#far more than Nightmare's actual physical body

[moonfurthetemmie]

so just for funsies i rewrote the second part of the DS Verses crossover with SolarSystem. Aka, the version of DS Nightmare with DID (there's one other post about it but you'll have to go through the tags)

i also, for this exact reason, made notes on how everyone (except scenario-specific alters) talks when fronting. i need to learn more about how Australians talk but here's the list

Nortimer (host):

miles newton. 'normal' for those of us who are used to modern-day Dreamswap

i don't know what else to say man. you know who he is. memey little fuck

has the most up-to-date knowledge of anime but that's gonna change real fast now that they all know they're there

Vex:

High-strung

kind of screechy

the only one that seems to not have a sense of humor at all.

Jack:

he just Sounds emo. You can't put your finger on why but he does

also sounds tired and/or irritated. probably because he often switches when Nortimer's being a moron

dryer humor than Nortimer, to the point where you can't always tell if he's fucking with you or not

Hades:

Australian accent for reasons unknown (moon's brain said so) (moon's brain can't tell you why either)

Generally very tense since she doesn't usually front in safe situations. Gets worse the longer she's out

rather high-pitched but not as much as Vex. by far. Vex why are you so shrill.

Noot:

yeah that's a teenager. at least he's not having random voice cracks

awkward as fuck

talks like he was born a hundred years ago. because he was. and hasn't really gotten out much since. still painfully obvious that he's a goddamn teenager

And now here's the fic. I have never written a plural character before so this was interesting.

Apparently, England (in some universes) had closed the parks for the Queen’s passing. Why, Nightmare didn’t really know, but he and his friends were happy to take advantage of this. They’d talked a lot about how nice it would be to just go eat outside somewhere, but being wanted criminals made opportunities for that…well. Non existent. 

But, if the parks were going to be completely empty, and not even patrolled, there’d be no one to call JR or arrest them.

“And Vex isn’t going to lose his goddamn mind about it,” Jack had said before they left, much to the amusement of everyone but Vex.

So they packed some sandwiches, chips, and drinks, and had a picnic. Most of Nortimer’s headmates had decided to hang out near front for this excursion, since it sounded like fun. The group also brought Kevin. On a leash. At least he wasn’t smart enough to figure out how to wiggle off the collar like a dog.

Cross and Error still weren’t sure how Nightmare had managed to find a chicken collar, but decided that some questions are better left unanswered. The system would probably pass a majority vote and sell the body’s kidneys to get something nice for Kevin. They didn’t want to know.

Everyone was enjoying themselves, though. It felt weird to be in a park without anyone else around, but they decided to pretend they were just eating in the middle of nowhere, which conveniently had uniformly short grass. It was peaceful, even with Kevin wandering over and trying to steal the ham from Error’s sandwich.

“Why is your chicken carnivorous,” Error complained, holding her sandwich out of reach. “He’s supposed to eat grains and stuff, isn’t he?”

Nightmare snickered. “Chickens’ll eat just about anything. I’ve heard stories about them even eating other chickens just because one of them was bleeding.”

“…ah,” Cross said, slowly putting down her PBJ. “Not. Quite so fond of chickens anymore.”

“Mostly they eat grubs,” Nightmare assured them. “And that been Kevin’s diet for about a hundred years, so ham’s like a delicacy for him. Don’t give him any though, he’s not supposed to have table scrapes.”

“I’m trying,” Error complained, trying to keep Kevin from climbing on her to get to her sandwich.

“C’mere, Kevin.”

Kevin stopped for a moment, cocking his head to the side. Nightmare tugged on his leash. Kevin ambled over to him, letting Error finally eat in peace. Nightmare held out a small bag of chicken feed he brought, and Kevin made himself busy. Error watched Kevin warily, slowly bringing down her sandwich back to face level.

Cross grinned. “Eat it quick, before he comes after it again.”

Error snorted and took a big bite that wasn’t really polite, but she didn’t care. It was just them, after all.

They’d chosen a bad day for their picnic. At least they didn’t have to find out the same way Dream did, though.

Kevin suddenly looked up from his very important task of eating and crowed loud enough to be heard across the park and probably reached the gift shop by the road, right before a loud POP made the trio yelp. Cross dropped a handful of Cheetos. Nightmare accidentally tried to breathe soda and started coughing. Error nearly spit out that bite of sandwich.

They followed Kevin’s gaze, and found a tall, familiar looking man staring at them with a blank expression, though something about his posture and stance expressed absolute bewilderment.

Nightmare caught his breath after a moment, and stared at the man with equal confusion.

“Oh, that’s not good,” Hades said in a hushed tone. “Shit.”

“I guess it’s a good thing Noot stayed in back this time,” Vex muttered.

Noot himself heard them, but couldn’t presently do anything more than try to listen.

The new guy looked…like Dream. Almost exactly like Dream, but something was off. Nightmare could barely sense anything from his except his aura, like he was somehow suppressing all of his emotions. And he just looked…different. The sword at his side looked more decorative than anything; its scabbard covered in jewels and gold filigree, and the hilt didn’t look very worn at all.

His wings and eyes were startlingly orange, and even as they watched they could see feathers flaking off and dissolving into ambient magic.

Nightmare was so confused, with all of them so busy trying to figure out where the hell this guy came from, that he didn’t notice the uncomfortable warm sensation in his soul building until it started to burn. 

“…Ow. Ow, ow, ow ow ow,” Nightmare stumbled to his feet and backed away from the strange Dream quickly. Once he’d regained his footing, ‘his’ voice changed in pitch and accent. “What the fuck, dude? Why are you burning me?”

“Oh, I do not like him. I don’t like him at all.” 

None of them were used to Hades getting forced into front, but being pulled out of front when it happened was even worse. Especially given what had to happen to trigger it. 

This guy hadn’t shown any sign of wanting to kill Nightmare, but he’d still managed to force a switch. 

Cross and Error quickly got to their feet. Cross’s fingers twitched and started to glow red, but she and Error suddenly gasped and grabbed at their hearts, too.

‘Dream’ folded his wings back, which only lessened the burning sensation slightly. He gave Hades an odd look. “My sincerest apologies,” he said, not sounding very sorry, or seeming to care. “I seem to be in the wrong universe.”

Cross and Error hurried over to Hades, all of them still trying to get away from the winged fire ball.

“Wrong multiverse, maybe,” Cross snapped. “What the frick is wrong with your aura thing?”

The man shook his head and sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t afford the time to speak with you three. I have things I must take care of, and I don’t have the luxury of free time.” He nodded his head to them, spread his wings, and took off.

They stared after him, and watched as he opened a portal and flew through.

“…Um?”

“Bukbukbukbukbuk,” Kevin said as he cleaned up the chicken feed Nightmare had spilled.

“That was…” Error started, finally able to swallow that bit of sandwich. “…Weird. What planet did he come from?”

Hades coughed. She could still feel that burning sensation, and her lungs were still rebelling from Nortimer’s attempt to breathe diet coke.

Pop!

“Oh, god, not again.”

This one was behind them. Kevin apparently had decided that this person didn’t need a rooster’s trumpeting to welcome them.

Before any of them could turn around, though, they heard an excited gasp, and Hades was nearly pushed to the ground.

Hades wheezed and stumbled yet again. “Fuck, my ribs-“

“Blue?” Error sounded indignant and confused.

Hades was released, and the man that had randomly bear-hugged her said, “Sorry, sorry sorry! I got a little too excited.” He giggled.

This ‘Blue’ looked like he hadn’t seen the light of day in months. The Blue they knew was pale, sure, but this guy was white white. Hades was pretty sure she could see some of his veins. His hair was a choppy, messy, uncombed tangle, and despite his energy, he had bags under his eyes like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in years.

He was grinning at them, a little too widely, but seemed friendly enough. He didn’t seem to notice how they’d all tensed up.

“This is a different multiverse, isn’t it?” He asked, but instead of waiting for an answer, he went on. “We should have nicknames, so we don’t get confused! Or, at least I should get a nickname, since I’m the stranger here.” He paused, his eyes sliding to the side like he was listening to someone else. His smile seemed frozen for a moment, almost forced. Hades could sense emotions that weren’t his, coming from a different source, but it was faint, and she couldn’t figure out where it was, or what exactly they were feeling. ‘Blue’s emotions were sliding from excited to despondent, before he suddenly looked back at them and said, with the same excitement as before, “How about you call me ‘Hunter’? I really-“

Cross held her hands up. “Ooookay, slow down dude. What the fuck is even going on, another Dream dropped out of nowhere and then left right before you showed up.”

Hunter perked up. “Really? Dream’s here too?” He laughed. “I wonder if anyone else from our multiverse is here!”

Hades and her friends glanced at each other. Hunter seemed to have a few screws loose in there.

“Ooookay. Right. Well.” Hades scratched her head. “Nice…to meet you? I guess? Did you have to nearly break my fucking ribs?”

Hunter giggled again. “Sorry. I don’t get to spend time with my versions of you very much. I get a liiiittle over excited to meet new people~”

“…So you knew right away we weren’t from your multiverse?” Error said hesitantly. “How different are they from us, then?”

Hunter taped his chin. “Hmm…Well, physically, not very. I think maybe some slight height differences? And Nightmare has a more American accent and his voice is deeper.” He looked them all over again, humming. “I think the others have more scars, too.” His gaze stopped on Cross for a moment, and he tilted his head. “Lots more scars, in your case. Do you only have the one on your chin? I wonder why there’s such a difference.”

Hades became uneasy. If Hunter didn’t spend a lot of time with his version of them, how could he tell just from a quick glance that they weren’t the same? He didn’t even hear her talk before he hugged her.

“Well, different AUs can be really different. I don’t see why multiverses would be mostly the same.” Cross mused. “It’d be cool to have a lot of scars, though. I bet she looks so badass.”

Hunter hummed. Then he giggled. “My versions of you would’ve already chased me off by now. I think I like you three more, you’re much nicer.”

Error crossed her arms. “Just because we’re not chasing you off doesn’t mean we want to hang out with you.”

“I think I’d prefer it if we chased him off,” Vex said. 

“Yeah, we barely know you,” Hades agreed. “And we don’t have the best relationship with our version of you.”

Hunter’s face fell. “…Oh. So…we can’t be friends?” He sounded heartbroken.

Hades opened her mouth to say something, but suddenly that other, unseen person’s emotions became very, very clear. At the same time, Hunter flinched and lifted his hands up slightly, like he was going to cover his ears.

Hades could tell where the person was, now. They were right next to Hunter. They were angry and so full of hate and contempt, she could easily imagine someone shouting in Hunter’s ear.

Hades and Cross glanced at Error, who looked very uncomfortable. “…We just aren’t going to trust you right away,” she said finally. “We-“

But Hunter had perked up, and grabbed her hands. Error tensed up and started glitching violently. His eyes had practically turned into stars and he started talking really really fast about hanging out with them all and doing things before Error jerked away and tucked her hands under her arms.

Hades and Cross were immediately by her side, standing slightly in front of her to keep Hunter from touching her again. Hunter just blinked. “…What? Are you okay?”

“She doesn’t like being touched,” Cross said firmly. “I don’t know if your Error was different, but you really can’t just grab her hands or whatever like that.”

Hades held her hand out to Error, not touching her shoulder but trying to send a message of attempted comfort. “Are you ok?”

Error’s eyes had filled with glitches and ‘error’ messages, and she shuddered, but nodded.  

Hunter furrowed his brows. Hades could sense the other, unseen person’s dark amusement. “I don’t understand.”

“Just don’t do it,” Cross said.

“I don’t…like it,” Error glitched. “Ask first. No means no.”

Hunter frowned, but said nothing. After a few moments making sure Error was actually okay, the Meme Squad decided to go pack up what was left of their picnic. They didn’t really feel like staying here, if people like Hunter and that other Dream were going to keep popping up.

“Oh, were you having a picnic?” Hunter asked. He started talking. And didn’t stop talking. This guy must’ve been awfully lonely. He politely asked if he could have some of Cross’ cheetos, and she gave him what was left in the bag. At least that slowed down his talking.

Once they’d gotten everything packed up, Hunter seemed disinclined to leave them alone. In fact, he seemed to be more determined to stick with them. Hades could sense irritation coming from somewhere, but not from anyone that she could see. She was starting to wonder if it was a ghost.

“…Uh, hey Hunter?” Cross said as Hunter finally took a breath and Error made a portal. “We gotta get home.”

“Can I come?” Hunter interrupted her.

Cross blinked. “I- huh?”

Hades narrowed her eyes. “Mate, do you remember the part where we hardly know you?”

Hunter tapped his chin. “Well, yeah, but…I don’t know how to get home, and I can’t make portals. I’m going to need help figuring out how to get back, and in the meantime, I’d rather stay with familiar people.”

“You could get a hotel,” Error suggested.

“My wallet didn’t get teleported here with me,” Hunter said. “Please?”

The trio of friends looked at each other for a moment. Nightmare thought he heard someone scoff, but it must’ve been his imagination.

“…You’d really be better off getting help from JR,” Hades said slowly. “They have a lot more people there who actually know about traveling between AUs, and would probably know where to start to get you home. Unlike us.”

Hunter tilted his head. “…But you can’t take me there, can you?” He said. It wasn’t really a question. “You’re wanted by them in this multiverse too, aren’t you?” He stepped closer to them. “Please let me stay with you. I would be perfectly fine sleeping on the couch, if you don’t have a guest room, and I’d be happy to help cook and clean!”

Cross sighed. “Ok, look-“

Hunter, for some goddamn reason, took this as a yes, and beamed at them. “Really? Thank you! I promise you won’t regret it!” And then he rushed through the portal.

Cross’s mouth hung open. “Did- did he just-“

“I think that was the most polite home invasion I’ve ever seen,” Hades muttered. “He’s going to be a right pain in the ass trying to get him out, isn’t he?”

Error sighed wearily. “Great. Can’t ever just have a nice day out.”

Hades silently wondered if she’d get stuck in front with Hunter in the house. That…wouldn’t be good. Not for any of them. 

[beeapocalypse]

one day and im already rlly in love w the physical kitty clones idea. cats tip-tapping around my brain. theres so many weird possibilities

[keypostos]

caleb is 10 when he realizes that he's a physical touch fiend. the rush he gets when his hand lingers on top of your skin after playing with you is like no other. when he presses into your side while you're reading, his thoughts always circle around one topic: you, you, you. when you would run into his room after a nightmare, caleb was ready to swoop you in his arms and hold you until you fell asleep. every response towards you was involuntary.

caleb is 15 when he realizes that teasing 13-year-old you becomes irresistible. when he holds up your book, pencil, or some other item in the air, he watches as you jump up and down to try and grab it back. he's grown a lot in three years; if he had to estimate, he's a whole head taller than you now—20cm at least.

when you throw yourself onto him in an attempt to get your stuff back, he falters. you're laying against him on the couch, shuffling and moving up and down over his body, and caleb's breath hitches. you're so close and right there.

he's going insane. you can't even stand up for five seconds before caleb pulls you down against him once more, saying something about retaliation or revenge while tickling you to death.

caleb is 20 when he's about to leave for the DAA. there's an air of silence around the house. you've trapped yourself in your room more often, stressing over your senior finals. at least, that's what you've been telling him.

"i'm sorry caleb, i really need to study for this test."

"oh! i totally forgot about that project i had due tonight. shit, i'm sorry caleb. we'll have another movie night soon, okay?"

he doesn't know if you're actually this busy or if you're actually ignoring him. all he does know is that he misses you. he wonders about how he could miss someone who was in the room across from him. you were so close, but so far.

when you found out he was leaving—though you had a grin on your face while congratulating him—caleb knew you were devastated. he wondered if you were secretly mad at him for leaving.

two weeks before his departure, he practically forces you to be around him. he laid down next to you like before. he stroked your hair while you napped on the couch. he teased you and picked you up so you could hit him and grab him like you used to. he always chose to put his arm around you during a movie. he dragged you by the hand all around the neighborhood. he needed to all of that again, a thousand times more.

but at 24, it seems like there may have been a wedge between the two of you. calls are more and more infrequent.

"sorry, space signal sucks," he'd type.

"sorry, i was busy with training!" you'd reply, 2 days later.

he thinks that he would do anything to go back to before. he hasn't felt you in months. he sees you only twice a year.

it's hard. it was excruciating during the first few weeks. not only was he dealing with bootcamp, but he always found himself looking to his side, thinking you'd be there with him. at night, you were there, right next to him in bed.

he imagined that you would whisper words of reassurance in his ear. you'd hold onto him like you used to, when you had nightmares, and wrap your legs between his. there were days where we stroked his necklace, wishing that it was your hand instead. what he would give to have you next to him.

all he wants is to be able to feel you again. he chastises his 10-year-old self for taking you for granted back then. he wants to feel the apples of your cheeks when he caresses your face. once,—when he was 13 (you, 11)—he did that, and he thought you had a fever the way you warmed up. if he could, caleb would build a time machine to go back to that.

caleb is 25 when he is out of your life.

he thinks about you every day. it reminds him of when he was in bootcamp five years ago. it takes him back to when he was fifteen; you were on top of him, and his brain was fried to a crisp. caleb wonders if he's always been this way, because he can recall that at ten, you were still the only thing consuming his mind.

even during his arm repairs, you're there throughout all the pain.

when you discover his metal arm, all of caleb's instincts point to the door. he's spent so long trying to hide it from you: it's the constant long-sleeves (even though they made him incredibly uncomfortable), or making sure to only touch you with his left-hand (even though he wanted to pull you in with both hands).

but he stays. because it's you.

you freeze momentarily, listening to his writhes and moans of pain. caleb only notices you're there when he feels your hands brush his shoulder. he jolts back in surprise, and he sees you looming over him.

he stammers something, not even sure of what he said because you're here. you see him. you see it.

caleb's wanted this for so long. he wanted to see you again, in a state where you were both vulnerable, like old times. however, that moment probably wouldn't have come if he doesn't confess about this, so he relays the details.

you listen attentively, eyes wide with shock as caleb goes on. your hands wrap around his metal one, and he feels nothing. it's agonizing. he sees you examine him so gently. your fingers trace over bolts and plates of metal, lightly stroking up and down his arm. and caleb feels nothing.

how often has he dreamed of this? for you to be touching him again, so intimately and softly? he's stayed up countless nights wishing for you to be here, just so he can put his arms around you in a crushing embrace, only to be incapable of feeling you on one side of his body.

you pull away from his arm, asking if the fleet was accountable. when he doesn't say anything, he feels your weight lift off the bed and go towards the door.

whatever happens next is involuntary. he uses his flesh arm to pull you back, caging you between his forearm and his chest. there's no thought to it, no rationalization. it's just you and him. and he's been deprived of this for so long.

he breathes into the crevice of your neck, and he has half a mind to place his entire face there. he wants to breathe you in after being away from you for so long. no conversations, no contact, no touching. the last time he was this close to you was years ago. he needs this, caleb thinks.

the feel of you against his bare chest is something he cannot seem to describe. it's like he's his teenage (or even kid) self again, where he seems to short-circuit whenever he comes in contact with you. you're still small compared to him, but you fit perfectly like you did a decade ago.

he lets you go after he feels you trembling. you don't hesitate to place your hands on his waist and tackle him onto the bed. you catch him off-guard as you pin him beneath you, looking straight into his eyes.

"hold me," you plead, "with your right hand."

caleb lets out a shaky breath. there are voltages of electricity flowing through him—literally and figuratively. his skin sparks alive when he feels you. will it be the same with the metal arm?

slowly, caleb raises his mechanical arm. he wraps it around you, and feels the movement of your back shift downwards. you released a breath you didn't know you were holding. caleb held his.

you wait patiently before caleb starts running his metal hand up and down your back. you watch him exhale as he continues. you press your forehead on his, and you breathe in tandem with him.

caleb is 25 when he discovers that he loves physical touch.

wow like i didn't expect this to get so long... but like here we are???

i think we need to start embracing touch-starved caleb in all of our fics. this man hasn't seen the love of his life in YEARS (infrequently, anyway) so i think once she touches him (like INTIMATELY) for the first time in years he goes a little cray.

also sorry the ending was rushed i wanted to get this over with bc i intented this to be like 500 words but obviously it got way longer than that. what can i say... this freak has dug into my brain.

[acid-ixx]

to you, my greatest passion (soft yandere! batfam x traumatized! reader oneshot)

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

tw: allusions to stockholm syndrome, flawed relationship (they have no concept of boundaries) and mild descriptions of injuries and torture (not by the batfam). read until the end for an author's note. happy 4k followers to me :)) uh leave comments if u like this type of analysis and want to see more. i had no direction for writing this. please don't let this flop huhu i might delete this since i don't like it

as much as i love my angst, we all need something soft at times, and moments with yan!batfam with a reader who is absolutely fucking broken from their past that the mere implication that someone could love them is enough to let them melt into whoever's chest they lay upon that night.

just, hurt/comfort. one that heals the soul in its overly possessive embrace. the same way chapped lips peck softly on your cheeks, muscled arms caress your fragile, shivering body, and legs tangle upon yours in a cacophony of warm, cozy blankets.

where as the longer time passes in the manor, the more you learn to love. to let go of the painful memories your tormenters left you. to allow past scars to heal into a mere visage of what once was streaks coated in blood. your family acts as your new abductors, yes, but how could you hold your freedom against them when it is them that comfort you from drowning through the deepest depths of your nightmares?

nightmares of the past, of the knives that break through your already gashed skin, or the ropes that burn through bruises and laceration— every time you wake up crying, with tears running down your cheeks and a pained cry; a recollection of the torture you were subject to, it is them that come running to your room not a moment after.

it's bruce's tall, domineering form that crumbles into soft, snug pillows for you. your father arms that punches criminals into prison become the shoulder you lean on. calloused fingers rub your cheeks, wiping away your tears, holding your face in his palms like you're the most fragile thing on earth— and you are. every time he looks at your dampened eyes and sniffling nose, he gets reminded of how lonely he was as a child, who lost his parent too young to the cruelty of the world, of gotham and her unyielding coldness. and when he reminisces, he begins to cage you in his arms a tad bit tighter, begins to comfort you longer and softer than he has ever done with anyone else, as if he is reassuring himself. it is with you that his vulnerability, that fear of loss becomes all too stronger. and every time you cry a bit longer, your hold on his sleeves becoming unyielding, does bruce become crueler in his pursuit of fighting crime, a lesson to himself that the people he punishes are those with hands capable enough to harm you, his precious, his pearl that glints throughout the moonlight.

whenever your father is unavailable, it's dick who runs to you, with all the intention to provide you comfort. it's him who calls you his baby bird, as he reassures you that you're no burden in his eyes every time you scream in terror as your sleep. it's him who loves to drown you in his affection, always near, always close, never far and never too much. physically, he's the most doting to a fault. tender, yet tight were his hugs. his kisses to your cheeks and your forehead always linger, as if hesitant to release itself from its rightful place. it's a testiment to how much he loves you, how he's incapable of separating himself from you. god, he loves you so much he wishes he'd just melt right into your skin, so that you actually finally realize how you're the most important thing in the world to him. you, his baby bird. if he had met you sooner, quite earlier, right after his parent's have died, then maybe he could've managed his anger better, could've learned to cope with you through the battles you both fought. it's with you that dick feel unbearably euphoric, ready to spill his love to the point where tears consume his eyes and his head laid on your chest refuses to detach itself.

jason isn't familiar with what warmth feels like, not anymore. but when he sees your hapless state, he sees a reflection of himself in that abandoned warehouse. broken, defiled, hurt. with nothing to comfort you from the cold other than the ropes that burn through your skin and the adrenaline that runs through your veins. he forgots what solace feels like, what it means, but through your shared trauma does jason learn. he learns to talk to you, with you, learns to pinpoint each and every emotion he felt at the time, what you felt inside that putrid basement. he learns to manage his grief because he doesn't want to anger himself looking at you, at just how much justice can only serve so many. the longer you talk to jason, the more he becomes softer, yet hungrier. he learns how to hold you in a way a brother learns to hold his baby sibling for the first time when conceived. he relearns the warmth he felt, like when he was finally able to be good enough to be the successor to the title of robin, when he felt you drool on his chest when you trusted him enough to sleep in his room. yet this time that feeling was accompanied with that ominous, distracting essence. one that makes jason's knuckles crack and have him prepare his guns, as he discovers that you can never truly erase the past. and even though it might take years for him to be your ideal brother, he could at least be your sole protector.

then there's tim, who never truly had the opportunity to develop that deeper sense of love he wanted to feel until he was officially adopted into the wayne family right after his parents' death. don't get him wrong, he loves his mom and dad, and so does he loves his current family— but it's obsession that drives him nonetheless. the need to prove himself, to gather information about everyone to know who they truly are; beyond that there's nothing more than shallowness, a neverending hole he can't satisfy. but with you? oh god, you. to tim, you're his everything. you devour his being whole. with you, there's always something new. the need to track every single thing about you leads him into this cycle of want and need that coagulates into desire, into drive. every time you smile, or laugh, or frown, he gains newer intel about you, one he loops into the deepest crevices of his brain at a constant, you are his constant. but staying right behind you can only do so much. and as he sits right beside you in bed, awkwardly comforting you through the ways he mirrored off from his brothers: a sloppy kiss to your knuckles, a joke cracked here and there, and wiping your eyes and nose with his sleeves; tim learns that stalking can only do so much. he learns what it feels like to be needed for emotional connection and nothing else and that only further motivates him to be perfect for you, and to be with you, his sibling, more often than to simply live right under your nose.

and damian, your baby brother, who's unsurprisingly the one who sleeps in your room, or has you sleep in his room, the most. damian tells himself he's incapable of love, of showing it or reciprocating it. but for you, he tries, and like jason, he learns. he discovers just how depraved both of you are when it comes to love. it enlightens you both and it makes damian feel a deeper sense of connection with you than anyone else. with you, he feels like a child: vulnerable, yet uncaring and free, like the true meaning of being a robin, one the soars through the skies with no grandfather or mother or league to watch your every step as their successor. all the times you cry, he silently sobs with you, holding your cheeks down to his level with scarred palms. silent, yet comforting, he'd allow his smaller form to simply become your teddy bear whilst he whispers consolations. about how strong his older sibling is, how precious you are for being comfortable with him to speak of your problems, how you're everything to damian just as he wishes to be the world for you. it makes you think you're more immature that him, it makes him grateful that he has you. even though he doesn't say it, he shows through actions just how truly important you are whenever he draws a sword towards his enemies, thinking about you and his unsaid promises.

nights where you're reminded of that solitary confinement, of the darkness that creeps into your vision and the voices that pierce through your ears. nights where you feel you've exhausted yourself of hope, where what was once warmth that hugs your heart is now that frigid, yet burning spikes that penetrates into the confidence that you'll somehow, someday, run away from that hellhole— those were nights you thought you'd never live with proper sleep. but as one or two of them holds you in their embrace whenever your nightmares consume your being, you're slowly allowing your established walls to fall apart, all for the mere implication of their love.

who would save you, if not for them? their hushed whispers of consolation, hands that wrap around your figure, and fingers that knead your cheeks provide you that deep sated comfort you always wanted. the sleeves they use to wipe away both saltine liquid and snot, to slowly silence your blubbering rambles, your inconsolable crying; it's warmer than the basement you used to be locked in as a child, with dripping faucets the only source of your water— they saved you once before, who's to say they won't save you a thousand times more?

every time you feel like crying, every time that familiar faulty tap in your eyes begins to dampen against ashen skin, it's them that asks you if you're alright. even if you grit your teeth, even if you seeth or bite or beat or punch or kick, to punish yourself, to cope through the trauma, to not feel nothing.

every time pain begins to sear through your skin, it's your grandfather, father, brothers and sisters that huddle around you and tell you 'you're safe here, in the manor, with us'.

every time they spend hours, ditching patrol nights, cooking your comfort food, reading your favorite books, watching movies for hours, ignoring your assigned sleep schedule, kissing your scarred hands gently, reverently, cuddling your form against their strong ones as a silent promise that with them, there's nothing to harm you no more— you'd feel lighter every time, a tad happier, even. slowly, but surely, melting against the confines of your adorned cage and the embrace of your loving captors.

every time they help you heal, it makes you forgive, and it makes you forget their prior kidnapping in return of building new memories with them, in a safer haven, with nobody to hurt you any longer, with nobody to bash your head against concrete walls, to punish you. you who is underserving of the circumstances bought upon you back then.

safe, a word you thought you'll never feel, a word you didn't even know existed in the crevices of your heart. but it is with them that you slowly start to associate safe with family.

the family that you've come to love and cherish in your own imperfect ways, the same way a stray dog becomes too loyal to a passerby when given bones for leftovers every day.

but you're not an animal, and you're not a pavlovian dog meant to be conditioned. no, you're their baby, their love, their treasure and their only one. the love they feed you exceeds beyond leftovers. only you can devour them wholly, the same way they cloak your world in the love that fills that neverending pit in your heart.

you're not biologically related to any of them in any way, too. yet it was all a matter of coincidence that they stumbled upon you.

but really, past is past.

then is then.

now it's just you and them.

it's you, with them.

just your family. overbearing, overprotective, overpowering.

but nothing is always over to you. their love isn't too much. how could you tell yourself it's too much? not when you were never given a basis of what is too much. how is one too much when you were never even given enough?

trust is built upon a foundation of connecting with others who can relate with you one way or another, who can see past through your flaws and mistakes— it's a bond that precedes mere acquaintanceship.

you might've met them later than everyone else, but it's you that completes them.

you're the puzzle that completes the family photographs, the goal for bruce to continue his legacy as batman and to ward off all evil, the inspiration for dick to be that aspiring hero everyone sees him to be, the reason jason begins to reform himself for your sake, the purpose for tim's endless pursuit of knowledge, the muse for damian's painting, the subject for his love he thought was no more, the ambition for steph's prolongation despite her countless of failures, the motivation for barbara to seek out all the criminals who have harmed you, the influence for cass to be stronger to protect you, the catalyst for duke to use his metahuman abilities for good, to take out those who walk in broad daylight, as if they weren't involved in your past tortures.

you're everything that they are.

their sunshine and moonlight, their companionship and loneliness, their pain and pleasure, their yin and yan.

their greatest passion.

a/n: hii guys erm. this is so sudden and also counts as a rant but yk... i feel like quitting this blog but at the same time not. it's just, i feel like writing has been more of an obligation than anything else. it doesn't help the fact that i've only been getting interaction if i were to actually produce something good. beyond that, it feels like people are expecting more of me. i get it, updates are sporadic, they appear in the blink of an eye when you least expect it, but at the same time it's just hard juggling what i want to write and what i feel like i need to write. this blog was primarily to post about my thoughts and to talk to people but lately, every time i open this app to write, i feel these plethora of thoughts and expectations telling me that if i don't do well enough then people would merely ignore whatever i post or it's just bad by standards. and yes i'm grateful for all the people supporting my writing, but at the same time i'm lead to a cycle of me losing my motivation to continue writing. ugh idk what im doing anymore help :((

tl;dr: will i stop writing? no, but at the same time i don't know. someday, i may deactivate this account out of impulse if i feel too much, or not. it depends hehe.

[pyrodolls]

headcannons for cuddling with bayani?

CUDDLING HCS (SUPERFAN! YANDERE BOY X READER)

WARNINGS: sfw, kinda fluff, slight angst, worshipper yandere, kinda insecure bayani as usual, established relationship, lowercase intended, gender neutral reader, i do not condone yanderes

A/N: hey y'all... happy 2025. it feels so weird to say that. i posted my first fic on here a little over a year ago soooo thanks for sticking around with me for so long. i think my writing is still improving and i'm still not very satisfied with a lot of my work, but i really appreciate every single like and reblog i get. thank you guys! (p.s i've actually been writing x reader fanfics since i was 8 years old. you'll never find my old wattpad accounts...) btw i know the banner below is actually from some random manga i've never heard of BUT i was scrolling thru pinterest and saw him and i was like "yeah thats bayani."

BAYANI is utterly clueless on the topic of physical affection. he's completely inexperienced when it comes to anything romantic in general. let's say you suddenly curled up to him while you two watched a movie. he froze and didn't know what to do. his anxieties drove him mad enough to distract him from the movie. should he put his arm around you? where do his legs go? should he lay his head against yours? your comfort is his top priority, so he'd gleefully mold himself into whatever position makes you happy without any regard for his own enjoyment. but should he directly ask you what position you favor? would it paint him as stupid to not already know of your preferred cuddling positions? his worst nightmare is looking like a fool before your eyes.

but as his overthinking worsened, you simply wondered why he froze and took his stillness as a sign that he was uncomfortable. you scooted away from him, and he frowned. did he do something wrong? oh crap, he really did embarrass himself in front of you. maybe he should speak up about it and ask why. if you broke up with him because of it, at least he'd know why.

"did i make you uncomfortable?" he muttered, quiet enough for you to hear but not loud enough to be clear.

"what? no, i moved away because i thought you were uncomfortable. i'm sorry that i did that, i probably should've warned you first..."

silence followed your words, with nothing but the sounds of the television and bayani's quick, uneasy breathing.

after choosing his words carefully in his head, he stammered. "well, i- uh... liked it. i just... didn't know what to do."

"oh, thank goodness. i thought i did something wrong," you laughed. "okay, here's what you do..."

you carefully moved closer to him, resting your body against his and laying your head on his shoulder. then, you moved his arm to wrap around your shoulder and gently pushed his head to the top of yours.

"there we go. see? just like this."

with his chin on top of your head, he directly felt the vibrations of your giggles overwhelming his senses and distracting him from the erratic beating of his heart. it always made him giddy to spend time with you, but being gently directed on how to please you gave him a new, fuzzy sensation in his body that he silently hoped would never end.

his existence is for your happiness. he is nothing but a toy for your enjoyment and amusement. your desires and needs are to be met at your command with no question from him. without you, he has no purpose-- nobody integral to serve. it may seem like a miniscule moment to you. a laughable misunderstanding, even. but to him, he is ashamed of himself for not immediately synchronizing with your needs. he'll remember that moment and take note of it for next time-- it'll haunt him every time he tries something new with you. even if you reassured him that you don't mind, his insecure nature will drive him to absorb every individual second of that memory and dissect it far more seriously than you can imagine. it’ll motivate him to be a better boyfriend for you.

[bxlladxnnabxtch]

Wiped Off the Map

Rhysand x Reader

❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀

Summary: You walk in on Rhysand and Morrigan talking about bringing a certain Cursebreaker back to the Night Court. When the destruction of your home started off in a similar situation - how far will you go to convince Rhysand it's a bad idea?

Read pt. 2 to Wiped Off the Map - HERE

Warnings: Profanity, angst.

“She’s not coming back to our court.” You said, your tone biting through any excuse Rhysand threw your way. “Her presence on Night Court soil will start a war.” You tapped your finger on the table to emphasize your point, your eyes narrowing as you saw Rhys’ harden in determination.

“She needs help.” He reasoned, your lips pursed, a pulse of frustration running through you. “She can get it somewhere else, she’s Cursebreaker, she has everyone falling at her feet.” You spat, feeling a spark of anger begin to roil through you. You took a deep, shuddering breath that had Cassian sending you a pointed look.

You had just come back from training, your chest heaving as you greedily sucked down mouthfuls of air, eager to soothe the burning in your lungs. You could still feel the sweat slide down your back, grimacing at the feeling as you brushed away a sweat soaked strand of hair from your vision.

Your eyes locked on Rhys and Morrigan talking about the girl in question, and a pang of fear had struck you so deep you felt your magic force the mountain to shudder beneath you. The event sending the pairs eyes shooting in your direction. They both knew your past, the destruction the same action they were debating right now had reaped on your family’s camp. But their concern for the girl seemed to trump their consideration for your past and by proxy, their entire fucking court.

“A war is going to happen either way.” Morrigan offered, her maroon dress shifting as she turned in her chair to regard you. Your eyebrows furrowed, your mouth coming to hang open as you looked at her incredulously. “So you decide to burn bridges now- are you two fucking with me right now? Do you even realize what this will do to our relations with the Spring Court? Not to mention- the entirety of fucking Prythian.” You waved your hands across the room, as if you could encompass the entirety of the continent in a single sweep. A bitter laugh escaped you, your body in complete disbelief that they were even considering this for a moment.

“She has abilities from every court, that may be worth sacrificing relations with Spring- they’re already strained enough as it is. She is more of an asset than anything.” Rhysand said, sending a look at Cassian. You had no doubt the two were talking amongst themselves, and it only sent more anger coursing through you.

Another tremble shook the mountain which had Rhys looking at you in warning. Morrigan looked between you two, her lips pursed. “You mean powers she doesn’t even know she has? Where are you going to put this girl? Are you going to keep leaving us here to clean up your messes while you go play house at Hewn City?” Morrigan bristled at the mention of the Court of Nightmares, her figure going tense. You noted Cassian steping closer to you two, ready to save the mountain from being destroyed should you start a brawl. You felt a slam against your mental shields so hard you physically recoiled, staggering a step. “Stay the fuck out of my head.” You growled, Morrigan looked at her cousin in shock, surprised at the fact he’d actually try to get past your mental shields. Your anger simmered into a rage, your expression twisting. “You better not think you’re bringing her anywhere near Velaris. You keep dropping everything for this girl as if she’s part of your duties or some shit. It’s a bargain Rhys- one that’s optional on your part. I’m beginning to think you prefer playing dad then spending time with your family- that in case you have forgotten- you’ve left here for half a century.”

Cassian sucked in a breath. Morrigan looked like you had just slapped her. Rhys’ eyebrows rose, but he stared at you silently. Your breaths and the soft ticking of the clock were the only sounds heard as you stared at him, your eyes conveying just how abandoned you’d felt since Under the Mountain.

Nobody dared to speak, nobody moved as you looked between them. You seemed to sag as you realized he wasn’t going to cave. You bit your lip, your head falling as you shook your head. You looked back up, seeing Cassian eyeing you in sympathy, and you felt your eyes begin to sting as your jaw clenched.

“Y’know what Rhysand? You may act like you know what you’re doing, but ever since we came back from Under the Mountain, your priorities have been severely out of line.” Your heart chipped a little bit as your memories flashed back to that dark, agonizing place. Your wings folded tightly to you, the action purely muscle memory from having to keep them tucked in to fit through the passageways.

A scowl grew on your face, and you sent Cassian and Morrigan a glance before turning toward the stairs. “Let me know when you get them back in order.” You said coldly. You didn’t look back at the trio as you came to the landing and took them two at a time. You thought about how Cassian hadn’t spoken the whole exchange, and another flood of anger rushed through you at his inability to back you up. You passed Azriel on the way up and ignored the way his shadows seemed to reach out to you, as if in comfort. You didn’t allow yourself to look up at him either, you knew his face would be blank and you didn’t think you could take more indifference.

You wanted nothing to do with anyone until they realized what this meant for Prythian. One stupid girl, and they were ready to go to war for her at the drop of a hat. Your scowl only grew as you made your way up to the roof, and didn’t think twice before you sent yourself soaring off it.

You knew this was partially immature, you knew they would send themselves into a frenzy when they found your room empty the next morning, though you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as you thought about how this one decision would bring the Night Court to its knees.

You would disappear. Until Rhys saw reason, and until the rest of them stopped following him so blindly. Just like Under the Mountain, you weren’t going to allow Rhys to make decisions for you. And just like after that tiny village on the border of the Winter Court was wiped from the map, you were alone.

[signanothername]

Can we see your version of Swap? Get to know the silly guy a little? What about Ink?

Hell yaaaa I think it’s time I actually gave a bit of a spotlight to the Stars and especially to Swap and Ink

If we’re gonna talk about who would be the most badass of the Stars, it’ll definitely be Swap, the guy is an unstoppable force

My version of Swap would be a variant that went through Killer’s eye stabbing incident, rendering his magical eye completely blind and by extension, later gets a prosthetic eye in his blind side, the loss of his magical eye has definitely affected his magic to a significant extent, he no longer is able to use blue magic, and not just gravity wise but also blue bone attacks, he also experiences phantom pain a lot and deals with severe migraines at times, and obviously had to adjust to living with one eye, getting to minimize depth perception issues

Not only that, but that also gave him problems with how his magic is distributed within his body, and so Swap sometimes struggles with too little magic output or too much depending on the situation

That however, still doesn’t strip Swap’s amazing physical, mental, emotional and magical strength regardless, he’s still very much more than capable on his own, and blue magic or not, he’s not to be trifled with, Nightmare actually sees him as a genuine threat, and that says a lot

The reason Swap ends up with a prosthetic eye is cause he asked for it to be made for him before he went on another mission with the Stars, to make it seem as tho he still has his original eye intact, so the Nightmare gang won’t take his blindness as a leverage in fights by targeting him from said blind side, as far as the Nightmares know, Swap’s eyelight survived Killer’s assault (Killer has a different opinion about that), Dream and Ink are the first to know about the incident and Swap’s blindness outside his own AU, Swap tells them about it after he has his prosthetic

Swap is generally the voice of reason and the one who takes care of Dream, cause while Dream is someone who can take care of himself, he sure isn’t putting much effort into doing so, too preoccupied with his messy life and his relationship with Nightmare to notice how he’s destroying himself

Swap looks out for Dream and tries to be as present as he could, he does not treat Dream like a child or forces him into taking care of himself, but he does nudge him to the right direction, and teaches Dream things that could help him like how to take care of his chronic pain, and later down the line help him with his Autism

Dream never says it out loud , but in a way Dream himself doesn’t understand, Swap is like another sibling to him, like it was always that way, like it’s just natural

Needless to say, Swap and Dream are very close

Swap loves Ink and his intense passion for creation, he might not understand Ink’s views fully, but he doesn’t judge them for it, just keeps a bit of an eye out for any mischief he’s cooking, Ink definitely is an a bit of an enigma to Swap, and he loves them for it

Outside the Stars, Swap is usually in his own AU with his brother dealing with his usual story and resets, the resets however no longer affect him the same way as he’s pretty much a semi-outcode, so when a reset happens, he still retains his memories fully and is able to know that a reset took place

Honey (Swap Paps) on the other hand, does not retain his memories at all, and by extension, isn’t able to truly realize if a reset took place unless he gets hints

Swap and Honey however, are open about the resets to each other, so when a reset happens, Swap does let Honey know, and Honey believes him without a shadow of a doubt, the Swap bros have a very open and healthy relationship with each other

The Swap bros also usually welcome Dream in their house with open arms, and while Honey expresses his reservations about Swap’s adventures as a Star (he’s just a lil worried) he still trusts Swap to take care of himself, in fact, Honey has no right to talk with his sock still on the ground

Swap spends most of his time in his AU in his own house, only getting out with the Stars when Dream comes to tell him he needs help or when duty calls, he does go out with them on genuine adventures too where they explore the multiverse, usually returning with souvenirs and gifts for Honey and his friends in his AU

Ink is the kinda guy that’s looking for what’s entertaining, if he isn’t entertained, then he’ll find ways to entertain himself, and believe me don’t want them to take it into his own hands

Ink generally has very low social needs and has no desire for connection, it doesn’t mean he has no connections at all, but rather, they’re satisfied by the very few connections he already has, like his friendships with Dream, Swap and Error, and their familial connection with his parents, (with Killer on the way to becoming another friend to them) these few connections are more than enough for Ink, he doesn’t look/long for new connections or feels the need to widen their social circle, Ink getting attached to others is very rare, but not impossible

The few connections they have are genuine, and he does love them, that doesn’t mean their views of them change however, his friends and family are all characters in a script, a never ending game

But not him, they’re above that, they’re real (yes, he’s very much a hypocrite)

He prefers to stay by himself in the doodlsphere, or in the Omega timeline with his parents, otherwise, you might see them traveling across the multiverse just to look for new AUs or stories, he might even go out of his way and travel around with Color, Epic and Delta, as they generally love traveling around, he goes for a little company, then leaves

In the Stars, Ink generally tries to never interfere or actually fight alongside Dream and Swap unless there’s an actual reason to, such as Error messing with the code or trying to erase the AU, which is rare, as Error’s attacks are usually independent of Nightmare’s

He does help with fighting Nightmare off if his quest for negativity messes with the script of an AU (which is usually the case) Ink usually stays on the defensive than the offensive in fights

They find no true joy in fighting, they prefer de-escalation tactics, but with how blunt and brutally honest he is, it usually just ends with it escalating further, he can be an absolute asshole, really inconsiderate, and a downright bitch at times

He acts upon his own interests, seeking what fulfills them not what others expect them to do, that’s why Ink would not allow anyone to interfere with AU scripts, that even includes Swap’s, Dream had tried interfering with Swap’s AU to make it so Swap never has to go through resets again (all from a place of wanting to do good) and Ink never allowed it to happen, it escalated in a fight between Dream and Ink, only to be interrupted by Swap

They and Dream end up in a pretty bad fallout, as during Dream’s younger years, a bit of a younger not fully mature anger riddled Dream couldn’t simply fathom Ink’s views of how the world works, that fallout does hurt Ink deeply and messes a bit with them, triggering his abandonment issues, he would be lying if they said he didn’t want Dream back in their life, but he sees no use in trying to mend something that’s engraved in Dream’s mind, so he just confides in Swap

As the years go by and Dream eventually matures, he comes back to talk to Ink, apologizing and asking Ink if he’d be willing to be friends again, which makes Ink happy, they both become really good friends again

Ink does not act on what’s good or bad, they simply do their job as an AU protector/ guardian just like Dream does, if that means stopping Dream from doing good or Nightmare from doing bad in an AU if it interferes with the script, then he will stand against both of them

His protection of these AUs comes from both a survival instinct and a genuine love for creativity, that’s how their love for creation blossoms through, he views everyone as mere characters in a story, but they find these characters to be beautiful, he finds the storylines they live as perfect the way they are, the way they were intended to be, a product of the beauty of creation, he recognizes the value of the stunning differences in these creations

Ink does help others if they’re asked to, he cares about the few people he loves most and absolutely enjoys the company of others, most of the help he provides is usually in the Omega timeline, making new houses, living spaces and creating essentials for the residents there

Ink and Swap are very sibling coded, they both are a bit hyper about what they love and their passions, they love spending time with each other and going on adventures together

Ink definitely loves pranking the shit out of Swap specifically, and he sure has gotten him in problems so many times, but Swap persists and Ink would be lying if they said he wasn’t impressed with Swap’s ability to withstand the bullshit he puts him through without batting an eye like it’s another Tuseday

He’s insecure about their lack for a soul, sometimes overthinking things and doubting their own emotions and the legitimacy of his love for the few people they do love, he often finds himself going to his parents when these doubts arise, finding saftey within their arms

Generally, the Stars go through ups and downs in their relationships, Swap being the one to help keep the balance of the team, they still are pretty good friends overall and each of them do look forward to their next adventure together

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 29. karma's a bitch

chapter tags/warnings: manipulative! naoya. naoya's anger issues continue. infidelity/adultery. extremely strong language. corruption. mentions of physical violence. family drama.

word count: 3.2k

notes: my sixty-hour work weeks have been taking a huge toll on me, so i apologize for this incredibly slow update. the good news is that i cannot take this corporate america bullshit anymore and will resign in the next two months. thank you for being patient! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Naoya had never felt this humiliated in his entire life.

When people said karma was a bitch, he never thought that it would actually make its way back to him. While he was not the most righteous person in the world, he was the Zenin CEO, for god’s sake! He was the leader to a multi-billion dollar conglomerate, the heir of a centuries-old bloodline. 

Yet, here he was, charging back to his apartment like an irate animal.

He startled the lobby doormen upon his loud entry, and once he returned to his penthouse, he had to will every muscle in his body not to tear apart his abode in a rampage.

In his head, his encounter with Toji looped like a broken record, fueling his chagrin.

When Naoya sought to confront his cousin for the first time in months, he thought he had been prepared. He did not expect to end up digging himself into a deep hole surpassing the world's layers due to a judgment error—a slight miscalculation. 

Correction: this miscalculation was anything but 'slight' because he wildly underestimated what felt like everything. Now, he bore the consequences of his mistakes after inadvertently turning himself into a laughingstock. Because his ego was his hamartia, he had become a mere jester in a story where he was meant to be the sole hero, and thus his ill feelings burned hotter than the surface of the Sun.

As much as he hated to admit this, Naoya had been shortsighted. He should have known better. Just weeks ago, he saw a vision filled with saccharine promises of a happy, comfortable life as the most powerful man in Japan imbued with power and wealth. He had been confident—a hundred percent certain—that absolutely nothing could go wrong in the trajectory he worked hard to create. But, what the actual fuck just happened at the therapist's office?!

He did not expect his mistress to make a complete fool out of him. Her very existence was an anathema to him, and he hoped to never be in contact with that woman ever again. In hindsight, Naoya should have taken the hint a while ago. He had previously forgiven his cousin's ex-wife, dismissing her blissful but intentional ignorance. Mari had never been too keen on actual intellectual and corporate matters, for she took far more interest in the money and comfort that came with starting from the bottom and sleeping her way to the top. Despite that, Naoya trusted that she at least had half the mind to not publicly discuss their affair, only for him to be proven wrong in front of none other than...Toji Fushiguro.

"Fuck!" Naoya screamed into the void of his empty living room. His reality was a nightmare as he thought about his despised cousin again—the assured gleam in his viridescent eyes, the smug smirk that tugged across his lips. The imagery soured his mood beyond measure. "I'm going to fucking—"

He did not finish his sentence.

Instead, he kicked a nearby lamp in an angry bout, toppling the fixture over and sending tiny shards cascading across the floor accompanied by the dull thud of the shade. Whatever. His housekeeper tomorrow morning would come in and clean that. 

What he instead focused on was how he had never been this infuriated, this belittled, this undignified.

The entire apartment echoed with Naoya's loud huff.

'About ‘your wife’ or whatever you want to deem her, there is not a single chance in hell that she’d ever think about calling you her husband anymore.' These words from Toji affected him more than he would have liked.

What did he mean?

That bastard is bluffing, the blonde had to tell himself, yet even he could not believe in his own consolation.

He needed to do something about this. 

No, no, Naoya wasn’t scared.

He couldn’t possibly be, right?!

Yet, after he could feel his ears begin to cool and breathing start to re-regulate, he stared at the emptiness in his halls as he came to the realization that had no better choice but to talk to you.

You didn't want to be here.

The moment you read Naoya Zenin's text to meet up for a 'quick chat' at the café near his office, you already knew that the upcoming conversation was going to be anything but 'quick.' The last thing you wished to do was to be in the same vicinity as that very man again.

After spending the last few days at your family residence, you had been showered with warm attention from aunts, uncles, cousins, and even house attendants who—despite naturally wondering the reason behind your stay—welcomed your visit with open arms. To your relatives' many inquiries, you forged a pretense that all was well even if all was not. (Besides, all did seem well in your family estate, away from the incessant pandemonium that was the Tokyo city center.)

While you knew that this peaceful break was not meant to last forever, you did not anticipate returning to the capital just to sit with the Zenin CEO alone.

Naoya had specifically chosen a corner table in the Hong Kong-inspired establishment, distanced from potential eavesdroppers. He seemed to have been waiting for a while by the time you arrived, his right leg crossed over his left knee as he twiddled with his thumbs impatiently. Sprawled on the table were a freshly brewed pot of jasmine tea and a platter of warm custard pastries.

He remained quiet as you took the seat across from him, observing with a crease on his forehead and a knit to his brows.

Anyone could tell that the blonde was not the least bit happy.

"Giving me dirty looks is not going to get this conversation anywhere," you pointed out while helping yourself to a tart.

From your comment, the inverted slope on Naoya's lips twisted into a deeper frown. 

He did not understand where your annoyance came from. 

Fine, he never treated you nicely either, but he did not expect you to snap at him when the discussion had hardly begun. You offered him no greetings, and Naoya also took great offense at how you chose not to look at him as you talked.

Truth be told, your neglect reminded him of all the other upsetting things that he was dying to bring up, and your unpleasant attitude whittled away the little restraint he had left.

“You didn’t try to ask where I’ve been. Not one text or call. Guess it would not have mattered to you if I disappeared, huh?" he lashed out through gritted teeth. He hated being forgotten, hated being looked over, and hated how easy it was for him to prove you to be a neglectful and apathetic wife.

Which was why there was no better option than to cut him off.

“You ordered me to leave you alone, Naoya.” Only slightly did you turn your head to glance at him. Stirring sugar into your tea, you kept your attention otherwise on the nearby window and watched businesspeople scurrying about on the streets on their lunch breaks. "You can live without my attention since I'm not the only woman you have around. What happened to your lady friend? Hasn't she been entertaining you long before our marriage? I am sure she would love your company, so why not pay her an impromptu visit?”

From a slanting angle, you could tell that the transformation from your normally calm demeanor dismayed him. Naoya, not you, was typically the one to make snide comebacks, but he could not deny your latest comments. Evidently, he wanted you to go back to your submissive and passive self, but that was precisely what you no longer could be for him.

His silence prompted you to reach into your purse and retrieve a thick manila envelope, and you presented the package on the table.

Naoya's gaze snapped to the parcel. 

He was curious, but cautiously so. He had invited you here, expecting to control the narrative, to dictate the terms. As a result, your unexpected move threw him off balance. 

"What...?"

“Take a look and find out for yourself.”

A puzzled Naoya demonstrated no hesitation.

He snatched the folder, tearing the top open and greedily grabbing the curated pieces inside. He stared for a long time at the first item: a photo. But he recognized the image of him and his mistress, boarding a private jet for their most recent trip to Mexico. Then, he flipped through the stack rapidly, barely registering each item before he turned to the next. Some were printed-out pictures and others were cutouts from news articles, but all featured him and his paramour. The confusion on Naoya's visage slowly morphed into aggravation, and when he finished his inspection, he forcefully threw the items back onto the table.

In the end, Naoya sat back and went still, not even blinking, thinking, or doing anything but pressing his tongue along his inner cheek. "How did you get these?"

No apologies. No remorse.

Hell, based on his response, the man could not even bother to deny your accusations, a telling sign of how little he could care for his relationship with you. Obviously, you must be a joke to him.

In one firm motion, you placed down your teacup.

"You're missing the point.”

While one's eyes may be the windows to the soul, Naoya's offered nothing in his current state. His pupils looked at—no, examined you in intense dark pools despite the iridescent glow from the lights above.

"Toji gave you these, didn't he?" Naoya continued with a disdainful laugh, himself insistent on getting answers to his own questions. "You can't find this shit on the internet anymore since I've had them all taken down. But Toji's fast. He has eyes everywhere, I know he does. Look at him. Months later, and he's still hung up on reclaiming a position he should've never had the right to in the first place!"

Thankfully, you didn’t flinch from his loud voice. What you did do was become more indifferent as if you were placing a wall to separate yourself from him, mentally bracing for his emotional maelstrom.

"You are missing the point," you said once more. This time, you shook your head in disappointment, and your tone was far more frustrated than the last. "Aren't you shameless?”

"Me? Shameless?!” His brows pinched closer from fury. "Take a look at yourself, woman! What did you do to get all this dirt from Toji and his henchmen, hm? Ha! Know what? I bet it’s because you're so willing to spread yourself for them,” he rambled with a nasty sneer plastered on his expression. At his comments, your jaw fell open before snapping shut as the meaning behind his words sank in. The way this man disregarded how he had an affair (that began many months ago!) only to redirect the spotlight onto you was repulsing, implying that the sole reason the therapists talked to you was that you had slept around. “A whore like you love taking all them all, don’t you? Well? Well? Am I right? Goddamn, you’re such a—”

The harsh scraping from your chair as you stood was what finally interrupted him. Unable to tolerate his vilification, you counteracted his anger with the venom in your rancorous glare. 

"How dare you talk about me like that!”

In the meantime, prying eyes started to turn in your direction from the commotion: teenage girls, sharing nervous glances across their table; a lone businessman, stopping mid-sip from his cappuccino; even the barista, pausing mid-grind such that her arm froze inches from the hopper.

"That man...doesn't he seem familiar?" a distant voice asked.

"Is he a celebrity or something?"

"No, wait. He's the person on the cover of last month's Fortune magazine. Naoya Zenin!" another replied.

"Isn't that lady his wife?"

While the onlookers' curious glances turned into full-on stares, their regard steeled your resolve rather than bothered you. Instead, you wanted the crowd to take in the spectacle. Corrupt tricks and dirty money had long painted the Zenin heir as 'the most perfect man in Japan,' and the public deserved to understand the fraudulence and cruelty that underlaid his facade.

"For months, I trusted you. I respected you. I put aside the harrowing loneliness weighing on my heart all because I tried to understand you. You told me that finding the time or energy for our marriage was not easy because board meetings kept you late in the office or business meetings required you to spend several nights abroad. Fine! So, I had been patient. But," and your voice overflowed from anger as you pointed a shaking finger at the pictures on the table, "Taking another woman to Michelin restaurants for dinners? Spending nights with her at Ritz-Carltons and Four Seasons? Going on entire vacations with her across the Pacific? All while you had a wife at home? Are you out of your fucking mind ?!" 

The man's nose flared with deep-seated rage, his eyes mirroring the same bitterness in yours. "At the end of the day," he began sternly, "we're still married."

Ridiculous.

“On paper, ” you had to clarify. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be cheating on me with your older cousin's ex-wife."

Immediately, louder murmurs rippled through the crowd. Naoya turned stiff, uncomfortable with the attention. So much for selecting a quiet corner in the café. He wasn’t stupid enough to sense that he had to be careful. Saying one wrong phrase would condemn him to a public meltdown. 

However, you were already steps ahead of him when you loudly declared: “I’m filing for a divorce.” 

That caught him off guard.

Your announcement even drew audible astonishment from bystanders as they stopped their meals, turning to each other and drawing out their phones.

In literal milliseconds, the vexation once riddling Naoya's demeanor shifted into denial.

“No. We’re not going to talk about a fucking divorce right now. We’re going to fix what we have, and you’re going to come back to me. We’re...We're married for a reason, and we’re going to keep with it!”

"That's a bullshit reason,” you had to snap. “Listen to yourself. Do you hear how selfish you sound!?" At this point, nothing could hide your bafflement. "Naoya, you were the one who said that if I wanted to leave this marriage badly, then I should leave. Ask Mai and Maki! They heard the entire conversation. Didn't you also say that you didn't give a fuck anymore?"

The man attempted to salvage some semblance of control. "I was just joking!"

"No, you were not." Picking up a photo of Naoya and Mari together, you pressed the picture to his face. “How much more can I take? How many days would I still have to go through alone in the penthouse, all because you would be spending your sweet time with the woman that you love?”

Unloading all this emotional baggage, not only for Naoya Zenin but also for the café spectators to hear, took courage. Previously, you would have let the burden gnaw at your soul. You would have rather wallowed in suffering rather than even think about speaking up.

But the past was the past, and you had grown immensely since then. Currently, you were stronger, more confident. You knew that, in Toji's words, you deserved better. Life was too beautiful to waste on a man who did not love or respect you and, with that in mind, you relaxed your clenched fists with an exhausted and fatigued sigh. 

You broke me first, you said through a deserted gaze. 

Naoya Zenin was the reason why you had become the way you were: a cold, seemingly heartless wife who cared none for her husband. The misery that he placed on your shoulders finally reached its limit, and while you could forgive, forgetting the memories in your scarred heart would be a task over months, years, and even a lifetime. 

“Listen,” you began, tone terse, “this divorce will set you free. Mari is the person whom you need—”

“The hell. No!” the man interrupted in a violent outburst, taking your breath away as he slammed the table and hissed. “I don't give a damn about her right now! We’re…We’re over!" he snarled with incredible anger such that he almost appeared to growl. "I don’t need her, I need you! That...That whore doesn't give a flying fuck about my shit! All she cares about is...is...Fuck this. All she wants is the money. Why else do you think she married and then later divorced Toji? She doesn't want to hear about all the shit in my family because she had not been brought up to deal with all the fuckin' drama in my household. She can't understand because, unlike you, she wasn't born with a silver spoon shoved down her goddamn throat!"

Quietly, you absorbed his words, stunned.

So this was how their relationship had been.

You had not expected him to reveal all these entrenched feelings willingly, but his concoction between reckless rage and sheer desperation had allowed him to spill the ugly side of this extramarital affair. Naoya could not afford to lose you, and not just because this marriage solidified the respect of those around him. While Mari offered him an outlet for physical indulgence, only you could offer the cornerstone to Naoya's mental and social fortitude.

“So you ‘need’ me now, but what happens when you find another reason to hate me again? What will you do if you don’t think I can fulfill the role you want me to have as your partner? Or if you wake up one day and suddenly want your cousin’s ex-wife again? Or if you meet another woman? Am I supposed to stand there again, and watch this all happen?" 

No answer.

The fact that he couldn't respond hurt.

"My decision is final. Looking back, I despised every single second married to you. In fact, I feel sorry for myself. The fact that I blindly put up with your manipulation, betrayal, and blame for all these months.” With your belongings collected, you prepared to leave. “You would be stupid to think you're the only one with options, you know.”

Only when you turned around did Naoya react, scrambling to his feet.

“What the fuck are you—”

In any other situation, he would have grabbed you, lunged at you, did everything in his power to stop you from going. Yet, given all the witnesses, all he could do was call you back like a helpless child, trying his best to not escalate the scene (although, at this point, even passerbys outside have stopped by the window to spectate).

"Hey!" Naoya called after you. “Hey! I’m still talking with you!”

Pathetic, really, to see him desperately beg for you to stay in his life.

There was a certain satisfaction in finally having the control at your fingertips. The feeling was empowering—electrifying, even—and you became so focused on the gratification that you barely registered Naoya's last question.

“Where are you going?”

At this point, you already stood by the exit.

“That’s not something that my soon-to-be ex-husband would need to know,” and you hardly gave him another glance as the door closed behind you. “Thank you for showing me everything I hope to never find in another man again."

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: Part of why this update took so long was because I wanted to have an encounter between Naoya and Y/N to showcase Y/N’s development, from someone who thoughtlessly defended her husband to someone who could stand up for herself (all while alone!). I envisioned this interaction many times, and I thought about different ways to approach the scene, the delivery, the dialogue, the choreography, etc. It took me a while to go for what I currently have. Thank you for reading!

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @lazyassfinals @katkbc @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

[chigirizzz]

↳ ❝ teddy bear ❞

megumi, fluff, post argument, wrote this when i was sick lol

the plushie that was once in your arms was suddenly kicked by you, resulting in hitting the wall and falling on the floor, its face staring at you as if mocking you. the scene perhaps would be comical if it weren’t by your annoyed mood. no matter which plushie or pillow you hugged, no matter how many times you turned around in your bed, it seems that sleep wasn’t a thing you’d accomplish tonight. no matter which plush or pillow you hugged, nothing could replace the warmth of your boyfriend’s embrace…

it was your fault. it was your fault that you and megumi had an argument and now he’s on the couch just so he could give you some space.

your mind replayed the moments before and during the argument, hoping to find comfort in the pillow that you just grabbed. none of you raised your voices to the other—that is something neither of you could ever do—, but you still disrespected him.

you needed to apologize. he didn’t deserve to sleep in any other place that wasn't your shared bed.

megumi couldn’t decide which was more annoying: his arm going numb because his head was on it, or the stupid background laughter coming from the series on tv.

he couldn’t sleep. he didn’t want to anyway. the male pretended to not be affected by the argument earlier, however, knowing you were in your shared bedroom without him made him feel cold and lonely. the words that came out of both your mouth and his made him feel like his heart was being squeezed.

the facial expression you did when he offered to sleep on the couch described regret. it meant that, despite the stupid and unnecessary fight, you wanted your boyfriend to be by your side the whole night. however, he felt like this was the best option; to give you space and time to clear your head (and his too).

arguments between you two had happened before. it's a normal thing in any type of relationship, after all. but they still hurt.

a shadow appeared by the corner of his eye, making his fight or flight mode activate.

“oh.” it was all it escaped from his lips. it was you, not far from the couch, with your hands behind your back. it was hard to read your emotions, mainly because of the fact that the only source of light was from the tv. why were you still awake?

“did i scare you?”

“yes, you did.” the dark haired male scratched the back of his neck and fixed his posture. “need anything? did you have a nightmare?”

“no, no. i’m fine,” you answered, shaking your head. your voice and body language were way more calmer than earlier. “uh… actually, i came here to give you something.”

he frowned, confused. “what is it?”

you sat close to him. really close. your arms and knees touching, making his cheeks get painted by a light shade of pink. it was a nice and warm sensation.

megumi was never the type of physical touch until he met you. in fact, he's still getting used to it. he always appreciated his friends in silence, but never hugged them or anything (even a simple ‘i miss you’ or ‘i love you’ couldn't be heard from him). that was until your presence was written in the book of his life, adding a new chapter that completely changed his story.

“here.”

it was a teddy bear. a teddy bear holding a red heart and…a piece of paper taped to its arm?

megumi recognized the teddy bear. he offered you on valentine's day the previous year. he was all shy, scared that you were gonna think the plush was too corny. but all you did was grab his cheeks to pull him closer to you so you could kiss his forehead. i love you no matter what present you give me, is what you told him.

he caressed the bear’s ears. good memories flew over his mind, his heart now untangled and warm.

your arms were now around his arm, head resting on his shoulder. “read the note.”

sweet words could be read from the note. the handwriting was pretty and the choice of words was well done. you did you best to describe how sorry you were and how you wanted to fix things.

“i’m sorry megumi. i really am.”

“no… i should apologize too.”

“come to bed.” you tugged his arm so he could get up. “i'm tired but i can't sleep. today was tiring.”

“i don't know, the couch is actually really comfortable.” an attempt to hide his smile was made after telling you his joke.

“is this how you wanna play?”

he chuckled at your reaction. his laugh was music to your ears especially because it wasn't a very common thing from your boyfriend.

“not funny.”

all he did was ignore you and walk towards the bedroom. pretending to be offended, you jumped on his back to scold him. however, only laughter could be heard from you, making him smile even more. you will never let an argument ruin another day. you prefer moments like this one.

[qin-qin16]

cw.: Dust x Reader, gn!reader, almost non verbal Dust, fluff, Dust lacks communication skills, reader is trying their best to understand him, he actually cares about reader?!

note: He was the first skeleton I wrote about, so I wanted to go back to write a little about him again :D

Dust had always been unusually quiet — almost eerily so. Unlike his counterparts, Killer and Nightmare, he preferred to remain in the background, barely joining in on dinners or group training sessions.

That was fine; you never judged him for it (well, maybe a little at first, to be honest). However, it wasn’t just his isolation and silence that troubled you; it was the lack of communication.

You knew he wasn’t much of a talker — it was possible to count on one hand the times you’d heard his voice — but his complete stillness meant you couldn’t read any body language from him. And if that wasn’t enough, there was also the hood.

That damn hood. If only you could see his face, maybe you’d understand Dust better. Perhaps those bicolored eyes would be more expressive than his lack of movement, or maybe even a smirk, a furrowed brow, or a look of disdain would be more revealing than this complete absence of expression.

Inevitably, your hands went to your face, massaging your temples with some unnecessary force. All these questions and uncertainties were making your headache worse — and Killer’s incessant chatter during breakfast didn’t help at all.

For a moment, you close your eyes and let your mind drift, trying to imagine Dust's possible expressions. Does he maintain eye contact, or does he look away constantly? Does he have any habits like biting his tongue or lips, as you do?

Despite your efforts, nothing comes to mind. It’s already difficult enough to picture Dust doing anything other than sitting still on the couch, watching TV, or standing silently in a corner observing the others. Imagining a range of expressions on his face feels even more daunting — almost impossible.

As you sink further into the couch, feeling a slight ache in your back from the uncomfortable position, a weary sigh escapes your lips.

Just as you’re about to get frustrated with your lack of creativity, a poke on your cheek snaps you back to reality.

“Not now, Killer, you know I’ve got a splitting headache—” you start to say, but your words trail off when you open your eyes and see it isn’t Killer beside you, but the skeleton that’s been occupying your thoughts recently.

Still a bit taken aback, you almost miss the mug he’s offering, gently nudging it toward you as a signal to take it.

“Uh, thanks?” You carefully take hold of the mug, quickly grasping the handle when you realize how hot it is.

You soon catch a faint aroma wafting from the mug. Without hesitation, you inspect the liquid inside: judging by the color and smell, it’s definitely tea, though you can’t tell if it’s magical or herbal.

“It’s mint.” In an instant, your gaze locks onto Dust, who is still standing beside you.

This is one of the few times he’s directly addressed you (maybe the third? Certainly the first time he’s spoken so calmly), and you can’t help but be slightly taken aback.

Dust was offering you tea. Tea. Something usually associated with soothing physical pain and fatigue. Has this Dust actually gone so far as to prepare, serve, and offer tea to you? Did he know about your headache? Wait a minute—

Was he trying to ease your headache?

“Drink it slowly; it’s hot.” And just as quickly as he had appeared, he turned and began to walk away, his steps slow and shuffling. You couldn’t help but wince at the sound of his slippers scraping against the floor.

“Um…” You mutter, your gaze returning to the mug and watching the steam rise gently from it.

Your lips quiver slightly; even though it was a simple gesture, it had deeply touched your heart.

Maybe Dust wasn’t as expressionless and distant as you had believed.

( @howlsofbloodhounds ) forget to tag you moot

[sassylovermongerbear]

Imagine Wednesday reluctantly agreeing to let Enid sleep with her because she had a nightmare/scared because of a movie they watched. She expected Enid to be a cuddler, the girl love physical touch, but what she didn't expect was for Enid to move in her sleep, to the point where she end up lying fully on top of the raven. But what Wednesday expected even less was to actually getting the best night of sleep of her life with Enid acting as a weighted blanket.

After that night, Wednesday would found any excuses so Enid would keep sleeping in her bed with her, going as far as "accidently" setting the blond's bed on fire.

Enid obviously knows what she's doing, Thing told her everything a while ago, but she acts like she doesn't know, more than happy to share a bed with her girlfriend. Plus Wednesday's cold body is perfect to cool down her over heated body at night, making it easier for her to fall asleep.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

As for the "Is Skully Secretly Jacked?" debate, I would like to bring up a point made by someone in the tags of the post that started said debate:

The twins do kinda-sorta look like twigs. Granted, they aren't human, but still.

And in my opinion, Vil and Rook both look like twigs as well.

[Referencing this post and this post!]

My response includes many example images that are MASSIVE spoilers for book 7 cards (which haven’t been released in EN yet!!) so please proceed with caution.

I think a lot of the characters definitely look like twigs due to their in-game live 2D models usually not accurately depicting their actual bodies. Just as an example, here are what the twins look like in live 2D:

... And here is what the twins look like in (Mermaid Fin SSR) card artwork. You can see there is a MAJOR discrepancy.

We also see this in Floyd's Club Wear card. His arms are much more defined in the card art and are noodle thin in the live 2D model:

It's not just the twins either. Another notable nerf between the card art and the live 2D models occurs with Silver and Sebek. I mean, just LOOK at their arms in the P.E. Uniform cards... and then how sad and limp they look in the actual gameplay...

Vil and Rook are entirely different cases. Both of them are typically wearing long sleeves, which conceals their bodies and gives the illusion of lacking muscle.

It was stated in the Magical Archives that Rook is beefier than Trey (who is quite strong from playing soccer as a kid and helping out at the Clover family bakery). It also makes sense for Rook’s character as a huntsman wanting to hide his presence (thereby making it easier for him to observe his prey). Showing off how big of a threat he actually is with his physique out on display defeats the whole purpose.

Without the arms covered, we can see how truly muscular Rook is—though again, the live 2D model is greatly toned down.

Vil, meanwhile, is in a separate category. He is strong too—this much is true! However, his build ISN’T jacked up like Sebek, Silver, Rook, etc. Why? Vil states that he dutifully trains to maintain his figure as a model but is also mindful that he doesn’t get too bulky, as that wouldn’t be aesthetically desirable for his work. You can still be strong while being lithe. Think about dancers, for example.

Vil has also demonstrated in side content such as the Sunset Savanna hometown event and Beans Day that he’s able to take down opponents far larger than him using tactics besides brute force. This includes using his foe’s weight against them to toss them and acting gravely injured to make his foe cocky.

And now let’s revisit Skully! I’d say he definitely doesn’t LOOK bulky, whether in his art or in the live 2D model.

For the sake of argument, let’s say he’s hiding massive arms under his suit. But like… where exactly?

Unlike the sleeves we normally see, the Nightmare Suits are visibly stitched. They can only be so effective for holding together. Just looking at the artwork, it doesn’t look as though Skully’s arms are straining to be freed or pushing back against the seams.

Okay, so what if Skully’s instead like Vil and has a lean frame that hides a surprising amount of strength? I don’t really buy this either because no lore supports it. Vil trains extensively because his career demands it and he is a tenacious person. What reason does Skully have to keep in such shape? He isn’t really described as an athlete or dedicated to health or something along those lines. Boy just LOVES Halloween. There isn’t a clear lore reason why Skully would want to get (excuse me for the pun) jacked.

So yeah, that’s why I don’t believe Skully’s secretly physically strong. He’s literally just… lanky.

[therealcocoshady]

Recovery - Chapter 38

Synopsis : Reader listen to the leaked track in which Em mentions her.

Tags : angst

You stared at Marshall for a couple of seconds, in complete and utter disbelief. He seemed terrified. You had seen this look more often that you liked to admit. The very look that said he was guilty of something he definitely wasn’t proud of. You had first seen it the you fount out about him sending armed guys to threaten the rapper who had referred to you in a diss track, when he had admitted to threatening Josh, when you overheard Tracy mentioning blowing him in London… He stared at you, nervously biting his lip, not saying a word.

- Is it true ? You asked. Did-did you really name-drop me on a track ?

- I… It wasn’t supposed to be heard, he said. By anyone. Ever.

- What track is it ?

- Doesn’t matter, he said. Babe, I swear to God, it doesn’t matter. I… I have to call my team. We need to get that shit removed.

- You really are stupid, aren’t you ?! Jamal asked with a sardonic laugh. It dropped last night. It’s been listened to millions of times, reposted everywhere.

- I want to listen to it, you said.

- No you don’t, they both said at the same time.

- If my name is mentioned on a stupid track, I deserve to know ! You argued.

- Babe, please don’t, Marshall pleaded. Please.

- Don’t ‘Babe’ me, right now, you said. Jamal, give me your phone. I want to listen to it.

- Y/N, no… I hate to agree with this motherfucker, but… Don’t listen to this shit, Jamal said.

- That motherfucker’s still your boss, Marshall groaned. You better-

- Wait until I shove a drum machine up your ass, your friend shot back.

They stared at each other, looking as if they were about to hit each other. You didn’t care for either of their arguments. You didn’t need any of these grow men babying you and you deserved to listen to this damn song. You sighed and ran up the stairs to grab your phone. If the track had already gone viral, you’d find it pretty easily. As soon as you started to walk, they both followed you and tried to argue but you slammed the bedroom door in their faces and locked it behind you. You heard them yell at each other and sighed.

- Y/N, come back, Jamal said.

- Baby, open the door, please, Marshall asked.

You sighed and simply started to play the song. As soon as the first notes started playing, you heard complete silence. For an agonizing four minutes, you had to listen to your boyfriend, the man you loved, who said he’d always have your back, assassinate your character. You felt complete disgust, similar to the first time you had heard « Kim ». It wasn’t that the song was bad - on a technical and lyrical level, it was probably excellent - but knowing that these lyrics were about an actual person, about you, made you feel sick. He was describing nothing less than a torture scene, rapping about sequestering you in order to avoid a breakup, painting a scene in which he hurt you physically, going as far as impregnating you and making you abort with a butcher’s knife. The whole thing was horrendous and you thought you were about to faint when you heard your name, your actual name. It was impossible. It couldn’t be. This had to be some sort of nightmare. To make it worse, you had the urge to check the Internet’s reaction. Everyone seemed to be out there, celebrating « Eminem going back to his Shady era » or whatever that was. A few people seemed shocked but, in majority, fans seemed to be here for it. To add to the nightmare, people were linking the name in the song - yours - to the pictures that had leaked a year ago. The pictures of you in lingerie, that the Internet seemed to have forgotten - was back. It made you sick to your stomach. You felt vulnerable, like a prey. Your face, your name, your body were out there for people to make fun of. You were starting to feel dizzy so you laid on the bed, trying to breathe. You kept on listening to the song, hoping to hear another name than yours. Any other name. But each and every time, it was your name that came up. You heard the guys knock on the door, begging you to open. After a couple of minutes, you shakily opened, tears streaming down your face.

- I’m so sorry, Marshall said as he tried to pull you in his arms. Baby, I am so, so sorry…

- DO NOT TOUCH ME ! You screamed as you pushed him away.

- Baby, le-let’s talk, he begged. Please, Y/N. You have to know it-

- Tell me it’s a fake, you pleaded. Please tell me it’s AI or something.

- I’m so sorry, he said.

- Please tell me you didn’t write this, you continued. That you didn’t mention my name.

- Y/N, I- I didn’t mean to, I swear, he said.

- You didn’t mean what ?! You asked as you screamed. You didn’t mean to make a beat ? Didn’t mean to write the lyrics and then take the time to record the whole thing ?!?!?!

Your chest was heaving and you were full-on bowling. Marshall was standing in front of you, too close for comfort. He extended an arm to reach for you but you slapped his hand away as soon as he tried to touch you.

- Touch her again and I’m throwing you out the window, Jamal threatened.

- Fuck, Marshall said. Talk to me, Y/N. Please talk to me. Please look at me.

- I… I need to leave, you said.

You started running down the stairs and opened the door. You were in your pajamas, barefoot but at least you got some fresh air in your lungs. The skin on your face was burning, so were your eyes. You tried to focus on the air filling your lungs, trying to regain some composure. After a couple of minutes, you felt a had on your shoulder and immediately recognized Jamal’s.

- Hey sis, he said sheepishly. You holdin’ up ?

- I can’t believe he did this, you said. Have you heard that track ?!

- I have, he said. That’s why I came.

- That’s the most disgusting track I have ever heard, you replied. He… He fucking name-dropped me. And all these comments online…

- I know, Jamal said. I know.

- It’s vile. It’s disgusting. It’s… It can’t be true.

- I know, he simply repeated.

You started crying again and he engulfed you in a big bear hug. You had been hurt before, but no pain compared to this. You felt betrayed and humiliated. You kept on crying in Jamal’s arms, still not believing the man you loved had done this.

- Get in the car, Jamal said.

- Why ? Where are we going ? You asked.

- Home, he said. You really want to stay here ? With him ? After he did that ?

- I guess not, you shrugged. Wait… I have to take some clothes with me.

- Get in the car, I’m taking care of it, he said.

He opened the car and you sat in the passenger seat while he got back to the house. A few minutes later, you heard him come out of it, arguing with Marshall.

- Let me talk to her, he begged. I can explain.

- She doesn’t want to talk to you, man, your friend said. Leave her alone or I swear to God I will end you.

- Jamal, please, he pleaded. You know I would never hurt her. You know I love her.

- What I know is that you used one of my fucking beats to rap about torturing my fucking sister ! Jamal roared.

Your friend got in the car and drove you to his house, where Talia greeted you with a long hug. The three of you sat at the kitchen table and they encouraged you to eat some breakfast while you discussed the horrendous track.

MARSHALL’S POV

He didn’t hear of Y/N for a whole week. In the meantime, he heard from a lot of people, though. A few hours after she left the house in Jamal’s car, he got a phone call from Paul, who chastised him as if he were a teenager. The manager came to visit him and they sat in the living room, in order to work things out, on Paul’s insistence. As far as he was concerned, he only cared about Y/N and how he could get her to talk to him. As soon as he arrived, Paul examined his face.

- Did she hit you ?! He asked with a hint of surprise. Wouldn’t have thought she’d be this strong..

- Jamal did, he replied curtly.

- You might be lucky, then, Paul said. Is Y/N here ?

- Left with him, he mumbled.

- Never thought I’d say that, but I’m actually grateful she didn’t sign the NDA or put the addendum she talked about, Paul commented. Might have taken you to the cleaners…

- Paul, no offense, but I don’t give a fuck, Marshall said. My girlfriend left and won’t answer my calls. For all I care, she can take all of my money and full ownership of the label.

- Thank God It’s not happening, Paul groaned. I think we should talk about it, though. Because you seem to have set the Internet on fire.

- I don’t know what happened ! He finally snapped. We argued, I went to the basement studio and recorded that shit out of spite, because I was fucking pissed and scared after an argument. I have no fucking idea how this shit leaked !

- I’m sure we can find someone who can trace the leak, Paul said. But we have other issues. I have people calling me asking for statements from you. The Internet is truly ablaze. That’s some shock value right here.

- You say that as if it were a good thing, Marshall commented.

- If there’s someone who can make something good out of it, it’s you, the managed pointed out. It’s a leak but we might use it to our advantage. Slim Shady being back again. Maybe there’s an album concept…

- I don’t care about Shady, I want Y/N, Marshall roared. And I want the head of whoever leaked that shit ! I’m not using it to my advantage, I’m not promoting it and I’m not giving anyone a fucking statement !

They discussed for about an hour. Paul was a long-time friend and understanding of the situation. He knew more than anyone that Marshall was prone to using recording as a cathartic exercise and that some songs were not meant to be shared. In the past, they’d had to deal with leaks and, though each one had been a colossal pain in their asses, none was as bad as this one. Leaks were usually bad for business but, so far, none of them had destroyed his personal life. This one might as well do the trick, though. He had recorded it right after their argument, when Y/N would not speak to him and it was nothing but the result of his mind going to the darkest of places. Something shameful, using words to convey anger instead of sadness and fright. In a way, this was no different from the Kim track : him using violence on a track in order to express his obsession for the person he loved the most.

- So we agree, no statement ? Paul asked. No promotion ?

- If we put out anything, that should be a public apology to Y/N, Marshall said. I went on Twitter quickly… Have you seen that shit ?! Her picture, her name, they’re fucking everywhere and it’s my fault. I fucked up.

- At least, when you rapped about killing Kim, there was no social media, the manager agreed. Look, if that’s what you want, we can put a statement. I should warn you it might be pretty damaging, because a lot of people might not take kindly to you backtracking on something like this, but if you feel like we have to do this… We will.

- Really ? You’re not suggesting that we feed Y/N to the wolves ? Marshall asked sarcastically.

- I know I’ve been hard on you about your relationship with her, Paul said. But I also know that you usually put in your best work when she’s around. As your manager, I don’t think it would be strategic to publicly apologize to her. But as your friend, I want you to be happy. And I know she’s turned you into a better person. The whole team does.

- Thanks man, he replied.

They were interrupted by the noise of the front door opening. He quickly jumped from the couch, hoping to see Y/N coming home, and that he would finally be able to talk to her. Instead, he was met with Hailie’s angry gaze.

- Hay, he said. What are you doing here ?

- What do you think I’m doing here, Dad ? She asked. I’ve come to ask you for an explanation. Stevie and Alaina are on the way too.

- I take it that it’s about the track…? He asked.

- Of course it’s about the track ! She almost yelled. I can’t believe you did that !

- It’s a leak, he tried to explain. It wasn’t meant to come out or be heard by anyone. Ever.

- Still, she said. Y/N is a mess. She’s being harassed on social media, everyone’s coming for her…

- You talked to her ?! He asked.

- Yes, I called her, his daughter explained.

- She won’t take my calls, he said.

- Shocker, Dad, she said. Jesus, I wonder why she wouldn’t want to take a call from someone who recorded a song about torturing her…

- I know I fucked up, he said. I don’t know what to do…

- I can’t help you here, Dad, Hailie shrugged. She specifically told me she doesn’t want to speak to you.

He nodded. In the grand scheme of things, he could see why Y/N wouldn’t talk to him. Hell, if the shoe was on the other foot, he wouldn’t want to talk either. He looked at Paul, who was still sitting in the living room.

- I think we should put out that statement, he simply said.

- I’ll call the publicist right away and have him draft something, Paul replied.

- I want to approve it first, alright ?

- Of course, Paul said.

The manager said his goodbyes and promised to get back to him as soon as possible. Stevie and Alaina arrived and he was met with some sort of intervention which, really, was his three daughters chastising him. He wouldn’t expect them to support him blindly, they were old enough to have a mind of their own, but he was a bit shocked by the intensity of their reaction. Overall, there was a lot of screaming and shouting at him, pointing out how inappropriate the whole thing was.

- It was bad enough when you rapped about killing Mom, Alaina said. But Y/N is our age. You’re literally slandering someone who’s old enough to be our sister !

- I know, he said, but you girls know it’s just fiction, right ? I would never actually do these things. Half of my tracks are fictional.

- It’s not the issue, Dad ! Stevie argued. The issue is that she’s our age, being attacked by a grown ass man who could be her Dad. And that the fans are siding with him ! She didn’t ask for anything !

- I know, he said. Believe me, I know… I just… With everything that went down with your Mom, I have learned lessons, you know ? I never would have put out this track. I know how much it hurt her and I wouldn’t wish the same thing on Y/N. It wasn’t meant to be heard. It’s just me, taking things too far. Like a diary.

- Except that someone accessed that diary and leaked it, and now she’s paying the price, Hailie said.

- … Yeah, he said. I don’t know what to do.

It had been more than twelve hours since Y/N had left and he still hadn’t heard from her. And, as it was to be expected, neither Jamal nor Talia would pick up the phone either. He buried his face in his hands. He had fucked up, he knew it. But he was merely trying to let his anger out in the only way he knew how. The last thing he had wanted when he made that stupid track was for anyone to hear it, let alone enjoy it. Knowing that some fans were praising his writing on this one had nothing pleasant.

- Honestly, Dad, this is the most disgusting song you ever put out, Hailie continued.

- Agreed, he said. I don’t know what to do, girls. I don’t want to lose her. I know I deserve to, but I can’t.

After a couple of hours of discussion, his daughters ended up leaving. They were still clearly mad at him, just like everyone else seemed to be. The day after, he got a call from Dre. His mentor and friend sounded genuinely concerned. The leaked track was typically something he would have told him to shelf and never put out.

- You went too far with this one, Dre said. I’ve heard you go hard on some shit but that was… nasty.

- I know, Marshall replied. Believe me, I know… But it’s a leak, you know ?

- That’s what I heard, Dre replied. How is your girl doing ?

- I wish I knew, he said.

Dre wasn’t the only friend and collaborator who was concerned. Even Porter and Royce talked to him about the lyrics and how they went too far. He’d heard that so many times that he almost snapped at them but, really, he couldn’t really blame them. He was the only one to blame and he knew it. They also told him that Jamal was livid, threatening to come and destroy the entire studio, and they had to talk him out of it. His friends were disappointed in him, Y/N wouldn’t talk to him and even his daughters didn’t seem to want to be associated with him at the moment. It seemed like everything was falling apart. He was truly disgusted with himself. That’s when he decided to put out a statement, speaking in his own name. It was a rather short message, posted on his social media account, apologizing for the shocking lyrics, explaining that the track was not meant to be shared and calling for everyone to stop harassing his partner, whom he had made the mistake of name-dropping. He also apologized for using Jamal’s beat, stating that it was originally meant for another track whose release was postponed. He was not used to public apologies but this one might be overdue. And perhaps it would get Y/N to talk to him. However, in the following days, he still didn’t get any news from her. He tried to go to Talia and Jamal’s to talk to her but he was met with an angry Talia who refused to let him see his girlfriend and threatened to call the cops on him for harassment. He resorted to sending flowers and letters to Y/N, begging her to at least let him talk to her, even on the phone. One evening, almost a week after the track leaked, he got a call from Talia’s phone.

- Talia ? He asked. What’s up ? How is she ?

- It’s me, he heard Y/N say.

- Thank God, he said. How… How are you ?

- How would you expect me to feel… ?

- Right, he said. I’m… Thanks for calling me.

- You know, for someone who made fun of Josh for buying out every flower shop in town, you sure are filling the house with a lot of bouquets, she commented. I guess I’m calling because I’m afraid there won’t be any flowers left in Michigan by next week if we keep this going.

- Jewelers are next on the list, he said sarcastically.

- You know, you could spend all the money in the world, it wouldn’t make things better, Marshall, Y/N said.

- I know, he said. Believe me, I know. I guess I just wanted a chance to apologize, tell you what really happened. You have no idea how sorry I am.

- I believe I do, she said with a sarcastic laugh. Every one of the fifty bouquets you’ve sent contains a note saying how sorry you are.

- Can you come home ? He asked. So we can talk ?

- I would, but for one, I’d be afraid of being held up against my will and, two, Simon is coming over for diner tonight, she replied.

- Simon… Your ex, Simon ?! He asked.

[quibbs126]

[NEW Cursed Rarepair is here]

Can you make the fankid of..

Dark Cacao x Moonlight?

I finally got off my ass and drew him, so finally, this is Midnight Choco Cookie

I say all that because I have had his backstory figured out for probably over a year at this point, I just never got around to drawing his design

Okay, so basically the story of Midnight Choco’s origin is that Dark Cacao Cookie had wished for a child (MC is supposed to be older than Dark Choco, so Cacao doesn’t have a kid yet at this point). Moonlight heard his wish, and felt moved by his sincerity, so she decided to grant that wish and then created and sent Midnight Choco down to him from the stars

Moonlight and Dark Cacao aren’t together in this universe, it’s just that due to making Midnight with her magic, he’s also got some of her dough in there too. She’s basically more like a magic donor

Midnight Choco here is a warrior in the World of Dreams, and he spends his days battling nightmares, whether they come to harm train passengers or the individual Cookies having those dreams. And in the latter case, he usually tries to talk with and help those Cookies overcome those fears. He’s basically like Princess Luna in Friendship is Magic

He’s got some sort of helmet and also moniker for his nightmare fighting talents, but I haven’t really figured out what those are yet, so just know he has them. He’s incredibly powerful and a skilled fighter, but he’s also a very kind and sweet soul, just wanting to help those with the power he wields

However, not all is well with Midnight Choco. As far as he’s aware, he’s merely a construction of the Dream World to protect itself, like many others that inhabit and maintain it. He never leaves the Dream World. Not only that, but he has no real memory of having any sort of family. He feels some form of connection with the Slumbering Moon, but has never quite traveled to meet her

The truth of Midnight Choco is that he has in fact, been in a coma for the past 25-30 years of his life, slumbering within the walls of the Black Citadel

He grew up with his father, being raised in the Black Citadel and learning the ways of the sword from him. His extraordinary origins and seeming connection with the stars also led to him having quite an amount of stories surrounding him, being “the prince born from the stars, gifted to the king from the heavens itself”, among other things

When he was a teenager, Dark Choco was baked, and he got along pretty well with his little brother, for what time they had together

But then a couple years later, one night, Midnight Choco went to sleep, but never woke up. That following day it was assumed he had simply overslept, but as the day, and inevitably following days went on, it became increasingly concerning. He was still alive, and seemingly fine, but he wouldn’t wake up. Dark Cacao tried methods both physical and magical, but nothing could be done. The circumstances were made even more confusing by the fact that no one knew what caused it, because there was no trace of any poison or curses in his body, or anything strange that had happened recently, Midnight simply went to sleep and didn’t wake up

He has stayed this way ever since, and Dark Cacao has him kept in a room under constant watch, should someone attack him or if he potentially wakes up. He visits him often

What actually happened to Midnight Choco is that he accidentally awakened his power to go into the World of Dreams, and in the process of doing so, since he had done it incorrectly, gave himself amnesia, basically starting his life over in the Dream World and becoming the fighter of nightmares he is today, and subsequently believing he comes from the World of Dreams

He can in fact, break this spell and wake back up in the real world, but he doesn’t know he has this ability, nor does he believe he comes from the real world, so he wouldn’t go looking for a way to access this power. Though perhaps one day, he’ll learn the truth and wake up

He’s met both his father and his brother within their dreams and nightmares, but neither parties really recognize each other, due to dream weirdness and Midnight’s knight attire covering his face. He is semi aware of what’s been going on in the Dark Cacao Kingdom, like Dark Choco’s banishment, Caramel Arrow, Affogato and the like, but it’s basically been pieced together from the secondhand dream accounts, and due to his amnesia he doesn’t feel much personal connection to these events for himself, he just knows some of what’s going on in the real world

And I think that’s about it on Midnight Choco’s character. Wow I really did have a lot to say. Well, on to design things

So I got the name Midnight Choco from an ice cream flavor that I think I’ve seen around. It’s mostly because it’s chocolate and has night connections, but it works

Midnight chocolate ice cream:

So I admit, he doesn’t look as great as I have been hoping he would, but he has a design now, so I should just be happy with that

I admit, I didn’t really know what I was doing with his armor, I was just kind of trying to make it look good. The feet may not be great though. ToA Dark Choco ended up being a good reference for me

I originally wasn’t going to have gold, but all the saturated dark blues were getting too much, so it breaks up the colors

His sword is supposed to be like a clock hand. I originally drew it for Dusk Choco, but I thought it might look cooler on Midnight, since he’s the one descended from a Legendary and all. But it was a matter of copy/paste, so I don’t know how good it looks on him. But drawing a weapon was the main reason I put off drawing him, so it’s fine I suppose

I really wanted to add some gold gradient to the pants, but it just never looked right, so they have to stay just plain. Though I did change them and subsequently his hair to be a dark purple, so it looks a bit better

I honestly don’t really know what to say in this section. He may not be my best, but he at least has a design, and it isn’t the worst thing ever, so it’s fine

And yeah, that’s Midnight Choco. I think I’m too attached to him honestly, I want fanfiction of him. But yeah, I hope you enjoy him yourselves

[heavens-moonlight]

𝗕𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦 | 𝟬𝟳 : 𝗔𝗟𝗠𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗜𝗦 𝗡𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗘𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛

𝟬𝟲 : 𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦 | 𝟬𝟴 : 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗’𝗩𝗘, 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗’𝗩𝗘, 𝗪𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗’𝗩𝗘

Authors Note: It has seriously been so long but I've been gone to study as well as test for my boards and didn't want any distractions, but I’m back and more motivated than ever! Thank you so much for all the messages of concern (that I am now only getting around to seeing). This was originally supposed to go up a bit sooner but I thought it was too heavy to start 2025 off with so it's here now instead. Happy New Year to everyone and if you're still reading this story I hope you can excuse the time off in exchange for more frequent updates now that I actually have time to myself. As always, I'd love to hear what you think! Until next time ♡

Faint morning sunlight filters through the sheer white curtains, casting a muted glow in the room. The quiet murmur of the world you've grown accustomed to is now inaudible, muffled by the window's thick glass, separating illusion from reality.

In this hushed room, the oppressive silence adheres to you like second skin, suffocating you in the familiarity—and the loneliness. Even as the clock on the wall ticks away signaling the passage of time, it's not enough to drown out the feeling that it has long since stopped—stalled at a moment where nothing feels possible, where hope is just an echo of something impossible.

A sense of heaviness settles atop your body, aching as though it has been carrying the weight of far too many days for far too long.

Your eyelids flutter open languidly, the effort of rising from the darkness of sleep too much to take. For a moment, you sit still, staring at the tender rays filtering in, but it offers no warmth, only a pale reminder of things that once felt brighter.

Feeble shadows dance across the walls, reflecting off the surface of the floors.

In the dulled haze of the scattered sunbeams, the light is neither enough to pierce through the darkness of your dismal dreams nor your despairing reality.

The beautiful, soft, and serene sunlight doesn't touch your heart any longer, for even if it did, it wouldn't change a single thing.

It feels like a lie, that sunlight.

It promises warmth, but it doesn't deliver.

Your chin quivers and you bring your fingers to your face, rubbing your eyes in an effort to physically hold back the tears. Wanting to close your eyes for just a second, even that small release of tension only makes you more aware of the pressure in your chest.

Only when warm hands envelop your own to gently pull them away do you turn to its source.

Jun-Hee's brown eyes are the first thing you see and shielding your heart, you remain strong, holding his gaze.

It brings you comfort, but also trepidation, as you focus on his irises, a rich, deep hue contrasting that of the soulless, colorless shade of murky white imprinted in your subconscious.

Death was staring at you through his eyes in that vivid nightmare, and instead of running away, you had run toward it.

You both sit completely still in one another's presence for a couple more minutes before the familiar lump lodges its way in your throat the longer you look at him and circling through a million what-if's.

It's too much.

Too much to keep pretending that things will get better.

No longer being able to ground your thoughts or steady your breaths, your hands fall from his and you rise on shaky feet, walking in a non-linear line seeking escape.

The silence swells again and you step forward, feet carrying you toward the door, each movement mechanical.

There's no destination in mind, no plan. Just the thought that perhaps if you walk long enough, if you move far enough, you can outrun whatever's holding you here.

But deep down, you know that you won't.

You know that you can't.

As you pass a mirror hung up on the adjacent wall, you stop short in your tracks.

You swallow, then blink at your reflection in the mirror, barely recognizable to your own self, splatters of blood dotted across your visage and eyes devoid of hope.

It makes you physically hurt.

It makes you want to scream out loud.

Instead, you bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood and swipe at your own face, each pass more aggressive than the last.

No matter how hard you press, the streaks merely smear, yet refuse to disappear completely.

You wonder if this is how it will be once this is all over.

Try as you might, you can't imagine in the slightest ever being able to rid of the gruesome memories.

The tears.

The blood.

The deaths.

The world outside continues on, unchanged, while you remain stuck in this place, trapped in the moment between yesterday and tomorrow.

At the next raise of your hand, Jun-Hee winds his fingers around your wrist and tugs it down tenderly but still firmly enough that it brings you back to your senses.

The familiar rage and hurt bubble inside your chest and you force it down, bottling your emotions as you have always done.

Wordlessly, Jun-Hee throws open the room's door and drags you along on a path straight to the bathrooms.

He turns your shoulders, facing you away from the wall length mirrors, back pressed against the counter of sinks.

The light flickers overhead as you hang your head, silent sobs wracking your body. Jun-Hee stands in the doorway, heart twisting in his chest at the sight of you. For as long as he has known you, your strength had always been something he admired. But now, you were breaking, and he felt helpless.

"Seol-Hwa," he whispers, voice thick with emotion. "Please."

Your shoulders shudder as you look up, eyes swollen and red. The weight of everything you couldn't say crushes you, too heavy for words.

With determination, Jun-Hee crosses the threshold to stand in front of you, bending down to eye level and ever so gently reaching forward to cup your face in his hands. His touch is steady, even as he fears you would pull away hearing your breath hitch at the contact.

"Look at me," he murmurs, low and even. "I want you to see your reflection of yourself as I see you. Deflect all your pains, your worries, and your fears onto me. In my eyes, there is only you."

Tears make their descent down your face so you shakily inhale, trying to stop the streaming rivulets. Jun-Hee gingerly steps ever closer, thumbs brushing over your cheeks to trace the lines of every drop.

"I—I don't know how to fix it," you choke out, voice trembling. "No one can."

As your tears continue to fall unbidden, Jun-Hee sighs and reaches around you for a stack of paper towels, dampening them with cool water before softly wiping your face as if he were erasing the pain one swipe at a time.

Rather than pulling away or flinching, you surrender to the tender touch, breath slowing just a little with each movement. You can't help but to stare, the course of your nightmare haunting you even when awake.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"It's—" you pause, not knowing how to approach it. You decide if you didn't start, Jun-Hee wouldn't have to learn of the ending. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing if it has you like this."

You shake your head, lips pressed into a firm line.

"Was it a bad dream?"

Hesitantly, you nod, tears brimming on your waterline once more. "In it...you left." It was neither of your faults, yet the words come out laced with bitterness yet also chock-full of longing, of pain, and of regret. "You left...and I was all alone."

Jun-Hee pulls you into a tight hug, tucking your head beneath his chin. He didn't have answers. He couldn't make it disappear. But he could be here. He could hold you.

"Is that what you're afraid of?" One hand comes to nestle the back of your head, patting softly in reassurance. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Wrapping your arms around him, you rest your ear against his chest, finding solace in his beating heart signaling life, chambers of sound echoing your feelings for him.

"The future seems far too bleak to give us a choice to stay."

"In any circumstance, even if I had to leave, I would always come back to you, Seol- Hwa."

[ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀsᴛ ᴠᴏᴛᴇ ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ, ᴘᴏʟɪᴄᴇ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ sᴋɪʟʟ. ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ, ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴊɪ-sᴏᴏ, ᴀ ᴄɪᴛɪᴢᴇɴ, ᴡᴀs ᴇxᴇᴄᴜᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴀғɪᴀ. ᴀʟʟ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄɪᴘᴀɴᴛs, ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪғʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀғɪᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇɢɪɴ ᴛᴏ ᴠᴏᴛᴇ. ]

The monotonous announcement drones on soporifically, seemingly mocking Yu-Jun's cries that nearly mask every single word like knives probing at the still-open wounds in his heart.

You can barely bring yourself to watch even after the others have left the scene one by one as Yu-Jun holds Ji-Soo's limp body in his arms behind the previously impenetrable door now split down the middle, a parallel to their parting.

"This can't be..." Yu-Jun intones in despair, shaking his girlfriend's shoulders to no avail. "I still need you here with me..."

Recognition comes at you in full force, causing you to stumble back, clutching at the doorframe in reliance as your head spins, the same exact words you had said to Jun-Hee in your nightmare reverberating in the dark recesses of your mind, echoing far too loud in the vicinity of the now empty hallway.

Sensing the movement, Yu-Jun glances over, a flash of surprise to see you still there, before it's gone and replaced by utter grief.

Pulling yourself together, you hesitantly approach. Even as you kneel down next to the two, you're met with no resistance nor reticence as you had expected.

"You don't have to stay. No one else did." Yu-Jun's voice is muffled as he pulls Ji-Soo ever closer, hunching over with his head against her own.

"I know I don't have to, but I want to," you emphasize.

At this, he looks up, confused. "I don't understand. I'm not someone who should be on the receiving end of kindness."

"That doesn't mean you deserve this," you gesture around, noticing somberly as his hands tighten, clutching at the fabric of Ji-Soo's now crinkled white shirt. "None of us do."

"Maybe I do." Yu-Jun stares straight forward at the wall, focusing on nothing. "Maybe this is karma for everything I've done wrong."

"We're people. Everyone makes mistakes. It's part of being human."

Yu-Jun chuckles darkly. "Tell me, what kind of mistake is this game then?"

"A fatal one."

There's a long stretch of silence between you two before he speaks up. "I'm sorry." You're taken aback by the sudden admission of regret, unable to hide your reaction. Yu-Jun clears his throat awkwardly before addressing you with sincerity. "My friend group, me included, haven't always been the nicest to you or yours and even though I knew it deep down, I never owned up to it. On behalf of them and myself, I want to apologize." His breaths come out ragged with so much still to convey between every intake of air. "In case—" he glances down again at Ji-Soo in his arms and brushes away stray strands of hair from her face. "—I don't get the chance to say the things I've saved to say."

"Do you have words that you regret never having said?"

"Three. Only three."

You can guess what it is without confirmation from the way Yu-Jun's lips quiver, eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Stay alive for her."

"I don't know if I can."

"You will," you respond with certainty, rising back on your feet.

"How are you so sure?"

"Are there not people you still want to save, including yourself?"

Realization finally makes its way onto his face. "H-How did you figure it out? T-That I'm a doctor?" The words come out in broken stutters.

You pull out your phone and turn it around, showing the resurrection screen. "It's hard to recognize those against you, but it's even harder to recognize those with you. We shouldn't let one another down."

Yu-Jun opens and closes his mouth, struggling to find the right words to say. "I feel as though I've already disappointed so many. A second chance is not something I deserve."

"Rather than saying you don't deserve things, prove that you do."

"Do you...not have any desire to reserve revival for yourself? "

"I could, but that defeats the whole purpose of this responsibility assigned to us in saving the innocent. Doctors place the needs of others before their own. Is that not what we are now?"

Yu-Jun's entire demeanor shifts from reluctant to resolute, from hopeless to hopeful. "I'll do my best so that no more sacrifices will be done in vain."

A faint smile adorns your face, acknowledging the partnership wordlessly. "Whatever happens, don't forget to protect yourself even as you're protecting the others."

Yu-Jun makes a sound of affirmation as you turn to leave. "Wait—"

You look back over your shoulder. "What is it?"

"You're a really good person, Seol-Hwa, just as Jun-Hee has always said. I see why he likes you so much."

Faltering, the corner of your lips imperceptibly curl downward. "We're best friends. He's obligated to say that."

"I don't think feelings are an obligation."

"Feelings never do well in a life or death situation."

"Do you have words that you regret never having said?" Yu-Jun uses your own verbatim against you.

Your eyes waver but you tamper down your emotions, refusing to let them show. "I had a dream last night where I said the words I've always wanted to say and Jun-Hee and I still wind up, over and over again, at only one ending sequence."

"And that ending is?"

Swiveling your head back around to hide the tears wanting to fall, you whisper quietly before walking away, "The same as your's."

Despite Yu-Jun declining to join, the rest reconvene in the deserted warehouse, as barren and cold as you were feeling.

Everyone is on edge, warily eyeing one another, no longer trying to hide the smallest ounce of suspicion.

Yoon-Seo speaks up next to you, words curt as she crosses her arms across her chest. "What's the reason for calling all of us down here?"

If it was possible, Kyung-Jun is even more patronizing, walking back and forth in the center with his head held high. Haughtily, he turns to the group. "Do you all not know or are you pretending not to?" He smirks. "Park Woo-Ram, that bastard, the one who deceived all of you was the Mafia. Just who was the only person to pinpoint that?" Throwing his hands up in a show of bravado, he motions for applause. "Me."

Solely, Seung-Bin claps, always one to grovel at his leader's feet. "Of course, it's no one else but you with the great hunch." His positive countenance morphs to one of disdain, transitioned so seamlessly, that it makes you wonder if he has ever displayed a genuine expression. "I can't say the same for you lot of Police. Whoever you all are, you could learn a thing or two from Kyung-Jun."

The person in question waves him off to the back and steps forward, hands in his pockets. "Hear that? If you want to catch the Mafia, do as I say."

Beside you, Jun-Hee deadpans, "Do what?"

"You'll take turns saying who you think is guilty and I'll pick for you."

Whispers grow amongst your classmates and you can sense the growing frustration directed at a single player.

Scoffing, Jun-Hee shakes his head in disbelief. "Who are you to decide? It's up to all of us."

"There's not enough collective intelligence for us to do that. Did you all forget how and why I nearly died last night? Who other than me is definitely a Citizen?" Kyung-Jun strides the length of the room as he scrutinizes everyone in turn, shaking his pointer finger in succession but ultimately drops it as he reaches you. Seeing your mien of indifference, he pivots back around, leaving his next words hanging in the air. "I think the rest of the Mafia members are hidden among those who voted for me yesterday."

"That doesn't mean anything," Na-Hee defends.

"Oh really?" Kyung-Jun whirls back around, fixating on Na-Hee and clucks his tongue at her. "On the contrary, it means everything. For the fact alone that you all sided with the opposition to rid of me. What clearer evidence is there?"

"How were we supposed to know?" Jun-Hee states clearly. "Don't judge based on one round where no one had the slightest clue."

"Then, what should I assess you on?" Kyung-Jun retorts. "Voting is the entire point of this game to figure out who's who."

"Your logic is shit if that's all you use to reason with," Jung-Won admonishes.

"You bitch—"

So-Mi cuts in abruptly, changing the topic of conversation for the time being. "What about Ji-Soo then? Why kill someone so randomly without the need to?"

"Who cares about intention when you yourself could die?"

Behind him, you can see Jin-Ha and Seung- Bin look at one another briefly, weary looks on their faces at Kyung-Jun's words, message loud and clear: Friendship amounts to nothing when it comes to survival.

Yeon-Woo timidly voices from the back. "So, Ji-Soo wasn't the Doctor then?"

"Read the notification carefully," Eun-Chan murmurs to his friend. "She was a Citizen, but that doesn't mean Yu-Jun is."

“Yesterday," Da-Bum adds, "the Police used their skill, so why didn't the Doctor?"

Mi-Na bites at her nails. "Right, because then Ji-Soo would still be here."

You catch sight of Yu-Jun outside through the metal bars across the window opening and once your eyes meet, he hangs his head in shame, walking away forlornly, no longer wanting to listen any further.

No one else notices the exchange and you breathe out on a long exhale, just as much guilty.

"Don't you all think it's weird?" So-Mi's question draws the interest of those next to her. "On the third floor, it was just Ji-Soo and Yu-Jun alone. How come only one of them made it out alive?"

Mi-Na looks over at So-Mi with a gasp. "Could Yu-Jun be a Mafia?"

"Damn," Jin-Ha intones. "If that's true, he really took his girlfriend's life."

In order to not compromise the chance of survival, although knowing that couldn't be farther from the truth especially after seeing the aftermath of the two, you bite down on your tongue to keep peace.

"She did always give him a hard time, what with telling him off and her short temper..." Yeon-Woo trails off.

"Enough of this useless talk that serves no real purpose in pressing matters." Despite the silent resistance, Kyung-Jun still mongers fear in the rest. "I'll single out someone as I see fit."

"How funny! He thinks he's actually in charge," Jung-Won mutters under her breath.

"This one." He spurns her and focuses on Jun-Hee, gesturing condescendingly. "You can tell when he did all that he could to safeguard Woo-Ram."

"Anyone would've done so to save someone who we thought would be a Citizen," you spit out. "Haven't we all been betrayed by someone we trusted?" Kyung-Jun's eyes slide over to yours, jaw clenched, not missing what you alluded to. "If it wasn't you against him, would you be able to say there wasn't even a one percent chance where you couldn't believe him?" His eyes don't leave yours, watching intently your effort at justification. "In the end, we're just victims of a killer."

"Seol-Hwa's right," Na-Hee agrees meekly. "We shouldn't vote just because of a wrong guess."

"Then, let's vote for the right guess this time: Jun-Hee."

"Don't you know about presuming innocence? Stop insisting when you don't have proof." You glare him down. "This isn't a witch hunt where we vote on the basis of who we dislike most."

Kyung-Jun steps toward you and you can feel Yoon-Seo grab your elbow to pull you back but you don't budge even as he bends down, tilting his head to the side, gazing steadfastly at you. "Do you have evidence then?" He fixes you with a challenging stare, reversing your words. "We can't defend based on who we like most."

"You want evidence?" He falters as you merely smile without any real happiness behind it. "I have it."

The hum of the old computer fan is the only sound in the small, dimly lit basement before the clicking of keys fills the silence, rhythmic, almost hypnotic.

Jung-Won's fingertips run across the keyboard, eyes locked on the screen, face bathed in the pale glow of the monitor. She wasn't aware of those standing behind her, too focused, too intent, to notice the interest of the rest, and the trepidation of yours.

"We can get the entire Mafia crew in one go if I manage to pull this off."

From the shadows of the basement, the sound of Seung-Bin's foot tapping repetitively against the floor echoes incessantly. "This is useless. Can't you work any faster than at the rate of a turtle?" His voice breaks the stillness of the room, laced with frustration.

"You're also useless. You have no right to speak," Jung-Won berates, tone sharp as she adds to the tension.

You see the screen flash and spring up from your seat next to Jun-Hee atop a half broken wooden bench discarded in the room. "Do you see anything?"

"I thought I would but..." Jung-Won spins in her chair to face you, "it's all deleted. The files are completely wiped—everything on the drive."

"That can't be." You refuse to even entertain the thought that someone else could've chanced upon this room, especially not after the weird circumstance in which you found it. "Look again." Grabbing Jung-Won's arm a bit too tightly, you urge her to scour the different file locations.

An uneasy silence hangs in the air as you both turn toward the computer once again. Your eyes bat nervously from folder to folder, trying to find something—anything—but the cursor only blinks in emptiness, mocking your desperation.

"It's not that," Jung-Won says aloud as she clicks around, clattering growing louder in defiance. "Any remaining content on here wasn't formatted properly from the start. Whoever had access to this in the first place made sure no else would after them. All traces are erased."

You can't answer right away. Jung-Won's gaze is fixed, but her fingers had slowed. The screen blinks once, twice, before the folder she'd been trying to open vanishes entirely.

A chill runs down your spine.

"It's not... it's not possible..." you whisper, words in tatters. You reach for the mouse but the screen flickers then blacks out entirely as a faint row of red text flashes in the corner.

Deleted: System Error.

The room goes deathly still.

You squeeze your eyes together tightly, stomach in knots and heart plummeting.

"Han Seol-Hwa," comes Jin-Ha's voice. "Were you trying to fool us all? Bring up nonexistent evidence? Nice team-play, Mafias."

"It's not like that! They knew of it beforehand. We're too late!" you shout back, knowing full well evading this accusation just became that much more difficult.

Jin-Ha is about to open his mouth again to reproach you, but one look from Kyung-Jun shuts him up immediately despite his growing displeasure at the newfound tandem. The latter studies you, gauging. "Are you doing this for yourself or for someone else? This whole thing was only brought up because I cornered Jun-Hee earlier."

"Let's calm down and consider the situation first." Yu-Jun sends you what he thinks is a look of support, but even in his encouragement, you can sense that worry outweighed it.

"Don't think you're off the hook either, girlfriend murderer," Kyung-Jun warns Yu-Jun.

"Did you, or did you not, know that this place would have bird's eye view of everything because you were planning to rid of evidence from the beginning?" Jin-Ha corrals you into another corner and you can sense Kyung-Jun holding himself back from going rouge on him.

Jung-Won is by your side in an instant, hands around your shoulders. "You're even dumber than you look."

"Yah!"

"If that was her intention, why would she willingly bring us all here? Unless you've been lobotomized, in what world would someone expose themselves if they're at fault?"

"Whatever," Kyung-Jun concludes, and you look away, expecting him to vote for you without doubt as his finger taps at his screen with finality. "My intuition has never been wrong."

Before the intercom can even announce his choice, Jin-Ha steps in between him and the door, eyes shifting from you to Kyung-Jun and back, equal parts in disbelief and anger. "Have you gone crazy? What are you doing?!"

Seung-Bin stands stunned, looking between the two.

"Didn't you two say that I had a great hunch a few moments ago and everyone should take note?" Kyung-Jun shoves Jin-Ha aside, the shorter of the two bumping into the wall with a thud before a finger is jabbed into the middle of his chest. "Get to learning, bastard."

"Aish shibal!"Jin-Ha curses after his leader's retreating back as Seung-Bin drags him along, the three exiting ultimately with unanimous votes, choices conformed to Kyung-Jun's.

As Mi-Na and Eun-Chan turn to leave as well, you grab at them in a rush. "I really am a Citizen." At their unconvinced looks, you double down. "I'll prove that I am. Please, at least give me until the end of today."

With their evidently remaining suspicions, Eun-Ha comes to your aid. "I trust her. If there's one person who I'm most certain is a Citizen, it has to be Seol-Hwa." She reaches out her hand and gives yours a light squeeze even as your own shakes against hers.

[ ɢᴏ ᴋʏᴜɴɢ-ᴊᴜɴ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]

[ sʜɪɴ sᴇᴜɴɢ-ʙɪɴ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]

[ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊɪɴ-ʜᴀ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]

"I'll be able to restore a few files if I spend a bit more time familiarizing myself with this interface," Jung-Won declares resolutely and you, once again, feel guilty for harboring doubts against her. "I can at least promise this."

"Yes, guys," Na-Hee adds on. "We can vote before night falls once we've all calmed down and have more sound reasoning."

Da-Bum nods in agreement. "We'll know for sure by then. Let's not jump to a decision."

Eun-Ha nudges Mi-Na and Eun-Chan on either side of her, before turning around to motion at Yeon-Woo with her head. They all relent, albeit reluctantly, and as Eun-Ha follows them out of the room, she turns back to give you a half smile in silent support.

So-Mi merely smirks and leaves with everyone else aside from your immediate group, her steps light, your distress her happiness.

You plop back down on the bench and cover your face with your hands. "This is a disaster."

Hyun-Ho scoots in beside you and pats you on the head comfortingly.

"Don't give up just yet." Dong-Hyun fiddles around with the multiple outdated TV's on the opposite wall. "We won't either."

"Da-Bum," Jung-Won calls. "Did you by chance bring a laptop with you?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I need all the help I can get. With your assistance, we should be able to regain lost footage at the earliest an hour before midnight."

"Is that possible? To restore everything?" Da-Bum questions.

"Of course not everything, but if we try our best, clips from the third floor hallway where the incident happened last night is completely doable." Jung-Won is entirely confident as she notifies the group chat while Da-Bum rushes off to get the additional device needed.

Their efforts on behalf of you warm your heart, yet deep down, you can't bring yourself to bask in the momentary peace.

Saving yourself will mean losing Jun-Hee.

The city lights on high above the rooftop cast a backdrop of white behind Jun-Hee, the stark contrast against his black hair like a shining halo.

When he turns to look at you, you can't find it in yourself to hold eye contact, instantly drowning anew in the visions of your nightmare, slipping beneath a blanket of white, the color of surrender.

You wrap your arms around yourself as the frigid night air bites against your skin, and noticing your shivering, Jun-Hee scoots in noticeably closer, pressed against your side in an attempt to offer warmth.

"Is it difficult for you?"

"What is?"

"Giving me your full support, trusting me— believing me without doubt."

Jun-Hee pulls your head onto his shoulder and leans his own against yours. "It's the opposite. You make it easy. I can entrust you with my life."

"Even if all the evidence is evading me?"

"Even then."

Closing your eyes, you let the rise and fall of his shoulder as he breathes calm you. "Why do you trust me so much?"

"I know the kind of person you are, and I know your heart."

"If everyone were to lose their trust in me, as long as you still believe in me, I don't need anything else."

"I'll always be by your side."

"It's weird," you begin. "Not once have I ever thought about my biggest fear, but every night since we have been here, the scent of death keeps lingering, both in my reality and subconscious. I can't rid of it."

"Anyone would say the same."

"Would you?"

"My only fear is that I won't be able to protect you until the end."

You raise your head only to find him already looking at you.

"Is it selfish of me to say that I'm scared? I know the possibility of making it out of here is close to none, but to imagine myself dying, I simply can't." Unabashed, you find yourself crying, tears falling down in twin trails against your cheeks. "I don't want to go like this."

"Who says you have to?" Jun-Hee's right hand cups the side of your face and with his thumb, he brushes away the teardrops cascading down, a mirrored reflection of the morning. "I would never let you die. Until my last breath, I'll make sure you're safe."

"You should always put yourself first, Jun- Hee."

Pulling his hand away from your face, he cradles both of your hands in between his and tightens his own around them.

"Don't you know that I would die for you?"

Shaking your head, you try to get him to rescind his words. "I'm not someone of importance you should sacrifice yourself for."

He smiles lightly. "To me, no one is more important than you—not even my own self."

Your breath catches in your throat and you swallow around the lump forming. "Promise me we'll go home together once this is all over."

Jun-Hee's eyes waver with uncertainty but ultimately nods. "I promise."

"You know it would never be home without you right?"

"Neither without you, Seol-Hwa."

"Then, you can never leave me here alone, if you aren't with me."

"How cute," Jun-Hee suddenly intones and you're taken aback at the fond way he says it. "You think it's possible for me to quit you." He slides off of the bench you two are sitting on, before kneeling down in front of you. From his pockets, he dangles a braided red string between his fingers as he looks up at you, the glimmer of stars reflecting in his eyes. "I wanted to give you this for our friendship anniversary but more than ever, there's no time like the present."

"You've kept this with you the whole time?"

Jun-Hee nods, fiddling with the thin strands to tie around your wrist. "I recently went to Jejudo with my parents and this really kind elderly craftsmen told me these can serve as wish bracelets, granting what the wearer most desires in their hearts." He rotates the woven strings around and you see a small white jade flower charm, its center hollowed-out, dangling from the middle. A snow flower. Your namesake. "The harabeoji said to me, with the brightest smile on his face, that I looked like I had a hidden wish but seemed far too skeptical for his liking. To my surprise, he gifted me with two and told me that sometimes, luck comes only once in a lifetime."

Grinning, he presses the textured string into your outstretched hand and you settle his forearm in your lap, wrapping the bracelet around the opposite wrist you were wearing yours on. His charm is the piece that completes yours, a simple solid sphere—a perfect match.

"I heard that until your wish comes true, the string shouldn't break prematurely, or it will never come to fruition."

"That's what the harabeoji reminded me of too, but I believe ours will be granted." "Do you really think that luck only comes once in a lifetime?"

"I don't know about that, but what I do know is that I must've used all my luck in order to meet someone like you." Jun-Hee runs his thumb over the inside of your wrist where the stone pendant rests against your pulse point, a line leading to your heart. "You're my once in a lifetime person, Seol- Hwa."

A few hours later and your unease has yet to settle, not even at the confirmation text from Jung-Won alerting to her success.

"I think it's safe to say that we'll have the most important of clues as evidence." After a final flurry of movements, Jung-Won stretches her fingers. "There. It's done." She points to the screen and those closest to her promptly swarm the monitor to see. "With the time limit I had, I was only able to bring back the film from yesterday, but that should be more than enough to figure out who entered the room where Yu-Jun and Ji-Soo were."

Before you even have the chance to breathe a sigh of reprieve, smoke starts rising from the console as sparks fly, only briefly at first and then heightening into a full blown flame.

Jun-Hee grabs the nearest fire extinguisher and douses the system unit, but all that remains in the fallout is charred metal. You stare at the black matter, the futility of it ridiculing.

Kyung-Jun touches the box only to recoil at the heat that singes his skin. It's beyond saving and he can only chuckle. "As if murder wasn't enough, you all want to add arson to your list of crimes too? Was this a ploy in hopes that we would all burn down? Is that it?"

"Guys—" Eun-Chan interjects, pointing a shaky finger at the monitor in the corner of the room everyone ignored up until now. "What the hell is that?!" At his question, the screen lights up with colored strips of static that steadies into clear footage, the pool coming into view.

Except, it isn't the only thing visible.

Long dark hair masks the face of an otherworldly figure standing eerily still in the middle of the scene, hands at her sides. For some inexplicable reason, you feel like you've seen her before.

"Seol-Hwa's right..." Na-Hee utters, panic-stricken. "There really is a ghost..."

At that, you suddenly remember the photo you still had in your possession. Drawing it out of your skirt pocket, you briskly extend it toward the group, directing them to focus on one particular individual. "I think... there's something other than us here. She— that apparition—must have something to do with the game."

"Stop with your nonsense," Jin-Ha chastises. "You all must've faked this video to rid of skepticism."

"You idiot," Jung-Won retorts. "Look at the live stamp. It's filming in real time. I know using your brain isn't something you tend to do, but at the very least, tell me your eyes work."

"Whatever this may be," you start, eyeing everyone in succession, "will you just simply go along with it and play the game until we all perish? What if you win? Do you think you can actually make it out of here alive?" Your voice rises, both in exasperation and resentment. "Is it possible for any of us to be the same afterward?" Shaking your head, you fix the rest with a steely glare. "Get a grip! If we find the correlation between every cryptic piece of information, we might finally be able to break free of this illusion."

Without waiting for a response or agreement, you dash off toward the pool, and as you arrive, to your astonishment, the rest ended up following.

Aside from your friend group, Eun-Ha, Na- Hee, and Yu-Jun, the remaining ones do nothing to help. While you search high and low for the right angle the footage could've been captured from—even a glimpse of a hidden camera—the clock ticks by, drawing ever nearer to the hour of death.

"Time's almost up," Kyung-Jun reminds. "Are you all abandoning the poll then?"

"How about we vote in a different way?" Jun-Hee suggests.

So-Mi runs one hand through her hair as she stands akimbo. "I know you mean well, but we don't have enough time to think of another plan. How are we to do it?"

Kyung-Jun casts her aside carelessly and she stumbles, sending him dirty looks from behind his back. "Do you think we're foolish enough to go along with your idea once again? After your last one nearly ended us all? What bullshit are you spewing now?"

"Listen to him first and then decide," Jung-Won reasons, and that settles it for the time being, her intelligence holding weight.

"We have sixteen votes between all of us, and the basis for execution is by the majority. So, why don't we divide the remaining votes equally?"

"Aren't you just trying to save yourself at this point?" Kyung-Jun questions. "You've already received three. Why not take one for the team?"

"I would gladly do it as a last resort."

Jung-Won steps in before pessimism calls for drastic measures. "If I understand this correctly, you want for us to try splitting our choices in order to force a tie?"

"Yes." Jun-Hee's validation draws both curious and concerned murmurs from the group. "If we do so, it will guarantee that all of us will vote without abstaining, and that one person won't be fixed as a target. It'll bypass all the rules we've learned of so far."

"But, who will be one the one to receive the other half of the votes?"

"I will."

"Are you out of your damn mind?!" Kyung-Jun outstretches his hand, almost as if to convince you otherwise, but withdraws when it occurs to him the setting, opting to clench it at his side instead, the vein on his neck visible even under the dim lights.

"Why?" you press. "You all suspected me from the get-go, did you not?" That stuns everyone into silence, unable to refute. "I won't blame anyone. This is my choice."

[ ᴊɪɴ ᴅᴀ-ʙᴜᴍ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ. ]

[ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴏʜ ᴊᴜɴɢ-ᴡᴏɴ. ]

[ ɪᴍ ᴇᴜɴ-ᴄʜᴀɴ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ɴᴀᴍ ʏᴇᴏɴ-ᴡᴏᴏ. ]

[ ɴᴀᴍ ʏᴇᴏɴ-ᴡᴏᴏ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ɪᴍ ᴇᴜɴ-ᴄʜᴀɴ. ]

[ ᴀʜɴ ɴᴀ-ʜᴇᴇ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ. ]

[ ᴏʜ ᴊᴜɴɢ-ᴡᴏɴ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ. ]

[ ʟᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴏɴ-sᴇᴏ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ. ]

[ ʙᴀᴇᴋ ᴇᴜɴ-ʜᴀ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]

[ ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]

[ ᴋɪᴍ ᴅᴏɴɢ-ʜʏᴜɴ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ. ]

[ ᴊᴀɴɢ ʜʏᴜɴ-ʜᴏ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]

[ ᴄʜᴀ ʏᴜ-ᴊᴜɴ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ sᴏ-ᴍɪ. ]

[ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴠᴏᴛᴇ. ]

[ ᴄʜᴏɪ ᴍɪ-ɴᴀ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ sᴏ-ᴍɪ. ]

[ ᴋɪᴍ sᴏ-ᴍɪ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ. ]

[ ᴠᴏᴛɪɴɢ ɪs ɴᴏᴡ ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ. ]

Never has the stretch of sixty seconds felt so long as it did waiting for the follow-up announcement.

But, nothing comes.

Tears of happiness and shrieks of excitement ring through as everyone gathers into group hugs, exclaiming words of congratulations, but soon enough, the first flicker of red lights overhead remind you that it is too good to be true.

It is always too good to be true.

[ ᴀs ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴇ ɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀ ᴏғ ᴠᴏᴛᴇs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴠᴏᴛɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ғɪᴠᴇ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇs. ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴅɪᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄʜᴏᴏsᴇ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ɪɴɪᴛɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴠᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ. ɪғ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴘʟᴀʏᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ sᴛɪʟʟ ᴛɪᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴇxᴇᴄᴜᴛᴇᴅ. ]

Da-Bum's consternation only serves to intensify the collective panic as the lights dim into obscurity. "We can't just all die here!"

The blaring may drown out the screams, but the horrified looks on everyone's faces ceases to fade, guises set deeper by the shadows casted.

Kyung-Jun points a finger at Jun-Hee while taking steps backward, already set to flee. "I knew it! It should have ended with him!"

Eun-Chan's phone nearly drops out of his hold. "Only five of us should vote right? Aside from myself, Yeon-Woo, Mi-Na, and Yu-Jun are also included. Anyone else?"

"Jun-Hee needs to recast his vote too," Da- Bum recalls. "He voted for Jung-Won earlier."

Jun-Hee turns to you, uttering so lowly you can barely tell if he was talking to himself or to you. "That means you already received one less vote..."

“What do we do?!" Mi-Na cries out.

Without hesitation, So-Mi condemns you while looking you dead in the eyes.

"Kim So-Mi!" Jun-Hee shouts angrily, but it's already too late.

She strides toward you and chucks your phone straight into the very bottom of the pool before yanking the school photo out of your hand, your grip having already gone limp long ago.

Tearing it into shreds, she proceeds to fling it upward into the air above, the pieces raining down on you like joss paper they burn for the dead.

"I thought it was odd when she talked about things that didn't exist and dragged us into this mess. It was going to be her anyway. Just do it!"

"This isn't right and you know it!" Jung-Won pushes her away from you, but all you can do is stand stunned, the sirens resounding far too deafeningly in your ears.

"Fuck!" comes Seung-Bin's agitated voice. "Vote for anyone, godammit!"

"All of this happened because of me," Jun-Hee addresses the group. "Choose me... because I'm the Mafia."

Only then do you snap out of your reverie, turning to him with urgency. "What are you doing? Why are you saying something that isn't true!"

He slights you and barrels on, eyes lifeless and fixated aimlessly. Consequent words that fall from his lips are too toneless, too flat, and too run-of-the-mill, for it to be an admission—all it is is a rehearsed cover up act. "I tricked you into giving up your phones so that it would be impossible to win. Any footage left remaining, I also deleted. If we had the time, I could go on and on about the truths I have hidden and the lies I have told. All I wanted was to survive, but killing people to do so...I cant bear it anymore."

"So he confesses in the end." Kyung-Jun scoffs. "It seems I'm right again."

Disregarding your surroundings, you move toward Jun-Hee and clutch at his hand, the warmth from earlier on the rooftop having dissipated. "I can't let you do this!" you sob out, choking over your words before they can even form. "If you're doing this to protect me, then break the promise you made to yourself. Break it over and over again. I'd trade it all, including myself, to keep you, please..."

It finally dawns on you that in exchange for not smashing the promise into a thousand pieces, your heart is the one that's shattered into a million pieces.

Jun-Hee at long last slides his eyes over to yours, and through your haze of tears, you can see him holding his own back from falling.

You hide your hurt, your disappointment, and your heartbreak, and he pretends he doesn't notice.

His eyes trail over every feature of your face, etching it into memory, and you feel your heart strings snap one by one as he looks at you like it's the last time he ever will.

"You promised! That you would be here for as long as I need you. I still need you, Jun-Hee..."

[ ᴄʜᴏɪ ᴍɪ-ɴᴀ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]

[ ɪᴍ ᴇᴜɴ-ᴄʜᴀɴ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]

Pounding footsteps grow fainter and fainter as the others run to safety, leaving everything else behind thoughtlessly.

[ ɴᴀᴍ ʏᴇᴏɴ-ᴡᴏᴏ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]

[ ᴄʜᴀ ʏᴜ-ᴊᴜɴ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]

[ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴠᴏᴛᴇs ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠᴇᴅ, ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴇxᴇᴄᴜᴛᴇᴅ. ]

Against the growing distance, you hold on until you can't anymore, until Jun-Hee's fingertips are no longer with reach, slipping away from you.

As you get pulled farther and farther away, the jade stone charm dangles in your peripheral vision and you make a wish.

One last chance at a saving grace.

Please, always come back to me.

When your tears distort the image of Jun-Hee in front of you, all you can feel is the bracelet still wound around your wrist, colored like the red string of fate, tethering you to him.

You cling to the string that feels like it's unwinding, holding on to the millions of fraying threads stretched between you two, keeping it from severing.

Gradually, he wanes from view and all that's left is a carmine inferno in your vision.

Perhaps that harabeoji was right after all.

Luck does only come once in a lifetime.

And that, is the greatest misfortune of all.

𝟬𝟲 : 𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦 | 𝟬𝟴 : 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗’𝗩𝗘, 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗’𝗩𝗘, 𝗪𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗’𝗩𝗘

© 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨, 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

[littlemarianah]

Can u pretty pleases give us some domestic everlark head canons? Like I know for a fact they're disgustedly in love post war, Haymitch is always gagging looking at those making googly eyes at each other at every chance. I can imagine Katniss following Peeta to the bathroom just because she doesn't want to let go of his hand.

Hi, non. How are you? Sorry for taking so long to answer your ask.

OH YEA, They are terribly, sickeningly in love. They finally experience the suffocating teenage love they never had the opportunity to experience.

Something interesting about Katniss is that she never talks about being embarrassed about kissing, even in front of everyone on TV. I think she just kisses or hugs Peeta whenever she wants. It doesn't matter if Haymitch (recently sober and much more consistent) is there. He just sighs and goes outside to smoke a cigarette until they both calm down.

I think that especially in the first two or three years there is still a lot of pain. There is a lot to heal and a lot to rebuild. I imagine Peeta and Katniss learning to live in that house with so many memories and walking through the ashes of D12.

Katniss still has a lot of nightmares, spends days in bed without wanting to eat or take a shower. If it weren't for Peeta picking her up and putting her in the bathtub and then putting small pieces of bread in her mouth to feed her, she would probably be dead.

Peeta still has some panic attacks. Every now and then he puts his head between his knees and howls like an animal. His large body becomes shaky and fragile. Katniss needs to hug him and hold his hands so he doesn't get hurt himself. When he calms down, she lies down next to him and sings him a song until he sleeps.

They both need each other. They develop an irrational fear of being far from each other. After a few years this improves, a lot of therapy and a lot of healing is necessary to get there.

They learn to laugh and play again. Peeta discovers Katniss has a dark sense of humor. And Katniss discovers that Peeta loves to prank her. They buy a battery-powered radio and learn to dance to the music. They fall in love again.

like I wrote about this once:

We were happy. Happy as we've never been before. We started dancing again. Spinning to the music on the radio in our living room until late at night. We started laughing for no reason again. We fell in love again, as if it were the first time. We had the honeymoon we never had. I wanted him so much that I felt physical pain if I wasn't by his side.

He would drag me to that small storeroom in the bakery and I would pull him to the kitchen counter. It was good to feel desired, it was good to feel his body on mine. We got so much worse than we were, he started telling me things I hadn't even imagined and they actually made me blush. I wanted him all the day and all the time, and when he wasn't around I crawled between my sheets and ran my hands down to the hem of my pants.