#i'll try and release a new chapter every two weeks

[orchidyoonkook]

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 7

Title: Hard Goodbyes and Favourite Colours

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: Nel flies home, Yuri flies back, Jungkook can't stop thinking about the other night. And you? Gods, don't even get me started.

Warnings: T, language, fluff (?), angst, reader is ~not~ okay for a chunk of this, bye bye Nel! it was nice to meet you, Yuri being the bestie she is, playful antagonism, JK thinking a lot, some photography technical words but nothing scary, reader is painting again, shocker.

Word Count: 4,463

Release Date: July 9, 2024. 2:00PM

A/N 1: Hi this was supposed to be released like a month and a half ago but then i went to europe and my brain was anywhere but near electronics. Anywhooo here she is, as always thanks for waiting and I'll try to be more consistent now that post vacation depression has kicked in.

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

Sometimes life works out incredibly conveniently for you, like when Nel’s flight leaves a half hour before Yuri’s gets in at the same airport. 

But then it sucks again as your week with Nel flies by so quickly it feels like you’ve had no time at all while also having so much because of all the new memories you’ve both made. 

Currently in a rideshare and airport bound, because you will be in no way okay to drive back, your grip on Nel’s hand is strangling as you take in every last second of time you can get with him. He keeps giving kisses to your forehead, nose, cheeks, mouth; anywhere he can get access to really. 

He doesn't want this week to end just as much as you don’t. Fuck this fucking sucks so much.

The driver pulls up to the terminal drop off, and you both exit. Nel grabs his bag from the trunk, now filled with little mementos from your week as well as his clothes. A pressed flower from the greenhouse, museum postcards, a doodle you did for him while he was sketching, and more, all tucked away for safekeeping. All the only physical things he can hold onto until he sees you next. 

Walking into the airport, you make your way up to the check in desk, paperwork already in hand. Nel checks in and you request an escort pass, determined to spend every last moment together. 

There’s a lump forming in your throat that you’re trying to swallow. It’s thick, like a ball of unending peanut butter you can’t get down. And your chest feels like a black hole has opened inside of it, right where your heart is supposed to be. Every second that ticks away allowing another drop of the warmth you have with him to be sucked right out of your sternum.

Painful doesn’t even begin to describe this feeling. 

As beautiful as your week was, the reality of the present is setting in, and the closer you get to his gate, the closer you are to tears. You’re trying your best to blink them away, but you won’t be seeing him until winter break, and even then, that’ll only be for a day or two at most before you have to wait till summer to see him again. So it might as well be goodbye for those full 6 months.

It hurts. It hurts so bad to have to go through this over and over again, to have this separation from the one you love, even if it’s only temporary. Funny how temporary can sometimes feel like forever when you’re in the middle of it. 

Funny how the concept of temporary doesn’t make the gash in your heart open any less.

You don’t want him to go, but you know he has too. The faster he goes, the faster he can come back to you. 

You hate that he has to go in the first place. You just want him to stay. Please, just stay.

But he can’t. 

You reach his gate and before you know it, his flight’s being called to board and your tears refuse to stay inside any longer, the lump succeeding in its plot of victory. They spill down your cheeks in silent rivers, wet splotches on the neckline of your shirt forming as they flow. 

Maybe they’ll create a little lake in the hole he’s leaving you with. There’s certainly enough of them to fill it. Something to fill the void a little until you can see him again.

Nel takes one look before scooping you into a crushing hug, a desperate echo of the one from a week ago. His own tears now staining.

“I love you so much,” he says. You don’t see his eyes squeeze shut, nor do you see him memorizing your smell, as he kisses the top of your head. And his voice wobbles as he whispers, “It’s not forever, it’s just for now.” 

He says those words every time you two part, whether it was for a day or a year. Never goodbye or so long. Never see you later. 

They’ve always been a small comfort in otherwise shitty situations. 

“Just for now,” you get out through quiet sobs, gripping onto him even tighter as you shake. 

It takes you a couple deep breaths before you can say anything without breaking. “I love you too. Please be safe, message me when you land, and do well on your final exams.”

He smiles at that last bit, and your tears free themselves again. You’re going to miss seeing that smile in person.

Nel pulls you in once more, tighter. “It’s always harder when my good luck charm is halfway across the world, but I’ll manage.” Your sobs stutter with a broken laugh, and you’re pretty sure his sweater is going to have tear stains on it. “I promise I’ll message as soon as I can. And I’d wish you luck but you never need it. You always do well.”

The announcement for final boarding calls and both of you freeze in each other's arms. You don’t want him to go. He doesn’t want to go.

But he has too. 

You separate only enough to kiss. It’s messy and wet and gross, but you don’t care. It’s the last one you’ll have for a while and you never want it to end. 

But it does. 

Nel pulls away, and you reluctantly let him. He grabs his bag with one hand, the other holding onto both of yours as he backs away until he can no longer reach. Your arms drop to your sides with the traces of his warmth on your skin.

You watch as the boarding crew welcomes him on, and he takes one look back at you. 

You wave, mouthing ‘I love you.’

He mouths ‘I love you’ right back, and turns the corner.

You waited for Yuri at her terminal after dropping off Nel and taking five—okay ten—minutes to violently sob in the bathroom. 

She took one look at your half smile and puffy eyes and smothered you in a hug. Smelling like sunshine and ocean water, it was exactly what you needed. 

“It’s okay Sweets, you’ll see him again before you know it. This year will pass by so fast, just you see,” she tells you through your whimpers, the tears having returned the second her arms were around you.

They dry sometime on the way home. It was a thirty minute ride back to school, and they fell silently for a solid twenty before you even got in.

You hate goodbyes. 

But Yuri’s seen this three times now, and she always knew that a warm drink and junk food were in your immediate shared futures when she did. Screw healthy coping methods. It may be 9:30pm on a Sunday night, but that won’t stop you from downing a pint as you drown your sorrows in sweet, sweet cookies n cream. 

Yuri also knows you need a distraction, so she doesn’t hold back on telling you every detail of her vacation. 

The duke from a few weeks ago had been a dud. ‘Shit personality and even shittier sex’ according to Yuri. No consultation needed. 

But this new guy from the Ilcalos Islands sounds promising. He’s a Count of something she can’t remember but in her words, “big heart and even bigger dick.” 

That makes you giggle. And you’re happy for her. 

“Bitch, the second night he did this thing with his tongue and an ice cube and oh. my. god. I think I’m in love. That man could do whatever he wanted to me and I’d still say thank you afterwards,” she’s rambling at this point and you’re mentally apologizing to the driver for having to hear all of it. 

You, on the other hand, don’t mind at all; gladly welcome it actually. You want your mind anywhere other than the present right now. 

You don’t want to start crying all over again. By the morning you’ll be fine, you’ll have let out everything you needed too. But between then and now, it’s a matter of mentioning the wrong words or seeing an intriguingly designed building that could trigger those pesky tear ducts.

So you listen to Yuri go on and on about this guy, all his techniques and what she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about since she last saw him. His number is already saved in her phone under a very inappropriate name, but you expect nothing less from her. 

You love her for it. For this. 

For knowing what you need to stay afloat right now and not allowing you to throw the anchor overboard with your leg chained to the end.

You really fucking hate goodbyes. 

You’re staring at him. 

Like, full on, no bars held, staring at him. 

And Jungkook’s pretending he doesn’t notice.

You’re sitting in your chair and he’s back in his beside you at greenhouse cafe. Your half done painting of pink flowers sits in front of you, his laptop screen’s filled with this week's newly assigned ‘Studio Portrait Techniques 1’ homework. 

His half finished coffee on his table. An empty pastry bag on yours.

His hands on his keyboard, yours gripping a brush.

And you’re staring at him. 

He’s hoping it’s because this is the first time you’ve seen him since Nel left. 

But it’s probably to do with the fact that he hasn’t looked at you once today. Or the fact that he’s barely spoken at all when he usually can’t seem to shut up when it’s been more than 48 hours since he last saw you. 

Because it’s also the first time he’s seen you since he was with Adaline, imaging she wasn’t Adaline.

“You’re acting weird,” you say.

“No I’m not,” he responds a little too quickly, eyes still focused on his computer.

Yes he is. He really, totally is. 

“Yes you are, you won't look at me and you’ve barely said two words since I got here.” Well your knack for observancy is still intact.

Normally that's a good thing, but right now?

“Did I do something wrong?”

No. No you didn’t.

He did.

He let his emotions get the best of him in a moment of weakness. He let himself become so overwhelmed with feelings he isn’t allowed to have. He let them win for a single night.

And now if he isn’t paying the goddamned consequences. 

After that night with Adaline, Jungkook had woken up filled with regret. He’d crossed a line he didn’t even know he should have drawn in very dark, very permanent ink.

For letting himself, just for one moment, imagine what it would be like to be with…

And things are harder than ever to shove down now. He can’t look even look at you without thinking about it. About what he did. What he wanted. 

Wants.

Fuck, he’s in over his head.

Jungkook forces himself to look at you, putting his years of social training and emotional masking to good use. It sure as hell came in handy during times like this.

Because you can never know. 

He can’t lose you because he's unable to get his shit together. It’s not your fault he feels like this. 

So he lies. Both to you and to himself, hoping it might help him believe it.

“Nothing’s wrong Dali, just focused on my work is all. We got assigned a big project on Monday and I’m planning out all my shoots.”

You look hesitant, like you can see right through his bullshit excuse that was only a half excuse because this project is massive. 

“If you say so,” your tone implying you don’t believe him, but thankfully, you let it go and lean closer to him to see. He pretends his breathing doesn’t hitch, “What’s the project?”

“It’s my final assignment for a class, I have to do a series of five portraits. Each one with a different style, capturing a different emotion, and they all have to be of the same subject to show the true versatility of my work. It’s easy to make things look different when it’s different people being photographed,” he explains.

Therefore, this assignment, and all of its working parts, is huge. He’s glad it’s due in the middle of December because it’s going to take him almost a month of planning to get it all together; backdrops, concepts, costumes, previsualization, focal lengths, props, equipment, lighting setups, etc. And then when the planning is over: to shoot, narrow down and edit. 

But that’s the point of it. To have the students demonstrate they know how to effectively expand on the definition of a ‘portrait’ instead of having one concept in mind and sticking to it. 

‘To broaden your creative approaches to seemingly simple constructs,’ as his professor would say.

He loves the way this professor does assignments. How she layers them so that not only does he learn how to shoot multi-concept ideas for the same project type, allowing him to add to his creative portfolio, but they also force him to break out of the expected conclusions for an idea and think outside the box. 

“Oh wow, that is a lot,” you say. Because you understand long running projects. 50 hour paintings don’t just happen in a day. “Do you have any ideas yet?”

“Yeah! I have them all already, actually,” he turns his computer towards you and you see a point by point list of summarized ideas.

- Bright and bold - happy, bright smile, colourful gels - Black and white, soft light: gel or bounce? Silk diffuser  - profile with water falling on face - relieved - Focused on passion - candid, regular colour. Diffuser? Or silk flag? - Normal colour profile, stark lighting - serious, front facing body, profile facing left, no visible clothing, “regal” _|(_*-*)>_. Flag.  - Mysterious - black background, white smoke, barely visible model, lower half of face painted black, upper half white, striking purple eyes (contacts?). Flags. Gels? 

“I’m really excited for this project,” he says, “it’s just the prep that’s going to take a while. Getting it all mapped and planned out. It’s mostly concepts right now.”

You nod, understanding once again. Though very different mediums, visual arts and photography are similar in many ways. 

“Adaline going to be your model?”

It doesn’t surprise him you think that, but he has no intentions of ever using Adaline for assignments or homework. 

“Actually, I… uhh…” he trails off. Jungkook’s trying to get the words out, he is. But they’re surprisingly difficult for some reason, and getting caught in his throat. 

Which makes his earlier anxious state come back in full force. 

It shouldn't be this difficult. It won’t be the first, second or fifth time he’s asked you.

Get the words out Jeon. Put on your professional face, this is nothing new.

He fails, instead, his voice comes out barely above a whisper as he says, “I was going to ask you if you would.”

You somehow hear him. 

“Me?” you look dumbfounded. 

“Yes, you.” He’s always used you for homework assignments before, so he’s not sure why all of a sudden this is surprising. Maybe because it’s a final assignment versus a weekly one? The effort will be greater? 

“But you have Adaline? I assumed that she would take up the position of model when you guys started going out.”

Oh. That makes more sense. 

But that is one mistake he won’t be making again, because he did ask Adaline. 

Once.

It was recent, Nel was still here and he didn’t want to disturb you because of that. Plus Jungkook was just trying to get a jump on his upcoming assignments anyway, taking a page from your book.

So he asked Adaline. And she leapt at the opportunity, like he expected.

What he didn’t expect, was when she essentially directed, staged, lit and posed every. single. shot. so that she would look her best. 

All he did was click the capture image button when she said too. 

And after the shoot, before he could even think to look at the pictures, Adaline was already there, holding his camera, going through them and deleting any picture she deemed ‘ugly.’

He was left with less than 20 images from the shoot where he was ordered to take over 200. And she even made him switch out one of the three he narrowed down for one she liked better. 

So no, he would not be asking Adaline to model. 

Ever again.

“Nah. You’re a lot easier to work with because you don't care how the pictures turn out, and let me do my thing. Adaline cares a bit too much, and has to have approval on all of them before I submit.”

You snort. “Seriously? Is she that self absorbed?” a quirked brow places itself on your face to match the smirk now on your mouth.

That’s new.

Your tone towards Adaline has always been neutral, if not a bit sharp when he talks about her. 

But this one? It’s like you know her, and knew she was like that, but didn’t know it was this severe. 

Adaline is very popular...maybe you two met and it didn't go well?

It certainly sounds like you don’t like her, if those six words were anything to go by. Which, he guesses they shouldn’t, but he knows you well enough by now to know the difference.

And if he’s honest, that wouldn’t shock him in the slightest. You two are nothing alike, and thank god for that. 

He covers for Adaline, like any boyfriend would. Though it stings a little bit.

“She’s just careful about what images could be leaked to the press. Can’t really blame her for that.”

Your face changes minutely, as if a second of understanding passes through before you turn to go back to your painting, and mutter, “no, you can’t,” placing a splash of pink on a flower. 

He returns to his work as well, switching the portrait assignment out for a different one. He needs to get his mind off it for a while before circling back. 

And the fact that you didn’t answer him. 

Deciding on a Design and Visual Culture assignment due next week, he dives in head first, resuming his earlier state of focus and avoidance.

Jungkook’s editing a picture when you stretch. 

You often hunch over your work, so you try to stretch every 30 minutes or so. Your arms are in the air and he catches a peek at the nearly finished floral study. 

They’re some kind of vibrant pink dangling flowers, and you’ve captured the likeness of them quite well, to no surprise of his, so he goes to compliment it but you beat him to the punch.

“Shots blurry.”

Jungkook does a double take at his laptop screen. He’d spent the better part of 40 minutes editing the image and hadn’t noticed that.

Because it’s not. It’s perfectly crisp and clear.

When he looks back to you, you have a shit eating grin on your face. 

Ah, he knows that look. 

You love to tease him about little things like that, giving him mini heart attacks. ‘Pay back for that first day,’ you claim. 

Well…

Two can play this game, so he plays off your comment.

“Oh, you're right. Thanks,” and he switches to another image. 

Your grin falters but you recover quickly.

“No problem.”

See, while you know how to playfully harass him about his pictures, Jungkook knows how…particular you are about your colours. How they need to be labelled correctly instead of by their umbrella terms like ‘blue’ or ‘red.’ Because blue or red could mean any one of the dozens of ‘sub colours.’

‘It’s not blue, it’s cerulean,’ you’d remark. 

‘That’s not red, it’s burgundy,’ you’d correct him.

You’re always correcting him, and it makes his pants tighten a little bit every time. But that’s on the other side of the line he does not cross anymore. A nice, big, fat, permanent, protective line. 

Jungkook settles for a more subtle method of attack. Using this little fact and your ridiculously extensive knowledge of flowers against you. 

He never thought the defense and attack lessons his father put him through would come in handy like this. But he’s glad for them now. It was the only time he could ever outsmart you.

He gestures to your canvas. “Those pink flowers are pretty, what are they called?” 

“Their common name is Lady’s Eardrop. And they’re magenta.”

Hook, line, sinker. 

He doesn’t even have to try, you walk right into it every time.

“Lady’s eardrop? That’s a weird name…do they come in other colours besides pink?”

You don’t look up as you reply. 

“Magenta, and yeah. Some are plum and magenta, some are a buttery white and magenta, and then some have this like, almost dark tangerine hue, but they’re a different type, longer. Not the same as those,” you point with the end of your brush to the greenhouse, where the fully magenta lady’s eardrop sits in the window. 

“And are these pink ones your favourite?” he’s really trying his best to keep a straight face as yours contorts with an eye twitch at every use of the word.

“They’re. Magenta. And sure, but the plum ones are pretty too.”

“Noted, the pink lady's eardrop are your favourite among eardrops.”

You break, turning to him, voice raising in minor annoyance. Jungkook bites his cheeks to keep a smile at bay.

“They are magenta. Not pink. Pink entails a lighter hue, there’s more titanium white in pink. That,” you point again, “is very clearly, magenta.”

He has to. 

He can’t help it. 

You’re sexy when you're assertive, he thinks. Tip toeing on that nice, big line.

But also hilarious. 

“Same difference.”

He can see the fire in your eyes blaze.

“No, not ‘same difference,’ they’re magenta!”

He’s leaning in. “Pink,” eyeing your lips as you speak. 

You lean in too, enunciating every syllable to prove your point. “Ma-gen-ta.”

Your noses are mere inches from touching. 

“They’re pink, Van Gogh,” he backs off before he does something stupid that he’ll regret, “Don’t get so invested.”

You back off too, sass still very evident when you reply, “They’re fucking magenta, asshat. Two completely different colours and you’ll label them as such around me.”

You’ve always had a mouth on you. One you aren’t scared to use when necessary, especially around him. So he doesn’t push any farther, knowing he’s already gotten what he wanted and then some. 

But also because sitting has become slightly uncomfortable. There was a stiff breeze, he tells himself.

Thank god for baggy, oversized hoodies. 

Returning once again to his work, he puts an elbow on the table and places his hand on the left side of his face to hide the massive smile that’s trying its best to turn into a smothered laugh.

Unfortunately for him, he lets his Princely guard down around you and so he forgets to force it down to an uncomfortable degree like he would at the palace. His laugh slipping out as a strangled noise and he quickly turns it into a cough, hoping you don't notice. 

But you do, because it’s you. Of course you do.

And the look on your face is priceless.

“You did that on purpose!”

“What?” he says way too high pitched. “Nooo, I would never, one hundred percent intentionally, say pink just to get back at you for pointing out the non-existent blur in my perfectly clear picture.”

He can see you trying to control your features, can see you failing and giving up by facing your canvas again, smiling to yourself.

“I was wondering how many times I could get you to say it. I think that was somewhere around ten? Gotta be a new record.”

You roll your eyes at him, but your quirked mouth remains. 

“You’re such a dick,” you quip.

“Yet, you like me anyways.”

You mumble something incoherent.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Awe, c’mon now. Fess up.”

A pause, before, “I said I just remembered I don’t know your favourite colour.”

No you most certainly did not, but he’ll let it slide.

“Black.”

“Ugh, boring.”

“What?”

“Boring,” you say again with absolutely no hesitation and proceed to grace his eyes with your own. “And technically not a colour. Black’s a shade.”

Jungkook offers up a non-smothered chuckle, saving his throat from further shenanigans.

“Whatever, Seurat, it’s still black. What about you? What’s Miss High and Mighty All Knowing of Colours’ favorite?”

“It’s still a shade,” you repeat.

“It’s still my favourite. Answer the question,” he presses. 

You give him an unimpressed stare. 

“Violet. Royal violet. The one your dad wears a lot,” your expression softens to one of wonder as you continue. Like you didn't just refer to the King of the nation you live in as ‘his dad’ so casually. “And when it’s not that, it’s this bright yellow. Like sunflowers or daffodils. Or the colour leaves turn in the fall when the light hits them from above just right.”

It’s Jungkook's turn to stare now. You look lost in your own head, envisioning the colours you describe, seeing them dancing in your eyes. And he can’t help himself, you glow when you speak about something you're passionate about.

“Why two?” 

“Why not?” you answer, still dreaming, colours swimming in oceans of thought. Your voice is almost whimsical. “Don’t you get bored of one colour for too long? It’s nice to switch things up every now and then.”

His reply brings you back down to earth, albeit slowly.

“Red.”

“Hmm?” you touch ground.

“If you won’t accept black, then red. The rich dark one, like blood.” He chose the first colour that came into mind, not really caring which one. 

He did like red. Red looked good in many ways. On cars, clothes, lips...

But he chose the first one that popped into mind because after hearing your favourite colours and the reasons why, he started to like them more than all the others too.

“Red’s a great choice, strong,” you say, allowing him the blanket term just this once.

“Thanks.”

There’s a moment of comfortable quiet between you before you break it.

“When do you need me for the shoot?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows find his hairline. 

That was a yes, right? You’re saying yes?

“Uhm…soon, I’ll let you know the specifics when I do.”

“Sounds good.”

He was going to leave it at that, but adds, “Thanks, Y/N.”

He hasn’t said your name since the assembly. 

Always nicknames when talking to you. Always. 

Never your name. 

Not once in two months. Almost three.

You—

An inhale.

You…like it.

The way it sounds coming from his lips.

Exhale.

Chapter Eight: Photo Shoots and Blasphemous Discoveries

A/N 2: She's shorter but chapter 8 is like 11k so far, so I hope that makes up for it!

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

[satureja13]

'A-one, two One, two, three

On the fourth of July 1806 We set sail from the sweet Cove of Cork We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks For the Grand City Hall in New York

'Twas a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore and aft And oh, how the wild wind drove her She stood several blasts, she had 27 masts And they called her the Irish Rover'

The Irish Rover - The Pogues feat. The Dubliners (One of my favourite songs of all time)

Helm Satureja steered the 'Sea Urchin' through the jagged rocks of the coast at early dawn: "Land Ahoy!"

Saiwa: "Oh Little Goat! We're on a pirate ship! Now that's awesome!" (Yes, this is Saiwa's Therapy Game! Jack and Ji Ho finally persuaded him to try ^^')

TMI: Satureja and Kili are two of my oldest Sims 4 Sims. I created them with the 'Create a Sim' tool thing they released before the game started in September 2014. They also were part of our 'Bacalao Bay' Adventures.

First Mate Guidry: "The Vicegerent will be pleased, Captain. We obtained abundant booty for him." Captain? Tiny Can made him the Captain of this ship? Again the leader?

Responsible for a crew and their actions - again? And - as it seems - again the bumper. Here ingame between the Vicegerent and his Crew and in the real world between the Resistance and the Boys... Oh no.

Soon the sun rose and they reached Bacalao Bay.

Seems the Crew is eager to leave the ship after weeks at sea. Some of the market stands are already open.

First Mate Guidry: "You have a meeting with the Vicegerent later. I'm going to have the list of the booty ready by then." Captain Duath: "Ah, I'll do that. You can leave with the others." First Mate Guidry: "Thanks Captain. Come on Captain Whittaker! Let's find us some treats!" TMI: Saiwa's last name is 'Duath'. And Captain Whittaker is a ghost dog I found in my household manager. I didn't change his name. (That's funny because later in the 'Irish Rover' there is 'the Captain's old dog' mentioned who drowned and maybe this is his ghost ;)

Captain Saiwa went down in the hold of the ship where all the treasures are stowed. Even though they had to hand them over to the Vicegerent, who probably pays them, it was a stunning sight.

He just hopes they didn't do anything 'bad' to obtain them ö.Ö' Saiwa went over to his cabin to be alone for a while and to ponder about what Tiny Can might have planned for his therapy.

Being Captain of a pirate ship is the dream of every boy. But not for Saiwa. He's having a hard time being a leader and struggles a lot with making decisions that affect others. He has more than enough to do with himself. So what is he supposed to do? Go for whatever Tiny Can has planned? Or follow his own path? Here, he does have a choice and he can do whatever he wants to do. And after his breakdown he feels not stable enough to jump back in and take care of another crew waiting for his decisions. It was tempting, though. Is that Tiny Can's plan to bring him back to duty? Or did Tiny Can make a mistake again, like with Jack's first ingame session? Decisions, decisions...

The Therapy Game Master Post with the sessions and places so far is -> here

From the Beginning  ~  Underwater Love ~  Latest Current Chapter: 🕹️ 'The One' from the beginning ▶️ here 📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 17-22 ~ 23-28

[winniemaywebber]

The Apple Tree • Part 5

warnings: none!!! just sad

read previous chapter here

Y/N struggles with not knowing where Rosie is.

Every day had been the same since Rosie had gone MIA. You'd wake up, head feeling like it was in a vice and get to the school on autopilot. The sky had been appropriately gray, and thick with fog most mornings, the twin of your current state of mind. You'd stay at the school late, grading papers and try your best to construct meaningful lesson plans so the children could still thrive and learn despite your sadness. They'd sometimes ask, their sweet, little faces full of sympathy as they'd question your upset. “Miss?” A little voice would say, “Are you alright?” You'd force a smile on your face and look back at them reassuringly. 

“Yes, my dear,” your voice catching in your throat. “I'll be fine.”

---

A week. And then two. Three, then four, all rolling into a ball of nothingness, blurring together. Most days, you're greeted by Sally who is always available to walk you home despite the treacherous weather and everyday she looks at you with her big sad eyes, shaking her head mournfully, wordlessly reminding you that there's no new information. Most days, you walk home in silence, her arm in yours, keeping you upright physically as well as metaphorically.

It's on the fourth week, on a Friday, that you hear a sharp rap on your door. Being in bed already - the only way you can seem to feel close to Rosie - you simply yell “come in!” to whoever is visiting at this late hour. You hear the door open quietly, and hear the familiar tip-tap of Sally in her kitten heels. You hear her kicking them off and placing them by the door, hurrying up the stairs in her now stockinged feet, padding all the way up the plush carpet. 

“Hi, darling,” she greets quietly, her face full of sympathy. “I thought I'd try coax you out to the pub.”

“No thanks,” you mumble, staring up at the ceiling. “I'm fine here.”

“Oh, doll,” she begins, walking towards the bed. “How are you doing?” Still not tearing your eyes from the ceiling, you nod quickly, trying to reassure your friend. But she knows you better than that, and after all these years, she can read you like a book. Before you can properly respond, she sees two tears leak from each eye and splash into your ears and on the pillow. 

Trying to comfort you the way she used to when you were kids, she goes to lay down next to you on the bed.

“No!” you start. “N-no, Sal. Don't lay there,” you softly weep. “That's where Rosie slept the night before–” You wipe your face with the back of your hand, trying to stop the tears flowing. “It still smells like him. Don't lay on it, Sal.” You pause, looking at your friend, her own eyes full of tears. She sniffs, trying to blink them back. 

“Then squidge up,” she says after a moment. “I'll lay on your pillow with you.” You wriggle slightly to the right to make room for her in the center of the bed, you just hanging off the edge slightly. She takes your hand and strokes it, just like she did right after Granny passed away. You whimper at her action, the sob that was thick in your throat finally being released. 

“Where is he, Sally? Where's my boy?”

“Y/N…darling…I don't know. I ask James everyday for an update. He's promised that he'll be round here like a shot if he ever finds anything out.” You nod, swallowing as you sniff back more tears.

“He's a good egg, Sal. I like him. I like how happy he makes you.”

“Me, too,” she sighs wistfully. “When all this is all over, I'm thinking of moving there to be with him.” 

“Sally, that's wonderful. I'll miss you terribly–”

“But let's not talk of that now. We need to take care of you.” She crawls off the bed and pulls you with her. “Come on,” she commands, rushing to your wardrobe. “You need to stop rotting. Let's go to the pub. Apparently, Rita is engaged to two of the Americans and neither knows about the other. Isn't that something?” You hear yourself gasp and then giggle, the first laugh you've made in weeks. 

“Well, now you've tempted me. Now I have to come.” 

—

The excited yapping you hear as you walk into the pub ceases at the sight of you, your friends looking back at you in surprise, before they stand up and rush to hug you, one by one. Murmurs of “oh, Y/N, we're so happy to see you,” and “how are you doing?” follow their embraces, and you find your eyes leaking at their affection and sympathy. Hugging them back, you sigh, not quite used to this level of affection.

 “Alright, ladies,” you struggle to gasp out, but smiling nonetheless. “I need to know everything about Rita. Spill.” 

They sit down, excited to finally be able to tell you the tales they've heard over the past few weeks. For a moment, your head is clear, listening to your friends chatter on, their voices octaves higher as they giggle their way through the spiel. You don't even notice that Sally has rushed over to the bar to greet James, until he places a pint in front of you with a sympathetic smile. He winks at you as you smile back, knowing you're thanking him with no words needed. You take a long sip, letting the alcohol run through your body and somehow, giving it warmth as you finally are able to enjoy something.

“So, she ended up saying yes to both men because she didn't want to upset either of them, and somehow, Y/N, neither knows about the other. But, get this! They're co-pilots!”

“What?!” you screech, ale almost flying through your nose in shock. “They must know! There's absolutely no way–”

“We thought that, too!” Sally replies, wide eyed and a little frazzled. “But Rita maintains that they have no clue.”

“Nope, not buying it,” you giggle, hand covering your mouth. “They must talk about her to one another! They're either ignoring it or somehow, it's not clicking that they're both with the same girl!” 

For just a small moment, your overwhelming sadness is forgotten, the pit in your stomach somehow smaller than it had been in the past weeks. But, then, all of a sudden, your mind goes back to the night you spent with him; how he'd touched you, the way he'd wrapped himself around you to fall asleep for those few hours. The way he looked at you like you were the only girl in the world. It's those thoughts that send you into a tailspin, lips pressed together to keep the tears at bay. Draining your glass, you gesture over to the barman for another and try to keep breathing steadily. 

—

“Hey! Wait, seriously? You're not lyin’ to me?” You hear a familiar Tennessee drawl behind you, and an excited one at that. “Croz, she's right there!” They both pause for a moment. “Can I tell her, sir?”

“Sure thing,” Croz replies. You turn around at the two familiar voices. James smiling brightly at you, Harry nervously shuffling from one foot to the other, clutching his hat in his slightly shaking hands. 

“Y/N, c'mere, doll!” James beckons you over with his booming voice. You stand and walk towards the two men, forcing a polite smile on your face. 

“Hi, James. Oh, Harry, wonderful to see you. Can I get you a drink?” 

“No, ma'am,” he replies, now not able to hold back his apparent joy. “Pearson here has something to tell you. I've been rushing all over base looking for this fella to tell him what he's about to tell you.” You look at James with an expectant expression, feeling your eyes widen. He can't seem to get the words out, nor keep a straight face. 

“Out with it, Jimmy, before I lose my mind!” You scold, playfully pushing him. 

“Rosie got word to base!” 

“What?!” you shout, your arms going across your chest in shock. “W-where is he?” Tears fill your eyes and they escape before you're aware of what's happening. 

“He got shot down in Berlin,” Croz begins, his downturned eyes having an underlying sadness to them as he looks at you. “But, he managed to keep the plane flying until everyone had bailed out. He's in Russia.” 

“Russia? He's safe, right?”

“Yes, ma'am. He says they're taking really good care of him.” Harry laughs a little, wondering whether to divulge further information. You see that, and nod at him to carry on. “He says the vodka is impeccable.” Laughing, you feel familiar arms around your waist, Sally's head on your shoulder, half laughing, half crying as she hears the news. 

Word spreads to the rest of the pub, the airmen cheering and hugging at the news. James hands you a whiskey, then thrusting one in Croz's hand. You clink glasses with him, and with James before turning back to Harry.

“Thank you,” you begin, voice shaking slightly. “Thank you for coming to tell me, for even thinking of me.”

“No problem,” he replies nervously. “To Rosie?”

“To Rosie.”

---

thank you once again to my besties @sagesolsticewrites and @ginabaker1666 for reading this multiple times before posting (as usual!!!) <3

chapter 6

masterlist

[nordschleifes]

chapter one — likes y cicatrices

➝ 2024 looks to be charlie's year, both on and off the track. hoping for an even better season than the previous one, she is certain that fernando's third title is within reach. however, it also brings thoughts about which future she wants with her boyfriend.

➝ word count: 3,4k

➝ warnings: none

➝ author's note: finally, the second part of charlie and fernando's story is now available for you all. updates will be released regularly, with the next one expected in november, as i’ll be at Interlagos at the end of this month. i hope you enjoy it, and by the way, happy birthday, charlie!

As she stood in the entranceway to the Aston Martin F1 factory, Charlie Whitlam couldn’t shake the strange feeling she had — it almost felt like her first day there. She flexed her fingers, hands jammed into the pockets of her black coat, trying to keep warm in the January breeze filtering into the building’s vestibule. She bit her lip nervously, trying to tell herself there was no reason to be so nervous — she’d been with the team for three years now, that was just another day in the office. 

But she was, mostly because of the man next to her, typing something quickly on his phone before putting it in the pocket of his green jacket

— They're coming — Jimmy said, as he picked up the camera hanging around his neck — You remember what you need to do, right? ?

— Greet Fernando and walk down the corridor next to him, right? — Charlie replied flatly, her eyes glued to the factory's entrance door.

— Well, yeah, but try to make it look natural. People will notice if it looks too staged, you know? 

— I'll greet him the way I always do.

— By kissing him on the mouth?  — Jimmy said, making her snort.

After the two weeks she had spent in Oviedo with Fernando, Charlie returned to the factory only to discover that her and Fernando’s relationship had become the topic of most of the workplace gossip. Articles in tabloids and on F1-related news blogs about her and Fernando,, as well as the picture that Fernando had posted of her on Instagram, graced the screens of almost every computer and smartphone at the Technology Center. 

When she returned to work following the Christmas holiday, she noticed that her colleagues treated her in a markedly different way, especially when talking to her one-on-one, almost as if they were trying to hold back asking her about her and Fernando’s relationship.  

It was irritating, to say the least.

— What, you really think I would kiss a driver on the mouth?

— You already do, don't you? — Jimmy retorted, cocking an eyebrow.

— I mean, sure, but not in a PR video. 

—  It’s not like it would be that weird. We all knew.

Charlie shot the team’s art director a glare.

— What do you mean, ‘we all knew’?

The man smiled. 

— Okay, at least the marketing department knew.

— How on Earth would you have known? 

— Because we saw all the photos I took of the two of you  last year. In fact, I saved some really great ones for TikTok…

— You’re not going to turn my relationship into material for a TikTok, or whatever. — Charlie said, bluntly — I'm here to win races, not to be the subject of some F1 romance story… I’m not some lovelorn idiot. 

— Sorry, I just see what the camera sees, Charlie — he said, causing Charlie to glare at him  — And there's no point in looking at me like that, it's true! You two look like two idiots in love…

Charlie clenched her jaw and turned her attention back to the door, feeling a bit uncomfortable. It wasn't like she wasn’t in love with Fernando — it was quite the opposite — but the way her coworkers’ view of her had shifted made her uncomfortable.  It was as if the person she was — the professional, the engineer — before her and Fernando’s relationship went public had been erased, leaving only Fernando Alonso’s Girlfriend in her place..

Simply being known as someone else’s girlfriend wasn’t in her plans.

— They’re here — Jimmy said, as a green Aston Martin DBX707 pulled into the drive at the entrance. He fiddled with one of the settings on his camera — Remember, make it look natural, okay?  

As she watched the passenger-side door of the SUV open, Charlie felt her stomach jump when she saw Fernando climb out. He said something to the driver as he got out, and had a bright smile on his face. It was the same smile he had before he kissed her that morning as they woke up in bed together at her flat.

As he passed into the entryway, Fernando walked towards her as if there was a gravitational pull between them. Charlie took her hands out of her pockets, preparing to greet him professionally, yet casually, as Jimmy instructed, but as he drew closer, Charlie felt like she was suddenly stuck, her mind blanking on what she was supposed to do. It was clear the driver felt the same way.

— Hi — Fernando said softly, after a few seconds.

— Hey.

There were a few more beats of silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, quite the opposite. It was familiar, almost as if they were alone, her eyes saying everything her mouth couldn't say.

"You look stunning today".

“I wish I could have stayed with you in bed longer this morning.”

"I love you".

— That’s it? — Jimmy asked.

They both glanced at him, clearly confused.

— What do you mean? — Fernando asked

— Is this the way you greet each other?

Charlie looked at Fernando hesitantly. It was obvious they didn't greet each other like that, especially when they were alone. When Fernando arrived in England two days earlier, after nearly three weeks away from her, she had given him a… Much warmer welcome.

— Well, no — Fernando admitted — Last time, she was wearing something much more… Interesting.

Charlie’s eyes widened, and she playfully punched him in the arm.

— Fer!

— What? I didn’t lie.

— Jimmy doesn't need to know that…

— Not even that we didn’t go to the bedroom…

— No — Charlie said abruptly — That’s something else he doesn't need to know.

Jimmy couldn’t hold in his giggling, which made her a little uncomfortable. Charlie hated being seen as a joke. She didn’t mind joking around with her coworkers, but she’d always been a bit sensitive to being the butt of the joke at work, given that she was almost always the only woman on her team.

However, she swallowed down her discomfort. There was no sense in making a fuss, not right now.

— Okay, if we can't greet each other the usual way, how do you prefer, Jimmy? — Fernando asked, as he took Charlie’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, as if he sensed that she could use some support. 

— Well, certainly not the way you just did — he said, looking at his camera . Then, he looked up at the two of them — Seriously, that was weird. I can’t use any of that. 

— Are you sure? — Charlie asked

— Absolutely. Now let's try this again and, please, try to be natural.

It took three more takes to get something that was convincing without being too wooden.  During the second take, Charlie stretched her hand towards Fernando, intending to shake his hand, but instead, he proceeded to envelop her in a hug. When Jimmy finally declared that he was satisfied with the footage he’d gotten, Fernando couldn’t resist the urge to give Charlie a kiss to her temple.

They walked side-by-side through the corridors of the factory toward Charlie’s office in Engineering. Mercifully, Fernando’s presence caused a bit of a buzz in the office, as her coworkers gathered around to talk to him, having not seen the driver in a few months.  

 Charlie, grateful for the distraction, sat in her cubicle, not paying attention to Fernando or the interested questions from her coworkers. She still had a job to do, after all.

She was still lost in her own thoughts as sat at her desk, her eyes eventually finding the photo of her with her grandfather, Jamie, both of them smiling with the disassembled engine on the kitchen table. Charlie had always loved that photo, because of how neatly it summed her up as a person. She loved cars and engines, a love given to her by one of her grandparents, who both treated her as someone worthy of love and affection, not a mistake or a burden.

— Oh, there’s nothing in here with me — Fernando said, jolting her thoughts back to the present.

— What?

— There’s no photos of us.. Not even on your computer.

Charlie felt her cheeks heat up as she realized that the picture of the car on her computer’s desktop wallpaper was the AMR-22, with the number 5 on its nose. She hadn't even thought about changing it, which was all the better, given that she would like to keep her relationship as private as possible.

— I didn't want to give the others a reason to talk — she murmured.

— Well, now that they're talking anyway, I think we can leave discretion aside, yes? — Fernando said, taking a pen and a green Post-It pad from her desk. He smiled as he scribbled a message on the top sheet, before peeling it up and sticking it next to the photo of her and Jamie.

The handwriting was clumsy, a little slanted, but the words were clear, the meaning filling Charlie's chest with something warm and overwhelming.

“Te quiero, tu Fer”.

— Better this way, right? — he asked, with a small smile.

— Much better — Charlie replied.

They chatted a little more before Fernando announced that he was going to the simulator.

— Good. Once you get to grips with the new car, we need all the feedback you can give us.

— Do you want a full essay, or just a summary? — he asked, sarcastically

— On a Power Point — Charlie replied. It made him laugh, which made her heart feel quivery.

— Do you think I'm George, to do that?

— Well, you two are close, I wouldn’t be surprised if he taught you how to make them — she said, grinning.

Fernando playfully squeezed her shoulder in response.

— Unfortunately, I haven't had my class with him yet.

— What a shame…

— But I'll make something, if that's what you want.

— Perfect — Charlie said, as Fernando gave her a delicate kiss on the forehead before he turned and headed towards the hallway that led to the simulator, Jimmy following diligently behind.

Not for the first time, she wondered how Fernando — or any of the drivers, really — managed to put up with the madness of having attention on them constantly. Even at their office there was a microphone or camera trained on him at all times.  Charlie had asked him about it once, mostly wondering how she would deal with the reflected limelight she would get, but he simply said that “he was already used to it” and that she “shouldn’t worry about it”.

“Why shouldn’t I worry, Fer?”, she thought, clenching her jaw. 

The first time that Charlie got an idea of what Fernando’s day to day life was like was  shortly after he posted the first photo of them on his Instagram. In the comments of the post,he saw hundreds of comments saying that she wasn't as pretty as the other women he had dated, that she was just an “amigaALO” or worse, that they should have a “mini Nano” soon. 

The idea sent a shiver through her body.

She was thankful for the foresight she had to make her profile private, and that would not be changing any time soon.

— So, it looks like you didn’t die? — someone asked, the tone of their voice joking and light. Turning her head, Charlie found Raúl looking at her, leaning against her desk.

— Not yet, if that was your expectation.

— Maybe not an expectation, but I thought there might be a chance — the performance engineer said, crossing his arms — See, with you out of the picture, I might be able to step into race engineering.

— I'm sorry to frustrate your plans — she said, giggling.

— Although, if there's anyone who can deal with Fernando, it's you — Raúl smiled.

— You think so?

— Definitely, especially now that you've become Mrs. Alonso...

Charlie rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

— Not Mrs. Alonso…

— Not yet, Charlie — Raúl said — But it's a matter of time...

— If you say so — she said, turning her attention to her computer screen to glance at her email inbox. Then, Charlie looked back at her colleague — Now, can we talk about work?

— Of course… Mrs. Alonso.

The rest of the day was dedicated to correlating all of the data from aerodynamics and from simulator sessions done by Felipe and Stoffel earlier on in the break. It wasn't a simple task, especially when Fernando was starting to adapt to the new car, with a long simulator session that afternoon. The data was all over the place, and everything was still very unpredictable. 

It was already dark outside in Silverstone by the time Charlie decided she couldn’t focus any more and it was time to go home for the evening. . She thought about asking Fernando if he wanted to go with her, but spotted him recording something on his phone next to Jimmy, so she decided to let him know via WhatsApp that she would be waiting for him back at home.

The drive to Northampton was uneventful, with traffic much calmer than at other times of the year. However, unlike the motorway, Charlie felt like there was a miles-long traffic jam in her mind, complete with cars honking and drivers shouting things at each other, all because of what Raúl said. The Instagram comments were one thing - she didn’t know those people, after all, but she worked with Raúl's every day.

Charlie expected it when she and Fernando decided to start dating, as suddenly as all of it came along — she had anticipated being the subject of scrutiny from people around the world, across news sites and social media, but knowing that she was under similar scrutiny from the people she saw every day was worse. 

She knew Raúl probably didn’t mean anything by it, but it didn’t make it any less terrifying — that there were so many people watching them, full of expectations, wondering if she would be the woman that would finally make Fernando Alonso settle down and put a ring back on his finger, if he would finally trade his steering wheel for pushing a stroller. It was even deeper than that, she’d seen the news articles about him and his former relationships — soon, she’d see questions about whether or not she would be the one to give Spain the next Alonso to stand on the top step of a Formula 1 podium. 

“Is this how Diana felt?”, wondered.

As she stepped into her flat, Charlie kicked off her shoes and dropped her bag haphazardly on the sideboard in the entryway, sinking into her sofa with a sigh.

The funny thing about thinking about all that was that Fernando had never talked about marriage or children, not even before they started dating. It probably wasn't even something he was considering at that moment or in the near future or even with her. 

Charlie had long decided that she was not fit to be a wife or mother, especially given her history with her own mother. She never had any desire to have children. She was sure it would eventually come up and she and Fernando would have to talk about it, but she didn’t know how he would react. He’d made comments to the media in the past about being a father, and he was married a long time ago, but… Perhaps keeping those ideas away from them would have taken the driver a while to realize that she wasn't the person his fans expected her to be.

Maybe keeping those ideas away would keep the end at bay.

Charlie smiled into the darkness of her sitting room as she felt a lone tear run down her face. She felt pathetic, crying over possibilities and scenarios that only existed inside of her head, even more so to get upset about what Fernando’s fans would think of her. After all, Fernando was not in a relationship with his fans, and it shouldn’t matter what they think. But, at that moment, she felt crushed by expectations that were both known and unknown to her.

Running a hand over her cheek, she took a deep breath, trying to push down the lump that was tightening in her throat. Inside her own head, Charlie could hear Hannah, her therapist, telling her that she needed to keep her focus on what was real in the here and now, not on some imaginary ring or a baby in her arms. What was real was that they loved each other.

“And that’s enough for me”, Charlie thought to herself.

She was putting the finishing touches on dinner when Fernando finally arrived at her flat.

— Nena? — he called from the doorway.

— Kitchen.

A few seconds later, he appeared at the kitchen doorway a wide smile on his face, kissing Charlie on the cheek as he approached. 

— Good evening to you too — she laughed, as she felt his arms wrap around her waist.

— How are you? — Fernando whispered in her ear. She felt the bristles of his beard brush the shell of her ear, sending electric chills down her spine.

— Good, and you?

— Better now with you here.

The sentence filled her belly with butterflies.

— How was it in the simulator? — Charlie asked, trying to ignore the way his beard scratched her skin as he placed delicate kisses on the crook of her neck.

— Very good. I think we have a car to compete for the championship.

She dropped the spoon she was holding in the sink, turning to Fernando. 

— Really? You think the car is competitive? I spent all day working with the data and it felt like it was all over the place… Do you really think we can compete?

— I do. And we will win, nena.

She grinned, feeling like she was much more at ease as she plated up the pasta she was making. She asked Fernando if he wanted dinner, and he accepted, following her out to the dining table. 

However, as she went to put the plate down, she frowned, spotting a large black bag with a red-and-white Bell logo on it. The size and shape indicated that there was a helmet inside. 

— Fernando, how many times do I need to tell you that you can't keep putting your things on the dinner table? — she asked, as she turned toward the kitchen, where he was rummaging through a shelf for parmesan cheese. 

However, upon seeing the source of her irritation, he simply responded with a grin.

— I put it there because I didn't want to forget to show you — Fernando replied, leaving the cabinet open and walking to the table.

— Show me what?

— This — he said as he unzipped the bag theatrically presenting its contents to her. 

The helmet was the same design that he had almost always had, with red, yellow, and blue stripes — the colors of Spain’s flag and the blue of the Asturian flag — the sponsors' names followed the lines, forming a cohesive design. 

— Your helmet?

— The new one, yes — Fernando smiled — I asked them to leave it at the factory for the photo shoots, but I wanted to show it to you first.

She glanced at it for a few seconds, puzzled.

— But it’s the same as last year.

Fernando looked surprised, but his expression gave way to an almost sheepish blush

— Well, yeah, much of the design remains the same, but I added an important detail.

— You did?

He took the helmet from her, turning it over in his hands so that the right side was facing Charlie. She noticed the new addition right away, next to the attachment point for his HANS device. The spot normally occupied by a small cross now had a familiar-looking red rose.

— A heraldic rose? — she stammered.

— The rose of Lancaster, more specifically. It's on the coat of arms of Northamptonshire, in the same way that the Cruz de la Victoria is on the coat of arms of Asturias.

— Why?

— Because I wanted to have something of yours with me in the car at all times. And you know that you are my rose, don’t you?

— Full of thorns?

— Beautiful, Charlie — he corrected her — And with some thorns, but it's not like I'm afraid of them.

The feeling growing inside her was confusing and overwhelming. It was stronger and scarier than anything she had ever experienced in her life, but at the same time, it felt good. So good that she hugged him tightly, ignoring the helmet that had been left between them.

— Thank you, my dear — she whispered.

— I have to thank you, baby.

— For what?

— For making me dream again when I thought I didn’t need to anymore  — Fernando replied.

— Does that mean you dream now?

— Yes. And my biggest dream now is to have you with me forever, Charlie.

Even though she smiled at him, the sentence left her with a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Forever is too long, Fer”, she thought.

[anne-is-ominous]

Phoenix Reignited 2.03: Daydreams and Diesel Fumes

Whooo, did this chapter get an upgrade from the original Book II! I'm really excited about how it came out.

As a reminder, tomorrow is the launch day for Reignited on Royal Road. I'll be posting about it here to remind everybody. Even if you're already reading the story on one of the other platforms, it would mean the world to me if you'd take a few minutes and click through the ten chapters I'm going to drop on Royal Road tomorrow. Those early clicks make the world of difference in making algorithm go brr and getting Reignited a following on the platform, and as I've mentioned, seeing Reignited succeed on Royal Road is very important to me personally.

Speaking of platforms, this chapter marks the return of Reignited to MediaMiner.org, after I solved the shenanigans that were preventing me from successfully posting there. Which means Royal Road will be lucky platform number thirteen rather than just the "new #12."

With another loud hiss, the brakes released and the bus resumed motion, quickly merging back onto Tokyo Metropolitan Road Route 318. 

But, what am I gonna do now, Akane wondered. Now that I know where she is? Now that I know she’s okay? I had a plan. I rehearsed it in my head all week. I was gonna go over there after school, and see her one last time. Just see with my own eyes that she’s alive and kicking, so I could sleep at night, and say my goodbyes. I was gonna tear her a new asshole for storming out on us like that, and throw every single mean and scary thing I’ve thought for the last two months in her face and make her choke on it. 

I could tell that’s what she thought was gonna happen, too, given how scared she looked when she first saw me in the alley. I guess she thought I was hiding back there waiting to ambush her. I didn’t have the guts to tell her I was just sitting there trying to work up the courage to walk in the front door and see her again after all that time.

Of course, my brilliant plan lasted until the moment I saw her face, and then, all I could do was smile like a big goofy idiot. Nothing else mattered anymore, and I felt stupid for thinking it ever did. I just wanted to give that great big dummy a hug and tell her I was relieved she was okay, and that she’s finally starting to find something approaching happiness for once in her life. 

Read more wherever you get your fiction fix after the cut...

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[maochira]

Update: I've been killing my creativity, and putting an end to it.

Tldr: no more focus on Blue Lock and no longer doing requests for it, focusing on One Piece and Kengan in the future, will give my blog a little makeover (pinned, rules, etc)

Simply, I no longer enjoy Blue Lock the way I used to. The manga has begun to bore me long ago and not even the new episodes spark enough joy in me. This has been a process slowly happening over the past year. My interest in bllk is still present - I enjoy seeing fanart of my favourite characters, I still keep my OC x Canon ships, I watch new episodes the minute they release and I catch up on the manga every few weeks.

But what has faded even more is my motivation and inspiration to write for it. And considering the huge amount that I have written for bllk already, at this point there's barely anything new I could come up with that'd spark my inspiration.

I stopped writing on here because I felt as if my writing had to be for Blue Lock. I felt as if I couldn't move on to something else. I kept telling myself reasons and excuses and kept killing my creativity by not letting myself write for other interests.

And with this, I am no longer writing requests for Blue Lock. I might occasionally drop a chapter for the transmasc reader series I started back in summer, and here and there I might write some headcanons. But these will be rare, only happening when I truly feel inspired for it.

Since December 2023 my main interest has been Kengan Ashura/Omega, and over the past few weeks I've really gotten into One Piece. From this day on, those two will be the main fandoms I'm focusing this blog on. Of course my other interests will still be present and I'll post for them on occasion.

With this, I am letting go of the blockade in my brain that's been preventing me from writing more for Kengan, and I'm opening up myself to write for One Piece. And in general, I'm trying to give myself the freedom to write whatever I want, and post it here.

My blog will be getting a little makeover, new pinned, new rules, new about me - that type of stuff.

It's been fun, Blue Lock Tumblr. I truly am thankful for every person who read whatever I wrote and the support I've gotten. But I have to move on, or else I keep killing my creativity.

[liminsendhelp]

Don't pet the flea cat

Price×f!reader

This chapter contains references to blood and meat and torture. Angst. Our main character is getting worse.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6.

You, no joke, wanted to scream. As you suspected, the TF141 hadn't been at the base for over a month. They left at night, and you stared at the tail of the helicopter for a long time. You didn't even go out to say goodbye to it. Not having the right to do that was depressing, but sobering. You managed to forget reality.

Over the days, you could chase away thoughts of Price. He was there for you. Now you were starting to realise with horror that you were worried.

You sat down with your victim friends, wrapping a net of understanding around them to get to the bottom of it. You gossiped with your secretary, clearly wanting to get you into bed after realising you were single and not quite heterosexual. You were still training, just without John Price. Day in, day out, day in, day out. So after a week, bored with no grams of infused black humour around, no fair grades, no adorable buzzing and warm cow eyes, no four fuckers you swore you couldn't stand, you began to hate the world even more. Everything seemed bland.

"I swear I'll kill someone." You say at the table on a Monday morning. The sacrificial lambs around you, grinning sweetly as you burn holes in the idiots at the other tables. "You can't." "I have the guts." "And the skills?"

You turn your head sharply towards the black-eyed girl across the table. She's always so genuinely right that at first you don't even realise the suggestion in her words.

"Really?"

And she…nods. The other victims at the table nod, too.

So yeah, you're not bored anymore. You're hurt and hurt every day, now you're also angry. They come to the hall in the mornings, someone new every day, in shifts so that only one person is not in place. They torture you in fights, stances, kicks, punches, somersaults, jumps, reflexes and planks. And you keep quiet. Because you know, each to their own degree, that you are motivated by only one desire - to prove their weakness.

They're scared, sometimes. From the outside, you look empty. Like a shell of a person, not yet torn open to release a ripe monster. They let you joke and chatter, and you stay silent, focused on not hurting anyone. Exactly until you're knocked down time after time, your nose, your lip smashed, hurt. Until you're humiliated. That's when you stop thinking and start killing. It's probably the same therapeutic experience for them. They're trying to put themselves in their past place, the victim's place, and control their loss.

Because you're repulsive, fierce. Your body is big and soft, strong unpredictably, fast desperately. You feel no pain while you're held in a grapple. As opposed to your hips choking you, you squeeze your hands on their throats so hard they almost pass out. When they throw you over their shoulder and you instantly spit out your mouthpiece, ripping the t-shirt on your sparring partner with your teeth because you don't have time to get your hands on it. And if you get clipped, you fall over invariably with a roll to your feet to saddle up and bash their head against the floor.

Because you are violence. Ordinary, domestic, smelling of cheap beer and domestic tyranny. They could be the same if they saw entirely the norm they are prescribed in the morning as a cure for dissent. After all, the victim has two choices. Either kill or die.

"You've got to stop doing that. It's just a workout, no one's going to hurt you more than they need to." "I know. Sometimes, just, you know… No, just forgive." "Tough childhood, huh?"

You don't stop the play. Knowing you're just taking your anger, frustration and stress out on them, you cover yourself by pretending you're out of control. Like you remember how to let it go. But they feel pity. They don't see the rotten fangs beneath the lambskin you barely pulled on. And the days go by again, and you find entertainment again, and you start to trust more and more again. And the confessions pile up on you, and the tape recorder in your pocket won't stop writing, and the secretary helps you get to the right documents. She thinks she's doing a great job with you. You're just hoping for a chance to dig deeper.

You want to find something new, not just to gather statistics, but to run an arse-blowing campaign. Let everything burn with fire while you air your dirty laundry in public. You won't admit, even to yourself, that you just need a surprised expression on Price's face. And after, of course, approval. As if yes, that's what you could have found, just you. To help them throw the rats off the ship.

And to have Ghost. Satisfied only that his hopes were fulfilled.

One pat on the shoulder. One dry nod. You're not asking much. You'd like more.

…

It's fucking hot in here. In the stifling heat, they sat in the basement of the manor. Kings of our world. Their guards piled up near the secret passage in the catacombs.

There are five groups in all. The first will start firing, a diversionary tactic. The second wait inside the walls of the house. The smallest group of all, necessary for the right direction of movement. The third are in the woods surrounding the estate, clearing the field of local patrols. Fourths. "The Attic. Gas on the upper floors, with them, to prevent anyone escaping by helicopter.

And their group. In the basement, with the fuming air, waiting for the team. Each of them wouldn't mind finishing things themselves. But no, it has to be done quietly. Somehow John knows, senses something's going to happen.

Something's already happening.

The signal for action, the steady breathing, the orders. One single wound, and it's a tangential one. It's all coming out really quietly and quickly. Through the same hot catacombs, they lead the cartel goons to armoured trucks with not very friendly guards inside.

Everything goes quietly. The only thing that could ruin the operation is that the Attic group fails to shoot down the almost-mafia-head's helicopter in time. The smoking structure falls not into the woods, but exactly into the right wing of the estate, only to crash and tear up the ground beneath it. But even that doesn't stop the operatives from pushing the fugitives to the basement. All four teams, leading the disarmed and bound defendants, successfully convoy the men to the underground prison. Anxiety not subsiding, John puts a hand to his chest, in the place where a slim book from her collection would be hiding beneath his body armour if… if he asked directly. He would do so before the next mission, and carry a piece of literary reproach close to his heart. Yes, that's right, as soon as he gets there. And will sign an authorisation to access information about himself in case he dies. For scientific purposes. Then it won't make any difference. And no arsehole's gonna take that psychopath's rights away from her. Ghost will see to it that his will is carried out.

The initial interrogation entrusted to their care goes unnecessarily smoothly, too. John blushes away the smiles he sees on the faces of the cartel gangsters so as not to lose his temper.

Three hours later they're recalled to base, and that seems odd to him too. His gut doesn't fail, half an hour later the order changes, they're being redirected. Just their group.

"What's wrong?"

Laswell looks at him from across the table. New mission, heightened urgency, out in five minutes, helicopter will be arriving shortly. John glumly rereads the short brief.

"Something's wrong."

…

Something's wrong. You haven't seen Him in a month. Idiot soldiers, higher ups, yes even your lambs have been quietly alarmed. Dead. That's fine. You hadn't dismissed the possibility, and you were already grieving for Him endlessly. You had no right to show any emotion. You just knew that there were no more people in the dining room who seemed to be predators. You just saw that you had no place in that silence. So work. Work again. Bad habit. If he's dead, you have no-one to be ashamed of where you stuck your nose in.

Medical records label rape as "sharp pain in the lower abdomen." If the victim couldn't remember anything because of the opium, it was labelled "poisoning", if she recognised her attacker it was "cramps due to stress", if she saw but didn't know her attacker it was "suspected ulcer".

The latter cases had additional captions. "Sent for gastroscopy/ultrasound." eaquals to "investigation cited". Positive and negative results respectively implied a found and not found rapist.

Need I mention that ulcers were almost never detected? The patients turned out to be completely healthy. What distinguished rape cases from real cases of GI problems was the number of days off officially prescribed to the patient. More than three days was a bell; more than a week was a bell. There were two cases that imprinted themselves on your memory. The body, accustomed to cruelty and injustice, analysed the data on two month-long leaves and jerked. The first name is classified. The second was a woman who retired a year ago.

Thousands and thousands of military personnel. Only fifteen cases you could pull evidence from.

Fifty suspicious coincidences you couldn't explain.

Hundreds of rapes that never reached you.

And that's considering that any sexual encounter here was severely punished. Rape didn't just mean getting fired. A man would just disappear. He'd go on a mission and never show up. And this, of course, after months of boycott. No one would touch him, no one would communicate with him, no one would treat him as a human being. Rumour. The same rumours. Ghost stood hawkishly guardian of this policy. Of course, the command took liberties. The mass of nurses interviewed laughed coquettishly and outright bawled as they recalled advances from half-dead military men (it's worth mentioning that most of them were still alive). But no one confessed to the relationship, only discussed the varieties of genitalia that had passed through the strong hands of the medics. You didn't bother to use your knowledge of medical records. Anxiously smoking a smoking cigarette butt outside the medical block, you stared at the wall.

He was smiling so sweetly. Like a bear.

"What, Capitainess, are you sad?"

The sweet German woman - your secretary's best friend - was somehow luscious and unpleasantly warm. She smelt of blood all the time, and worked four-handedly at donation and "in confidence and as needed" in pathology.

You remain silent, examining her sly expression. It's not that you don't get along, quite the opposite. Which is why you allow her to mock you a little. To try and bite you. "Do you think yours will be here soon?" "Anticipating the autopsy already?" You mutter. "Oh, yeah, I love marbled beef. Did you see those shoulders? That dad bod." "He doesn't have any…" You begin, looking at her with a raised eyebrow. "Gotcha" she exclaims victoriously and your smile becomes much more noticeable than it was a second ago. "So you're looking at him!" Instead of answering, you toss your cigarette into the nearest rubbish bin and wait for the continuation.

The continuation doesn't come for several minutes as you stare into the surprisingly clear sky. Your hands are in your pockets, your lip between your teeth bitten to a bloody pulp.

"Is he alive?" You whisper. "Most likely. I've been here five years. Rumour has it he once commanded an operation right after he was rescued from captivity. And, I know you're not kidding yourself about that, but he really is a threat. A lethal one. He'll get out on his own." "Or he'll be dragged out." "More like dragged away." It sounds from behind you. You turn around to see an aggressive soldier handing you a cigarette. You smoke in silence. He claps you on the shoulder. "They're supposed to decide tomorrow whether they're sending my unit on its first operation. Nothing much, since the strongest positions are occupied by… whatever they're occupied with." "Back-up?" It's probably the simplicity of your interest in his answer. For a second, in those clear colours of the sun, you seem a little smaller, weaker. The desire to help rears its head. "Not only." He replies. You press your lips together.

The situation only gets more tense. The groups are coming back. Everyone is coming back. Gaz returns in such nervous overload that he can't unclench the hand he's been pressing against Soap's wound. He is silent and doesn't laugh. You look at him quite close, hiding behind the doctors and nurses. That white coat of yours, that skill of yours, that fucking charm of yours. The sight of Gaza is stupefying. The sight of Soap, pale, hooked up to a life support machine, terrifies you. The same iceberg, knocking you cold every time you see the last shots before the cameraman dies. The second before the explosion, those not yet shot run in silent panic. The second before the beast attacks. The recording cuts off only when the battery dies, already after the owner's screams have ended. The second before the shrill sobs of a girl being raped in a circle. That moment of helplessness behind the screen when you see and can't stop watching. When you are a participant and a perpetrator.

Gaz has been silent for a week. Soap is still in a coma. You move the laptop into the medics' lounge. On the floor by the socket, all black and dirty. You've lost seven kilos from the stress. On the floor next to you is one of the nurses' old thermos. You drew a small abstraction of stars and lines on her ankle with a black marker. The drawing is almost washed away, but you see its outline when her feet in crocs stop next to your knee. She shares a meal with you every day. You don't thank her, but you slip her a candy bar or ten quid or a sticker drawing. Your paper now has more than just a skeleton, it has substance. It's almost a good research paper. When you're allowed, you visit Gaza. Sometimes it's ten minutes, sometimes it's half an hour. On the first day, you simply reach out for him to put his palm into the embrace of your cracked fingers. His skin is just as rough and cold, but you can feel the pulse, and that rhythm lets you live, too. Now you come in with a book. You read Oscar Wilde's De Prófundis. Gaz is still silent, but his eyes warm and sparkle as he laughs from your sincerely-sarcastic-outraged intonations. Towards the end of the week, the book is finished, your paper has been sent to Dr Moon for another review, and your anxiety makes you stay on your feet steadier and fiercer. You dread going to sleep and finding out one of them is dead. Their faces looked like a mess when they arrived. Maybe they'd explain it to you, but you've already formed your own opinion. Your hands shake from the slight rise in blood pressure when you do more than just manipulate digitised information, but a real invasion. But. What were you supposed to do? The stolen medical records give insight into the anamnesis. Gaz doesn't speak for a reason. His tongue was cut off, not cauterised at the root, just wrapped in thin wire. The repair was emergency and only affected the major vessels. You think that's a good thing. If he heals well, he should be able to speak again. He'll probably have trouble recognising taste, but he'll be able to function almost fully. Two, three, five months and he'll be good as new. Soap's situation is much worse. Couple of shots to the torso.

Shattered lung, broken ribs, almost hit the heart. Second bullet punctured the liver. The third one tangentially grazed Soap's head. No brain damage, but damage to the skull. The injuries are severe, though not irreversible, but it will be difficult for him to regain his fighting ability. He'll be given an honourable rest. If he does come out of his coma. If he survives.

But he wasn't tortured. Most likely the macho man got out and sat in ambush, devising a plan to free himself. If Gaz was rescued by his forces, you weren't even going to give Soap an extra beating for kamikaze behaviour.

Moreover, you're on the verge of not doing the same.

But you're in luck. After a week in which you've never once been able to check on either Gaz or Soap, a wave passes through the entire base. It starts with the cobble-faced faces of the convoyers and the bags over the heads of the prisoners, and ends near you when one of your victim friends, bows.

"They'll be interrogating the ones who captured Cap and Lt."

A black veil rises before your eyes.

[starglasszodiac]

Hey everybody, I am thrilled to tell you that Starglass Zodiac is now launched! And on the project’s 9th anniversary too :D

I'll put more of my ramblings under the cut below, but here's the gist of what you need to know:

The first two pages are now live HERE

The next page is scheduled for July 22nd, 2024

The dates for future page uploads will be announced on this blog and on the site's homepage as each new page is released

The upload schedule itself will be determined at a later date, as I’m going at my own pace for the time being

The comic site is self-made with only my basic knowledge of website coding, so I will be improving it gradually over time

A cover for Chapter 1 is in the works, so stay tuned for that!

As for this blog specifically, I have the following planned in the coming days:

Updating the pinned post with this new info

General cleanup and updates to old posts, the tag system/list, links, pages, etc.

Checking for posts I forgot to reblog here and tagging them

I will be tagging the majority of prior posts/art with the tag #SGZ spoilers so you can blacklist it if you want to go into the comic completely blind. Note that some posts with this tag may not actually be spoilers anymore depending on how the project/story lore has changed since making them, but better to cover all the bases anyway

I'll decide soon how I will reblog the update posts, as I can do so on either my art blog @akysi or my personal blog @sweet-star-cookie, but I doubt I'll do all three to avoid it getting excessive for those who follow all three (thank you for that! <3)

As I said above, I’m going at my own pace with this comic to ensure that I’m satisfied with every page at my current skill level. That will likely mean a slow pace for uploads, and I am sorry for that ^^’ But, I’ve had this as a passion project for a long time and I want to give it the time and attention it deserves.

I’ve also realized recently that I’ve been subconsciously holding myself to arbitrary rules about how and when I distribute my work when it comes to comics, especially with prior attempts to launch this one. Knowing I don’t actually have to do that has been quite freeing, and I’m excited to go at my own pace like I do with my other work. I do hope to increase the frequency of uploads later on of course, with the ultimate goal being multiple times a week, but trying to do that right away just isn’t feasible right now. Regardless, I am SUPER excited to finally be doing this again, no matter how long it takes!

With having this project for nearly a decade, working on it has gotten me through many, many tough times. The amount of support and enthusiasm that I’ve received from all you lovely people over the years has been nothing short of heartwarming, so thank you all so much <3 I hope you like what you see, and look forward to more. :D Thanks for reading, friends!

[she-karev]

Pregnancy (One Shot Request, Andrew DeLuca x Alex Karev’s Sister Imagine)

Age Rating: 12+

Chapters: One of Two

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

Ship: Andrew DeLuca x Amber Karev (Alex Karev’s Sister)

AN: Hey guys I see you liked my last post and I got a one-shot request to do another time skip for Amber and DeLuca. I hope you guys like it and I’m up for one shot requests if you have any. I'll try to post part two by Wednesday.

Summary: Amber gets bored during maternity leave and texts Andrew who comes over.

Words: 1741

October 20, 2022

I sit crisscross on the king bed making a lazy raspberry sound as I flip through the pages of Watchmen. Graphic novels aren’t what I usually read but I got desperate after finishing the whole shelf of books in the study. I’ve read everything from classics like Jane Eyre to new releases like Iron Widow. After that I asked Levi for a recommendation, and he immediately dropped off this huge comic book. The art is good, the storyline is surprisingly relevant to society’s political landscape and the characters are interesting. But it has barely kept me from chronic boredom that comes from maternity leave or as I like to call it, maternity prison.

My little sidekick is in her eighth month of gestation and it’s pretty evident to anyone with eyes given how I look like Pluto. If Pluto had boobs and was wearing her husband’s Harvard shirt with gray sweatpants. After the New Year I told Andrew that I was ready for us to start trying to have a baby. The pandemic was over, I was caught up in my residency thanks to Webber and Andrew was finally back in the O.R. as a general surgery attending. The timing couldn’t be better and around March we found out we were pregnant and then a few months later we found out we were having a girl. There was a bump when the residency program shut down for a bit but it restarted with a new batch of interns and me being promoted to Chief Resident.

Unfortunately, that joy was short lived, I had to go on maternity leave about a few weeks later when the exhaustion kicked in at 35 weeks and I’ve been glued to the bed ever since. And to make matters worse Levi was assigned temporary Chief Resident so that was another cloud looming over my head. The only thing that keeps me somewhat sane in this bed is my husband and baby daddy coming home and detailing every step of his surgeries so I don’t become dumb. Which is why I sent an impulsive text that I’m sure will make Andrew angry at me.

I hear running out in the hall and the door bursts open revealing Andrew in his navy scrubs and blue fleece telling me he came straight here the second he got my text. He looks around worried until he finds me criss cross in the middle of the bed looking healthy as a clam despite my text saying 911. I grin at him trying to look innocent so he doesn’t get too mad at me for worrying him because I was bored and needed contact with the outside world.

“Hi honey.” I greet him normally and he looks at me in shock before confusion sets in his face and I explain, “I might have possibly fibbed in my text don’t be mad.”

“You-” Andrew groans frustrated before laying it out, “You texted me 911.”

“I know.” I take a sip of my water bottle as Andrew walks to the edge of the bed staring down at me clearly peeved.

“I came straight here from work because my very pregnant wife texted me 911 and I was afraid she was in labor or bleeding out. But instead, I find her in bed chilling and acting like she didn’t almost give me a heart attack!” I wince at the exclamation, “God Amber what is wrong that you have to scare me like that?”

“I can’t be held accountable.” Andrew scoffs at my excuse and I continue, “I can’t be held accountable for my misguided actions because your baby and me have gone insane from bed rest and boredom. Will it make you feel better if I said sorry for almost scaring you to death?”

Andrew’s face softens slightly, “Well I think the knots in your hair are punishment enough so yes.”

I look in the vanity mirror to my left and see that my normally composed blonde hair is all over the place due to laying on my pillow for 10 hours. I look back and see my husband grinning amused already past his anger and I frown at that, “Yeah that’s right laugh at your pregnant wife who has permanent bed head let’s see how that ends for you.”

I stand on my knees and crawl over to the edge to face Andrew who chuckles while I pout, “Okay in all seriousness is there a logical reason why you texted me 911 when there is nothing emergent?”

“I’m bored out of my freaking mind.” I explain bordering on yelling while Andrew is looking at me affectionately with his bright green eyes, “I’ve been at home for five weeks, five weeks, do you have any idea what that is like?!”

“I have a feeling your gonna tell me.” Andrew puts his hands on my hips to keep me steady.

I hold up Watchmen to prove my point of how bored I am, “I’ve read all the books in our shelves I always say I’m gonna finish, I tried watching Netflix but you know it just makes me miss human contact more and to top it off while I’m shackled to this bed like that lady in Gerald’s Game my husband is at work saving lives and actually making a difference because unlike me he doesn’t have a big bowling ball under his shirt. And I think the baby is bored too and she sent that text because she’s hungry for more of your surgery stories and a reminder that there’s a world outside this bed. She’s very stubborn about what she wants.”

“She takes after her mother.” Andrew quips in amused and I narrow my eyes at him causing him to chuckle, “Look I know it’s hard being cooped up in here but you heard what the OB said bedrest is important and you were reaching your limit. I had to practically carry you out of the hospital when I found you passed out after your 18 hour shift in the pit.” I groan at that memory because it’s when I admitted I was exhausted and ordered to go on leave until after the baby was born, “You were doing the work of eight people it’s not good for your stamina and it would’ve affected the baby too.”

“You don’t know that.” He raises an eyebrow at me and I continue, “I’m like an M1-A1, it’s a tank and it can survive anything and get the job done.” I look down at my huge belly pouting at my changing body, “I mean I’m already as big as a tank right now and my bikini days are getting narrower by the minute.”

“I never really liked bikini’s anyway.” He’s trying to console me again which he always does when I complain about how big I’m getting, “You look way better in that sweater than some tacky string.”

“Stop being nice, you know my hormones make me unpredictable.” I remind him again, “The nicer you are the more it makes me want to choke hold you.”

“In that case you look like a bloated whale.” Andrew jokes and it doesn’t amuse me at all, “Better?”

“Not in the least.” I sigh and wrap my arms around the back of Andrew’s neck and say sweetly, “Just stay here and tell me stories about life on the outside.” I run my fingers through his wavy hair to add effect but it doesn’t work. He looks enticed but he’s gotten stronger against my seductions over the years.

“I can’t, I have a surgery this afternoon.” He steps back to my disappointment, “Plus I gotta help Marsh with the skills lab for the interns while Hunt is in the ER. And as much as I want to, I can’t stay here because your bored or Grey will reprimand me. Find something to do while I’m working so the time will pass by and you won’t be so bored.”

Suddenly a light bulb goes off in my head on how I can keep myself busy, “Your right.”

He exhales in relief and turns to leave, “Thank god I’ll see you tonight, I love you.”

“Oh no I’m coming with you; you’re taking me to work.” I get off the bed, go to our closet and put a black coat over my clothes and slip into my black crocs. I can see Andrew turning to face me again with an annoyed look.

“That is not happening babe.” He tells me bluntly but I don’t listen as I grab my purse, “Okay you and the baby need to listen to me. I am not taking you two to a hospital with the germs and blood and diseases it’s not happening I’m putting my foot down.”

I widen my eyes at that and he emphasizes by crossing his arms against his chest, “I’m just gonna watch from the gallery and catch up with my friends and see if Schmitt is still alive. It’s not like I’m getting a scalpel come on man.”

Andrew stands his ground, “Nope still not happening, if you want new books order on Amazon and get express, I don’t care about the price as long as it keeps you in bed and following doctor’s orders.”

“I’m a doctor, you’re a doctor, our siblings are doctors and all of our friends are doctors. I’m pretty sure we both know what’s safe and not safe for me and the baby too.” I remind him, “A hospital is the best place for me to kill time because if I go into labor, I just have to walk five steps to a bed in OB. Please take me with you, think of it like take your daughter to work day.”

He looks at my belly and back up at me, “I think we’re a little early for that.”

“Take me with you.” I sternly command.

“No.” Andrew says with finality causing me to narrow my eyes at him as he keeps a composed face. I mimic his stance crossing my arms across my chest and glaring at him to assert dominance. Even in my condition I stand as his equal and he knows it, he knows I won’t go down without a fight so he has to do the same. We stand there silently for a few moments, me in my pajamas and him in his scrubs, waiting for one of us to budge.

Next Part Here

[phone-kisser]

A large collection of small rants about games/series/franchises that have changed my life

Why so serious. So anyway howdy my freaky fellows, today I'm gonna be doing 4-5 sentence (Probably more. Do I even know myself?) rants about games/series/franchises that have changed my life. You know this. You read the title. Obviously. Unless you didn't. Then you're stupid. Stupid dummy dum-dum.

Kidding, love you all thank you for all the support it genuinely means the world to me and oh god I'm rambling just stop talking

[CLEARS THROAT AGGRESSIVELY]

So we're gonna start with a game that I stumbled upon accidentally and has made a huge mark on my life and honestly my personality as well.

DIALTOWN:

WOWZERS, THIS GAME WAS INCREDIBLE. I didn't even MEAN to find it, I was looking for DDLC and I searched 'dating sim' on steam and it popped up. I thought "fuck it, I'm buyin' it" and now here I am. I spent half of my summer staying up until morning just trying to get all of the endings and achievements, and holy shit was it worth it. That game made me laugh and sob and scream into my pillow all in the span of 5 minutes. Chapter three was incredible, the emotions you can convey without even seeing facial expressions is honestly so awesome to me. Norm is a HUGE comfort character for me. (I GOT HIM IN THE SOULMATE QUIZ‼️) I'm so excited for the DLC to come out, and hopefully I'll get the Mingus plushie and any more that get re-released or any new ones!

Next is another game (or game trilogy, I suppose) that I didn't really mean to come by. Luckily I have a stupid brother that introduces me to things I never thought I'd enjoy.

DAYSHIFT AT FREDDY'S:

Wow, would you look at that, another game series by the hound himself! Now, I didn't have a computer until about half a year ago. Got one for my birthday. I found out about this game LONG before Dialtown. So it took me a while to actually play the game. But I had seen fanart, playthroughs, analysis...es? And a lot more. I was obsessed with davesport for months before I even got to play the game. But when I finally did play it, I was SO excited, and for good reason. This game got me into FNaF fangames, and introduced me to my weird thing for phone men. The third game made me sob my eyes out the first time I played it through the good ending. Yet another example of a game that had me giggling one moment and bawling the next. WHY DO YOU WISH FOR ME TO SUFFER, DOGGO??/silly (ily man. keep doin the do.)

Up next is THE original.

FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S:

Wow. Now THIS is a game that left a mark on me. Got me into indie horror. I first played the game with my brother when I was like 6 I think?? It scared the piss outta me then, but over the years I learned to love it. I damn sure made a lot of cringe fanart when I was like 10..... But hey, it was fun. I kinda miss those times, even if I was seen as extremely weird for it. Thanks for years of fun, Scott. Couldn't have made it through life in my household without you.

Up next is my ALL TIME FAVORITE SIDE-SCROLLER.

CUPHEAD:

I love this game SO much. I first watched my dad play it on his computer, and he let me make my own save file! I wasn't very good for a long time, and I'll be honest, I'm still not exactly a professional. But it's fun, and practice makes perfect, right? I always chose Mugman, while my brother chose Cuphead. We would pretend we were the characters, and it was one of the only times I ever used to bond with him. Thanks for bringing me and my goober brother closer together, Cuphead.

MINECRAFT:

This game at least deserves a sentence or two. It's still one of my favorite games to play when I need to relax. I love making worlds with my siblings and building silly stuff with them.

ANIMAL CROSSING:

I spent weeks on this game. Probably even months. Maybe even a year or two. I don't play it as much anymore, but I still like to visit my island and see how my little villagers are doin every once in a while. Still pissed that I could never find Raymond, though. I tried so many times to find that silly little cat. I still do every so often. I'll get you eventually, Raymond. Mark my words.....

Moving on from games now. Let's talk about TELEVISION!

GRAVITY FALLS:

Wow. Just wow. What is there to even say? I love this show so very much. It makes me cry every time without fail. The fandom has its bad sides, but overall I love being apart of it. The Stan twins are my beloved babies and I will never let them go.

RISE OF THE TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES:

Now THIS is a show that left a HUGE mark on me. Hell, I even changed my name to Donnie for almost a year... I don't like to think about this phase. But this show is amazing, it was the reason I'm friends with a lot of my friends to this day. It deserves to get a re-run, even more seasons. Top tier show, would recommend.

EDDSWORLD:

This show HEAVILY influenced my artstyle and a lot of my general humor. I've been obsessed with it off and on for a few years now, and it's a great show. It's silly and fun, and it's ALSO a reason I'm friends with a few of my best friends.

That's it for now, folks!! Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

I might do another one of these, depends on how I feel about it. Hope you enjoyed my yaptastic yapping session.

Have a great morning, afternoon, evening or night!!! Love you all!!!!!

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

HERE, KITTY, KITTY (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Aizawa x Black!Catgirl!Reader

Synopsis: In which you find yourself in the weirdest predicament after you’re scooped up and taken to a cat cafe after you decide to take the streets to fight some crime, and you’re adopted by your very anti-social and hot coworker Aizawa aka Eraserhead.

Story Warnings: Smutty Smut, 18+ (MINORS GET AWAY), Swearing, Adult!Reader, Ear and Tail Stroking, Light Degradation, Spanking, Exhibitionism, Multiple Positions, Creampie, Unprotected PIV Sex, Facial, Scent Play, Collaring, Deepthroat, Cunnilingus, Begging, Edgeplay, Power Play, Rope Play/Shibari, Master Kink, Some Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Some Action

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: I decided to drop the last five chapters to this story at once cuz I'll be EXTREMELY busy with my summer job & I'm also working on a new fic. Thank you all so, so, soooo much for the love on this story! I had so much fun writing it. I'll be writing some brand new shit soon! Stay safe! -Jazz

Read on AO3 here!

Other Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Twenty-Five.

**********

TWENTY-ONE.

“I’m so glad to see you back after being away for so long, Shouta. We were all so worried!” 

Aizawa side-eyes his friend as he slurps down his spicy ramen. “Nemuri, it’s only been two weeks,” he mumbles. Not to mention it was Nezu’s idea that I take off as long as the doctor wanted despite the fact that I had non-life-threatening injuries.”

Even as he says this his ribcage burns as if telling him to go fuck himself for that statement. However, the medicine the doctor gave him to take has eased the pain, taking the burning from wild forest fire to campfire. 

It has been two weeks since Aizawa was put in the hospital. After days of X-rays, examinations, eating semi-good hospital food, and snuggling with Eri in his hospital bed because she refused to leave, he was finally released.

The doctor gave him ointment medicine to apply to his scalp and pill medicine for his ribcage. “Also, make sure you change your bandages every three days,” he said while Aizawa signed his release forms. “It’s important that your skin is clean. And make sure you stay away from any rigorous activity for at least another week. And also…” 

The doctor ended up giving Aizawa a list of 'what to dos' and 'what not to dos'. He made sure to give Principal Nezu, the police chief, and the HPSC the rundown of the doctor’s orders.

The HPSC was less than happy about him not being able to kick ass for the next week, but he could care less about that. For all he cared, they could try to make another Eraserhead if they wanted him so bad.

But they can be happy that he decided to still participate in patrols; just not in person. He’d be sitting with the police department and other pro heroes to discuss potential threats and how to handle them. He would give anything to handle them himself, but he’d rather save his energy for recovering. After all, his little girl needs him healthy. 

“How’s Eri doing?” Nemuri asks as Mic sits down with some iced tea. “Is she taking this well?”

Aizawa nods, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “We’ve talked and I explained to her what happened, but she’s taking it well. She’s adapting well to the little apartment Nezu offered to house us in since our dorm is now a crime scene.” 

Today, a Monday, is his first day back to work. He was released last Friday evening and argued with literally everybody (the doctor, the nurses, Mic) before he drove himself and Eri to their new temporary apartment. It is a nice little place near a park and littered with dogs, much to Eri’s liking, and only ten minutes away from UA by car.

While Aizawa was recovering in the hospital, Nezu had every item moved into the apartment–furniture; appliances, clothes, etc. “You don’t have to worry about thing!” he cheerfully told Aizawa when he visited him in the hospital. “Just worry about recovering.” 

Though the apartment is much bigger than his dorm, Aizawa can't help but feel out of place. And angry. He felt nothing but rage when he visited his dorm early this morning before work and saw the door taped in yellow police tape.

“Idiot wanna-be villain,” he huffs into his lunch. “Fuckin’ up my life.” 

“Hey.” Mic’s voice is stern but his eyes are soft. “None of that. The most important thing is that you’re still here with us.” He takes off his glasses to clean them, revealing the dark circles under his eyes.

Aizawa immediately feels immense guilt for complaining. He can’t imagine how much he’s worried Mic. He’s been at the hospital with Aizawa almost every day, tending to him and watching over Eri while Aizawa slept. 

“Oh, and before I get…” Mic stands up to retrieve something from his jacket pocket. He then hands it to Aizawa who scowls down at the neatly-folded card.

He opens it, finding “Welcome Back, Sensei!” written in big, bold letters and surrounded by hearts drawn with red markers. His eyes move over the card, reading each signature written inside the card of different names.

“From your Class A1 kids,” Mic chuckles as Nemuri coos. “They went around and had faculty sign too.” 

Aizawa doesn’t respond, too overcome with emotion at each name he finds. Most of them are from many of his visitors. Besides Nezu and Mic, over the past two weeks, he has also been visited by Nemuri, a few of his fellow pro heroes, the police chief, and half of his classroom kids. He had to tell Mina to get out because she kept crying. He doesn't doubt that this was her and the A1 girls’ idea. 

He smirks, still searching through each name for one in particular…but when he doesn’t find it, his smile fades. Of all people, he finds the janitor’s name but not yours! The disappointment that blooms inside of him is overwhelming and pushes the card away.

“What?” Mic asks, panicking. “What’s wrong? Did Bakugou scribble Midoriya’s name out? I told him not to do that!” 

Aizawa shakes his head. “No, it’s just…“Y/N’s name isn’t in here.”

Mic’s eyes widen as big as saucers while Nemuri doesn’t look all that shocked. “It’s not?!” he practically shouts. He snatches the card up and proceeds to search for your signature. 

Aizawa tries to push the disappointment he feels away but it’s not going anywhere. You have been on his mind for two weeks, ever since that strange night with Toyama.

You’ve barely called or texted him. You’ve never come to visit him, not even when you sent him flowers. They were delivered to him one random Saturday morning, so beautiful and pink. There was a card attached to them that read, “Feel better and I’m sorry - Y/N.” 

He wasn't too sure what you were apologizing for. Perhaps you still felt guilty for what happened with Toyoma?

Even more confusing, he still isn’t sure how you got into his dorm that night before Mic and the others. Part of him still wants to believe that it was just a hallucination, but if Mic said he saw you, there is no denying you were there.

But how? And why haven’t you visited him? Why haven’t you spoken to him at all? Maybe you’re too afraid or feel guilty? Should he make the first move? Would you even want him to? He’s thought about doing it so many times in the quiet of the night when he misses you. 

He just doesn’t understand: ‘What went wrong?’ he laments in thought. 

Aizawa grips his spoon, nearly bending it. He doesn’t want to feel played or abandoned by you, but dammit, it is so hard not to. How could you spend so many months making him believe you felt the same romantic feelings he does about you, and then just drop him?

“Something on your mind, Shouta?” Nemuri asks, startling him out of his thoughts. Her gaze is soft and tender as she stares at him from across the table. “Don’t shut us out, darling. We’re your friends. Have you and Y/N been okay lately?” 

Mic looks up from the card, his attention now on Aizawa. The pro sighs, realizing there’s no way out of his. “I wouldn’t know,” he wryly replies. “She hasn’t really spoken to me since my dorm was turned into a fuckin’ war zone. She sent flowers to the hospital room, but she never visited or called. I’m startin’ to think I just dreamed that whole week prior where we were okay and…” 

Talking. Flirting. Making good love. Dating. 

He looks away from his friends, not wanting to see the pity in their eyes or have them see the hurt in his. “It was stupid,” he sighs despite his heart breaking in two. “I knew this wouldn’t work between us. I probably scared her off because now she understands what I do as a hero and the risks of it.”

Quietly, he takes a sip of his ramen to give his hands something to do instead of shaking or possibly punching a hole in the wall. 

He becomes acutely aware that the break room has suddenly gotten too quiet. He looks up to find Nemuri and Mic giving him a shared look that makes him feel like an alien. He puts his spoon down.

“Okay, unless I really do look awful with these bruises, you’d better stop lookin’ at me like that,” he grumbles. 

But they don’t stop. They continue to give him those weird looks that make him want to burst out of his skin. Like something is wrong.

“What?” he demands. 

They each share a look that is less than comforting to Aizawa before turning back to face him. “We need to tell you something,” Mic replies, and those words send shivers down Aizawa’s spine. 

*********

Shouta: Hey. Meet me outside on campus, under the cherry blossom trees near your side  *Read 9:23 PM 

Aizawa stands by them now, feeling less than mystified or overcome with adoration for the gorgeous, pink, blooming trees that sway in the early June breeze.

He remembers how you looked under them–just as beautiful as the trees, pink petals in your hair and on your ears. He thought the world of you then. 

Now that he knows the truth, he isn’t too sure. He isn't even sure if he wants to believe all of it. He just can’t believe you would lie to his face for months.

And not just himself but Eri too–a little girl! One who is so trusting of others. He began to trust you with her feelings and her heart after seeing how you treated her. You were always so kind and generous; so sweet and open.

‘It just can’t be,’ he thinks as he watches the trees sway. ‘She wouldn’t lie to me like this. She couldn’t…’ 

That was all he could think when Nemuri and Mic broke the news to him on their lunch break. They served it to him flat out to him, telling him everything about you that wasn’t about you being Night Claw.

The first thing he did was burst into laughter. It was too ridiculous! You? Pretending to be the cat he adopted for Eri? It just wasn't realistic in his eyes.

“No,” he chuckled incredulously. “No, you two are just tryin’ to cheer me up. That was a good one though.” 

He went back to slurping on his ramen but paused when Nemuri and Mic continued to give him those solemn stares. His stomach dropped when he realized they were dead-ass serious.

“No,” he said again, grit in his tone. “You’re bullshittin’ me. Tell me you’re bullshittin’ me.” 

Nemuri slowly shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she sighed sadly. “She told us herself what she was doing just last week. It’s been happening since March apparently.” 

March? Aizawa nearly blew a gasket. You’ve been doing this since early spring and they knew about it? “So you’ve known this for over a week and never thought to tell me?” he growled, irked. “Even when you knew I was seein’ her?” 

Mic put a hand on Nemuri’s shoulder, silently telling her to let him handle it. “It wasn’t our place to tell you, Shouta. Believe me, we both wanted to, but we figured we’d let Y/N give you an explanation, especially since you were dating her at the time she told us.”

He took off his glasses, revealing his worried, green orbs. “Plus, you were so happy with her and I didn’t want to see you go back to your old, brooding, lonely self! Yes, it was wrong, but we love you, Sho, and we love Eri, too. Your happiness is all we care about.” 

Nemuri nodded, agreeing. “We’re only telling you this now because we love you so much and we know how guilty Y/N feels about this. That’s why she isn’t talking.” 

Aizawa stared down at his ramen, his appetite suddenly gone. He felt dizzy like the world is spinning. The disappointment and betrayal he felt in his body increased with every passing second he thought of you and started putting the pieces together one by one.

Now he understands why you were in his dorm already before Mic and the others that night when Toyoma attacked him. You had been in there all night, snuggling with him; playing with him; purring against him as he aimlessly vented about his problems. 

He’s told you so much about his feelings for you without even realizing it. He’s peeled back every layer to himself in those quiet nights with you on his lap, thinking you were just a cat who couldn’t understand the English language.

He was wrong. He was so, so stupidly wrong.

“But…but I don’t understand,” he weakly said, staring down at his hands. “Why would she do this? Why didn’t she tell me?” 

Nemuri put a dainty, manicured hand on his arm. “From what she told us, she saw how happy she made you and Eri when she was pretending to be your pet, so she felt obligated to continue it. I don’t think she ever meant to hurt you, Shouta.” 

Anger suddenly rose within Aizawa. Anger at being lied to again, and having his daughter be a part of it. “Well, she has,” he responded, enraged. “She has hurt me.”

Nemuri nodded, soothingly stroking his arm. “And you have every reason to be hurt,” she softly said. “But you also need to hear her out. She’s not a bad person, Shouta.” 

Aizawa scoffs to himself now. Not a bad person? He’s having trouble believing that. As he went through the rest of work and finally went to his dorm to figure this shit out, he felt even more like you aren’t at all what he thought you were. Your secrets prove it.

And when Nemuri came to him later that afternoon with chocolate for Eri and a message for him, he knew he had the chance to confront you face to face.

“She texted me,” she explained, leaning against the doorway. “She’s heading out tonight at 8 PM. If you call her, you can wait for her to come back to campus then.”

And so, after gaining the courage, he texted you to meet him outside the faculty building on your dorm side. You had texted him back an “ok” which made his heart leap in anticipation. He now had the chance to see you for himself. To get some answers from you. He deserves this and so does Eri. 

As he leans against the brick wall of the building, he turns towards the street and instantly spots the little black cat he’s grown to love tottering up the bricked walking path. His stomach instantly drops. ‘Please don’t be true,’ he pleads. ‘Please, please, don’t be true.’ 

As the little cat gets closer, he presses himself against the wall and holds his breath, keeping quiet. The cat suddenly stops and stands perfectly still for a moment before a blinding light overtakes their little body.

When he suddenly sees you materialize out of the light in your human form, he can hardly believe his eyes. He especially can’t believe that you’re in your Night Claw outfit, heeled boots and all. Which means it is true. You’ve been lying to him. 

Aizawa moves away from the wall to reveal himself to you. When your big, brown eyes meet his they go wide with shock and fear like a deer caught in headlights. He also figures you just about pissed yourself seeing him waiting for you in the darkness.

“I knew it,” he says, disappointment in his voice. “I didn’t wanna believe it, but I knew deep down something was off.” 

You continue to gape at him, looking small despite your bold outfit. You open your mouth to perhaps protest or beg for forgiveness, but Aizawa puts a hand up to stop you.

“And before you say anything, Nemuri and Mic told me everything,” he growls. “So don’t try to get yourself out of this or fight me like you did when I found out you were Night Claw.” 

You slowly take off your helmet, revealing your beautiful face beat with makeup, your plump lips coated in red lipstick. “S-Shouta,” you softly stutter. “Please, let me explain–” 

“Explain what?” he sharply asks, startling you. “Why you’ve been lying to Eri and me for almost three months with this shit? Why you’ve been pretending this whole time? How you managed to make me fall for you even when you were lying right to my face?” 

You stare up at him with wide, frightened eyes. Though he feels horrible for speaking to you so harshly, he knows that you deserve it.

Now he knows why you didn’t visit him at the hospital. You were scared that you would be found out. Is that what you do? Do you run away from responsibility and the truth every time things get too hot for you?

“I let you into my home,” he continues, ice dripping from his voice. “I shared so many private things with you. Secrets I wouldn’t even tell Mic!” You fiddle with your helmet, staring at the ground in shame. “I-I know,” you weakly say. 

He gapes at you, angered and feeling utterly betrayed. “Oh, you know?” he scoffs. “So, what, that’s just alright with you?” You shake your head, your eyes becoming glassy and wet. “No, I–“ 

“When were you planning on tellin’ me this?” he hisses, squinting accusingly at you. Or did you just wanna see how far you could get before you outed me as a fool?” 

That seems to be the breaking point for you because you toss your helmet aside, not caring if it breaks. “Shouta, I never wanted to hurt you!” you blurt, emotion straining your words. He is taken aback by your outburst; especially the tears that begin to drip down your pretty face.

“I swear that I was going to tell you and I’ve tried so many times, but when you finally started talking to me, I was so afraid of losing the relationship we had.” 

Your bottom lip wobbles and your face contorts as you begin to fully cry standing in front of him. “And then when we kissed that night…I wanted to tell you then, but I didn’t want to lose you. Or Eri.”

Your body begins to visibly shake as you hang your head in shame. “I saw how happy I was making you both and I just wanted to be a part of that,” you sob. “I just wanted to be closer to you. I didn’t want to hurt or deceive either of you, I swear!” 

You begin to sniffle and sob, your body trembling. Aizawa gapes at you, not sure how to react to this. He’s never seen you cry before. “I-I’m s-so, so s-sorry," you stutter through your anguished sobs. “I’m so sorry, Shouta!” 

His arms ache to hold you; comfort you. He wants to tell you everything will be okay and that he forgives you. He could never hate you.

“Kitty,” he murmurs longingly, reaching out to touch you. He is fortunately stopped when his phone rings. Irked, he begrudgingly pulls it out and finds a text from the police chief. 

“Fuck,” he hisses. “That’s the police chief. I’m needed downtown to discuss a villain attack.” 

Now he really regrets still participating in patrols for the police department, especially when you stand there, looking so small and vulnerable with your mascara running. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he softly says. “We can talk about this later.”

Before you can even protest or agree, he leaves you standing in the middle of the UA campus, not once turning back around. 

Slowly, you pick up your helmet and begin to walk back to your dorm but the sound of footsteps stops you.

You whirl around, hoping to find Aizawa, but you find Nemuri standing there in her silk nightgown and slippers. She doesn’t look angry or disappointed; just sad. “Honey,” she empathetically says. 

That’s all she has to say to make you crumble and run to her where she wraps you up in her arms and her vanilla-scented body mist.

You sob against her chest as you cling to her, feeling like she is the only thing you have left that hasn’t gone to shit now. 

[bookinit02]

s5 script info/faq

hi guys! in exactly a week, i'm going to start posting my original stranger things s5 script. here's a general info/faq post for easy reference :)

about the script:

what: this script is designed to be a culmination of my ongoing rewrite series, which is a fanfic version of each season of stranger things, written through the lens of alternating byler pov. since season 5 hasn't released yet, and we've still got a ways to go, i decided to write an original script to base my last installment off of. the script will be 10 episodes, at about 60 pages each, and serve as a companion to my season 5 fic.

where: script episodes will be posted here on my tumblr, and be linked to a pinned post (which will go up in a few minutes). fic chapters will be posted on my ao3, as usual.

when: currently, i'm planning to have at least one post a week: the script episode will release on a sunday, and then the two accompanying chapters on the next two fridays. so, for example, the first few releases will look like this: script 1 on sunday 9/3, chapter 1 on friday 9/8, and chapter 2 on friday 9/15. this gives you about a week to read each new post! of course, you can read however you'd like: script first, or fic first, depending on your preference. i decided to post the scripts first to try and mimic the rest of the rewrite experience: "watching" the show, then reading the fic. if there's any schedule delays due to typical life stuff, i'll let you guys know!

frequently asked questions:

will the script cover every plotline?: yep! with 60 pages per episode, there's a bit of time dedicated to every character, as much as i can feasibly manage. of course, this means that the script will be less byler-focused than the fic series has been (but still more than the original show, lol). but not to worry—the fic companion will add extra scenes and plenty of byler content. this also means that some of the plots will only be accessible through the script, as the fic is entirely from byler pov. but it's still up to you whether you would like to read or not!

will there be any character deaths?: i'm going to answer this right now: there will be no character deaths. i want the script to be realistic, but it's also my version, and i always try to give my characters happy endings :) this doesn't mean that there won't be some close calls, though. we'll have to see. :)

will there be a playlist?: yes! i've spent some time testing out playlists for the first two episodes, and they're both fully completed. they'll be linked along with the script, along with a timing guide for anyone (like me) who likes being insane about the details. playlists are always tricky because everyone reads at different speeds, so i've written out which scenes go with each song, and you can skip along as needed. if you prefer not to listen with music, of course you don't have to—though i will say that most songs are just soundtrack instrumentals to set the mood :) it might be a little finicky, so i'm sorry in advance! i'll always try to perfect them as much as possible before posting.

will you do another rewrite after s5 releases?: currently, i'm planning on it. of course, we have no idea how much longer it's going to take, or what exactly will happen in canon (or in life), but if i'm in a place to write fic, then yes! i'll do a typical rewrite and add it to the end of my series, so you guys can have your choice of endings :)

how do we leave comments?: if you want to leave a comment on the script, i'm happy to receive them in asks, messages, or post comments! you can also leave them on the fic chapters if you'd like. edit 9/1: you should be able to leave comments in the google doc! be mindful of what account you are using, as these comments will be public. for a more comprehensive comment policy, click here.

do i have to read the rest of the rewrite series first?: reading the rest of the rewrite isn't necessary, but it is a good idea. i know it's a lot to read, so don't feel pressured, just know that some things might not make as much sense without the prior context! my rewrite series is pretty canon-compliant, but a lot of relationship dynamics are developed in a very specific way, and we pick up right where we left off at the end of a new place to be from. so, essentially: no, but you'll probably want to.

do i have to read the script?: definitely not. if you prefer to just read the fic, you absolutely can! it'll make sense on its own, you might just miss out on some of the extra plotlines and context.

that's about all i can think of for now—if you have any questions that weren't answered in this post, please send me an ask and i'll edit this post to include your question! i've been working on this project for a few months now, and i'm really excited to share it with you guys :) thank you all for giving it a shot! see you next sunday <3

[fangbangerghoul]

My week has felt so looooong and it's only WEDNESDAY!

My spoons are low, and I have released a new chapter of Fleeting Pleasures recently! I haven't gotten to write as much as I wanted but its mostly due to my school work. They really have me reading and writing 24/7.

Tagging the usual! @silurisanguine @eridanidreams @staticpallour @toxiclizardwrites @bearlytolerant @a-cosmic-elf @lisa-and-shadow @aislingdmdt @booburry @therealgchu @samcoesclub @5oh5 @staticpallour (if i forgot you holla at me and I'll add you!)

No one is obligated but it's fun to see you post! Feel free to tag me so I can see your work!

Under the cut is a snippet from Chapter 10 of Fleeting Pleasures!

The tall grass repelled from their movements and tickled the bare skin of his hands. The winds of the planet woefully sung their warning that less than peaceful weather was nigh. The night was just ahead of them but the star that warmed this planet bore on their backs still fighting the horizon and gallantly displayed a warm hue of sunflower kissed yellow. The two of them had just finished up their current excavation and Sam was grateful for it to not only be over but for this planet to be breathable unlike the last four they had journeyed too.

She walked ahead of him, taking her time and her hands softly swinging with the grass. This was one of the rare times her luscious curly green hair was down and the winds whipped it around like two kids fighting over a doll. When she turned back to check on him, her cat-like eyes reflected the planet’s sun like topazes which was a stark contrast to the dark skies behind her.

“Are you coming?” She asked the same topazes staring straight through him, making the storm of feelings within him just as violent as the breeze around them.

“Yeah, just taking a moment to appreciate the view.” He felt a smile creep up on his face as he looked at her in wonder. Sam always wondered if she knew how he really felt. Ghoul put her hands on her hips and stood there trying to patiently wait but they both knew her patience was about as far as she could be thrown.

He started to take a step forward itching to meet her where she stood but something stopped him. It was a sudden and sharp pain in his left side and it made Sam groan out in pain. Ghoul’s face flashed with concerned and as he looked down, he saw crimson stain his shirt and his hands immediately went to apply pressure to the magical wound. When he looked up again the sweet yellow hues from the horizon behind him were gone and the winds picked up rolling the storm from ahead into their area. Ghoul’s face was pale, jaunt, and her golden eyes dimmed as if she were a lifeless corpse. Her mouth twisted in dismay and pain as if frustrated with him.

“I told you, you shouldn’t of came.” She said coldly, her face relaxed into resignation with every ounce of empathy washed away from her.

His surrounds became black, the floor beneath him now replaced with manmade metal in place of the soft earth that was there before. They were on Sondoor. He was here with here again. The pain spread throughout his veins and he felt a sharpness within his chest. His instinct was to reach out to her, for her to grab his hand but she now was adorned with Crimson Fleet attire and took a step away from him. Shadows that shouldn’t be there casted along her face painting a new picture that produced crashing waves of sorrow within himself.   

Then he woke.

[roosterbruiser]

giving a life update bc it makes me feel better about myself feat. another face reveal

I think I'm gonna treat this like a sort of journal entry and include some cute pictures so this doesn't feel like an absolute dump :-)

so to begin here's a picture of my nephew (yes it's a dog)

I am so excited for all my upcoming projects. right now, my focus is on finishing CS all the way. after I finish CS, I think I'm gonna go ahead and come out w HOT TO GO! (BRB x Reader) and then start regularly posting VV and SS again. I think I have my October schedule pinned down (like everything that's coming out) and that is so exciting! I can't wait to share w y'all!

I'm a working girl now!! I nanny 4 days a week!! it's lovely!! just one baby who's only 1!! and the parents work from home so I never have to stay late or anything!! it has been a bit of a challenge getting used to the schedule (but I thrive with schedules!) so that's why I've been a bit absent on here!!

still trying to get my house set up....living room has come a loooooong way, but my bedroom is suffering! hoping to work on it here and there! but my main priority is getting back into my regularly scheduled writing!! the living room def isn't completely done (have to finish my gallery walls!) and I wish the walls weren't white, but we're renting so! I do what I must!

plus being back in the area I'm in now means I'm by my friends again so I've been Going Out And Socializing which is crazy!!! here's some pictures of me at a local brewery wearing the bolo necklace I got with @ohgodnotagainn in Colorado!!!

in all complete and utter seriousness, whenever I was coming out with a new chapter for my three stories every single week (and updating Landslide like every two days!) I was at my lowest point. I was like one nasty thought away from having a grippy sock vacation and holding onto anything that eased my Darkness--which was absolutely writing and sharing on here with everyone!

here's a pic of me when I was at one of my lowest points. I was in Chicago in the dead of winter with people I didn't know very well (it was still fun!) and had never felt more lost in my life. it also exactly coincided with my stories getting popular on here after my 200 follower celebration. like, I remember being on the train and checking my Tumblr every hour and always having 100+ notifications. I'll never forget how mind-boggling it was!! I went from 200 followers in early January to 2.8k now in late September. and I love you all SO much!!!

I'd like to think I look much happier now :-)

I kind of have a bf now and I'm sooooo embarrassed ab it. like. who breaks up with the person they thought they were gonna marry, gets back with their ex, and just stays w them??? me, I guess! no but I am actually happy. we're going to see CHAPPELL MF ROAN'S ALBUM RELEASE tomorrow and he's gonna wear a silk scarf and trim his mustache. I'm in love. like, actually in love. Alice Hoffman says, "Fall in love whenever you can." so I did!

the closest I'll give to a face reveal.....

anyway. I'm happy. the only thing I wanna work on right now is my health (simply MUST get into the hot girl mindset) and my writing!! everything else is gravy, baby!!

gonna try to answer asks / mentions / dm's this weekend!

[angel-of-the-moons]

Blood Moon

Marc Spector/Moon Knight (Vengeance of Venom) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Pining, confusing emotions, slight nudity, sexual tension, Marc is an emotionally constipated idiot who hasn't been laid in probably almost ten years

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: This chapter is short, mostly filler to establish some shit. But hey! Marc is trying at least!

Taglist: @badbishsblog

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Pt. 4

"You don't have to live in this rathole, you know." You say, cringing as you watched another rat scurry into a crack in the wall.

"It's served me well so far." Marc told you, raising a brow as he worked.

It had been two weeks since you were released and cleared medically for duty. With the help of Wakandan tech (and bribing Shuri with some snacks you can only find at one tiny bodega on Fisker Street) you were able to skip the month of physical therapy Doctor Ross said you'd need.

Of course, you were assigned to light duty.

And Marc was insistent on following that order. He'd been almost nice to you. Engaging in polite conversations, actually listening to you when you give him suggestions...

He'd even crack a smile when he thought you weren't looking when you said a stupid joke. Which you did often.

You sat cross legged on the ratty old couch in his "lair" as he sharpened his crescent darts with a special whetstone.

"Well yeah, but the smell sure hasn't. Sheesh!" You laugh, making an exaggerated wave of your hand in front of your face.

"Do you even notice it at all?"

"Not really." He shrugged, examining the sharpness of the blade.

"...Have you considered moving somewhere else? I'm sure SHIELD can hook you up." You snort, chin in your palm as you watched him boredly.

You blink, and your vision zones in on the blade, taking in every detail almost like a microscope.

"There's nicks in the blade. You should probably make new ones." You tell him, your tone still very much flat.

"What? No they're not, they're perfectly sharp." Marc blinks at you with a frown.

"I can watch a dog take a piss from across Central Park and you're doubting me when I tell you there's nicks? Yeah they're small and hardly noticeable but it's better to be safe than sorry." You frown back.

Marc turns the dart over in his hand once, twice.

He closes his eyes and sighs.

"...Fine." He concedes. "I'll put a requisition order in so I can get materials to make new ones."

"But seriously, why keep living in the sewer? The lack of sunlight isn't doing any favors for that complexion of yours."

"I don't know." He grunts, setting the dart down to sharpen a different one instead.

"It's just... been my home for so long. I'm used to it."

"Well, you can get used to somewhere else. Staying down here is gonna give you tetanus or like, encephalitis or something." You say, rolling your hand.

"Haven't caught it yet."

"Yet." You point out.

"And where do you suggest I do move to? A hotel? Some apartment on Fifth?" He said, giving you a "do I look stupid" look. "Move in with you?"

"Well I mean I have a two bedroom house with a basement. You can store all your crap there." You say casually.

Yeah. That gets his eyebrows to shoot up his forehead.

"What."

"Seriously, Marc. I have plenty of space--"

"No I mean what. How the fuck can you afford a house like that in New York fucking city when you don't have a day job?"

"Dude... I told you. SHIELD. Can't have an Avenger living in some shitty one room apartment in a rathole dump. They pay for everything." You grin.

Marc blinked.

"They hooked you up... With a whole house."

"Yeah."

"With a basement and everything."

"Uh-huh."

"And You're offering to let me stay."

"Yep."

He looked at you skeptically, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his muscular chest.

"What's the catch?"

"No catch. Other than helping with chores or cleaning up after yourself." You shrug.

"....You're serious."

"As a triple-bypass burger." You grin.

Marc turned from you and stared at the floor, gripping his whetstone in his hand as he thought.

Maybe it was time to bid the sewers farewell. At least there would be fewer rats...

"...All right. Fine."

You grin widely and hop to your feet.

"I'll tell Fury to get something to help move all your crap, then! We get to be roomies!"

Marc was already beginning to regret his decision.

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Yeah. He definitely regretted it.

He regretted it after the first week.

Because apparently you'd forgotten Marc lived with you, waking up after only two hours of sleep, and walking downstairs.

It wasn't unusual for you to go ahead and walk into your kitchen first thing, to make a nice cup of coffee.

But it certainly was unusual for Marc.

And awkward.

Hilariously, horrendously awkward.

Because apparently you slept in nothing but your panties.

And thought nothing about walking into your kitchen for a cuppa, sans clothes.

That was, until you remembered one teeny, tiny detail.

Yeah, you didn't live alone anymore.

The shriek you let out was one worthy of a cartoon character, and Marc dropped the mug he was holding and it shattered on the floor, face as red as the apple he had half-eaten.

Poor Marc found his thoughts plagued with you. Your skin, how soft you must feel...

One night he'd fallen asleep at his worktable and caught himself dreaming that he was sprawled on the couch, the TV on in the background... And then you crawled into his lap, nice and slow.

When he jolted awake, he found a very urgent problem he needed to take care of.

He also needed a nice, ice cold shower...

But little did he know that you were plagued with dreams just as much as he was.

And they only got worse when you woke up in the middle of the night for a bottle of water and you bumped into him, skin wet, hair dripping and the only thing covering himself was a towel hanging low on his waist, showing the perfect v of muscles leading straight down to the short, dark curls of hair that led below his waistline.

And god, was there an outline of his...

You made a rather embarrassing squeak and rattled off an excuse about the water and ran downstairs to the kitchen, allowing Marc to go to his room and conceal his shame.

And for you to take care of yours.

This was going to take some getting used to...

Marc was getting increasingly frustrated, however. And not in the emotional sense.

Between your constant slip-ups of seeing each other almost naked, the light touches neither of you realized you were doing to one another, and the goddamn dreams...

Agreeing to this living arrangement was torture, pure and simple.

One of the things he hated to admit was that, yeah... You were attractive. You were funny, and kind, and sweet... He sometimes found himself bored or, hell, just lonely without you around. He missed you while you were laid up in recovery.

But fuck did you have an attitude problem.

And what was weirder was that he found that attractive, too. Your brattiness. It was uncomfortably endearing.

The worst was night though, when you two were on patrol together after the sun went down.

He wasn't sure what was worse to be plaguing his subconscious. Your topless form, or your body wrapped so tightly in that skin tight suit that you may as well have been naked in the first place.

Especially when you bent over to use your telescopic vision to sight down targets for him, or... He wasn't sure.

That night he'd looked at you to ask you something.

"Do you see anyth--what are you doing?!" He sputtered, watching, almost slack-jawed as you unzip the front of your suit just enough to let your uncomfortably sweaty tits breathe.

And he'd be lying if he said that the corset you were wearing didn't do wonders for them, pushing them up juuuust right...

"What?" You asked, raising an eyebrow. "It's hot. You might not understand because you don't have tits, Marc, but they get sweaty. And it's like, summer. Chill the hell out."

You barley mumbled the last part, but he heard it nonetheless, "You've actually seen me worse at this point."

Yeah. Let's just say he had different dreams later that night...

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Pt. 5: Link

[smolwritingchick]

What is Next for The Bangtan Gal!? Upcoming Chapters Part 2!

Damn, I'm really back writing this story with new chapters. It's weird yet exciting. Please bear with me with slow updates. I will try my best not to take forever to upload. You are welcome to skip this if you do not want to be spoiled on what I plan to write next for this story. 

Here is what I plan to work on. Some of these chapter titles may be placeholders and not everything is revealed in the summary as I'm still planning to get the gist of what's happening. As well as when I'll put smut and suggestive content in it. So stay tuned! But here is the first set of what I plan to write.

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Blood, Sweat, and Tears- Jennie and Jimin fight over his extreme diet. BTS film BST with Jennie and Taehyung filming a sexy scene together. Jennie spends time with GOT7. (This will be the last time I write about his diet. There is angst in this but it will end fluffy with them making up. I apologize in advance for the angst :( )

Idol Parents?- BTS anticipates the release of WINGS. Jennie and Jungkook are assigned to take care of a robot baby for a parenting class at school. (A reader gave me the robot baby idea years ago and I ran with it, lol. I used to have parenting classes back in high school but could never take them because it was always full smfh. Weenies I tell ya. Always taking up spots for the classes I was interested in. College was WORSE OMFG I was pissed that I had to wait days while others got first dibs.)

Big Enough For Two- BTS promote BST as viewers and fans freak out and wonder what is going on between Jennie and Taehyung due to what they saw in the MV. Jennie suffers a wardrobe malfunction during a show. Jennie and Jungkook become stressed trying to juggle school and promotions. Pissed about having to take an exam the next morning, Jungkook's angry emotions are shown while performing late at night for a show and Jennie helps him calm down back at the dorm.

Thank You- Jennie finally tells Jungkook that she is ready for the next step. BTS continues to promote BST. JenKook plans with Bangtan and Big Hit on how they want to reveal their relationship. BTS film their Halloween dance practice

Our First Time (Jungkook smut)- Jennie celebrates her birthday in Japan and Jungkook makes it a memorable one.

BTS 3rd Muster

First Daesang!- BTS wins their first Daesang! Jennie excitedly shares on social media about her preparations to collab with Hyuna at the MAMA Awards. But less than a week before the show, Mnet claims Jennie is not ready for a vocal solo performance and it is too early in her story to perform solo. The collab gets scrapped and Hyuna plans to perform by herself which pisses off Armies with the blindslide. (That'll be the end of the Hyuna stuff. They will no longer be friends after this and I will be done writing about her. For Mnet telling Jen she is not ready, I got inspiration from Victoria Monet being told she was not ready by MTV. But best believe MAMA Awards 2017 with Big Hit making sure she gets her time to shine without dealing with another Idol like Hyuna, she will SLAY. It will suck having Jennie spend long hours every day preparing for her solo before collabing with Hyuna. She planned to release a new song too. The song I thought of was Victoria Monet's Alright. Without the cussing since it would be on TV and also without the Jaguar roaring at the end of the song. That song is a banger! Omg. The plan was to have her perform that song for the first time while DJing and then dance and stuff before Hyuna met with her on stage. She will have the chance to perform it at one of the end of the year shows instead. G-Dragon will give Jen a pep talk on everything too and show support. I hope you like the vision when I write it.)

Mama Awards 2016- Jennie and Taehyung prepare for a stage kiss at the award show and BTS wins Best Artist. Jennie still makes sure to have a little solo dance for Fire when Bangtan performs, proving that she is ready for a solo.

BREAKING!! BTS' Jennie & Jungkook dating!?- Jennie supports Taehyung during his press conference for his drama. JenKook reveal their relationship in their own unique way, catching Dispatch and the world offguard. Big Hit and Bangtan show their support for the couple

BTS GAYO Episodes 10-15

BTS RUN Episodes 10-19

Going Public- With their relationship out, Jennie and Jungkook happily enjoy being a couple without having to be private. BTS attends ISAC 

You Never Walk Alone- Jennie and Jungkook graduate high school. BTS promote their new album with Jennie getting called Storm for dyeing her hair white/grey for the new comeback.

Black Panther- BTS begins their WINGS tour. Black Panther's director reaches out to Big Hit, wanting Jennie to have a small role in the film, and makes a character for her. Excited and honored, Jennie films with the Black Panther cast in Busan for the casino/chase scene, doing her own stunts. (I have been having this idea for years! It'll be a step closer for Jennie and Jungkook to meet Chris Evans and Robert Downey Jr. I got major ideas for the future after this Marvel themed chapter! I hope you enjoy the vision when I write it! It's going to be so fun!)

Billboard Awards 2017- Jennie Media trains BTS for America as they prepare to attend the Billboard Awards. Jennie runs into Trinity from Amity. (Best believe she will make sure to let Namjoon know what a heart throb is lol. I still remember that. Lots of Jennie and Namjoon fluff. She is going to have his back)

BTS Festa 2017

BTS Bon Voyage Season 2

Love Yourself: Her- BTS perform at Seo Taiji's 25th anniversary concert. BTS promote their new album

BTS Run Episodes 20-29

BT21- BTS creates their characters for BT21. Jennie creates a cute Hamster character called JW.

American Music Awards 2017- Suffering a broken ankle, Jennie documents her recovery, trying to stay positive as she promotes with BTS in America injured.

Mic Drop Remix- BTS release the Mic Drop Remix. Jennie and Desiigner snap on his version of Mic Drop. Recovered from her injury, Jennie makes a statement with a vocal and dance solo stage during Bangtan's performance after getting her solo scrapped at last year's MAMA Awards.

New Year's Rockin' Eve

Black Panther Premiere & Press Tour In Seoul- BTS attend the Black Panther Premiere to support Jennie. Jennie attends the Press Tour of Black Panther in Korea. Hobi releases his mixtape

Burn The Stage

Complete The Square- After Hobi's mixtape is out, ARMY trends for wanting Jennie, the last of the rap line for BTS, to finally release the music she has been working on for years. (Since there will be 4 people in the rap line of BTS, RM, Suga, Hobi, and Jennie, I thought it would be cool to say complete the square since she's the last one to release solo music)

Jennie X NIKE- Jennie films commercials for her Nike endorsement with celebs like Lebron James and Kevin Hart. Jennie proves that her getting chosen to endorse Nike was one of the best business decisions as her endorsement with the brand is released and sells out immediately, creating high demand. Jennie goes on press tours to promote the brand. (I'm highkey considering her Nike collab to be like Beyonce's IVY Park. Having various collections each time. I am still brainstorming.)

Love Yourself: Tear- BTS promote their new album. BTS attends the Billboard Awards 2018. BTS goes on Ellen and the Late Late Show with James Corden. (Jennie is not a fan of Ellen and will think of the negative experience she had during the Amity days with her.)

BTS Festa 2018

The Square Is Complete- Jennie finally releases her solo music