the seatbelt. “It’s a few gifts for your mother. She really liked the scent of the apartment when she last visited, so I packed a few candles of the ones I’ve been using.” 

“A few?” He scoffs, pinning you a look. The car begins to run when he slides the key in the slot. He has a hard time believing in your estimate of the amount you were bringing when he picks up weights on a regular basis at the gym, not boasting when he clearly can’t help mentioning it every now and then. There were way more than a few.

You hesitate, observing him shift the gear and backing the car up and out of the parking space. “Fine, I slipped in a few more for Seokjin,” you confess and it’s clear that he has a smug smirk carrying his expression. “Only because he asked,” you huff.

A light chuckle slips out and his fingers on the center console almost twitch when he hears you let one out also. 

You abruptly turn towards the backseat. “Yeonie? Please turn down your tablet.” It Had been ringing in both of your ears since you got in the car. You wanted to have a proper conversation without having to scream out your words over the rhymes and overplayed sound-effects. 

When she does, you finally sigh and lean back in pure exhaustion from the lack of sleep the night before. 

Jungkook notices. 

“You okay?” He asks. 

Your eyes flutter open slowly and you nod. “Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, so I’m dealing with the repercussions of it.” Your gaze on the road soon turns blank. 

If you were being honest, it’s been a long time in dealing with enough sleep. If you were in bed, you were most likely staying up, keeping yourself busy, not deeming it as a good enough reason to sleep just yet. Before, you slept easily, paying no mind to what was happening around you, you actually slept. Something changed to the point where you weren’t granted that access anymore, having to question the exact reason on why you should even sleep. You weren’t sure if you would find it, sticking with just coaxing yourself into slumber through most nights. 

“You can take a nap if you want,” he suggests. “It’s going to take a while before we get there, so you might as well.” 

You hum absentmindedly, barely registering any of his words if you were being honest. 

Yeona yawns. He shifts his attention to the back, watching Yeona squirm for a comfortable spot - as comfortable as she can get - in her carseat. “Are you sleepy too, baby?” 

She mewls out a tired noise in confirmation and leans her head to the padded side of hers. “Daddy, sing to me,” she requests, blinking, lagging until they fully close.

Jungkook’s soft hums fill up the noise of the car other than the white noise surrounding you when he drove. 

Your eyes go back to closing when it hits you, a metaphorical blanket that deems where you were, what you were doing, and who you were with — as safe. Your brows furrow unconsciously at the thought that you’ve been dealing with this specific problem about your sleep for God knows how long, but Jungkook suddenly fixes it and now it’s all gone. 

You finally sleep. 

-

An hour  into the drive and you suddenly ask, “Is she.. Driving on her way too?” 

His eyebrows furrow and he turns to stare at you, disoriented by the question. “Who?” 

You eye him wearily and tip your head forward, like it was obvious. 

He’s still confused. 

“Seol?” You finally spit out. 

“Oh.” 

That’s all he says and you grow impatient. “So?” 

“She’s not coming,” he finally answers. “I didn’t invite her. Why would you think I would?” 

“She wasn’t in the car when you picked us up, or at the house, so I just assumed..” 

“No,” he quickly denies, looking you in the eye this time. “She’s not coming.” 

“Oh—okay.” You wonder why. 

It’s silent except for when his throat clears and he turns the car. 

“Um,” you drag unsurely. “Are you.. Still—seeing each other?” It’s personal, and you regret asking, but for the sake of your bouncing leg and bated breath, you wait. 

“I—I don’t know? I mean we’re going out, but it’s not anything official.” He looks nervous, eyes shifting back and forth from one side of a street to another. 

“So.. You haven’t asked her to be your girlfriend yet?” 

This is weird. Too fucking weird and now Jungkook’s acutely uneasy because there is absolutely no malice in your voice. Just curiousness being unravelled.

“No, not really,” he nervously stammers, and he tries his best to gauge your reaction but you hold absolutely nothing to read on. “I want to decide carefully.” You suddenly stare back at him and he has no choice but to continue, “Like you said. I want to make sure it’s right. No fuck-ups anymore. Not with you or Yeona.” 

Your head shakes. “Jungkook, you don’t have to-“

“It’s my decision,” he firmly states, “and it’s on my terms.”

-

Jungkook’s mother was always a bright soul who greeted and welcomed you with open arms. 

The first time you were off to meet her, you were twenty-three years old and absolutely terrified, and you made sure to tell Jungkook that before you even stepped foot in the house he grew up in. 

You informed him how much bad luck you came with when it involved meeting your partner’s parents. More specifically — your past boyfriends and their overly clingy mothers who did not like you no matter what you did, as long as you were dating their son. 

“My mom loves everyone,” Jungkook explained previously the night before the anticipated meeting. 

You shook your head vigorously, eyes wide and anxious, shivering from having the thought of reliving something you always dreaded. “That’s what they all say before we end up arriving and then all of a sudden I’m being pounced on by an overbearing mother who obviously can’t stand the thought of having another woman in her son’s life.” 

He laughed. “Your exes were probably an only child,” and then continued to inform as if it would ease your nerves, “I have an older brother.” 

You shrieked. “Holy shit, that makes it even worse because you’re her youngest. The baby of the family—her baby.” He cackled and you landed a solid strike at his arm with a whine, “Jungkook, Take me serious.” 

“Alright, okay,” he shushed you and tugged at your hips before closing in on you. “I can assure you that my mother isn’t some type of villain you’ve painted out in your head.” 

You winced and patted his chest with a pout, “Sorry. Past minor trauma.” 

“I get it,” he reassured. “But she’s different than the rest, I promise.”

And she definitely was. 

The house fills with a scent of something cooking on the stove top and it immediately engulfs you in warmth when you hear the television going off in the spacious area of the living room, assuming it was Jungkook’s father planted on his signature chair he was always found in. 

When Yeona finally kicks off her shoes, she immediately runs through the house to find her grandmother. 

“Careful,” Jungkook calls from next to you. 

He notices your dazed state and takes a step closer. “How are you feeling? Still tired?”

Your mouth falls open and you shake your head with a smile, brushing it off, “My head is aching a bit from the long car ride, but I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll sit down for a few.” 

He shows concern in his expression and leans forward to inspect you carefully. “Come here.” 

“I told you I’d be okay, Gguk. I’m fine.” Still, your feet take you closer towards him until calloused fingers land at your temples before applying pressure. “Mm,” you let out in surprise, lips pressed when he goes in circular motions against your skin, grappling onto one of his wrists for support. Your eyes flutter shut when the pain starts to subside. Four fingers each from both hands are firmly planted while his two thumbs continue to ease the throbbing that’s been planted in your head since you’ve gotten out of the car. 

“Starting to feel better?” He murmurs softly. 

 You nod with the space he provided for it. “I still think I should just take some medicine.” 

He doesn't stop his ministrations, only humming. “In a minute. Want to avoid my mom a bit longer before she starts to ask why I haven’t been visiting lately.” 

A smile quickly settles on your lips and you squeeze at the wrist you’ve been gripping on. 

It’s up close when he sees you softly giggle and his heart surges forward. Your eyes open back up and you’re suddenly staring at such a close proximity. 

“She worries about you.” 

“I know,” he promises. “Just not sure what to say when she starts interrogating me.” 

Before your mouth can slip in an answer, a throat clears and you tense immediately. 

You both stiffly turn towards the new figure in the room who raises an amused brow. 

“Uh, hi Mom. Where’s Yeona?” 

“With your father.” 

You remember suddenly before coughing and tugging at Jungkook’s hands that stay planted against your head. 

“We were just..” Jungkook attempts, wiping off his palms that have gotten significantly clammy in the span of a minute or two. 

“Headache,” you finish and state for him. 

“Yeah.” 

“Did we go back in time before medicine was a thing?” She jokes then tilts her head towards the direction of one of the bathrooms. “There’s painkillers in the medicine cabinet.” 

“Uh I’m going to.. Yeah.” Jungkook scratches at the back of his neck and seems unsure before seeing himself out to grab for the bottle of pills. 

“Please, don’t give me that look,” you beg once the embarrassment settles in and your cheeks start to warm up. 

“No, I’m just happy is all.” She smiles in satisfaction. “Last time I checked, you were divorced to my son.” 

You groan. “And I still am.” 

“Then what was that?” She refers back to the scene she had unfortunately walked in on. 

“A ploy to drag out time before hearing your questions about why he hasn’t been visiting as often as he should be,” you easily tattle. 

She gasps. 

Jungkook walks back in with two bottles in hand, eyes bouncing back and forth to each one. “It doesn’t matter which brand right? I brought out two just in case-“ 

“Jeon Jungkook,” his mother scowls. 

He freezes and looks up to his infuriated mother, then pointedly looks at you before the gears turn in his head. 

“You told her?” 

You simply shrug and snatch both bottles away before his mother would start shifting her target towards him. “Thank you.” 

You don’t bother to hear the scolding, instead, walking through the house to find where your daughter had drifted off to. 

Mrs. Jeon takes some time to catch up with her son and gives you enough to rest from the prolonged car ride. 

Small feet tap on the wooden floor and you try to search for the doe eyes and pouty lips that come with them. 

“Yeona, where have you been?” 

“With grandpa!” Then, she enthusiastically stomps. “He said my gifts are hiding from me.” 

You chuckle. “Is that so?” 

A bigger pair of feet walk in and Mr. Jeon looks flustered, as if he had done something he wasn’t supposed to do. His head angles down to Yeona and he explains, “I messed up! I was supposed to wait for Grandma to feed you guys before I said anything about birthday presents.” 

Your mouth opens to reply that he was perfectly fine before large hands settle firmly on your shoulders. You squeak and jump, registering that it was only Jungkook when you whip around to face the culprit. “Seriously?” 

“It’s payback,” he simply says. “I got scolded for fifteen minutes all because you decided to be a snitch.” 

“Sorry.” You softly nudge. “She was assuming too much when she saw us.” 

“Ah,” he realizes, and he suddenly seems okay with the thought of going down just for you. “I’ll have to talk to her again about doing that. Sorry.” 

You dismiss it with a smile. “Just more worried about you. Poor baby,” you tease. “What? Did she make you face the wall for five minutes?” He scowls. “Jungkook, she misses you,” you reason. 

“I know,” he mumbles. “I promised her I would be here more often.” 

He has that look in his eye you are way too familiar with — when the gears start turning and he begins to overthink his whole entire schedule for the month, figuring out the time-slots—if he even has any free space for it. 

“Hey,” you call, and he snaps out of it. “Don’t try to fill your family in your schedule as if they’re appointments. You’ll visit when you want to, okay? Not because you have to.” 

He exhales and nods. “Right. I will.” 

He then notices your features significantly brighter than the last time he’s taken them in, no more fatigued, so he asks, “Did you take the medicine?” 

You nod. “I just took it, but moving around a bit is helping a lot already. 

“That’s good.” 

His brows furrow when he catches the expression on his dad. “Is he okay?” 

You turn and observe him tailing your hyper daughter who has been checking every crevice of the house for any mere glimpse of eye-catching wrapping paper.

“Like father, like son,” is all you say and he stares on with no clue. “He’s literally a second away from hearing his own scolding.” 

Mrs. Jeon walks in and shrieks. “You told her already—?!” 

The man beside you sighs and questions out loud what on earth his father had done. 

So, you explain, “They put on a scavenger hunt for Yeona’s gifts. Except, it was supposed to be after lunch.” 

“Oh no.” 

“Yeah.” 

“You were supposed to wait so that I could take pictures for it!” 

The older man’s hands get thrown up in defense. “She hasn’t found them yet, it’s fine.” 

“What if she actually does?” She tests with a brow raised. 

“Mom,” Jungkook calls and both of his parents finally turn to give him attention. “It’s alright. We can do the scavenger hunt now since we’ll be leaving soon.” 

“You aren’t going to stay and eat?” 

“Please don’t worry,” you kindly decline. “I’d feel bad if you were to cook something, just for us.”

She waves a hand carelessly in the air. “Nonsense! I want to do this for you. It’s been way too long since the last time I cooked for more than two people.”

Your elbow prods at Jungkook who lacks his own attention. You quickly send him a look, a silent message to stop her from whipping anything up when you wouldn’t have much time to properly eat it, given from your strict itinerary. 

“We only have half an hour to be here before the next Ferry arrives,” he finally speaks up. 

“Oh,” his mother dejects with a pout. “Well, that’s a shame.” 

“Yeah, sorry mom.” 

Your hip pushes against his side, and your throat clears. “We’ll come back and stay for dinner,” you promise. 

“Please do,” she nods. “My son doesn’t even visit anymore.” 

She plainly ignores Jungkook, whose mouth has dropped significantly. “Mom—! I told you I would visit more often.” 

“Can’t even make a simple phone call,” she tsks. “Your ex-wife interacts with me at least three times a week—more than you ever did within a month.”

“Mom!” 

Your hand lands on top of his shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze and sending his mother a smile of understanding. “We’ll be there. Promise.” 

She sighs, hands smacking against her fruity apron and then clapping enthusiastically. “Alright, fine! Let me get my camera first.” 

Her son groans. “Just use your phone.” 

Her head shakes, already bending down and shuffling through the drawers, “But you got me that nice camera for Christmas! I haven’t used it yet.” 

“Alright, fine,” he reluctantly obliges. “Dad, will you please give my daughter a hint? She’s going crazy here.” He points and your daughter is exactly there, crawling through the coffee table and easing herself to the next tiny space she can fit in. 

“Baby, you’re going to hurt yourself,” you warn when she breezes through a few expensive-looking structures around the house, “Or break something.. Jungkook—!”  You tug on his sleeve and push him to grab her before any mishaps could happen. 

When Jungkook finally gets a hold of a squirmy Yeona, his father finally ushers everybody outside towards the direction of the backyard where the scavenger hunt is officially located.

-

“They just texted me that they’re already at the house,” Jungkook suddenly announces by the time Yeona finds her fourth present. 

You double-check the time on your phone and worriedly ask, “Do you think we’re running late?” 

His head shakes. “I doubt it. If anything, we’re probably on time. We left really early in the morning.” 

You sigh out with both shoulders deflating and he notices. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you ease. “Just worried, you know? This is the first year we aren’t doing a birthday party and she’s only turning six.” 

“Hey,” he chuckles. “It’s not like these aren’t going to be a forever thing.” 

“I know,” you groan and rub harshly at your temples. “I think I’m just so used to big gatherings, the amount of unnecessary attention, and the cake nobody eats because it’s all it really was for me growing up.” As much as the parties were for good intentions, it was never in a good way. 

The only reason your mother was set on giving you a birthday party every year was for the pictures and some way into measly bragging about how well her life was going and not everybody else’s. 

“And in no way I’m saying it as a way for Yeona to live through whatever I went through, but every year I try my best to plan something she wants.” You rub at your elbow unsurely with lips turned downwards. “For some reason, her not asking for one this year makes me think how much she didn’t like the others and how shitty I am for not seeing it much earlier.” 

Yeona giggles when she picks out another that happens to be sneakily hidden snug between a few branches of a tree. 

He shakes his head and calls for you softly. “Are you kidding? I’ve never seen her happier with every passing birthday you manage to outdo every year. Our daughter also has incredible confrontational skills - If she doesn’t like something, she’ll tell us regardless.” 

You snort. “Right.” You grow nervous how serious he becomes when you catch onto his eyes and his front faces you so suddenly. 

“She loves what you do every year,” he assures. He then reasons, “And maybe next year it’ll be different — she’s growing up.” 

You slowly nod, handing him a laugh of disbelief. “Yeah. God, you’re right. Sorry.” 

“Even standing here with a headache, you’re still worrying for nothing,” he scolds. 

“I told you I already feel better,” you argue in return. “The medicine helped a bunch. I’m okay.” And for the next ten minutes, you ignore the side-eye full of concern overpowering on his side when he shoots you a glance. He’s known you since the start of his twenties, of course he would be able to pick out if you were lying or not. 

“What’s the count?” Jungkook asks, eyes squinting from the bright sun casting down at the colorful yard. 

His mother points the camera at him and raises a hand, “Number Five!”

“And how much in total?” 

She pouts. “It wouldn’t be as much fun if I told you.” 

“Mom.” 

You shush him. “Leave her alone.” 

“Six! Six! Six!” Yeona yells near the fence. 

“You found the sixth one, sweetheart!” Jungkook’s father exclaims. 

His mother curses and whips the camera back around. “I missed it!” 

It’s comical when you watch it from afar, and a large smile blooms across your face at the three. “God,” you snort, quite endeared by the sight, “This is a mess. It’s cute.” 

Jungkook stays behind alongside you to simply observe you and them, and he’s already memorizing every part and aspect of this moment to set aside for later. 

Everything fell into place so perfectly, everybody belonging exactly where they were supposed to be. 

“You really do look pretty today, _____.” 

Eyes widening, you whip around to his figure with a questioned gaze. 

He’s willing to repeat the words, let you know over and over until you grow tired of the repetitiveness, drown you in all of the compliments he’s thinking of right now. 

But, you curtly nod and turn away. “T-Thanks.” 

His hand reaches out, exactly to where yours is and his sight subconsciously falls on your fourth finger that was blank of a specific jewelry he put on you two years ago. It’s already been two fucking years and he still grows somber when his eyes catch onto where the diamond used to be.

No matter how many times he can confront it with his own eyes, stare at it for however long you would allow him to look, seek it every time it would raise or show itself — It still hurts nonetheless. 

It’s exactly what makes him pull back and grip onto the chain tucked into his shirt, away from your eyes to see the charm that glints exactly like the first day you put it on him. 

-

Finally having it be the middle of the day, you get to leave and head towards the station to get from Busan to Jeju. 

The station is way more quiet than what you initially anticipated, it being the weekend and all, but the line barely lasts a minute, and you’re already boarding the ferry, right behind Yeona who holds her father’s hand tightly across the dock that transitions to the ship. 

“Snacks?” Is the first thing Jungkook asks for when you all sit down and you quickly reach into Yeona’s backpack. 

“All I have our a few baggies of rice-puffs and juice-boxes.” 

“I want one!” Yeona intercepts, and greedy hands suddenly wave in front of your face. 

“Alright, baby, hold on a minute.” You request and stare back up at Jungkook to propose the idea of sharing a muffin his mother offered last-minute when you slipped through the door to part ways. “There’s only two juice-boxes.”

Jungkook’s head shakes, going to decline the kind offer and allow you to have it before Yeona perks sweetly, “Daddy can share with me!” 

His thumb and pointer softly caresses the supple cheek beneath it before landing a kiss on it and murmuring, “Always so sweet.” 

Sitting back down, Yeona on Jungkook’s lap while you sit side-to-side, plastic cover of the muffin opened and lips pursed out to your own straw. 

With Jungkook’s hands full, squirming daughter all over his lap, you make it easier for him by popping small pieces of the muffin in his open mouth. 

You let out a laugh when you miss and watch a few chocolate crumbs dribble down his chin. “Sorry,” you murmur with a smile, fingers rubbing off some of where the chocolate smeared against his skin. 

“Do you need a tissue?” 

Turning to the nimble voice, you notice an elderly lady with a soft smile she carries so sweetly. “I’m sorry,” she laughs off. “I just noticed how much of a mess you’ve made on your husband.” 

You both don’t flinch at the assumption, smiling back at her. 

“Oh,” your voice brightens with a laugh of your own and bowing in your seat slightly, “Thank you so much for offering.” 

She brings out a few from her own bag and reaches out over the seats, “Here.” 

“Thank you again,” Jungkook says and she looks at you expectantly, practically requesting you to wipe off his mouth yourself. You jump at the realization and clear your throat with whatever protest that bubbled from within, and start with stiff fingers. You’ve already stuffed pieces of muffin in his mouth, what harm would it be to clean up the mess you’ve made? Except it’s completely different, not very easy doing the simple action with a bright-eyed old woman who seems very entertained by the aspect of it, all life returning to them when the tissue rubs at his bottom lip. 

“Daddy,” Yeona taps. “Want off.” 

His gentle grip on her tummy loosens and allows her to slide off of his legs to approach the woman. Your daughter gently waves and let’s her smile speak for itself, so easy to sway the woman when she was so used to doing this to every other person she meets daily. 

“Hi there.” The woman waves back and bends her back more forward to reach Yeona’s level. “Where are you off to today?” 

“Jeju!” She exclaims, and then boasts proudly, “It’s my birthday.” 

The woman eggs her giddiness on by clapping gently, “Oh wow. What a wonderful place to celebrate your birthday!” 

“Yes ma’am,” she agrees sweetly, hands clasped behind her back. “I told my Mommy and Daddy to bring me there and they said yes! We even rode all together here!” 

The woman spares you an odd look at the figures Yeona points at, and you both refrain meeting her eyes that read about obviously riding together, you were married with a kid after all.

At least, to her eyes you were. 

Unfortunately, the both of you lacked the guts to tell her the truth, and that this was just another day to simply tolerate each other more than you already do during the week. 

Nothing more, nothing less. 

The woman hums. “Your parents must love you a lot then. They look good together, too.” 

It all seems too much, as if she was mocking you, and you immediately grow antsy at her nosy stare. 

Luckily, after Yeona had her fair share in her frankly short conversation with the older woman, she left all of you alone for the rest of the ride. 

“That was—” Jungkook starts. 

“—Definitely new,” you finish. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be used to the assumptions of us still being together. It’s hard not to just blatantly say no so that they could get off of our backs for once.” 

Your voice lowers a bit, just to make sure she can’t hear you from her corner-seat. “But we also have to understand their point,” you reason, “When people see both of us with a daughter, it’s easier to assume that we’re together.” 

His head leans on the metal rod behind him, still listening with his eyes closed. 

“Besides, I don’t really mind.” 

His head shoots back into position and he stares with widened eyes. “Y-You don’t?”

Shrugging, your head shakes. “It’s better this way. I’d rather just go along with it than explain exactly why we’re separated, let them into something they have no business in being in.” 

“Right,” he drags it. “Exactly,” and he says it more for himself to grip on, because fucking obviously. Not for any other reason but for convenience. Always for the best, and he was fine with it. Perfectly keen. 

His head turns towards the water, and he squints, legs bouncing obnoxiously, Yeona whines. It’s only then you realize he’s decked out in all black, as usual, with beads of sweat running off his temple and onto his neck. It’s only worse when he’s seated exactly right under the sun, where the roof fails to give him any shade. 

“You idiot,” you suddenly call and his brows furrow, whipping around to find you in a state of absolute worry, searching through your bag. “Out of all days, when we’d be outside, you’re wearing everything you’re not supposed to.” 

His eyes widen and he stares down at his attire, sizzling back down into realization when he finally realizes the problem. “I’m fine,” he passes off cooly. “Yeona wanted the seat nearest to the water, and I figured you wouldn’t want to be under the sun this long.” 

Before he can even come out with an argument, you’re already moving forward and grabbing Yeona off of his lap. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Come on,” you pat on his thigh, silently coaxing him to scoot. “We’ll trade spots. You can’t be under the sun like this.” 

“_____..” 

Your lips purse and stray down into a pout, and his heart falters, his argument pushed down his throat until he swallows it away. “Jungkook, I’m worried. I don’t even think you put on sunscreen today either.” 

He’s fully aware how irked you get when he doesn’t follow the skincare regimen you set up for him. It’s especially the distress you hold in your eyes and lips when he forgoes the most important step of it all: suncare. 

“Shit doesn’t even work,” he exasperates, and your eyes roll back.

“Say that to me when you’re fifty and covered with sun spots you’ll never be able to erase because you never wanted to listen to me.”

His bite comes without even a second thought, falling back into the banter he secretly misses, when it was comfortable to joke around you, tease you to no end, and drive you up the wall. “You’ll still like me that way, right?” He’s teasing now, and it’s clear when he raises his brows in expectancy, lighthearted and jokeful. 

To your embarrassment, your cheeks tint pink and you don’t have enough pride to return his stare. The only thing you can really do is stammer severely and point at your purse. “J-Just put some on and leave me alone.” 

He hands you a hearty and genuine laugh and you only try your best to ignore it, lips curving the same until you force them to stop from going any higher. 

-

“Holy shit,” you gape. “It’s huge.” 

“They’re loaded.” 

“I-I can’t go in this, Jungkook.” 

“You couldn’t have told me this before we went on a whole road trip and had me prepay tickets for a ferry ride here?” 

You hit his arm. “Jungkook, I’m serious.” 

He laughs. “Why exactly can’t you? It’s just a beach house.” 

“This is too big for a six year old! A few candles from the fucking mall is never going to pay off the fact they are letting us have it for the weekend.”

“With their advision,” he reminds. Yeona stirs in her sleep from the backseat and Jungkook pins you a look. “Can we get out now?” 

You hesitate. “How are you okay without thinking about being possibly indebted to Seokjin and Namjoon? First, they put out a car for us to drive here when we arrived, and now we’re staying in this? We’re being pampered.” 

“Because I’ve been leeching off of Seokjin since I was a teenager, _____,” he states, nimbly remembering when he would depend on a few meals paid from him and even to now - being roommates with the older man. “He’s fine with it. He offered first, after all. We’re just following orders,” he defends so easily. 

Reluctantly, you climb out of the car, crossed arms from your chest, heading towards the back to take out your daughter from her carseat. With a soft nudge and a kiss to her cheek, her eyes shot back open with the realization that this was the last stop, that she was finally here. “M-Mommy, look!” 

“I know,” you coo, “I was just as shocked as you are now.” 

She moves quickly, already releasing the buckle and sliding down to the car floor. She still requests to be picked up like a princess when her arms span out for you, and of course, you oblige. 

“Jungkook,” you call. “Are you getting the bags?” 

The trunk shuts, keys jingling in his hand, “Already on it.” 

When you reach the porch, Yeona eagerly leans towards the right of the door to ring the bell. 

It only takes three seconds for Kim Seokjin to open it with a wide smile. “Welcome!” 

Yeona squeals, legs kicking all over the place and you finally set her down for her to enter first. Not before giving her uncle’s leg a big squeeze of her own, “Thank you, Uncle Jinnie! Love it so much!” 

He chuckles, smoothing down her hair, “Anything for the birthday girl! You haven’t even taken a look around yet, sweetheart. Go find Uncle Joon and he’ll show you everything.” 

“Okay!” Her form is only a blur when she rushes out. 

He smiles. “You guys are on time,” and he says it like it’s a complete surprise. 

A brow arches. “When are we not?” 

“New years,” he recalls. “You both made it five minutes late after the countdown.” 

Jungkook slips behind you to set the bags down. “That’s not fair.” 

You agree. “Yeona was two years old that year. She had a hard time handling the fireworks. I had to coax her to sleep through the phone that night.” 

His head tilts in reason, “Fair.” 

Jungkook nudges you. “Where do you want these?” 

You shrug, turning to Seokjin. “Depends where you want us, Jin.” 

“It’s up to you guys. Taehyung and Jimin already took two of the guest rooms. There’s only three more.” 

“Kiumin is sleeping over, so they can have one room,” you calculate. “And Hyejin’s coming with Kiumin, so we can split.” 

The older man stares wide-eyed at his roommate. Jungkook stares back with the same expression, so Seokjin asks for him, “Split?”

You’re too busy with some of the messages on your phone regarding birthday wishes to your daughter, vaguely returning them with typed out thank you’s and kissy faces. “Yeah.” 

“Does that mean you and—“

You send him an odd stare before turning around and grabbing onto your own bags, disregarding Jungkook’s. “Of course not—? I’m rooming with Hyejin and Jungkook can have the extra room to himself.”

“.. Right.” 

“Is it this way?” You ask without a clue to the men behind you. 

“Uh, yeah! Let me help you,” Seokjin rushes. 

Jungkook is left at the doorway, all alone and with his own bags and a fuming heart that drags as if the slim possibility of what would have happened was anything more to go by.

-

It’s nighttime now. 

You’ve directed Hyejin to your room and have let her unpack while you watched over Yeona and her little boy. 

Your knees bend into a crouch, the familiar smell of chlorine filling your senses when you near the water. 

Jungkook's hair flicks back when his fingers push through them and the blue rays of the water reflect against his chest. His collarbones glisten against the minimal light the night provides, making it harder to strictly set your eyes forward and stray away from anything that wasn’t his own. 

“You couldn’t have waited a second for everyone to settle in before dipping into the pool?” 

He pouts. “Why?”

Head tilting, you pin him a stare and direct your eyesight towards the pink floatie in the corner, swaying calmly. “Because Yeona’s been eyeing that giant flamingo and now she’s asking to hop in with you.” 

“Let her in, then. Namjoon’s already here.”

Your head turns to the outdoor bar and they pin the figure reading a book with amusement when he sends off a small wave. 

“But then Kiumin..” 

Hyejin walks in with a relaxed sigh at the sight in front of her when she passes through the widened double-doors. “Too bad it’s nighttime. I could’ve been tanning.” 

“Hyejin!” You gawk at her bikini. “You’re going in too?” 

She nods in an obvious answer. “Kiumin’s been begging me to let him jump in since we’ve gotten here, and with a view like this — how could I say no?” 

Jungkook points. “See? Our friend is obviously taking the advantage of being here.” 

“We are way far from friends, Jeon,” she practically snarls back. “It’s almost insulting when you say it like that.” 

“Hyejin,” you warn, and turn back to the man standing in the waist-deep side of the pool now. 

Ignoring your friend’s hatred fueled statements, he coaxes. “Come on,” he lulls. “Taehyung and Jimin are already planning to jump in too.” 

Your head shakes in decline, “I can’t. I didn’t even pack a swimsuit, only Yeona’s.” 

“I have one laying out for you in the room,” Hyejin pitches and your eyes widen significantly. “It’s the one I’ve been meaning to give you.” 

“Perfect!” Seokjin claps by the doors, tray full of glasses and the two children following right behind him. “We can start having a pool party!” They immediately cheer and your mind starts to reel in defeat. 

You rub your arms shyly, “I-I’m fine. I don’t really feel like swimming right now..” 

Hyejin snorts. “Don’t even lie. We used to be obsessed with the pool when we were kids. We can do it again for old times’ sake! Show our kids where they got it from.” 

“Literally, what does that have to do with anything in wanting to swim? Aren’t kids naturally drawn to the pool, because it’s a pool?” You grit. 

“I’m just saying to take the chance and relax,” she stresses and her arms extend, waving around carelessly. “We’re here!” 

“You’re going to miss out if you don’t get in,” Jungkook bets, and he knows how much you despise being the outsider while everyone had their share of fun. You loathed the plain idea of it. “Just put the bikini on and stop being a pussy.”

“J-Jungkook!” 

Childish. Absolutely childish.

You hear footsteps approaching right behind you, the vow reaching your ears. “I’ll only jump in if we do it together.” 

Taehyung’s head shakes side to side, eyes narrowing at the shorter man with apprehension. “You pull back every fucking time we do it. I won’t fall for it again.”

Jungkook’s throat clears at the two and he orders his friends, “Tell _____ to get in the pool.” 

Taehyung’s brow furrows, “She doesn’t want to? It’s the pool—and we’re in Jeju!” 

You stubbornly shake your head. “Don’t care.” 

Jimin has a teasing glint in his eye, something you dislike a lot when it’s crystal clear he has something stirring up in his sick head of his, especially since Taehyung had turned down the proposal of his playful and expectant joke.

“We can—grab her and push her in?” He suggests. 

“That’s elementary school shit, Jimin,” you warn. “Get away from me.” 

He’s inching closer and you’re nervously sputtering for Jungkook, helplessly calling for him to get his friend from throwing you in the water so carelessly. 

Luckily, a small hand grapples onto you and it’s Yeona with eager feet who stops Jimin in his tracks. “Mommy, t-the pink birdie!” 

You have a staring contest with it, the one side of the floating flamingo’s eye stares back at you and you exhale a puff before finally standing back up. “Alright, come on. Let’s get dressed.” 

-

The white bikini on you terrifies you enough to cross your arms over yourself and skirt around the edge of the pool until you reach the chairs where Hyejin sits. 

No one’s noticed yet. Not when Jungkook and the rest were already in the pool, putting on the floaties for the children who sat on the pathed ledges made of stone. At some point, you can see both of Jungkook’s eyes completely wiped out and squeezed shut when Yeona excitedly flaps her arms around the water, hyper to get in. 

“Hyejin,” you hiss out, finally reaching your friend. 

She hums with furrowed brows, too distracted in trying to connect her phone to the bluetooth speaker. 

“Why in the world would you give me something like this. I-It’s too much,” you whimper out weakly. 

Her eyes roll back. “It’s a bikini, _____. Remember those? I bet you look great—“ She screeches, chin dropping, hands hovering over her mouth. You flinch, just as shocked as she was, shushing her to shut up before anyone even has the chance in blinking your way. 

“Holy shit.” 

Eyes squeezing shut, you shy in on yourself, carefully taking the wooden pool-chair beside her. “Please, shut up.” 

Her arms raise, “I haven’t said anything—yet.” 

You scowl. “You seriously couldn’t have given me any other fucking set? Like a wetsuit? This is too weird for me.” 

She cackles. “Relax,” she attempts to ease. “Why are you so freaked out? It’s just a swimsuit.” 

Your head knocks back against the wood and you sigh tiredly. “It’s been way too long since I’ve worn something like this. Something not.. Mom-ish.” 

“And why not? This literally proves how much of a Milf you really are!” She stresses. 

You shrug shyly. “I haven’t had much of a reason to.” 

“Well, I’m begging you to. Seriously, _____,” she reassures. 

You quietly break into a laugh, smacking at her arm harshly. 

“Where’s mommy?” You hear Jungkook suddenly ask, and you think you’re a hundred percent fucked. 

Yeona’s voice is muffled against your ex-husband’s chest, incoherently explaining, “Mommy was already running away when we got outside.” 

“Running away?” 

“Yeah! Kind’ve like a ninja. She was there and then—poof!” 

You don’t even announce your bathroom break to Hyejin, standing up and rushing over towards the doors that were close yet so far away.

It would only be a second before you would reach it, and straight into changing back to the sundress that was always deemed as safe. 

Part of you wishes that you could parade around with no care, being so long since you’ve gone out in something like this. But another part that tears you completely, thinks about Kim Seol and how different she is compared to you. 

With stark personalities and looks, you most likely would have never even thought about comparing you from her. But now that Jungkook was going out with her, everything’s changed, and your mind reels into thinking how in the world he had the chance of going to someone else completely different from you, and if he even liked you in the first place, relationship and marriage long forgotten, not even being considered in this context. 

You weren’t exactly sure how long this feeling would last, and maybe it wouldn’t, sticking to all of the new relationships he would continue to open up now that he was available. 

Sure, he’s seen you plenty of times in bed and in the shower from the past years of being together. But this is now and before he had anything younger, more vibrant. 

This was possibly the only thing you could take away from him. Seeing anything physical to compare you with another was the only thing you truly, absolutely wished for. 

You accidentally collide against something. Hard and wide. 

And when you eventually look up, you’re relieved to only find Namjoon with a bag of chips in hand. 

“Shit, are you okay?” 

“I-I’m fine, Joon. Sorry for—running?” 

He chuckles, pointing back to his boyfriend back inside of the house. “Save it for the lifeguard, but he’s off-duty right now mixing margaritas for everyone.”

You attempt to let out the same energy of a laugh as his, but it all turns dry and brittle, making him halt and inspect. “You okay, _____?” 

“O-Of course I am.” 

A few murmurs are made at the back of your figure until a small voice calls out, “Mommy! Over here!” 

Letting out a small gasp, you reluctantly turn around, weakly mustering a smile and avoiding the eyes that officially lay on you when he notices. 

“Hi, baby.” 

“Mommy!” She splashes. “Swim with me and daddy!” 

“U-Uh..”

“Looks like your daughter wants you to get in the pool.”

Turning back to Namjoon, you stiffly nod, “Yeah.” 

“If you’re worried about the temperature, don’t worry. It’s heated.” 

Far from your true concern, you manage to give him a thumbs-up and head back to the very place you’ve been trying to escape. 

“I’ll be there in a minute, okay? Let me go get Aunt Hyejin first.” It’s truly for your sake more than for hers, a cry for help in a situation you could have easily avoided if you had just never put the bikini on. “I hate this,” you managed to mutter against your breath when you finally reached her. “I’m never listening to you ever again.” 

She yelps when you rip the towel away from her, tugging tightly at her arm, urging her to get up. “Hey!” She pouts. 

“Come on,” you order. “Yeona wants to swim and I am not doing this alone.” 

She sits up and observes, quietly biting on a sly chuckle when she notices. 

“What now?” 

“Nothing,” she waves off. “It’s just—your ex is making googly eyes right now.” 

You groan, stomping impatiently. “Hyejin, stop lying and get up.” 

“I’m not lying,” she pleads. “I swear — I’m looking at him right now!” 

“I don’t care,” you deadpan. 

When she finally stands, you put a death-grip on her arm and timidly walk towards the pool. 

“Ouch.”

“Sorry,” you sheepishly say, releasing a bit. 

It’s a pleasant feeling when the warm water wets the bottom surface of your feet, and your shoulders subconsciously relax when your waist-deep. 

Hyejin coos at her little boy, proud of her son when she watches Jimin help, something more in her eyes that go starry at the man who leads him through the water. 

“Thanks, Hyejin,” you whisper.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” she pats softly at your arm. “I know how nervous you are and all. Just don’t, okay? You’ll be fine.” 

You weakly smile at her again before finally sending her off. 

When she moves out of your view and directly towards Jimin and her son, you find Yeona eagerly waiting for you. 

Taehyung has his eyes blown at the sight of you, whistling with your name trapped between his lips, which exactly makes you wrap your arms tighter around yourself. Of course, he’s teasing, the natural flirt in him most likely powering over him. 

Fortunately, you’re saved when he gets whacked with a strong push of water, Jungkook’s doing. You don’t notice it when your daughter cutely dog-paddles towards you. 

All is forgotten, smile setting on your lips.

“Mommy! Stay right there, okay? I’ll swim to you.” 

“Oh,” you perk, arms already rising beneath the water. With the long distance, you subtly move forward when her legs kick to make it easier on her, and within a few seconds, she’s splashing against your arms with a squeal. 

You giggle. “Are you having fun?” 

“So much, mommy!” She exclaims. “Daddy threw me up high when I wanted a splash.” 

You gasp with a smile, nerves diminishing. “Really? I wish I was there to see it.” 

“Are you too cold?” A voice asks from behind her and you hesitantly face Jungkook, always polite and concerned for your well-being, except there was definitely something else in his eyes you weren’t able to pinpoint and didn’t bother to anyway, now that you were in the water. 

You stiffly smile and shake your head. “I’m fine. The water feels really nice.” 

He nods. “T-That’s good.” 

God, he feels like it’s high school all over again, having no utter idea in starting a conversation with a girl, wanting to, but not even knowing exactly how.

Still, he can’t stop the burning stare, even when your attention zeroes back in on Yeona. 

The nice music sets a comforting nuance around the place, hearing splashes coming from everywhere, specifically when Seokjin’s yelling resonates from the chairs when Taehyung targets him with a cheeky grin. 

“The slices of watermelon are here, you dick!” He scowls. 

Jimin butts in with a scold to the older man, telling him to censor his words around the children. 

Jungkook doesn’t have time to hear the continued argument when he’s hit with an expectant splash of water of his own. 

He doesn’t even need to ask a second later when he hears the both of you giggling. Wiping away the drops on his face and in his eyes, he brushes strands of hair back to get a good look at the satisfied looks on both of your faces. He approaches slowly. 

Your head shakes, already aware of what Jungkook was doing — getting his revenge. 

“I-It was Yeonie’s idea!” 

She only giggles louder, knowing fully well she would easily be the untouched one out of this. 

“Jungkook, I swear to god if you do anything to me-“ 

Your warning goes straight out when strong arms turn you around to face your daughter. Fully wrapping them around your form for a slim chance of being able to escape, you hear a soft chuckle against your ear. 

“I think it’d be fun to splash mommy, huh?” He teases and you tense. 

“Jungkook—!” 

“Yeah, let’s do it!” She pumps a tiny fist from out of the water.

“Sweetheart, no! Listen to me-“

Your nose scrunches, hair whipping with you to cover your face when she splashes. Jungkook helps along the way by releasing an arm and moving some of the water forward against you to hit you square in the face. His wave comes stronger and does an excellent  job at soaking you completely.

You gasp, wiping some of the water away from your face. “Okay, please, I’m sorry,” you whine, gripping his wrists softly, eyes squeezed shut.

He falters at the frail sight of you, easily making you his biggest weakness. 

“It’s okay, mommy,” Yeona speaks up first. “I forgive you.” 

“Hey!” You scoff with a pout. “It wasn’t even my idea.” 

Her eyes crease and she giggles loudly. 

“_____!” Hyejin suddenly calls, and your chin tilts up to find your best friend. “Kiumin wants to play with the birthday girl.” 

Yeona eagerly looks up at you and you simply nod with a smile, letting her small legs kick and float over to her best friend. 

“Ah,” you realize, now being all alone. “I think I should go now.” 

Still, with his arms wrapped around you, he leans closer, “What, why?” And it’s needy, wanting to pull you closer than what he already has. “Can’t you stay?”

“Yeona’s all the way over there and we’re..” Exes with barely anything to talk about or to get along in general. It wasn’t in the book you’ve written out for yourself and probably never will be. “I-I have to get her cake ready. Your mom worked really hard on it.”

“I’ll help you put the candles on it,” he quickly offers. “Just.. Just stay here with me for a while.” 

A brow raises and you turn in his arms. “And do what?” 

He feigns in thinking about it, sharp jaw tilting for you to settle your eyes on. 

Seokjin interrupts with a call of his name and a raised brow at the sight. 

You clear your tight throat and gulp when he hands Jungkook a towel. “Your phone is ringing,” and then carefully gives it to him over the water. 

You observe him as he answers. “Hello?” 

A female voice is heard on the other end and you sense the way he pulls back a bit, that it was Seol. Her muffled voice is enough to push you back into reality and to what exactly you were doing before the call. 

“Ah, hey..” He awkwardly greets, nodding to whatever she was saying. Your head turns away when his eyes land on yours and you feign interest at the potted plant set right next to the door that led inside. “I’m at the house now with.. Everyone else.” 

He chokes up a bit when she says another thing, and you don’t understand until he returns the words. 

“I—I miss you too.” 

Swallowing harshly, your expression hardens, and you begin to pull back. 

“I’ll call you later tonight, alright?” He assures, almost in a rush. Your ears catch some of her words, not really interested in any of the conversation anyway, wanting to create a distance between you and Jungkook before anything else would happen, before you would hear something else you wouldn’t want to be hearing at all. 

Finally hanging up, he takes a slow breath in and sets the phone at the side of the pool. 

You finally pull away from him completely. 

“_____.”

You give a curt smile. “Yeah?” 

His head shakes. “Nothing. It’s just.. Are you okay?” 

You nod, slightly with bewildering eyes, asking, “Why wouldn’t I be?” Then, you laugh softly. “We’re not married anymore, Jungkook.” He stiffens, jaw ticking and eyes shifting to catch your flat expression. “And from what I clearly remember — you’re seeing someone else.” You point towards the phone laying carelessly on top of the stone. 

For once, you feel bad for the poor girl who’s probably wondering when his goodnight text from him would be. 

You keep your eyes on his hands that sink and submerge into the water, and back to his sides. 

“Just because it’s our daughter's birthday does not entail us playing family again,” you mumble. “You took that all away from me two years ago, Jungkook.” 

He doesn’t say anything, shamefully looking down at the waves in the pool caused by Yeona a few feet away. A reminder that was given way too late. 

You nod again, turning slowly around. “I’m going to go get the cake ready. I’ll ask Hyejin to help.” 

With the distance you’ve given him, he finally looks up and finds a disapproving look being given by his own roommate, who had seen and observed every single second of the two of you together since being in the pool. 

He understood exactly why. 

-

Everybody eventually makes their way out of the pool and back into the house to hang out at. 

The same subtle music speakers through the house, the kids being fully entertained by the large television in the living room, and the inside of the house being overall in a mood and feeling that definitely differs from your own thoughts that constantly circle around your head. 

Whatever Jungkook was getting at in the pool, definitely wasn’t sitting with you right. And frankly, everything leading up to it too. 

The process of the divorce was already stripping and tiring enough, finalizing the documents and who would get exactly what was already overwhelming enough, but to throw all of that away and not even consider it when you’re wrapped in the arms you were so accustomed to was entirely stressful. 

It didn’t make sense. It never did when it came to him. 

“Yeonie, are you getting sleepy already?” You ask across the room from the kitchen as you watch your little girl yawn and squirm on top of the fluffy carpet she lays on. 

Her head stubbornly shakes with a pout set on her lips. 

Glancing at the clock sat beside her, it was only eight, but judging from the exertion taken place at the pool, Yeona must have been exhausted. 

Your feet move to where she lays lazily, crouching down and moving her towards your lap, you murmur, “Stay awake for me, baby. You haven’t even blown the candles or opened your presents yet.”

She yawns in protest and nuzzles her nose further into your neck. “Not even a nap?” 

Chuckling softly, probably making it worse for her when your fingers trace against her back, you repeat, “Not even a nap.” Saying it exactly knowing what that would entail, Yeona misinterpreting what a nap and sleep was more often than not. 

Jungkook comes back with damp hair and sweats, black socks shuffling through the floor until they reach you. 

“Hey,” you greet, looking down at the sleepy-head in your arms. “She’s tired.” 

He hums, crouching down with an endeared smile. “I can see.” 

“I swear,” you promise to Yeona, patting her back. “Dinner is almost done and then you can go to sleep, alright?” Your eyes search for Jungkook’s and you request, “Keep her awake while I get everything ready?” 

His arms stretch and extend out, and you pass off the small body in your arms. 

His lips instinctively purse to a gentle shush and rocks her gently when he feels her squirm. 

You glare. “I said keep her awake, not encourage her to count the sheep.” 

He winces. “This is new! Usually I’m doing the exact opposite.” He lifts her head, and begins his futile attempts in keeping her eyes open. “Alright, sweetheart. What mommy says, it always goes, so you’re going to have to help me out here, okay?” 

She mumbles incoherently. 

“Come on,” he nudges, “Up.” 

“Play that dancing game she likes,” you suggest. 

Taehyung from the couch, perks at that. “God, I love that game,” inputting himself in the conversation and inviting himself a second later, “Please count me in.”

“You think they have any games like that for kids?” He specifies with a swift look at his friend and Taehyung sends a throw pillow his way. 

Seokjin quickly dissipates it with a scold of how much the pillows cost and which country they were exactly from.

You eye the bar full of wires and game controllers, easily making the assumption quickly, “With the eight different consoles I’m staring at, they must.” 

His head dips down. “How does that sound, baby? You want to dance?” 

Yeona’s completely untouchable when she’s grumpy, so it doesn’t come to a surprise when her arms reels back to try to smack her father away from talking to her anymore. 

Luckily, he dodges it. 

But as her eyes open wider and catches an eyeful of Jungkook dancing along with Kiumin and Taehyung twenty minutes later, she ends up joining them in the end, the same jittery moves she first walked in with. 

You pull Hyejin out of her light conversation with Jimin, opting to question her tinted cheeks for later when it would be time to head to bed. 

Of course, Hyejin will want to pry whenever and wherever, deeming it acceptable when it’s noisy enough with the conversations and laughs airing through it. “Want to talk about it?” Hyejin, located beside you who unwraps the carefully decorated box, asks carefully. 

You feign cluelessness to the subject. “Not sure about what.” 

She pins you a stare. “Come on. I saw what happened. Everybody did.”

Shrugging, you grab the candles, sticking them carefully, three on top and three at the bottom. You would’ve gotten the actual number six, but Jungkook had argued that it would be more fun for your daughter to blow as many candles as she can, the singular candle not being enough for a kid’s satisfaction. 

“I don’t know,” you start unsurely. “It’s just weird, is all. It’s always hot and cold when I’m with him — having weird moments happen every so often and reminding him where the line starts and ends, and then acting perfectly poised when Yeona’s there.” 

Her back hits the counter as she leans, arms crossed and head shaking. “This needs to stop, _____,” she says honestly. “He can’t keep going back and forth like this, completely forgetting everything else that happened — you’re broken up for a reason.” 

“Forget it,” you dismiss with a bite to your lip. “It’s not like I stopped him on time. For a second, I forgot about everything too.” 

She’s visibly stumped, stern expression faltering and letting the silence bloom, other than the outdated pop music and stomping in the background. 

“_____..”

“I’m not going to sit here and blame him for every little thing that I could have controlled myself if I just stayed in my own lane,” distressed hands and fingers pull against your hair and you sigh out, eyes closing shut and feet swaying a little. The throbbing in your head continues and pulls at you venomously, like it couldn’t get enough from the first time. 

Hyejin’s eyes widen and she rushes over to you in full concern. “Babe, are you okay?” 

You nod, even if your furrowed brows clearly show the opposite. “Of course,” you pass off, eyes darting to the same place they’ve been at all night. 

He’s still dancing and smiling.

“He’s not my husband anymore.”

And you say it again, wanting it to stick inside of your head until it fully processes, that it’s your fault just as much as his, for playing against the papers and agreements you’ve spent so many nights and days over. A constant reminder for the rest of your life, and not the other. Not the one that consists of vows and promises. Never that one anymore. 

You muster a quick smile, turning to her gaping mouth who yearns to reach out, but you refuse it when you turn the corner, beginning to set everything up at the main table. 

“Is the birthday girl ready?” Your voice drags, upbeat lilt feigning the pounding in your head. 

High pitched squeals resound from the main room and their small feet bounce against the hardwood. 

Jungkook follows suit. 

“Me!” Yeona calls excitedly, “It’s me, Mommy!” 

“Woah,” Kiumin gapes. “You’re cake is awesome, Yeonie!” 

She giggles and hops on her tippy-toes to get a peek, “Thanks! My grandma made it.” 

“Oh,” Kiumin nods. “She’s awesome.” 

You chuckle softly at the kids, smiling down at the cute cake. You go to pull out your phone for pictures and videos to make sure she would see her work being fully appreciated. 

Jungkook hoists Yeona up on the chair, her lifted cheeks and glittering eyes proving her excitement when she sees the candles already lit. 

“Has it already been six years, already?” Seokjin asks in disbelief, plates and forks already in his hand to set down on the table. 

You nod, pouting and squishing one of her cheeks, “Already a big girl.” 

Yeona hums, “Basically a grown-up now!” 

Hyejin bursts in laughter, everybody following right behind. 

“Alright,” Jungkook sighs, arms circling around her softly, placing a kiss on the top of her head. Fondly staring down at his rapidly growing little girl, the same feeling you hold to your chest. “Don’t need to rub it into our faces, miss.” 

Your camera clicks on its own, a fond smile subconsciously forming. 

“Are we ready to sing?” Namjoon timidly asks. You turn to find him weary at the sight on the wax that begins to drip rapidly. “It’s just—the candles are starting to melt.” 

You laugh, nodding. “Alright, let’s sing.” 

It starts off normal, a little bit muted, until Kiumin bursts into a full performance for his best friend. Until Seokjin follows along and throws in an impromptu dance routine. Her father and the others join in right after, impressed at how eerily good it actually looked, almost looking rehearsed. But then you familiarize yourself with the sharp moves, the hands and arms showcasing that it was the corny traffic dance Seokjin taught them all a few years back on one drunk night.

Until eventually everybody does their best in throwing Yeona in a fit of giggles. 

You join her side and guide her into making a wish, clamping her hands shut and scrunching her eyes closed, until the commotion quiets and she opens her eyes with hopefulness written all over it. 

Kiumin is the first to question through the silence. “What’d you wish for, Yeonie?” 

She simply smiles, glancing at you from her side, and then moving her gaze straight to Jungkook. 

She subtly shakes her head, voice so soft, almost completely blurred into a whisper, “If I tell you, it’ll never come true.”

* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*. * .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.

hi, i’m back omg. i had to take some time away bc midway of finishing this up, literally a few paragraphs away, i ended up having my mental health spiral down. but now, i’m better and managed to finish this part.

also please tell me ur thoughts! i crave validation n use ur feedback as my fuel towards anything i write. :]

* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*. * .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.

[internalsealpanic]

Better Die Than Doubt

Summary:  You wince knowing he’s already noticed. You feel the tiniest bit more at ease as he approaches your booth but it didn’t stop your eyes from flickering and searching for something off in the environment. The creeping sense of being watched trails up your spine. You’re sure.

A/n: To no one’s shock, this entire fic was unplanned. I was possessed by the urge to make it (translation: I got the urge to write this and one of my enablers said do it).  This story should be treated more or less as a horror story. Nothing is being glorified here except how dorky Jason is. That being said,  PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS. This fic contains quite a few triggering things and I really don’t want you to be blindsided.  Also thanks to @knightfall05x for helping me write this whole thing. Thanks to @batarella (HOE) for action writing tips.

Warnings: graphic violence, stalking, emotional manipulation, unhealthy coping mechanisms, drugging, nongraphic description of rape, and rape aftermath 

masterlist

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes. You could practically feel the oncoming headache the way you could sense someone coming down the hall. This is what happens when you’re running on just 5 hours of restless sleep for the last few days. This headache was also not helped by the fact that this was your fifth coffee in the past 30 minutes. You probably should not be drinking this much caffeine this late but intelligent decisions weren’t exactly your strong suit this week. You rub the sides of your forehead feeling another wave of nausea. 

 You check the time again and groan.  It’s been one-and-a-half hours since your agreed upon time had lapsed and yet one Jason Peter Todd was nowhere to be seen. You curse, nerves edging, and mind fraying.  To be perfectly fair to him, he is a busy guy, vigilante, and all. You understood that fairly well- and this was sudden to say the least. You can’t really fault him for being a bit late but the long wait was ratcheting up your anxiety. Again, the coffee didn’t help but considering it was the only thing you could keep down since last night, you didn’t have much choice. 

 Last night. 

 Your stomach tumbled. You cup your hand over your mouth feeling your coffee traveling back up your esophagus. You let out a long exasperated breath, letting yourself sink into the booth. You look out the window, eyes flickering wildly searching for Jason. Your hands tighten around your mug. The feeling of being watched made you bristle. 

 Jason, well, Jason wasn’t hard to spot. The man was 6 feet 4 inches of pure muscle and leather. Having a handsome face and a ‘fuck you’ look in his eyes also helped.  In short, the man was hard to ignore. You wave weakly to him as he dismounts his bike, a gesture far too small for your usual bombastic self. Jason’s smarmy smile greets you as he returns the gesture with his gloved hand. The motion is slow and cautious, rickety in a way. You wince knowing he’s already noticed. You feel the tiniest bit more at ease as he approaches your booth but it didn’t stop your eyes from flickering and searching for something off in the environment. The creeping sense of being watched trails up your spine. You’re sure. 

 “Jesus, y/n, you look like Timbo” Jason chuckles sliding into the booth his green eyes shining with scrutiny. You look at him flatly not having enough energy to properly respond to his jab. He winces seeing your lack of reaction. “Rough night, huh?” He asks flagging down a waitress, who looked quite pleased to get away from her previous table.  

 You nod weakly, slowly as if the fact that it had been a rough couple of days had just sunk in. “Yeah,” you reply, your voice small and a little threadbare. You drum your fingers against your increasingly cold mug. The waitress sets a couple of warm mugs in front of you. Her soft smile makes you uneasy. You and Jason mutter a thanks as she tells you to wave her over if you need anything else. Her warm brown eyes boring into the stark purple bruise on your face. You shrink and smile sheepishly at her.

 “I’m fi-”

 “I am going to throw these sugar packets at you if you say you’re fine.”

 “Damn, ok, Mr.Kettle,” You laugh. His concern startles a genuine laugh out of you. You’re sincerely surprised how lively the sound that comes out of you is. “You know if you keep sounding like that, Jay, you’re gonna wreck the whole stone-cold badass thing you got going,”

 “Y/n..”

 You huff running your hand through your disheveled hair, trying in vain, to soothe your mind. What was the best way to put it? You swallowed, gathering your lapsing thoughts. “Sooo uh-” The collar of your shirt suddenly felt tight around your neck. “-I-” You breathe. “-I found around 4 or 5 of Blackmask’s boys and Deathstroke-No, I’m not shitting you- in my- my apartment for- well- the third time in the last two months, can I crash at your place? Just ‘til I find a new place. Oh and also how do I get rid of them?”

  He blinks as his brain takes its sweet fucking time digesting what you had just said.  He leans back groaning and running his hands over his face. He looks like he’d like to deck you if he wasn’t too busy being concerned for your welfare. You shrink again, feeling bad for springing it on him. The decision to leave out the gory details of your hectic week suddenly felt like the wisest choice but you had no doubt he’ll get it out of you at some point. 

 “I’ll skip the obvious ‘why did you wait three times before moving’ question because I feel like I’m probably going to get an aneurysm from your answer,”  Your reasoning wasn’t quite that stupid. You were mucking about Sionis’s operation. The fucker decided to branch out his little enterprise into your city and like hell, you were gonna leave well enough alone. After you had set fire to one of his warehouses, you thought that would explain the False Facers. But Deathstroke? Deathstroke was a mystery. You’ve also been mucking about his business but you two have always been civil if not friendly. Frenemies of sorts, you guessed. You’ve been encountering him a lot in the last few days. You had figured that Blackmask had hired him but considering he threw two men out of your apartment window last night, you’re not entirely sure.  You make an affronted noise that Jason elects to ignore. 

 “What did they do?”

 “Aside from necessitating a visit to IKEA?  Nothing.”

 “Did they take anything? Leave a message?”

 “Nope, nothing-” You furrow your brow trying to recall. You shake your head. “-They just made sure I knew they broke in.” You add, shrugging your shoulder. You wince at the movement. Your shoulder still aches from being hit with a bat. Jason’s shoulders shift, moving as if to reach out to you but stops himself. Instead, he continues with his line of questioning. “Sweetheart, there’s gotta be something missing.” 

 You frown, biting your cheek. Jason rests his chin on his hand, green eyes watching you and urging you to think back. It was either the weight of his gaze or the lack of sleep that was making it hard to recall. You close your eyes and catalog your belongings, analyzing the mental picture you have like a crime scene like how he taught you months ago, breaking it down into the smallest pieces of information and bringing it back into a bigger picture.  Still, nothing. Nothing of note was missing. You shake your head and shrug your uninjured shoulder. Jason glares at the immobile one. You shake your head silently telling him it wasn’t from last night which just made him clench his jaw. 

 “Evidence?”

 You shake your head.  He frowns baffled. 

 “Tech?”

 You shake your head again. 

 “Anything personal?” He asks jokingly. 

 “I-” A cold horror washes over you trailed by embarrassment. Your vibrator had been missing and so were a couple of your lingerie sets. You feel your stomach drop to the floor. “Oh god, Jay- I- Please, let me stay with you.” 

 “And have them steal my stuff?” He chuckles. 

 “Please, Jay, like you have anything worth stealing.” Jason frowns at you scrutinizing your face. You level him a glare but it was more in an effort to fight down a blush than anything venomous. Jason’s jaw unclenches and his face breaks into a shit-eating grin. “What color was it?”

 “Wha-”

 “Bzzzzzzzt ” 

 If you weren’t blushing before, you are now. Heat climbs up your spine. Your mouth felt dry. 

 “Well, what color was it, sweetheart?” Jason drawls, his voice dropping an octave. You shiver but bristle just as quickly. You bite your cheek and glare at him. “HA. HA. HA. Funny, Todd.”

 “Was it Red Hood Red?” Jason teases, winking and raising his cup of coffee to his lips. 

 “Nightwing blue” You deadpan. Jason coughed into his drink.  You preen with satisfaction. 

 “Does it make stupid puns while you go at it? ”

 “Yup,” You say, the ‘p’ popping. “That’s part of the appeal.” You joke smiling into your mug.  Jason snorts. “How is that supposed to be sexy?”

 You shrug, a sharper less tired smile cutting across your features. “Dunno man. Nightwing is pretty sexy if you ask me.” You wink.  

 Jason makes a fake gagging noise. Well, it seems fake with how theatrical the gesture is but with bats? You never could tell. You roll your eyes and giggle.  Jason’s shoulders loosen at your bubble of laughter, his face slipping into one of his sheepish smiles. “In all seriousness, y/n, you can stay at my place.”

 You smile at him, your usual fluorescent smile. 

Click

 Click

 Click

 A man from across the street watches you intently through the lens of a camera. 

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

 Slade throws the photos across Roman’s desk, each glossy piece of paper containing a candid photo of you looking increasingly frayed and anxious.  

 Roman marvels at how your usually larger than life figure shrank into your puffy coat, how small and malleable and inexperienced you looked. He notes the panicked look in your eyes in every one of the photos and savors it. He couldn't wait to see it for himself. 

 In one photo, you're looking over your shoulder as you enter your office building. 

 In one, you’re tracing circles on a child’s hand with your thumb,  beaming brightly as you told some wild tale to distract the child. 

 In another, you're slumped in your desk chair as you think over a case looking absolutely exasperated but determined. 

 In yet another one, you're locking lips with a man, his hand trailing up your shirt. Roman made sure to give the man some swimming lessons a few weeks prior.  

 In the photo in Roman’s hand, you're at the emergency room looking like you haven't slept in 2 days. Your face was bruised and your clothes were torn in several places where Slade had managed to land a blow. Your delicate skin marred with cuts and trickling blood. Absolutely gorgeous.   

 He examines it closely. The photo was taken just a few hours ago. You look like you're going to cry but your shoulders and jaw are squared more frustrated than scared. There's a fire in your eyes that threatens to level the city. A thrill rides up his spine at the prospect of extinguishing it. 

 “This is why you wanted to throw my men out the window?”

 Slade hums. He shrugs and the edge of his lips curl into a smile. “It was the only way to convince the kid that we’re both after her-” His eye drifts to your face. Appraising but impassive. “The kid’s scared out of her mind and exhausted at this point.”

 Slade had a point. Roman had to give him that. It wouldn’t be obvious to the casual observer but it would be plain as day to anyone like Roman who had been studying you for a while. You weren’t quite as meticulous with your appearance as Roman thought you should be (He would work on that later) but the dishevelment in your appearance was obvious. The slight dip in your shoulders in place of the prim posture that you usually employed was a blatant indication of your weariness. And the falter in your smile, the flickering in your eyes, and the number of times you let yourself bite your cheek showed the cracks in your fearless image. 

 Who knew weeks upon weeks of chaos could weather Minos City’s own budding hero? 

 In the photo next to Roman’s hand, your laughing face is stark and lively against the drab atmosphere of the diner, bubbling laughter carving life into your exhausted features making you look more like the shining paragon your city has come to rely on. The man sitting in front of you is laughing too. The sharp edges of his grin softened by the fondness in his eyes. It was hard not to recognize him even with such a foreign expression plastered onto his face.  Roman crushes the photo in his hand. 

 “BUT NOW SHE’S WITH THAT SCUMBAG RED HOOD”

 “And she’s now with the Red Hood. In his secluded safe house. Weakened and far from help. Most likely thinking that she’s safe under his protection and blissfully unaware of the tracker I put in her arm.”

 “I see… It seems like you are worth the pay.”

 Slade made no effort in hiding his smug grin.  

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

 “Jay, I really am sorry about this.” You mumble for what seemed like the fifth time in the past half hour. 

 “I sincerely hope you’re apologizing for the fact that you neglected to tell me you had bruised ribs before getting on my bike and not the fact that you’re staying with me because two crazy assholes decided your place needed remodeling.” Jason exasperates, pinching the bridge of his nose. You feel kind of annoyed by the gesture but he did have a point especially with your city’s less than smooth roads. You were also pretty banged up. As it turns out, facing off against a bunch of goons plus a master assassin is not good for your health. You swore viciously under your breath. Now, you weren’t expecting Deathstroke to go easy on you despite your rapport but the guy really didn’t have to throw you around like a rag doll. Even with your power to adjust the odds, it was a miracle that you escaped intact. 

 “Well, Mr.Pot, you ride your bike all the time even with broken ribs.” You bite back. Jason rolls his eyes unaffected by the distilled venom in your voice.

  “Well, one of us is a stone-cold badass- ”

 “And the other is a sasquatch with a stick up his ass.” You sneer snatching the beer bottle from Jason. Your tone was far too fond and playful to have any actual bite. Jason chuckles at you and ruffles your hair before snatching it back and handing you a bottle of water.

 You huff taking the bottle from him and following him to the couch. He sits down on the couch patting the seat beside him. You plopped on to the couch, placing your sock feet on his lap. He grabs your ankles and throws your feet back at you. You just as quickly throw them back on and this time you do it with an absolutely delighted smirk on your face. “Rude,” He mumbles but doesn’t attempt to extricate you again. 

 “So Deathstroke, huh?” Jason starts, side-eyeing you over his beer. You adjust yourself to sit up a little straighter.

 “You mean the asshat who broke my favorite lamp last night?”

 “Who the hell has a favorite lamp?”

 “Me! And get to your point.”

 “Have you two- yanno?” Jason jokes, his eyebrows wiggling and hands gesturing vaguely. Your eyes grow wide and heat creeps up your neck and face. You scowl at Jason throwing a pillow at his face for good measure. He catches it with ease much to your frustration giving you his trademark triumphant grin. You kick at him with no real force. 

 “NO! What kind of soap opera shit is that?” You giggle into your drink. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it before. The guy was skilled and pretty witty.  You also had eyes and the man was handsome but something always felt strange about taking it further. You were civil but you kept your distance. 

 You pout at Jason again causing him to chuckle. “What? I’m just saying it’ll air out some tension~” He suggests winking. 

 “Oh my actual god, I hate you. I sincerely, truly hate you.” You laugh, kicking at his thigh. Jason makes an obviously fake hurt noise which draws out even more giggles out of you. Some tension in Jason’s shoulders releasing upon hearing the bubbly sounds. 

 “You speaking from experience, Jay?”

 Jason shakes his head and coughs. “Catwoman-” Cough. “Talia Al Ghul-” Cough. “Sorry, sweetheart, seems like I have a really bad cough this week.”  

 And that is how you spend the rest of the night questioning Bruce’s love life. 

“Food is in the fridge,” Jason says pointing to the said fridge which was sorely lacking magnets, sounding like a somewhat tired single parent. 

 “Do I look like I can keep anything down?”

 Jason snatches the water bottle you had abandoned on the side table next to the recliner. “With that big mouth of yours? Sure.” Jason teases lightly booping you on the nose with your water bottle. “Get some rest.”

 “Yes, mother” You sighed, burying yourself into the thick comforter he’d given you, crumpled water bottle in hand. He ruffles your hair. 

 “You know you’re safe here, right? ” The question startles you. You shift uncomfortably, pulling the comforter tightly around your shoulders. You shrug at him, not entirely certain how to answer. You know Jason’s safe house is, well, safe but you also thought your apartment was too. Your stomach twisted. 

 Jason squeezed your shoulder probably sensing the spiral of your thoughts. He smiles down at you, probably. It was hard to tell with the helmet.  

 “If you want, I can-”

 “No, Jay, I’ll be fine here. You can go on patrol. I’ll be fine. Promise.”

 The thing with Jason was that even when he was so big and bulky and hella intimidating, his empathy towards others had a bad habit of always shining through despite the layers of armor and sarcasm. You squeeze his hand, pressing little circles into his palm, and smile up at him. It was forced but it was the best you could do. Jason ruffles your hair again before letting go and making his way to the window. 

 “Get some sleep.”

 “Aye aye cap’n” You yawn settling into a slump on the couch. Jason can’t help but smile fondly at you.  You wave him a sleepy goodby before he sets off. 

You passed out on the couch, an old habit you never grew out of. You always slept on the couch when you felt uneasy. It may have been some sort of way to separate stress from your bedroom. It sure as shit wasn’t for safety reasons. Your equipment was dispersed throughout your apartment but your weapons were usually stowed away in your room. 

 You feel a hand running gently through your hair, smoothing away all your apprehension. 

 “Jay” You grouse, your hand halfheartedly swatting at the hand stroking your hair. You bury yourself further into the warmth of the comforter feeling the need to shrink away from the touch. You feel a soft prick on your neck.  

 Your eyes fly open.  

 Shit.

 The hand tangles in your hair. It throws you to the wall. The air is knocked out of your lungs. Your ribs scream. You scrabble to your feet. Your limbs fail you. They flail uselessly. Your breaths pick up. Your chest feels like it's caving. 

 "JAY" You shriek. “HELP.” A large hand grasps your throat. A rush of adrenaline kicks in. You thrash. You kick. Your hit lands. Another grasps your ankles. You scream. You swear viciously. Another grabs at your wrists. Something rough winds around your wrists and ankles. 

 The world tilts into an odd angle. Your head feels heavy so do your arms and your legs and everything. 

 "Jaaay" You slur, the air in your lungs becoming sluggish like everything else. "Jay" you sob again, knowing he wouldn't come. Not when he was so far away. 

 "Shut up you …..  bitch" You feel a swift kick to your stomach. It barely registers above the haze. 

 "Hey man-"

 "What? The …. man said we …… rough her up."

 "We can?"

 "Yeah, ……, said so"

 Your eyes blink, stupid, and uncomprehending.  Distantly, you hear yourself grunting and whimpering. You can feel their blows but your body is too far away, too inaccessible. It was strange to physically feel yourself drift away. 

.

.

.

 Roman traces the sun shaped scar radiating on your shoulder with a leather-clad hand. The one shot he’d managed to land on you the first time you’d stormed one of his warehouses. You were all cocksure and quick wit and boisterous laughter. You really had the devil’s own luck but it seems to have run out. Not that Roman’s got any complaints. Not when he’s got you laying at his feet,  tied up and vulnerable. 

 He crouches down, hand on his chin.  His eyes roam appreciatively over your sleeping form, appraising you like a premium cut of meat. You look pretty against the black silk sheets he’d chosen.  He sighs content with his prize. He traces the tip of his knife over your cheek, a dark purple bruise maring your features stark against the stainless surface of the blade. Slade really was quite careless when handling you. Not that Roman has any plans on being any gentler.  

 He lets his blade drift down, trailing down your neck down to the flimsy protection of your oversized shirt.  Your steady breaths falter. You keep your eyes shut trying to gather more information but it’s hard not to focus off the tip of the blade cold against your warm skin even as the blade cuts through the thin fabric of your shirt. A large hand grasps your face roughly. 

 “I know you're awake, baby-” You blanch still not opening your eyes. The grip on your jaw tightens. You grin like a madman. “It's rude to keep daddy waiting.” 

 “Sorry, Sionis, I was really hoping not to have to wake up  you’re ugly mug.” You sneer, voice thick and raspy with sleep but still full with your trademark confidence. Roman looks more amused than irritated.  Your body and mind are still at the cusp of sleep. You wriggle and almost cry out with joy when you feel them move. You mind the hand on your jaw and its tight grip. 

 “Baby, I won’t tell you a-” You spit in his face, cracking an eye open to see his reaction. A bloody grin spreads across your face like wildfire when you see the annoyance on his face. 

 “You’re going to regret that” He growls, wiping his face with a torn piece of your shirt. 

 “Oh please-” Something cracks across your jaw. 

 “The next time it’ll be the other end,” It takes a moment for your mind to catch on. You stare at the hilt of the blade for a moment before letting loose another smarmy grin. His violent reaction spurs you on. Yeah, you can definitely see why Jason thinks you’re going to age him twenty years. “Oh please, You like my face too much for that.”

 “You really wanna test that?”

 “Nope,” You say, spitting into his eye and landing a punch square in his face. You cackle like a madwoman when he goes down. You don’t bother hiding the delighted chirps that escape your chest. 

 Being petty, you give him a swift kick to the face before dashing towards the door.  You launch yourself, feeling like you can fly. The copper taste in your tongue almost feels sweet. 

 Your hand grasps the door when a hand tangles itself in your hair. 

 Roman throws you back onto the mattress, the springs digging into your back. You scratch and claw and thrash against the large hand wrapped around your throat. You snarl as Roman leans closer, his body pinning yours against the mattress, his weight immobilizing your fatigued limbs. A sweet-smelling cloth covers your mouth and nose, you gasp in surprise, inhaling the scent. Your mind is already sluggish by the time it catches on. 

 Your vision dims. 

 You feel hollowed out. 

 Your limbs fall away, arms drooping and pliant against the silk-covered mattress. The cloth feels too much against your skin. Vaguely, you feel horror prickling up your spine or maybe it was just the springs again. 

 Roman pulls away. You think you breathe a sigh of relief, feeling the weight of him lifted. He straddles your body, grinning down at you. Your mouth falls open to say something. You want to say that you curse him out or that you threaten him. The sound you make is small. Your tongue feels too heavy.  No, something is pressing it down, you think. 

 Above you, Roman is a towering colossus. You’re vaguely aware of the shifting of his hips. He removes his gloved hand from your mouth and caresses the side of your face with mock gentleness. His movements are sluggish and syrupy.  You make another noise when you realize to some degree of horror that isn’t. Your mind felt heavy and useless. 

 He snaps his fingers. The sound is dull like it's contending with water. A muffled set of steps approaches you. A man, you realize. You don't think you’ve noticed him before. His dark shape is messy and incomprehensible. A red dot flashes stark against his form. The mechanical sounds of a shutter drift in and out of your mind. You turn your head back to Roman at the sound of shifting fabric.

 Above you, Roman, already without his suit jacket, loosens his tie, eyes staring hungrily at you. The pit of your stomach feels painfully cold. You blink at him stupidly. He chuckles, grasping your chin to make sure you’re looking at him. You protest against his touch.

 “Don’t worry, baby, you’ll be the star of our little show like the filthy attention whore you really are. ” He laughs. It rumbles like thunder in your ears. 

 The world falls away. 

Click

Click

Click

.

.

.

.

.

One 

 Two

 .

.

.

.

One

 You feel a prick on your neck. 

 Hot breaths fan against your face. 

 Your body is too warm. 

 You don’t want to know why. 

 Twenty-five, you continue counting. 

 You feel fabric shift against you. 

 Something sharp digs itself into your flesh.  

 One 

 Two

 Three

 .

.

.

 Three?

 Something’s crushing your windpipe.

 Your body is aching. You’re not entirely sure whether it’s from use or disuse and by who. 

 “Good girl”

 Thirty

 .

.

.

 Twelve

 There’s something scraping against your flesh. 

 Is it a knife?

 Hot pants fan against your skin. 

 Teeth 

 Four

.

.

.

.

Fifty-six

 “Boss, I-.... going a …. bit too far?”

 Smack!

 “Do …. You…. to think?” 

 Two sixty-eight

 A hand strikes you. You think your jaw is broken. It hurts but then again everything hurts. All you can do is take it and whimper. 

 Tears sting against your face.  

  “That’s right. Just like that. Like that, you little whore.” 

 Your body is warm again. 

 You still don’t want to know. 

.

.

.

.

Two

 Two

 Two?

 You’ve counted two before. 

 You blink. 

 The haze of your mind lifts. 

 The coldness of the room seeps in your bones. You’re bare. You take stock of yourself, running your hands over your skin. Everything is still there. 

 Everything and a few other things. You let disgust and shame roll over you. A sob tears its way out of your chest. Your breath picks up. You feel your mind slipping. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, calling your mind back and steadying yourself. 

 You take stock again. This time moving your limbs and jangling your joints.  They were weak but workable. You’re surprised to find yourself unbound aside from the collar around your neck. You suppose Roman’s confident in his drugs. How long have you been here? You press lightly against your neck, feeling the higher than normal pulsing of your artery. You shift yourself waking your legs up. 

 You stiffen, gooseflesh spreading over your skin as light filters into the room through the door. Your eyes snap shut, stinging from the sudden intrusion of light. The pulse beneath your fingers jackrabbits. You think you’ll keel over. 

 “Shhhhhh”

 All the strength in your veins floods out, leaving a feeling of cold horror in its place. You scream or you try.  Your body feels impossibly rigid. Roman stalks towards you, his footfalls slow and deliberate and too loud. Your heart jumps up to your throat with each step. You inch yourself away from him, drawing yourself up to make yourself feel bigger. He coos at how adorable you are, trying to look defiant. The mattress dips under his weight. Your mind begins to slip away from you again. The world falls away from you. You anchor it, digging your nails into your palms. He cups your face, thumb caressing your bottom lip. You glower at him and bite out something witty. He laughs amusement lighting up his features, the sound grates against your ears. 

 “Not gonna fight back?” He taunts, pressing his thumb down on your bottom lip. Your body recoils but then goes slack as he runs his hand up and down your side. Shame blankets you but the fear etched into you keeps you still. 

 Roman loosens his tie. 

 Your mind falls out of your reach. 

 “Such a good little slut.” He murmurs against your lips.

 NO

 You wanted to say. 

 Instead, your mind starts counting again even as you hear the rustle of fabric. 

 .

.

.

. 

 BANG

 A gunshot rings through the thick atmosphere of the room. 

 Roman curses. 

 His men stampede. 

 Another round of shots fire. 

 Something- No, no.  Someone tears Roman off of you. 

 “Deathstroke?” You croak, your voice sounding foreign and absurdly brittle. 

 “Do you know anyone else walking around looking like this, kid?”

 “Ravager” You snark, lips twitching into a smile. He rolls his eyes underneath his mask. The familiarity of the exchange breathes life into your body. Roman’s hand grips your wrist with bruising intensity. Your breath catches. 

 No. No. No.

 The word loops in your head like a constant rat-tat. 

 Slade’s foot makes contact with Roman’s head, the force of it unnecessary but satisfactory. The sounds of bone-cracking fill the air. The man falls uselessly to the grimey floor. He shoots him with a couple of rounds for good measure, each shot instilling a pang of finality in the back of your mind. 

 You scrabble towards Slade, wide-eyed and shallow breathed.  You cling to Slade as he bundles your body in silken sheets.  He hoists you easily into his arms. You bury your face into the junction between his neck and shoulder, closing your eyes, the image of Roman’s bloody body on the floor pressed into your mind. You sob in relief. Your hands clasping onto Slade, white-knuckled and shaking.

  "I've got you, sweetheart," He rumbles, running his hand through your hair soothingly. The tight knots in your body, loosen. You whimper a quiet thank you. “I’ve got you.”

 You lift your head only to see Roman twitch. 

 Your breathing falters. 

 Fear pricks your spine. 

 Your mind falls away from you again. 

 Distantly, you feel Slade’s grip on you tightens. 

 Distantly, you hear him murmur something. 

 Everything is too far away. 

 Your eyes blink sluggishly. The world becomes dimmer with each blink. 

 .

.

.

.

 A warm spray of water drizzles down over your aching skin. Your open wounds sting but the warm water pooling around you soothes the aches of your bruised flesh. Your eyes focus on the soft off-white of the tile on the wall opposite you. You don’t let yourself about the thin, rusty red film swirling in the water. The air in the room is thick with steam and the scent of lavender. 

 The absence of grime on your skin makes you feel lighter and gauzy and immaterial. You felt naked and obscene like you had been taken apart and now someone was examining pieces of you. You almost miss it. 

 “Lean back” Slade grumbles as he lathers your hair with some lavender concoction the hotel provided. Your body follows automatically, eagerly, obediently. You tell yourself you’re just tired. You tell yourself nothing’s wrong with your response. You tell yourself you’re ok. You wince. The warm water around you shifts. You hear it splash against the tile. You flinch at how loud it sounds. You take a deep breath and lean into his touch. He’s handling you delicately as though you would fall apart any second. You might. 

 Blinking away tears, you watch his face, aware that by leaning back, you’d be giving him a good view of the hickies, bite marks, and knife wounds Roman ‘gifted’ you. There’s a slight twitch in the corners of his lips. He must be disgusted with you too. You want to sink into the hot water and let it burn you anew, but you don’t trust yourself not to drown.   

 You close your eyes as another spray of warm water pours over you. You melt into it hoping it’s enough to wash the last few days- weeks?- away. 

.

.

. 

 Your hands grasp his face, pulling him towards you. His hands brace against the tub, keeping him from falling in with you. Your arms loop around his neck, your hot breath fanning against his lips. You press your lips against him, searching and wanting. For what exactly? Comfort? Safety? Stimulation? His lips press lightly against yours, not quite a kiss. Slade actually looks taken aback. 

 The rest of the world floods back in. You peel away, your eyes wide with terror. “Shit- I’m- Fuck! Fuck! Shit, Slade, I- I’m sorry. I- Shit! I didn’t-” Your breathing ratchets up, becoming shallower as the pulsating in your ears grow louder. There’s a tightness growing in your chest that makes you think your ribcage is about to implode. You cover your face with your hands not caring how it didn’t help your shallowing breaths. You can’t look at him. You just can’t. You know you’re disgusting. 

 Your body wants to come apart, dissolve, and if it can, evaporate. You can’t breathe. You curl into yourself, into the water. A hand grabs at your wrist. You flinch. The hand carefully pries your hand away, forcing you to uncurl. Slade’s other hand cups your face gently, guiding you to look him in the eye. The lack of disgust in his face rattles you.

 His thumb brushes against your lips making your stomach twist and your spine curl. He dips his head closer to yours. You kiss him eagerly. He lets out a pleased hum and smiles against your lips. Something cold licks at the bottom of your stomach but it’s overtaken by the need for connection, to fill in what had been hollowed out.   

You press closer to him than strictly necessary as you watch the news, chewing on your cheek.  He pulls you close, shifting you on to his lap. You don’t protest, eyes glued to the TV. 

 “Businessman, Roman Sionis, was found with several gunshot wounds to the stomach in one of his warehouses here in Minos City. He is now in stable condition. Authorities say...”

 Your jaw falls slack in mute horror. Your stomach tumbles to the floor.  You’re hyperventilating. Your teeth are digging into your cheek, you taste copper. Your mind spirals back into the room, back to the dirty mattress, back to Roman. 

 Strong arms wrap around you, stilling your trembling body against a broad chest. Your body relaxes a fraction. You curl into him, the buzz of nervous energy settling into a quieter panic. 

 “You’re safe with me, you know that don’t you, sweetheart?” Slade says tracing circles into your palm. You lean your head into his shoulder. You nod easing against him. “I’ll never let that monster anywhere near you.” He promises, pressing a kiss into your hair. A little sob wrenches free of your imploding chest. 

 Slade keeps his face buried in your hair even as you fall into a lull. It was the only way to hide the triumphant grin spreading across his face. 

 “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take good care of you.”

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

A/n: Thanks for reading. There’s a follow up to this because I can’t cope with bad endings. I had to promise myself a good second part to make the ending horrifying. 

The writing process for this fic was basically:

Me: I have this horrifying idea!

My brain: Yes but what if we put a little dork Jason in it. 

Me: I guess that wouldn’t hurt. 

Me: Ok I have written nearly 2k of dorky Jason where’s the other parts?

Brain: Uh what other parts?

Me: *sighs and spends the next few days spamming @knightfall05x*

taglist: 

@batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @americasmarauders , @l-horizon11, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell

[portalford]

I Can Picture You So Easily

AO3

It hits Stan at the stupidest times.

Well.  That makes it sounds like Stan just forgets, when really it never quite goes away — sometimes it’s just more.

Like now.

He’s looking in the mirror — he found it tucked way, way back in a closet (and he’s gonna skip right over that because when he got here the mirror in the bathroom was broken, cracked until you couldn’t see a thing and why was Ford—nope) — and he’s trying out a new look for Mr. Mystery.

Gotta keep it fresh, right?  Accessorize?

Glasses aren’t accessories, unfortunately.  He can’t go without them anymore.

(Really, he needed them years ago, but he was too stubborn to admit it, or too broke, or whatever, but he’s literally tripping over his own feet now.  Needs must).

Ford wouldn’t be caught dead in this getup.  No sense of fashion.  So that’s fine.

The glasses—

(Ford started wearing glasses when he was six.  Stan had laughed himself silly when they went to the drugstore and tried on the biggest, most obnoxious frames they could find.  Ma had scolded, but she’d been too distracted checking price tags to do more than scold.

In the end, they went with some cheap horn-rimmed frames that Stan wouldn’t be caught dead in even now.  Old-man glasses, at six.  But that was Ford all over).

—they bring some stuff up.  The twin thing sucks, sometimes.  

(Looking in a mirror and seeing the changes, the lines in his face, the grey in his hair — does Ford have crow’s feet now?  Is his hair going silver?  It was always unmanageable — is it thinning like Stan’s is now, or is it still thick and flyaway, like it was when Ford was sixteen?  Did he even live long enough to get lines in his face and aches in his joints, or is he forever twenty-eight, dead somewhere in the universe?)

Time to stop thinking.

Notice the differences.

Stan’s ears and nose are bigger than Ford’s, always have been.  He’s heavier and his shoulders are broader.

(Has Ford gotten bulkier, fighting to survive?  Or is still he halfway to gaunt, like the last time Stan saw him?)

Definitely time to stop thinking.

Stan flashes a smile, and yeah, that’s all him.  Cheerful, magnetic, and a hundred percent fake.

Time to work the crowds.

*****

There’s an ad for the nice ink pens Ford saved up to buy when he was fourteen.

Stan turns it off.

*****

Mabel finds a picture, once.

“Grunkle Stan!”  Her eyes are all lit up as she shows him the torn photograph.  “I found this under a floorboard in the attic!”

If Stan ever had any doubts about his poker face, he can lay them to rest now. It’s all on the ropes and his expression is perfectly level, maybe even a little curious.

Mabel is still talking.  “I didn’t know there were pictures of you before you were all old!  Do you have any others?”

Oh.

Stan still forgets sometimes, even after everything, that most people can’t tell him and Ford apart.

He knows better.

The young man in the photograph is unmistakably Ford, taken while he was living in Gravity Falls.  He’s got his head bent over that journal of his, but the photographer managed to catch the eager light in his eye, the edge of his smile.

Stan wonders who that photographer was, all those years ago.

A tug at his shirt reminds him he’s not alone, and he definitely can’t get messed up about this picture of his secret twin brother.

Mabel’s face has fallen a bit.  “Grunkle Stan?  Are you okay?”

Stan gives himself two more seconds to look at the picture — Ford just looks so happy; Stan can’t even remember the last time Ford looked like that, even before it all fell apart — and turns to Mabel.

“Yeah,” he says.  He smiles and ruffles her hair.  “Pretty good picture, huh?”

*****

The name is the worst.

Stan never thought identity theft could involve so little fun.

Usually he can get away with just “Stan Pines,” and that’s fine.  That’s his name.  That’s who he’s supposed to be.

Sometimes, though, that’s not enough for whoever’s asking.

“What did you say your name was again?”

He smiles.  Lays it on thick.  “Stanford Pines.”

“Could you sign here?”

He does.  His blocky, uneven handwriting looks even worse than usual where he’s expecting to see neat, flowing script, the way Stanford Pines is supposed to be written.

“This is Stanford Pines,” someone will say.  “Mr. Mystery.”

Stan smiles some more.  Yes, Stanford Pines is certainly that.

Gideon is the worst.  Stanford this and Stanford that and Stan’s never wanted to punch a child so much in his life.

“Stanford Pines!”

He smiles, and he lies.

*****

Dipper halfway drives him nuts sometimes.

It’s not like the kid’s a mini-Ford — he reminds Stan enough of himself, sometimes, though Stan’s not sure that’s great either — but he’s got the brains and the stubbornness and the love of weird nonsense, for sure.

He’s also got that obsessive edge, the drive that sent Ford right off the metaphorical cliff.

Usually Mabel tags along on the weirdness hunts — they make a day of it.  They go out, just the two of them, and come back laughing and joking and shoving at each other.

That’s enough of a painful reminder, but sometimes Stan will catch Mabel sitting by herself, coloring or crafting with a little less energy than usual, and he’ll realize that Dipper’s buried himself in monster theory again.

He tries to keep the kid busy with chores and hustle, but it’s a losing battle.

It was the first time, too.

*****

There’s this old song that Ford used to love when they were younger.

It’s got no words, and Stan used to make fun of it — what's the point of a song with no words?  But Ford insisted it had Meaning, capital M.

It comes on the radio now and then.

Depending on how masochistic Stan is feeling that day, he might let it play.

He still wonders what Ford heard in this song, and if Ford would hear it now.

*****

He realizes, one day near the end, that he’s been Stanford longer than he’s been Stanley.

What’s the point, really?  What does a name matter if it’s so easy for someone else to take your place?

(Did Ford matter so little, in the grand scheme of things, that not one person could recognize him in a place he lived for six years?

Does Stan, in a place he’s lived for almost thirty?)

If he could just stop catching Ford in his reflection now and then, that’d be great.

*****

It’s not any better once Ford gets back (once Stan brings Ford back, the ungrateful bastard).

“Stanford!”

Stan’s got a smile on his face before he even turns around, and what’s wrong with him that he’s halfway made this lie into a Pavlovian response?  Someone calls him Stanford, he smiles and lies.

(Stanford — the real Stanford — is in the basement right now.  He doesn’t even exist, as far as anyone else is concerned.  Stan is Stanford, Stanley is dead, and Ford is a nonentity.

What a life this is).

*****

“So how was it?”

Stan grunts.  “How was what?”

Ford rolls his neck, wincing a little as he works out the unavoidable crick from hunching over a drawing for twenty minutes.  “Being me.”

Stan shrugs.  “Wasn’t hard.  We’re basically the same person, y’know.”

Ford snorts.  A long time (a lifetime) ago that comment might have gotten him worked up, but he’s steadier now, softer around the edges.  “Very funny.  I saw your lease renewal.  You didn’t even change your handwriting, for heaven’s sake.”

“Ford, I rolled up to town, said I was you, and started a tourist trap.  You had a total personality transplant and nobody noticed.”  Stan grimaces.  That sounded really bad.

Ford’s expression has gone rueful and a little sad at the edges, but he doesn’t seem like he’s about launch into full-blown self-recrimination, so that’s fine.  “Yes, well.  That’s what happens when you isolate yourself for six years and your only friend erases his mind to cope with the mistakes you made.”

And that’s Ford trying to shoulder all the blame again, but Stan keeps his mouth shut.  They’re both too comfortable to argue right now.  “Being honest — for once — it kinda sucked.”  Ford’s looking at him, open and encouraging, so Stan keeps going.  “Everyone thought I was you, and it—I wasn’t.  I didn’t want to be.”  Stan shrugs.  “I wanted you you.”

Ford smiles, and it’s a little more worn than Stan remembers, but it’s real, and it’s him.  “I understand.  I met a few parallel versions of you on my travels, and they were you, but — they weren’t really you.”  Ford closes his journal (his new one) and sets it aside, tipping his head back over his chair.  More playfully, he adds, “I wouldn’t want to be you either, Stanley.”

Stan laughs.  “Yeah?  Couldn’t handle the salesmanship?”

“Have more self-respect than to wear any part of your wardrobe.”

“Says the man who wears sweaters in the summer.”

Ford lifts his head and smiles, and this time it’s almost exactly how Stan remembers — quick and a little crooked.  “Fair enough.”  Ford stretches, rolls his neck again.  “For what it’s worth, Stanley, I am glad to be back.”  A wry look.  “Even if it’s going to take ages to sort out the criminal record you gave me.”

Stan slouches deeper into the couch.  Any further and he’s going to slide off, but that’s a risk he’ll take.  “Yeah, yeah.  Talk to me when you’re legally dead.”

“You did that.”

“And?”

“I legally don’t exist.”

“I was trying to learn theoretical physics at the time, Stanford; cut a man some slack.”

Ford laughs, quiet.  “Did I ever thank you for that?”

Stan cracks an eye open.  He didn’t realize he closed them.  “What, learnin’ physics?  Because I’m pretty sure that’s some of the stuff that’s not coming back.”

Ford rolls his eyes.  “For saving me.”

“Hm.”  Ford’s thanked him several times, but lately it’s been less Ford kicking himself and more Ford cautiously trying to engage in the old back-and-forth they used to have, and Stan can get behind that one.  “I dunno.  Might have to say it again.”

“You’re burning through my gratitude very quickly,” Ford says mildly, “but all right.  Thank you for saving me.  You knucklehead.”

Stan never got called that when he was Ford.  He thinks he’s missed it, at least the way Ford says it — like it means something completely different.

“Uh-huh.”  Stan’s eyes are closed again.  He figures he’ll just leave them closed.  “Missed you too, nerd.”

And maybe there’s something to be said for being your own person.

It feels pretty good.