#i mite just cry

[glitterbombedshadow]

When my friends ask me why I'm still in the fandom and don't plan on leaving I just show them this video (or corn guy getting his brain view)

[rat-tomago]

literally i am so scaried 4 my trip tmrw, like i knowwww its a super fast trip and itll b over before i even know it. but i already miss my bf and my bird and My Things and like im not even gone yet!!!

[liveyun]

EYES LIKE STARS | 1

banner by the amazing @itaeewon 🌧️

summary. “He was everything you were not. He was perfect—too perfect. Always kind, always excelling, always loved by everyone, even your own parents, like a reminder of everything you weren’t. And you hated this. You hated him. You hated the way he always included you, the way he tried to help, as if you ever needed his pity. He was always there, almost like a shadow you could never escape.

Returning to the town that holds both your earliest memories and silent secrets, you’re forced to confront not only the unsolved knots you’d left behind all those years ago, but the boy who was always at the center of your pain. Whose eyes have always seen right through you : Jungkook.”

title. Eyes like Stars

pairing. Jeon Jungkook x afab reader/oc

status. ongoing

rating. M (18+)

genre. e2f2e2L (you get it), angst, drama, romance, boy next door sorta situation, emotional baggage, slow burn, eventual smut

wc. 9.5k +

warnings. (for this chapter) coarse language, OC being in denial and this is just the beginning LOL , parental negligence / toxic parenting , flashbacks, slight mention injuries (knee scraping) and crying , panic attack :( , oc is kinda.. eh, SOMEONE is introduced 😵‍💫, this is it for the first part, lmk if i missed any other warnings, “english isnt my first language” so can contain grammatical errors, not proof read + the last part omfg

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Some doors, no matter how tightly shut, always find a way to open.

The sun was up after the drizzle, which bathed the town in a subtle golden haze, the kind that made everything feel a little too warm, a little too nostalgic. You walked slowly, almost as if your feet were dragging against the weight of the years you’d left behind. A part of you did not really want to be here, but a greater part of you knew you cannot continue to run away from everything like you always have.

Such a coward.

Your home stood at the end of a narrow lane, tucked away like a secret that had been kept for far too long, to the point you felt like it maybe didn’t exist anymore. The house looked the same, yet different, almost as if it had aged in your absence - funny, because although it looked pretty worn out, nothing really felt off. Or did it? The paint was chipped, the garden overgrown, the lawn and grass both destroyed.

But it was still the place you’d once called home—a place that had witnessed more arguments than apologies, more silence than understanding. You pause, staring at the old, browned door as if it’s a portal to another world— always has been— to a world where you were always second best, always compared, always found wanting, longing, no— yearning for the bare minimum. Your own once called home which always felt like a far distant place for you.

It still does.

The windows stare back at you, blank and lifeless, just like the eyes that used to watch you so closely, judging every move, every breath. You don’t want to go inside, but you know you have to. You cannot keep on running away anymore. You are tired, but you dont exactly know if doing something which has your gut churning with disdain can be exactly considered as rest or relaxation.

You notice that the shabby WELCOME door mat which was once a home for mites is no longer at the front door anymore.

As you drew closer, your eyes involuntarily flickered to the house next door. The garden was well-tended, prettiest of the flowers scattered in the greenery in full bloom, just like how you’d remembered.

As always.

The house stood as if nothing had changed there— as if time had preserved that house and all its memories in a neat little bubble. Always so full of life, always so welcoming. You bite down the bitterness which floats up your chest at the thought. Push down the small voice in the back of your head which insists that you will never be welcomed the way a static house makes you feel.

A part of you, the part you’d tried to bury, kick away— wondered if he still lived there. If his parents still looked out from the same windows, waiting for their golden boy to come home.

Who cares.

You quickly turned your gaze away, focusing on the worn steps leading up to her own front door. Your hand trembles as you reach for the doorknob, the cold metal biting into your skin. You’d previously informed your mum through a text message that you will be visiting them, which you didn’t bother or have the energy to check if she’d actually seen.

Your hand on the knob stills, and you purse your lips in thought. You’d decided it’d be a bit courteous to knock instead of just barging in — perhaps some basic decency to spare — although if it was your own home — as if it ever was. You raise your fists to knock— and the door creaked open before you could really.

There she stood.

The same face that had greeted you with tired smiles and even more tired expectations, back in the days when her face was devoid of wrinkles, and full of youthful beauty. The same person who’d cradled you on her bosom and cherished you; the same person who at least tried to make an effort to mend some broken ties, although when she was very well aware it was way too late.

“You’re back,” your mother said, her voice heavy with something that wasn’t quite disappointment but wasn’t quite relief either. She sounded tired— and your mind partially thought if it was because of you. You really felt overwhelmed by emotions, you really did.

You felt the back of your eyes burn with tears — that familiar feeling which you’d remembered was a staple one when you used to live here back in your teenage days. You wanted to engulf her in a hug and just cry, hoping that you could just, for once, forget about whatever had ever happened, and truly be a child once again.

“I’m back,” you reply, deciding to push aside any fleeting emotions which dared to threaten you. You stepped inside as soon as your mom moved aside and let the familiar scent of home—of old furniture — of broken communication — of forgotten dreams —wash over you.

— — —

Inside, the house was just as you’d remembered it. The wallpaper was still peeling in the corners, the furniture still arranged the way it had been since you were a child. It smelled like old wood, dust, the old sandalwood diffuser — and something bitter that lingered in the air, like the remnants of a fight that never really ended.

The walls seem closer than you remember, the space smaller, suffocating. Everything is the same, yet different, distorted by the journey of time and the weight of all that’s been left unsaid. Was any of the furniture ever even moved ever since you’d left? You’re in doubt.

However, the air was thick with unspoken tension, a tension that had always existed— but was now more prominent, more suffocating. You could feel the weight of your mother’s gaze on you, as if she were waiting for her to say something, anything, to break the silence that had settled between them like thick snow.

Although it’s been so long, surprisingly, you didnt really have anything to break the ice with.

Or even if you did, you didn’t want to.

You move through the house on autopilot, your feet carrying you to the living room where you remember the echoes of your parents’ voices being the loudest. You felt disgruntled — upset, at how memories of your parents fighting are the only prominent thing you can remember vividly inside this house. You wanted to laugh ; you can almost see them standing there, locked in yet another battle of wills, their words sharp and cutting, slicing through the air like knives, and you— you ?

Perhaps standing in some corner with your favorite old teddy bear, covering your ears the best you could, trembling with sobs, wondering if this would ever stop. Their words, though, are like a very vague memory to you. Almost as if someone is tingling a metal glass in the back of your head, far away, and the echoes which reach you are the only thing audible.

They were always fighting, always tearing each other apart, and you were always caught in the crossfire, collateral damage in a war that wasn’t even yours to fight.

But it was you who paid the price, every single time.

You hear footsteps, and your throat goes dry. The realization that you recognize the footsteps is beyond disturbing to you, as the fact that you even know who the owner of the footsteps is.

From recognising footsteps to vehicle horns, you grew up, and this would never not be able to turn on a switch in the back of your head. You knew the footsteps, their urgency, or even their tone, may you be called crazy. And you perhaps are delusional to think that maybe these steps are rather relaxed and slow. . .

perks of growing in a strict family, you guess.

Your father emerged from the kitchen, his steps slow and deliberate. His eyes, now very much lacking of the light they used to radiate, widen ever so slightly, but then again, come back to their usual resting form. Almost as if he tried to mask his. . . disappointment?

You weren’t sure, and his expression wasn’t one of happiness, either.

He looked older, more worn, but his eyes held the same disapproval you had seen so many times before. The kind of disapproval that was never voiced but was always felt.

A kind of disapproval you felt in your veins even before you were faced to force it, almost as if it was imprinted deep in your veins, that no matter what you’d do, you’re going to get this stamp of resentment passed onto you.

“Long time,” he muttered, his eyes flicking over yours as if assessing the damage of the years. The silence which has stretched all over these years. You were surprised that he even decided to speak up, remembering the time when you departed.. wasn’t exactly as serene as a teary goodbye sounded like, but that was a memory you refused to unlock.

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

You grimace at how dry you sounded, but you couldn’t help it. Maybe because it’s partially the fact that you didn't know what to answer, or maybe because..

Well.

You stood there, the three of you, now, in the cramped living room that had never felt like a home to you. You wonder if it did to them too, or was it just the forced idea of it being a home to rest their heads in made them used to the idea that it was a home. Misunderstandings which haunt you, as their child, you sure are to know that they must haunt them too.

You were someone who tried fixing them, who never once tried to do that themselves, right in the place where it all began, pretending it was home, when all it ever felt like was a place they were too tired to leave.

The silence in the room felt heavy, oppressive, broken only by the faint ticking of the old clock on the wall which seemed to drag time over and over.

It once again felt like their eyes pierced your very own soul, trying to burn you with their gaze.

“I’ll get dinner started,” your mother echoed, turning away before anyone could respond. It was easier, you supposed, to keep busy than to confront the reality of your return.

Or her expectations. Who knows.

You nodded, more to yourself than to anyone else, and followed your mother into the kitchen. You weren’t surprised that your father opted to go outside — a habit you’d recall which was so frequent back in the olden days when everything was a frenzied mess. Either he used to be out puffing out nicotine, or simply. . . didn’t return home until he felt like it.

— — —

The kitchen was smaller than you’d remembered, or maybe you’d just grown up. The shelves were no longer as tall as Burj Khalifa to you, and neither were the long random cabinets— who were the same dull brown, the countertops cluttered with the same appliances that had seen better days.

Your breath stuttered at how even the products you’d seen were the same, not a single new thing filled there— from the good ol’ crunchy cereal cornflakes (which was barely even consumed for breakfast,) or the chilli crisp you’d loved to drizzle on top of nearly any dish you’d had.

Truly, nothing really had changed.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” your mother’s voice reached out to you as you nearly flinched, not having expected her to begin a conversation. She was diligent in her chore; her question was like a soft command which demanded an answer, not looking up from where she was peeling potatoes, with that same old lilac handled peeler.

“Yeah,” you repeat, this time truly not knowing what else to say. To say you felt like a dumbass was an understatement; because truly, after so long, you seem to have lost the spark to even think to answer.

However , you didn’t want to explain yourself, didn’t want to justify why you’d stayed away for so long. You didn’t owe them that. You didn’t owe them anything.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. It felt better that way.

The silence returned, heavy and uncomfortable. You found yourself staring out the small kitchen window, your gaze drifting to the house next door. You could see the top of the garden wall, the vibrant green of the plants that lined it.

It was strange how one small thing could hold so many memories, how one small thing could make you feel so much. Much more than being inside of your own house ever did, or ever could.

Yet, something about it feels different now, like a memory you’ve revisited too many times, its edges blurred with the weight of all you’ve carried inside you for decades.

You can almost see him there, in the yard, surrounded by laughter that wasn’t just his—it was a magnet, he was like a magnet, pulling everyone into its orbit, everyone except you. You were always on the outside looking in, (and it’s nearly ironic how you are now too,) your heart a silent witness to the joy you could never touch, never reach.

Even when he reached out, trying to pull you into that magnetic circle of warmth, you resisted. Your pride was too wounded, your envy was too sharp. How could you join in when every smile of his was a reminder of everything you could never be?

.....

Fuck.

You quickly look away, focusing on the mundane task of setting the table, very well knowing that your mom is gonna do that again. But the curiosity lingered, like a small fucking bug, a small, nagging feeling that you couldn’t quite shake out of you.

You did not want to think about him. You did not come here all the way to remember someone who has always just,. . . you sigh, gritting your teeth. Here were you again, fretting and sweating. Your mind whirred, not wanting to remember the way his smile had once made you feel both seen and invisible at the same time.

— — —

You decide you could take a walk around to fuck around and.. uh, find out, maybe? (You weren’t sure what exactly, though.)

As you maneuver through the hallway, your gaze drifts to the old family photos hanging on the wall. They seem. . out of place, like relics from a time that never really existed, or more like pieces on . . a museum? A museum where no one cared for its content , and everything was just randomly added to make something out of nothing.

You were always smiling in those pictures, but it was a smile that never reached your eyes—a smile that hid the exhaustion inside you. And there, in the corner of every photo, was him.

Even in those memories, those old photos, he was perfect. The golden boy with the bright eyes and the easy smile. His eyes were so bright and full of a happiness that seemed to come so naturally, would crinkle at the corners when he smiled—an easy, effortless smile that lit up his entire face.

His hair, always a little tousled from running around, caught the sunlight in a way that made it glow, adding to the image of him as the golden boy. You remember the way his front teeth, slightly larger and giving him that bunny-like appearance, would peek out when he grinned, adding a touch of innocence to his already charming features. He’s grinning widely in this picture, his nose crinkled up and his fingers poised in a victory sign, aligned to his face, right above his eyes, a smile so infectious that you feel your lips stretch to a smile even before you know it.

Your heart drops to your ass.

You’re smiling.

You can still hear their voices,though. Dripping with disappointment every time they said his name, their expectations pressing down on you like a weight you could never lift. You were expected to be someone’s walking copy— perfect and what not. You were the one who couldn’t measure up, the one who always fell short, who always came last in the race.

You take a deep breath, but it feels like you’re inhaling shards of glass, each breath painful, deep and cutting. The silence in the house is deafening, only the distant noise of your mother chopping up vegetables with that same dull thud against the chop board audible.

It doesn’t take you long to realize that the absence of your parents’ voices is more suffocating than their arguments ever were. You had always wished for the fighting to stop, but now that it has, you find yourself wishing for the noise, the chaos—anything to drown out the silence that presses in on you from all sides.

Maybe you had finally gone insane.

You had run away from it all. From the piercing noises, comparison, disdain, disappointment, everything. You were so young back then, with no knowledge of the outside world or its secrets.

You’d try to settle in different parts of the world, failing miserably each time because that feeling of something missing in your soul— that deep longing and yearning for anything that wasn’t as quick as getting a quick whiff of dopamine.. never quite left following you.

And now, here you are, back where it all began, and nothing has changed. Except, perhaps, you. You’re not the same girl who left this place. You’ve seen too much, been through too much. The world has carved its mark on you, left you scarred and weary, and you’re not sure if there’s anything left of the girl you used to be.

But as you stand there, looking out at the endless pictures which hang on the old plastered walls where the past that still haunts you, you realize something.

You’re not just angry anymore.

You’re tired.

Tired of carrying this weight, this burden of resentment and hurt. Tired of blaming all the misunderstandings that were woven into the delicate fabric of your mind as you grew up, to someone who perhaps wasn't even slightly related to your pain.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t really him you despised, but the circumstances that had pushed you to see him as the source of your pain, which had settled like dust in the chambers of your heart. The misunderstandings that had tangled themselves into the delicate fabric of your mind as you grew up, weaving him into the narrative of your suffering, were unfair to you both.

It felt easier to blame him than to confront the truth—that your pain had roots far deeper than just one boy with a bright smile and kind heart.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to let go.

The thought surprises you, shakes you to your core. Where the fuck did that come from?

The thought not only surprises you, but mostly, scares you. You take a cautious step back. It comes with a dozen questions which you fear that you don’t know the answers to, or are way too confused to even think about them.

You’ve held onto this anger for so long, let it define you, shape you. Who will you be without it? Can you really let go of something that has been a part of you for so long?

Did it really take you this long to realise this, all that, too in the place where you desperately ran away from?

You don’t have the answers, not yet. But standing here, in this place where it all began, you think that maybe you’re ready to start looking for them.

And that scares you more than anything else.

You find yourself staring at a sketchbook, after dinner, which was all just . . . once again, all silence. You remember how you realised that the food tasted bland, despite having a home cooked meal after nearly a decade. You tried adding salt till it was way too salty, and you had to gulp down each morsel because it became too bitter for your taste. The suffocating silence was broken when the bubbling hot stew burnt your tongue, as you yelped in pain. The only relief you got was gulping down a whole bottle of iced water from the fridge.

Your tongue feels numb now. Great.

Your eyes roam over the sketchbook again, its once pristine pages now yellowed with age. It was a relic from your childhood, buried deep in the attic with dust for years until your return home unearthed it. As you trace the lines of the drawing on the first page, you remember the day you made it—a simple scene of a house on a hill, surrounded by trees and bathed in the warm glow of a sunset, and those huge “V” shaped birds marked randomly near the sun.

You remember that you were so proud of that drawing, each line and color carefully chosen by your younger self, an attempt to capture a world that felt safe and beautiful.

An imaginary place where you’d even thought of making stick figures to show you and your parents, a world where they lived happily, but the vague pencil traces underneath the pastel scribbling show that you’d decided it was better without it.

But the memory of showing it to your parents is what lingers most. You remember how your excitement had bubbled over as you presented the drawing to your parents, your young heart brimming with pride. You’d spent hours on that piece, the house on the hill, the yellow-ish hues of the sunset, the trees swaying gently in the imaginary breeze. You thought it was the best thing you’d ever created.

But when you placed the sketchbook in front of them, eager for their approval, their reactions were far from what you had hoped.

Your mother’s eyes had flickered over the page, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t say anything at first, just handed the sketchbook over to your father, who barely glanced at it before returning to his newspaper. It was your mother who finally broke the silence, her voice flat and dismissive. “It’s… fine,” she’d said, and that single word was like a bucket of cold water on your excitement, your hard work.

You remember vividly, how your heart sank, how the colours of your drawing seemed to dull right before your eyes. How hours of scribbling felt like it’d all been to waste. The pride you’d felt moments before quickly evaporated, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You were too young to understand why her words stung so much, but old enough to know they did.

But then your mother’s tone shifted, a hint of something sharper creeping into her voice. Her eyes, dark and clear, were on you. “You know,” she’d continued, “Jungkook showed us a drawing he did just last week. It was a landscape too, but he added so much detail. The way he captured the mountains and the way the light reflected on the water… It was really impressive. His technique is really improving.”

Your father chimed in, not even looking up. “Yes, he’s always had a good eye for these things, hah. Natural talent, I suppose.”

You’d just stood there in the corner, your limbs feeling way too weak and shaky to hold you up.

You’d tried to keep your expression neutral, tried to swallow the hollow pain in your chest, but it was no use. The resentment boiled inside you, twisting something in your chest until all you could feel was the unfairness of it all. You had wanted to create something beautiful, to show them what you were capable of, that you could do better, but instead, your drawing had become just another reminder of how you didn’t measure up.

The sting of their words burned hot behind your eyes, and before you knew it, tears were blurring your vision. You didn’t want to cry in front of them, didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing how deeply they had hurt you. So you bolted from the yard, the sound of their conversation fading behind you as you ran, feeling even hurt that none of your parents bothered to ask about where you were going.

But your vision was too clouded by tears, and as you reached the stairs, you’d feel your foot catch on the edge of a step. You stumbled forward, eyes widening, your arms flailing as you tried to catch yourself, but it was too late. You’d fallen, hard, the impact of your knee against the hardwood sending a sharp jolt of pain through your leg.

You remember the way your mother had smiled when she talked about Jungkook’s drawing, a soft, admiring smile that she rarely directed at you. It wasn’t just the critique of your work that hurt—it was the realization that, in their eyes, Jungkook would always outshine you. No matter how hard you tried, how much effort you put in, he was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, while you were just… there.

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, partly from the pain, but mostly from the overwhelming sense of rejection and inadequacy. You sat there on the stairs, your knee scraped and bleeding, the ache in your chest even worse than the one on your knee. The drawing that had once filled you with pride now felt like a cruel joke, a reminder of how you would always fall short, no matter how hard you tried.

You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, angry at yourself for crying, angry at them for making you feel this way, and angry at Jungkook for being the perfect son they never had. The resentment grew deeper, and with it, so did the belief that you were never going to be good enough for them, no matter what you did.

— — —

The moon is full overhead when you finally change into some comfortable PJs and finally feel sleep knock on the back of your eyelids and exhaustion making its way to move gradually along your body. Today wasn’t exactly eventful, but rather a concoction of memories which tickled and stung you like a thousand bees over and over.

You’ve decided to keep the windows open, . . .for tonight, atleast, because you do not dare sleep without feeling suffocated here. It sounds silly, but having nice ventilation feels. . . fresh, or more so.

You were around fourteen, you think, as you remember sitting on the edge of the playground, kicking at the dirt with the toes of your worn sneakers. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the field, and you could hear the other kids shouting and playing, their voices mingling with the distant hum of traffic.

You weren’t interested in joining them. Your eyes were fixed on a figure in the distance, one you knew all too well.

Jungkook.

He was standing by the swings, laughing with a group of boys who seemed to hang on his every word. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he pushed it back, and his smile—God, that smile—was so bright, so beautiful, it almost hurt to look at. You hated that smile. You hated how perfect he seemed, how effortless everything was for him. And you hated how, no matter what you did, you could never seem to escape his shadow. No wonder the girls were so hung up on him, even the class president— it was ridiculous.

That day had started like any other, with your parents reminding you how you should be more like Jungkook. They praised his grades, his athletic abilities, and his charm. Either a direct implication of “Why can’t you be more like him?” or something like “You know, Jungkook— blah blah blah, all that bullshit about how he was better than you in every aspect. Even if it was the topic of increasing acne on your face, not realising—or maybe not caring—how their words cut you down. You knew they meant well, or maybe not, but each comparison felt like a knife to your heart, a reminder that you would never be good enough.

That you’ll never be him.

You were lost in your thoughts when you felt a presence beside you. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Hey,” Jungkook said, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “Why are you sitting here alone?” His voice was always so soft. So gentle.

You hated his voice. Why did he sound so. . . sweet ? so smooth, almost with a slight undertone of a rasp. Why did it make you want to surrender and break down into the frustration which was pent up inside you since ages?

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak. Your throat felt tight, your chest heavy. You wanted to tell him to go away, to leave you alone, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because as much as you resented him, wanted him away from you, you somehow wanted him near you, a feeling which was hugely perplexing to you. It was a twisted, painful contradiction that you didn’t fully understand, nor you’d ever wanted to.

Jungkook sat down beside you, right on the dusty ground, his knee brushing against yours. The contact sent a jolt, a feeling of fleeting emotions through you, but you didn’t move away. Instead, you kept your eyes fixed on the ground, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears that were threatening to spill over.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Of course he’s gonna be concerned.

And that was the thing about Jungkook—he was always so kind, so considerate, even when you didn’t want him to be. It only made you feel worse. It only made you feel like utter shit, like you were not meant for anything, not even basic human compassion.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your emotions in check. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook didn’t seem convinced. He shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. He smelled like baby powder mixed with sweat. Irritating. “You know you can talk to me, right? If something’s bothering you.”

You almost laughed at the irony. How could you talk to him when he was the source of so much of your pain? When everyday you had to just, suffer because of him? How could you tell him that every time you looked at him, you felt like you were drowning in your own inadequacy? That every time he succeeded, it felt like another reminder of your failures? While he was always praised, always encouraged, while you were left to wonder why your efforts never seemed to measure up?

But instead of saying any of that, you just nodded, giving him the answer he wanted. Because you couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing you as weak, as vulnerable. You couldn’t let him know how deeply he had affected you.

There was a long silence between you, the kind that felt like it was stretching out forever. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, feel the tension in your chest building with every passing second. And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Jungkook spoke again.

“You know, you’re really talented,” he said, his voice slightly higher than usual, a habit you hate to have noticed when he gets excited about something. “I just saw your abstract sketches the other day. Holy shit dude, they’re amazing!”

You didn’t know if your heart hammering in your chest sounded more or the silence after his praise did. He, however, didn’t stop there.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

His words were meant to be comforting, but they only served to twist the knife deeper. Because at that moment, you realised that he didn’t understand. He couldn’t. To him, everything came so easily—success, praise, admiration. But for you, it was a constant struggle, a battle you fought every day just to keep your head above water.

You turned to look at him then, really look at him, not caring if your eyes are brimming with unshed tears or if your nose is runny with snot and tears.

And for the first time, you saw the boy behind the perfect image. There was a softness in his eyes, a sincerity that made your heart ache. And for a fleeting moment, you wanted to believe him, to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were more than the sum of your insecurities.

But then reality came crashing back, and the bitterness you had tried so hard to suppress bubbled to the surface.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice flat, on the verge of cracking, devoid of the warmth you knew he was expecting. “But I don’t need your pity.”

Jungkook blinked, his doe eyes widening, taken aback by your sudden harshness. “It’s not—”

“Just leave me alone,” you’d hissed, standing up abruptly. You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you turned and walked away, your heart pounding in your chest, your blood rushing onto your face. You could feel his eyes on your back, but you didn’t dare look back. Because if you did, you knew you would see the hurt in his expression, and you couldn’t handle that. Not when you were already so close to breaking.

And so you ran. Ran so fast, so hard, that you felt your chest constrict and gulp for air— the static breeze feeling like wind on your face as you ran, ran, ran. Ran till your limbs gave away and your head hurt, till you feel your insides eat you up with a strange mix of emotions—anger, regret, sadness.

But most of all, you felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness, even if you felt like you did the right thing. Because in pushing Jungkook away, you had also pushed away the one person who might have understood, who might have been able to help you. . . only if you hadn’t pushed him away.

But it was too late now. The damage was done, and you were left to pick up the pieces alone.

But as you stare at the sketchbook now, under the glowing moonlight, running your fingers over the faded lines of the drawing, the sketches you’d made again — you see it with different eyes—eyes that can appreciate the innocence in those lines, the earnestness of a child who only wanted to create something beautiful. The proportions might not be perfect, almost nothing in those sketches were — but there’s a charm in their simplicity, a warmth in the colors that you hadn’t noticed before. They were all good drawings, you think, not because of their technical skill, but because they were a reflection of who you were back then—hopeful, imaginative, and full of dreams.

And maybe, just maybe, you had been a little too hard on yourself all those years ago.

You hadn’t even planned to be here.

The moment your father casually mentioned that the Jeons still lived next door, you felt that familiar, uncomfortable pressure building in your chest. You didn’t absolutely know why that information passed on, especially when after a heavy restless night of feeling like crap, your muscles aching from exhaustion , your brain unable to process every thought which you’d thought, you were finally up to join your parents for an early evening tea.

His voice was cheerful, like he had no idea the gravity of what he was suggesting, but you felt it immediately. Every time the conversation veered toward your neighbors, it dredged up feelings you weren’t ready to confront. The Jeons—his parents—meant one thing, and ultimately, one thing only: Jungkook.

The mention of their name was enough to send your mind into overdrive, painting images of polite conversation and awkward laughter, images that twisted into something far more unbearable—seeing him. You could already hear the follow-up conversation in your mother’s saccharine sweet voice, “Why don’t you come over and say hello? Catch up with the Jeons?” And worst of all, they’d ask about you. You felt despondent to even think of the conversation, if it ever took place.

You weren’t used to the warmth which Mr. and Mrs. Jeon had shown you throughout the years, which only made you doubt if they ever knew the thick wall of ash between their son and you. They were so copacetically well humored, it almost hurt to be in a conversation with them.

Almost as if you never were used to this form of decency, that it shocked you to your core.

Jungkook’s parents would definitely ask, and you'd be expected to stand there and smile like you hadn't left everything behind. You know they definitely wouldn’t mean anything hurtful, but you do not believe your mind.

Not yet, atleast.

Before your parents could suggest anything more, before they could casually lead you down that path of small talk and forced interactions, you’d mumbled a vague excuse. Something about needing to stretch your legs, or needing some air.

You really did, though.

You’d slipped out the front door like you were running away, and you shook away the bitterness forming in your throat. You weren’t sure where you were going, only that it had to be away from that conversation, away from the chance of seeing him.

As your feet carried you through the familiar streets, your mind raced faster than your heart. The narrow, winding streets were the same, the faded signs on shop windows were the same, but the memories that clung to the air—they were suffocating.

You’d always thought coming back would be simple. Walk down memory lane, see familiar faces, and pretend you were someone new. But the weight of those memories hung over you, each one sharper than the last. With every corner you turned, you felt the tug of your past, a pull you couldn’t quite shake away, no matter how hard you’d tried to shrug it off.

— — —

You found yourself slipping into a small café you hadn’t noticed before, just off the main road, desperate for a reprieve.

What’s the name— 134340? Quite strange, you think, but shrug it off once again. People are creative with their business requirements, even if that means that you probably make out nothing from eyeing the café from outside. except the fact that. . . it’s possibly space themed?

Now that is strange for a coffee shop.

You think that it’s quite new. Or, who even knows. It stands out from the dull shops lit nearby, and there’s quite a buzz which attracts you here, although you’d prefer a quiet café over a bustling one any day.

Well, fuck it.

The smell of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries greeted you as you stepped inside, the hum of quiet conversation and the soft clink of mugs providing a much-needed escape. It’s surprisingly cozy, something you’d never guessed from the odd name and the theme previously. The café is small, actually smaller than most you’ve been to. Though, it’s nice, there are fewer people here, and you quite find yourself at peace already. You chose a table near the back, away from the windows, trying to create some distance from the life outside.

You hadn’t planned to stay long, but the peaceful atmosphere lulled you into a false sense of security. You let out a long breath, allowing the tension to ease from your shoulders as you sipped your coffee. Ha, thisfelt nice. For a few blissful moments, you felt like you could breathe again. Almost like. . . maybe you could handle this return to your hometown after all.

And then, the door chimes.

You barely looked up at first—just another customer, maybe a loner like you, someone else in this quiet café. But then the barista’s voice cut through the room, clear and distinct.

“Macchiato for Jungkook!”

Huh?

Your hand froze halfway to your cup. The familiar sound of his name hit you like a punch to the gut, making your breath hitch.

No fucking way.

Your gaze shot up, almost instinctively, and that’s when you saw him. There, standing by the counter, picking up his drink like it was the most casual thing in the world. Him.

Your heart seemed to lurch into your throat. It couldn’t be him—it couldn’t. And yet, there he was, right in front of you, a few inches away.

The room seemed to shrink around you, your pulse quickening as your eyes locked onto him. You felt yourself gasping for air, your peace long broken. Your body felt suddenly too warm, your chest tightening painfully as every nerve in your body screamed for you to look away.

But you just couldn’t.

He had changed.

The boy you left behind had grown into someone you barely recognized. His back was visible to you— his frame was broader, more solid than you remembered, and his shoulders— God, what the fuck? they seemed to stretch forever beneath the dark jacket he wore. His hair, slightly tousled, deep raven — as you’d remembered— framed his face in that familiar, careless way, but it was sharper now. Defined. There was no mistaking the confidence in the way he carried himself, something he hadn't fully grown into back then.

But what stood out most—what nearly knocked the breath from your lungs—were those— were those. . . tattoos peeking underneath his jacket?

Jungkook's arm, the one that used to be bare, now carried intricate black ink that snaked from his wrist to his elbow, disappearing under the sleeve of his jacket. The lines were bold, winding and curling, and you felt your jaw drop, even if he was standing at a distance. The tattoos seemed to catch the light as he reached for his drink, each motion of his arm drawing your attention like a magnet.

You couldn’t stop staring. The boy you remembered—the one who had always been so kind, so open—had become someone else entirely.

One who stood in stark contrast to the memories you had clung to.

And he was alone.

Jungkook had always been surrounded by people. He was known to be the crowd attractor, always having his admirers petting him by his neck. He was never the type to go anywhere without friends trailing behind him, their laughter filling the spaces around him. But here, now, in this café—he was by himself. There was a stillness about him that you didn’t remember, something quiet and self-assured.

Now, it almost felt like he didn’t need anyone around him to validate his presence. He was comfortable in his own skin, by himself.

That realisation hit you harder than you expected. He had changed in ways you hadn’t anticipated, ways that made your chest tighten with emotions you couldn’t even begin to name.

And then, just as you thought your heart might explode from your chest, Jungkook turned slightly, his eyes sweeping across the café—casually, as if he were taking in his surroundings—and your stomach dropped.

Fuck, fuck. The coffee was so strong, you feel it lurching up your stomach now.

You flinched, ducking your head quickly, heart pounding so loud you thought he might hear it across the room. Did he see you? Could he have recognized you after all these years? Your breath was shallow, uneven, panic rising in your throat as you wrestled with the urge to bolt from your seat.

You weren’t ready for this.

You weren’t ready to face him. Not here, not now. Not when you were still so caught up in your own thoughts, still trying to piece together the fragments of what your brain showed you. You’d come here for a cup of coffee— some peace— and seeing him again, after all this time, felt too much, and too little at once. It was like a bomb, or a bucket of ice cold water thrown directly at you.

It was overwhelming.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your bag, your movements jerky and uncoordinated. Your heart was racing, and every instinct in your body was telling you to run. But you hesitated, torn between the undeniable urge to leave and the part of you that wanted to look at him just once more. Just to see if he had really changed as much as you thought. Just to see if he, unlike this town, your home, had changed.

But you knew better. You couldn’t stay. Not with your emotions so close to the surface, threatening to spill over. If he saw you, if he recognized you—if he spoke to you— you didn’t know if you could handle that.

Because you know you can’t.

The café, once so peaceful, now felt stifling, the walls closing in on you as your breath quickened. You couldn’t breathe. You needed to get out of here, needed to escape before everything came crashing down.

With one final glance at his figure, standing there by the counter, you pushed your chair back, the screeching sound drawing more attention than you would have liked. But you didn’t care. You grabbed your things and bolted for the door, your pulse pounding in your ears, your steps quick and uneven.

You’d nearly made it. The door was just a few steps away, and all you had to do was keep your head down and walk.

Your heart was still hammering in your chest, the anxiety twisting your insides as you tried to steady your breathing. Jungkook hadn’t seen you—or at least you hoped he hadn’t. You prayed to heavens and hells that he hadn’t. But just as you reached for the door, you saw him lean against the counter, much closer now. Far closer than you had anticipated.

Fuck. Fuck!

The café’s single door was right beside where he stood, and there was no way out without passing directly by him.

Oh no.

You shouldn’t have chosen this café. Was there no other cafés for you to try? Did HE necessarily have to be in the same café as you?

Your stomach churned, your pulse thudding in your ears, drowning out everything else. He was right there. Right there. And you could feel the heat radiating off him even from where you stood. Panic crawled up your spine, making your movements sluggish and jerky. You just needed to keep your head down and walk—walk past him without glancing his way, without catching his eye. But he was so close, and as you stepped forward, trying to make yourself as small as possible, you caught it—his scent.

That familiar scent, one that had changed just as much as he had. He no longer smelled like baby powder. It was manly now, deeper, some sort of an expensive cologne, which was strong on its own— yet soft, almost comforting in a way that made your chest constrict painfully. The scent wrapped around you, making your knees feel weak, and for a second, you nearly lost your footing. You fought the instinct to look at him—to take one glance and confirm that yes, this is the Jungkook you left behind, the one who had grown into a man. But you couldn’t. If you looked at him, you’d be done.

You were beyond cooked.

Your legs carried you forward, faster than they should have, your mind racing with every step. You felt your arm brush something—him, the edge of his jacket maybe, or his hand on the counter—and your pulse spiked violently.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

You shoved the door open, your breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts as you stumbled outside, the cool air hitting your face like a hard slap back to reality.

You were outside. You’d made it. But the world around you was spinning, the street and the sky blurring together as your heart continued to pound in your chest. You leaned against the wall just outside the café, your hand pressed to your chest, trying to catch your breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside you.

Your palms felt uncomfortably clammy and you felt a sweat head run down your temple. Your thoughts were a mess—disjointed. Everything was hitting you at once; you had run away again. You had seen him, been close enough to touch him, and you had run. Just like before.

You squeezed your eyes shut, the ache in your chest spreading as you tried to pull yourself together. It was stupid. So stupid. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid ! You were an adult now, one with full responsibilities for your actions, and yet here you were, fleeing like a scared child.

You took a deep breath, forcing the air into your lungs. Maybe you could handle this. Yeah, you needed to clear your head. It’s just the coffee messing with you. Maybe you could—

“Excuse me?”

Your entire body froze at the voice directed at you.

That voice.

Deep. Smooth. Rich. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine, catching you off guard, wrapping itself around you like a tether, pulling you back toward the very thing you were trying to escape.

It wasn’t the voice you remembered—but it also very much was— heavier, weighted with a kind of maturity that made your breath catch. The boy you once knew had never sounded like this. This voice was deeper, more assured, like it had weathered years of life since you last heard it. The softness which his voice held in your memory still was back somewhere, but you couldn’t find it. And that hit you hard. He wasn’t that same boy anymore. The boy who used to tease you, who laughed with that bright, carefree chuckle—he was gone.

And now, that very voice was speaking to you.

You slowly turned to face him, your heart thudding violently in your chest as your eyes locked onto his face.

Yeah, this was your end.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Jungkook.

He was right there, just a few feet away. And this close, you could see everything.

The sharpness of his jawline hit you first, carved out and more defined than you ever remembered. It was strong, angular, like someone had taken the softness he once had and sculpted it into something more. . . commanding. His lips, parted slightly as he waited for you to respond, were full and soft, but even they held a sense of control, like every movement was deliberate. Fuck, was that a piercing at the corner ? His nose—perfectly straight, leading up to those eyes.

Those eyes.

Dark, deep, and searching. They hadn’t changed much in shape, but the way they looked at you was different now—more intense, more aware. His gaze wasn’t filled with youthful curiosity or mischief anymore. It was deeper. Grounded. Like he saw more, understood more.

He was a man now.

Your stomach twisted violently, and you had to force yourself to breathe.

Your gaze traveled up, noting the way his thick brows framed his face, darker and more defined than you remembered. They furrowed slightly as he watched you, as if trying to figure out why you were staring, why you hadn’t taken the phone from his hand yet. The small furrow in his brows only made his expression more serious, more focused. He was looking at you—not just glancing, but looking.

His dark, inky black hair brushed just above his brows, a few strands falling forward in that effortless, tousled way. It was longer now, framing his face, giving him an edge that made your chest tighten.

But it wasn’t just his face. Your eyes flickered down for just a second, barely able to handle it. His neck—strong and sinewy, leading to broad shoulders that seemed even broader now in the fitted jacket he wore. He’d filled out—a lot. His arms were no longer just lean muscle from teenage years of sports. Now, they were thicker, more muscular, straining against the fabric of his sleeve. Oh my God.

Your mind raced, every detail crashing into you at once, overwhelming your senses. Your chest felt tight, and you felt like your hands were shaking by your sides.

The more you looked, the more you realized how much had changed. How much you had missed. How much you had run away from?

It felt like the world was tilting, spinning, and you couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop the flood of memories, the weight of time lost, the realization that Jungkook had grown into someone you barely recognized—yet you knew it was still him.

He was still him.

You were losing yourself in it, in all of it, your thoughts spiraling out of control, unable to process the fact that he was standing here, holding something that belonged to you, waiting for you to take it from him.

Your eyes flickered back to his face, your heart clenching painfully. He was watching you, studying you in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. And yet, as much as he was looking at you, he didn’t know you. Didn’t recognize you. Not yet, anyway.

That hit you harder than you could’ve expected. How could he not know who you were? How could he not see it in your face, in the way you were trembling, in the panic written all over you?

But then again, why would he?

You were no longer the same girl he once knew.

And as his eyes narrowed in mild confusion, his brow furrowing just a little deeper, it became clear—he didn’t see you as the person who had disappeared from his life. Not yet.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asked softly, his voice sending a tremor down your spine. You couldn’t miss the concern in his tone, the slight edge of worry that made your throat tighten even more.

Fuck. Of course he’d be concerned.

You blinked, the world rushing back into focus, feeling like your pupils zoomed like crazy— and suddenly, you realized you had been standing there for far too long, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. Standing there like a damn weirdo.

Your phone. He is holding your phone.

For a split second, your eyes met his, and time seemed to freeze.

His gaze locked onto yours, and for the briefest of moments, something flickered there—something like recognition. You feel your eyes widening, bells ringing at the back of your head. His eyes softened, just slightly, as if he was searching your face for something familiar, something from the past. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that same polite curiosity.

For a moment, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Your eyes flickered between his face and the phone in his hand, your chest tightening with each passing second. What should you do? He was right there, right in front of you. He was close enough for yoh to reach out and take back what was yours.

But you couldn’t.

Your hand now actually trembled at your side, your body frozen in place. The air felt too thick for you to gulp in, and your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

“I—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, trying to force the words out, trying to make your body move. But you couldn’t.

You just couldn’t.

He tilted his head slightly, concern flickering across his face as he waited for you to take the phone. Why is he so concerned!? But you just stood there, rooted to the spot, like your feet had been glued to the ground. You felt the panic rising inside you again, the walls closing in as your chest tightened painfully, slowly.

“I—” you tried again, but your throat was too tight, and the word came out as nothing more than a strangled sound, like a muffled voice.

He took a step closer, and that was it. That was it.

Your body went into overdrive. Without thinking, without even trying to reason with yourself, you turned on your heel and bolted down the street, not caring if people stopped to look at you, thinking if you possibly were either a lunatic or someone who just won a lottery.

You didn’t care. You ran, ran, feeling your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you ran. Your legs felt shaky beneath you, your pulse pounding in your ears as you darted around the corner, as far away from him as possible.

You couldn’t do this.

Your heart was hammering so violently you thought it might burst right out of your chest, and all you could think about was getting away. Far, far away.

You ran till you feel your chest burn, you ran till you felt like your limbs would give up. You ran till you feel like nothing again, you ran till your mind was empty.

When you finally slowed, your breath came in harsh, ragged bursts, and your vision blurred with tears you hadn’t realized were there. You collapsed onto a bench, your whole body trembling violently as the weight of everything crashed down on you.

You had run away.

Again.

And this time, you didn’t even have an excuse.

a/n : phew.. 😵‍💫 if you’ve made this far, thank you for reading 💜 what do we think? i’d be very glad if you let me know your thoughts 🫶🏾 if you want, there’s an anonymous feedback box where you can drop your thoughts anonymously 💌

[hitomisuzuya]

Scara feeling so good he can’t help but start speaking Japanese as he stuffs us full <3

His moans and whimpers become louder as he pushes himself to the edge, his hands gripping our body so hard it will leave bruises , then he starts moaning in Japanese <33 I love that man so much

Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Possessive Scara.

Thank you for requesting this😳 I am navigating this piece's dialogue entirely through Google translate so bear with me 😅 I love Scaramouche so so much.

The closer Scaramouche got to cumming, the louder his husky moans became. You thought you could hear soft, broken whimpers between his moans. It was a curious sound for Scaramouche to make.

That said he was feeling really good. Groaning, his skin slapped against yours, pressing deep, possessive bruises into your hips. His cock throbbed as it stretched your walls apart, his whole body practically quivering from bliss as he kissed his cock firmly into your sweet spot.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your back arching off the bed. You rocked your hips up as best you could to keep up with his unforgiving pace. Your fingernails racked up his back, making him hiss.

"Kuso, anatawa totemo kitsuku nureteimasu. Watashiwa zen'budesu. Watashiwa anatao horoboshimasuyo baka son'nani onaka ippaini shiteageruyo," His head dropped down into the crook of your neck, nuzzling his cheek against it. (Fuck, you are so tight. So wet. All for me. I am going to ruin you, slut. I'll fill you so full.)

Picking his head up from your neck, one hand left your hips to grasp your jaw. "Dan'nasamo mite watashiwa anatao kusoni shiteimasu," He demanded, leaving his cock pushed up against your sweet spot, nearly collapsing on top of you as he whimpered in pleasure. (Look at your Master while I am fucking you.)

Scaramouche couldn't help but babble in Japanese to you. Your cunt just felt that fucking good clenching on his cock. You sounded so so sweet, moaning and crying out for him not to stop.

Leaning down, he captured your lips in a sloppy, open mouthed kiss. He was close, so close. His approaching orgasm made some of his thrusts sloppy. His indigo eyes looked glassy from pleasure, biting your lower lip as he pulled away.

You did as you were told, looking up at him. Writhing underneath him, you relaxed submissively in his bruising grip. His thumb swiped away the drool rolling from the corner of your mouth.

Scaramouche rested his forehead on yours. "Anatawa watashino monodesu kikoemasuka. Watashino subete wa fakkushite tanoshimu tamedesu," He needed to cum inside of you so badly. (You are mine, do you hear me? All mine to fuck and enjoy.)

You clung to him, your hand finding the back of his head to lovingly stroke his hair. He bent one of your knees up to your chest so he could fuck himself deeper inside of you. He nearly drooled when he saw a buldge poke up in your stomach.

You choked back a sob of pleasure, your fingernails digging into the back of his head. "Ieyo shofu watashiga anatakara kikitai kotoo oshietekudasai,"" He moaned, pounding his cock pounding mindlessly inside of you. (Say it, whore. Tell me what I want to hear from you.)

Your moans were now starting to bleed into whimpers, each harsh thrust building your orgasm up to toe curling proportions. "I love you, Scara! I love you so much! Cum inside of me, please!" You cried out, his name tearing from your throat in a scream as the knot of your orgasm threatened to break apart.

Hearing you practically scream and plead with him to cum inside of you pushed him over the edge. Archon, he loves and treasures you so much. You were always so sweet, and submissive to him while he fucked you dumb on his cock.

"Ikodayo kawaikodayo watashiwa kumudesu " Scaramouche left his cock buried into your sweet spot, whimpering when his cock suddenly throbbed and ribboned cum inside of you. Hearing you tell him you love him never failed to make him cum. He never believed someone so fiercely before, thinking I love you was three silly words humans carelessly flung around without understanding what it really means to say them. (My good girl, my sweet girl. Cum for me.)

Your orgasm washed over you, making your whole body seize up in pleasure. You felt every throb of his cock as it spilled cum inside of you.

Scaramouche let out a volley of curses in Japanese, moaning in bliss feeling your release gush around his cock. A white ring formed on his cock as he relentlessly fucked the cum that leaked out around his cock back inside of you.

Once he was satisfied, he collapsed on top of you. Panting, Scaramouche left his cock buried inside of you.

He didn't want to pull out of you just yet.

[xbsyan]

HEADCANONS SMUT han jisung x fem reader

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ Warning: orgasm denial, p in v, slight reference to humiliation, mommy kink. ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

° The first thing Jisung loves is that you ride his face, the simple fact of imagining him below you with your thighs strangling him sucking your feminity makes him hard in seconds

°He loves you to ride him, he has something for you to ride his face so don't pretend that this man doesn't love you riding him, whether inverted or not, he loves it, he is fascinated to see you jumping on him and seeing your tits bounce at the same rhythm as you

When they do it the other way around, he loves to hug you from behind and leave marks on your back as he loves to see your ass bounce on his cock.

°he has a serious problem with the name "mommy/noona" sometimes he is so excited that he doesn't know what he is saying and he makes a mixture of these 2 names

"please! noona please...let me cum mommy~ please"

°He likes to be talked to about his hair, he is too excited to have you on top of him and for you to pull his hair or talk badly to him, he also has a serious problem with that

°This man loves to devour you too, he could spend hours between your legs, and when I say it's HOURS, he loves to lick your clit like the good boy he is

°He also loves to put his fingers in you, he loves that you praise him that he does it very well and is a good boy, but there is also always that stupid question of "am I doing it right noona?" "Do you like it, mommy?"

°The thought of being humiliated on the spot is something that makes his cock throb too much. He tries to convince you even if you say no, even though you end up accepting because he begs you so much to humiliate him that you You're embarrassed to say no to that point.

°We already talked about how he loves being inside you, right? well, yes.He loves feeling your soaked pussy around his needy cock. I could spend hours inside you and I could spend hours eating you.

°What makes him cry and beg like a needy whore is for you to deny him an orgasm. Just do it and you'll have a jisung begging you so much. And when you finally let him do it, you tell him to do it outside. oh...that could distress him a lot, he likes to feel how your legs wrap around his waist when he comes inside, coming outside doesn't give him the same thrill, that's why he then mites you.with eyes of a sad dog and you will only laugh.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

[syoddeye]

consequence / slow

price x f!reader | 1.9k words series directory | ao3 tags: you may want to shake them, mild angst a/n: moving right along. ☕

slow means trips to the cinema and bookstore. after work drinks. long walks. accompanying her on errands.

steady means texting her more on the days he doesn’t see her and when he ships off to work. asking if she wants a sympathetic ear, a shoulder to cry on, or advice when she’s upset.

he can tell, when the conversation lulls, when they’re both content to simply coexist, that she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. for him to wash his hands of her. it’s in how she asks, usually at least three times, if he’s alright or needs anything. she stares at him when she thinks he isn’t looking, over books and in the dark of the theatre.

it’s cute. a mite worrying. 

john wants to kiss the tip of her nose, the space between her eyebrows. each cheek. and her mouth, of course. wants to impart his intentions and steadfastness since words don’t seem to do the trick.

but he won’t. slow and steady is what he promised, and he won’t break a promise made to her.

~~~~

god, you want to kiss him. you just had to go and make a little speech about taking things slow and steady.

you brush a crumb off his cheek, and his beard tickles against your fingers from his grin. you tuck his shirt tag and watch his back and shoulders tense. you grab his wrist during a horror movie marathon, and he takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

and he’s a gentleman. if only he knew. he’d think you such a hypocrite. maybe in a funny way. 

~~~~

john swears, the gleam of his car keys taunting him from inside his secure, locked, and dry car. the dying, flickering streetlamp casts enough light to shine a spot on his stupidity.

“should i call someone?” 

he squints over his shoulder through the pouring rain. she’s taken cover under an awning of some laundrette, still holding his coat over her head and shoulders. good.

“i can get us in. it’ll just be a tick.”

“you can?”

he digs through his wallet for a pick card, exhaling in frustration when he finds nothing. he swings toward the alley, heading for the nearest bin. as he passes, he gives her a tight smile. feels his shoes squishing with each step.

“if i’m lucky.” 

he’s rummaged in worse places. soaked through, rain pounding relentlessly and plastering his hair to his head, he stares into the bin. just as he’s resigned himself to rifling through discarded detergent bottles and packaging, he seizes on a bent wire hanger. absurdity grips him as he plucks it from the rubbish, water dripping down his fingertips, and he almost laughs at how desperate and ridiculous he must look.

“you’re going to jemmy it?”

he steps into her space, if only to get out of the rain for a minute. she leans closer, warm breath inadvertently fanning over his hands as she watches. he unwinds the hanger, bending it into a sharp hook, and tries not to stare at her mouth.

“precisely.”

john lets himself admire her eyelashes and then returns to the task at hand.

he wedges the hook between the rubber and glass of the window, rotating and adjusting by feel. the lock knob jiggles, it’s nearly there—only for the streetlamp to die with a dramatic pop and a flash. their stretch of street plunges into darkness, leaving nothing but the sound of rain on pavement.

neither of them speak.

john bites back a curse and reaches for his phone, flicking on the flashlight. it isn’t much, but it’s something. he returns to the issue at hand. he swears again, the hanger slippery in his slick palm. his phone nearly slides out of his other hand, and frustration boils in his gut like an unchecked pot.

it’s then her hand slides into his field of vision, grabbing the device out of his hand to angle it just so. 

he wheels, frowning. his coat drapes over her head and upper body, held open with one hand to shield his phone and the car door. 

“what are you—no, get back under the awning.”

she ignores him. “c’mon. you need to see, right?” 

“you’re going to get soaked.”

“you better hurry, then.”

through the shadows, her smile gleams. his stomach twists.

by the time he pops the lock, they’re both drenched. they plop into their respective seats with sighs of relief. a quick glance tells him his coat’s protected her hair and head from the worst of it, but everything below her shoulders clings. saturated in rainwater.

before his brain leaks out his ears, he searches for something to help dry her off.

she lays a hand on his arm, laughing softly. breathless and giddy.

“john, it’s alright. let’s just go.”

his eyes climbs from where her fingers curl over muscle, up her arm, to her face. a rogue droplet runs along the curve of her face to her chin. she’s much closer than he thought. his hand twitches, and her lips part, gaze flicking to meet his. in his chest, his heart threatens to quit. 

the sound of stomping feet and shrieks of laughter tear them both from the moment. through the windscreen, another unlucky couple darts down the walk, sheltering under a single umbrella. john watches until they disappear, and by then, she’s reclined in her seat, turning the pulldown mirror on her face.

he swallows, steals one more look, then starts the car.

>> dinner was really nice by the way >> and i am very impressed by your ability to break into your car >> should i be concerned?

> you don’t have a car, do you?

>> maybe not, but i have three locks on my front door >> feels like those would be childs play to you

> i like to think you’d invite me in.

john stares at his phone, cigar hanging from his lip. get a grip, price. 

he nearly jumps when the dots pop up.

>> yeah you know what? i would

> speaking of invitations. i’d like to host you for dinner next weekend.

the dots appear quicker.

>> i’d love that. send me details in the morning? falling asleep.

> of course. goodnight. 

> give cece my best.

>> [74968219557__d2aa9bd2.heic] >> chat in the meow-ning

~~~~

there is a spring in your step. it’s carried you all day. all week, really.

john offered to fetch you, but you insisted on taking the bus then stretching your legs. with a bottle and umbrella tucked into your bag, you decide halfway to his place that you will kiss him tonight. after a couple of months, no one can accuse you of not adhering to your policy.

slow and steady. a mantra and a reminder to remain calm. 

it’s john. he’s proven he’s no flake or phony. that he isn’t in this to rush you to his bed. he’s leagues more communicative and considerate than ben. more fun than hannah.

yeah. you’re going to kiss him and enjoy it. you’re ready.

~~~~

“yeah, understood. later.”

at the click, john immediately pinches the bridge of his nose. he sucks in a deep breath, calming the swell of anger clutching his heart, then grabs a dish towel to dab his forehead. he broke out into a sweat when he saw kate’s name on his secured phone.

he covers the stew to simmer while he packs.

there are times he well and truly hates his line of work. this is one of them. she’s due on his doorstep, and he’s due to leave.

he drops his bag at the end of his bed just as a knock echoes through his flat. with a pointed look at himself in the hall mirror, he goes to let her in, wiping his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder.

under the light above his door, she looks angelic but a touch sly, like always. her smile is more a natural smirk, which deepens with the presentation of the bottle of red wine.

wiping his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder, he manages a grin. “what’s this?”

“i come bearing gifts.”

he likes wine, but he’d rather have her. pushing past the boorish thought, he takes the bottle and ushers her inside.

“thank you. didn’t need to bring anything.”

“other than myself?”

she shoots him another smile as he takes her coat, shrugging out of it. her tattoos are as tempting as ever, the short sleeves of her top leading his eyes along one arm. they hitch on a bandage. 

“and what’s this?”

“new gap filler.” she turns sheepish, taking the bottle from his hands and bypassing him, swiveling to take in his space. “i, uh, did it myself. just a measly matchstick—nice place you got here.”

he shuts the door, traipsing after her. “moved on from tattooing fruit?”

“you sound upset.”

john chuckles, checking the stove. “not at all. impressed. how’s it healing?”

“it’s pretty raw. did it this morning. idle hands and all that.”

he grins down at the dark chunks of lamb that have softened in the broth, the mix of carrots and potatoes, and stirs.

“bet it looks great.”

“that smells great.”

john glances at his work mobile. “it’s nearly finished.”

“should i open the wine?”

he shuts off the burner, nose twitching with the unpleasantness of what he must say. “if you’d like, but i can’t partake tonight.” seeing her browline quirk, he breaks the news all in one go. he can’t leave her in suspense. “i have to leave in forty minutes. work called.”

her mouth falls open, then shuts. the bottle thunks quietly onto the counter. her fingers unwrap from its neck, and she taps the cork, clearly processing.

“i see. how long?”

he considers retirement based on the look on her face alone.

“should only be a week, week and a half.” john slips his personal phone from a pocket and places it before her. worry laces the rest of his words. “kicker is, i can’t take this with me this time. about to head into a bad situation, to put it mildly.”

although the tone does not accompany it, her face promptly pulls into one he’s seen at the shop. pleasantly neutral. fuck. he should’ve known. the first unscheduled, unplanned deployment since they’ve met, and he’s hardly prepared her for it.

“okay,” she pushes the bottle further into the middle of the counter, clearly abandoning it for the meantime. “forty minutes. you better eat, then. probably not going to have a decent meal for a few days, yeah?”

“probably not.”

regret lances through his chest, but he knows his imminent departure cannot be softened no matter what he says. so he fetches two bowls and two spoons and ladles generous portions. the time passes, their conversation stilted and stifled, her wilted disposition difficult to ignore. she offers to take the rest of the stew and some other perishables from his refrigerator but refuses to let him drive her. again.

“it’s a completely different direction.”

“i don’t mind.”

“well, i mind.” it comes out stiff. barbed. her tongue swipes over her lip as she adjusts the bag on her shoulder, briefly glancing outside into the darkening sky. when she looks back, her eyes bounce from his mouth and then up. she speaks markedly softer. “be safe. see you soon.”

john thinks back to the car. that quiet slip of time and stillness. he wants to kiss her. gather her in his arms and kiss her until he can neither be argued nor doubted, but the ball’s in her court. he won’t rush it. especially if she’s second-guessing pursuing another man whose career consists of departures. he scratches his cheek. “yeah. see you soon.”

it’s disappointing when the operation bleeds into two weeks. torture when it takes three. 

but it’s a clusterfuck when they’re dismissed after week six.

[mothiir]

list of astartes ocs

here’s a brief little summary of my ocs, because i often lose track of them and thought that you might like to know more about the boys. NSFW stuff included, so stuck it beneath a cut. this is just the space marines — taleath will get his own post because he’s my favourite (don’t tell the others). Happy to answer asks/write stuff about them

Vanatas Borjigin

The self appointed leader of the trio. Turned into Astartes later than generally recommended, so has a decent memory of his life before; of raising a batch of squalling sisters, of scavenging for meat in Nostramo’s rancid streets. It gives him major older sibling energy, even now.

Taller than Shrike, shorter than Zakyr, with bone-white skin and void-black eyes. Wears his long dark hair in a ponytail more often than not; a severe hairstyle that accentuates his raptor-sharp cheekbones. He has the usual scars you’d expect an Astartes to carry, but due to the implants being carried out well into his teens (rather than in prepubescence) the surgery scars are far more prominent than normal, standing out liver-purple across his abdomen. 

Prone to fainting fits, in which he collapses, jaw tight against the screams welling in his throat, his skull singing agony. Blood drips from his nose and his eyes, and when he wakes he babbles nonsense — and yet the nonsense always seems to come true. That’s right: our boy Van is cursed with the gift of prophecy — something he is at pains to hide from the rest of his brothers. Zak and Shrike know, but they keep his secret. Normally, Vanatas can tell when one of the attacks is coming, and it gives him just enough warning to hide, or for one of the other two to shove him into a cupboard to stop someone seeing.  

He is mean mean mean to you. He really likes it when you cry, whether you’re begging for mercy or for him to slow down or please Mr Night Lord not back there — and he always gets a bit feral when you start getting weepy. He’s the most likely to treat you like a serf-shaped fleshlight, grabbing you with very little warning, yanking your skirt to the side and sinking in with a low, contented groan. 

Despite the above, he’s normally the one ensuring you’re functioning as well as possible. He remembers to feed you, shouts at the others when they’ve let you go too long without sleep, and even gave you painkillers one time, after Zak had been a mite too rough. Maybe there’s a shadow inside him, a whisper that remembers what it is to care. And maybe not. Who knows. 

Zakyr Lamnidae 

Large, even for an Astartes. Almost eight feet tall, all bulky muscle, and — as you might imagine — almost constantly hungry. The other two taunt him for being a lardass, but he always ends up with the best bits of any meal they’ve stolen (or hunted). They never say that they are doing this, nor does he acknowledge it or thank them. It is just how it is. You hide Van when he starts bleeding from the eyes; you give Zak the fat-marbled rump of an unfortunate heretic. Yum. 

Has the same black hair, black eyes combo as Vanatas and ninety per cent of other Night Lords. He wears his hair short, shaved at the sides, and has a distinctive scar on his cheek that crawls across his jawline, and down onto his throat. It looks almost like it was caused by the talon of a great bird — or maybe a set of claws, swift as lightning? Either way, he’s not saying how he got it. If you ask, he and Vanatas start getting a bit twitchy. Some secrets are best kept quiet. 

He was in the dungeons for stealing a loaf of bread. He was six years old and starving. That’s how he ended up getting shipped out to be a neophyte — this isn’t a story he tells much. He just sees it as a great amusing irony. Imprisoned for the most base of offences, and now free to commit far worse ones. That is justice, isn’t it?

Is the most intelligent of the three, if we class intelligence as ‘book smarts’. Speaks fluent Gothic, as well as a handful of other languages, and can threaten to flay someone in upwards of twenty three tongues, including some xenos ones. Is a truly excellent artist, and absolutely would not have given the poor serf that abomination of a tattoo. Back when they were neophytes, and thus not even allowed to smell women, he did very well for himself by drawing — uh — ‘special pictures’ for other Astartes. He likes drawing the serf, and has a sketchbook full of paintings that run the gambit from surprisingly beautiful to absolutely obscene. No one is allowed to touch that sketchbook — not since Van borrowed it and returned it with the pages sticking together. 

The others are doing their best to learn Gothic, and to teach you Nostramon. Unfortunately, it’s a slow process, so Zak often finds himself conscripted in for translation. The deal is simple: he will translate, but he gets to join in. 

As for the NSFW stuff — he can be very lazy in bed. He likes being ridden, because he does enough physical work in his day job and damn it he just wants to lie back and watch a pretty girl cry as she tries to get his dick inside. Is that too much to ask? He knows, theoretically, what a clitoris is, but good luck getting him to touch it. He likes degradation, but in his sadistic hedonist way he likes to get you to degrade yourself. He’ll whisper in your ear what a horrible little slut you are, spreading yourself for the legion, and get you to repeat it back for him. It’s also how he’s teaching you Nostramon. You have a very niche, very detailed vocabulary. 

He will threaten to get you pregnant at least once a week. If you hadn’t seen Vanatas and him get in a literal fight over it, you would believe the threat - he sounds so sincere. He will be buried balls-deep in your warm innards, cooing about what a shame it would be if he came inside, how awful it would be for you. It’s a game: you’re meant to beg him not to, to offer to suck his cock, or offer up your arse. And you probably should play it. If you don’t, he starts getting a bit huffy, and no one wants that. 

Shrike Melloria 

The man is an Emperor-forsaken pervert.

Right, you probably want more detail than that. Shrike is the youngest of the group, and was born in jail. His mother was a whore; his father some unknown vagabond. When the ships came for new recruits, they grabbed up the infant because, well, what else were they to do with him? 

The words ‘boyishly handsome’ aren’t usually used to describe a Night Lord — but Shrike manages to justify their use. Yes, he’s a seven-foot killing machine — but he also has golden hair, and eyes that are more very dark blue than black. He is pale, like all his brothers, but in a way that suggests he would tan under sunlight, rather than incinerate. Give him a paint job and a week on a farm, and he could pass for an Ultramarine (as long as he didn’t open his mouth, or come into contact with any civilians)

In battle, he is a stone-cold sniper; a prodigy. There’s very little that can escape his reach. As a consequence, he’s less scarred than your average Astartes, since the enemy doesn’t normally have a chance to reach him. In another, more foolish, Legion this might be seen as a mark of cowardice — but Night Lords are pragmatic, and Shrike’s strategy gets the enemy just as dead. 

Right, now the good stuff: he is a toxic mess of a man, clingy and snuggly and nuzzly, even while doing the worst possible things to you. He’ll fuck you full, almost render you speechless from fucking your throat, and then coo about how pretty you are while scooping his cum from between your legs and jamming it into your mouth. His brand of dirty talk is cloyingly sweet, while also being absolutely horrifying: “Sweet little fledgling, open wide for me! There we are, now that’s all you’re getting —“

Vanatas has explained to him multiple times that serf cannot survive on jizz alone, and yet he still considers trying it. 

Breeding kink like whoa. Doesn’t actually want a baby, but loves the idea of making you so completely his. Would be the worst father imaginable. Is being slipped birth control by both of his brothers just in case he gets any ideas. 

Yes, he did the tattoo. No, he did not ask permission. Yes, he considers you his wife. No, the others do not agree. No, divorce is not an option. Yes, of course Vanatas and Zak have elaborate ‘let’s cuck Shrike’ role play. 

So, these guys aren’t nearly as fully formed as the Night Lord Idiot Trio, but throwing them in here to remind myself to write something later. Here are my Black Templars: 

Ezra Rothenburg 

Captain of his squad, a venerable dilf veteran of countless campaigns. Tall, broad, grey-haired, with a bouquet of scars, including one that stretches across his lips, giving him a permanent sneer. 

Blessed by the Emperor and most devout in obeying His Commands. Those that know him note that the Emperor’s Commands tend to coincide with what Ezra was planning to do anyway. 

Can and will fake visions to get the more fanatical of his brethren to fall in line. The way he sees it, the Emperor would have struck him down if He disapproved. He has not, so He must be on Ezra’s side

Isaiah Bodenstein von Karlstadt 

Primaris Marine. Big boy. Very sweet and earnest and utterly devoted to the Emperor and his captain, in that order

Himbo energy hides a mind like a whetted knife

[cactuscoolerr]

character: itoshi rin cw: nsfw-ish (??)

sypnosis: exboyfriend!rin invites you over

rin had finally come back home from his match overseas but you didn't make an effort to go and visit him and he didn't make an effort to come and visit you. it's not like you wanted him to anyway, despite having cried over him nearly every time you thought about him. you were only trying to convince yourself he wasn't worth crying over and you didn't love him anymore and it was working.

that was until your phone lit up in the middle of the night. you didn't pay any mind to it at first, walking back in the bathroom to continue brushing your teeth and taking care of your skin.

when you walked back to your room, your phone lit up again and you sighed softly, suddenly remembering that someone must've been texting you.

at the sight of rin's name, you nearly dropped your phone in surprise. your heart rate picked up and you took shaky breaths before hesitantly answering his call.

“hello?” you breathed out and listened as the other side stayed silent for a second.

“come over,” he said plainly and you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. “and why would i do that?”

“because i have things of yours that i’m sure you’d want back”

his words made you pause for a second, squinting your eyes slightly before replying suspiciously. “and what would that be..?”

the other side was silent for a few seconds, “those stupid stuffed cats you got us,” rin spoke almost in a whisper, “i still have them here” your small gasp was enough to make rin smile slightly and he listened as you cleared your throat, likely to compose yourself.

“you’re holding them hostage”

the simple tone in your voice made rin snort out a laugh, pressing his phone a little closer to his ear more of your reactions to his words. “so are you gonna come and get them?”

you sighed loudly and switched your phone to your other ear, “your roaches and mites probably infested them by now”

“ew what,” rin made a face full of disgust, even though you couldn’t see him. “you don’t want them then? i’ll just throw them out” he spoke, knowing damn well he’d keep them as a reminder of you if you didn’t come over and get them from him.

“i guess i’ll come over,” you sighed heavily, making rin smile once more. “only because you’re holding them hostage..”

rin snorted and you rolled your eyes. “i’m coming over now”

“fine”

you didn’t wait a second longer before hanging up the phone and moving quickly to pull on a sweater.

it wasn’t until you were walking out of your front door did you realize that you were going to see rin. you felt as if you hadn’t seen him in forever, which wasn’t necessarily an understatement.

you tried your best to rid yourself of the burning feeling in your cheeks, but it seemed impossible, even when you walked in the cold weather.

"why couldn't he have just brought it to me," you muttered to yourself, rubbing your hands together to keep warm. "what a fucking dick. fuck him, dude"

you continued to mutter complaints the whole way to rins place and once you finally stood in front of his front door, you didn't hesitate to knock rapidly and insanely loud until rin came and opened the door.

"my roommates and neighbors are fucking sleeping," rin hissed as soon as he opened the door and you only responded with a mean glare.

he let you inside and you wasted no time in making your way towards rin's room to save your babies from his evil clutches.

a loud groan sounded from you when you noticed that they weren't where they were meant to be and you quickly turned around to glare at rin once he entered the room. "where are they?"

rin only stared at you for a few seconds until he looked away, taking off the rings he wore on his fingers to place them on the dresser. "i hid them"

you deadpanned at him and slapped your hands over your face. "what do you mean, you hid them? rin, i didn't come here to fuck around"

"hm.. well i told you to come here for that reason, so sorry i guess"

a small noise of confusion was the only thing you could let out before rin practically pounced on you. his lips immediately found yours and you whined loudly at the contact.

"rin!" you yelled, out of breath with burning cheeks when you pulled away. "what the hell are you doing?"

he was just as out of breath and you watched him closely. "i suppose i should've asked you first, sorry" he muttered and you groaned loudly. "what the fuck are you doing, rin" your tone was desperate and his eyes met yours.

you noticed that his eyes held concern as he watched you, but you weren't entirely sure why. it wasn't until he made hesitant steps towards you and gently wiped at your cheeks.

"why're you crying, y/n" his tone was gentle and you took shaky breaths, slightly leaning into his touch. "i don't know.." your voice broke and rin was quick to pull you into a tight hug. "god, i love you, y/n"

his words made you sob as you held onto him tightly, not wanting to let him go again. "why would you do that to me?"

"i'm sorry.." rin muttered into your hair as you continued to sob.

"you hurt me so bad" you sobbed and rin gently ran his fingers through your hair in attempts to soothe you. "i know.. i know, baby"

a choked sob sounded from you and you pressed your face deeper into his chest, not caring that your tears were completely soaking his shirt. "i really fucking hate you sometimes, rin.."

he stayed silent this time, likely not knowing what yo say, but he continued running his fingers through your hair. you could feel the way rin's heart beat rapidly against his chest and you only hoped that it was for the same reason yours was beating just as fast.

"y/n," rin spoke suddenly and you let out a small whine, intending for it to be some kind of response. "i need to kiss you again.. can i?"

you tried your best to stop crying before pulling slightly away from him and nodding.

rin's lips found yours once again and you practically melted in his arms. he held onto you tightly and you were sure that was the only thing that kept you from falling to the floor. and he must've known that because he pulled you closer before gently picking you up.

your legs were quick to wrap around his torso and one of his hands reached to grip onto your thigh while the other stayed on your back to press your chest against his.

a low moan sounded from rin and you couldn't help the way your hips bucked forward into him. you whined and rin took the opportunity to press his tongue into your mouth.

you didn't see a reason in resisting him, so you allowed him to do whatever he wanted.

"fucking love you so much," rins words were breathless as he pulled away to attach his lips onto the side of your neck. "my perfect girl.."

a shaky moan from you only encouraged him to keep going as he led you to his bed and laid you down on the edge. his lips attached to yours once more before he trailed gentle kissed down your jaw, as well as your neck, and towards your collarbones.

he nipped lightly at your skin and you shuddered, forgetting the feeling from when rin was away. "how's that feel?" rin breathed against your skin and you nodded quickly. "it's good.. feels good.."

"keep feeling all this for me, ok?"

"ok.." you breathed out before a quiet gasp fell passed your lips when rin began sucking roughly on your skin. all you could do was moan as rin moved onto other areas of your chest when he was satisfied with the bruises he was leaving on you.

slowly, rin moved lower, unzipping your jacket just a tiny bit as he moved.

"please, just hurry.." you whined and you felt rin's breathy laugh against your skin that invoked goosebumps across your skin. "patience, y/n.. thought i taught you better than that, baby"

you whined once more and laid your head back to stare at the ceiling as rin continued his slow descent down your chest.

"fuck," rin said shakily as he pushed the sides of your jacket away to stare at your loose tank top you wore. "no wonder you were so fucking cold"

you glared at him and brought your knee up to hit him lightly in his ribs. "i was in a rush, shut up"

"eager to see me?"

his teasing smirk made your cheeks burn but you rolled your eyes once more and laid your head back down to stare up again. "just shut the fuck up and do what you're supposed to be doing"

"fucking brat," rin muttered and bit down on the fat of your breast. a quiet moan sounded from you and he gently kissed where he bit you. "you know i don't like that shit"

"get over it" you said shakily and you just knew that rin was rolling his eyes.

"you're lucky i love you, brat" he scoffed before leaning down to suck on your skin again. you breathed out shakily at his words and your brought your hand to grab gently onto his hair.

you didn't mean to grow emotional again, but you seriously missed the way he said 'i love you'.

it didn't take long for rin to hear your gentle sobs and he stopped his attack on your chest to look up at you. his eyes were curious before they were replaced with complete concern.

"hey, hey.. what's wrong, angel?" his tone was gentle as he moved quickly to lay down beside you and pull you into his arms. "i love you, baby. it's okay.."

his words only made you cry harder as you buried your face into his chest. "i love you.." your words were muffled but rin still understood you. "i know you do. you're okay, baby"

rins body was warm against yours and you quickly calmed down in his gentle hold. it was quiet between the two of you, but neither of you seemed to mind it. it felt comfortable with rin, and you realized that this was the only thing you needed.

"i'm sorry," rin spoke softly against your hair. "i don't know why i did that to us"

you didn't respond, only moving closer into rins touch. his soft laughter made you smile as your eyes began to flutter closed.

"guess you're sleeping here then," rin chucked softly and kissed the top of your head while his arms tightened around your smaller body. "goodnight, my love"

rin's voice was gentle and just the thing that put you to sleep while your soft and rhythmic breathing was enough to put him to sleep.

[enmmyheavenscg]

MY SITUATION .

hello everyone ! if you’re aware, you know im currently back from my break!

But my situation hasn’t gotten any better.

TW FOR ATTEMPTED SUI, MURDER MENTIONS, ABUSE - just my parents being horrible . Invasion of privacy

I don even know how to tag this properly.

Today on tuesday, July 30th 2024, 3:42 am as I am writing this.

My mental (and physical) health has worsened since everything had happend, My parents have been making me feel genuinely worst

I just happened to be in a call with a friend before oh- the first time, my parents came in and yelled at me.. my mother raised her hands up a bit, yes but. She usually does that so usually I am not affected by it but today was just. horrible.

After the first couple times they did this, they turned the wifi completely off, I was still In a call with said friend but I was muted. My parents were being absolutely horrible.

I would go detail by detail. syaing hooe the whole wrugement started but No, only thing I’ll be saying is.

My mother went absolutely ballistic and was trying to open my locked door. (Which I Have video of) she kept hurting md, threw something at me and just absolutely started screaming at me , she jus wnt crzy

My father laid his hands on me for the first time today aswell, it was a truly horrifying experience. I’ve always preferred my father over my mother yet - today trigged something inside my brain ? Made me genuinely hate him - myself , everyone around me. My younger brother was sleeping , yet we were fighting in his room .

The argument affected me, it was only an hour ago? .. couple minutes . im

not sure . It all went so fast my brain jusut ii

They kept tyryung to corneer mme and my mom trid to hold me in pllce , not allowing me to leave / get into Myy riom

I had to forcefully do so

I don’t even know what happened . Today started off so good yet endlu horriblly .

I tried

I tried to end it all after that conversation. I was messaing that said friend before, begging them to call help, crying . I’ve never felt more scared, weaker . Horrified . I tried choking myyosg and I still can’t breatffwi

im tryiy not sure how im writiing this but im doing it . I really hope I get my wifi back to be able to send this (if I do then that means I did)

I trid casling emergency servieces, I didn have service - no wifi, nothing. I ws basically stranded , in panic moddee

I wssso lightheaded, dizt and honestly felt like I eas dying (I stsuol am bu am doiing bettr(

I

I would’ve died if I kept chokiif myslf with it a bit longer

They were gona kill me though. They . Thhy said os

My mom sid my dad woul beat mme until I was dead and unconscious - my ddad sid he din lov me tdoy

My dad sid god woul mak that happen when I said I’d die

My mom threatened to murder me tdosy (twice or once) she was holding sormyuing when I ws forced to opn my door . I can’t rmebr but it was a utensil . N ths all I rembr . Was it a knife? No clie. was it something else ? no clu

Theve alwys been horubel but this was jut icing on cak . I just need to get mor evidence on wht tehy did . Then I havs my proof . (I mite attach wht my mom did to my lock . I rmeber . 4? 3? Years ago she brok it .

And now it’s even more borkn. It may not look like it but it is. N sometiije thi year she brok mmy doorhsndle. Iiz awful here

I truly wanna leave but I hav no choice)

im

I’m just so scard, I’m mortified geniunlly

photdo down here + vudeo if I can (took the screenshot at 03:51 so ths why it says tagt) plus one I jus took .

sory I knowthuu iz all too much but I’m so

So

done here. . I add more on as I can try and remember beter . I don’t feel like myself currently so it’s quite hard to remember stif that . Doesn’t but also does feel like me

(ddin add all images.)

Poease . If you rpost thji pls do . I need to get outta herre soon enough

If you wanna talk to me- @ahaclownnoises is my main / my discord

[ckret2]

A memory canister labeled "MR. AND MRS. GLEEFUL MEMORIES" was clicked into the Blind Eye's memory playback station.

The screen lit up.

A bony woman with gray-streaked dusty brown hair sat on a plush pink sofa, sobbing into a tissue and struggling not to hyperventilate. A heavy man in a pink Hawaiian shirt wrapped an arm around her shoulders comfortingly. The angle was low, aimed at their knees, as though the "camera" had been left on a coffee table in front of the sofa.

"It was awful," Mrs. Gleeful sobbed, "he was—he was lifting things and—throwing them around like some kind of poltergeist, or—or a demon— I've never seen my little Giddy that furious before, I've never seen anyone that furious before..." She grabbed a fresh tissue. "He's—he's got some sort of devil in him, we need to call a priest or a doctor or something—"

"Now, now, honey." Bud held her tighter and patted her arm. "You don't mean that. He's always been a mite tempestuous, you recall; and he's just practicing with those new powers of his—"

"Well I want those powers gone!" She pounded her fists on her sharp knees. "Those powers and that book and—and—" She burst into heaving sobs again, flung an arm around her husband, and buried her head in his shoulder. "I just want my sweet little boy back."

Bud grimaced uncertainly and murmured, "I don't think I could get that book away from him if I tried." He picked up the camera (not a camera; the memory gun was designed to take recordings) and aimed it at himself and his wife. "Don't give yourself a headache crying, sweetheart; you won't worry about him anymore." He squeezed her shoulders reassuringly. "And I'm sure he'll make a better first impression on us with those powers next time."

For a second, she could only sob hitchingly into his shoulder; but then she asked, voice tiny, "Next time?"

Bud squeezed his eyes shut.

The recording ended. The Blind Eye's screen went black.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - It's weird where I am right now, Okay?

Organized, in each category, by ones I'm enjoying most at the top. However, I've put quite a few on hold for travel reasons.

Oct 2023 Wk 4

Only a few screen shots for you this week, my hotel wifi is actually THAT bad.

Ongoing Series - Thai

My Dear Gangster Oppa (Thurs iQIYI) 1 of 8 - Classic unlucky in love failed crush on straight bestie = both v queer and v emo yaoi. I gotta say I like these actors way better in this than their previous series, and maybe that’s because Tew is more like Tul and I just like Meen better when he’s… erm… mean. All of which is to say, this is off to a wonderful start and I am about to lose my very sleep deprived little mind... ready for a ABL ecstasy rant?

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH I CAN'T EVEN.

"I play support because that way everyone is happy to see me show up," might be the single best moment of characterization BL has EVER seen.

Look here, in the grand cornucopia of BL universes this is my metaverse. It's pulp... but relatively high production. It has an established pair that I know I like... but who were given crap before. It's a tidy little script, it's not gonna run too long, and it's ALL the archetypes and tropes I love but rarely see. It's Japan's style otaku plus Korea's style gangster, Thailand's style friendship group, and it arrived out of NOWHERE. It's Korea's IP & money, Thailand's talent, and China's streaming service.

Do we know what the hell is going on?

No we do not.

Do we care when it's this much fun?

No we do not.

(In this I speak for everyone... no, EVERYONE.)

This show I why I got into BL.

Don't bother me with trifles. Me and My Dear Gangster Oppa are sailing off into the infinite pixilated sunset together, thank you very much.

Dangerous Romance (Fri YT) ep 11 of 12 - I managed to watch most of it on low rez before YT "discovered" I was in Asia and therefore could not be allowed to watch Asian shows. (AKA my VPN failed me.) But it seemed like a good ep.

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) Lucky Love ep 10 of 24 - I enjoyed this 2 part installment, it’s a bit of a sad sack recovery SAGA, but the acting is genuine, the couple believable, and the story felt particularly queer to me. 7/10 but close to an 8. It was really quite charming.

However: Next week looks not good on many levels - it's horror and I spotted guitar. Which is even more horrific. 

Absolute Zero (Thai Weds iQIYI) ep 5 of 12 - do temporal paradoxes exist in Thailand? That is the question. I gotta say Tor (Ongsa) is carrying this show and is doing a really great job, it's just the story itself doesn't resonate with me. Ugh it's so sad.

Is it, indeed, better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?

We only on ep 5 and had a full story arc already, there is A LOT more to go.

Venus in the Sky (Tues iQIYI) 9 of 10 eps - the fact that in losing Sky Venus also lost his surrogate family explains his resulting bitterness a little bit more. I wish we had gotten this back story much earlier. Still stupid pulp made me cry, which of course means it's back in my good books. This story is slow as fuck, but I'm going on a rollercoaster with it.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Kiseki: Dear to Me (Taiwan Tues Viki & iQIYI) ep 11 of 13(?) - I love them, okay? All of them. This is a great sappy classic Taiwanese BL and it is my baby and you can’t take it away from me. MINE. 

You Are Mine (Taiwan Fri Viki) eps 8 of 10 - oh noes it got sad, I thought they would at least would have had drunken sex before the drama. Sigh. Still the kissing was good, as it should be from Taiwan.

If It’s With You AKA Even If I Fall In Love With You AKA Kimi to nara Koi wo Shite Mite mo’ (Japan Gaga) ep 4 of 5 - Amane is so brave. About being gay. Being out. Confessing. Its admirable if scary. Otherwise this ep was pretty slow. 

Bump Up Business (Korea Gaga) 3-4 of 8 - how do I feel about this show? Conflicted. Are OnlyOneOf doing a great job? Yes, actually. Am I enjoying it? No, not really. Is this anyone's fault? I don't think so.

The little linguistic negotiation was cute tho. And we seem to have gotten idols kissing in a BL both in the same group, so that glass ceiling dildo has finally been broken.

NineMill are unexpectedly good, also KB plays a great evil ex. Of the 3, I think only Nine is good enough to go into acting permanently (but he's not tall enough). Still, all hail OnlyOneOf... kings of the "gay concept." You boys make me v nervous but as couple-branding goes, you just out branded Thailand. Mad props baibies. Legit never thought I'd see the day.

Trust Korea to be in it to win it.

Mr Cinderella 2 (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 6 of ? - i pretty much just forgot to watch this.

It's Airing But...

I Feel You Linger in the Air (Fri grey) ep 8 of 12 - I will try to watch and do a series review in November but... not sure I will be able to. Fingers crossed.

Love in Translation (Sat iQIYI) ep 8fin - completed but I couldn't catch the last ep, my final thoughts in Nov.

Only Friends (Sat YT) ep 12 fin - completed, but see afore mentioned YT issues. I'll review it in Nov. I anticipate better internet soon.

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 1 of 10 - I find this series more fun to binge, so I'm waiting until it completes its run.

I Cannot Reach You AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai (Japan Tues Netflix-Japan & ????) - in classic JBL fashion, I Cannot Reach You could not be reached. 

Can I Buy Your Love From A Vending Machine? AKA Sono Koi, Jihanki de Kaemasu ka? (Japan cinema release in-country only) - This one is a movie from Japan so in customary fashion who tf knows when (or if) it will get international distribution. Salaryman Ayumu Koiwai just can't tear his eyes away from the strong, muscular man as he checks on the stocks of the vending machine in his office.

One Room Angel (Japan Gaga) - adaptation of Harada’s manga of the same name (which I did not like) about a convenience store clerk who's stabbed, nearly dies, and returns home to find an angel waiting for him. With only 5 eps and a good chance this won’t end happy, I'm gonna wait and let you tell me how it goes.

Next Week Looks Like This

Upcoming October BL

10/31 SHADOW (Thai Gaga) 1 of 14 - this is a horror BL featuring ghosts and other paranormal elements in a high school setting. I'm not wild about Thai horror (or horror at all). It features Singto (who did paranormal BL He's Coming to Me) opposite Fluke N (who's done a couple horror's before). Also Fiat. Dan suffers from sleep paralysis, and in his dreams he sees a shadow that suffocates him. It gets worse when he transfers schools.

Upcoming November BL

11/3 Twins the series (Thailand ????) 1 of 10

11/17 Pit Babe (Thai) - Pavel my love!

11/19 Bake Me Please (OhmFluke but not, Thailand)

11/22 7 Days Before Valentine (Thailand) - horroresk

11/25 The Sign (Thailand) - horroresk

11/30 For Him the series (Thailand) - high heat

VIP Only (Taiwan) - may be delayed/canceled

Cooking Crush (OffGun, Thailand) - may be delayed, there some kinda gossip/rumor/shade happening at GMMTV

Wuju Bakery AKA Space Bakery (Korea) - this one may be DOA

2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED).

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

My Universe - I just enjoyed the angle of this kiss shot.

Uh huh. Sure, honey. (Bump Up Buisness)

COULD THIS EXPLAIN THE SNUFFLE KISS?!!!!

(Last week)

[thingothango]

I thought moonmites (created by @puzzleddonkey ) were so cool and intriguing that well, couldn’t resist pouncing at the opportunity to do digital art for once!

This is Rodney. A pathetic paranoid cry baby. (He’s my favorite oc obviously 💖)

Was a livestock mite until the original got attached to his clone and viewed it as a son so safe to say he isn’t all in for cannibalism but sometimes, you just get the rumblies 🥩

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 46: Oneirology

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

Prev || Next

Mikey goes through a lot of exercises and examinations in the morning. Dr. Chaplin is there for all of it.

Mikey is made uncomfortable by his presence, by his calm smile that is consistent throughout the day. At one point, he places a hand on Mikey's shoulder, as if to make him feel comfortable. Or to create the idea that they are close friends, that Mikey can trust him.

It has the complete opposite effect, and Mikey's entire body is set to pins and needles at the touch. His stomach in knots, his mind static, his hands tremble under the immense weight that hand holds over him.

He sits as still as stone underneath that hand. If he moves, if he breathes, if he cries or smiles or laughs, who knows what punishment he will earn?

And yet... Mikey wishes the touch would last longer. It's warm, it feigns kindness and familiarity. He pretends the hand belongs to someone else, he pretends it belongs to Blue or Red or Purple.

Even though... they don't love Mikey. He doesn't blame them for not loving him, he doesn't even love him. How could he, when he's just a freakish mutant thing?

He tries not to shake, he tries not to cry. He ducks his face away so no one will see.

He wishes he wasn't such a monster. He wishes he was something else. A dust mite, a bottle, a picture hanging on a wall. Maybe a cat, or maybe a bird, or even a worm. Something, anything, that has even an iota of meaning and purpose in the world.

Their necessity in the grand scheme of things outweighs his own, in any case...

And someone must love those things, right?

Mikey can't stop crying. He catches himself on the verge constantly, the tears burning the edges of his eyes.

Dr. Chaplin watches over Mikey the entire first half of the day. He practically hovers over him, like Mikey is his little child at the nurses' office for a checkup, or a precious toy that is getting maintenance.

Dr. Timothy and Dr. Finn do all sorts of examinations and physical tests and check-ups and such and so forth. They take Mikey's temperature, they do a DNA test, the inspect his teeth and claws, they check this and that and that and this and this and that and...

...Why don't the colours love Mikey?

Didn't they love him at one time? Weren't they here with him once? They must have lived with him in the labs, so... were they family? Friends? 

Did they look like him? Smell like him? Did they have spots, too?

The doctors say that Mikey was the first and only success in the TCRI mutation experiments. Does that mean that Red, Blue, and Purple are...

...........dead.....?

...Mikey hopes not.

As awful as it is, as painful as it could be... Mikey hopes they left him. Mikey hopes they escaped, got out, something.

He wonders if they think about him.

...But they probably don't. They probably never looked back. And why would they? Why think about this place in any way??

Mikey.... Mikey hopes that they're happy now. Wherever they are.

The tests go on.

Mikey zones out for the whole of they day until he's put back in his cage.

...Maybe Mikey should stop thinking about them, too.

It hurts too much.

Mikey curls in his cage, turning his back to the other experiments in the room. It really is hopeless for him, isn't it?

They all really do hate him, don't they? He'll never get out of here. He'll never see them again.

It's... it's hopeless. He'll never find home...

This is your home, Instinct whispers. I am all you need.

Mikey is tired of listening to him. He tries to ignore him. It's hard.

So Mikey just lays there, in the uncomfortable silence of the labs.

The animals bark and yowl and mew and chirp and hiss and snap and so on.

The doctors argue and discuss things amongst themselves.

At some point, Mikey must've fallen asleep. He only figures this out when he is woken most abruptly by an alarm ringing through the labs. Feet scamper back and forth as scientists start grabbing what they can and then making a break for the doors.

Mikey turns to peek out just a moment to see what the fuss is about. He's never heard an alarm like this before.

"...how many intruders did they say?"

"Not sure, but we have to get everything out of here..."

"What do we do about the experiments?"

"Leave 'em! They're just stupid dumb animals--"

"And the Mikey experiment?"

Silence. Mikey looks out between bars as the two men contemplate what to do.

"...We don't have time to move him. Just... just cover up his cage and push it in the back. Hide him."

"Is that really wise??"

"You heard the alarm! I'm not risking getting nabbed by some thrill-seeking idiots! And what if they're robbers, or armed? And the likelihood that they'll make it to this floor before security gets them --"

"Alright, alright! Fine, geez... do you see a tarp or blanket or something we can use?"

"Yeah, I think there's a fire-resistant sheet in the closet for emergencies..."

Mikey watches with curiosity as one man grabs the blanket and the other starts pushing Mikey's cage into the back of the room, finding a dimly lit corner that will hide him well enough.

"Don't just stand there, help me already! This thing is heavy!"

"Right. Hey, how do we know this thing won't make any noise or something?"

"He's smart, he knows not to do that. Don't you, freak?"

Mikey swallows and whimpers, cowering even further into the corners of his cage.

The two finally push his pen into the corner, and drape the cloth over it. They press a finger to their mouth, signaling him not to make a sound before pulling the cloth as far over his enclosure as possible before running away and turning the lights down.

Mikey shivers. He's not sure why he's so nervous.

Stupid fearful wretch. Do you think this will keep you alive? Fear is weakness!

Mikey begs Instinct not to berate him right now. It's hard to stay quiet when Instinct is --

How pathetic you are. How revolting. They couldn't even care enough about you to take you with them.

Please, stop... Mikey's begging you, j-just --

And Instinct doesn’t just mean the evil humans. 'They' couldn't care less about you either. You spend every spare woebegone second crying over those worthless colours! And where are they now?! GONE, THAT'S WHERE! They LEFT you, and ABANDONED you, and all you can think of is how much they could have loved you?? HAH! I was wrong to keep you alive. I was wrong to save you, to fight for you. You aren't even worth it.

Mikey cries.

Stop crying, idiot!!

He can't.

It's... it's so hopeless. Why did he ever have hope? What for?? A happy ending? A family? Someone to hold him and love him?

What a hollow dream that was. Mikey should have known... h-he should have never hoped... Mikey isn't even a monster. He's less than that. He's nothing.

Oh, how long it has taken you to realize, Instinct sighs.

Mikey sobs quietly.

He cries and curls tighter and tighter and tighter around himself, hoping that he'll disappear inside of himself... if it's possible.

A door slams open, causing him to jolt out of his self-pity party. Mikey tries to stop sobbing. Keep quiet, keep quiet!!

Mikey can't stop crying, can't stop whining and whimpering and...

A-and...

What's... what's that smell?

Oof, it smells bad. Strange. But... but he.... he KNOWS that smell, doesn't he?

Red.

RED.

The colour engulfs his mind as the scent comes into focus.

I-it's... it's him. It's Red.

No, it can't be! Red is --

Is here in the room. Red is HERE!!

Oh.

Oh no. Oh, no, no no no....

Mikey can't let Red see him.

He hides, pushing himself as far away from the cage door as he can.

Red CANNOT find him! H-he can't, if Red sees Mikey, th-then he'll be so angry! Mikey knows they left him, Mikey knows that he was gone, they must be so angry at him! And Mikey knows... Mikey is a monster. Mikey can't remember what he looked like before, but he does recall that he looks different now... He doesn't want Red to see him.

Mikey prays that Red doesn't find him.

His heart pounds louder and louder as he listens to each step get closer. He BEGS himself to SHUT UP, STOP CRYING!! HE'LL HEAR YOU!

And hear him he does. Mikey hides his face, cowering in the dark as he hears the shuffling of feet coming towards his cage.

There's a loud CLANG noise as Red destroys the lock. Mikey's body freezes in terror.

The door opens.

Mikey finds himself reacting purely out of fear. He doesn't even know why he does what he does, but Mikey lunges out of the cage and hides behind Red. Red gasps in shock at the speed, but doesn't react beyond that.

Mikey clings onto him, breath trembling in his lungs.

It's Red... it's Red...

Oh..... oh the familiar feeling of hope.

He CAME. Red CAME BACK FOR HIM.

Despite his utter terror, Mikey can't bring himself to let go. Red seems to notice this.

"Alright, you can stay up there, but I need to go find my brother," Red replies with a sigh.

Mikey is confused... brother? He means Mikey! Does he not know? Has he truly not realized...

Mikey lets out a churr, unsure whether or not to tell him. He's... he's looking for him. He's searching for him. He WANTS to find him...

Red places a hand over his shell, helping him to stay in place on his shoulder.

"His name is Mikey," Red says, head swivelling from side to side as he searches the room. "He's got spots and the biggest smile you'll ever see. Mikey's also super talented. Kid can bake, draw, and dance better than anyone."

Mikey chirps, a smile gracing his face. He tries to hug him as best he can in his position. His tail wags, slapping the back legs of Red as he continues.

Somewhere in the back of his head, Instinct tells him not to fall for it, stay on his guard...

"I love him," Red continues, voice cracking. "A lot. I'd do anything for him."

Red goes on and on and on about Mikey, talking of special skills or talents he has, their relationship, and so many other things.

He... he loves Mikey?

He loves...

Someone.... someone loves Mikey.

Someone loves him enough to come into this place. To look for him. Despite what he's done.

Red loves Mikey. Despite all he thought, despite the hope that died and the many times Mikey was convinced of the opposite... he loves him. Mikey was wrong. Red loves Mikey...

He starts crying again.

"Ew! Did you just drool on me!? Come on!"

Mikey cries even more. Red loves him. Mikey never knew that... Mikey realizes that they didn't betray him, he betrayed them...

Red sighs and rubs Mikey's back.

"Hey, sorry for saying all that….you've probably been through enough already."

Mikey rubs his cheek against Red's head, gently wrapping his arms under his neck in what could loosely be described as a hug.

Mikey... Mikey is so sorry, Red. Mikey's so sorry...

"Don't worry about it. I'm not sad. Not as long as I find him," Red explains.

But... Mikey is right here?

Red doesn't understand. Mikey still can't show him his face. He's too scared. Maybe Red will stop loving him if he sees Mikey...

But he has to help Red. He starts tugging Red's shoulders, pulling him in a specific direction. Out of the room, into the hall, towards the elevator.

"I can't go without my brother," Red refuses, trying to pull Mikey off of his shoulders. "Here, you get out, you've probably been trapped long enough."

No, Mikey can't let Red see him!

Red gets irritated as Mikey mews in anxiety, clinging onto his shell and acting completely uncooperative. Red groans in frustration.

"Listen, I can't-"

The scales on Mikey's skin stand up on edge. He smells something.

Danger.

Mikey turns back and sees the cages of the mutants be opened remotely. That's not good. He looks up and sees a camera in the hallway watching them.

Oh. Oh no.

This is Mikey's fault. They don't want him to leave. They're going to take Red away from him again --

NO.

Mikey can't let them have his... brother... They cannot take Red.

Mikey leaps off of Red's back.

"I can't let you down! They're still coming!"

Red whirls around and comes face to face with reality.

Mikey stares at him, eyes sad and smile just barely visible.

Mikey's so sorry, Red...

"M-Mikey….?"

Mikey turns around and growls at the oncoming battle.

Shall we kill? Instinct asks.

Yes, Mikey answers.

WONDERFUL.

Mikey charges.

He'll make it up to Red. He'll protect him. He'll save him, he'll fight for him, kill for him, die for him. Anything.

Mikey will do good.

.

.

.

Mikey has to guard his face from the light as he steps through the door. He wonders how many times in one night can he endure this...

As the light dims and fades away, Mikey notices that the flooring beneath his feet seems change. It slowly shifts from soft and smooth wood to hard concrete bricks, cold and wet or slimy with every other step.

The light finally subsides, revealing the scenery around him.

It's the sewers.

Not a minka or pagoda built for a big family.

But a wide open series of tunnels refurbished for a family of five.

Mikey knows this place from his memories...

The walls are spray-painted with artsy symbols and phrases from movies like Hot Soup! or Jupiter Jim Saves the Day! and Heroes in a Half-Shell -- Turtle Power!

Mikey hears something down the hall. He follows the noise as it gets louder and more distinct. There's laughter, shouting, giggling, eggings-on of children...

Mikey enters into the rec room, where all the other halls lead and eventually connect to. There are four turtle tots making such a joyful ruckus as they play games and run after each other.

There's little Raphie, wearing an oversized jersey and a football helmet over his mask as he plays tag, running from the others at a slightly slower pace so they can catch up with him.

Baby blue Leo is next, just about to latch onto his tail in the game of tag. His mask is bunched up like a bandana over his head, the iconic blue tee with the word RAD flows behind him as he chases after the biggest brother.

Donnie runs after the two at a slightly slower pace. His puffy jacket hinders his speed ever so slightly, and he stops every so often to readjust his glasses.

Mikey watches with awe at the sight of his brothers so teeny tiny, so young, so carefree...

"Guys! Wait fow me!"

Mikey's eyes widen at the sight of one singular tot, chubby and small, waddling as fast as he can after the trio.

"I has wittle legs, I can't keep up!"

The corners of Mikey's mouth turn up in a gradual smile as he watches the fond memory of his childhood.

"They're cute, aren't they?"

Mikey's head snaps to the side. There's... another person here.

He barely recognizes him at first. But he's had enough of his memories to return to be able to remember his former self.

"...It's you..."

The former Mikey smiles brightly at him, snickering just a bit.

He looks almost exactly like his memories, apart from a pair of large rose gold glasses adorning his face.

"How... I-I mean, why...."

"Aren't they adorable?" the other Mikey asks, glancing back to look at the toddlers. "Can you believe we were ever that cute?"

Mikey doesn't answer yet, he just watches the kids playing.

Turtle tot Mikey pauses, and turns to look at them. The other tots don't seem to notice the grown kids, but he does somehow. He smiles and waves at them.

"Who ya wavin' to, Mikey?"

"Just some friends!"

The tots all run down the corridor. Mikey reaches out to the child, almost begging him to stay.

"Where are they going?" he asks the other Mikey.

But the other Michelangelo doesn't really respond.

Mikey runs after them, following down the corridor for the kids. They all run into the TV room, where Splinter had left a copy of Crouching Shrimp, Hidden Tiger Prawn playing on the projector screen.

He watches with slight nostalgic jealousy as the kids try to recreate the scene from the movie.

"Hard to believe that's us," says the other Michelangelo as he struts in after Mikey, leaning against the archway.

"Y-yeah," Mikey stammers, thrown off by Michelangelo's reappearance.

"Why don't you have a seat?" Michelangelo asks, gesturing to the side table and wraparound couch in the corner of the room.

Mikey follows his counterpart and sits across from him, eyeing him nervously.

"I thought we could talk for a bit," Michelangelo says with a gentle smile.

"What about?" Mikey asks, tail twitching restlessly along the cushions.

"Some things that I felt were important to address. Before we have to leave."

"We?? Don't you mean me or you?" Mikey corrects.

Michelangelo leans on the table, hands folding into one another as he studies Mikey's face.

"See, that's exactly what I want to focus on. Why do you assume that you'll be leaving? Or me?"

"W-well...." Mikey swallows as he glances about the room, avoiding the double's gaze. "I don't know. I thought maybe... we weren't the same."

"Just because we look different?" Michelangelo asks.

"We act different, too," Mikey sighs. "You can't climb walls. You don't have a voice in your head telling you to hurt people. You don't have my scars."

"And that's what makes us different?"

Mikey stares at him in confusion at the audacity of a statement.

"Doesn't it?"

"Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't," Michelangelo shrugs. "But just because you went through something doesn't mean you aren't the same person you were before. I might not be you, but I'm still a part of you."

"I... I don't understand...?"

Michelangelo points down to where the children play.

"Look at him. Is he the same as us? No. But he is us, regardless. He will always be a part of us, no matter what. We carry him along, and sometimes he comes out and sometimes he shys away. But he's there all the same."

Michelangelo smiles.

"Just like I will always be there, too!"

Mikey finally meets his eyes. He swallows. Michelangelo reaches out and takes his hand.

"I know it's been hard for you to feel accepted after everything, and you've been fighting to find your place. But it was always there! Yes, you changed, and that's fine, that's even healthy. If you didn't change after something like that experience, then we should be a little concerned. But don't think that just because you changed that you aren't still yourself. I would've thought you'd have figured that out by now!"

"So... you're saying that you're still a part of me?"

"I've always been here, dude!" Michelangelo smiles.

"W-why?" Mikey asks, tail flicking nervously under the table. "D-don't you...."

"Don't I what?"

"...Hate me?"

Michelangelo laughs. Fully laughs, head thrown back cackling.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh so much -- but why would I hate you?" he asks, lifting his glasses to wipe a tear away.

"Because... well, just because!" Mikey argues. "Why wouldn't you hate me??"

"Because it was never your fault, dude!" he replies. "And you keep forgetting, we're not two different people. We're the same. I'm just some kind of subconscious representation of your inner feelings or something."

"Huh?"

"Oh, never mind, you'll figure it out eventually."

"But you should hate me!" Mikey protests. "I-I replaced you, I-I ruined you, I--"

"Do you think he hates us because we grew up and changed?" Michelangelo asks, tilting his head to gesture to the tot version of themselves.

Mikey is taken aback, stuttering and stammering at the suggestion.

"I-I... I don't know, I--"

"Do you think that Donnie and Raph and Leo hated us when our powers evolved and changed?"

"That's not the same!" Mikey argues.

"But do you think Casey hated his Sensei when he lost his arm?"

Mikey pauses.

"Or do you think he hates us because we're the younger versions of the people he knew from the future?" Michelangelo continues.

"...I.... I don't... he kept talking about them, he misses them so much..."

"But he doesn't hate us or resent us. Or our brothers," Michelangelo explains. "Love doesn't give up when something changes. As we grow, it grows. As we change and evolve, so does love. And when we love someone, we don't simply forget who they were, or give up loving that part of them after they grow past it. We still love that part and hold it in our memory, and the love doubles. They will love every part of you, even after you've changed. Because people change, dude."

Mikey sighs.

"All this time I thought that they'd hate me because of how different I was..."

"...But I think the only person who really felt that way that might've been you," Michelangelo replies, taking Mikey's hand again. "Don't hate yourself over something you had no control over. You were hurt, and you healed. Might not have happened the way you wanted, and maybe you'll never be the same again, but you're still you and you can let yourself grow from there."

"So... you're really not mad at me?"

"No."

"Not even for... what I'd decided to do?"

"Oh, you mean about the cure?" Michelangelo asks with a smile. He waves his hand at Mikey and leans back nonchalantly. "Nah, I'm not mad."

"Would it have been the right choice?" Mikey asks. "To stay like this, and not undo the mutations? Or would it have been a mistake?"

"Well, firstly, I don't know if there was a wrong answer to that choice," Michelangelo thinks aloud. "If you'd have chosen to go back to how you were before, you'd still have all the memories of what you'd been through, and you'd have to go through learning how to live without the mutations and all the stuff you'd just gotten used to. Probably get war-like flashbacks every once in a while. And not to mention how painful it would have been, too. So it wouldn't have been easy. And the choice you made, to stay the way you are now, that's not wrong either. But it also won't be easy. Secondly, why are you talking in the past tense hypotheticals?"

Mikey blinks.

"Because.... because I'm dead, aren't I?"

For the second time, Michelangelo starts cackling.

"You're not dead!" he laughs.

"I...I'm not?"

"Nah, fool!" Michelangelo says, giggling as he claps Mikey on the back. "What made you think you were?"

"Well then what the heck is all of this?" Mikey yells in confusion. "What the heck was all of that whole paradise I just went through with all those Hamato people??"

"Oh, that," Mikey sighs, calming down. "Okay, maaaaybe you were kinda dead. Technically, your heart did stop and you weren't here on earth anymore, but that was only for maybe a minute or so. Not too long, no lasting damage. I think the ancestors just wanted to make sure you got home okay. They knew it wasn't your time yet."

Mikey swallows, feeling just a tad bit dizzy from the realization. And tired.

"Then... then what is this? A dream?"

"Call it a long overdue conversation with yourself," Michelangelo says with a wink. "A reflection inward, if you will. And I do. Dr. Feelings and Dr. Delicate Touch have been out on sabbatical for a while, and this felt like the perfect opportunity to dust off our truthful therapy skills!"

"Yeah, sorry about that," Mikey yawns. "I've been a little busy..."

"Hey, don't worry, I get it!" Michelangelo says with a wave of his hand.

"But... maybe it's time for them to come back?" Mikey offers. "Start accepting the truth and really healing..."

Michelangelo slowly takes the glasses off, rubbing his thumb over the lenses.

"Yeah. I think so, too," he says as he hands the specs to Mikey.

"So... would this be like, you giving me your blessing or something? Saying I'm the superior Mikey or something?" Mikey asks.

"It's a dream, dude," Michelangelo says flatly. "Not everything is completely meaningful. It's your subconscious."

"Right, right..." Mikey yawns. "So, if I'm not dead, then where am I?"

The Dream Michelangelo leans back, putting his feet up on the table and folding his hands behind his head as he stares off into space.

"Oh, right about now I'd say that your at home in the medbay, sleeping it off. I think you've been there for at least 20 hours now. You should probably wake up soon..."

"Yeah, I guess so..." Mikey sighs, a deep and heavy exhale escaping his lungs. "But... Just to be clear... you're really not mad at me? You're not mad that I decided to stay the monster?"

"You're not a monster, man!" Mikey cackles. "You're a teenage mutant ninja turtle!"

Mikey chuckles.

"Yeah. I'll work on that. But, y'know, the weird thing is," Mikey says, tapping his fingers against the table. "I'm actually kinda... thirsty?"

.

.

.

"What did you just say??"

Mikey has no idea why everything went so pitch black and then blinding white. He was just talking to himself, and as soon as he mentioned feeling thirsty... the whole world went away.

He tries opening his eyes. They're so extremely heavy, and as soon as he attempts it, light instantly cracks in his vision, seeping through his eyelids and causing red to pierce his sight. He fights through the pain, groaning softly as he does.

Once he opens his eyes, Mikey sees that he's in the gurney from the medbay at the lair. He can't really feel his body, which is weird. He lifts his arm. That works. He can't feel it, it's numb and weird, but it's there. He thinks his hand is disconnected from the joint since he can't feel it either, and it looks really floppy. But after he shakes it and manages to get the fingers to curl and uncurl, he finds that everything is okay after all. He flops the hand around again, snickering at the sight and sensation. A large, gruff but gentle hand takes his to make it stop. Aww, booooo...

He notices a tube and needle stuck in the center of his hand, pumping some sort of clear fluid into it very slowly. He follows the tube and sees it connects to a bag of the same clear fluid. Beside that bag is the owner of the hand, staring down at Mikey with wide and red-rimmed eyes hidden beyond a red mask.

"Mikey, what did you just say?" Raphael asks again, voice soft and airy, hanging on every potential word Mikey has to offer.

Mikey smacks his lips, which are awfully dry and chapped, and have just the tiniest remnants of crusted blood in the corners. He tries to find his tongue, which seems to be missing. Well, no, it's not, it's thick and it's right there, but he can't get it to wake up just yet. Funny, he could talk so easily a moment ago, why is it so hard now? He manages to get the lazy good-for-nothing muscle moving...

"...Th'rsty," Mikey croaks.

Raph practically knocks the IV pole and bag over in his desperate attempt to hug Mikey, almost flattening him against the mattress. He sobs almost uncontrollably, confusing an already out-of-sorts Mikey.

"GUYS! MIKEY'S AWAKE!!" He yells rather loudly, causing Mikey to flinch away from him.

He's not sure why Raph would say that, Mikey feels like he's still asleep, or will fall asleep again at any second again.

Leo and Donnie seem to materialize in the doorway just as the words leave Raphael's mouth, eyes wide and mouths open. As soon as they arrive, any thought of falling back asleep leaves Mikey. They fling themselves onto the gurney, sobbing hysterically and laughing profusely.

Casey and Splinter run in just a moment later, joining the fray and asking a hundred questions that Mikey has no idea of answering.

He still can't get his silly tongue to do anything for him.

Raph eventually remembers that Mikey wanted something to drink and gives him a glass of water, helping him to sip it. Or rather, to drool and dribble half of the contents down his chin as the rest barely manage to enter his mouth.

Mikey stares down blankly at the water running from his face.

"...Spilled it," is all he can manage to say.

The room erupts into laughter.

"...Where..." Mikey croaks, breath slow and relaxed from the heavy painkillers, "...Where am I?"

"You're home, Mikey!" Leo says, making it sound more like a congratulations than an explanation. "You're home!"

And for the first time, Mikey truly feels like he finally has come home.

Prev || Next

[electricaquarius]

Midnight fanfiction time strikes again, this is my first Gale x reader! Completely gender neutral, only thing described is that the reader is prone to migraines. Short and fluffy. (Also it seems like some of my fics are missing? I'll repost them sometime soon)

As you slowly opened your eyes you felt the morning light like two daggers directly to your skull. You rolled over and groaned, using your arm to try to block it out but it was no use, you officially had a migraine. As if the tadpole wasn't enough your head was now trying to implode on itself. The sound of Lae’zel sharpening her blade was nearly enough to make you cry. Hands over your ears you stumbled out, still dressed in night clothes, needing to explain you cannot possibly adventure out today. As the unofficial leader you felt a certain sense of guilt taking a day off but the world feels so spacey and dreamlike it's impossible to concentrate on much other than the pain. You believe Wyll had ordered you back to bed at some point but honestly it could have been any of your friends. You're just happy to be able to rest once more.

You woke up later, but you're not sure how much time had passed. Hours, certainly, since it was dark outside. Although, there was a slight tinge of weave in the air that made you question that, alongside the soft sound of waves even though you were miles from the nearest coastline. You sat up and scanned your tent to find Gale sitting in one corner, book on his lap. ‘Gale…?’ You croaked out, throat dry from sleep.

His voice was a low whisper. ‘Ah, good morning. Or evening, as it might be.’ He chuckled. ‘I thought a darkness spell might help, I understand you were quite light sensitive this morning. Please, let me know if you want me to stop.’ He reached over and poured a cup of water for you. ‘Drink. Dehydration will only make your headache worse.’

You took the cup from him gratefully and took several small sips. ‘How long was I out? Have you been concentrating for all that time?’ Added to the guilt of a wasted day, you now have the shame of taking up Gale's time when he could have been doing one of the thousand little chores you were unaware of before you started camping with your be-tadpoled friends.

‘Most of the day, I'm afraid. I do hope you're feeling better. Although you needn't worry, darkness is hardly a demanding spell even to maintain it for several hours.’ There was that pride coming through again. At times it infuriated you but right now it was quite endearing.

You sat up properly and brought your knees to your chest. ‘Still, to sit with me like this for the whole time I was asleep… you're very nice to me. I'm not quite sure why.’ You shrugged. It was true enough, you couldn't quite see Gale doing something *this* nice for your other companions. There had been something between you ever since your little magic lesson but nothing that either of you could name.

‘I could say the same about you, after having not only accepted my condition but helping to treat it. Let's say it's an equal exchange.’ He tucked away the book and brought a hand to your forehead. ‘No fever. Good. I'm afraid treating that would be a mite more complicated.’

You rolled your eyes and flopped back down onto the bedroll. ‘Must you be so mercenary? That was the perfect time to tell me how much you like me.’ You took another sip of water to avoid Gale's gaze for a moment.

‘I won't argue, considering you're still recovering, but I will say you were the first to bring it up. And I won't waste time telling you what you already know. You mean a great deal to me, and if I may be so bold, I do to you.’ He leant down and kissed your forehead before rising. ‘I'll call you when dinner is ready, you should eat.’

Stunned into silence, you can't respond until Gale is across the camp and preparing dinner. If this is how he reacted, you make a mental note to play sick more often.

[drawing-prompt-s]

Jolene Fundraiser - Round 2

So I was trying to avoid doing this by selling my laptop but that is taking longer than expected. It's already been up for sale for a month with no bites other than bots and scammers.

GOFUNDME HERE

PAYPAL HERE

Summarized version of the GOFUNDME post:

Jolene was previously treated for ear mites brought in by my roommate's cat. She was treated and our apartment was visited by exterminators in the meantime. My roommate said she got her cat treated for them as well at her vet.

She lied.

My roommate and I do not get along, partially because her cat will chase down Jolene and attack her unprompted. She has been extremely territorial since she moved in.

I have been staying in my room 24/7 because of issues with my roommate. And I left to gather some items while she was gone, unaware she left her ear mite infested cat out there who then attacked Jolene who had come with me. I separated them, thankfully without injury to Jolene, but did not realize between the attack and the apartment being reinfested that Jolene got ear mites again.

I noticed a few days ago for sure when Jolene tore her ears up trying to scratch them. Blood drawn, cuts, etc. This time they are worse than before and she has not stopped going at her ears and crying. The only time she isn't going at them is while asleep, and sometimes they will still wake her up. I have been doing what I can to ease the pain and inflammation but they need to be flushed, cleaned, and given antibiotics at the vet - something that will cost me another $300.

Again, I tried getting the money myself by selling my laptop but with no luck in the last month. I met with the property manager here about the situation and our lease allows for forcible transfers. They are forcibly transferring my current roommate out within two weeks.

The goal is $300 in 2 weeks because of her forced removal. My apartment complex will cover the cost of the exterminators.

I do not have much to offer, but if interested, I usually make faux song covers for pets; if you want one done of a pet or person I would be happy to make one for you, additional stickers, etc, can be made. They are the size of phone lockscreens - that is what I use them as. Just message me a picture @prophet-rebellion of your donation confirmation, the photo you want me to use for the lock screen, and a song you want. You can see the simple ones linked here.

$350/$350

The last $100 I needed was sent while I was asleep so that means I've reached the full $350 already. Thank you everyone!!

[delimeful]

Defender

warnings: bickering, theoretical violence, that's basically it this one's fluffy

Part 8 of MC AU!

-

“And you’re sure that this will prevent the village’s valiant defender from attacking Anxiety on sight?” Roman asked, visibly concerned. “Absolutely sure that there won’t be hitting or striking or slaying of any variety?”

Logan disliked repeating himself, and this would be the third time he had done so, hence his rapidly waning patience. “Yes, Roman. I’ve been researching this exact matter for weeks, and I’m very confident that my alterations to the iron golem’s runic carvings will prevent it from targeting Anxiety. I had to perform a similar adjustment for my own person when first creating the golem, as well.”

“Alright, alright,” Roman relented, though when Logan turned away, he could see the adventurer shoot the iron golem a wary look. “I’m just a mite concerned for Tall, Dark, and Spooky, that’s all. I mean, have you seen how bony that guy is? A single punch would practically bowl him over!”

“I think you’re underestimating him,” Logan replied, absently hoping that Roman didn’t notice the way he was triple-checking the images in his reference book and the runes painstakingly carved into the iron golem’s armor. “Endermen are far more durable and far more dangerous than they look.”

A brief stretch of silence, and then he paused his work again to lift his head and elaborate: “Not that Anxiety is a danger to us.”

“Pat’s got us well-trained, huh,” Roman mused, as though he hadn’t just been fretting over the enderman in question. “I swear, one day he’ll bring the Ender Dragon home, and we’ll all just have to adapt to it just to make the guy happy.”

“Please do not speak that into existence,” Logan replied dryly, brushing away some stray metal shavings as he stepped back from the village’s golem to look over his work. “I have no doubt he would be the only one even capable of such a thing.”

Roman hummed in agreement, coming to stand by his side. They surveyed the updated runes together for a long moment.

“And this won’t prevent it from realizing that other endermen are still potential threats?” Roman asked, an eyebrow raised at the complex interwoven symbols. “That’s a pretty specific condition to set for a construct, Specs.”

“It is,” Logan allowed. “Luckily, I am an exceedingly skilled witch.”

The brag earned him a snort and an eyeroll, both gestures a far cry from the wariness that had marked the beginning of their strange enemies-turned-friends dynamic.

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop pestering you,” Roman said, lifting his hands up in a gesture of faux-innocence. “But if Anxiety gets punched into next week by one of those metal tree trunks your golem calls arms, I reserve the right to say I told you so.”

Logan sighed, the noise coming out far fonder than he wanted it to. “Very well. Though, I will remind you how many times you’ve gotten to exercise that particular right over the course of our friendship.”

He wasn’t in the habit of being wrong, especially because letting Roman say ‘I told you so’ to him would be galling beyond belief.

Roman grumbled wordlessly for a moment, before turning on his heel to lead the way back towards the small clearing near Patton’s house. “Regardless, I maintain the right! One of these days, your hubris will be your undoing, and on that day, my powerful intuition and sense for danger will triumph!”

The adventurer accentuated this particular claim by immediately getting his boot caught in a stray pumpkin vine, tripping, and nearly eating dirt.

“Doubtful,” Logan replied with poorly-concealed smugness, preoccupied with carefully replacing the golem’s lodestone and observing it shuffle back into awareness. He paid no mind to the indignant muttered complaints growing fainter behind him.

Once he was satisfied that nothing was amiss and all the inscribed runes were still properly lit up, he turned to follow Roman, beckoning to the golem to follow.

Now came for the nerve-wracking part: ensuring that the runic alterations would take proper effect, something that could only be done by introducing the two.

It was a relatively short walk to the clearing, and once they were close, Roman picked up his pace to sprint ahead and let Patton and Anxiety know that the first test of Logan’s handiwork was about to begin. Since the golem was relatively slow unless agitated, Logan remained behind, walking slowly at its side to keep it on course.

By the time they reached the clearing, everyone was prepared. In Anxiety’s case, perhaps even over-prepared, going by the characteristic ozone scent that cropped up whenever the enderman teleported too many times in a small space. Roman’s apprehension must have unsettled him as well— they did call him Anxiety for a reason, after all.

Concealing a sigh, Logan stepped forward into the clearing and to the side to make way for the construct trailing behind him, clearing his throat as though everyone’s gazes weren’t already locked on his approach. “Anxiety, our iron golem is right behind me. If it locks onto you and begins to move quickly, teleporting a chunk away should be far enough for it to calm down. It won’t harm any of us, as I’ve said before.”

There was an otherworldly hum of acknowledgement, and he noted that Anxiety had settled in front of Patton, rather than behind. By now, everyone had become well-adjusted to making sure to avoid eye contact with their easily-agitated friend, but usually, Anxiety still showed a clear preference for teleporting directly behind any one of them.

(Personally, Logan believed it was at least in part due to the way Roman would always shriek in startlement when Anxiety appeared behind him. Their unusual enderman was difficult to parse at times, but his penchant for mischief wasn’t particularly hard to pick up on.)

This test must have had him truly on edge. Logan turned to watch the golem lumber into the clearing, keeping his own posture forcibly relaxed as he mentally prepared to do damage control if this little experiment failed.

The iron golem drew to a stop a few steps in, its field of vision sweeping over all of them, and the moment stretched. It then made a grinding stone-on-stone rumble inquisitively, as though curious as to why all of them were so tense.

The sigh of relief was audible, even in Anxiety’s warped voice. Logan adjusted his glasses and only barely refrained from flaunting his success over Roman in the name of keeping the current peace. “Anxiety, you should be safe to approach, and I encourage you to do so. If you’re able to interact at close range with the iron golem, that should confirm that each and every one of the adjustments have set in properly.”

Anxiety warbled, teleporting back and forth a few blocks as he often did while nervous, and Patton reached out to give him a supportive pat on the arm.

“This is the one who was looking out for me before I met you,” he told Anxiety, offering an encouraging smile. “I think you two will get along well!”

Anxiety was quiet for a moment, and then walked forward on spindly legs, approaching the guardian with all due tentativeness. The iron golem tilted its head upwards to look at the enderman, making another rumble as it swung its arms back and forth absently, entirely unconcerned with what would normally be a serious enemy to it.

Anxiety ‘vrrp’-d back at the golem, circling around it in an unsteady circle, like a bee around a flower. The golem turned in a slow rotation to follow the enderman’s movement, still languid and unhurried. It painted a rather cute picture, if Logan was honest.

Patton clapped his hands together in glee, happy that they’d managed a successful interaction. Somehow, Logan was reminded of the first time he’d introduced his familiar to Patton’s pet cat. The felines’ resulting tolerance of each other had earned a similar reaction.

“There we have it,” he concluded, satisfied with a job well done. “Anxiety is no longer at any risk from the town’s guardian.”

Roman sidled up next to him, apparently content to ignore Logan’s somewhat self-satisfactory tone. “You know, if you’d told me this was what I’d be helping with a month ago, I wouldn’t have believed you for love or diamonds.”

“Yes, well, I could have said much the same at many points over my acquaintanceship with Patton,” Logan replied, watching as the iron golem slowly offered Anxiety a poppy, as though confused as to why the enderman was still persistently bobbing around it. Anxiety seemed immediately charmed by the gesture. “By now, I suspect I’m growing rather used to it.”

“At least I handled our newest friend better than our first meeting, hm?” Roman said wryly, and Logan exchanged an amused look with him. “Maybe I’m getting used to it, too.”

A few yards away, Patton was still practically jumping for joy. He turned to the two of them, beaming. “Now we can introduce Anxiety to the rest of the village!”

The look they exchanged this time was far more alarmed. “Patton, I’m not so sure that’s the best idea…”

Across the clearing, the iron golem tilted its head curiously as the enderman next to it abruptly teleported a fair few blocks away to hide behind a tree.

Huh. Seemed the latest and strangest addition to the village was shy.