#it’s been an on-and-off project for almost a year-ish

[uh-oh-its-bird]

There are so many naruto time travel fics out there but what I need SPECIFICALLY is an ANBU era team of Kakashi, Tenzo, Itachi, and Shisui getting flung into the founders era.

Like. Ok just looking from the political side of it that's;

A) 2 very young and VERY powerful Uchiha's (one of which is the future clan head!! Politics!!)

B) A very fucked up baby mokuton user who's still in the middle of being deprogrammed and can totally pass for Senju

C) The free wild card that is Hatake clan lore on top of having a stolen sharingan. On top of *that* him being the team leader of a team of kids who, in the time period context, should both be at eachothers throats and probably not be expected to obey the commands of someone not only from another clan but a way smaller one

Theres SO much potential there!! So many political implications in virtually ALL of the directions!!!!

Yk what as I'm typing this out I'm having ✨️ideas✨️ so let's make some story points to sort those out:

• I think itd be neat to have this happen like. A year? Ish? Before the massacre? So age wise, and full disclaimer I'm referencing Google and Wikipedia rn so I could totally be wrong, I think that's :

Kakashi (18)

Tenzo (17)

Itachi (12)

Shisui (15)

Could be wrong about the ages but honestly it's my world you're just living in it, so.

Then me going totally purely off of my own headcannons, were going to say they came in a about a year before Izuna died and place the founders ages as:

Madara (23)

Hashirama (23)

Izuna (19)

Tobirama (18)

Big fan of Tobirama being the youngest between the 4 but projecting the aura of someone as old as like. Idk, however old Madara is. Very funny to me, 10/10

• I'm personally a big fan of dogteeth kakashi so we're running with that all the way home. Also a huge fan of the "Hatake's are a distant, more feral cousin of Inuzuka clan" hc along with some sprinklings of "back in the day they had a bit of a Reputation(tm) for being a 'lill wild, and everyone generally tries to avoid them. Which isn't too much of a problem because theyre a very small out of the way clan from Iron, they just have a big reputation in contrast to their size.

In more modern times tho, along with (obviously) having dwindled down to a single depressed teenager, they've become a lot tamer over the years due to village life. Kakashi is a Hatake, 100%, but he is NOT up to the standards of this time. Which becomes a bit funny when people see him, go "oh FUCK it's a Hatake" and then start edging slowly towards the door like he's about to rip their throat out with his teeth. Meanwhile he's standing there like 🧍‍♂️"am I that ugly."

Give me a scene where, finally used to this reaction to him from the general shinobi population, the team starts to use it to their advantage.

"Give us the scroll or we'll let the Hatake off the leash to have his fun with you. He's been awfully hungry latley you know, hasn't had fresh meat in days"

Kakashi, feeling kind of stupid, gave his best growl.

It caused an almost immediate, embaressed flush to rise to his face, but he didn't let up. It sounded more like an almost pathetic puppy growl than anything to his ears, but apparently it was enough to convince the trembling enemy nin because he slowly lifted the scroll up in offering.

Wow. Now he couldn't tell if he was embaressed for himself or for this guy.

Probably both to be honest.

• So like. Itachi is the clan heir. That's big. That's important. Let's do something with that.

First off, I had a great time reading this one fic (tho I don't even remember what the fic itself was about now, oops) where a plot point of it was how Sasuke is just a walking stereotype of main house Uchiha. Like people look at him and they don't just go "oh that's an Uchiha." They go "oh fuck that's an UCHIHA Uchiha." He's so fucking painfully, obviously related to the very tippy top of the clan that anyone not blind can tell. It's in the way he looks, it's in the way he talks and treats those around him, it's in the way he fucking holds himself. You look at him and every other stereotype about the Uchiha clan is there in big, bold letters. (On top of that he's also a dead wringer for Izuna, which I'm such a sucker for and desperatley wish people would do more with)

So like let's give that to Itachi here because it's so fun for several reasons.

First off; Sasuke in this is like. Straight up a doppelganger of Izuna, just a few generations apart. They could be twins. Itachi, as I'm sure you are aware, is Sasuke's big brother. So let's take some liberties and say that Itachi could absoloutley pass as a blood sibling to Izuna and Madara.

He is however 12, so we're also going to say that the only people who get to make this connection is anyone who's seen the siblings when they were also at a similar age.

On top of that however he has the 'walking amalgamation of all the stereotypes of the main Uchiha house' so anyone who isn't blind will look at him and assume he's somewhere in the sphere of 'important main house person' tho who really knows how distant the relation may be exactly. No one !! That's who !!!

Second; He's the fucking clan heir!! What the fuck!! This bit would have the most impact after all the messy time travel reveals when things have settled down a bit, so it'll sit in the back pocket for a bit. Save it for some fun shaking up later down the line so we don't run out of all the fun reveals too fast and bore the readers, yk?

When it is brought up tho it'd be fun to maybe have some fucky Itachi and Madara mutual understandings of the way things work.

• So. Madara is like a bit of a scary bed time story to Uchiha children, right? Like. "Ooo make sure you don't get too obsessive or fall too deep into your grief and always stay loyal to the village or you'll end up just like Madara!!"

Something something Uchiha-Village relationships are tense as hell, something something Madara fucking over a lot of the clan with his whole. Everything., Something something scapegoat and old stories, something something 'people have probably been talking a lot more about how "god dammit this all started with Madara" in recent years.'

Now with that in mind let's take a look of what our time travelers think of Madara:

Itachi is a good Konoha soldier. Itachi (as has been very much fucking proven) would rather beat a possible problem before it even exists with a hammer till it dies an ugly bloody death than even RISK it blossoming into a proper problem. Itachi does not like Madara. Itachi personally, quietly thinks they should maybe wait till the village is formed then carefully arrange a little accident for him before he goes off the rails. He, even more quietly, maybe even thinks it would be a kindness. Allow him to be remembered well by the village instead of scorned.

Shisui I think is cautiously optimistic about him. He's the kind of guy who gives the benefit of the doubt, who weighs the options, risk and reward, but includes things like hope and compassion in his calculations. Yes, Madara was a uhh. Thing. That happened. But in every story his big blow up always come from one specific event; Izuna's death. So if they stop that from happening, wouldn't it secure both a better future for them and Madara? The history books never went into detail about Izuna, he doesn't know what he's like, but maybe his involvement in the future, on Konoha's side, could lead to even more profits for them long term. At the end of the day he's not against killing Madara (though to be clear, they are at first operating on trying to avoid all interactions with historical events and return home without touching things) but it'd be nice, to manage to get a happy ending for everyone. Unrealistic maybe, but nice.

Mmmm hear me out actually, maybe Shisui, after interacting with him a bit, finds that Madara reminds him of Itachi too. They definatley both have that "I would do unspeakable things to even dream of my loved just one more time" energy, if you know what I mean

Anyways; Kakashi and Tenzo are both neutral on Madara. Yes, they learned about how he betrayed the village when young just like everyone else, but they weren't getting the bed time stories and "do this and you'll end up just like him" warnings like the Uchiha's. They're possibly leaning into negative but are detached from the situation enough to just go "well he hasn't done it yet and his brother is still alive so he won't any time soon" and be done with it

• Now, on the the total opposite side of the spectrum you have Hashirama and Tobirama. People are brought up in Konoha to fucking IDOLIZE these guys. You can not tell me our team of time travelers wouldn't be at least a little awed to speak with them.

I think Tenzo would be the most wide eyed about Hashirama, both for the baseline "holy shit that's the Shodai Hokage" and also that fun juicy mokuton user imposter syndrome he has going on for him. That guys DNA is inside his body!!! Holy shit wait does that mean if someone did a blood relation test with them he might read as being related to him?? Fuck were gonna pocket that for now but like. Mmmmm potential.

I'd say Itachi is the most hesitant about Tobirama but again, village loyalist, so.

You know what tho maybe Shisui is the most hesitant about him (though still largely positive) he both def grew up looking up to him but can also see the anti-Uchiha policies people inact now with the implications that Tobirama would have approved of it. He doesn't know if he would, but like, he has to wonder.

Kakashi is probably the most normal about them (and also has experience in being close to a hokage (Minato) to know that at the end of the day they are painfully human) Don't get me wrong, he's still in some sort of awe! He might get a little lightheaded at the thought of seeing the God of Shinobi in proper battle, or the possibility to see the famed genius of Tobirama with all the different jutsu's he's invented. You can't tell me Kakashi didn't spend a little extra time reading about him when he was trying to make Chidori. Honestly I'm gonna roll with that and say he had a bit of a phase as a kid where he was a total fan boy. Maybe sprinkle in the good old HalfHatake!Tobirama hc to add some faint daydreams a lonley babykashi had after his father's death, about getting to meet him as family. Like cmon, little genius idolizing and projecting on some big history figure only to find out they're actually related? Can you say potential?

Anyways he did eventually grow out of the phase, probably got unattached to it all and lost interest after the whole "losing everything he loved" bit of his life. And at the end of the day, he doesn't have any real complex personal hang ups on the founders like the others do. Thus, most normal.

• And then my favorite most special boy, Izuna !! He's for sure the one they're all most neutral about. He's not actually taught about in the academy? There's probably some throw away line about him in some history books somewhere, but he died young and was quickly buried by the looming shadow of Konoha. The only real knowledge had about him in modern times is just a vague "Yeah he got killed by Tobirama which lead to peace being made but also lead to Madara losing his shit"

Poor Izuna he's the linchpin for it all but was left an unremarkable footnote of history. My boy deserves so much better

Tenzo doesn't actually even know who he is, that boy got bare minimum education under Danzo and Izuna was NOT included.

Itachi and Shisui mmmaybe have some small little fun fact here or there buried in stories from the older members of the clans but like. It's gonna amount to just "yeah he had a great katon" and thats about it.

I WILL SAY HOWEVER. Itachi sees him and instantly is that one PTSD dog meme. Sasuke is a BABY but holy shit Izuna looks exactly like he'd expect him to grow up as and it's making him FEEL THINGS. Also he's so bratty little brother coded !! He's an entire 7 years older than Itachi but Ifachi keeps fucking up and trying to big brother him it's embaressing.

And ofc Itachi didn't go into the first meeting thinking he'd see some weird older mirror version of his beloved baby brother who he misses and worries about very very much. So like. There's for sure going to be some conflict there. If their first meeting is a scuffle (which it probably will be) I think Itachi would keep hesitating to attack. On full run away mode. Which is probably for the best bc he shouldn't try to fight Izuna anyways honey he's like double your bodyweight and you're strong but you aren't THAT strong.

• Pointing back at both the 'Itachi does not like Madara and has quiet thoughts about how it'd possibly be in everyone's interest to just kill him' and the 'Itachi and Madara quietly bond over being clain head/heir during stressful times (w pressure from the elders especially)

I can see 2 outcomes of a potential bonding conversation with them:

1) They come to understand eachother better.

Madara wants to be on good terms, he looks at this kid and sees one of his brothers eyes and the others quiet determination. He can tell Itachi doesn't like him for some reason, and it's frustrating because he doesn't know why. He wants him to like him. He wants to be able to offer his hand and have it taken. It hurts, to be looked at with such suspicion from a face that has traces of Izuna's.

Meanwhile Itachi . . . Itachi looks at Madara and he sees someone who gets it. Gets it like no one ever has. It scares him. He looks up at this man, this horror story he's been told to fear becoming, and he sees himself. And this realization shakes him. It makes him think, makes him wonder. He's so, so sure of his loyalty to Konoha. More sure than he is of anything else in the world. But . . . But if something happened to Sasuke, if he had to choose—

And maybe it softens something in him too, along with the (honestly healthy) dose of fear. It forms a little crack in his shell, just enough to maybe, maybe let Madara through. Just a hair.

Or 2) we pull one of those "The conversation ends with them agreeing verbally but mentally they're on 2 VERY different notes."

Madara, nodding and looking at Itachi meaningfully: "Yeah it can be hard, but all we can really do is try to make the world a safer place for the ones we love. (To create Konoha, to keep my clan safe. Izuna safe. And now to keep you safe too.)

Itachi, nodding slowly: "Yeah. No matter how hard it is (even though I think I understand you more than anyone else Ive ever met) we have to try to make the world a safer place (by killing you in your sleep once Konoha is formed) for the ones we love (My clan. My village. Sasuke.)"

• Also pointing back at the 'Hatake warring clan era reputation,' the 'Tobirama is half Hatake' and also now pointing at Tobirama's title as the White Demon. Small thing but it'd be neat if there was some small throw away line that the nickname lowkey started in part because of the absoloutley terrifying reputation of the Hatake combined with Tobirama's own Everything(tm) like it just had some influence on how some view him. Give me Uchiha's making dog jokes ab him it'll be funny

• Ok but now the actual plot thoughts. Yeah I know I kept you waiting sorry about that.

So time travel! Probably due to a mission gone wrong. Some ruins or some ancient crumbling scroll that wasn't even supposed to do fucking time travel but was so old and corroded that it somehow managed to transform into a whole other seal by pure bad luck. Or good luck I guess, considering it could have just turned into a nuke.

Our favorite team of disasters are very very alarmed !!! What the fuck !!! Obviously they don't default to thinking time travel, but they immediatley know something is wrong. The landscape has changed, though the big landmarks are still there. The mission was complete anyways with no injuries so they just retreat to Konoha. Only oops !! It's not fucking there!!!

Queue alarm.

Shisui is the first one to suggest time travel because he's quirky like that. And there's a very easy way to confirm this theory.

(Also we're going to say that Konoha's location is a valley a few miles out from the Naka River that borders the Senju / Uchiha territories.)

This is convenient because that verification method involves checking in on where Itachi and Shisui know the old Uchiha compound should rest.

They do it in full stealth mode, the second they saw Konoha was missing Kakashi as team leader decided they'd treat the land as enemy territory. They all agreed ofc, for all they knew this WAS enemy territory now.

And, ofc, yeah!! There's the old Uchiha compound!! Being active!!! There are people there!!!

"What are the odds Fugaku-sama decided to have the clan return to their homeland for ahh, cultural enrichment?" Kakashi asked weakly.

"Time travel." Was the only reply he got from Shisui, whispered reverently as the boy vibrated with excitement on the branch.

Itachi just gave him a look, radiating a level of dissaproving disbelief that no normal 12 year old should be able to make. Kakashi would know, he was that not-normal 12 year old once.

From there they decide a no interference policy. Hands off guys!! They probably debate it tho, like, a good amount. They all have ✨️opinions✨️ except maybe Tenzo who's lowkey still in the middle of trying to learn how to be a person and is following Kakashi's lead 99% of the time. Especially since they're still in mission mode and this is like a super serious discussion and he really does know the least ab the founders overall.

They probably debate the merits of going to Uzushiogakure bc seal help but it's really far and they don't actually have like, just any leverage with them. They already decided not to fuck with the future so it isn't like they can trade secrets and warnings. At least if shit happens here they have some plausible deniability, being, yk, 2 uchiha's and a senju-passing guy with Mokuton. Kakashi's kinda fucked tho in that regard but he isn't going to be doing the party ANY favors with his clan heritage.

Which means it's time to potentially get desperate enough to interact with Tobirama !!! Which will inevitably lead to them bumping into a Uchiha patrol or something!!! I don't know honestly

• Anyways want Hashirama and Tenzo to interact. He has so many issues like holy shit. Let Hashirama give him the hug he deserves. I want him to violently adopt him. New brother acquired!!!

I said before but Tenzo is still reprogramming from ROOT. Let Hashirama impact that! Let him help! They can make flower crowns and photosynthesize together idk

Hashirama would be so happy to have another mokuton user, I think they should be able to sense eachother extra strong and like 'ping' off of eachothers chakra, it'll be fun

▪︎ I'm not thinking toooo hard about power scaling and this is fanfiction so a) don't quote me on this and b) for the love of all that is holy don't take my words as gospel

But for this fic specifically I'm ranking the founders and Team Ro, weakest to strongest (in a clean, fair fight head on w no time to prepare) :

Itachi (he's fucking 12 guys. But also he is like. FRACTIONS under Tenzo and Shisui. If he were 13 I'd let him be above or at the same level but like. He's 12. Cmon.)

Tenzo - Shisui (they're like JUST under the next 2 tho like seconds behind)

Izuna - Tobirama

Kakashi ( by the skin of his fucking teeth and the advantage that is his stupid amount of jutsu's and lack of self preservation)

Madara - Hashirama

And again that's not counting like. The specific situations, time given to prepare, potential dirty tricks they could play (I think the Konoha tricks would play a fraction dirtier than the others, who are slightly more used to big open battles vs the ANBU squad who does all sorts of shit in all sorts of places) plus like. Mental state and team ups.

Tenzo or Shisui couldn't take down Izuna or Tobirama but if they teamed up I'd allow it. Kakashi would get his ass kicked by Hashirama or Madara but he could survive a minutes longer than the others would

Itachi is doing his best

But like

He's 12 guys

I love him and he is terrifyingly competent but he won't win 1 on 1 with anyone unless he has some sort of advantage. Minus Shisui and Tenzo who he does have the advantage of regularly fighting, so.

• I think they do get to go back home in the end. It takes a ton of work tho and they probably do need to get Mito's help with it, Kakashi can show them the seal they got brought here with but it's an ACTUAL one in a trillion miracle it didn't fucking atomize them. So it needs a lot of touch ups

Anyways !!!

I have a little more rattling around in my brain but I'm really tired and also starting to think about other things now so I'm gonna stop here. Might come back and add to it later so stay tuned if you're into that

Full disclaimer I'm not gonna write this. I don't have the proper energy and it'd probably end up being too ambitious of a project if I tried. I'd love to see it happen tho, so like !! Big open invitation to absoloutley anyone who might want to take even a fraction of the ideas I've listed.

@ me if you do tho I wanna see the final product

[forgingtheblade]

DID YOU KNOW THAT MINECRAFT HAS LOOMS???, aka, THE WEAVING WRITEUP

part two: get that bad boy ON THE LOOM

part 1 part 3

weaving is, at its core, a series of incredibly tedious yet incredibly meditative tasks.

i don’t think i can make this post be a fully comprehensive how-to of those tasks, especially considering it’s been almost a year since i wove on a floor loom, but i will try my best :’)

the first part is tying the yarns on. when taking the warp threads off of the warping board (which i talked about in the last post!) i tie them into bundles of a specific amount of threads, evenly distributed across the full amount. each of those gets tied on individually to the back of the loom, which i forget the name of. these are spread out basically across 2 inches of finished width per bundle, or in my case 24 strings per. ish. since I was working with 200 warp threads.

After tying those on, they get cranked on to the back of the loom and pulled across the back to the front though the harnesses under tension, where it’s now time to thread the loom!

This style of loom works by lifting different combinations of threads by lifting each harness with a pedal. Raising different combinations of threads will create different designs, changing where the horizontal thread or weft is going over and under.

My plan was to create two banners on the same warp, and in order to not have to entirely rethread the loom after the first one, I threaded it in such a way that different patterns were possible. This was, perhaps predictably, tedious. I don’t really know exactly how to explain weaving drafts, but this is the one I was using to thread the loom. The horizontal row at the top corresponds to which of the four harnesses each thread goes through, while the vertical column on the right shows which combinations of pedals need to be pressed at what time to actually create this pattern.

(Weaving draft via Liz on Handweaving.net in 2004)

due to the nature of this draft, it’s also possible to use this threading to create a plain weave—a simple one thread up, one thread down pattern that’s probably your first thought when it comes to weaving. I wanted to create one banner in plain weave and one in the pattern weave above.

Threading was very tedious, but ultimately as long as I was paying attention and keeping meticulous track of where in the 46 thread wide loop I had left off when I had to leave, it wasn’t that bad.

After threading, the threads are individually pulled though the slots or dents on a reed, which serves as both the beater to knock threads into place and as a means to keep them perfectly spaced out while actually weaving.

Then, the threads are tied to another bar at the front of the loom, and you’re ready to weave!

Here’s the two different weave patterns I used for this project!

Each of these I created the V shape at the bottom by just progressively leaving more and more threads out of the weave as I worked my way back and forth. After taking them off the loom, the top and bottom were turned and hemmed on a sewing machine. i tied some of the excess threads on each banner into tassels!

My next post will be sharing some about the embroidery process to create the emblem itself, and my future plans for the pattern woven banner that still doesn’t have any embroidery on it.

[ivystoryweaver]

Still With You

A With You standalone sequel - can be read on its own

"Salvaging discarded things knocked the edge off wanting to drink."

"...but where Marc's hands restored and your hands healed and Steven's hands inspired and instructed, Jake had brutal hands."

based on this nonnie and this @purple-amaranthe request

Pairing: Marc, Steven, Jake x gn!reader || Word Count: 3.2k

Content: they're all trying hard ok, domestic life, self worth probs, mentions of alcoholism/drinking, angst-ish, domestic fluff, moon dads-to-be, romance, sensual content, but nothing explicit

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

MARC

10:58 A.M.

Florescent lights flickered out an annoying buzz in the otherwise silent waiting room.

Thumbing through an outdated parenting magazine, you intermittently pointed out cute toys or outfits to your husband, who would grant you a curt nod each time.

Realizing you likely weren't helping the situation, you set the magazine aside and covered his hand with your own, if only to stop his fidgeting. "Almost time."

Marc squeezed your hand, grateful for your grounding touch. "You're sure we're not late?"

"We're right on time. It's still not even 11:00."

"Okay," he huffed out, his knee bouncing of its own accord. The cheap vinyl of his chair squeaked as he shifted, attempting to externally calm and internal storm.

You smiled at him sympathetically, remembering how far he'd come to even get to this point.

Just yesterday, he paced the floor half the evening, pushing his hands tormentedly through his curls over and over.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"They'll never approve me," he lamented. "I'm not...they'll think I'm not ready."

"Baby, we've taken all the classes. We've passed the home inspection." You nodded around at your new bedroom, eyes landing on the salvaged and restored night table he presented to you a while back.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Marc had taken on several projects since then, turning one bedroom of your new place into a workshop and the other into a nursery.

"Do you think she'll like girl colors?" He asked, flipping through paint swatches at the local hardware store.

"Uhh, what are 'girl colors'?" You smirked.

He swatted your nose with his finger. "I'm trying to pick out what color to paint that vintage toy chest I restored for Akeyla."

Your heart melted at the sound of your future daughter's name, not to mention the fact that Marc had put together nearly every piece in her nursery himself.

When he wasn't on a mission for Khonshu, he liked to keep his hands busy. Sometimes that meant his hands were all over you for "stress relief." Otherwise, he would drive around town in the old truck he bought, looking for unwanted and discarded furniture to fix up, repurpose for the house, or sell.

He still labeled himself unemployed, but he sold a few refurbished pieces a month, which more than paid for the hobby, his truck insurance and even left some spending money.

Salvaging discarded things knocked the edge off wanting to drink.

"Maybe like...turquoise?" He prodded, tracing his fingers over a row of various blues and greens. When you neglected to answer what you assumed was a rhetorical question, he assumed it was a no.

"Or purple? Sweetheart?" The full intensity of the Marc Spector stare fell on you as he waited for the verdict.

"Sorry." You smiled at him, nodding toward the turquoise swatches. "Trust your instincts. You're always right." Leaning closer, you kissed him adoringly on the cheek.

"That's not what you said about the yellow bench," he chuckled, selecting a swatch labeled "Ebbtide".

"That's pretty, I like it."

Marc needed to hear your words. After a couple years of marriage, you knew this now more than ever. Whether telling him what you needed in bed, or giving your seal of approval for his newest restoration project, he valued your opinion more than anything and it meant so much to him to hear you voice it.

Akeyla's nursery had been ready for weeks. The vintage toy chest was the final touch. Marc found a rocking chair, a book case that Steven requested, and chest of drawers to restore. You drew the line at a creaky old toddler bed. Steven went with you to pick that out, brand new.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

It was finally here. Today was the day you would meet your little girl.

You weren't ready to take her home yet - that was longer process - but you would meet her and start visits. Very soon, she would enter your home through the foster system, and after a while, she would be yours forever, by adoption.

"What if they change their minds?" Marc urgently whispered, there in the waiting room, gripping your hand so tightly it hurt. "They'll want to put her somewhere without someone - "

"Marc," you reminded him, "they know all about us. It's okay."

"I know, but - what if they find out about Khon- "

"Hi, are you the Spectors?" a kindly voice interrupted Marc's fussing.

A smartly dressed young woman holding a tablet adjusted her glasses and smiled.

"Yes," you quickly answered, standing up and pulling Marc with you. "That's us. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." She shook each of your hands. "Ready to meet her?"

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"What if I..." Marc whispered against your temple, holding you against him in bed the night before. "I want to be there to meet her, but if I'm not, it isn't because I..." He shifted restlessly, trying to explain.

"You know what I always say," you gently reminded him, raking one hand through the curls resting above his ear.

"It's our body," he repeated your words back to you. "Whoever's there is there. It's not a problem."

"Exactly," you remind him. "I know you want to meet Akeyla as much as Steven, Jake and I do. I know that."

"I do," he breathlessly repeated, and you realized it might be a long night, when he added, "I just don't want to scare her. What if she doesn't understand, you know, how we are?"

"Baby, come here," You pulled his head down to your chest, wrapping him up tightly, pressing soothing kisses along his hairline. He wasn't voicing any fears he hadn't already talked through a dozen times with you, his sponsor and his therapist, not to mention his alters.

"Sorry," he murmured against the smooth column of your neck. Shifting pleading eyes up to yours, he relaxed, as your soft smile soothed him. "I'm so nervous."

"I am too," you sympathized. "Believe me, Marc. I mean, we're meeting our daughter. I'm just as nervous as you are."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Marc tangled his fingers with yours as you shuffled down the hallway toward the room that would change your lives forever.

The woman in front of you, who had identified herself as Elsie, paused before opening the door. "Ready?"

You glanced at your husband.

Sometimes he was so adorably terrified you were certain he forgot it was actually his idea to adopt.

Granting you a nod, he swallowed thickly. "Ready."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

STEVEN

9:22 P.M.

"So tense, mon cœur," your husband breathed against your neck, trailing tempting kisses over your damp skin. Strong forearms flexed against your abdomen, pulling your back closer to the slick heat of his bare chest.

Thick thighs surrounded you as you rested in your garden tub together, soaking in a bubble bath. Your head dropped to his shoulder as he whispered sensual French words on your ear. Long fingers traced down the shape of your abdomen, naughtily slipping between your legs.

"Steven, this is supposed to be a relaxing bath. Oh shit - " You moaned as touched you right where you craved. His other hand gripped your jaw, turning your face to his for a wet, hungry kiss. You went boneless in his embrace, completely at his mercy.

You should have known sweet Steven would seduce you during your "relaxing bath."

Later that evening, he sat beside you on the sofa, each of you working on a puzzle book from the "couch basket", enjoying a quiet evening in your new home.

“Got those pictures you wanted, love,” he commented. “The garden ones. Found another book too.”

You smiled adoringly at him, so excited to see them framed and hanging in Akeyla’s room. You had asked him to track down pictures of gardens from all over the world. Since Marc was in charge of furniture, Steven helped you pick out some unique decor.

He acquired a couple of first edition classic Children’s books as well. But you reminded him they would have to be stored way up high, away from the grabby hands of a toddler.

So he curated a brilliant little collection of toddler friendly board books for the lower shelves, as well as children’s books for her to grow into.

Steven had finished his bachelor's degree and was now working on a Masters of Anthropology. Already fluent in French, he was also studying Egyptian Arabic in an unofficial capacity, and toying with the idea of studying archaeology or linguistics as well. He just loved to learn and could never get enough.

After all was said and done, he'd probably end up teaching, which was a perfect idea because, in front of the right crowd, he was absolutely enthralling when he was passionate about something.

He still worked at the university library and thanked you almost daily for making most of the money for this little family, while he studied, and he, Jake and Marc worked part-time jobs.

You reminded Steven that their three part time jobs kind of added up to one job - plus as a student, you would give him a pass.

"Besides, you're going to be a sexy professor in another year or two, so I really see no downside," you'd tease him.

“Can’t wait to read to her every night,” Steven mused, pulling your mind back to the present.

Setting your puzzle book down, you snuggled up close to his side, wrapping your arms around his. “She’s always going to remember us reading to her. You’re going to be such a good dad, Steven.”

His throat bobbed. “You really think so?”

“I do. I know it.”

Gripping your hand almost as tightly as Marc had earlier in the afternoon, his head rested against yours. "Can't wait to meet her. Tell me again how she looked."

You warmly chuckled, nuzzling into his sleeve. "You've seen her picture a hundred times."

"I know, but...tell me again. What does her voice sound like?"

So you told Steven all about meeting your daughter for the first time, that afternoon, with Marc.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

JAKE

4:07 A.M.

The jangling of keys in the deadbolt dragged you from a foggy half slumber you'd managed in Steven's chair by the front door.

Jake had finally made it home after another night driving people around, and serving as Khonshu's fist of vengeance.

When he spotted you there, looking so adorably uncomfortable, he pulled his cap off his head and tossed it onto the entry way table with his keys.

Kneeling down in front of you, he smiled warmly. "What are you doing up, mi vida?"

"Mmm," you mumbled, relief surging through you at the sight of him. Leaning forward in the chair, you wrapped your arms around his neck and squeezed him tight. "Missed you."

"Missed you too." He held you for an indulgent moment before gently placing you back into the chair and standing to remove his jacket and gloves. Before you could whine out a protest, he helped you up just long enough to sit in the chair and pull you back down onto his lap.

Tucking you against his body, he reached for his jacket and draped it over you like a blanket. Jake knew you well enough. If he told you to go to bed, you would bristle and defy him, but if he held you like this, you would fall asleep in sixty seconds flat. Win win.

Your body settled against his and your breathing slowed, but you blinked up at him pleadingly. “Where have you been?”

Frowning in confusion, he rubbed his hands up and down your back soothingly, underneath the jacket. “You know where, cariño.”

Looping your fingers around his tie, you coaxed his temping lips to yours for a lingering kiss. Jake shifted underneath you, sighing against your mouth as you held him there for an indulgent moment.

“I haven’t seen you all week. I miss you.”

“I see you almost every night,” he volleyed back.

“You know what I mean.” Realizing you were tired and there was an edge in your tone, you touched your forehead to his. “I know you guys don’t exactly have a schedule. I just wanted to tell you about Akeyla.”

His eyes flickered away as his jaw clenched. You and Marc met your daughter yesterday. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

For a while, Jake had to be asked or reminded to participate in regular, daily things. Sometimes, you would go a week, only seeing him in your room at night, so you would ask him to eat dinner with you or take you out somewhere.

You started late night dates with Jake, just to build memories with him, in his world. It was never really your scene before, but you'd been to bars, out dancing, to late movies and your favorite - midnight bowling.

In fact, you all adjusted your schedules to fit the boys' night owl tendencies. You moved to second shift and Steven didn't take any more morning classes. You all slept in as late as possible, ate brunch or lunch and then got started on your day.

So it was not unheard of for you to wait up for Jake, but sleeping in Steven's chair until 4 A.M. was a bit unusual.

"I was busy tonight," he cryptically remarked, which tended to indicate he was probably doing Khonshu's bidding. "I wasn't trying to stay away."

"I'm not mad," you sleepily assured him, laying your head down on his shoulder. "I can't wait for you to meet her. And with her coming home soon, everything could change.”

"Change how?"

"Well for starters, I doubt a toddler will let us sleep in as late as we do. She'll probably climb all over our heads at like 5:30."

Jake was uncharacteristically quiet and you were half asleep.

"I'm not mad," you drowsily repeated, curling into him, murmuring "missed you" as you drifted off.

He rocked you gently, his heart burning with how he'd possibly disappointed you. Now that you were finally asleep, he didn't dare wake you, so he laid his head on the back of the chair, hoping to join you in slumber.

Jake had seen the horrors of this world, and of worlds adjacent. Terrifying, supernatural threats had met the crunch of his fist, and his vengeance.

But the thought of caring for a little girl shook him to his core, and in a different way than it did Marc.

Marc was always worried about his alcoholism, his past, the fact that they were a system, but he wanted Akeyla so badly. The whole thing was his idea in the first place. Steven was ready to show this kid the world, both metaphorically and literally.

Jake loved you, and he would love his child. Beyond that, he had no idea what to do, or how to contribute. The urge to not take time away from Marc or Steven was so strong it almost felt like instinct.

You, Steven and Marc had lovingly and rather expertly crafted her a dream-worthy nursery, but where Marc's hands restored and your hands healed and Steven's hands inspired and instructed, Jake had brutal hands.

Unwilling to disturb you, he pondered how he could prove to you he was still in this with you.

Reaching into his the pocket of his jacket, which still covered the top half of your body, he pulled out his phone. Opening up a picture of Akeyla, he smiled, studying her cute, chubby cheeks, dark, round eyes and her tightly wound curls.

Tracing the shape of her face with his thumb, he wondered what he could possibly give his sweet angel, besides protection.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Sleep came for a short while, but as the sun rose, so did you. Jake was asleep but his phone was playing a long playlist of videos. Hoping to not disturb him, you carefully removed the phone from his hand.

The video showed a young girl getting her hair styled. In fact the whole playlist was of dads styling their daughter's textured hair, including what products to try, and cute and useful clips, combs and the right brushes to help.

Chewing on you lip for a moment, you tapped on the search bar and saw that he had typed in, 'how to care for textured hair'.

Just the notion of Jake pulling off his gloves and styling your little girl's hair made your heart explode with love.

"Are these for Akeyla?" You whispered mainly to yourself, shifting your weight from one of his thighs to the other.

Jake groaned as circulation returned to that leg, making it tingle as he awakened from a very short nap.

"Sorry," you softly laughed. "I should let you get up, shouldn't I?"

The corner of Jake's mouth curled, but he nodded.

You helped him climb out of the chair and the two of you washed up. Jake slid into Steven's pajama pants and the two of you went to bed.

Already drifting back to sleep, Jake presented his small offering to you. Something to let you know he was all in.

"I think I could learn how to fix Akeyla's hair," he drowsily murmured, eyes already closed. "Watched a bunch of videos about it."

He couldn't build things and he wasn't book smart and he wasn't you. He wasn't even supposed to have a family. But you loved him so hard that he couldn't resist you and now he was about to gain everything he never knew he wanted.

Maybe the brutality of his hands could be used to do this tender thing for his daughter.

"I love you so much," you whispered, brushing a stray curl out of his eyes.

"Te amo," he whispered.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

ONE WEEK LATER…

“What’s your favorite color, Akeyla?” Marc asked on your next visit to with your soon-to-be-daughter. He sat beside her, adorably hunched with her at a child-sized table, coloring and drawing.

“Do you like red?” He asked, holding up a few choices of crayon.

“Fav-wit color wed!” She agreed, reaching for a yellow.

“Ohhh, you like yellow.” He winked at you, thinking of the yellow bench at home. “I like it too.”

“Yeh-yow,” Akeyla repeated, scribbling determinedly. Swinging her legs back and forth she repeated, “Yeh-yow, yeh-yow.”

“That’s right. We have a big yellow bench at home that I painted. We can sit on it together, just you and me. Is that okay?”

Akeyla seemed to ignore him, reaching over his arm to scribble yellow on his coloring sheet. Once she had saturated the paper to her satisfaction, she laughed out, amused with herself. “Yeh-yow bench. Okay, Dad-eee.”

Her nose scrunched as she showed him a silly toddler grin. Your heart completely melted as you watched them together.

“This is a good drawing,” Marc complimented, pointing to his paper she drew on. “Can I have it?”

Reaching out with chubby fingers, Akeyla scrunched the paper in her tiny grip, presenting it to Marc. “Here go. You hab it.”

“I can keep it?” He nodded hopefully. “Can I have a hug?”

She threw her arms around his neck. Lifting her up from the table, Marc offered one arm out to you and invited you into to this little family embrace.

Akeyla touched her forehead to yours, already a signature move for the two of you. Then she scrunched her nose and showed off that silly grin again.

"Want me to take your picture?" You offered. Grabbing your phone, you snapped a few selfies of you and Marc with Akeyla.

As soon as you were finished, she reached for your phone. "I watch Bluey."

And so it began.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Ivy's 1st Ficiversary Celebration || Moon Knight Masterlist || Main Masterlist

updates blog - @ivystoryupdates

[oddinary4bts]

When the End Comes | ch 4 (jjk)

☆summary: Seven years after you've started dating Jungkook, long distance creates a wedge in your relationship. When the only solution seems to be breaking up, you go your separate ways even though love still lives in the two of you. Will you find a way back together, or has the end come for you and Jeon Jungkook?

☆pairing: photographer!Jungkook x lawyer!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there is mature content in every chapter)

☆genre: breakup!au, slice of life!au, angst with a big A, smut

☆warnings: fear of getting stood up, alcohol, pet names, curses, Jungkook's scars, angst, stubborn Jungkook, pessimism, depressive episode, cliffhanger at the end I'm sorry, explicit content: jerking off, oral sex (male receiving), Jungkook taking pictures of them during (I apologize, I have sinned), balls sucking/fondling, pain kink (Jungkook), deep throating, mouth fucking, unprotected sex, hickey, clit play, degradation, fingering, cum play (ish?)

☆word count: 14.3k

☆series masterpost

☆a/n: Rereading each chapter to edit is a challenge bc I just be sobbing the whole time :') I hope you enjoy this one, though it does really hurt oop

☆a/n pt2: Thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing this, you are the best <3 and thank you to @jessikahathaway for supporting me with this project, you are amazinnng

☆Read The Forgotten Spaces here, the prequel to When the End Comes! It does not need to be read to understand When the End Comes, but I think it still should be read first to have a better understanding of the characters in general!

☆Add yourself to the taglist here (if you were on the taglist for The Forgotten Spaces, you're already on the taglist for When the End Comes!)

☆☆☆☆☆

But love never leaves a heart, where it found it, found it You found it Someday, I'll fall into you That's where I'll be now when the end comes

When the End Comes, Andrew Belle

☆☆☆☆☆

Friday, September 8th

                You clutch the gift bag in your hand. It feels strange to be meeting Jungkook again, after last weekend. And even after last weekend, you’re not sure where you’re standing.

Did he spend his whole week thinking about you the way that you were thinking about him?

You texted a little, over the week. Each time a notification from him popped up on your phone, you felt like you’d gone back in time. Like maybe, maybe you took a time machine to a past of better days last weekend. It’s bittersweet in a way, because you feel like there is still so much left unsaid between you and him.

But he’s willing to try. Even if you broke him, even if you’ve been wondering if there’s anything salvageable after all, he’s willing to try. Willing to meet you at a Korean barbecue restaurant halfway between his place and yours.

You check the time, anxiety flooding your veins. He’s running late, though he texted you to tell you he was almost there. A part of you wonders if he’s going to stand you up – you think you’d deserve it. Because you’re not sure you deserve this chance, yet you don’t want to lose it, don’t want to let it go.

You look down at the bag. You bought the gift on a whim this week, and you have no idea if he’ll still want it. It’s a lens he was looking to buy months ago, before he left for Paris, and there’s a high chance that he’ll have bought it for himself since then…

You just couldn’t think about anything other than that to gift him. Even though his work was your demise, you know Jungkook loves photography. Always will, no matter where you two will end up. And since it was his birthday last weekend – before you’d reconnected – you thought why not? Why not get a gift and show him that you still care, that you remember?

Because you’d never forget, when it comes to him. You think, if you had dementia, he’d be the last thing you’d lose, if at all.

You worry at your lip, glancing around. Luckily enough for you, there is a bench outside of the restaurant, though you can only sit on a corner of it as the rest is still wet from the rain earlier. It was raining when you left work, but it fortunately stopped as you were getting ready for the date.

You sigh, looking down at your phone again. Twenty minutes late seems like a long time, considering that Jungkook’s not one to be late usually. A sense of dread takes ahold of your heart, and you already feel tears forming in your eyes.

You were foolish, stupid. Idiotic, if you thought there was a way things could be set right.

You get up, looking towards the door of the restaurant. A couple are waiting in the hall, arms around each other as they hug with not a care in the world. It aches deeply, makes you crave the physical intimacy last Saturday held and you gulp as you swallow around the lump in your throat.

Still you stay rooted in your spot. There’s a light tremor that starts taking a hold of you, and you regret not putting a jacket on even though it isn’t remotely freezing today. Your eyes fall to the gift bag, and you think about May. About the moment you’d let him go – has he gotten too far for you to reach him now?

A tear wins. Or perhaps it’s the gravity, growing ten times stronger as your heart breaks again. As the hope gets lost to you, replaced by that same deep sorrow you’ve become accustomed to. You sigh, the breath of air trembling on the way out.

And then you almost let out a scream as someone touches your arm.

Jungkook startles just as much as you, taking a step back, his big, doe eyes widening even more as he meets your gaze. Your mouth remains open, yet no words come out. You just take him in, take his appearance in – his piercings, the beanie he’s wearing, his flushed cheeks. He looks like he was running, and you think maybe he was.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you.

At that your eyes drop to the bright pink bouquet of flowers he’s holding, and something inside of you heals, as if you’ve found a cure to the disease.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you let out. You meet his gaze again. “You didn’t have to.”

He pulls at his piercings, shrugging sheepishly. “I wanted to.”

It’s warm. Whatever is blossoming in your chest is warm, a stark contrast to the winter you’ve been stuck in since the night you lost him.

“Thank you,” you murmur, and you blink away the tears in your eyes.

You freeze when he wipes the one that’s already rolled on your cheek, frowning slightly at the sight.

“The florist I wanted to go to first was closed,” he says as an explanation. “I had to run around to find another one.”

You offer him a small smile, and his features immediately smooth out into a soft expression too.

“I was scared you were…” you trail off, wetting your lips as you refuse to voice your fear.

Refuse to admit you didn’t have faith in him.

“I thought you would,” he answers carefully. “Hence why I ran.”

You nod. “I…” You look down at the gift bag, holding it up. “I got you a birthday gift.”

His smile is teary when you look at it next, and you take a moment to delve into the depths of his gaze. There’s a small twinkle there, though it is faint, barely even noticeable. If you didn’t know him like the sun knows the moon, you wouldn’t recognize it.

He’s hopeful. It’s strange – there was no hope in Jungkook’s gaze last weekend. Or there had been, for a fraction of a moment, until it had been blown away by the wind. You can only hope that this time it will hold on strong.

“You didn’t have to,” he says, though the curve of his pink lips tells you he appreciates the thought.

He grabs the gift bag, not looking through it right away. Instead, he hands you the flowers, and you delicately take them, bringing them close to your nose so that you can inhale the fragrance. Your eyelids flutter shut, and a content smile moves on your lips.

“Thank you,” you murmur as you meet his gaze again. “And…” You motion towards the gift. “You deserved it. I think you’ll like it.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence, as Jungkook looks down at the bag. He offers you a tight-lipped smile, and you cock an eyebrow.

“What?” he lets out.

“Aren’t you going to…” you vaguely answer. “Open it?”

“Oh, now?” He chuckles awkwardly, glancing around before pointing towards the restaurant. “Shouldn’t we go in to give our names?”

He’s got a point. Especially considering that it’s a Friday evening. So you do just that, giving your phone number to the hostess as she tells you there will be a thirty minutes wait. You and Jungkook move back outside after that, and he guides you towards his car, a few streets down.

“How was work this week?” he asks on the way.

“Better,” you admit, remembering how you’d told him that you didn’t like the new department in which you worked.

And it’s true – it has been better. Maybe because the excitement of receiving texts from him through the days made it easier to handle. Or maybe it’s because you haven’t been so damned cold since last weekend. All in all, work has been easier, even if it isn’t as interesting as it used to be.

“I’m glad,” he says, offering you a smile.

Silence surrounds the two of you, only interrupted by a car honking in the street. You startle a little, and Jungkook chuckles.

You’re struck. His chuckles have healing properties, you’re convinced of it. They spark hope into you, so bright you think you’ll be blinded, retina forever burned. Yet your eyes don’t lose focus on him, even as his lips return to a neutral expression.

“What about you?” you ask as your heart picks up in your chest. “What were you up to this week?”

A small crease appears between his brows, but it disappears so quickly you think you might have imagined it. “I’ve been going to the gym,” he answers. “And looking around for some jobs.”

His last sentence turns the hope into a firework show inside of you. “Yeah? Any luck so far?”

You reach his car, and as he always does, he opens the door for you. You blush, something you haven’t really done with Jungkook in forever, and you’re struck thinking that this feels new.

Perhaps this will be a new chapter in your relationship with Jeon Jungkook after all.

“Thank you,” you mutter as your cheeks burn. You sit in, and he closes the door before moving around the car to get in. You watch him do so, and he sits next to you, turning the car on just long enough so that you can roll the windows down.

“Now,” he lets out, eyeing the bag. “What’s this?”

For some reason, it makes you chuckle, and he shoots you a dumb smile that makes you think you’ve delved right into the heat of summer, warmth spreading through you. It erases the winter, replaces it with blooming flowers and bright sun rays, golden sunsets and the feeling of a soft breeze threading through your hair.

Needless to say, you want to cling to it before winter comes again.

“Open and you’ll see,” you answer, your heart racing as you glance at the bag, before going back to his smile.

He nods, and he opens the bag, taking out the paper first. Your heartbeat increases tenfold because, what if he doesn’t like it?

What if he takes it as an affront that you’ve given him something photography related?

But then he sees it. Sees the lens you bought for him, and his features turn somber, but not in a bad way. They settle into a calm expression, with a softer smile that barely even tugs at the corners of his lips. He takes a deep breath, and then looks towards you again.

Teary eyes find yours, and you think maybe this is it. Maybe this is where the end will find you. Lost in the swirling depth of his gaze, in the forgotten space of you and him.

He whispers your name, emotion making it heavier than the whole world. You nod once, as no sentences take shape in your mind to reply to him. You’re not sure you have to say something – he sees in your eyes the emotions you can’t quite voice.

“You really didn’t have to,” he adds, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he gulps. “Fuck.”

He looks down at the lens, takes it out of the bag so that he can examine it thoroughly. You observe him as he does so, as if you’re watching a show. And you think, maybe he is a show – a movie meant for you to admire on and on until you go old and blindness seeps into your gaze.

“I wanted to,” you reply.

He shoots you a quick look, just as teary as the initial one. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

And then he laughs, a small vulnerable laugh that has you blinking back the wetness building up on your waterline. You echo it with one of yours, though it comes unexpectedly to you. But then again, you reckon you share the same feelings.

You always have, haven’t you? Your soul is in sync with his, has always been, no matter if distance put an end to the story of you and him. Or tried to, because he’s here today.

So are you, and if he allows it, you’ll never leave again.

“I’ve wanted this lens in forever,” he says, voice small as he turns it in his hands, looking at it in every possible angle. “You…” he trails off, meets your gaze and smiles again. “You remembered.”

You nod. “How could I forget?” You worry at your lips, shy away from his gaze to watch your wriggling fingers in your lap. “There isn’t a day I didn’t think of you.”

The revelation seems out of place, in a parked car on the side of a busy street. Yet it comes naturally to you, and meets him just as naturally. Because he nods, and then reaches for you. Grabs your jaw, gently, so that he can turn your head towards him. There’s a moment when you think the whole world holds his breath, and then he leans forward, brushes a soft kiss on your lips.

“I missed you,” he admits as he pulls away, letting go of your jaw reluctantly.

A tear slips on your cheek, and you quickly dry it. “I missed you too.”

And though the moment is heavy with emotion, you don’t want to run away from it. When you were younger, you would have fled like a deer hearing a branch crack in the woods. But today, today you want the weight of this emotion to rest upon you, like a weighted blanket that reminds you you’re alive.

The emotion lingers, past this moment and into the next. As you get the text that a table is ready for you and him, and you move back to the Korean restaurant. As you sit in front of him, watch him smile and laugh in time with you at the stupid jokes that you make.

You and him make more sense than you realized. Or maybe you forgot. Maybe the distance made you forget, but right now you think you know he’ll always be the one. And if you lose him again, he’ll be the one that got away, and you’ll search for him through every connection with temporary people.

Because there can’t be permanent people after him. He’s permanently inked into your heart, carved into your bones.

“How has your family been?” he asks when there’s a lull in the conversation.

You offer him a tight-lipped smile, though you know he means your father, Isabel and Louis.

You know he’d never talk about your mother as part of your family.

“They’ve been great,” you answer. “Dad’s been looking to retire, or at least to have a lesser charge at work.”

Jungkook furrows his brows, but says nothing as he puts some meat on the grill between you and him. You observe him as he does so, wincing when flames erupt and he pulls his hand away – quickly enough, thankfully.

“How old is he again?” Jungkook asks after that, meeting your gaze again.

“Fifty-nine,” you reply. “But I don’t think it’s about his age. He just wants to spend more time with Louis.”

The softness that takes over his doe eyes makes you want to curl up in him, against him. Makes you want to listen to his beating heart until the day that it ceases, decades away from now. It’s a strong feeling, and you’re forced to blink away tears again.

“Don’t cry,” Jungkook gently says, and he reaches to pat your cheek.

It makes you laugh. Of course it does, and he offers you a dumb smile again. For the first time that night, you notice that yes, it does reach his eyes. The smile lights up his gaze, though there’s wariness, etched in the lines of his face.

It’s not that you missed it before. Maybe you just didn’t want to see it. But right in this instant, it’s all you can see, and it makes his smile fall until his eyes follow, moving to the grill. He turns the meat as you busy yourself with eating japchae.

And you don’t like this silence. You don’t like the ache that it carries, so you force yourself to try. To try and fight for him and prove that, after everything, he really is where the end will be, when it comes for you.

“What about your family?” you ask, throwing him a lifeline in the storm you’re sure he’s been plagued with too.

“They’ve been great,” he answers. “My brother’s wife is pregnant again.”

For a moment you forget about the torment between you and him as your mind zeroes in on the fact. “That’s amazing!” you let out, and your smile comes easily. “They must be so happy.”

Jungkook looks at your smile, taking a deep breath. It seems he takes a decision then, because his lips curve up, and some of the wariness fades away. He looks softer like this, younger, and your heart shines under his light.

“It really is,” he says. “I was thinking on going to Korea to see the baby when Yuri gives birth.”

In another world, you would have said you’ll go with him, but right now you don’t think you can. So, instead, you reply, “That’s a good idea. I’m sure your family will be happy to see you.”

He nods, and then he puts some meat in your bowl, taking the two other stripes for himself. You mindlessly pick one of the pieces up, mixing it in ssamjang before eating it. You wince as you burn your tongue a little, and quickly eat the meat so that you can take a long gulp of water.

Jungkook must have expected you to burn yourself, because he laughs at your expense as he refills your glass. “You good?”

You nod. “Sorry, just burned myself.”

“Don’t apologize.”

So you don’t. For the rest of the evening, you try not to apologize. And you think you succeed – you both speak as if distance wasn’t a thing between you. As if time hasn’t come to pass between you too – as if you’ve never been apart. As if, seven years ago, the stars told the truth as they sparkled in the July night sky.

You finish eating while chatting like this, while sharing thoughts about movies you’ve seen. As he tells you about working out, about Bam and the songs he’s been listening to. He drinks a beer as you speak, and you once again take a moment to admire him.

You’d never admit it, but the beanie makes him look good. Comfortable and soft – as does the jean jacket, you reckon. But then again you know Jungkook would look good in anything, one of the advantages of him being gifted with pretty privilege.

And when he clinks his glass with yours, claiming you have to finish drinking even though you’ve only been drinking water, you still laugh with him, still down your glass as he chugs the beer. And you wonder, how long will it take to erase the distance?

Will it take more than this moment in time, to undo the distance and rebuild the closeness?

And you think, maybe it just needs now. Because as you walk out, bellies full and minds buzzing with a slight tinge of alcohol, you accept Jungkook’s extended hand. You let him guide you to his car, even though yours is parked on the other side of the restaurant. He opens the door for you again, but you hesitate for a moment.

Long enough to step closer to him instead, and pull him down so you can peck his lips. He looks surprised, and his features fall serious as you share a long look.

“Can I come over tonight?” you whisper.

He nods. “I thought it was a given.”

Of course he would. And you’re not even mad that he would. You’re rather relieved, and you can’t help yourself. You can’t help pulling him down in a more heated kiss, even though you hate public displays of affection. There are just words your lips can’t say any other way than this, and he gets it. He’ll always get you. He always will, and he kisses you with the same intensity, one hand cupping your cheek gently while the other presses on the small of your back, resting flat as he pulls you in. You hold his delicate waist, sighing in the kiss as your thumbs draw idle lines on his sides.

Jungkook pulls away to press a kiss on your forehead, lingering there for a small eternity that leads to you wrapping your arms around his waist. He lets you do it, and you wonder if his soul has found yours. You hope it has, for there are things your soul can say even better than your mouth can.

Apologies don’t mean much when they are shaped in words. But you think your soul could show him, and maybe, maybe tonight he’ll allow you to show him.

“Are you parked somewhere you can leave your car overnight?” he asks softly, lips moving against your forehead.

You nod. “I am.”

“Then let’s go home.”

*****

                It comes as a surprise, when you realize Jungkook has moved in the same building as Kiko and Yoongi. Even more so as they run into you on the way in, knowing smiles on their lips as Jungkook holds your hand tight. They don’t really say a lot – both of them aren’t man and woman of words, except when they pour them into the lyrics of a song.

But Kiko does hug you. Does whisper in your ear that she wishes everything will be set right for the two of you, and when you pull away to meet Jungkook’s gaze, you think it already is. Especially as you’re clutching the flowers he got for you, and their sweet fragrance surrounds you.

And then they walk away, as they were leaving to go on a late walk, and you and Jungkook walk in the building, making your way to the elevator. Jungkook presses the call button, and then pulls you close to his chest so that he can press a kiss on the top of your head.

“Well, that was awkward,” he says.

You chuckle. “It wasn’t really.”

His grip tightens around you before he lets you go so that you can enter the elevator. He follows you in, and he intertwines your fingers as he presses on the fourth floor. As the elevator starts moving, you pull him closer, tilting your head back as you pout slightly.

“What?” he asks.

“Kiss me?”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. He immediately dives in, and you’re surprised with the strength of the kiss. As if he’s pouring his entire soul in it, and you think maybe he is. After all, you kiss him back with all the fire in you, and it’s burning brighter than it ever has.

Unfortunately, the moment is short-lived as you reach his floor and the doors slide open. He pulls away, presses a kiss on your forehead as if he wasn’t sucking on your tongue a moment ago, and then he pulls you behind him as he walks towards his door.

It’s further down the hall, and you wait excitedly as he unlocks. Though you’re a little worried about seeing Bam again – what if he doesn’t recognize you?

Which, you reckon was a stupid thought, because the dog comes barging out, tail wagging wildly, when Jungkook manages to get the door open.

“Bamie!” you exclaim, and Jungkook carefully takes the bouquet of flowers from your hand to allow you to bend down and pet the dog.

He licks at your face, whimpering as if he thought he’d lost you. It brings tears to your eyes, and you giggle like a kid as you pet him, rubbing his short fur as he keeps running all around you.

“I think he’s happy to see you,” Jungkook deadpans, and you burst out laughing.

You look up to try and look at Jungkook, but Bam jumps in your vision, which makes you giggle again. And then, something magical happens. Something you didn’t think you’d hear again – Jungkook laughs that childish laugh of his, the one that usually only comes forth when he’s really happy.

You act by pure instinct. You stand up, wrap your arms around Jungkook’s neck. His giggle dies against your lips, but he’s quick to kiss you back as he snakes his inked arm around your back. You let out a breathy sound, and then burst into a fit of giggles as Bam jumps on you.

“I think he demands attention,” you state and Jungkook nods as you part, though he keeps his arm close to you.

“We should take him on a walk,” he says, and you notice his cheeks are flushed red. You reckon yours probably are too, but there’s something about seeing the effect that you have on him, even after everything, that makes you come undone.

“I’m so happy to be with you right now,” you murmur.

He gulps, eyes shining suddenly. “Me too.” He adds your name softly, before repeating, “Me too.”

You walk in his apartment after that, to put the flowers in a large glass of water since Jungkook doesn’t own any vase. Meanwhile, he disappears in what you assume is the bedroom, only to reappear with his camera. To your surprise, he’s already fitted the new lens on it.

It’s endearing. There’s something so incredibly endearing at the thought that your gift is loved already, that Jungkook already wants to use it. It makes a line of silver appear in your eyes, and you don’t even blink it away as Jungkook angles the camera towards you to take a picture.

“Huh,” he lets out as he looks at the picture. He adjusts some settings, and before he’s had time to take another picture of you, Bam comes up to you, jumping up. His two paws rest on your waist as you laugh, and that’s when Jungkook snaps the picture.

You glance his way to see him smiling softly, and then he nods appreciatively. “I’m going to use this lens way too much,” he comments.

It makes you laugh. “I’m glad.”

And then you’re going outside with the dog. Jungkook brings the camera, and he snaps pictures of the surroundings, of you and Bam. He even takes one of the three of you, though you reckon the angle is clearly unflattering.

It doesn’t feel like it matters. Because you’re struck realizing that this, this moment matters. It matters enough for him to want to commit it to memory, and you wonder if he’s going to add it to all the frames you left behind.

But then again, did he even put them up in his new apartment? From what you could see when you were in, there was no picture visible.

It aches, but then he tells you to smile and you do. You immediately do, because there’s nothing easier than smiling when you’re with him like this. The wariness still clings to him, but it’s barely visible, like a mirage that’s about to fade in the distance.

“Stop taking pictures of me,” you say as he takes another one.

He lets out a noncommittal sound, shrugging his shoulder. “Why?”

You pout as blush creeps on your cheek. “You haven’t taken this many pictures of me since… Chicago?”

He shakes his head. “I took more pictures on our first trip to Korea.”

A beautiful trip, where you’d met his family for the first time. You had gotten along with everyone well, even though your Korean was poor. You got better through the years, but you still have a long way before you can speak in Korean without feeling like everyone is going to judge you.

“That’s beside the point,” you mumble. You motion towards Bam, who’s patiently sitting next to you. “I’m pretty sure he’s done.”

Jungkook pouts, and butterflies take flight in your stomach. “Sorry,” he apologizes.

You’re not quite sure why.

“I just…” he adds, and then shadows cloud over his features. They resemble the sorrow that was surrounding him last weekend, and just like that you think summer has ended. “I haven’t used my camera since…”

You don’t need for him to say it, because you know exactly what he was going to say. Still, it hurts, and your gaze drops to the ground.

“Gosh,” you whisper. You let out a strangled sound. “I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just grabs your hand, raising it to his mouth to press a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

“We said we’d try,” he reminds you, or maybe he’s trying to remind himself. “Let’s try. For real. So no more apologies.”

“I feel like you deserve thousands of apologies and more,” you admit.

He kisses your forehead, and it’s against your skin that he whispers, “I just want us to move on from what happened.”

You nod, wrapping an arm around his waist to loosely hug him. Unfortunately, Bam pulls on his leash, and you have to let go of Jungkook far too quickly. Still, you meet his gaze, nodding your head again.

“I want to move on too,” you tell him. “If I could, I’d erase everything but…”

He holds out his hand for you to interlace your fingers with his. “But it’s in the past.”

He’s right, yet you see the wariness. It’s still there, though you think soon the mist will dissipate with the rays of the sun. So you follow him in, let him feed Bam before he shows you around his small apartment. It feels like him, in ways you can’t really describe, and you want to stay. You think, if he’d ask you’d never leave again.

“I like it,” you tell him as he finishes the tour in his bedroom, which is only occupied by an unmade bed with white sheet and a small night table with his pair of glasses on top. You notice the LED lights, and a smile moves to your lips. “Please tell me these still shine purple like they did at the house with the boys.”

Jungkook nods, offering you a grin. “Yeah. I thought it’d be great to have a… reminder of a simpler time.”

He turns them on, and you get it. You get it so much you grab the lapels of his jean jacket, pulling him closer to you. His lips are upon yours in an instant, hungry, insistent, ravishing a kiss that makes you light-headed. Especially as he grabs your face, holds on to it like it’s a life buoy in a storm. The piercings push into your bottom lip, their colder temperature making your tongue dart to them, as if to warm them.

Jungkook groans, and then kicks the door of his bedroom shut. He’s had to stop kissing you for that, but he’s kissing you again half a second later, and it’s even more intense, more desperate.

You let go of his jacket, hands blindly moving to his belt as he pushes his tongue in your mouth. You suck on it, moan lightly when he groans again. You fumble with the buckle, but soon enough you get it undone, and you move on to the button of his jeans.

You just want him. Need to feel his body against you, in you. And clearly he needs the same thing, as he pulls away from the hug to take your shirt off. Right as you get the button undone, and then unzip his jeans. You slip your hand in, letting out a breathy sound as you find him already hard. He sits heavy in your hand, and you squeeze him unabashedly.

“Fuck,” he curses, head thrown back as his eyes close. “Baby.”

The pet name has you drop to your knees, and you pull his pants down just enough for his dick to spring free. He doesn’t try to stop you, and you admire him for a time. Admire the brown base of his tip, the veins that run along his length. A bead of precum appears on his slit as you look, and you’re quick to lick it clean. The salty taste fills your mouth, and you look up at him, to see him watching down on you, strands of hair falling in his eyes where they’ve escaped the confines of his beanie.

“Suck it, mmh?” he says.

You grab him, jerking him off loosely. “Yeah?”

His eyes darken behind the strands of hair. He bites at his piercings, cocking his head to the side. And then he’s glancing away and to your surprise, he asks, “Can I take pictures of you while you suck my dick?”

You swirl your tongue around his tip, and he bucks his hips forward. In answer, you sit back on your heels, looking up at him innocently. “Right now?” He nods. “You want to take pictures of me while I suck your dick?”

“If you want to,” he answers. “If you don’t want to it’s fine.”

You close your lips around his tip, sucking once. “You’ll keep the pictures to yourself?”

You don’t know why you’re agreeing. Only know that the lust in Jungkook’s gaze is making you forget everything about common sense. But then again, you highly doubt that Jungkook would ever do anything to harm you.

Jungkook’s mouth falls open as he was about to answer, but when you take his dick as far as you can, he’s silenced. And he’s hard in your mouth, a rod of steel you’ve missed since last week.

“Yeah,” he finally breathes out.

You sit back on your heels. “Then it’s fine.”

He smirks, nodding his head as he finishes taking off his jeans and underwear. “Wait here.”

You purse your lips as he walks away, and you watch him leaving his room to head to where he left his camera. You patiently wait, feeling shy even though you have nothing to be shy about. This is just Jungkook – it’s not like he hasn’t seen you half-naked and on your knees for him before.

It takes him a moment to come back, but when he does, it’s to sit on bed. He’s still hard, and he leans back on a hand as you move closer.

“If you want me to stop, you tell me, okay?” he gently says as you run a hand along his thighs.

You glance at his scar, the familiar knot of skin giving you more confidence than you expected. “You’re going to jerk off to these pictures, mmh?”             

He gulps, angling his camera towards you as you lean closer to his dick. You lick at it, and the shutter goes off.

It has you dripping in your panties, unexpectedly.

“So what if I do?” he asks as you grab his dick, stroking him.

The question is rhetorical, and your answer is to wrap your lips around his cock as your eyes flutter shut. You swirl your tongue around the tip and hollow your cheeks as you go down. You hold the gag reflex in as he hits the back of your throat, and you can’t help but moan as you hear his camera again.

You flick your tongue at his frenulum on the way out, and then you stroke his dick as you sit back. You move one hand to his balls, squeezing gently before thinking better of it and leaning forward, sucking on one. He grunts, and you keep your eyes locked on the camera as you jerk him off faster.

Another picture added to the list. And you’re dripping wet. Already you want to sink on his dick, want him to be so deep inside of you that you’re just one.

“Kook…” you murmur, and then you’re back to sucking on his dick, though this time you make sure to squeeze his balls too, the way that he likes it. Hard, but not too hard, and you’re choking around his dick in no time as he starts fucking up in your mouth, clearly forgetting about the pictures.

It goes like this for a while, with his dick growing impossibly hard. Your jaw aches by the time he pushes down on your head, hand lost in your hair. You gag, and he moans loudly. You think he’s coming, but he somehow manages to keep it in before pulling you off.

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry.” He breathes for a moment, as you wipe your mouth and chin from the drool.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. You glance at the camera. “Any good pics?”

That brings him back to the land of lust and passion, and he offers you a smirk. “We can look at them after. I’m not done with you yet.”

You laugh, because you know you’ve barely started. Know you’re likely to be unable to walk tomorrow. Because the lust in his gaze hasn’t shone so bright in years, yes, but also because you almost lost each other.

Or maybe you have, and this too is just a dip in the past.

You stand up, hands snaking to your back so that you can unclasp your bra. Jungkook watches you carefully, before taking a picture as you massage your breasts. It makes you bite at your lower lip, and you look at his hard dick where it rests on his stomach.

“Can I ride you?” you ask breathlessly.

He smirks. “You don’t want me to finger you first?”

Instead of replying, you finish undressing, taking off your pants and panties at the same time. You then push on his jean jacket, and he takes that as a cue to remove it. You motion to the shirt too as he was about to lean back on his hand and he cocks his head to the side, an eyebrow raised. When you nod, he takes it off too, and it makes his beanie fall.

His hair is a mess, and you can’t resist but step forward so that you can push it back, though you think the jet black strands are currently untamable. You give up after a few seconds, pushing on his chest so that he lies back.

His eyes are on you as you climb on his lap, and you grind along his length, coating it with your juices.

“Shit,” he lets out again. “You’re fucking dripping.”

You nod, moving up just enough so that you can grab the base of his dick. His tip prods your entrance, and he pulls at his piercings as you wait there, teasing him with a corner smile on your lips.

“Fucking tease,” he growls.

It undoes something in you. Because yes, you wanted to tease him. You wanted him to beg you to fuck him, but now you sink down on him, until he reaches your cervix. Even the pain of him hitting the back of your pussy doesn’t make you move, and your walls clench around his dick as he grunts out a curse, followed by your name.

“Kook,” you purr. “Fuck me good.”

He chuckles as you circle your hips, and his free hand rests on your hip as he angles his camera to take a picture of you again. “You can’t do the work?”

He says it condescendingly, and you find enough challenge in you to start bouncing up and down. It shuts him up, and the following moment is spent with you fucking yourself on him as he groans under you, your breathy moans filling his room. Soon enough he stops taking pictures, putting his camera down next to him so that he can hold your hips with his two hands.

And then he’s fucking up in you, and you cry out as you lean forward, wrapping an arm around his neck while your other hand holds on to his shoulder.

You’re a mess, yet your heart clenches in your chest as he fucks you like this. As you remember a land of winter, that somehow doesn’t feel as distant as it should. Maybe because of Jungkook’s wariness tonight, or maybe because you know all good things come to an end.

The thought douses your arousal, until Jungkook stills deep inside of you and whispers, “I want to be with you, like this, forever.”

You nuzzle your face in his neck and suck a mark on his skin. “Me too.”

And then he’s fucking you again, hard and quick. He holds you close, grunts in your ear as you lick at his neck. It’s an abundance of sensation, and your brain focuses on the way he hits your clit whenever he pushes up. Whenever his hips snap against you, and soon there’s an orgasm in the distance.

It finds you when he lets you sit up so that you can fuck yourself on him again, and his thumb finds your clit to press expert circles on it. It finds you hard, and your pussy spasms repeatedly on his dick. He helps you through the high, and when you finally come down, a dumb smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

“Fuck,” you let out.

“Felt good?” he asks with a teasing tone to his voice, the one you know he only reserves for you.

To hear it right now makes you love him so much you think you’ll die on the spot. Because yes, tonight has been great. Yes, it’s almost been like before, but what if he doesn’t take you back?

What if, in the end, this was just an extended moment meant to be closure for you and him?

“Yes,” you still reply.

Because no matter how much your heart aches in your chest, you’ll never lie to him.

“Good,” he says. He sits up, wraps an arm around your waist to steady you as he brings his mouth to yours.

You go in for the kiss. Meet him halfway, and you moan against him as he moves under you, albeit clumsily from the position.

His lips will make you drunk. Make you dumb, make you forget that there’s a world outside the door. That, in that world, you might not belong to him anymore. But then again, you think you do. To you, you always will.

“Lie on your side,” he says after a moment, lips moving against yours.

Jungkook pecks your lips one last time before you move, and then he kneels behind you. His dick prods your entrance again, and he grabs his camera to snap another picture.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he praises as he pushes the tip in, taking another picture. “Such a good little fucking slut.”

And then he pushes all the way in, until all of him is embedded in you. You grip the sheets as a broken moan escapes your lips. He holds your hip with one hand, fingers digging in the supple skin as he fucks you hard, chasing his own orgasm.

He looks good doing it. Long hair sticking to the sweat on his face, eyes narrowed in pleasure, mouth open as soft grunts echo through the room. The purple light makes his honey skin glow somehow, and you feel another orgasm reaching for you, though it doesn’t hit right away. It just feels so good – as he always does – and you can’t help but clench your walls against him.

That’s what undoes him. He comes, ropes of white painting your insides, as he swears and says your name in a litany that almost makes you go over the edge too.

“Baby,” he says at the end.

It feels like a confirmation. Like a confirmation that, maybe, maybe you will work this time around. That maybe distance won’t destroy you again – maybe you’ll grow old and gray by his side.

“You came so much,” you say as you feel his hot cum sitting deep inside of you.

He pulls at his piercing, nodding once. And then he pulls out, and he takes a picture of the cum dripping out of you. He decides to push it back in, curling a finger inside of you, and your walls clench as you moan.

“Touch your clit,” he tells you.

You don’t need to be told twice. You quickly move your fingers to the sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing quick circles on it as he pushes another digit inside of you, fingering you until the second orgasm finally finds you.

You cry out his name, a broken plea that doesn’t really make any sense as your vision turns white. And it stays that way for a long time, blinding you until ecstasy is swimming in your blood. And when you come down from the high, all that you can think is how much you missed him.

“Kook,” you breathe out.

“Baby…”

He puts the camera away, and then bends to press a kiss on your lips. It’s soft, and you grab his face to hold him in place, not even wincing as a bead of his sweat rolls on your cheek. You kiss him with a heart heavy with emotions, trying to show him that you’re never going to leave again. When he pulls away, you notice his teary gaze.

“Can we be together again?” he asks, and you watch in horror as a tear rolls on his cheek. You sit up, drying it with your thumb.

And you don’t care if it was too quick. Don’t care that there’s a high chance it won’t last. You still answer, “Yes, Kook. Yes we can.”

He smiles, nodding his head. “Let’s take a shower. I want to hold you tonight.”

You want to cry from the statement, want to tell him that you wish he could hold you forever, but the words get lodged in your throat. Instead, you follow him as he gets up, interlacing your fingers with his as he leads you to the bathroom, uncaring that his seed is rolling down your inner thighs.

He turns the shower on, and soon enough you’re standing under the hot water. He watches you carefully, presses a kiss on your forehead when you stand in front of him. You wrap your arms around his waist, holding him as close as you physically can. Even then it’s not enough – you want him under your skin, or to be under his.

You don’t think you’d survive being parted from him again. Maybe that’s why you let him fuck you again when you return to his room, slower this time, lips entwined in a never-ending embrace. Love flows between you and him, and it’s etched in the way your bodies move together, in the way you’ve been molded perfectly for him, and him for you.

You wonder if outside, the stars are shining. And you’re struck thinking that tonight, tonight they’ve aligned for you and him again, the universe agreeing for this second chance between you and him.

So you hold him close, and pray that this time around, forever is waiting for you.

Saturday, September 9th

                Jungkook wakes up slowly. Softly, the same way waves hit the shore at low tide. He’s unusually warm, and he frowns as he shifts, trying to turn on his side. Then, he realizes his arm is stuck under something. His very dead arm, and he cracks an eye open.

That’s when he remembers that it’s you. You’re the one sleeping next to him, mouth slightly agape as you breathe softly. You’re also the one crushing his arm, and he tentatively clenches and unclenches his fist to try to get the blood circulation back on track. It doesn’t really work, so then he stops, figuring he’s going to have to make you move somehow.

But you look peaceful, in the light of the rising sun. Serene, like there’s never been anything wrong in this world. This morning, Jungkook wants to believe it. Wants to believe that happiness is all he’s ever known – that accidents, heartbreak and pain are all constructs of his imagination.

He’s too realistic for that. Or perhaps the breakup has made him pessimistic. Because the peace of the moment doesn’t really linger, and he’s stuck reliving the moment you left, that night in May. Stuck reliving the wait for you to come back, only you never did.

Or maybe you did, months later. Maybe you really are back, and this time you’ll stay.

You mumble something in your sleep, startling him. It takes him a few seconds to realize you’re still deep asleep, but when you move he quickly does too, pulling his arm from under your head. You frown, lick your lips, and then your features smooth out as you return to your peaceful slumber.

He turns on his side, watching you carefully. He’s aware that watching you sleep is creepy, but he can’t help it. Not when his bed has been empty for months.

He stays like this for a while, unable to fall back asleep. Because, what if you’re gone when he wakes up again? He doesn’t want to risk it.

Unable to help himself, he gently brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. You sigh, and he’s afraid he’s woken you up. When a small smile appears on your lips, his heart skips a beat, yet you don’t show any other sign that you’re awake. He assumes you aren’t, and then decide to take a picture of this moment.

He feels like he’s going to need it. Like all the pictures he took yesterday – he was desperate to commit to memory as much of you as he possibly could. He feels bad – he said he’d give you a chance, he is giving you a chance, but some part of him is just waiting for it to blow up in his face.

Maybe if he expects it it will hurt less.

He carefully grabs his camera where he left it on his night table. He doesn’t dare take a look at the pictures you took yesterday, a little ashamed that he asked you to do that in the first place. Silently, he takes a picture of you, and then puts the camera away.

Only, the reminder of the kind of pictures he’d find in the camera was enough to make his blood stir, and he picks it back up almost immediately.

And then there you are, in all your glory. Beautiful as ever, pussy filled to the brim with his cum, with his cock. Tits squeezed in your hands, in his, and his dick goes rock hard as blood leaves his head.

He wants you again, and he wants you now. He doesn’t care that it’s early morning, that he never liked waking up early. All he can do is put the camera down and slide closer to you. He pulls you back into his embrace, and you sigh softly as he wraps his arms around you.

Jungkook holds you tighter, nuzzling his face in your hair. The inebriating scent of your shampoo fills his nose, and his dick twitches in his underwear.

You hum, and he holds you tighter. “Morning,” he says, voice low and gravelly.

You make another sound that can pass as a hum, but you move against him, until you’ve wrapped an arm around his middle. There’s a moment where silence reigns again, and Jungkook is afraid you’ve fallen back asleep, but then you say, “Morning.”

He smiles. “Slept well?” he asks, kissing the top of your head.

He’s convinced you’re smiling against him as you say, “Want to sleep more.”

He whines, which earns him a chuckle from you that makes the wariness settle back in, even as his heart feels full in his chest.

It never felt full without you. Another reason why he needs to be ready for the blow, whenever it comes.

“I want you,” he admits. “Can’t sleep.”

You hum again, and your hand slides down his back. You squeeze his ass, and then move the hand back up. “You’re going to have to try.”

He whines, lips jutting out in a pout. “Boring.”

At that you laugh, pushing him slightly until you’re able to look him in the eye. He keeps the pout on, knowing that it always worked with you before.

“It’s not even morning,” you point out.

“The sun is up.”

You roll your eyes, though your lips are curved upwards, your gaze beaming as you hold his. “We fucked twice last night.”

He shrugs, rolling on his back so that he can stare up at the ceiling. He pulls at his piercing, the new one, and then turns his head towards you again. “Yeah, and?”

“Surely you don’t need to fuck right now,” you tease.

He frowns, looking away again. “Not my fault if I haven’t fucked since… May. Last weekend doesn’t count.”

“I’m pretty sure it does,” you say, laughing lightly. You prop yourself up on an elbow, blinking away the tiredness as you meet his gaze again. “And besides,” you pause, features turning confused as a crease appears between your brows. “Haven’t you fucked while we were…” you trail off, motioning vaguely around you.

And then something occurs to Jungkook. Something bad – maybe the explosion was closer than he expected it to be. Maybe he’s been standing in the radius of impact, waiting for the bomb to go off. And maybe your sleep deprived brain forgot the measure of protection, maybe it forgot he was standing there.

Because your eyes go round with fear, right as a drop of lead solidifies in Jungkook’s stomach.

“What?” he lets out.

What a stupid question to ask. He wants to beat himself up, because he knows.

He knows now that you’ve been with someone else. Why else would you be surprised that he hasn’t?

“I’m just saying…” you try, but it’s too late.

The bomb has gone off, and all that’s left is rumbles.

“Get out,” Jungkook says, and somehow it’s lacking bite. It’s lacking anger, lacking any signs that he cares for you.

It surprises even himself – doesn’t he care? Or is there nothing left of him in the aftermath of the explosion?

“Kook.”

“You’ve fucked someone else,” he states. When you don’t say anything, just watch him in horror, he sits up in bed. “Get out.”

“Come on,” you let out this time, following him up. You wrap yourself in the blanket, his blanket, and he wants to rip it from your body. Doesn’t want anything that’s his to be in contact with you anymore. “It didn’t mean anything,” you say, and you’re suddenly blinking back tears. “It was just one-time.”

“Frankly, I don’t want to know,” Jungkook says, and he really doesn’t. Doesn’t want to think about another man’s hand on you, or he’ll break.

He’s done breaking for you.

You don’t fight the tears, as you understand that the end really has come. At least that’s what he thinks happens – you just sit there, gaze heavy with tears until they fall, little droplets that carry a world of regret.

After all, the distance really was enough to break you up, wasn’t it?

Jungkook watches you, surprised that his heart is not clenching in his chest. No, he feels nothing as he watches you – he’s already cried enough for you.

“We were broken up,” you murmur, holding his gaze. “It’s not like I cheated.”

At that he laughs, shaking his head. If you can’t understand that he’s done, that he doesn’t want to have anything to do with you anymore, then he’ll do it the harsh way.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he says. “I couldn’t be with someone else. I tried, and you were all I could think of. And…”

“You tried!” you interject. “You tried and you’re giving me shit for it?”

He gets up, trying to put distance between you and him, as if that’ll make the fight easier.

“I still chose not to do it,” he coldly states. “The girl was willing, she even kissed me and…”

“You kissed someone else?”

He laughs again, the absurdity of the situation dawning upon him. “Yeah? Tae set me up on a date, and the girl kissed me at the end and I told her I couldn’t. I didn’t fuck someone else.”

The way he’s throwing the blame at you feels selfish, especially as more tears join those already sliding down your cheeks.

“How is that fair, that you’re mad at me when you literally went on a date with someone else?” You pause, choking on a sob as you try to dry your cheeks. “Come on, Kook, it meant nothing.”

“Who did you fuck anyway?” he asks.

For a reason unknown, your tears stop. Entirely, there a moment and gone the next. “Why do you want to know?”

He doesn’t. He doesn’t fucking want to know, and he scoffs as he runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands. “Get out,” he says again, still as stern and void of emotion.

“It was Harrison,” you still say. “I switched departments because I didn’t want to see him again after that.”

Now, there’s an inkling of pain tickling the carcass of his dead heart. As if there was still more, for him to feel, even after everything. As if pain is but a constant of his life now, and he thinks maybe it is.

“Your colleague?” he repeats, dumbfounded.

He’s met Harrison a couple of times, throughout your relationship. He’s always thought the guy was decent, but now something very ugly settles deep in his core. Something that tells him, ‘Hey, maybe he’s only ever wanted to fuck her, maybe he was waiting for his chance’.

The words are on a loop in his head, and he doesn’t even think he can see you anymore. All that he sees is Harrison with his hands on you, in his ever-too creative mind.

He startles as you put a hand on his arm. He shrugs your grip off, steps away from you. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Kook, I swear, please listen to me,” you beg, and now you’re crying again.

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to.” At that he shuts his eyes, runs a hand on his forehead and then through his hair. “I really don’t want to. I don’t want you to be here anymore.”

“It didn’t mean anything,” you say, an echo of something you said earlier. Though this time you say it differently, as if you too sensed the finality in Jungkook’s tone.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever want you to be around anymore. He was stupid to give you a chance after you broke his heart – you chose to break up, months ago. Why would it be different this time around?

“It doesn’t matter,” he tells you, as softly as he can. Because he knows you’ll break even more, and some dark, twisted part of him is satisfied that this time, this time he’s the one with all the power over you. “I’m done, Y/n.”

The words sound like thunder, in all their calmness. In all their softness – or maybe that was the sound of your heart breaking. Whatever it was, Jungkook really is done. He wants you gone, wants to be able to break in the quiet peace of his home.

A home you aren’t a part of anymore.

You nod. He expects you to fight more, but you nod. Choke out a sob, turn around, and start putting your clothes on. He figures he should dress too, so he does, picking up discarded items of clothing on the floor, not caring that they probably aren’t clean. All that he cares about is to get you out of his apartment, out of his sight.

And when you’re ready, he walks you to the front door. Lets you say goodbye to Bam, a crushing parallel to the time you’ve said goodbye in May. Bam still looks confused, and Jungkook feels bad, for a moment. Because you were the dog’s mother – he’s been looking for you ever since May. Jungkook can only hope that, this time around, Bam understands that it’s farewell.

When you straighten, you mutter an apology. Jungkook ignores it, holds your gaze expecting something to hurt, but he’s just empty. Empty and tired, and all he wants is to go back to sleep and to never wake up again.

“I can’t let you go,” you let out, voice stark with pain.

He shrugs. “You should have realized that in May.”

You close your eyes, and you look so fragile. Like glass – it never survives the shockwave of an explosion, doesn’t it?

“Please,” you beg. “Let me make it up to you.”

He laughs bitterly. “How? You’re going to go back in time and not get fucked by him? You’re going to go back in time and not break up?”

You look like you want to curse him, and he almost wants you to. He wants you to fight, wants you to make him feel something other than this emptiness. Instead, you shake even more, sobs racking through you.

“I wish I could.”

“Leave.”

“Jungkook, I swear,” you insist. “Let’s not lose each other over this.”

He wets his lips, tongue pushing in the inside of his cheek next. “We’ve lost each other already. It’s time we realize that we have.”

And that does it. You fall silent, defeat washing over you like a tsunami wave – there’s nothing left after its passage, and you look tired, sick, standing there right next to the door.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize again.

He shrugs. “It’s whatever. The past is the past.”

You look like you want to say something else, but somehow you remain silent. Somehow you look at him for a time, bloodshot eyes taking in his features as if it’s the last time you’ll ever see him again. He surprises himself by doing it too, mostly by instinct. Because right now, looking at you makes him want to be sick, but he knows that it won’t last.

He knows that the echo of pain in the distance is a good indicator that he still has it in him to break for you. That he’ll break for you forever, perhaps. Because he doesn’t think that there’s an end to you and him. It’s always going to be a cycle, and it’ll never end well.

“Goodbye, Jungkook,” you murmur.

He offers you a tight-lipped smile. “Goodbye.”

All he can do is hope you know it means farewell.

Thursday, October 5th

                You used to love fall. The cooler weather, the long walks that smell like soil and fallen leaves and pumpkins. Nowadays, you hate fall.

You hate it because he loved it, and every reminder of him is poison to you. And though the season is still early, the days are getting shorter, and the longer the night, the more you drown in thoughts.

You haven’t slept in weeks. Have barely eaten too, and you’ve been off from work for a week. It’s allowed you to stay in, to just sit and try to breathe, hoping that it’ll help.

That it’ll fix something that’s never going to be fixed.

You’re lost. Lost in a town that used to be your home, lost in memories that used to be beauty brought to life – now, you’re seeing the ugliness in beauty. Because beauty is temporary, and like all temporary things in life it doesn’t last long enough. Beauty, and the ending temporality of it, leaves nothing when it goes but a bitter taste in mouth.

Perhaps that’s why you haven’t been able to eat properly.

You haven’t spoken to anyone, since the early morning he asked you to leave. Yet for some reason, you’ve felt the need to go outside today. To walk around, aimlessly perhaps, but you couldn’t stay inside a second longer. Too many tears were shed in your apartment, and you hoped the cool weather would help you feel better.

It does, a little. Because you feel like you’re breathing him in every time you inhale, and then carry him out on an exhale. You feel close to him, in a distant way that’s bound to only make you break harder tonight, but right now you can’t bring yourself to care. You do hate the reminders of him, but you need them. Viscerally, as he was the oxygen in your lungs for so long.

You’re going to have to learn how to live without him, one step at a time.

So you take another step, let your instinct carry you where you have to go. Maybe it knows how to heal.

The sun is descending in the sky, and the absence of clouds lead to a sea of azure you’d swim in if you could. You’d soar up high, so high that there isn’t oxygen anymore, and maybe then the pain would cease. You’d ride a sunray into the night, where you’d finally be able to fall into a well-deserved slumber.

As you look up, a tiny bird flies across the sky, a small speck of brown that goes so fast you think you imagine it. Like the years with him – they went by so quickly, the crushing wheel of time spinning down the slope towards the end.

Seven years ago, almost to the day, you kissed him on a hotel roof lost in Chicago, under clouds painted with fire. Who knew seven years later you’d be trying to live without him, clearly failing at it.

You sigh, pushing the thought away as you reach a crossing. You wait for the light to turn green, then follow the parallel white lines across the road. You avoid a pile of leaves, though a strong gust of wind makes some of them swirl around you, spinning like Mother Nature’s tiny dancers.

The foliage in the trees along the street is golden and red, bright colours that look out of place in the bleakness of your heart. You follow them, wonder if they know that they are about to die. The answer is one you’ll never have, and so you walk under the trees, the autumn breeze playing with your hair.

You don’t know where your steps have been carrying you. You’ve long gone past the places you usually go to, heading towards the middle of the city. The no man’s land between you and Jungkook, spread wide in a maze of streets you want to get lost in.

So you do. You press on, walk until the sun becomes a ball of melted gold nearing the horizon, and it’s on the corner of a street that a glint in a vitrine catches your eyes.

You eye the rings, crafted by an expert hand. Bands of gold, with diamonds and emeralds and gems you don’t know the name of. They look expensive, elegant, and you wonder if you would have had a ring on your finger one day, bought by him.

Recklessly, you walk into the shop, wishing to peruse its vitrines, hoping they’ll offer you dreams to survive the night. And you can almost see it – a ring on your finger, a proposal under a star-sprinkled sky, an intimate wedding for you and him. A dance, always and forever, of love shared like a secret in the night. Your secret, as the end would have one day come for you and him, an eternity of life later. You would have been old and grey, yet your love would have been young and eternal.

In this dream, he would have never taken the job overseas. You’d have stayed here, together, growing old by his side. You would have gotten more dogs, maybe even a cat, and you’d have lived happily ever after.

You wonder if, in a parallel universe to yours, the dream is unfolding. If parallel-universe you has the chance to experience it, and you think she does. You think she does, and the love is so strong it’s shaking through universes, picking you up like you’re just a leaf in an autumn wind.

Because why else, then, do you find yourself buying a gold band? Too big for you, masculine in its simplicity. Something you think he would have worn, had you been in that other universe.

You sit on a bench outside, after, as the last of the sunlight finally fades away, replaced by a blue dusk that matches your mood far better than the sun ever could. You have no idea where you are in the city, no will to brave the trek back home – you’ve been out for hours at this point.

You grab your phone, long forgotten in your purse. You haven’t touched it all day, and to your surprise you’ve received a couple of texts while you were walking, all by the same person.

[04:37 pm] Jimin: hey, this is going to sound crazy [04:37 pm] Jimin: and I’m really sorry to be telling u this [04:37 pm] Jimin: can u go check on JK? [04:38 pm] Jimin: he’s been unreachable for days and at this point I think he’ll only talk to u

You want to text him back to fuck off, to leave you alone, yet you hold on tighter to the velvety box in which the gold band hides. After all, even if you’ve received the texts hours ago, you’re realizing perhaps that that’s where your steps have been leading you anyway.

It’s stupid – he asked you to leave. Hasn’t contacted you once since then, and it’s like the wedding and the week after never happened. Like you’ve been broken up for months, like you barely know him anymore. He’s a stranger now, in your life, something you’d never thought he’d become someday.

And why would he talk to you? Why would he want you in his vicinity, when he made it clear as spring water that he was done, that the end had come to pass between you and him?

But if the end has come, why is that you’ve been feeling like you’re surrounded by him, today? Like you’ll always be – just a drop of water in the sea of him. Perhaps you are weak, to feel for him the way that you do, but seven years ago, the cataclysm that started you and him shook you, and its repercussions are still felt today. Will be felt until your dying breath, until all that’s left of you is stardust.

So you let your feet carry you, weightless in the way that you’re moving forward. Like you are once again but a leaf carried by the wind, and you can only hope that it’ll let you land in the right place.

You don’t really know how you make it to his building. Perhaps you were closer than you initially thought you were – all that you know is that you recognize the building, and that you sense his proximity through the walls.

Your heart reaches for him, longs for him in a way you can’t ignore anymore. Because you’ve been dead, without him. Just a shell of what you should be, of what you want to be. Because yes, you could learn to live without him. After everything that you’ve been through, you know well enough that you are strong enough to do it.

But you don’t want it. You want that dream you’ve found in the jewelry shop, want to make it possible. Want to prove that, no matter who would ever get close to you, he’ll always be the owner of your heart.

So you walk in. Reach the elevator, press on the call button. Then on the fourth floor, reminiscing the night you rode the elevator in his company, right before the fall. The new fall, a harshest one that made you reach those low levels of hell that living without him are consisted of.

You awaken when you are standing in front of his door. You think you can almost hear him inside, moving around through his home. You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat, where you’re standing. If he too can tell that you’re nearby once again, even though you shouldn’t have been.

Even though farewells have come to pass between you and him.

You don’t knock. You don’t have to. To your surprise, the door opens in front of you, slowly, before you’ve even managed to raise your arm to knock. Then his voice fills your ear, as he tells Bam to wait. You just stand there, dumbfounded, and then his eyes move from the floor to your face, and his mouth falls open.

Bam jumps on you, tail wagging wildly as you take a step back from the force of impact. You pet him on the head, pushing him back to the floor as you try to focus on Jungkook.

And then it dawns upon you that you have no clue what to tell him. You reckon you maybe should have prepared something in advance, because you’re wordless standing in front of him.

“Hey,” you eventually say, and you think the world has time to revolve around the sun three times before you manage to say something else. “How are you?”

His mouth slowly shuts, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. He pulls on Bam’s leash, tells the dog to sit, before he finally addresses you. Just your name, and the way he says it make it sound formal, like you’re just a stranger.

“What are you doing here?” he asks after another moment.

You look down at your hands. At the box you’re holding, and his eyes follow after you. “I was thinking of you, today,” you admit.

He sighs, and his eyes shut. “You were?”

You nod as he meets your gaze again. “When am I not?” Your comment doesn’t ask for a response, and he doesn’t offer you one either. “Jimin told me you’ve been unreachable.”

“Yeah,” he lets out. “I’ve been busy.”

“Oh.” You try to look behind him, as if you’ll find his reason to be busy there. “Can I talk to you?”

He says your name, this time like an apology. “I told you we were done.”

You shrug. “I know.” You gulp, fingers playing with the velvet box as if it’ll help ground you. “Can I walk Bam with you, then?”

He looks conflicted but he gives in. Says yes in a defeated way that rips your heart from your chest, in a way that makes you cling to the ring box even more, hoping that it’ll offer you salvation.

Being outside in the early fall evening with him feels like the Earth has finally returned to its normal axis. You don’t say anything, unable to find the words, and he remains silent too. You just enjoy his company, watching over Bam as he sniffs at plants before peeing on a pole.

Stars are twinkling in the sky up above. The breeze is still soft tonight, caressing your features in a gentle embrace that resembles the one he’d used to offer you, though it’s far colder than his. You spare a glance at him – he’s already looking, and he doesn’t look away as your gazes connect.

“What are you doing here?” he asks again.

You wet your lips. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

“How is that an explanation?” A shrug of your shoulders is all the answer he gets. He scoffs, shakes his head slightly, and then his head turns toward the door of his building. “I have hot chocolate inside,” he tells you, once again sounding defeated. “Do you want a cup?”

Turns out salvation wasn’t to be found in the velvet box you’re holding, but in the gentle angles of Jungkook’s features, behind his big doe eyes that will forever feel like home to you.

“I don’t want to intrude,” you tell him, voice soft. “I just wanted to… talk.”

“Then let’s talk over a cup of hot chocolate,” he says.

Which is what you do. You follow him in, feeling like you’re out of place in his life. Like he’s only giving this to you because of what you used to be to one another. Yet you don’t care. You’re slowly finding words, your brain shaping them into sentences to change an ending you can’t come to terms with.

Jungkook prepares the hot chocolate in silence, as you sit at his small dinner table. You play with Bam as he does so, a game of tug-of-war that you’re bound to lose as the dog is far stronger than you. Yet you still indulge, as you’ve missed Bam far more than you even thought possible.

The game is only interrupted when Jungkook rests a cup of steaming hot chocolate on the table next to you. You let Bam go, and the dog trots away to go play somewhere else, you can only assume.

“What did you want to talk about?”

You’ve left the ring box on the table. You’ve noticed Jungkook glancing at it repeatedly since you’ve put it there, and you worry at your bottom lip.

“I wanted to apologize again, for what it’s worth,” you answer. “I felt horrible when it happened, and just wanted to forget all about it.”

His features turn harsh, and his eyes drop into the cup of hot chocolate he’s nursing for himself. It reminds you of a café, of a conversation you had years ago, that led to you opening up to him, and to him opening up to you.

“I love you,” you continue. “I haven’t stopped loving you, and if I’d known that breaking up would hurt so much, I would’ve fought harder. I wish I had, and I wish I’d never let you go.”

“But you did…” he says when you remain silent for a few seconds.

“But I did. And I understand if you hate me for it. If you don’t want to ever see me again. But shit, you’re the only thing that I’ve been able to think about. Just you, and everything that could have been, had I been stronger.”

You grab the cup of hot chocolate, the warmth of it slowly seeping through your cold fingers. For the next few minutes, you don’t say anything, and neither does he. You just drink the hot chocolate, hoping you’ll find more words to say at the bottom of the cup.

“The distance was hard,” Jungkook eventually says. “I don’t blame you for wanting to end things over it.”

It surprises you. Makes your brain go entirely empty, and you just watch him with wide eyes for a few seconds.

He shrugs as you don’t say anything. “What?” He looks down, tongue darting out to play with his piercings. “I’ve been thinking about everything too.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “I over-reacted, when you told me you had sex with Harrison,” he admits.

Totally not expecting the conversation to take this turn, you’re stunned silent.

“I was shocked, and needed time to process,” he continues. “You were right, the fact that I went on a full-on date is just as bad, differently. We were broken up, we didn’t owe each other anything.”

As much as it pains you to agree, you still do, nodding your head. “We didn’t.”

He purses his lips, holds your gaze for a few seconds before glancing down at his cup. The silence is more comfortable now, as you think maybe, maybe then the dream you’ve dreamed about isn’t just a distant mirage of what could have once been. It’s foolish, but you can’t help it.

You think your heart is beating for the first time since you left that morning weeks ago.

“Did you want to speak about anything else?” he asks after he’s taken a long sip of his hot chocolate.

You take a deep breath, and somehow courage finds you on the long exhale. “I don’t want us to be over.”

You think you hear him gulp. “You don’t?”

Blinking away a few tears, you shake your head no. “I really don’t. I walked around all day today, and all I could think about was you. All I could think of was all the years between us, from when we met to a few weeks ago. And I don’t know, I refuse to accept that the end has come.”

“When does it come, then?” he asks.

“When the end comes?”

He nods.

“After years and years,” you say, allowing yourself to voice your dream. “Hopefully after we’ve had years to live together. After we’ve gotten married, and maybe even after we’ve had kids. Not that I want some.” You pause, and you look down at the table, unable to carry the weight of his gaze anymore. “Or maybe after we’ve had plenty of dogs, a cat or two. After we’ve had a house with a white picket fence, after we’ve danced under a thousand different night skies.” A tear rolls on your cheek, and you do nothing to stop it. “After we’ve travelled the world together, after we’ve had a chance to live, together.”

“And what happens after we’ve lived together?” he presses.

You shrug. “Then we die together. Then we turn into stardust and memories. I don’t care. As long as it’s with you, I don’t care what happens to me.”

Blurry behind the wall of tears in your eyes, you see Jungkook run a hand through his hair. “You don’t?”

“I don’t,” you echo. “I just want to get to love you.”

At that you do cry. And not just a little bit. Your heart longs and yearns for him, reaching in the space between you, trying to find a beat to sync with. You wipe your cheeks dry with trembling hands, before pressing the heel of your palms on your eyes, hoping to stop the cascade at the source.

“It’s a nice dream,” Jungkook says after the few minutes it takes you to collect yourself, your hands falling to the table.

“Is it?”

He nods. “Yeah. I don’t think we’d do a white picket fence though. I’ve always found cedar trees make a better fence.”

Something stirs inside of you, and you want to take a hold of him, and to never let go. “Yeah?”

He sits back in the chair, looks up to the ceiling as he blinks away the silver in his own gaze. You wonder if he’s crying because he saw you cry, as the sympathetic crier that he is, or because he shares the emotions in your heart.

“Where would you want to get married?” he asks then.

You push the velvet box towards him. “This is for you.”

He doesn’t acknowledge this, instead repeating the question.

“Somewhere in the countryside,” you answer. “Maybe the cottage where it all started.” You think about Julys of a world ago. “Under the night sky.”

“People don’t usually get married when it’s already dark.”

“Right,” you let out. “Then we’d have a ceremony for just us two when it’s dark outside.”

At that he grabs the box, opening it. You reckon he must have known what the content was, because he doesn’t say anything as he takes it out. As he tries to put it on his finger, though it doesn’t fit. It’s too tight, and it makes him chuckle, a sad sound that almost kills you on the spot.

“Do you think we’d dance under the stars?” he asks as he turns the gold band in his fingers, and light glimmers on it.

“Yes,” you say, nodding your head. “We always would.”

“So you came all the way here to tell me this?”

He meets your gaze again, for the first time in a while. He looks struck with emotion, much like you feel – the depths of his eyes are swirling with love and ache and yearning. You fall forward, fall in his eyes, trying to find home again.

“I came here to ask you to marry me,” you finally say, as it dawns upon you that, yes, your steps were leading you to this all along. “Jungkook, will you marry me?”

He smiles, a world of sadness etched in the sweet curve of his lips. “Can it be this easy?”

You shut your eyes. “It can. Please. Let’s not lose what we have again.”

“When would you like to get married?” he asks.

“Are you saying yes?”

He plays with his piercing, takes a deep breath as he chases tears away from his gaze but to no avail. You watch the two drops as they slowly roll down his face. “When would you like to get married?”

“In July,” you answer easily.

“Next year?”

You nod.

He holds your gaze for a few seconds more, then looks at the gold band again. His fist closes around it, slowly, as if he’ll be able to crush it in his hold. For what you don’t know. All that you know is that his features grow tortured, pained. It doesn’t last long – another deep breath later the expression is gone.

“I need to tell you something,” he says then, his voice so small you can barely hear it.

You prepare yourself. As well as you can, expecting the blow before it comes. You sense it – in the eternity it takes for him to speak again, you see every moment of you and him before this day, your life flashing before your eyes as if you’re about to die.

And then he says it a first time. At first you don’t even understand the words, as if he’s speaking a foreign language. So you let out, “What?”, hoping that it will change the cruelty that this world holds.

But nothing can, after the end has come. Nothing, especially not as he repeats the words, softly, their meaning tainting the dream you’ve just painted with him, until all that’s left of it is a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

“I’m permanently moving to South Korea.”

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I'm sorry for the angst, for the cliffhanger, for them to be so stubborn and for how life is working against them now. I hope you don't hate me too much after this :') let me know what you think of this chapter!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate.

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[areyouwell]

Memento Mori

Ch.1

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: Violence, slight body horror

Word Count: 8.1K

A/N: Took me long enough. New long-fic comin' in from the left! i know i teased this around three weeks ago (ish) but here's chapter one. not sure this is gonna be as long as Phobophobia but i'm really excited about this one. it's a little darker (yeah i know) but i already love this MC. if anyone wants tagging in this pls lmk, i don't wanna assume everyone who i tagged in Phobophobia wants to be tagged again so i'll start a new list <3

Dividers by @/sweetmelodygraphics

“So, as detailed here, there have been a string of these… murders, I suppose.”

Logan sighed heavily. When he woke up this morning, the one thing he didn’t expect was to be called into Charles Xavier’s office so soon after having breakfast, let alone be greeted with grainy photographs of some of the most horrific murder scenes he’d ever had the displeasure of looking at. Entrails, bones, flesh, eyes. None of it was where it should be, which most of the time, seemed scattered around the floor rather than attached to whichever poor, unfortunate soul who’d had the shitty luck of running into their silent assassin. Charles pointed the telescopic stick towards the mangled jacket of one of the equally mangled victims. Logan couldn’t even tell what gender they were, their face nothing but a bloody pulp.

Almost as if it had been exploded from the inside out. 

“This symbol here is the only string that connects the murders, and after doing a little digging,” he nodded thankfully to Ororo, her white hair bobbing with her dip of acknowledgement. “We found they all belonged to the same company, here.” With a click of the remote in his hands, the projection flipped to the next slide, a map of San Fransisco, a large red circle drawn around a location Logan was only somewhat familiar with, only because he’d walked past it a few times. 

“It’s a warehouse,” he offered, several heads turning to look at him. “I’ve walked ‘round there couple times. Nothin’ special, s’always buzzin’ with life.” He shrugged thoughtfully, tugging a cigar from his jacket pocket and flicking the Zippo lighter open and shut with his other hand. Charles gave him a slightly irritated look, but he pretended not to notice.”So… What? Our killer’s just popping caps in the head’s underpaid workers? Doesn’t make much sense.” 

“That’s what we thought too,” Ororo continued, placing down a few pieces of paper and spreading them about the table. “Until we started to notice a pattern. They’ve been picking off specific shift workers, mainly those on the late shift. But it’s never new members of staff either. Always those who’ve worked there for at least two years. Lately, their security has increased, but once they leave work, they’re basically on their own.” Storm took the remote from Charles and clicked to the next slide, a list of names and hours flaring onto the screen, the names of victims having been crossed out, though their hours were still visible on the row of the rota.

“Ya don’t think this has anything to do with that orphanage incident, do you?” Kitty piped up, cupping her mug of tea in both hands, either for comfort or for warmth, Logan couldn’t tell. She had a good point. It must have been around a month ago now. A fire had started downtown in the dead of night. Officials had said it was a discarded cigarette from one of the employees, but that didn’t explain why all the windows and doors had been locked.

Everyone within burned. Children included. 

“It’s certainly a theory…” Scott mused, rubbing his hand against his jaw in thought. “A terrible accident sounded far too much like a cover story. Think this killer had something to do with it?”

Charles sighed heavily. “Ordinarily, yes, I’d have some kind of suspicion, if it wasn’t for the fact our killer was elsewhere at the time.” He nodded to Ororo, who clicked the remote once again. “This was taken not an hour beforehand, on the other side of the city. Unless the killer can teleport, there’s no way they could have made it across town in such a short amount of time, let alone take all the precautions and set alight to the building. Though I do not believe it was merely a terrible accident, I don’t believe they had anything to do with it.” Charles finished before Ororo leant over the pages she’d spread on the table, spinning one to face the rest of the team.

“Though we do have this. A pattern of all the attacks and locations,” Logan stood up to skirt around the table, standing between Kitty and Marie as he inspected the red pen. With every X, the attacks almost formed an exact circle around the warehouse, almost as if the killer could predict which ways those victims would take home. Especially after the first attack. “We think the next one will happen here,” Ororo pointed to a side street far between the locations either side. “The most recent one being here, it’s logical to think they’d take the opposite side. At least, that’s what we’re hoping…” She trailed off, and Logan returned to his seat, having an idea as to what this meeting was actually about.

“You want us to lay a trap, right? Trail several employees home and jump in before Killer McGee can get their hands on ‘em.” He clarified, and Charles nodded a little too darkly for his liking. 

“Exactly. Which is why I won’t be asking you all on this mission. We need to avoid detection and sending all of us would be too much of a risk. Whoever this is, we must assume they’re a mutant. These attacks happen quickly and viciously, and to cause such damage in such a short amount of time, we must assume they possess some sort of ability.

“Scott, Ororo and Logan, I trust you can handle this task? I will be in Cerebro with Jean on hand, and the rest I want you on standby in the Blackbird in case backup is required.”

“Wait, we’re doing this tonight?” Marie squeaked, casting a wary glance to Kitty who returned her expression. Logan was relieved neither of them would be actively on the mission, he’d come to care for them both deeply, and whilst that didn’t mean he didn’t care for either Ororo or, though he’d never admit it, Scott, he was glad the two girls would be on standby rather than active duty.

“The attacks seem random, as if they flipped a coin to see if they would head out each night, but when you look closer, they’re only on the days the older members of staff are on shift. We think they’re looking for something, or someone, specific.” Ororo explained, pointing back to the projection on the screen. “These three here have been working at this specific warehouse for three, four and seven years respectably,” she clicked the remote again for each of their work ID cards to flash onto the screen. “Scott, you’re tailing Alec,” she gestured to the string bean of a man, blonde hair styled into several spikes atop his head, two silver snakebite piercings adorned his lower lip.  

“Logan, you’ve got Manuel, he’s been there for four years,” Logan didn’t think they could have found such a different-looking guy to the previous one if they fucking tried. Manuel was built like a brick shit house, a buzzcut of dark hair dusted the top of his otherwise bald head, ears like fucking cauliflowers. Of course, that’s who he’d be tailing, probably because a punch from this guy would send anyone else across the damn room. 

“And I’ll be tailing Henry, he works in the office upstairs but is still very much a likely target. We’re hoping to locate and pin down the killer before their shifts even finish, but in the eventuality The Professor can’t get a lock on them, this is the backup plan. Got it?”

Both Logan and Scott nodded in unison. It didn’t seem too much of a problem mission if this killer was cowardly enough to be picking these guys off one by one, he didn’t think they had much in terms of fighting prowess. Taking an enemy by surprise was the coward’s way out, in his opinion, though he supposed not everybody could heal the way he could. 

And taking this killer by surprise was exactly the plan…

Maybe he should rethink his principles. 

“Be suited up and ready to head out at ten. Gives us at least an hour to locate and set up.” Ororo gathered the papers on the table, tapping the small stack against the surface before tucking them beneath her arm. “Right, I’ve got a class to teach, pretty sure you do too, Professor.” She turned to Charles who simply smiled and nodded, ending the meeting just like that. With a huff and a stretch, Logan stood from his seat, instantly reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a thick cigar, earning himself a sharp look of disapproval from Xavier, the Professor glancing pointedly to the chilly air beyond the window. Logan knew what he was saying, and usually, he’d tell him to go fuck himself and smoke indoors. But he needed a breath of fresh air after that stuffy, slightly nauseating meeting, and if he could kill two birds with one stone, why wouldn’t he?

With an acquiescing shrug, he shoved his hands in his pockets, turning on his heel to stalk from the boardroom, shoving the door open with his shoulder and almost walking chest first into Jean. His heart skipped a beat or three, lips pulling up into a small smirk to hide the fact he was borderline giddy to be running into her outside the meeting. She’d been the object of his affection ever since he was brought to the mansion and she checked his vitals. He couldn’t help it. There was just something about her he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that drew him to her the instant he was in her presence. He didn’t find himself thinking of her much outside their interactions, but when they were in the same room, all he could think about was her. It would be frustrating if he cared about anything said in those meetings. 

“Watin’ f’me now are ya?” He teased lowly, savouring the way her lips pursed to stop herself from smiling. There were times Logan thought she felt the same magnetic pull toward him that he felt toward her, times like this, where she didn’t look away from his gaze, and entertained his relentless teasing. 

“You know Scott’s still in there. We have plans,” she responded, feigning an attempt to look past him and back into the room where Scott was discussing various strategies with the Professor. Logan raised a brow as he followed her wavering line of sight, keeping that brow raised as he looked back at her. 

“Plans? Hope you don’t mean dinner, doesn’t look like he’ll be out anytime soon.” If she could just see how terrible Scott was for her. If he could just make her see how he would be so much better. Would suit her better. Would take care of her better. He wasn’t willing to change for many people, but if Jean asked, he would do it in a heartbeat. He’d change himself for her.

“Yes, Logan, dinner plans before the mission. And you know this is a tradition because you comment on it every time.” She huffed, her hair bobbing slightly with every emphatic move of her head. Logan chuckled lightly, his eyes briefly glancing from her gaze to her lips, how perfect they looked, and how perfect they would look wrapped around his–

“Then we both have our little traditions, don’t we? C’mon, doll. Why don’t we stop this dance?” His fingers curled through a strand of her hair, feeling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Haven’t I shown ya I can be the good guy?”

Jean sighed, and Logan half expected her to move away, but instead, she just closed her eyes, shaking her head softly. Was she mournful? Disappointed? It was hard to tell. 

“Logan, I don’t–”

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Scott’s voice slashed through the charged atmosphere between them, and Logan found his hand falling away from Jean’s hair almost instantly. 

“We were jus’ talkin’, Scotty.” Logan shot back, trying to keep the defence from his voice. There was no need to let Scott know just how irritated the interruption made him feel.

“Yeah, like hell you were. Back off, Logan. I don’t wanna have to tell you again.” Placing his arm around Jean’s shoulders, Logan couldn’t help but notice the way she shrank slightly, looking almost humiliated. He tensed his jaw. If she hated Scott’s attention this much, she knew what he had to do. Logan didn’t know how much more obvious he could make his interest in her. All she needed to do was take the leap. “Yeah yeah, ‘stay away from my girl’, I know.” He mocked, sending Jean a wink before continuing on his path to the courtyard. Now he really fucking needed that cigar.

The city was so pretty in the twilight. Silhouetted buildings scattered with twinkling lights against a deep blue sky, it almost made up for the lack of stars. And there was nothing like watching the city skyline descend into darkness that had you more prepared than ever for your latest chosen victim. You hadn’t learned nearly as much as you should have by now, nobody you’d tortured knew anything about what you were looking for and it was starting to piss you off. But you didn’t bury those feelings. Instead, you harnessed them. Used your frustration to your advantage and honed yourself like a forged weapon. Every burn of urgent irritation sharpened your slices, focused your fileting, and pinpointed your precision. 

For the greater good, you reminded yourself as your watch beeped ten, and you spun the small knife in your palm before sheathing it in your boot. Your specific target of the night finished early every other week on Thursdays, hence your change in schedule today. In fact, a good few of them did. You assumed it had something to do with specific shipments on the warehouse floor but you didn’t bother yourself with the details. You knew his schedule now. You’d been watching for weeks. And you had every single detail of his various ways home. He was a bus-taker. Though, to avoid you, he’d been taking different numbered busses to other parts of town, before heading home. But the moron used the same three in rotation. There was no cause to wonder why he worked in a warehouse…

Although you had a good feeling about this one. You’d already scored one victim of the night, who was currently unconscious in your chosen location. You were one hundred per cent sure he knew what you were looking for, and you had a fantastic feeling about this one too.

Standing from where you’d been lounging against a rooftop balcony, you stretched your arms high above your head, listening to your bones and joints crack slightly before securing the steel mask over your features, cursing the phantoms of your past for providing you with such memorable makeup, and, shrugging the hood of your short-sleeved jacket over your head. Your hands dipped into the various sheathed across your waist, double checking the various blades in your belt. You were thankful you never needed to go through any kind of metal detector, because it would likely take you the rest of the night to remove every weapon dotted about your body, from the little holsters on your biceps to the sheathes in your boots, to the retractable blades in the bracers on your wrists. A wise woman once said you can never have too many knives.

A phrase you really should copyright before anyone else claims it. 

Five past ten. Go time. Taking a few steps back, you broke into a sprightly run, leaping like a dexterous cat across the rooftops, every step measured in surety. You’d done this too many times to start second-guessing yourself now, and it wasn’t like you were a stranger to the city’s rooftops and sketchy alleyways before you started doing this. With little effort, you crossed blocks in a matter of moments, skipping over crowds and traffic like it was child’s play before you landed with a deft roll above the side street tonight’s victim would take in a matter of five minutes. 

Like you said. Child’s play

You crouched low, removing the serrated knife from your belt, and flicking it in your palm over and over. It was a habit you’d developed when waiting in anticipation for something. It kept your hands occupied whilst your mind focused on the events to come, picturing exactly how you wanted things to play out. It was difficult. Capturing and torturing these assholes was like shooting fish in a barrel. 

“Fourth clear, no signs of our guy.”

You ducked low on the rooftop, an unpredicted obstacle walking into view wearing some shitty leather getup, fingers delicately perched at the side of his horizontal glasses. Though they weren’t exactly glasses. How would you describe it? Eye-guard? Some weird single glass as opposed to glasses? Whatever the fuck they were, you didn’t exactly want to find out what they did. He was holding them as if they were some kind of weapon. 

Shit, this really wasn’t good. If he didn’t move on now, you’d have to take him out and risk alerting your victim to your presence. Fuck, fuck and fuck again. And just as luck would have it, Alec appeared at the other end of the alleyway, nervously looking about before entering hurriedly. People didn’t watch enough movies. Did they really not know that entering dark alleyways with a killer on the loose was practically the same as signing your own death certificate? In any case, this actually worked in your favour. With Mr Visor patrolling the other end, you sliced open your hand, your blood humming as you pulled it from your veins to wrap around the metal drainage pipe before you swung off the rooftop, the crimson rope twisting and writhing as if it were alive as you descended, landing quietly a few paces behind him.

Now, if he wasn’t on such high alert, he would have most likely chalked the slight thud of your landing to the sound of a street cat, or perhaps a fox. But the way Alec jumped with a yelp, staggering as he turned to face you, didn’t exactly scream discreet. You held your hand up in front of you, contorting your fingers as your mutation felt for his pulse, slowing down the blood flow in his veins as quickly as you could. Not fast enough, a strangled yell flew from his now pale lips, and you swore viciously as your latest obstacle jogged back into view between the alleyway’s walls. 

“Shit, HE’S HERE!” He called to nobody you could see, and you barely had time to duck before a searing red beam of pure energy shot above your head, illuminating the dingy street in the crimson glow. You thought it slightly ironic, as your knife slashed through the palm of your hand, the colour of his mutation and who he was up against. Curving your arm in a wide arc, you manipulated your own blood cells into a wide blade, propelling it forward whilst you took a few steps toward your now collapsed victim. With Glasses now distracted by what you assumed was him discovering your own mutation, you felt around his veins for his heartbeat, tracing the blood flow back until you found the source, and you poured all your energy into slowing that one too. 

“He can manip… manipulate bl… blood.” Once again he spoke aloud to nobody you could sense, his knees giving out before he crashed to the floor. You huffed out a breath, fishing a small bandage from the pouch on your belt before wrapping up your hand and pulling the tie tight with your teeth. The one thing you found frustrating about your mutation was your inability to heal. How fucking helpful that would be, if every time you had to slash yourself open, you could just reseal the wound? Instead of running the risk of bleeding out. But you guessed everything had its drawbacks. Even blood manipulation. 

You bent to pick up Alec’s ankles, dragging him a few feet back the way he came, before you stopped, and looked back to the unconscious mutant at the alley’s mouth. You should kill him. Things would be easier if you did. And so, dropping your victim’s feet without much care, you strode over, finding a small gap in the wrappings around your palm, you extended a small spear from your flesh with the intention of jabbing it through his head and silencing what he saw here forever. 

But there were little voices calling out from a small earpiece nestled in his ear canal. You tilted your head, plucking the bud from the side of his head and holding it up to your own ear.

“Scott? Scott can you hear us?!”

“We’re tracking your location, hang tight!”

“I’m en route, stay alive asshole.”

A kaleidoscope of voices blended together, though the last one had you dropping the earpiece and crushing it with the heel of your boot. Someone was coming. A big someone. Someone whose voice you really hoped didn’t match his body. 

You should kill him. You really should kill this Scott guy, but something about the concern and fierce loyalty of those in the earpiece stopped you. This man was loved. He was cared for. Most of your victims didn’t have anyone. No family, very little friends, and all with some kind of penchant for criminal activity. Alec, for example, was finding himself becoming a little too familiar with the gates of a primary school. The more you watched him, the more you found yourself utterly repulsed by the way he would try and get the attention of those kids. Those children. 

But Scott had people who would care if he died. And so you let him be, pulling and pushing him upright against the wall before jogging back over to your actual victim and resuming your strained attempts to drag him off to your chosen location for the night. 

An ancient, local church, ironically enough. 

Logan raced through the streets, across busy roads and through closed parks, leaping over fences and gates effortlessly. He knew Scott’s location, Jean begging him over coms to do what he could. He was still alive, The Professor could sense it, but how the mission had immediately gone south, he had no idea. But at least Scott was still alive. At least, he was for now. 

“SCOTT!” He called, slowing his steps as he closed in on his location, his claws sliding from his knuckles. The metallic scent of blood flooded his senses, but it wasn’t Scott’s. He knew what Scott’s blood smelled like, having punched him in the nose a few times for the scent to be memorable. No, this blood was new, unfamiliar, and reeked of mutation. Which he supposed made sense.

Blood manipulator. That was the last thing Scott had said before he fell silent and before his channel died completely. And stalking up to the mouth of the alleyway, he could see why. Scott’s earpiece lay crushed on the concrete, little pieces scattered across the floor. Peering into the alleyway, Logan’s heart raced as his eyes cut through the darkness to find Scott himself lying slumped against the wall, his head hanging low. Logan bent to one knee, placing two fingers against the side of his neck to feel his slow yet strong pulse. The same pulse that would be associated with someone unconscious. But there was no head wound. Nothing to indicate he’d been completely knocked out. 

“Is he–” 

Logan looked back to see Ororo landing behind him, her hair slightly wild from the wind. She must have flown her way over, avoiding the nightlife altogether. 

“He’s alive. Unconscious, but alive. You heard what he said, right? Blood manipulator. I think our guy must have slowed his heartbeat or somethin’. There’s no wound anywhere…” Logan gently moved Scott’s head in search of any kind of blunt force trauma but found none. Not that he was expecting to find anything, since the only blood he could smell was unfamiliar. And it lead right down the alley and out the other side. “Gonna need ya t’stay here, Storm. Make sure Scott’s alright.” He kept his eyes focused on the darkness ahead, and the small sliver of light beyond. 

“And where’re you going?” Ororo asked, crouching beside him as if to physically demonstrate she’d stay with Scott. Logan sniffed the air again, almost able to see the blood trail the scent was so damn strong. 

“Followin’ our man. We don’t know if he bagged his victim, but if he was here with Scott, then he was after Alec, and I don’t see him anywhere, do you?” He asked, raising a brow to the woman by his side, who shook her head. 

“No. And I didn’t see him from above either. Alright, you go. But be careful, Logan. He’s unpredictable and now we have an idea as to how dangerous. If he can knock Scott out cold like this, he shouldn’t be taken lightly,” Ororo implored, watching as he rose from his crouch. Logan huffed an irritated sigh, having to restrain himself before he rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll be fine. Look after Cyclops.” Was all he said, before taking off down the alleyway at a light jog, following his nose and turning left at the end. 

“Logan, this isn’t a good idea. You can’t charge into the unknown with no information other than blood-manipulator.” Jean’s voice echoed in his ear, and he once again felt his lips pull up into a small smirk. 

“Why, you worried about me?” He provoked, chuckling when he heard her deep sigh, pinching the earpiece between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll send up a flare if I need ya.”

“Logan don’t–” 

Whatever Jean was about to say was lost when he tossed the coms unit onto the ground, leaving it and all methods of communication behind as he continued on toward his target. He couldn’t believe his eyes when his nose led him to a looming church, stained windows dark from the inside, spires towering high into the night. This couldn’t be right. Either his nose had failed him, which was unheard of, or the killer had a wicked sense of humour. It must have been the latter, the stench of blood increasing tenfold as he crossed the neatly mowed lawn outside, taking the stone steps two at a time and up to the wooden double doors. 

His ears twitched as he caught distant screams from inside, deep enough that anyone passing by would be completely oblivious to any goings on within. Once again, he released the hold he had on his claws, razors slicing through his muscles and flesh as they slid from his knuckles. He took a breath, bracing a hand on the centre of one of the doors before he pushed slightly, the hinges’ echoing screech causing him to freeze, letting the sound settle before he moved. The screams continued, and as sick and twisted as it was, he used that to gauge whether or not he’d been heard. So far, remarkably, so good. 

Stealth wasn’t his strong suit. Never was, but he cursed every heavy footstep that bounced off the wooden beams and stone walls, even the stained glass seemed to be mocking him, some ridiculous depiction of a halo-wearing baby with the proportions completely incorrect, being carried by an equally disproportionate-looking woman who seemed to be bathed in holy light. Once upon a time, he may have found comfort in the frieze. Now he simply thought it ridiculous. How could there be a god when mutants like him walk the earth? When mutants like this killer were allowed to wander around completely free? 

He shook his head of the thoughts. Now was not the time to contemplate divinity. If he wanted to discuss religion, he’d have a conversation with Kurt. He followed his senses, down the aisle between the pews and up to the lectern, his head snapping to the right and through the door to the sacristy. Once again measuring his steps, Logan crossed the altar and into the shadows behind the pillars, that same coppery scent of blood lingering on the slightly crimson-stained doorknob, the faint smokey smell of mutation told him this was the killer’s blood. Had the victim fought back somehow? He assumed he’d done the same thing to them as he had to Scott, knocked them out before dragging them away. 

Shoving the door open, Logan took a moment to look around. Nothing much, other than a large closet, a chest of drawers and a small bathroom sink with a mirror. A rug covered a large portion of the floor, the patterns almost psychedelic in nature, but this was where the scent was strongest so far. Here, in this room. Then where the hell was all the screaming coming from? He could still hear it, in the distance, beyond several walls of stone, or deep beneath–

Logan paused, his eyes flickering from the bare walls to the rug on the floor, one corner ever so slightly raised from the ground. With determined curiosity, he tugged on the fabric, pulling it back from the ground before tossing it completely into a corner. There, now revealed, a wooden trap door. He couldn’t help but think it was a little cliché, to have a trap door leading down to some kind of torture chamber, but if the chosen location told him anything, it was that the killer had a flair for the dramatic. 

To hell with stealth at this point. Logan crouched, gripping the large brass handle and throwing up the door so it clattered loudly against the floor. He was glad he had excellent vision, as the darkness beyond would be enough to turn away even the bravest of souls. And yet, here he was, taking step after step down into the pitch black, his eyes reflecting what little light there was. Perhaps the setting was more fitting than he originally thought because it truly felt like he was descending into the pits of hell with each careful step. The scent of blood now fused with the acrid scent of urine, and the musk of sweat. It was enough to have him almost gag, but he kept on going, led by the sounds of broken screams. 

Until those broken screams were cut viciously short. 

Logan stopped in his tracks, bracing a hand against the damp wall, a crippling sense of failure weighing heavy on his shoulders. He hadn’t been fast enough, and now Alec was likely dead. He couldn’t think of another reason why the killer would just cut off his screams like that. But what unnerved Logan further, was that now one voice had been silenced, another was rising up the dark, dank tunnel. There were two. The motherfucker had managed to grab two victims in one night. What the fuck was he using them for? Why torture them? What was he looking for?

A pinprick of flickering light teased him from the distance, the literal light at the end of the tunnel winking in the distance. How far down had he gone for the exit to only now be visible? Had this guy really dragged two bodies down these stairs already today? A picture was forming in Logan’s mind. He had to have some kind of muscle on him to be able to carry weights such as these. But he couldn’t let himself get comfortable in his predictions. That would only lead to chaos. So he kept his mind open, the only thing he was fairly sure about was the fact this killer was a man. 

Not that a woman couldn’t be capable of this kind of thing, but he’d seen the size of some of the victims. Either she was some kind of bodybuilder or a man. One seemed more likely than the other. 

He felt like he’d been in this stupid fucking tunnel for years by the time his eyes needed to adjust to the flickering torchlight, the steps levelling out to a long, claustrophobic stone hallway, the low arch of the ceiling barely high enough for him to stand up completely straight, the tips of his brushed up hair lightly brushing the damp brickwork. He continued creeping forward, a cone of more flickering torchlight illuminating a doorway ahead of him and to the right. 

The secondary voice gurgled another agonised scream, and Logan felt a decent amount of urgency fuel his steps, half jogging the remaining feet up to the archway, peering around the stone.

His stomach clenched, eyes widening. Well, that would show him not to make assumptions. The killer wasn’t a man. 

You were a woman. 

The two victims were strapped to chairs, back to back, a knife in the mouth of one, the other’s head– Alec’s head, hung limp. In the lap of the other, you held a map, blood dripping from both your palms.

“Point.” You spat, delivering a harsh slap to the side of his face. “And so help you, your answers better match up.” 

With shaky movements, your captive craned his neck down, pointing the quivering tip of the knife against a random point on the map you’d lay in his lap, tears flowing down his face as he whimpered in utter terror. Logan watched as you raised your hand over Alec’s head, contorting your fingers as he groggily returned to consciousness. He couldn’t see his face before, and Logan would spend a long time wishing he could return to that ignorance. Two dark, bloodied holes replaced the sockets where his eyes should be, tears of sanguine had rolled down his cheeks, staining his flesh until it bled into the exposed muscle of his cheek. 

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere.” You took a step back, snatching the map from your second victim and drawing a circle with the bloodied tip of your finger. After so many deaths, the cacophony of screams that kept you awake at night, finally you had a lead. “And what is it exactly th–”

You stopped, your nerves alight with alert. 

Logan whipped back behind the archway, pressing his spine against the wall and keeping his breathing steady. He didn’t hold out hope you hadn’t seen him, and he was incredibly thankful for that, clenching his fists when your voice echoed in the expanses of the chamber. 

“I can feel it. The mutation in your blood. Scott’s friend, I assume?”

With a long sigh, Logan stepped out from behind the archway and into the light. 

“Friend is a strong term. Associate.” He responded, his eyes flickering to each of your palms as crystals of crimson extended from the two wounds in your flesh, taking the form of jagged blades. Your head tilted to the side, hood shifting slightly for the light to catch your eyes. 

“Scott’s associate…” you mused lowly, striking out with surgical precision to the two captives, keeping your wince locked away as your two blades crunched through their skulls with a sickening squelch. 

Logan clenched his jaw, keeping his chin held high. “No explosions this time? Entrails seem far too organised for you.” 

“A fan of my work? Sorry, I don’t tend to do meet-and-greets. Although I’d be willing to sign your corpse for you.” You held your blood blades tight in your palms as you bent your knees. You wouldn’t be getting out of here without a fight. And whilst you could feel the mutation in his blood, you had no idea what it was exactly that he could do. The claws were an obvious giveaway, but was that it? You’d come to learn to put all assumptions to the side and be prepared for anything. 

Years on the streets had taught you that.

“Why?” Logan asked, taking a steadying breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why?” He repeated with just as much conviction. “Why do this? What’re you looking for? Why’re you doing this?” He watched you falter slightly as if genuinely taken aback that he was interested enough to ask. “You coulda killed Scott, but you didn’t. Y’not afraid of causing pain, but you left him unharmed. Why?”

Too many thoughts were running through your head. Truthfully, you didn’t want to admit that you couldn’t. He had nothing to do with this, and whilst yes he got in your way, he was innocent. None of these people were. None of your victims were. Least of all, you. 

“Why ask? Did you want me to? Yikes, that’s some rivalry you got there.” You deflected, twirling one of your blades in your hand. “Tell ya what, I’ll finish the job for you, free of charge.” You grinned behind your mask, taking a step toward him, dragging the tips of your crystalised blood blades along the ground, leaving little crimson trails as you walked. 

“Got a lotta lip, ya know that?” He growled, watching you like a hawk as you slowly stalked forward, step by careful step. 

“If only you knew the trouble my mouth gets me into…” You paused for a moment, crouching low. Anticipation crackled in the air, sparks of adrenaline igniting the room before you launched forward, keeping low to the ground. 

Logan tracked your movements, bending his knees and bracing his claws in front of his body before your blades cracked against his, literal sparks flying from the contact point as you stay low, your other hand braced against the floor, leaving bloodstains on the stone. Your leg swept toward his, and he wrenched his claws from where they’d tangled with your blades, taking a quick step back to avoid your jab.

Using your momentum, you pushed off from the ground, spinning upright just in time to parry a slice from his claws, your blood thrumming with the impact. He was strong. Really fucking strong. Annoyingly strong, in fact. You hated having to manipulate the vessels and cells within your body, but the moment his fists arced down toward you, you had no choice but to increase the blood flow to your biceps, wincing slightly as they shuddered and flexed in response, but it was just enough to catch him off guard, your two blades crossed between his six claws. 

You didn’t let the moment linger, delivering a harsh kick to the centre of his stomach and using the almost rock-like surface to send yourself a few steps back, sweat already trailing down the inside of your mask. 

Logan bent double, grunting in discomfort before lowering into a similar crouch to your own, watching closely as your blades dragged along the ground once again, leaving little slices of crimson. You raised your head in challenge, the flickering torchlight catching two sparks of sanguine red eyes, pulsing slightly as your mutation shimmered from your hands, veins bulging up your wrists. Something tugged at his chest, and he stilled for a moment. It looked almost… painful. The way he could see every pulse of your heart thumping within those bloodborne blades. 

His head tilted to the side, and you felt discomfort crawl over your skin. Was he… studying you? In the middle of a fucking fight? And not the ‘I’m studying you to see your next attack’ kind of way. You grit your teeth, irritation flaring in your gut as you launch forward, anger and frustration now fuelling your movements. How dare he. How dare he try to read you like this. He didn’t even fucking know you. But the way his features slackened slightly, the ever so small tilt of his head. You wanted to tear him to ribbons. 

Logan shook himself from his thoughts as you surged forward, once again bracing himself for the flurry of swipes he could sense was coming his way. Only–

You ducked to the side.

Your blades retracting back into your palms as you slid past him, grazing the centre of your hand against the floor in a wide arc. What the hell were you doing? What the fuck was with all the acrobatics. You’d done nothing but flip and spin around him, barely going in for any hits. He whirled around, claws still held before him in closed fists, but you looked… done. 

Like you’d already won. 

“Well, this has been a pleasure. But I’m afraid I’m a very busy woman,” you paused, placing a hand on your hip as if you were having a casual conversation in a shopping centre. “And you’re wasting my time.”

Logan barely had time to think before the bloodstains on the ground shifted, and in every place you’d dragged your palm across the stone, a sharp spear shot from the marks towards him, impaling through his suit and into his chest, his legs, back, and shoulders with a sick, wet crunch.

Through agonising pain, he finally understood what you were doing. Setting up a fucking trap. Any attempt to move resulted in tearing fire through his body, a rough cry of pain flying from behind his gritted teeth, before it became too much as he sank to his knees. Your sigh almost sounded disappointed, and he watched through hazy vision as you brought out a bandage from your belt and started to wrap up one of your palms with a slight hissed wince. 

You’d expected him to be dead by now, and yet somehow he was still clinging to life like a tenacious limpet. An irritated huff warmed the interior of your mask as you flicked your unbound hand, another jagged spear of ruby sailing from your palm and through the centre of his stomach, wrenching another agonised cry from his throat. 

“Fucking hell… still here? Most would be dead by now.” You folded your arms across your chest, wandering over to where he was still bent double on his knees, heaving rasped breaths. 

“Most of ‘em can die.” He snarled back, his strength slowly returning as his regeneration worked overtime to remove the whipping spears from his body. You watched as they shifted in response to the resistance, fascination curling like smoke in your head. What the hell was this guy?

“And you can’t, I presume?”

“Nope. Not yet, at least.”

“Huh,” you shrugged, your eyes flaring as you wormed those tendrils back through his flesh, something twinging in your chest as you did so. “That’s… unfortunate,” you crouched in front of him, running your fingers along one of the tendrils of blood holding him still, your eyes falling to the little X symbol on his leather collar, recognition striking you like lightning. “Wait… I know you. You’re one of Xavier’s, right? Never thought he’d meddle in simple human murders,” you thought for a moment, regarding him. “Doesn’t it bother you? Being nothing but a weapon to him? Just a gun to point at the enemy whilst he’s the one who claims the victory?” You provoked, finally garnering a response as he all but growled at you, bloodied teeth bared. You had half a mind to use his own blood to sew his mouth shut, but you were curious about him. A mutant who couldn’t die, running around playing soldier for someone who would never walk the battlefield himself. 

Sure he should be the one pulling the strings. 

Logan knew you were trying to get under his skin. Metaphorically, of course. Physically, you’d already achieved that, the sharp bolts of agony with every slight movement told him that much. But he needed to get under yours. 

“I know what these people did,” he breathed, chest searing with each fiery inhale.  “The ones you choose. I know why you kill them, but why torture them?” He continued through gritted teeth, tugging against the lashing spears through his body.

“You think that’s what this is? Me cleaning up after this world’s scum? I should add myself to that lengthy list.” You growled back, gesturing wildly to the walls around you. “These people know something. The fact they’re all child predators is simply luck. But don’t you think it’s strange? An orphanage burns down and none of the bodies are found?” 

Logan stopped his struggle. “What…? How d’you–”

“Nothing. Not even skeletons. Doesn’t that make you wonder where the hell those kids went? The disappearances throughout the city, all kids. All mutant kids.” You could see the cogs turning in his head as he processed what you were saying, and what it meant. 

“Y– you’re looking for information…” He muttered with understanding, and you nodded.

“The men at that warehouse… they’re always hanging around schools and –before it burnt down– the orphanage,” your eyes flickered to stairs beyond the archway, and the distant shouts echoing down the hall. “It’s a slave trade. A mutant slave trade.”

“How d’you know?”

“I… I can’t tell you that.” Something twisted in your gut as his expression shifted to something softer, despite the obvious pain he was in. You didn’t want to hurt him. It was a sudden realisation that you’d acted too hastily. Assumed he was here to eliminate you after the series of events you’d caused. But you should have known the moment he started asking questions. Sure, he was probably here to put a stop to what appeared on the surface to be a sequence of grizzly murders, but he’d asked. He wanted to know why. Not many others had done that. And there was something else flickering in his strikingly haze eyes. 

He didn’t want to kill you. Not now he knew. 

Your head whipped back to the archway, where those distant shouts had increased in volume and, terrifyingly enough, proximity. You could clearly catch the repeated calls of a name. His name. 

Logan. 

“Look, if you want to help, there’s a gala happening at Thornbury Hall, west of the city. Saturday the 18th. Meet me there or don’t, it’s your choice. But you come alone. I’ll know if you don’t.” You hissed hurriedly, flicking your fingers to withdraw the countless spears from his body, and he screwed his eyes shut as his wounds immediately began to knit back together, muscle and tissue reforming with an unbearable itch, the crystalised blood liquifying once again, staining the stone red. 

“Logan?!”

Your breath quickened as you looked back to the archway, and Logan could just see the fear reflecting in your barely visible eyes as you took a few steps back. He wanted to stop you. Wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to take this on alone. They could help. He could help. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wasn’t going to take the olive branch you’d just extended. 

“How’ll I know it’s you?” He asked as he stood to his feet, eyes narrowing in suspicion despite himself. He hadn’t seen your face. Just two scarlet eyes behind a rather unnerving, featureless mask. Your head flipped between looking at him and looking past him to the archway skittishly, hurried footsteps growing louder as his other associates honed in on your location. 

“When you get there, look for a man with a runic tattoo on his neck and ask for Alecto.” You explained, continuing backing up into what looked like just a regular wall. But the greatest thing about ancient buildings such as this was the secret little entrances and exits installed for servants, refugees. Criminals.

“Alecto?” You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh at the slight smirk on his face, the amusement lacing his tone despite your efforts to try and kill him not moments ago.

“Look it up.” Was all you said, before slipping through one of the cracks in the wall the moment he turned around as two other mutants rushed through the archway. You barely caught sight of Scott and the other before you were gone. 

“Logan! What the hell? You can’t just go dead like that, what happened to your coms?” Storm ranted before falling silent, panic entered her eyes as she registered the state he was in. “What… what happened to you?”

Logan looked back to where he’d last seen you, finding an odd kernel of relief to see you’d completely vanished into seemingly thin air. “I found our gal. Put up a good fight. Slipped out when she heard ya comin’ and I was immobilised.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just let the very same killer they’d come here to hunt slip away.

“She– wait, she?” Scott asked, clearly having recovered from whatever Alecto had done to him. 

“Yeah, she,” he nodded, before sighing heavily. “Look, no point in standin’ round here ‘n chattin’ about it. Charles is gonna wanna know what I know.” 

“And what is it exactly that you know?” Scott asked, suspicion lacing his tone, his arms folding across his chest almost in accusation. Logan rolled his eyes.

“A helluva lot more than you, Slim. Let’s go.”

[demigod-shenanigans]

While I’m on the topic of Valgrace adopting a child, this is Sofía:

Some lore:

When Jason and Leo are in their late twenties/early thirties a demigod legacy leaves a baby at the entrance of the Waystation. The decision to adopt her is easy—they’d been thinking about adoption anyway. Besides, Jason has been the abandoned child before and Leo obviously isn’t fond of the foster system and knows exactly what it’s like to feel unwanted by a foster family. They’ve both felt so lost and alone and unloved in the past and they immediately vow that they’ll do everything in their power to make sure this little girl won’t ever feel like that.

They name her Sofía Esperanza Valdez. Sofía because it’s one of the names they both liked and Leo decides she just looks like a Sofía, and Esperanza obviously in honor of Leo’s mom. Jason is the one to gently suggest using it as a middle name, stating that if names have power, there’s nothing quite as powerful as hope, and Leo immediately starts crying. (He knew he wanted to honor his mom in some way. He just didn’t bring it up because he was terrified that the baby sharing a name with his mom after what happened to her might be bad luck. But Jason is right that hope was the thing that saw them through when nothing else would, making it a name that’s fundamentally very positive. Besides, Leo’s mom was so much more than her death. She was smart and brave and stubborn and loved with all her heart. She managed to find happiness, even in the difficult times. All of these are good things.)

Me and @queenjunothegreat have been waffling back and forth about this girl for weeks, there is so much lore I’ll probably need a lot of posts for all of it (or asks, if anyone wants to know anything specific please feel free to send asks)

For now, have some additional Sofía fun facts (under the cut so people who aren’t interested can scroll past more easily):

-She’s a legacy of Luna, the faded Titaness of the moon. Piper thinks it’s hilarious that wolf boy somehow ended up with a moon child and jokes about it a lot.

-When she wouldn’t sleep as a baby Jason would rock her while levitating up and down the hallway. They’re not sure why, exactly, but this almost always worked.

-Sofía’s first word is papa, which is not, in fact, the Spanish word for dad that Jason was going for but instead means either pope or potato (depending on how it’s gendered). The word for dad is papá, which is similar-ish but emphasizes the ending instead of the beginning. Adult Jason’s Spanish is decent but he got it mixed up which part needed to be emphasized and taught her wrong. Leo absolutely explodes into laughter when he hears it and it’s one of his favorite stories to tell for years. Every time someone asks about her first word he lights up like a Christmas tree. Jason is mortified but the whole thing brings Leo so much joy that maybe the embarrassment was worth it.

-Leo is always building her stuff to play with. Sofía is the kind of kid that brings some new toy to kindergarten/school at least once a week because Leo cannot tell her no for shit.

-Leo is usually the one who stays up at night with Sofía when she’s a toddler. Due to the whole moon child thing, she’s a terrible sleeper (good luck waking her in the morning) but Leo doesn’t really mind. He’s just tinkering away at some project that he’d probably be working on at that time anyway as his very awake kid toddles about and they’re both perfectly content with it. They fall asleep on the couch together watching TV the next morning, and Jason just smiles and gets a blanket to put over Leo’s knees.

-Her and Leo definitely bake together and it usually comes out well but the kitchen is always a huge mess after. One time she insisted her dad help her make a birthday cake for her papá’s birthday but Jason cannot cook or bake to save his life and it was a complete disaster.

-Sofía has no concept of fall damage. Absolutely none. Will climb up anywhere no matter how high and jump off with zero hesitation because there’s never been a time when her dad hasn’t caught her (either personally via flying up or with the winds). Leo is way more anxious about this than Jason, which seems strange until you consider that Jason is married to Leo and has had to catch him plenty of times in the past, but while Leo worries about Jason sometimes, he’s never really had to worry specifically about Jason falling from high places before. But obviously, unlike Jason, Sofía can’t fly.

-When she’s annoyed, she scowls in a way that’s almost comically similar to Jason.

[wylanzahn]

New-ish post, kinda posting this on different platforms and getting a general vibe check for some ideas I have. But basically this Halloween I want to actually do something for the TTRPG and Actualplay world (oh yeah I’m into those kinds of things). I want to try and get both players, GMs, and casual viewers alike something fun to look forward to this especially spooky season. I’ll probably talk a little more when we get closer to the actual season of scare-giving but just know that if you’re interested I’m still looking for people to join in!!

As my team and I’d first debut we’re going to try and do a two to four session actual play, which will probably be released in the weeks leading up to Halloween. We’ve had a couple good friend way in on the matter of “setting” but now I come to you fine folk. Mind you this is a horror campaign/arc so if…

Isn’t your thing, keep on a moving.

But without further ado here are a couple of the possible settings for our players, and myself, this coming espookee season…

1.) Somewhere off the coast of Florida, 1926 end of the first major housing boom in the state, a small island which calls back to the Spanish Empire, is Isla Boñyela, a small port made tourist location during the boom of disposable wealth in 1920s America. A small group of friends from the northeast tag along down for the perfect paradise vacation. Only to discover the island is much much older than anyone could have ever assumed. Whilst dealing with upstart gangsters, unnerving US soldiers, and the terrified locals they find something older than even undead conquistadors.

While I don’t have a working title, this is an old project in the running which I’ve had a few attempts at revamping over time. Its previous title was “perfect paradise vacation,” and runs on the Call of Cthulhu 7th Edition game. Anywho it’s a blast of fun with Caribbean lore, tone of anti-imperialism, and something dark lurking beneath the waves.

2.) 1950’s America, the nonexistent state of Mid-Atlantia (DMV coded) in a small suburban neighborhood where nothing goes wrong… it’s almost “All-Hallows-Eve” and little Johnny and Susie want nothing more than to trick or treat this year with all the big kids, Dad’s finally getting the big promotion at work, and Mom just got a new waffle iron! Sure everything is neat here in America. Heck you just got new neighbors! Newlyweds in fact from somewhere big and fancy, they sure aren’t like any of us in our simple town. But… and you can’t say exactly why but things are different. Or perhaps they’re all too the same? Everyday a repeat of ever other bland day that followed you over and over and over and over… and you could swear, while no one may listen to you there’s someone out there. Stalking you from outside your own home- or- perhaps, he’s just your friendly new neighbor welcoming you… to the end.

Ahhhhhh! I’ve also been working on this one for a sec and god writing it out does excite me. This is also a Call of Cthulhu game but modified/homebrewed to have a uniquely 1950s horror feel. This is definitely one of the more unique games I’ve written and am truly interested in seeing where it goes (even if we don’t choose it). This is for those who feel like isolation, fear of the unknown, fear from within, and liminal space horror comes best into play! So whadya say neighbor?

3.) The Enemy of My Enemy is My Friend, or How I Learned to Love Strahd, okay so this one is a lot less horror-y and falls much more under the comedic spooky category, just so yall know. Deep in the middle of Barovia, the ancient kingdom of Vampires, meets a council of Count Strahd von Zarovich's greatest commanders and lieutenants to hunt down Strahd's greatest enemy Rudolph van Richten and his party of heroes known as "The Grape-Smashers." Strahd's lieutenants have been gifted powers greater than any mere mortals, but are these gifts enough to stop Van Richten, or even enough to stop the personal ambitions of each other? Come find out in "How I Learned to Love Strahd."

Okay, as much as this may seem like a joke suggestion it cracks me up and I feel like it would be ill-advised of me to not at least mention it. In an era where "The Curse of Strahd," is well-overdone at this point, it's worth a take from an all evil "revenge story." Obviously this will be in Dungeons and Dragons 5th Edition, which, in my opinion, is really hard to use for horror, but this is a nice go-around. Come for the evil PCs, maybe a PvP battle or two, and a game of intrigue in the shadows of Barovia! All that and a buff Van Richten.

4.) Before Annapolis was ever called such it was known as Providence, a settlement of exiled Puritans in the Province of Maryland, but these early days were no easy set-up for the far-flung protestants... in the mid 1600s the English Civil War spilled out into their holdings across the waves as brother turned on brother, clan erasing clan, and something from the shores of the Old World would arrive in the New. When around every corner could be someone you've known your whole life, what's stopping them from hunting you in the depths of winter. All matters made worse when rumors of a witch begins circulating your small home.

Think "The VVitch" (2015) meets "A Field in England" (2013) meets Atun Shei's recent film "The Sudsbury Devil" (2023). It is the unexplored wilderness of early colonial Maryland, but the hateful warmongering that slowly builds that makes the horror and tension so clear. Unsure of what system we'll be using, but maybe the new Regency Cthulhu system.

5.) The Great Baltimore Fire of 1904 destroyed some 140 Acres of Baltimore proper... and in it's rubble awakened something far worse. But you and your fellow survivors are just trying to get by in the aftermath of the fire... only for something to call out, whether some strange magicks or perhaps just a sickness... but sickness doesn't even linger like this... it doesn't call to you...

Some more local history, aspiring from the actual Fire of 1904 things quickly devolve from there as rumors of a cult begin to spread along the streets of Rosland Park... a mysterious illness leaving even more dead... and the death of an eclectic professor. Definitely using the Call of Cthulhu 7th Edition for this one.

Aaaaaaaand that's it! Let me know what y'all think!

[saintsenara]

For sure and fair play, HP was a long project! But yeah, JKR fiercely defending her inconsistencies almost forces us to fiercely point them. Out of spite. I do get that many issues were out of Harry’s radar and understanding, but JKR trying to convince the audience through interviews that the wizarding world doesn’t have the same prejudices as the muggle world just makes me conclude that she must be herself incredibly unaware of the privileges herself and people in her circle possess. Plus the whole HIV parallel that just sounds so misguided and sours the text to me. Yet here I am! Love your blog xx

the lycanthropy-as-aids metaphor is extraordinary in how tone-deaf it is and it pisses me off...

especially because it doesn't make sense at any point in the story. the complete transformation of how house elves think of their enslavement between chamber of secrets [in which dobby mentions whisper-networks of politically-engaged elves decrying their treatment at the hands of wizards] and goblet of fire is really fucking irritating, but it has some slight defence in the narrative shift that the series undergoes after prisoner of azkaban from children's boarding-school literature to something approaching folkloric epic.

[that is, chamber of secrets needs to wrap up with dobby being freed, the malfoys getting their - comparatively benign - comeuppance, and everything being well, because children's stories always end with that everything back to normal vibe, and so the fact that harry has just learned that the wizarding world has institutionalised chattel slavery and been remarkably unbothered by that fact can be shelved by the genre conventions. after prisoner of azkaban, the books end more ambiguously and are more interlinked, as they start moving towards their big conclusion in deathly hallows, and are also darker in tone. and yet she decided to use this shift in tone... to make elves love being enslaved...]

which is to say, perhaps the lycanthropy-as-aids metaphor could be justified as a standalone plot device within prisoner of azkaban - since the reader does hear lupin explain not only the shame and stigma wizarding society's poor understanding of his condition causes, but also how the state's callous discrimination against werewolves impacts his ability to access healthcare, education, and employment - which then doesn't work after the series' narrative shift, when jkr wanted to introduce characters like fenrir greyback...

except it doesn't work even then! because at the end of prisoner of azkaban lupin turns into a rampaging monster who has a desperate, primal urge to eat children - and reveals his condition to be legitimately dangerous to an extent which entirely justifies why parents would feel uneasy about him being employed in a school.

[and - especially - being employed without dumbledore appearing to put any safeguards in place to keep both lupin and his students safe.]

one part of the tragedy of the aids crisis is baseless social stigma at an individual level, absolutely, and lupin - who is a nice [ish] man who doesn't meet the stereotypes wizards appear to have of untransformed werewolves - suffers from this.

but another is the way this stigma drove a state-sanctioned looking-the-other-way and refusing to act while the bodies piled up - something there is no parallel for in the series' worldbuilding around werewolves, not least because it tends to have a positive view of states and their institutions [state corruption is always located in individuals - fudge, umbridge - rather than in the structures which enable them, which are seen as fundamentally sound, for example] which i would imagine most people who know even a cursory amount about the official response to the aids crisis are unlikely to share...

and another is that - since hiv has a very, very long asymptomatic period - it was spreading without anyone knowing it existed for years, if not decades, before it burst into the public consciousness with death on wholesale scale. and then it continued to spread in terror and confusion - for years, you couldn't know if you had it until you started getting sick, and then, when you could access tests [if you could access tests], you were told it was a death sentence, and you would be unable to pinpoint when and by whom you'd been infected, and you would be unable to know how many people you might have infected in turn.

nothing about the series' presentation of lycanthropy corresponds to this.

but, with this said, i think there are two parallels between the conditions which could be interesting in the hands of someone who approached them with care.

the first is to see lupin's role as the series' one "good werewolf" as a mirror to the fact that public opinion became considerably more sympathetic to those living with and dying of hiv/aids when it began to emerge that people [white! "respectable"! heterosexual!] had been infected via blood transfusions and treatments for haemophilia. queer men and intravenous drug users could be dismissed as having brought their infections upon themselves... but not someone [white! "respectable"! heterosexual!] who went into hospital for a routine operation and came out slowly dying.

lupin - the son of a prominent civil servant [with all the class status that entails], bitten as a child through no fault of his own, hogwarts educated, connected to establishment figures like dumbledore - makes a great poster child for a milquetoast "werewolves aren't all bad" campaign which manages not to offend the state's sensibilities by asking it to stop demonising pretty much every other werewolf in history...

the second is to think about the generational divide.

in countries where access to appropriate medication is widespread [and that there are many countries where this isn't the case shouldn't be forgotten], hiv is easily treatable, easily manageable, easily rendered untransmissable, and easily preventable. the quality of life - and the life expectancy - of hiv positive people is now broadly equal to that of their hiv negative peers. the number of aids-related deaths worldwide annually has more than halved since 2010 and, in 2024, it is possible to say that virtually nobody who is newly diagnosed with hiv will go on to develop aids.

this is - sincerely - one of the single greatest achievements in the history of medicine. and it's completely changed how we think and talk about hiv, what it means to be diagnosed with it, what it means to live with it, and what it means to know [and to love, and to fuck] someone who has it.

if we imagine that there are similar advances in the treatment of lycanthropy - with the wolfsbane potion, which seems pretty bare-bones, replaced with something which made the impact of the werewolf's transformation even less severe [or which prevented it altogether] - then being a werewolf in the 2020s would mean something very different than it did in the 1980s.

and if - say - lupin is right, and teddy inherits his condition, thinking about how enormously different his experience being a werewolf might be from his father's [even at a very basic level - not having to turn down invitations based on the moon cycle, for example], and how he would come to understand himself and understand lupin through this different experience, would be a genuinely fascinating premise for a fic.

but not if jkr was writing it.

[spoiled-fawn]

CoD Western AU and Mail Order Spouse Trope

Howdy!

Welcome to my version of a Wild West AU & Mail-Order Spouse Trope. Introduction of the reader scenario will be down below and a little digital art will be added in to show our lovely options of spouses. This is Gender Neutral.

This was my first Au and trope project I’ve worked on. While I learn and decide how I want to upload this, I hope everyone enjoys or just gets a kick out of this!

Introduction & Backstory

Your life wasn’t awful, per se, but sometimes you wonder if you say that to yourself to cope with what you’ve been through. Simply put, you were your family's breadwinner, caretaker, and damage controller. You were poor-ish, where you had to use scraps of fabrics to make your clothes, but yet your father could always afford a bottle to be in his hand, and your mother out on the porch smoking whatever she needed that day to cope and try to be a mom and wife.

Coat of many colors indeed.

You worked, and you have worked from a young age to continuously support your family as you didn't have a choice if you wanted to keep the roof over your head. Although, you were thankful that your mother was adamant you went to the schoolhouse and got at least a good amount of education.

After attending school for a few years until puberty, you were in the working class; your job as a domestic servant included the taste of farmhand, tailoring, and working to cann fruits that were grown on the farm. After a long shift on the warm and humid spring day, you walked back home to hear your father yelling as usual but stopped when you heard your name being spoken.

“As soon as we sell that damn nuisance, we’ll be rolling in dough. I can’t believe that damn bastard politician wants our kin. Said once he’s back from his campaign up north he’ll come meet ‘em.” He laughs before taking another swig of his drink, your mother laughing along with him as she has a lit pipe in the house for the first time in a long time.

Now, you to truly understand the depravity of this; the seriousness of her celebrating with a lit drug inside the house.

Your stomach drops, nausea rolling over you at the thought of them selling you off to the old and decrepit wealthy politician for marriage to get money. Money that they’ll blow through, having never learned to control their vices turned addictions.

A cold sweat breaks out on you as you swallow down the urge to expel the minimal amount of food in your worn-out body, and promptly turn around and walk back into town.

Walking the dark streets, you navigate quietly and hide behind the shadows of the night with only a few dimly lit light posts flickering their oil flame light. While walking the edge of the closed shops, you see a dirty newspaper thrown on the ground and almost step over it until a small headline catches your eye.

“FRONTIER MEN, LOOKING FOR CAPABLE SPOUSE”

Your eyes scan quickly over the matrimony company advertising for men located in the frontier lands, each searching for promising spouses and wanting to marry soon. You read over the information, seeing that the listed men below are located in newly booming towns out west, a few even located in mining towns or having their own company.

Your body zings with a chill of adrenaline at the thought of diving head first into chance and change, but you knew something much better could be awaiting you…

Should you do it?

looking around, the humid and small town looks back at you as you enter a hardened state of mind; What would become if you stayed here? The disgusting politician's new toy just to break? Your parents are already planning on how to drain their funds dry within a month of letting their addictions take over? You don't have friends, your boss is the closest thing to one just because you spend hours each and every day working.

Yeah.

You're gonna fucking do it.

Taking a seat, your eyes quickly scan down the page of advertisements, looking over the small blurbs of descriptions offered. The correspondence cost would be 10 cents, meaning you have one chance to get his attention and get the new life you need.

Simon Riley Biography, Meeting Simon,

John Price Biography, Meeting John

Kyle Garrick Biography, Meeting Kyle

John MacTavish Biography, Meeting Johnny

Phillip Graves Biography, Meeting Phillip

Alejandro Vargas Biography, Meeting Alejandro

[the-arceo-analysis]

Double A, The Arceo Analysis.

wip audio drama by klaus j

The Arceo Analysis is a series in the making (by yours truly!) which will mainly feature a long audio drama... With a twist! The plan is to combine the audio aspects of podcasts with visual aspects of artwork and site design. Eventually, Double A will have it's own website, where listeners can find transcripts, social media links, designs, artwork and more...

Double A follows an arrogant scientist, Klaus Ormr (centre), and his good-looking assistant, Poseidon Delito (to the left!) through Arceo, Velum per the request of Sean Lokachari (front right).

Arceo's Apprentice Detective's Agency (or the AADA for short!) is an up-and-coming agency just a few buildings down from the old one, Bronzeward, which was indefinitely closed due to suspicions of tampering with evidence not even three months ago.

Founded by a man with no interest outside of the title - Markus Porter - Lokachari is left to help six young adults become hardworking detectives. Despite his extensive experience as Bronzeward's lead detective for over 20 years, being left to train six people with no clue what they're doing is a draining task. Having no other choice but to cash in a favour brings in two old friends- who had moved away three years ago after a life-changing accident no one wants to recall.

The Arceo Analysis has everything a podcast fan could want- The Horrors, psychological torment, strange homosexual pining, disability representation- and much more! The main cast consists of 9 characters, all of which are vastly different with completely contrasting backgrounds!

A little about me (the creator) and the origins of Double A under the cut!

Hi again! I'm Klaus. (Yes, the main character is named after me (more or less!)) I'm queer in a couple different directions, and you can refer to me with he/him/his. I just recently turned eighteen and graduated from highschool, which means I've been working on since I was maybe 15? (Note: Didn't pass my maths classes) I have a handful of mental illnesses and a few more that aren't confirmed just yet but highly suspected. At the moment I've got a dislocated shoulder with bone damage! (Skating accident & several falls after the original dislocation) Rather painful but we make do with what we can!

Due to my mental illnesses, Double A has been put off more than a few times. I'm rather severely depressed, making my day-to-day life hard, not to mention my hobbies and work life. Despite this, I've been keeping at it as much as I can, getting progress under my wing consistently enough to update every few days.

I got into The Magnus Archives two-ish years ago and ever since I've had a fascination with horror audio dramas. (Though, I've only got that, The Left Right Game, half an episode of The Silt Verses, and 20 episodes of Malevolent to show for it) I'm also very invested in House M.D., Arcane, and Hannibal NBC!

The Arceo Analysis is a project I've been working on for almost three years! It originated as an idea between myself and an old friend (though many characters had already existed prior to that) that I remade into something new after we ceased contact. I'm incredibly passionate about it and I sincerely hope that it can bring you the comfort and joy it's brought me over the few years I've had the honour of creating it.

I don't take myself very seriously, and I very rarely post large walls of text like this- Most of my tumblr is shitposts and artwork, with the occasional update on script progress!

If you'd like to reach out and ask something, whether about myself or my work, please hit up my ask box! I'm not very comfortable DMing followers.

[halforresterluvsford]

I hope this lives up to expectations! This will probably be a little AU-ish in a way where they got over themselves a little sooner. Let me know if my characterization of Stan and Ford seems off beyond that!

Please note that I know virtually nothing about cars

(This is for @frondere who so graciously let me write about what they posted! It ended being a lot more exposition than I thought there would be, and I had to cut some out because it was just getting too long. But I hope you enjoy the smut written in the middle of an iHop! I think this might’ve been my first time writing smut beginning to end)

“Hey, Stetson! We got a car ‘here for ya’! And you’ll never believe the look of this guy, shits uncanny!” Stan heard Julio call out to him, his boss too lazy to walk the whole 10 feet to the back room. He’s got a shit boss who gives him shit hours and pays him shit wages, but he’s got consistent work and money, something he hasn’t had in the 5 years since he’s been kicked out. He’s almost got enough saves up for a cheap apartment too.

He passes by Julio as he heads to the front, his boss clapping him on the back with a “headed for lunch, won’t be back until 3.” aimed at the back of Stan’s head. It’s barely 12. Whatever, means more time without Julio to bother and boss him around. He wonders, wiping his grease stained hands on a rag, what about this guy’s appearance that got Julio so cracked up. Probably some wicked scar or birth defect. He breathes in deeply before shouldering the door to the shop open, he hopes this guys isn’t an asshole.

“Welcome t’ Parvella’s Mechanics, what’s the matter with-“

“Stanley?” He pauses, he knows that voice. He will always know that voice. He hears it in his head every night, in his dreams, and anytime he makes a shitty decision. It’s his brother. He looks up at the person in front of a used yellow car.

“Stanford? Eh-what’re doin’ here?” Stan doesn’t know if he means the shop or Arizona or just within 100 miles him. Obviously Ford didn’t know Stan would be here, he’d probably drive the next state over to get his car fixed. And grumble about Stan the entire time, too. Ford would.

Stan’s learned a lot from his time as a grifter, from people and the streets, and one important thing he’s learned is how to grow a backbone. If some high school science fair project not working was the reason Ford didn’t get into that college, it was probably a shitty one anyways and he’s better without. Should he have told Ford about the project, yeah, that was his fuck up. But he didn’t deserve the get kicked out because of it. Realistically, he knows Ford couldn’t have stopped their dad, nothing could have, not when his bags had already been packed and Filbrick had started pulling them apart years beforehand with his words and criticisms. But he still never tried to get in contact with Stan, even after 5 years. Mom had though, and she’s kept him updated on Ford. Graduated early from both bachelors and masters programs and now he’s working on his PhD. Pretty fucking good for not going to that fancy ass school, huh?

“I’m-well I was in my way to a conference about potential real world applications of theoretical physics but my car it-well. It started smoking underneath the hood, and I-and this was the closest place I could find,” Ford fidgets with his hands as a rambles to Stan. A fancy science conference, huh? Ford did do well for himself at that “nobody” college. Stan’s glad. Beneath it all, he is glad that Ford’s doing well, pursing his dreams. He deserves it, he deserves to be happy. Stan just wishes he could be happy with him. Like when they were younger and would sneak away to the Stan O’ War to hold hands, kiss, and talk about their dreams. Stan misses those days.

“So, what are you doing here, Stanley?”

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Stupid question, Stanford. Why do you think he’s here?

It’s obvious. Stan works here, he’s wearing the uniform, though it says Stetson on his stitched name tag, and he’s here asking what’s wrong with his car. He just panicked, he didn’t know what to say and that was the first thing to come to mind. It was so stupid. And Stan thinks so too, given the deadpan stare he’s giving him.

Listen, he didn’t expect to see Stan here, and why would he? He hasn’t seen or heard from him in 5 years, not since he was kicked out. And now, Ford’s matured since he was 17, he knows what their dad did was wrong, especially after learning Stan’s bags had been packed. He does reserve the right to be angry at Stan, if not for costing him the chance to go to West Coast Tech, than for breaking a project that took him a year to study and make. But he understands that kicking a 17 year out wasn’t the right move to make in that situation. Fiddleford has also helped in his maturation in regards to his brother, helping him realize many of his feelings were supplanted by their father and his deriding words against Stanley, forming a wedge between them. Hell, his brother probably hates him at this point, he’s never even reached out to Ford in the time he’s been gone, but he knows Stanley’s been calling their mother since.

Stan must’ve gotten to work on his car while he’s been thinking; the hood’s already propped up and Stan’s fiddling around inside, his sleeves pulled up. Stan’s always had good arms, maybe not well defined muscles, but they were there, a boxers body through and through. They look more defined now, Stan’s lost weight since he lost saw him, or maybe he grew into it? Ford doesn’t know, he wasn’t there to witness the gradual transformation of Stan from 17 to now. But a transformation it was-Ford can clearly see the veins on Stan’s arms leading down to his hands, still shorter and chubbier than his own, but no less powerful. He stares, entranced, as Stan’s hands clench, the motion flexing his muscles and veins, his sleeves straining against the muscles of his biceps, small beads of sweat drip down his arms and down his knuckles. They’re still scarred, his knuckles, but there’s more now. Some small starburst like scars, faint lines, and more scars made from repeatedly breaking open the skin from actions such as punching. He remembers how he used to gently kiss Stan’s hands after his boxing matches and fights with Crampelter. He wants to do that now, to take Stan’s hands and kiss away all the pain they’ve experienced in their years apart. He wants to take Stan and lick-

“Ford? Hey, Stanford!” Stan snapping his fingers snapped Ford out of his thoughts, heat rising to his face at the directions his thoughts went to. It’s been years, Stan probably doesn’t feel that way anymore.

“Right! What’s wrong with my car, and-uh will it take long to fix? I have to be at my conference by 3:30, and it’s still an hour away from here.” Ford adjusts his glasses, checking his watch as he does so, grateful for the distraction from his rather untowards thoughts.

“Well, it seems ya’ had some leaves on the engine, add in all the degreaser someone added,” Stan threw a pointed look Ford’s way, “and y’ got a good combination for burning leaves and rapid evaporation. Nothing’s wrong with the car itself, already got rid o’ the leaves. Just hafta let the rest dry and evaporate, I give it about an hour.” Hmm, something about Stan knowing what he’s talking about is doing something to Ford that he’d rather not think about right now

“Well let’s just settle payment now and I can wait in my car until it’s safe to leave.” He needs to not look at Stanley any longer than he has to, the thoughts of his rough hands and how they’d feel against him are overwhelming. And don’t even get him started on how he wants to lay Stan down and map every inch of his body to see if what else has changed about him, to see if anybody else had touched him-

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“That’ll be $450. And 99¢.” Stan can’t help but laugh at the look on his brothers face. He had this look on his face, he didn’t look angry, but he was starting to get irritated. Being around Stan longer than he wanted to was probably getting to him. So he wanted to try to-not make him laugh, but to get that expression off his face. Loosen him up a little, ya’ know?

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding, I didn’t really do anything, s’ doesn’t feel right to charge ya’ but the boss will have my ass if I don’t, so let’s just say $50 and call it a day?” That’s still too much for how little Stan did, but Julio would charge double that, so this is technically a discount, right? Ford still looks put out-fair enough, $50 is still a lot-so Stan tries to make casual conversation to lighten up the weird tension surrounding them. Hopefully Ford responds instead of intensely staring at him again. That was weird, how focused Ford had been on him and his hands while he was checking out his car, but it was probably just to avoid looking at Stan’s face, he knows how tired he looks, the long hours and improper diet weighing on him.

“So, a fancy shmamcy conference, huh? Must be pretty well after college, huh?” Shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. He should’ve gone with something neutral, less testy. He’s about to bang his head on the cash register when Ford gives a small laugh, not a cruel one, no, but it sounds almost fond? His ears have got to be tricking him.

“Ha! Yes, I think I am, given everything that happened. I was chosen to attend over some third-rate graduate from West Coast even! Oh it’s amazing the possibilities this conference…” oh boy has Stan missed this. He’s missed listening to Ford just ramble on and on about some scientific and math shit, something he doesn’t know shit about but loves to listen to. Not only does he look, dare he say, dreamy when he talks, but it always got Stan so hot and bothered. That hasn’t changed for him in the slightest, the surety that Ford knows what he’s talking about, his willingness to give that knowledge to Stan, knowing he won’t understand it, makes his core ache and burn hot with need and want. He’s sure if this were a movie, he’d look like a sappy dame, leaning on one elbow and sighing airily.

“…and the town is full of anomalous activity! I’ve only just begun my research but you wouldn’t believe-Stanley?” This time Stanley is startled out of his thoughts by Ford calling his name, a slight blush on his face-probably from Stan’s staring. Fuck, looks like Ford’s rambling got to him more than he thought, if he wasn’t standing behind a cash register, he’s sure Ford would be able to see his hard-on. Why did this have to happen to him?

“Is everything alright?”

“Yep! Everything’s fine! New house and weird little creatures! That’s great, and looks like you paid! You can go sit in your car and just leave whenever!” Stan tries to wave Ford away with his hands. He doesn’t think it’s working, especially when he tries to subtly move his hands down to press against his clothed cock, his eyes darting nervously to the side when Ford gets a glint in his eyes and starts to step around the case displaying various air fresheners and knick knacks to add to your car working as a table for the register.

“What’s wrong, Stanley? Something’s got you flustered like that. You can tell me,”

“I-it’s nothing!” Stan yells, turning his back to Ford and trying to cover his tented jeans. He freezes when he feels Ford’s hand, larger than his own, slide over his side and down to cup him through his jeans, giving him a squeeze.

“Nothing? This doesn’t feel like “nothing”, Stanley. In fact, this feels like you have a whole lot of something. For me, perhaps? Was it my talking, Stanley? Did it get you all hard and aching like when we were teens?” Shit, Stan forgot how Ford can go from a blushing mess to downright domineering at the flip of a hat. It’s something that always caught him off guard back when they were teenagers. A breathe gets strangled in his throat when Ford grinds against him, he’s hard as a rock in his slacks. The pause gives Ford time to shove his hand down his pants and cup him with all six fingers.

“Ford-ngh!” He fucking licked his neck. His tongue wet and warm against Stan’s hot and straining neck. “A-ah, ha!” Now he fucking bit him, grinding his teeth against Stan’s flash, canines threatening, teasing, to break flesh. And Ford’s still grinding his own cock against Stan.

“N-need to see-hah-need to see you, Ford. Please.” He has to see him, he can’t let their first time in half a decade be so impersonal. His breathe his nearly knocked out of him again as he’s turned around and slammed back into the wall. Ford looks just bad flustered as Stan looks, his dick hard and straining against his Khaki’s, he breathes in a pant. He looks delicious. Stan reaches and pulls Ford to him, gnashing their lips together in a tangle of tongue, teeth, and spit.

“Stan-ley, let me see you. Can I-“ Ford nods down towards Stanley pants, his hands already deftly undoing his own and shucking them down. Stan responds with another harsh kiss, words leaving him in that moment. He gasps as he feels the cool air touch his aching cock, Ford giving him a preliminary stroke and twist, causing his back to arch. He feels like he can choke on Ford’s tongue with how deep it is in his mouth, his own hand reaching towards Ford’s cock. It’s longer than his, but not as girthy. Ford’s answering hitch hits his mouth, and Stan drinks it all in.

He drinks in Ford’s breathe, tongue, and spit, he maps out all the veins on Ford’s cock, another that hasn’t changed in the years they’ve been apart. He can feel Ford do the same with his cock, taking him in and figuring out how easy it is to take him apart again. He loves the feeling of Ford’s hands, eye rolling to the back in his head as Ford’s mouth leaves his and descends down his neck, licking his sweat and sucking bruises into his tanned skin. Ford’s other hand-has Stan mentioned how much he loves his brother’s hands and how much longer and slimmer his fingers are-moves behind his taut balls to press against his taint, the pressing causing delicious tingles to race down his spine.

“Mmmh, I love your sounds, Stanley. You’ve always made such pretty noises for me. I’ve missed them,” Ford whispers between wet kisses and nibbles on Stan’s neck, “I’ve missed how you react so nicely to my touches and words. Have you missed me too, Lee?” Stan can barely manage a nod before Ford’s knocking their foreheads together, forcing Stan to look in his eyes and telling sternly, “Use you words, Stanley.”

“Y-yes! I missed you, Ford! Your touches, your words, I’ve missed-missed your kisses, your everything!” Stan sobs out, trying to match his hands pace to Ford’s, wanting them to finish at the same time because Stan was so close, almost there.

“Good boy, Stan. I love it when you use your words. Are you close? I can feel your testicles tightening. It’s okay, I am too,” Ford leans close to Stan’s face, his hand picking up the pace on his cock and the pressure on his taint, he whispers lowly in his ear “Come for me, Stanley. Please, I-“ Ford’a breath hitches, signaling to Stan how close his brother is, “I need you to come for me.”

That does it for Stan, Ford all but pleading for him to come in his hand is what pushes Stan over the edge with a moan an octave or two higher than he’d like to admit. He paints Ford’s hand white, he can feel him to the same in his hand, the vein on the bottom of Ford’s cock pulsing rapidly.

They rest their heads together, getting their breathing slow down and exchanging soft and slow kisses and reassuring murmurs. Just taking each other in, basking in the glow of a moment years in the making. Ford opens his mouth, Stan’s lax body tensing ever so slightly, nervous for what his brother would say after all this.

“So, would you like to visit my home in Gravity Falls?”

And Stan can’t help but laugh and bring Ford in for a tight hug. He can’t stop his smile from widening as he feels arms wrap tightly around him.

Moses, he’s missed this.

[skzhua]

i like coffee better ('your eyes' series)

♡ "This is disgustingly cute."

pairing: kim seungmin x reader.

genre: fluff, barista!AU.

word count: 7,904

warnings: swearing, your typical barista imagine. (proofread-ish)

summary: seungmin has seen you before, but he never bothered talking to you. in fact, he did not care about you. when you came in the coffee shop in distress, he decided to be a good person for once and to make you a caramel macchiato in hopes to help you calm down. surprise: you do not like caramel macchiato, but you do like the young barista.

a/n: we are done with the series after almost 7 months! thank you for your patience and love on this one. i will surely do a similar project in the future since i had so much fun with this one.

SERIES MASTERLIST

"Thank you so much." you smiled at the barista, who only bowed slightly at you.

You grabbed your coffee from him and smiled at yourself. He was cute. You liked to believe you could get along with anyone no matter how different you were from each other. So yeah, the barista was cute, but unapproachable. Over time, you had unconsciously made it your mission to be his friend even though he made the task pretty difficult. Shop crowded or not, he had never paid much attention to you, sadly. However, you weren't the type to give up so easily. His cold façade was only a shell in your opinion.

You didn't have the time to think about this, though. Your friend, Byeol, was waiting for you from outside of the shop, impatience growing.

"Why do you have to take so long to just grab a coffee?" she asked as you began to walk towards the school building.

"I have specific preferences."

"Weirdo." she insulted in a friendly way.

Byeol might be the most careless person you had met in your entire life. First off, you were her only friend from what you could see. Secondly, she was barely listening in class, but still passed with flying colours. Thirdly, she lived alone and had close to no social interaction. It was on the first day of school that you spoke to her for the first time. The teacher had force the students to pair up, so you did so with the girl sitting next to you. Although she wasn't much of a talker, she was a good school partner. So you sticked with her ever since.

Unlike her, you were the perfect example of an ideal student. You would listen to everything in class while taking notes, study for hours, get grades over 90. Within all that, it still surprised you how you managed to be able to have a social life.

Arriving in front of your English class, Byeol whined at the simple fact you had to be there. Linking your arm with hers, you forced her inside and chose two places to sit.

"Be ready for three hours of hell." she complained.

"Come on, it's not that bad."

She shot you a glare. "From 1pm to 4pm, I could be doing other more important things. But no. I'm stuck here."

"With me~" you cooed while putting a hand under your chin to act cutely.

"Babe, I love you, but this class is shitty." she laughed.

When the teacher walked in, she quickly started the lesson. Taking a few sips from your coffee from time to time, your mind went back to the cute barista who had been serving you since you had started going there.

However, being already a few weeks into this school term, the woman in front of the class proceeded to present the main subject of the first big assignment. Unsurprisingly, it was about Shakespeare, which you had studied in previous school years. You put your focus on taking notes, but it didn't take much for you to lose it. Byeol being Byeol, she kept on dropping her pens on the ground as she played with them, bored out of her mind. Shooting her a glare, she smiled with guilt in her eyes and went back to occupying herself. One second later, another one fell off the ground. You ignored her this time, until she did it again and again. This time, you sent her a death stare and she chuckled apologetically. Huffing, you went back to your notes and to listening to the teacher.

"Byeol, would you mind telling us more about Hamlet?" she asked but your friend didn't budge.

You nudged her arm and her head shot straight up.

"Sorry, what?" she said in confusion, which only made you more frustrated with her.

The professor sighed, looking as disappointed as you were, and repeated. "I asked if you could explain the meaning of Hamlet."

The silence she gave was so loud, you were embarrassed for her. In the end, the teacher let go and went on with her lesson. A moment later, she started to explain the assignment. Filling up your notebook with your writing, you wanted to disappear only from seeing how severe her guidelines were.

"If you have any questions, do not hesitate to reach out to me. I'll end this class here so you can start preparing your assignment. I'll see you next week."

You put your books in your bag and stood next to Byeol's desk to wait after her. Although you had a pretty good idea of what you would be doing for the project, you couldn't be any more nervous. Tapping your foot on the floor, you impatiently waited for Byeol, who only gave you a look as she pointed to the ground. Following where she was pointed at, you smiled shyly.

"What? I'm stressed."

"You're always stressed." she scoffed as you left the classroom. "It's just a small assignment, nothing to worry about." she shrugged, but you could not believe how unbothered she was being.

"Small? Byeol, this grade counts for 20% of the semester. If I fail this, I'm failing the course. My parents are going to kill me if that happens." you almost yelled out of panic, but she rolled her eyes at you again.

"Says the girl who has perfect marks."

She did have a point. One factor she forgot was how easily stressed you could get, especially for school. Your parents had always been very strict with you when it comes to school and you couldn't imagine how it would be if you were to disappoint them. Hence, you were continually anxious with your grades.

"Okay, fair enough. This time, though, I really have no idea how I'm going to do with this project. She wants us to compare modern adaptations of Old English stories with their original but does she understand how much work this involves?"

You waited for an answer, but none came. Stopping on your tracks, you noticed how she had been ignoring your complaints. This was typical of her. You loved her, but she was always daydreaming somehow.

"Byeol." you snapped her out of her thoughts.

"I'm sorry. The class was so boring, it tired me." she smiled weakly.

You sent her a glare, annoyed at her behaviour. The both of you started to bicker while walking towards the bus stop. You could walk to your dorm, but you weren't a fan of walking in the cold unlike some others. After your tiny arguing was over, your bus stopped in front of you.

"I'm going to study at the coffee shop tomorrow, you're coming?" you asked but she shook her head no. "Alright, I'll see you next week, then. Have fun alone, tonight?" you teased her.

"Thank you, Y/N." she laughed as you finally went inside the bus.

It was barely a five minutes ride until you got home. Tired, you didn't even bother removing your coat when you plopped yourself down at your desk. Your flatmate, Eunhee, observed you curiously from her own desk, taken aback from your lack of energy. The girl kept to herself mostly, though she had started to open up more recently. She wasn't as much of an introvert as Byeol was, but still not as social as you.

"Long day?" she asked.

"Yeah." you groaned. "I've never hated school so much."

She hummed as she kept reading her schoolbook. "I have only six courses and I feel like it's too much."

"Tell me about it."

But you were going to make it. You knew you would, because you always managed just fine. Everything was going to go smoothly.

The only thing going smoothly was how quiet the coffee shop was for being 7 in the morning. Other than that, you were pure chaos as you had been staring at the project instructions blankly, lost about how you should start.

"Latte for Y/N?" the worker called from the counter, shifting your attention from your laptop.

You stood up and got your drink, thanking him, before walking back to your spot. You started to type some ideas, but it was still very blurry in your mind. You checked the instructions once again, and realized none if your ideas would be working. So you started over.

It had been a few hours since you had started, and you were getting hungry. You walked up to the cash register to wait in line. A muffin sounded tasty, but they had just freshly made new sandwiches. You opted to order both.

"Next." the worker said in a lazy voice.

"Hey! I'd like a ham sandwich with a carrot muffin, please!" you asked kindly, but the man raised an eyebrow at you.

"You're still here?"

"Pardon me?

The question took you by surprise. You had been, in fact, in the café for hours already. You didn't expect the workers to notice your elongated presence, even less this cute barista.

"No, because you've been sitting in front of your computer since we opened. I'm just wondering why you're still here."

Maybe he was concerned, but it came off rather direct. Almost as if he was annoyed about you studying at his workplace.

And Seungmin was, in fact, annoyed. He's not stupid, he's noticed how often you would come to his job location. So much that he had started to ask Felix to cover his shifts when he knew you had a break. Because it was to the extent he knew your schedule; you were always there. Usually, he wouldn't mind. However, you were one of a kind to say the least. You had tried to befriend him on many occasions. Seungmin strongly believed work wasn't a place to be making friends and that, instead, he should be focusing on executing his tasks and on the pay he would get in the end.

"Excuse me, but I like studying here. I have an important work to do." you informed politely, though you were quite offended by his comment.

"Sure." He focused back on the cash register, entering your order. "That would be $8.92. Credit again?"

You didn't bother confirming because you knew he already knew. You paid and stepped aside to wait for your food. In no time, he gave you the bag without addressing another word to you as he went back to the cash, taking the next client's command. Though he wasn't so different from other days, you felt like he was particularly good at getting to you this time. It might have been because of stress, but it still hurt.

Sitting back down at your spot, you stared blankly at your messy brainstorming as you chewed in your sandwich. You didn't even realize you were doing so until you finished your food, the muffin included.

Your eyes left the screen and you found Seungmin out of his work attire as he held onto his school bag. Raising an eyebrow at him, you waited for him to talk. Seeing that he wasn't going to do so himself, you started to talk.

"Can I help you with something?" you asked kindly.

"Why are you so... cheery all the time?"

You tried to muster up an answer but his question took you too much by surprise. As he noticed you weren't able to answer, he sighed.

"Forget it, that was stupid to ask. Good luck with your homework."

As you watched him leave, you found yourself smiling. He was literally the cutest guy you met and he had finally said something kind of friendly to you. Improvement, no?

Your leg jumping up and down, your teeth biting into your lower lip as you chewed the skin around your nail simultaneously, you were on the verge of giving up. This school work was eating your from the inside and everything you had done so far seemed like a waste of time.

"Still here?"

Your eyes left the screen and you found Seungmin out of his work uniform, a bag slumped on his shoulder. It was the third time you went to the shop in only a week, and funny enough, it was the third time Seungmin had finished work not even ten minutes after you settled at your usual table.

"Still surprised to see me?" you replied unexpectedly rudely.

Seungmin was taken aback. Usually, you would simply answer softly with a quick explanation and he would leave you with a shrug. This time, however, you seemed to be more on edge.

"What?"

You rolled your eyes. "You always tell me the same thing every time, I'm starting to wonder why it's such a big deal that I study here." Seungmin wanted to say something back, but you were quicker. "I mean, I'm surely not the only one who comes here to do their homework."

Mouth slightly agape, he didn't know what to say. With a satisfied nod, you went back to typing even if you were writing nothing really. He sighed heavily and left the shop and you saw Felix take over his shift. He walked up to you with a smile.

"Hey, Y/N!" he beamed at you.

"Hey." you responded carelessly.

He frowned. "Are you good?"

"Yeah, I'm just struggling a bit with this thing."

He leaned closer to see your screen. Slowly a crease appeared between his eyebrows in concentration as he read your project outline.

"Looks fun."

You grunted. "Real fun."

"Didn't Byeol do the same project?"

Your eyes widened. "Don't tell me that bitch finished before me? I thought she hated this class."

Felix shrugged. "Maybe she wanted to get rid of it as soon as she could. Good luck, anyway. If you need me, I'll be at the cash."

You waved him bye and sighed heavily as you read again your outline. In all honesty, you wanted to cry. You removed an entire paragraph plan and started to type something else. When you determined you had put something decent, you read yourself again and you found it to be no better than the last idea. With a loud groan, you let your head fall into your arms as you slumped on the table. Tears were pricking your eyes but you were determined to not let anyone see it. Still, it wasn't that easy to contain your quiet sobs.

"Here." you heard someone say as you felt the chair in front of you being pulled for them to sit.

You rose your head up and were more than stunned to see Seungmin extending a beverage to you. This was such a small gesture but the built up stress you'd been under made it seem like the greatest thing anyone could do for you. In an instant, you let more tears flood on your cheeks. It was Seungmin's turn to be surprised. Not knowing how to deal with you, he put the drink in front of you and gave you an awkward smile as an attempt to cheer you up.

"Can I do something else? Do you want a muffin like the other day?"

Great, this only made you cry more. In a rush, he went to Felix to ask him to get you tissues. He came back to you with a Kleenex box that you accepted gladly. After blowing your nose a few times and wiping off your tears. You finally breathed normally.

"I'm so sorry." you started as Seungmin straightened his posture as to tell you he was listening. "I've been under a lot of pressure with this paper and I have to submit it next week. I have no idea how I'm going to manage and... I'm sorry, I'm rambling on."

Seungmin chuckled. You thought you were dreaming. You heard the man chuckle.

"I get it. I have my own load of school work these days and it's a lot."

You nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it sucks."

He pointed to the cup in front of you. "I got you this, it might help."

"Thank you." you smiled kindly before taking a sip. As the beverage came in contact with your tasting buds, you weren't able to hide your face of disgust. "What is this?"

"Caramel macchiato."

"A coffee would have been just fine." you said as the weird taste was still in the back of your mouth.

He rolled his eyes. "As if I was supposed to guess you don't like it. Fine, I'll get you a muffin then."

Before you could protest, he was already up and walked behind the counter to steal one of the carrot muffins. Too stunned to speak, you just stared at him when he walked back to your table with the baked good.

"This, I know you like." he sighed as he switched it with your drink.

Carelessly, he took a sip from your cup. In your head, so many things were happening at the same time. One thing in particular stuck; what the hell happened to him to be so kind to you?

"I'm sorry but why are you doing this?" you questioned.

He perked an eyebrow in confusion. "To make you feel better... I thought it was obvious."

"It is but why?"

He wasn't sure exactly what was your question but he tried his best to answer. "I mean, you've been on the verge of crying so I thought you might need some distraction."

"Yes and thank you but I'm a little bit confused. I thought you didn't like me."

You did get him there. He didn't like you, indeed, but seeing you all panicked and helpless did something to him. He couldn't say what it was but there was a feeling within him of needing to help you relax. Perhaps it was simply because he was raised to be kind to those in need.

"I don't despise you. You're annoying as shit, sure, but I'm human too. I can see when someone is not well."

Finally, a smile formed itself on your face. After all of your efforts, he finally confirmed to you that he had the capability of being nice. You almost wanted to believe he did this for a purpose other than simply helping out someone. For exemple, because he actually did like you. However, you were not delusional to this extent.

"Well, I appreciate it a lot. Thank you, Seungmin."

"Sure, you're welcome." he said nonchalantly and took another sip of the caramel macchiato.

"It tastes nasty."

He huffed. "Well, you have no taste."

An insult, but you saw it more like teasing this time. Maybe this was his way to bond. Anyway, you were not going to complain. You got free food and it was more than necessary for you to like him. (As if you didn't already.)

"What is your major?"

He blinked slowly, surprised by your interest. "Biology."

You hummed. "Do you like it?"

He shook it head. "It's not that bad but I'm only in this field to get more opportunities. Maybe I'll change it but I don't know."

You nodded and then waited for him to ask you the same. It never came and Seungmin was still sipping on his drink while staring in the void, deep in thoughts.

"Well, I'm an English major. I'm considering teaching in kindergarten."

He didn't seem impressed. "Fun."

"I used to babysit my little cousins a lot before college." He hummed. "I think this is what made me what to go with teacher as a career."

"I wanted to do something nice to calm you down, not for you to tell me your whole life story." he deadpanned. "Sorry, I don't want to be rude but I'm not really in the mood."

You pursed your lips in an 'o' shape while nodding and you focused your eyes back on your laptop. The two of you stayed like this for a while in silence. You had done close to none advancement in your work but at least you had completed your outline. This was a start.

"I'll be going." Seungmin said and got up on his feet.

You saw that his cup was now empty so it only made sense he would leave then. Nonetheless, you were quite disappointed.

"See you around?"

He pondered for a moment. "We'll see."

There was only the conclusion left for your paper. The rest was completed in the last weeks you went to study at the coffee shop. Seungmin had seemingly stopped avoiding you much to your joy. Unlike what you would have expected, he continued to treat you some snacks once in a while as a way to encourage you with your work. It was always when he was done with his shifts and he'd bring you an ice americano with some words of support such as "looks like you did some good work", "keep up, it's almost done" or "don't stay here too late". At that point, you weren't even coming to the café to focus on your project. You only wanted to see him, consciously or not.

But when you realized so, you called Byeol in panic. Asking her if it was okay for you to stop by at her place on a normal Thursday morning, you stormed in without knocking. Making laps around her living room as she sat on her sofa while reading her notes for her next class peacefully, you were far from being relaxed.

"And then he gives me yet another muffin with sweet words only to greet me coldly again the day after. It's as if he has come around with the idea of me being at the shop all the time but being annoyed at the same time. And Byeol, when I tell you his smile is the cutest shit I've seen, I'm not kidding. And with the project ending, what is going to be my excuse to see him? He's still so distant when I bring up any topic other than honework."

She nodded nonchalantly, visibly spacing out. "Calm down, I'm sure it's not a big deal."

"The deadline is tomorrow, how can you ask me to calm down?"

She only sighed before turning her book's page. "I did it under four hours of work and you know I'm much slower than you. You'll be fine."

You scoffed in disbelief. "You don't get it. I'm not stressed about the work. I'm stressed Seungmin will stop giving me coffee each time he sees me in the shop."

In a quick move, she closed her book and stared at you in confusion. "You know Seungmin?"

Your eyes grew bigger. "YOU know Seungmin? And were you even listening to what I've been telling you for the past 20 minutes?"

Luck wasn't on your side as someone knocked on her door. She left to answer while you continued to groan by yourself. You debated whether you should ask him out or not. You did like him a lot but there were times you only wanted to shove him into a hole for being such an cold-heated ass.

Byeol came back with her mail and you took one of her pamphlets while she read another. Might as well try to distract yourself with boring school news. One thing did catch your attention. You held out the paper to your friend.

"You might want to read this one."

Snatching it from your hands, her eyes went over the paper and she whined. "Fuck this shit." Then another knock came from her door. "What now?"

Seeing that she was clearly not in the mood of facing someone else, you opened the door for her and you were surprised to see Hwang Hyunjin in front of you. From all you knew, Byeol had little to no friends other than you. You sent her a knowing look that she didn't even see unfortunately.

"Hyunjin? What brings you here?" she exclaimed as soon as she saw him.

"Ah, um... I thought we... I don't... I.... Didn't we agree on going to school together now since we have classes at the same time on Thursdays?"

Her eyes widened and you almost wanted to laugh at the two for being such a mess together. "Shoot, right, I'm sorry." she breathed out.

Seeing this as your cue, you grabbed your bag and put your hand on Byeol's shoulder. "I'll be off, then. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

You took off to leave the lovebirds alone and almost ran to the coffee shop. You were almost certain that Seungmin was working. So needless to say you only felt disappointment when you saw Felix smiling at the customers as he took their orders. Still, you needed to get your project done before the end of the day. You sat at your usual spot and opened your laptop before typing rapidly on the keyboard. Having only a couple of details to add, you were done only an hour or so later.

"I can't say you didn't work your ass off on this." Felix said in amazement.

Seeing he had taken off his apron and had his school bag with him, you assumed he had just finished his shift.

"I might have put more time into it than needed, but at least I know I'll submit something good."

"Yeah, at least." he chuckled. "By the way, Seungmin took the day off today if you were wondering."

"I wasn't." you dismissed his saying but he gave you a look. "What?"

"Nothing." he shook his head is despair. "See you around, Y/N!"

You were then left alone with only have the submission of your work left to do. Not having eaten your breakfast and with your tummy grumbling, you hopped up from your chair to walk towards the counter. Only then, you almost crashed into another student who you didn't see coming your way. Halting your moves, you now recognized the familiar features you grew to both love and hate with time.

"Kim Seungmin, be careful!" you exclaimed, slapping his chest. "You almost caused me a heart attack."

He only laughed as an answer. "I'm sorry but I didn't expect you to get up the moment I was about to join you."

With that being said, he sat at your table causing you to do the same besides the fact you were about to leave. Opening his school bag, he pulled out his own notebooks and started to scribble.

"What are you doing?"

He perked an eyebrow at you. "Studying... Isn't it obvious?"

"Yeah, but why here?" you asked while showing the entire place being half full.

"You're the only person I like to bother." he shrugged and went back to writing. "By the way," he said without looking up. "I asked Felix to save you a muffin and to make you an iced coffee but I guess he forgot."

You were too dumbfounded to for a proper response and by the lack of it, he finally looked at you before throwing money your way. You stared at it, still not moving. What the hell was he doing now?

"It's on me, go get something." he rushed you.

Almost afraid of him, you took the bills and walked up to the cash. You came back minutes later and gave him the change. Still not looking up from his things, he dismissed you and mumbled for you to keep it.

"Thank you."

"It's my fault you didn't get your snack, it's nothing." Finally looking up, he frowned upon seeing a cup in front of him. "Y/N, what is this?"

"I thought you might want something too." you answered before drinking your coffee. "I don't know what you like other than that, so you've got a caramel macchiato."

"Thanks, but it was for you to buy yourself something, not me."

"And I got my stuff, sorry for being kind." you rolled your eyes. "What are you so pressed about? It's just coffee and a muffin."

"Who's been getting you that for the past weeks?"

"I didn't ask you to."

"You still appreciate it."

You were growing annoyed. "Yeah, but what game are you playing? I'm not your girlfriend or even your friend. Have that courtesy reserved for someone like that."

He glared at you. "I don't have many friends or even a girlfriend. Can't you simply thank me and let it go?"

You scoffed. "Fine, my bad. Thank you." you snapped at him.

"You're welcome but enjoy your muffin and let me study."

You groaned but he ignored you as he continued to work on his things. You tried to get your mind off this stupid argument by finally submitting your project online and then started to pack your things in your back. Seungmin, visibly surprised, put his hand on your laptop to stop you.

"You're leaving already?"

"Yeah, I'm done with my project."

You thought you caught a glimpse of disappointment in his eyes but you blamed it on the sun that was hitting his face in the perfect angle. Damn him and his perfect visuals.

"I thought it was due next Friday."

"Tomorrow is Friday, genius." you laughed.

You nodded your head in his way before walking out. Taking a breath of fresh air, you had a weird feeling forming inside of you. You opted to walk to the campus instead of taking the bus since it might help with making it disappear. However, someone shouting your name loudly only tightened this strange feeling.

"Can I walk you to your classroom?"

"Okay, Seungmin. Don't take it personal, but what the actual fuck is wrong with you?"

Little did you know there was actually nothing wrong with him other than he realized he might had taken too much of a liking to you. After Felix convinced him to stop switching shifts for the sake of his spot as dance captain in the dancing club, he had to familiarize himself with the thought of having you around all the time. He didn't know why but your friendly behaviour you had been keeping up ever since he met you only got on his nerves.

But when he saw you almost on the verge of a burnout that day, something in him switched. Hence, he thought giving you free food would be his way to show that he cares in a subtle way. Only recently did he realize he liked you. And all of the bad and rude jokes were nothing than just some friendly teasing. But you couldn't know that.

"What do you mean?"

You grunted again. "You're acting all... nice. Well, more than usual today."

"Is it that hard for you to think I'm genuinely friendly?"

"Honestly, yeah. I'm weirded out a little."

He didn't respond this time and he took your hand in a quick manner before walking towards the school, still having the caramel macchiato you got for him in his other hand. You would have tried to break away only if he didn't have this much effect on you. The knot you had inside your tummy transformed into butterflies. You almost couldn't believe that he was being this bold with you.

"What time is your class ending?" he asked after he arrived in front of your classroom.

"At 3."

He smiled widely at you, rubbing the top of your head. "I'll come see you then."

You had no time to process what he said as he left. In all honesty, you had no idea what happened and debated on whether you wanted to wake up from this dream or for it to be reality. The voice of your teacher rushing the students to get seated at their desks was what it took for you to understand that this was all real, just really confusing.

Weeks passed by and Seungmin continued to walk you to your classes and get you afterwards only to hang out. You still went to the café often so nothing changed much in the end. You were grateful for him being so sweet but you remained doubtful of his motives. First off, the shift in his attitude was progressive but fast so you couldn't comprehend what caused it. And then, he'd be acting like a child around you at times that you were wondering if it was the same man you met before.

"I have a good idea." Seungmin declared as he dropped his books in front of you.

Startled, you jumped a little from his sudden appearance and glanced around the library to make sure he didn't bother another student. "And what is this good idea of yours?"

"The end of the semester is coming up soon, no?" You nodded. "And I think meeting up at the café or the library has become a bit dull."

"What is your point?"

"I've been wondering what kind of date would be nice and I asked Jeongin to help me with this-"

You held your hand up to stop him. "Woah, there. A date?"

"Yeah." he nodded happily while you stared at him in shock.

"Seungmin, we're friends, right?"

He shrugged. "I thought you liked me. Was I wrong?" You hesitated to say something causing him to roll his eyes. "Okay, so the nice tipping and the cute not-so subtle glances from last semester were nothing?"

Your eyes widened. You did, in fact, try to catch his attention by doing those small things but you didn't expect anything to come out from it since he was being so indifferent. But ever since you got closer, you had suppressed your feelings to avoid things to be weird with him.

"Maybe you weren't wrong." you admitted in a whisper.

He grinned. "Knew it. Alright, I'll do this more properly then."

"Do what?"

Instead of answering, he took your hand and looked deeply into your eyes. You felt intimidated to say to least.

"Y/N, will you go on a study date with me?"

Your eyes grew even wider. "What?"

"You heard me."

You broke you hand away from his grasp and gathered your things quickly. Giving him a quick apology, you ran off.

It was certainly not because you didn't want to. This was too unexpected. And right before the final exams? He chose his timing well...

Catching up to you in the hallway, he put his hand on your shoulders to stop you. "I'm sorry if this is too straightforward but can I at least get an answer?"

You still couldn't form words other than something that sounded like "Uh?"

"Look, I already got something prepared for you. Can you come see it? If you don't want to stay by then, you're free to leave."

Reluctantly, you nodded which earned you a smile from him and he took your hand. Walking away from the school grounds, you were starting to feel uneasy. Where the hell was he taking you to? The further you were going, the less familiar your surroundings were. Eventually, Seungmin attempted to appease your worries by making a couple of jokes here and there. Before you knew it, you had stopped watching around as you let yourself being guided by him.

"I rarely see Jeongin like this but he is obsessed with this girl." he chuckled as you seemed to approach a family house.

"Where are we?" you asked as you stopped on your tracks, growing doubtful.

"Changbin's place."

"Doesn't he live on campus?"

"His parents' place, then. They are gone for the week and Changbin let me use his backyard."

Before you could question him again, he headed towards the fence door that let to the back. You followed behind and he stepped aside to let you walk first. Needless to say, the setup caught you off guard. A coffee table was displaying books and mugs as well as a coffee maker.

Seungmin excitedly walked towards the spot while gesturing for you to sit with him. You complied in silence, unsure on what to say.

"You know that book you need for your literature course?" he said and you hummed. "I know you've been struggling to get a hold of it so I asked Chan to use his model student status to find it."

You looked closer to the book laying on top of the pile. Indeed, it was the one your professor had been telling you to get since the beginning of the semester. With you being the person you are, you thought you would be able to buy it later on since you only needed it for the finals. Lucky enough for you, it was now out of stock and you had begged Byeol to give you hers once she was done. Only this girl was taking forever to finish it which only fed your anxiety.

"Using your friends for me? Man, you must like me a lot for you to do." you chuckled.

"Right."

"This is disgustingly cute..." your murmured, loud enough for him to hear.

His face grew red before he hurried you to start reading. As you began to do so, he served you a cup of coffee as well as one for himself and went on to do his own stuff. It was pure silence but you could hear your heart beating so loud. You glanced at him a couple of times just to make sure he wasn't hearing it.

And Seungmin was doing everything he could to focus on his book. However, your presence made his hands sweaty and he was struggling to prevent himself from looking at you.

Minutes went by, hours went by. And he looked.

And you were looking back.

Panic mode went on in your brain and you squirmed on your seat to find a better position. You attempted to go on with your reading but you just couldn't.

"Y/N." he called out.

You were almost glad he spoke first, diffusing the tension already. And the smile he gave you before sticking out his tongue made you laugh more than it should have. You were about to read again but he made you another face, one so ridiculous that you shook your head while chuckling.

Seungmin felt a rush of confidence all of the sudden. If he had managed to make you laugh, then he definitely succeeded in making this a perfect date. Maybe it was time to test how much he can joke around with you.

"Look at this."

Your gaze moved to the picture he was pointing at in his own book. You weren't sure why he would want to show you a picture of a squirrel, you frowned.

"It looks like you."

You scoffed. "Yeah right."

"No, it does! It's fluffy and you look soft. Squirrels eat a lot, you do too-" he went on to explain but the glare he received shut him up for a second. "And they're cute... just like you."

You didn't know how to react, you were certainly not used to receive this kind of attention, especially from Seungmin. Your lack of response kind of made freak him out, though. Sure, he grew confident but the worst thing after a rejection is no answer at all. Nervously, he took a sip of his drink and resumed to his reading.

"Thank you." you ended up saying. "And thanks for the whole... thing?"

"Date." he corrected.

"Right. Thank you for the date."

And, so, one date turned into two, two dates became three, three became four, and so on. In the span of three weeks, the two of you had almost become inseparable. Remaining his unserious self, Seungmin still showed you in many ways that he cared a lot. The way he would pull the chair for you to sit, order your muffin at the café, prepare your orders in advance as he knew you'd be coming. He checked up on you every morning and night, making sure you either slept well or had a good day. He walked you to almost all of your classes and sometimes even waited outside of the room until you were done.

Although you had never asked the other, it was evident you were a couple. Still, there had been nothing more than holding hands. And even that remained something you were not quite familiar with yet.

"Hey."

You jumped slightly from the contact with your hand while Seungmin was smiling happily. Rubbing your skin softly with his thumb, he looked at you with affection.

"Oh, hi."

"Hi."

"Hi." you chuckled at how ridiculous you two were being.

"So... What's the plan for today?"

Dates were usually planned by Seungmin but you had insisted on your last one that you wanted to surprise him for once. Meeting up at the park near school was the only thing you told him so far.

"I recall that you mentioned liking singing, am I wrong?"

He gave you a look. "What about it?"

"I don't know music much nor do I know what you like. However, I might have arranged something even better."

You tightened your grasp on his hand and headed out of the park. Seungmin let you lead but was quite lost. You were always full of surprises but this one worried him just a bit.

You had been walking for quite a bit. Even if Seungmin was bugging you every ten minutes to ask you where you were going, it didn't stop you from joking around and laugh.

"Seriously, where are we going?" he said, finally having enough of it.

Your smirked. "Karaoke?"

His already serious look turned darker as he glared down at you. "No."

You pouted. "Why not?"

"It's embarrassing."

"I'm sure you're a great singer."

"It's just a small hobby." he shrugged before starting to walk back to where you came from.

With a huff, you grabbed his arm and tried to keep him from running away. You tugged a couple of times but he was much stronger than you and not moving the slightest.

"Seungmin!" you whined as you stopped trying.

Rolling his eyes, he turned to face you. "What do I get in return?"

"My care and admiration?"

He let out a laugh. "I already have it."

"What do you want then?" you groaned.

He looked up as he thought for a second. "A kiss?"

A... a kiss? You opened your mouth but no sound came out. It was evident it would happen one way or another. However, your mind seemed to have shut this idea out. Was it because you were scared? Maybe.

"Hey." Seungmin said as he took your hand. "If you are not ready, I won't push it. I said it as a joke."

You watched his other hand move to your cheek and you felt your breath cut short. You swore you could feel your heartbeat fasten.

"Shall we go?"

You blinked once and twice, and smiled. "Yeah, let's go."

While Seungmin offered to pay, you insisted that it was on you. It was your idea after all and you absolutely didn't mind spending money if it meant you finally would hear Seungmin sing.

When you got into the room, you sprinted to sit on the couch while grabbing the tablet on the table. Seungmin watched you with adoration before joining you. There was something so darned adorable about you scrolling through the songs as your eyes shined. He could see them lit up every time you'd see a song that caught your attention.

"I'll start, and then your turn?" you said as you showed him the song you picked.

"Impress me."

With a grin, you started the music and stood up to pick one of the microphones. As the melody began, you swayed your body side to side to match with the beat. As the lyrics came up on the screen, you lost no time in giving your all. Your vocals were not good per say but they weren't horrible. In fact, Seungmin liked your voice quite a lot. There was a hint of passion in it that was mixed with simple fun. He loved how it looked as if there was no one watching you. You were glowing.

"Done!" you said happily and clapped for yourself. "Your turn."

"Do I get a kiss in the end?" he wiggled his eyebrow only to receive a smack from you. "Ouch! Sorry..."

He scrolled through the songs and it seemed to have taken him hours before he settled to one. The soft music surprised you, you would've bet he was the pop music kind of guy.

You could see he was nervous, that was obvious. The way he fiddled with the mic, how he kept on looking at you, how he bit his lower lip in hesitation. But still, he brought the microphone to his mouth and he sang. It was simply beautiful, you found no better words to describe it. You didn't know a voice could soothe your ears so much, it felt as if they had never heard anything before. You were just speechless.

You almost cried when you realized it was the end of the song, not wanting this moment to end. When Seungmin set the mic down on the table, you jumped up and squeezed him in a tight hug. He held you back automatically while you were attempting at your best to compliment him.

"Why are you hiding this talent? Since when do you- why don't you sing more? This was so pretty! Can you make a career out of this?"

"Woah, calm down." he laughed while hrabbing both of your shoulders. "Thank you but it really is just a hobby."

"Then I'm the only one who gets to hears this, I'm gate keeping you all to myself." you affirmed.

"You're cute."

He laid a kiss on top of your head and you frosmze in place. Slowly, you dared to look up at him and he was much closer than you originally thought. You could smell his minty breath mixed with the cologne he must have put on beforehand.

"And you're very pretty." he added in a quieter voice.

Your eyes moved to his lips and there was no denying he wanted to lean in closer. You wanted to. You ignored the overwhelming of butterflies in your stomach and stood higher on your tippy toes. Results; your lips touched. It barely lasted a second as you pulled away quickly, almost ashamed of what you had just done.

Seungmin didn't waste any time to grab the back of your neck and pull you right back into a kiss. This time, it was long enough so you could feel how his lips felt so perfect on yours. It was better than you imagined.

As you pulled back, you couldn't help but shed a tear, worrying quickly your lover.

"What's wrong?"

You shook your head. "Nothing. It's just, I think I'm in love with you."

His mouth broke into a smile. "I think I'm in love with you too. Why are you crying, though?"

"I don't know, I'm happy?"

"You don't seem too sure."

Your lips turned into a pout, making him chuckle. "Stop, you meanie..."

He couldn't take you seriously, you were too cute like this. Pecking the top of your nose, he brought you closer to his body.

Whilst his cold façade was always something that intrigued you, what you wondered more was why was his body so warm next to yours? And how on Earth did you manage to actually get with him?

Whatever it was, you could definitely say coffee wasn't your addiction anymore. It was him now.

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[valentoru]

|| Limitless ||

[CHAPTER 10]

SYNOPSIS: Gojo Satoru, a big time artist, who’s known for leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he goes. And you, the lead guitarist of an upcoming band, who’s absolutely certain that no one will ever love you. Through an accident in which you happened to kiss Gojo in a frantic state, you both decide, via convenience alone—and zero regard for both of your managers—to pull a fake dating stunt what could go wrong? Any press is good press…right?

PREVIOUS : MASTERLIST : NEXT

You arrived to the second fake dating Thursday late again. But for different reasons this time—all Suguru Geto related.

You had overslept because you had stayed up till some unbelievable hour in the morning practicing the pitch with the group and rehearsing how you were going to sell the project to Suguru Geto. You only stopped when Megumi threw a tangerine at you to tell you to shut up since you were keeping him up from sleep. You ended up moving to your room and carrying on for at least another two hours.

Then if you weren’t already late enough, you had realised that your normal outfit (an oversized shirt, a pair of pants which passed the sniff test and your hair being messy) was probably not the best outfit to showcase your professionalism and sell you as a “future colleague” so you decided to change into more business attire. Dress for success and all that.

You burst through the door whispering the words to yourself over and over and then you noticed Satoru.

It was an okay-ish day for the time of year. You glanced at him, and immediately you knew he was in the nastiest of moods. That rumour of him throwing pens and pencils around his office because a deal was unsuccessful, or because one of his employees messed something up or something equally inconsequential had happened came to mind. You felt the need to duck.

It’s okay. You told yourself. This was worth it. It was all worth it. Things Maki and Yuta were starting to work out, really well. Better than even anticipated actually. They were almost officially dating, they had shown up to your most recent group outing together. You were hopefully going to convince Geto without messing things up, and in the right attire since you had made the last minute decision to change. In addition, you were gaining a free drink out of all this. You just had to look on the bright side. Even if it meant looking past this pitch-black mood of Satoru Gojo’s, it would be worth it.

“Hi.” You beamed. He looked at you, squinting as if you were too bright, with a look of angst and hatred painted on his face. “How are you?”

“Fine.” His tone was clipped, his expression unchanging, as usual. He was waring his usual attire. You couldn’t help but notice his muscles wondering if his clothes had been custom made. You had also taken note that his hair had gone ever so slightly shorter in length. It felt surreal to you that you were at the point that you were taking note and keeping track of Satoru Gojo’s hair and his moods.

“Ready to get coffee?” You chirped.

He nodded dismissively. Barely even looking at you. On a table inside one of your executors was glancing back and fourth pretending to clean the monitor of her laptop.

“Sorry I was late again. I just—”

“It’s fine.”

“How was your week?”

“Fine.”

Wow, okay. “Um…did you do anything at weekend?”

“I worked.”

You got into line and fought off your sigh. “Weathers been nice, huh?” God, you’d made it to awkward conversation fillers.

He grunted in response

It was starting to be too much. There was a limit to what you would do for this fake dating relationship—even for a free coffee. You sighed. “Is it because of the hair cut?”

“What?” He looked shocked.

“Is the mood because of the haircut?”

“What mood?”

You gestured to him. “This. This bad mood you’re in.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not in a bad mood.”

You snorted—thought that was probably not the right term for the noise you’d just made. It was too loud and derisive, more like a laugh.

A snaugh.

“What?” He frowned, unappreciative of your snaugh.

“Come on. You ooze moodiness.”

“I do not.” He sounded almost offended you’d even said that about him.

“You so do. But it’s fine, you’re allowed to be in a bad mood.”

It was your turn so you took a step forward and smiled at the barista.

“Morning. Can I have a pumpkin spice latte and that cream cheese danish over there. Yep, that one thank you. And”—You pointed at Satoru with your thumb—“he’ll have a chamomile tea. No sugar.” You added cheerfully taking a few small steps to the side to avoid damage in case Satoru decided to dart a pen at you. You were surprised when he calmly handed his card to the barista. Really, he wasn’t as bad as they made him out to be.

“I hate tea.” He said. “And chamomile.”

You beamed up at him. “That is truly unfortunate.”

“You smart-ass.”

He stared straight ahead, but you were almost certain that he was about to crack a smile. There was a lot to be said about him but not that he didn’t have a sense of humour.

“So…not the haircut?”

“Mm? Ah, no. It was a weird length. Getting in my way while I was running.”

Oh. So he was a runner. Like you. “Okay. Great. Because it doesn’t look bad.”

It looks good. As in really good. You are probably the most handsome man I’d ever talked to in the last week, but now you look even better. Not that I care about these things. I don’t care at all. I rarely even notice you, and I’m not sure why I’m noticing you, or your hair, or your clothes, or how tall you are. I really don’t get it. I never care. Usually. Ugh.

“I…” he seemed flustered for a second, his lips moving without making a sound as he looked for an appropriate response. Then, out of the blue, he said, “I talked with the CEO this morning. He’s still refusing to discuss a new contract.”

“Oh.” You cocked your head. “I thought they weren’t due until the end of September.”

“They aren’t. This was an informal meeting, but the topic came up. He said he’s still monitoring the situation.”

“I see.” You waited for him to continue. When it became clear that he wouldn’t, you asked, “Monitoring…how?”

“Unclear.” He was clenching his jaw.

“I’m sorry.” You felt for him. You really did. If there was something you could empathise with, it was contracts and how awkward they can be and how awkward companies can be about them. “Doesn’t that mean you can’t continue your career?”

“I have other plans it’s just awkward.”

“So…the problem is that you can’t remain here?”

“I can. But my contact would change and I like how it is now and I would like it to roll over and be the exact same on my next contract.”

Uh? “I see.” You cleared your throat. “So…let me recap. It sounds like they might terminate your contract based on rumours, which I agree is a crappy move. But it also sounds like now you can go bigger and get even greater deals with better companies, so…it’s not the end of the world?”

Satoru gave you an affronted glare, suddenly looking even more cross.

“Okay okay, I’m sorry I just don’t see how you’re truly missing out, i mean—” you were cut short when the barista handed you your danish.

You took a bite out of it—fuck it was nice—you watched his face, how it contorts, while you were chewing. He was watching the barista.

“Look okay, my point is, it’s not an insurmountable problem. Besides we’re working though it together, showing people that you’re going to stay here forever because of your amazing girlfriend.”

You pointed at yourself. His glare followed your hand, clearly he was not a fan of rationalising or working through his problems.

“Or you can stay mad, we can go to your office and throw pens at each other till the pain of being pelleted overrides your shitty mood? Sounds like fun, no?”

He looked away, rolling his eyes. You could see it in the curve of his cheeks that he was amused. Likely against his will. “You are such a smart-ass.”

“Maybe but I’m not the one who grunted when I asked how your week was.”

“I did not grunt. And you ordered me chamomile tea.”

You smiled. “You’re welcome.”

There was a quiet moment when you chewed through your of your danish. Once you’d swallowed you rationalised a little and said, “I’m sorry about your funds.”

He shook his heads “I’m sorry about the mood.”

Oh. “It’s okay. You’re famous for that.”

“I am?”

“Yep. It’s kinda of your thing.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmm.”

His mouth twitched. “Maybe I wanted to spare you.”

You smiled, because it was actually a nice thing to say. And he was not a nice person, but he was very kind to you most of the time—not always. He was almost smiling, staring down at you in a way that you couldn’t quite interpret but that made you think weird thoughts, until the barista deposited your drinks on the counter. He suddenly looks like he was about to retch.

“Satoru? Are you okay?”

He stared at your cup and took a step back. “The smell of that thing.”

You inhaled deeply. Heavenly. “You hate pumpkin spice latte?”

He wrinkled his nose, recoiling. “Gross.”

“How can you hate it? It’s the best thing your country has produced in the past century.”

“Please, stand back. The stench.”

“Hey. If I have to choose between you and pumpkin spice latte, maybe we should rethink our arrangement.”

He eyes your cup like it contained radioactive waste. “Maybe we should.”

He held the door open as you exited the coffee shop, taking care not to come too close to your drink. You could see through the windows of the lobby that, outside it was started by to drizzle. Some passers-by were hastily putting their hoods up and getting their umbrellas out. You had been in love with the rain since as far back as you could remember. You watched happily, Stopping with Satoru outside the cafe. He took a sip of his chamomile tea, and it made you happy.

“Hey,” you said, “I have an idea. Are you going to the event the company’s been promoting like crazy?”

He nodded. “I have to, if I want to keep this contract I kind of have to suck up to them.”

“Ah. That sounds…fun.” You winced sympathetically, almost laughing again at his appalled expression. “Well I’m going, Yuta says it promotes the band and shows are our bonding, something about us being seen as normal people. Are you going to make any of your big shot friends go?”

“No. I have other ways of making them miserable.”

You chuckled. He was funny, in that weird dark way of his. “I bet you do. Well, here’s my idea; since it’s a closed event, we should hand out. In front of the CEO and contract manager; they’ll see we’re basically one step away from marriage. Then he’ll make a quick phone call and a truck will drive up and give you your new contract right there in front of—”

“Hey, man!”

A black haired guy approached Satoru. You fell silent as Satoru turned to smile at him and exchanged a handshake—a close bros handshake. You blinked, wondering if you were seeing things, and took a sip of your latte.

You knew him.

“I thought you’d sleep in.” Satoru was saying.

You knew him.

“The time difference screwed me up. I figured I might as well come here and get to work. Something to eat, too, you have no food, man.”

You knew him.

“There are apples in the kitchen.”

You knew him.

“Right. No food.”

You knew him.

You took a step back, ready to excuse yourself when the guy turned to you. He looked eerily familiar, even though you were certain you had never met him before.

You knew him.

“And who’s this?” He asked curiously. His eyes were unnervingly black.

You knew him.

“This is Y/N,” Satoru said. There was a beat after your name, in which he should have probably specified how he knew you. He did not, and you really couldn’t blame him for not wanting to feed your fake-dating crap to someone who was clearly a good friend. You just kept your smile in place and let Satoru continue. “Y/N this is my collaborator—”

You knew him.

“Dude.” He interrupted. “Introduce me as your friend.”

You knew him.

Satoru rolled his eyes, clearly amused. “Y/N this is my friend and collaborator, Suguru Geto.”

Suguru Geto.

TAGLIST(29/50): @bbmsxlene @lunavelha @satoryaa @tranzumaki @k-kkiana @luvkvni @lysaray @kalulakunundrum @arysbruv @r4veeen @stillnotherapy @catobsessedlady @colortheoryrocks @minzxec @dazqa @packsvlog @luvvmae @simplysm1le @mintfyi @fushigurosgirl @littlecritteryay @fackeraccount @astro-stars @lavender-hvze @miizuzu @rayrayline @kanaojacksonofc @letsmyy @serenadesvt

© valentoru all rights reserved- do not publish my work on other platforms, plagiarise or translate.

[prettyyoungandbored]

Christmas - Johnny Knoxville

Pairing: Johnny Knoxville x Fem!Reader (goes by “Babydoll”)

Author’s Note: I almost didn’t write this so happy holidays!

NOT MY GIF

The first Christmas in Johnny and Y/N’s relationship was celebrated the weekend before the couple went to their respective families.

The year after that, Johnny and Y/N decided to do Christmas in LA as Johnny was in the middle of filming another project and only had a couple weeks off.

Y/N sipped her coffee while curled up on the couch. She admired the small-ish Christmas tree in the corner of their living room. The two took advantage of one of the nights Johnny had off to decorate it.

“I’m actually glad we went with the red and green ornaments,” Y/N said, as she hung another round ornament on a stem. “They go well with the lights.”

Johnny cracked a smile. “Those goddamn lights were gonna be the end of me.”

She peeked over at him from the other side of the tree. “My love, you did a fantastic job with the lights.”

He made a face. “You’re just lucky I love you.”

He took a step back, setting down the empty box that the ornaments had been in. “Now this is a Christmas tree.”

Y/N walked over to him, standing right beside him. He was right. Between the lights and the ornaments, their Christmas tree was perfect. The only thing missing were presents underneath that were just begging to be unwrapped.

“I love it,” Y/N said. “It’s perfect.”

Johnny swung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in for a kiss on the lips. “It’s our family tree.”

Our family tree. Three words that made her look at the tree differently than before.

Every time she looked at the tree she began to imagine decorating the tree with their future kids while they all drank hot chocolate.

She imagined wrapping presents with Johnny on Christmas Eve night while the kids slept. It’s that very fantasy playing over her head as she stared at it on this Christmas Eve.

“Babydoll, what’re you doing up?”

She glanced over to see Johnny walking toward her, rubbing his sleepy face.

“I just like admiring our tree,” she responded.

Johnny plopped on the couch beside her, reaching behind him to grab the folded blanket on top of the couch. He laid it out between the two of them.

“It’s the Clapp-L/N Family Tree,” he said. “Eventually, it’s gonna be the Clapp Family Tree.”

Her eyebrows shot up playfully. “It is, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” he nodded, throwing an arm around her. “Just you wait.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder as he kissed the top of her head.

=====================================

8 YEARS LATER….

“And that was the last of them,” Y/N exhaled as she pushed the final wrapped present toward the slightly overwhelming pile of presents.

“One last step, Babydoll,” Johnny said, holding a plate of the cookies left for “Santa” two hours earlier.

“Ooh, my favorite part,” Y/N said, plopping down on the couch.

He plopped on the couch beside her. They each grabbed a chocolate chip cookie and clinked them like champagne glasses before taking a bite.

“We did good this year,” Johnny said, throwing an arm around Y/N. “The kids are gonna flip.”

“Wyat absolutely will,” Y/N chuckled. “June may be slightly overwhelmed at first, but she’ll get into it.”

She paused eyeing the presents. “We may have gone a little overboard.”

“They were really good this year,” Johnny shrugged. “They deserve it.”

Y/N smiled at him. “We do have some pretty awesome kids.”

“That’s cause their parents are pretty awesome themselves,” he reminded her, kissing her forehead.

She snuggled into him some more as she admired the Clapp Family Tree, decorated the same as they first did all those years ago.

[guardevoir]

Fiber arts update time I guess?

Ohboy.

SO. It's been a while! I've actually continuously been crafting, I just hate taking photos with a burning passion and I'm not great at making posts about stuff regularly. Also, there were so many tiny-ass projects in there! And less than an ounce / like, 25g-ish of fiber on one of those nice chonky Kiwi 3 bobbins just never looks quite right, ya feel.

Anyway! I spun up most of last year's fiber advent calendar (and 100g/3.5 oz each of eider wool (Random Dike Sheep(tm)) and Zwartbles) as Trade Goods for a LARP thing I went to:

All of the small ones were chain-plied. Which I hate doing. I can't pull it off straight from the bobbin without more torn singles than I consider acceptable, and pre-plying this shit is so, SO intensely boring.

As far as finished yarn goes, this one deserves a special shout-out:

It turned into THE most stunningly beautiful thing - the color shifts depending on the light, the subtle hues make it look almost opalescent, and it's got a gorgeous shimmer to it. I don't usually like pastels, but THIS thing tickles my color theory sensibilities and I need more of it.

Also, the eider wool is THE cheapest stuff my favorite fiber shop sells, but it's really quite nice - spins up a lot like Down breeds, probably because it's a blend that frequently includes a lot of southdown, and feels more rustic than scratchy.

apparently it also takes dye really well; I unfortunately didn't have time to try that because I was running on a very tight deadline, but I'll get more of this and experiment with plant dyes at some point.

I also got started on a nice, worsted-ish (at a guess, I didn't measure it) merino-with-glitter 4-ply thing:

This is 100g; I've got the next 200 lined up and ready to go, and I'll probably need to toss another 100g on there afterward. My Crocheting Friend(tm) wants to make a vest out of it, for a mutual friend (who is, thankfully, fucking tiny in all three dimensions).

After I'm done with all of this, I have a couple more Really Big projects in mind, so that'll be fun...

[annahxredaxted]

OKAY OKAY OKAY

sam & sweetheart sibling ramble

just so we’re all clear this is just MY version of sweetheart you don’t have to agree and you definitely don’t have to ridicule.

(i am southern so i am definitely projecting a bit)

so if you know me you know my interpretation of sweetheart and sam is that their siblings.

sam left when sweetheart was 9-10 ish

their parents had sam YOUNG like teenagers

but they had sweetheart when they were like late 20s early 30s

sam left bc of abuse yadayada

they were reunited and you can find my other post about that here.

but they have another brother..

***

ANYWAY TIME SKIP TO CURRENTLY

Sam,darlin, sweetheart and Milo and sweetheart are at a random bowling alley and they’re all having fun.

it’s milo’s turn and sam is getting drinks

darlin is sitting down and sweetheart is just watching when their gaze is looking round and they see an ODDLY familiar face with a few people

it’s their brother, hunter (they have conservative, abusive AND southern parents let’s be real)

hunter is a informed unempowered but he’s basically a pro and very knowledgeable of magic and magical races.

hunter is the middle child, sweetheart being the youngest. sam being the oldest

sam came back and saw sweetheart looking shocked and almost scared

he turned and saw him and was very confused

hunter is an asshole, their parents favorited him bc he took the family trade etc

sweetheart ran to the bathroom and was just nervous, milo turned to see something was going on and sweetheart was upset.

milo did NOT like hunter, he cursed him out for a bit .

“what the fucking hell did you say to them asshole? who do you think you are?” he pushed hunter by the shoulder, sam had to stop him.

hunter has a southern accent as well but more diluted than sam’s.

tank was behind milo but definitely ready to throw hands.

sam remembered when he reunited with sweetheart a few years back and they had a very similar reaction.

sweetheart had been abandoned by their family a few times. and it’s hurt milo and sam to see them like this.

“what did i do?” hunter would start and sam would scold him (like the older brother he is)

“do.not.start.” sam would say VERY angrily

“i thought you guys would be happy to see me..” he would be VERY sarcastic.

sam nudged him angrily

“why do you think you can just waltz back here just because- (sweetheart) wasn’t prepared for that!” sam scolded again

“well i didn’t mean to sammy-boy it just happened.” sam would scowl “oh get over it they’ve always been a crybaby.” hunter would say again.

MILO WAS NOT HAVING IT

“you better take my mates name out of your mouth before i put my fist in it.” he got ANGRY

“mate? well that’s hilarious.. (sweetheart)? keeping a relationship? please.”

sam had to hold milo back to keep him from pouncing on hunter.

“down doggy”

suffice it to say sam let go of him.

they got kicked out…

sweetheart came outside and their face was tearstained and they were breathing heavy.

“milo what— hunter— why—“ they were shocked to see hunters nose bleeding and milo with a bruised fist.

“sorry sweetheart i just—“

they were almost disappointed, but they were definitely in a bad mood.

all three of the siblings were standing side by side and their resemblances were uncanny. it was almost funny.

“woah..” darlin whispered.

“lets just go home.” sweetheart whispered grumpily.

hunter sighed, almost upset like he felt bad.

“(sweetheart)—“

“i don’t wanna hear it hunter..” they blew him off..

sam looked angrily at hunter again.

milo and sweetheart went home- not without sweetheart reading him the riot act about how he shouldn’t have punched him how he wasn’t worth it.

“what the hell were you thinking coming to the place you knew we were?” sam spat

hunter didn’t have an answer

“it— i— i haven’t seen y’all in a while..” hunter whispered embarrassed his accent making it hard to hear him with all the mumbling.

sam almost felt bad for him.

“do us all a favor and go back home. your not wanted here, go help dad and be the golden child.” hunters head dropped.

sam almost regretted saying it but he held his ground. hunter walked away.

•••

WOWZERS IT FELT GOOD TO GET THIS DOWN.

erm this is kinda a fic sooo

Taglist:

@darlin-collins @shellssstuff @itsdaifuku @verrverii @youisagayhooman @kuteheadrest @glitchedvariety @hobiesrockstargf @mrsmiagreer