#just how much of their work for GoD and beyond revolved around helping him i wonder

[oseike]

Do you think Choi Jung Soo and Lee Soo Hyuk wanted to drag Kim Rok Soo into farming because they recognized he suffered from trauma as much as they did, but with KRS's personality, was more likely to internalize and never ask for help about it? That they feared if he was left alone after finishing their job that KRS would sink into depression real fast and not have any means of getting out?

Farming or even just gardening, an act that moves the body and results in sustenance or beauty, can be rather therapeutic. Aside from being a family business, I can see CJS and LSH wanting to do it for their own therapy reasons, and then going "Hey KRS needs this too, let's make sure we drag him in. We can keep an eye on him."

[tokiwarcube]

Pickles fluff alphabet? 💐😸pwease!

Strap in babe, this one's a doozy!

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

It’s honestly pretty varied! Whether you’re taking over the biggest nightclub in the country together; gaming; watching some trippy TV show while blasted out of your minds; or going for a late night drive… it’s something new every day! Especially if you have the free time to match. Although I will admit… he’s rather partial to just lazing around Mordhaus with you.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Your patience, kindness, and resolve. I talk about this a lot in later letters, but your steady presence in his life is unlike anything he’s ever seen, much less had. On a more physical level though… thighs, calves, and hips. Lord God, he is insatiable.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

I talked a bit about this in his relationship headcanon post, but he is actually surprisingly good at comforting his partner despite never having received it much himself.

If you’re okay with being held in moments like these, he’ll sit you down and pull you towards him to place his lips to your temple. He murmurs the kindest words against the skin there, letting his hands soothe the stress of the moment. Although most often one ends up threaded through your hair, shielding you from the world as his thumb traces gentle patterns. You’re going to be okay. Everything always works out, I promise.

Alternatively, if you want to talk about it, he’s a great listener. You are more than welcome to pace around his room and rant for as long as you want. He might not offer solutions, but man, he makes you feel heard.

“Yeah babe, that’s fucking bullshit! Fuck that guy!”

He’s got a damn-good sense of humor that he rarely hesitates to invoke.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Honestly? After decades of drug-induced fogginess, dating you has finally taught him how to appreciate the moments as they come. The whole concept of “future” is one that he struggles to really attach himself to, since he just really loves what he has now. He just knows that no matter where life takes the two of you, you’ll be there together.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

I feel very wishy-washy giving this answer, but genuinely, it depends. On most things, he’s pretty passive! He’s content to let you take the lead on quite a bit, especially if it’s not something he feels super strongly about. But he can stand firm, make decisions, and lead when need be — especially if it concerns your health or well-being.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Fights, while rare, tend to revolve around one of two things. Either A.) His lifestyle choices, or B.) Family. Listen — he’s made progress with his family, but there’s still a piece of him that feels like he has to show up when they call (however rare that might be.) And when he does, he tends to be… touchier, afterwards. More likely to snap, and say shit that he doesn’t mean. He’s got a temper, and his family really brings out the worst in him. Especially if you press on it, even with the best of intentions.

Give him a bit of time — he always apologizes sincerely, and fights like these genuinely don’t happen often.

As for lifestyle… he’ll try to cut back on the drugs and alcohol if you ask, but it’s unfortunately become a keystone of his life. So any attacks on that feel like an attack on him.

But beyond that, Pickles is very easy to forgive after arguments — he really does value communication, and a sincere apology and a conversation is enough to bring him around again.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

He is immeasurably grateful for your presence in his life, both as a friend and as a lover. I don’t want to harp on it too much since I elaborate on it in some of the other letters, but for right now, just know that you are a key part of his life.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Nah, not really. There’s nothing really worth keeping secret, you know? He’s not doing anything that would really warrant that, and even the embarrassing shit is fun to share if it can get a laugh out of you. The most he really keeps “secret” is the extent of his insecurity, and even then, it’s a bit... obvious.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Both! You’ve definitely helped him grow as a person, in the sense that he’s not as horrifically anxious. He has his moments of course, but the love and security you bring to the relationship has helped him so, so much. Not to mention your help with regards to his family life — he cannot thank you enough for standing by his side when things get rough in that department, and just by sticking with him, you’ve shown him that he doesn’t need to tear himself apart to be loved. You’ve also shown him how to appreciate life as it comes — not just to enjoy the reprieve of thoughtlessness when the high of his drug of choice kicks in.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Yes and no. Maybe not so much with “regular dildos,” — under most conditions, he’s content to just tell them to fuck off. Even does it with a little smirk, the smug prick. But once they start actually hitting on you? All bets are off, and he’s liable to start swinging if they aren’t taking no for an answer.

He trusts you, he just doesn’t trust other people. It takes a little bit of conversation to get him to understand that if he really trusts you, then he’ll believe you when you say you’re not gonna get swept off your feet by some regular jackoff.

Seth is a separate deal entirely, though — it doesn’t take much to set him off when Seth is in the room, nevermind near you. Again, this man has taken everything from him, in his eyes. You can’t blame him too much for having a shorter fuse.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Oh, absolutely he’s a good kisser. Kissing Pickles is like a moment of peace in a world that never seems to shut up. Lazy, but sweet. Your first kiss was much of the same, his own lips upturning as you met in the middle.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

It takes quite a while for him to work up the courage, honestly. He’s a complete dumbass in the crush phase, but once he remembers that you’re you and he knows you… it’s easy to fall into a relationship with him, but he needs the confirmation eventually.

Hell, you might have been under the impression that you were dating for months! But a night will come where you’re hanging out, just the two of you, and he’ll just… ask if you want to go out this weekend. It’s clear that this holds a whole hell of a lot more weight than your usual outings though, if his reddening ears and rapidly darting eyes are any clue.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

The whole thought of marriage stresses Pickles the fuck out, honestly. It’s been built up as this really big thing that he just doesn’t know how to handle. Churches, family, classy photos… he has this very stiff view of marriage that makes him queasy. In his mind, it’s everything he’s been trying to run from since he was 16.

It’s only once you two talk about it and he realizes he doesn’t have to conform to those rigid ideas that he really starts to think about it. You mean you can actually have fun with these things? And that getting married doesn’t automatically place him in some dead-end job in the suburbs? And that you can just do it because you love each other? Well, now you’ve got him thinking.

There does come a time when he realizes that he really, really wants to marry you. And sure, you’ve talked about it ad nauseam — you’ve said a million times that you’d marry him if he wanted to. Logically, there’s no reason for you to reject him… and yet the little box feels like a lead ball in his pocket, staying there for months before he finally works up the courage on a quiet night in.

As for the ceremony… it depends on how far he is with separating himself from his family, honestly. There’s a good chance that he might invite them (probably at the last second, weighed down with the guilt of “what-if”), which does nothing but give him the world’s longest anxiety attack for the bulk of the ceremony.

But you know, it’s fun anyways. He was adamant about wearing his nicest suit (the one you had absolutely fallen in love with a few years prior while out on one of your rarer, fancier date nights — he never forgot how you flustered, how your eyes dilated, how you were so quick to get out of prying eyes to get your hands on him… He knows it’s your favorite, and damn if that doesn’t give him a bit of a confidence boost,) but that’s just about where the formality ends.

The initial procession it’s its own form of magic, with harp versions of all your most meaningful songs ringing through the open air (their brutality masked by the serenity of the instrument, much to your shared amusement as his family exchange shocked glances with one another). His vows are sweet, and so undeniably him. He had considered rewriting them to be more “acceptable,” after inviting his parents, but after planning the wedding a bit more with you, he remembered — this is about the two of you. And sure, they scowled when he spoke, but your grin made everything feel right. This is where he’s meant to be. Fuck them.

And the kiss, oh the kiss. He can’t help but smile in the moment, hands cupping your face — he never thought he’d be here, nevermind with someone as incredible as you.

And once all is said and done? Controlled chaos as the festivities begin — like I said, it’s a fun wedding! It’s metal as fuck! And through it all, he never once leaves your side.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

He’s a “babe” kind of guy, plain and simple. When he’s tired, or just feeling a little whiny, he tends to drag out the “a” — the accent makes it more endearing than it should be. “Dude” is also completely fair game, sorry.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

It’s painfully obvious, to everyone around him. Before you’re dating he gets all clammy and awkward, and does really stupid shit to try and impress you. Everyone knows, because the moment you walk in the room he becomes a bumbling idiot who can’t seem to keep his mouth shut… but hey, he pulls it together. Eventually. Once you’re dating and stable, it’s still pretty damn obvious that he’s completely whipped.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He has no shame about PDA. He’s not obscene in public with you (unlike some people), but in front of the guys? He has absolutely no qualms about it. Might even be a bit insufferable with it, if the boys have been getting on his nerves. He loves bragging about you too — you’ve gotta muzzle him if you want to keep your name out of the tabloids.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that's beneficial in a relationship.

He always knows when you’re gonna have a nightmare — some weird, preternatural sense that he chalks up to one too many bad trips and nightmares of his own.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

He’s not romantic in the traditional sense — candlelit dinner dates are way too stuffy for him, and he’s never really seen the point of big bouquets. But he has his own little romantic quirks — dragging you out of too-noisy bars to gaze at the stars when he notices you getting antsy… innocent little touches that make your brain go fuzzy… murmured words of adoration when the lights are low… He’s not a romantic in the traditional sense, but damn if he doesn’t make your heart flutter anyways.

And he’d do damn-near anything to make you happy, you know. He’s pretty creative with actual date ideas! Even if his “favorites” are more casual, he’s damn creative when he actually wants to go out. I’ll say it a million times and then a million more, but it’s one of the many benefits of being 1/5th of the 7th most powerful economic force.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Fuck yes, absolutely. If you’ve got a dream, he’s doing as much as he can to make it a reality.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

He’s a definite thrill seeker — again, it comes with the fame (and money.) He’s got the world at his disposal, and he wants to do everything he can with you. But he has his little subsections of routine that he clings to — you’ll be in partying in Berlin one night and in Dubai the next, but the mornings still belong to your well-crafted songs and dances.

It’s less about spicing up the relationship though, and more about wanting to live life to the fullest with you. The two of you could be getting blasted on the couch, or even just watching some god-awful old movie, and he would be just as happy. And oftentimes, that’s exactly what you’re doing.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

He thinks he knows you pretty well, and honestly? He does! It surprises you sometimes, just how observant he is. Hell, sometimes he knows what you’re feeling before you even realize it yourself!

(Do you want me to tell him to shut up? You’re doing that thing, the thing with your eyebro— No, yeah, you do. Babe. You know what I can just—)

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

You’re just as much a part of his family as the rest of Dethklok — you’re such a cornerstone of his life, and honestly, he’s not sure what he would do without you. Your love and stability is unlike anything he’s ever experienced before — and sure, he loves the guys (don’t tell anyone he said that), but they don’t know how to get over themselves enough to just fucking talk sometimes. Things are natural with you. Safe.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

I mentioned this in the tags of his relationship headcanons, but I decided I need this to be known.

This man is pretty shit at taking care of himself. Always forgets his inhaler at home, never remembers to eat, etc. And you’ve noticed this over the time you’ve shared together, and have started preparing for those little things. Especially because he gets so damn cranky when his blood sugar is low.

You’ve been caught passing him so many Werther’s Originals in public that he now has an unwilling sponsorship with them. He hates it so fucking much, and because you think its hilarious, it’s the only candy you bring.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

I’m just saying, his animal form is very fitting. That man would happily spend the rest of his days blasted out of his mind and cuddling with you.

Y earning - How will they cope when they're missing their partner?

He’s so unbelievably whiny, it’s unreal. If the two of you are in a situation where you can’t call, he’s the type to send little voice notes about his day, just so he can hear your response when you’re free. He gets a bit clingier with the rest of the band in the meantime… and drinks. Sorry.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

To the Doomstar and back again.

[oshinohoshi]

Oshi no Ko Chapter 162 thoughts

Putting aside my issues with the story and characterization, I like this chapter. It makes me feel things which is a strong suit of Oshi no Ko.

Sorrow, horror, and sweetness... it has a little of everything.

As an avid Ai stan, the parts with Ai hit me right where it hurts

Ai's smile below is everything. She loved those kids so much

I'm reminded of the bottom right art. Ai never did get to see their red backpacks but at least the little Hoshino family made happy memories together

Aqua looking after his sister is so sweet. It would hit harder if we had more of the twins interacting past vol 1 but it's still nice

I'm not sure how I feel about Aqua deciding he was reincarnated to protect Ruby. I can't quite put my finger on what's bothering me. Perhaps it's that he's once again making his life's worth revolve around someone else

Or that this disregards one of my favorite lines in the manga: "[God] brought two people who never had a mother in a real sense and a mother who gave birth to soulless children together"

There is a crucial element missing to Aqua's apparent life's purpose and her name is Ai

@aihoshiino's post explains this better than I ever could (thanks @insertusername99 for pointing this out to me)

LMAO I just read Claire's thoughts on the chapter after typing this and she brought this up too. Bc it's so true!

The art is so good. Mengo is amazing

HIKARU

He gets his own damn section because he's just so... AUGH

I'm baffled as to how killing Ruby would bring him closer to Ai

How does "the weight of his sin" help him manifest Ai's presence? Maybe his guilt over his involvement in Ai's death brings her into sharp relief through suffering and embracing his dark side amplifies that? I'm grasping at straws here

I still think his reaction to the DVD was genuine but if so, it feels like he should have had a change of heart

After learning Ai wanted to love him, why would he turn around and try to off their daughter?

Of course his logic is twisted, but it should work with what we know about him!

If you have thoughts, please share

Anyway, I want to compare Aqua's memory of Ai (left) to Hikaru's vision of her (right)

She looks ethereal in both. A fragile being. Ai looks over her shoulder smiling gently in Aqua's mind. She might turn away at any second but she's not gone yet. However, she has her back to Hikaru, beyond his grasp

In both panels Ai is not dressed as an idol. Those who love her remember her as she was when she wasn't on stage (or uhh that's what I want to say but I don't know what to make of Hikaru's view of her anymore)

Moving on...

Shadow Gorou. Until now he's been a manifestation of Aqua's guilt and self-hatred yet now he's dragging Hikaru to the bottom of the sea. Sure, I guess?

I'm probably wildly off the mark here, but it almost shows how harmful Aqua's attempt to kill Hikaru is. Shadow Gorou is scary

And despite Aqua's white stars, he looks horrified and in pain choking his dad. It doesn't look like a triumphant finishing blow

Given the giant moon behind Crow Girl, I guess we should stop calling her that as it seems that Tsukuyomi is not a stage name. But she'll always be Crow Girl to me

Next chapter (3 week break!!): Miyako is not having any of this dying to save Ruby bullshit. She will roll up on a motorcycle and pluck Aqua out of the sea using Ichigo's fishing pole. I have been predicting the fishing pole being a major player in the Hikaru/Aqua conflict for dozens of chapters and I know I cannot be wrong.

[itsclydebitches]

Jonelias thought of the day is that Elias must come across as so stuffy and boring to those at the Institute - which, you know, very much helps hide his true nature - but as an avatar of the Eye and a man determined to avoid the End, Elias is someone whose entire being revolves around the interplay of knowledge and experiences. He's compelled to Know it all and his efforts to avoid death invite him to Experience it all too, a fascinating combination of passive observer and, by virtue of being a 200+ year-old in search of true immortality, an active participant too. This is a man whose longevity and thirst for knowledge invites an obsession with life that contradicts the 'Sits in his office doing nothing but spreadsheets all day' image he's learned to cultivate. (Though, to be clear, he does love the spreadsheets.) And I don't just mean "obsession with life" in the sense of him avoiding the finality of death, but actually loving the act of being alive.

I think a lot of what the fandom (rightly) jokes about in regards to his characterization is a reflection of that obsession. Elias has a relationship with Peter Lukas that goes far beyond the cold practicality of an alliance, hinting at a romance (if you steer towards a LonelyEyes reading), or just Elias' desire to still be able to place bets with someone while he's trying to end the world. Similarly, his powers ensure that he's never truly alone - if he dies, he takes the rest of the Archive with him - forever supplying him with a warped companionship that doesn't threaten him like he perceives he was threatened as Jonah Magnus, with his acquaintances working to complete their own rituals. In true Beholding style, he's got the heart of a fucked-up scientist who's endlessly curious about the world around him: 'Oooh what happens if I let my friend waste away in the Lonely?' He shows up at Jon's birthday party not just to secretly gloat and keep an eye on things (ha), but because he legitimately wants cake. Who wouldn't want cake? What's the point of living forever if you can't have cake?? Well, for an avatar the exquisite sweetness of fear is just as good, but my point stands. Beyond his fear of death, that enjoyment is at the heart of Elias' goal, with Jon describing his experience as the Pupil as a kind of agonized bliss and Elias confirming this by saying he was having the most wonderful dream. Morality aside, he likes interacting with the horror of the Entities, something we saw all the way back during the "[PLEASURED EXHALATION]" scene. Learning new things feels good. Experiencing news things is enjoyable. Learning and experiencing Bad Things is especially nice given his patron. Consistently, Elias' setbacks are met with interest, or a mild annoyance that then eventually settles into satisfaction because they are also new experiences for him and the Eye: going to jail, getting to psychologically torture Martin, having his own secrets exposed. There's a lot throughout the series to imply that Elias enjoys watching Jon become the Key, not just because it means he's succeeding in his goals, but because there's genuine interest and pride in seeing him "grow" by Elias' standards. The repetition of "our world," "our patron," etc. implies a connection; the intention to experience this new world with another, to enjoy it rather than simply exist in it for the mere sake of existence. Elias is a man whose entire essence boils down to, "I NEED TO KNOW ALL THE THINGS, EXPERIENCE EVERYTHING, AND LIVE FOREVER WHILE ACHIEVING THAT, TO UNDERSTAND IT ALL SO I CAN CONTROL IT ALL AND HAVE A DAMN GOOD TIME IN THE PROCESS, EVEN WHILE I SUCCUMB TO THE PRIMAL FEAR THAT DRIVES ME I WILL PARADOXICALLY EMBRACE IT, AND YEAH THAT'S LARGELY BECAUSE I SERVE THE LITERAL GOD OF JUDGY SURVEILLANCE BUT ALSO THAT'S JUST ME."

So anyway, I keep thinking about how this characterization could intersect with S1-2 Jon: prickly, awkward, semi-isolated, desperate to be recognized by someone whose authority he believes in. AKA the boss who, at an unprecedented young age, rose to the top of the Institute they both work at, perceived by those around him as far less interesting than he actually is. Parallels, anyone? Imagine Jon getting to really talk to Elias, realizing how much he has to offer after 200 years of life (though of course he doesn't know that), and just constantly being blindsided by not just the knowledge, but the enthusiasm for everything he's learned and been through - the good and the horrifyingly awful that, despite himself, Jon is equally drawn to. Elias recognizes every quote Jon drops into a conversation and has another witty line to pair it with. He doesn't just indulge his nerdy rambles, but participates in them. He's refined in all the ways that Jon expects - books, opera, music, etc. - and also casually drops in references to acid trips and fucking orgies. Imagine an early series Jon who forms a strong bond with Elias outside of the web (ha x2) he's been weaving, becoming dependent on his friendship and just a little bit completely in love. Elias is inherently fascinating, but he's also just Some Guy, and the combination of that is just perfect for a necrotic Archivist who simultaneously wants to be guided by his 'betters' and prove that he's an equal. Why Elias would be interested in turn barely needs stating: Jon is literally Elias' everything, in a horrifyingly tragic and like, Gothic Romance sense? What would that kind of relationship have changed? It would have likely made Elias' job even easier, but what about Jon?

...I'm not saying that Jon's drive to protect humanity would have been warped into something tragically dangerous if he'd first come to see his intelligent, complex, shockingly kind (from his nonexistent self-esteem POV), secretly-an-eldritch-monster boss as the epitome of humanity... but I'm also not saying it couldn't have!

[divineerdrick]

Homestuck: Beyond Canon Upd8 for 612 2024

This is long overdue, but it's been a bit of a rough week. Most of my activity on Tumblr this week has been from doctor's offices. Nothing really new or important to report there, just lots of doctor stuff.

While long overdue, I've mostly somehow been able to avoid spoilers. The only thing I've been spoiled on is what I kind of new was coming. Oh! And the plush! I know about the plush. Somehow in all the chaos though, my brain kinda didn't connect celebrating 612 with the idea there would be an upd8. Tells you how scatterbrained I've been.

So let's start with that news post.

Oh! James is going to be doing a stream? Cool! I hadn't heard of this. I wonder who with. I'll have to look that up next. James also goes into detail about revenue from the plush. From what I understand, this kind of deal is pretty common for when you supply a design/book/print but someone else does all the production work. Some never go beyond 10% unless you're doing a lot of business.

Looks like we've got apparel coming too! I bought a ton of shirts for 612 from one of the old retailers back in 2015. They are very beat up now. It would be nice to get some new ones.

It doesn't sound like the comic is self sustaining for this size team. I'm pretty sure James wouldn't carry through with his threat to actually put adds in Homestuck, but people deserve to be paid for the work they do.

Finally, this will be the first of two upd8s. Let's see what they have for us!

I think this is the first time we've seen the wings actually poof like that. Before, it was just outfit switches from God Robes to teen duds. We get a little reminder here of the increased age gap, as John has to stretch out the dad bod a bit.

Apparently, Immortals do still have to worry about aging and body degradation. Pretty lousy immortality . . .

Vriska ain't got time for that.

And I'm pretty sure Sollux doesn't have time for it either.

Nope! XD

Things still a bit awkward between John and Roxy. Can't expect things to be stable there yet. They may have had their heart to heart, but the war isn't giving them any time to reconnect. John is also trying to bury what he's feeling by just involving himself in another adventure. Hopefully Roxy will keep him from just getting caught up too much in Vriska's orbit. But I'm pretty sure Vriska won't be satisfied until all of the Candy Timeline revolves around her.

Suitably awesome with a frame break and everything.

So there's no chance this doesn't cross some kind of Universal barrier. The question is, what? The hour glass shape has a lot of people speculating that it's a time machine of some kind. But anything that allows you to cross from one Universe to another would inherently have built in time travel, since from your frame of reference one point in time is much the same as any. The question is, can this escape Calliope's black hole? I can't help but feel like that looks like a singularity there too.

Let me try and compile what I know about this thing.

It's called The Plot Point. Since Homestuck has always been about narrative manipulation, a device that directly impacts the narrative isn't just possible but already has precedence. In a story a Plot Point is something that greatly impacts the narrative. In a normal three act structure, plot points can be used to start or end acts, or in the middle of acts to mix things up or increase tension. They can even be used to change how the intended audience sees the story and its characters. There's basically no limit to what this thing might be intended to do and possibly no limit to what it can do.

This is supposedly the reason why everything got so extreme in the Candy Timeline, the reason why John and Vriska both feel this version of the Universe is fake, why a near full cast has congregated here, why Jane went from being a typical rich neo liberal to being an outright fascist, why Dave ended up fully ascending under such hilariously crazy circumstances. Whatever this thing can do, it's supposedly already doing something just sitting there.

3. While obviously this isn't the same device, it shares some traits with the device from Hiveswap. But they're obviously not the same. The previous device looks a little more ramshackle, more steam punk, where as this one looks more streamlined. In Hiveswap's device, the colors on the serpents are clear references to Calliope and Caliborn, who have dominion over the four Universes in Homestuck.

The colors on these serpents are different. They don't even share a color between their spirals. What they remind me of more are God Robes. Specifically, Roxy and Jade's robes. I think these represent . . .

Oh hell! I think a fan theory might have just been proven right!

Follow me here . . .

I think both of these serpent represent Calliope. The Black and White serpent represents Dead Tier Calliope. As Muse of Space, they have black and white for their God Robes. Additionally, they have been influencing the Meat Timeline through Jade's body. While Dirk may be trying to take full control of that narrative, it's technically Calliope's jurisdiction as now both Muse and Lord of the Alpha Timeline.

But why does the other serpent have Roxy's colors? Because our Calliope, our dear, sweet, fanfic writing Calliope, has been creating the stories of the Candy Timeline from Void. Somehow, through their deep connection with Roxy, Calliope has been manifesting their own narrative in the Candy Timeline. It may not even be this Calliope! It might actually be the Calliope in the Meat Timeline who stayed together with Roxy and grew closer to them. That Calliope is the one that was described as writing and drawing stories on their walls!

So what does this thing do? I think it can create any narrative Plot Point you want it to. I think it can steal the Void attribute of any idea, any character, any McGuffin you need it to! Need Gamzee back in the narrative? Bam! Gamzee's back! Want to bring Jane's dad back? Bam! Done! Need another life ring for dead trolls, or just a story that will eventually result in all the Homestuck trolls coming back to life in full? You got it! Want to write a peaceful resolution and dénouement to the war? Easy peasy!

Who the fuck's idea was it to put Vriska in the same room as that thing!

[problematicfactive]

New intro Post

New intro post! How exciting! This is my celebration for reaching 25 followers so fast! Thank you all for your overwhelming support in this journey, it really has been a lot.

If you're new here, my boyfriend and I are both introjected from extremely problematic medias revolving around a very bad person that lived in real life. We are both from fictional medias, bit the person of which we introjected is very much real, and We've gotten a LOT of shit for it.

Spaces that claim to be safe spaces for systems-- or God forbid, safe spaces for *problematic* introjects and alters, tend to be rude or spiteful towards individuals who are factives from problematic sources.

I firmly believe this hateful stance comes from a place of not understanding, so I've created this blog to give people who don't understand a chance to talk and speak to us without losing their cool as we also stay anonymous on this blog. They're always nice until they find out who you are /hj . Since it's creation, the blog has since turned into a big place for problematic factives to just feel safe and seen. I'm beyond happy about this, and glad my blog can serve both purposes. More under the cut!

We post a lot of everything!

We answer asks from people who have questions about us or about being problematic factives, we make positivity posts for problematic factives, problematic factive culture is... posts, and lots of other things you could think of. Feel free to vent in our askbox or message us for a chat! We'd love to have a friend.

Some things off the top of my head that I can't do on this blog (but if you end up making a blog for these things and need a mod, totally hmu!)

Stimboards/Moodboards etc. - I would literally love to do these but the problem is I know like nothing about anyone. Of you were to ask me for a Donald Trump moodboard I honestly do not know what I would do my mind would just blank. That being said, in decently good at making them so if there were a person I knew well enough to do a stimboard on, I definitely could

Icon edits - This is somthing I'm capable of doing, but it isn't something where I would want this entire blog to just turn into requests. If you're making a blog specifically for these creative requests things totally hmu

Art - I cannot draw but my hope is that that changes in the future.

-

Meet us!

My last intro post didn't really have any information on us as people let's try and fix that.

I can't tell you my name, but you can call me Anxiety. I'm the main mod and significantly less source connected/more source ashamed. I go by he/Anxiety with Anxiety being able to work in place of either a name or a pronoun. Unless the host is helping out with something, anything that isn't labeled comes from me. I'm the only one out of the two of us with the physical ability to type so when he posts something, it's a little special occasion and deserves a label.

My boyfriend doesn't have a name option other than a source one. On the blog he has only been referred to as my boyfriend, but if you need a name for him, call him NPC. He uses he/him pronouns and will sign off any post that he thinks up all on his own with -NPC and tagged with # npc posts

Tagging

Here is some of the tagging we use on this blog

# problematic factive culture = Problematic factive culture is.. posts

# kindness and positivity = Kind and Positive asks we've received

# good thoughtful questions = Good questions we received as asks

# positivity post = Positivity posts

# problematicfactive blog things = things that ate moreso related to one of the mods or running the blog than they are about problematic factives

# rainy day drafts = drafts that could be super old because I made them and them left them in the drafts so I could post when I don't have anything else to post

# queued because I am asleep 😊 / queued because hopefully I'm sleeping = posts that I queue to be 5-ish hours away from the last post. I often post somthing at 12 am Eastern Time regardless of the last something was posted, so those early morning positivity posts tend to also be queued with the tag

If you come across us and like what we do, consider boosting or realigning this post! I'd love for as many people to find out we exist as possible

# askers experience = Asks sent in where an asker tells me about their life

# npc posts = posts my npc wrote as a mod on this blog (does not apply to posts where "my boyfriend's answer" is me paraphrasing or trying to speak for him)

[bigbadripley]

Normal People - Prologue

Marc Spector&Co. x Ex!F!OC, F!OC x Husband!Miguel O'Hara

Summary: Two and a half years have passed since Simone lost Marc and consequentially, her place in this world. As she begins to find it; however, the revolving door of tragedy spins again. Violence and liquor become her coping mechanism as she sinks deeper into her darkest era, but Simone learned a lesson years ago: nobody stays dead forever.

18+!! | Third-person omniscient | Dark elements | AU/AT |   Warnings: Language, OC with religious trauma, childhood trauma, sexual trauma. Effects of trauma in adulthood. Angst, reference to smut, mention of death, reference to violence, use of alcohol, miscommunications, infidelity, hurt/comfort, established relationship, multiversal and time travel, survivor's guilt, death equivalent

Words: 1.8K

A/N: I'm putting the prologue on Tumblr but the rest and what is to come is on Ao3 here along with the first 2 works (this is the third installment) The first work in its entirety is on tumblr here and most of the second. I won't be posting this work beyond this sample on here.

Minors DNI, DL;DR, if I miss a warning, please let me know.

" The devil came back He's dancing in your path So you're acting like you need me now, hey So tell me if I'm mad There's something in your laugh That makes me fear the way you smile It's hard to believe sometimes We can pretend we're normal people " -"Normal People" by Joji

It felt like his body was inside of a vacuum-sealed plastic bag. Stiff, fighting against whatever held him in place. He could hardly breathe, due to both the weight on top of his chest and the moist soil surrounding his mouth and nose. In the same vein, he couldn't open his eyes or yell for help.

He willed his brittle bones and creaky joints to work again, wiggling his shoulders, neck, arms, and legs to loosen the dirt and reintroduce blood flow throughout his limbs. Once he could feel his hands, he was able to push further, ripping tough grassroots as he freed up space just for it to be refilled by endless earth. His muscles ached already from the efforts, but he needed to be free.

Whilst he struggled against the ground, he started to hear a faint voice over him. It sounded older, and he couldn't make out what they were saying. They continued to speak, uninterrupted by the sound of a shovel sinking and slicing through the land above.

"Don't work too hard, I got you." He was finally able to comprehend the words as daylight peeked through and he pushed the rest of his way out, swiping away at the granules around his eyes. The man who dug him out was George Humbletoes, the mortician who handled his burial arrangements. He looked a bit more gray now than the last time he saw him. "It's about time, Mr. Knight. I was beginning to believe you'd never be back." He said with a wan smile.

Marc began to hoist himself out of the hole, taking note of the brown, dead grass that covered the ground and the flat, moss-grown headstone that read:

Marc Spector

Son ~ Protector ~ Friend

"How long have I been out?" He asked as he sat down and caught his breath heavily. His lungs ached along with the rest of his unused body, even more than normal. George leaned on his shovel and thought about the question for a moment, referring to the date on the gravestone to help with his answer.

"About two and a half years." He said nonchalantly.

Years? Marc thought to himself, nearly saying it aloud amid his huffing and puffing. God, what have I missed?

At first, this wasn't cause for much alarm until his neurons began firing in a way only he could. He thought about the city, Khonshu, Reese-

Moni. He thought to himself, remembering his final interaction with her was shoving her through the gates of Osiris. Forcing her to come back here without him. That was when he didn't think he would be back, himself. It was strange, one moment being in the Field of Reeds and the next being in the dirt with the worms.

Marc began gathering himself to his feet, rickety old bones be damned. He had to find Moni. Had to see what became of the mission in his absence. Two and a half years is a long time to be gone.

"Woah, don't rush. Get your sea legs back first." George spoke with concern, but Marc ignored him and continued to frantically stand and start walking.

"I have to go."

Running through the streets, Marc was able to reach the mission without a word said to him by anyone in the neighborhood. He had his usual white suit on, but the mask was nowhere to be seen. He was covered head to toe in dirt, there were pebbles in his shoes, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't reach Steven or Jake.

Upon stumbling across the mission, he realized that it wasn't that anymore. It had been repurposed into a Spirit Halloween, which told him it was nearing the holiday.

Nearing Moni's birthday.

This took him to his next stop, being a newspaper stand. The date was October 20th, but that was no longer his greatest concern when he noticed his vestments on the front page, only fitted to a more feminine form. Whoever wore them was pictured hanging 8-Ball from a building by chains wrapped around his body. It was sloppy and could have been accomplished privately just as effectively unless this individual was trying to send a message.

The headline read 'Clinic Burgeler Found!' and off the side, there was a blue box with red text inside that read 'Still No Spidey? See page 7.' Indicating that the web-head hadn't been seen publically in a while. Marc never really cared for the guy, but he was good at his job.

"You gonna buy it or keep gawkin'?" The man running the stand asked. This was Marc's queue to put it back and proceed to his next stop- Moni's apartment. This would prove to be fruitless as well, as when he knocked on the door and a totally different woman with a toddler on her hip answered, he knew she was no longer living there. Asking if the blonde woman knew where the previous tenant went didn't help either.

This left him with one last spot to look, and that was her office. Once he arrived, he was disheartened by the sign on the door that read 'Alias Investigations' , now the office of Jessica Jones and freshly-licensed private investigator Kate Bishop. Last he checked, Jessica worked alone unless he was with Luke.

Marc nearly lost hope there. Moni moved out of her apartment, moved offices, and there were no leads. He had no cell phone or he would try the number he knew by memory.

She may as well have fallen off the face of the Earth. He thought to himself before he peered over at the office next door to Alias to find 'Nelson and Murdock' still stamped onto the glass of the door. The prideful side of him didn't want to speak to Murdock, knowing what he knew now, but it was his only tip.

Hope walk-ins are welcome. He thought as he turned the nob and proceeded inside. At the desk was a blonde woman with the biggest blue eyes he had ever seen, speaking on the phone and writing something down. She regarded him with a smile and a finger in the air that told him she would only be a moment.

His gaze darted around the office and caught the blind lawyer through a window on the left. Marc stormed into the door of the small office space like a bat out of hell, strangely startling the receptionist more than the man in the sunglasses.

"Murdock, it's Marc." He announced, letting the attorney know who he was straight out of the gate. Matt stood, shocked, not only with his being alive but his being at his place of practice. For a moment, he didn't believe it, but the smell of fresh soil and the oh-so-familiar sound of the fabric of his expensive suit confirmed it for him.

" Marc ? How are you alive?"

"I don't know, but listen, I'm trying to find Moni. Can you tell me where she might be right now?" He asked, scrambling for answers. His rushing made Matt stammer,

"Uh, shit. If I had to guess, either at Josie's or her apartment." Matt advised before realizing that Marc wouldn't know where that apartment was. Though, he had been there before, what seemed like a lifetime ago now. "The Rothwell building, quote-unquote luxury apartments."

That bland shithole? Marc thought to himself, making the connection that he had been there, but not the reason. The last thing he caught Murdock say was the apartment number before he bolted out like a man on a mission.

Simone awoke from a not-so-deep sleep, stretching her achy muscles and yawning. Her joints and jaw cracked and popped like she was made of glowsticks.

Another fuckin' day in paradise. She thought to herself as she did every morning. As she attempted to check the time on her phone, picking it up off of the nightstand, she remembered it had been destroyed beyond repair; the screen smashed and revealing some of the mechanisms inside, slightly bent backward at the center. I'll get a new one later.

For now, the shower was calling her name. Once inside, the warm water soothed her sore limbs as it washed away the dried blood that sat on her skin for the few hours she had to rest. As the water around the drain turned pale pink, she examined herself to find that it was the other guy's and not her own.

Once all the residue of the late night and early morning activities was rinsed away down to the bit that had somehow caked under her short fingernails, she got out and toweled off without reason to linger. It was just another normal step in her routine and as she slipped on a pair of tight athletic pants, she was sure of it.

Until there was a loud knock at her door. That part was unusual and made her groan as she threw a loose black top over her bare chest that simply said 'Trophy Husband' on the front in white letters. It was a gag gift, but it was comfortable. The knocking persisted, growing heavier as if the person on the other side was looking to punch it off its hinges. They clearly didn't know who they were getting the attention of.

"I'm coming! Jesus Christ , guy." She yelled out as she heavily trudged to the source of the sound. It made them stop, which was a relief but did nothing to rid her of her displeasure. With that, she swung the door open in an attempt to intimidate them, ready to scold the rude visitor.

Said visitor made her freeze in place with wide eyes like a deer in the headlights. She had faced many enemies as of late, of all sizes and creeds, but nothing made her feel more terrified than what stood before her.

"What the fuck." She muttered with disbelief as she stared at the face a phantom. It was Marc motherfucking Spector, wearing the suit she buried him in. Only he wasn't a ghost. He was very much a physical presence, covered head to toe in soil. It was a dream she had had numerous times and had half a mind to pinch herself if it wouldn't make her look like a chump.

Simone wasn't the only one shocked by what she was seeing. Marc's mind was racing, examining the woman she tossed out of the Duat seemingly the day before. Both of her arms were covered in full-sleeve tattoos and she had chunky strands of silver running through her dark, now shoulder-length wavy hair which was a gift from her mother, who also started graying prematurely. His own observing was cut short by her speaking again,

"Marc? What the fuck !" She exclaimed a bit louder than she meant, backing up out of the doorway and nearly falling as she stumbled.

Zombies weren't on my bingo card for the year. She thought to herself, preparing to fight as the figure before her continued to stare blankly and follow her inside.

[rulerofthelayersofhell]

"Yohoo! Lucy here or Satania, really either works. Lucifer and Satan are strictly for my male form. Anyway, I'm going to talk about deals with me, the Devil. Deals with me are soul pact for the other party, that said its a completely beneficial soul pact. I will always keep my word, so you keep your end of the deal and its a happy deal where everyone wins."

"This also makes me your patron. No, that doesn't mean you joined a cult, I've had to dismantle more than a few of those revolving around me. Anyway, it just means you're free to make deals with me long as you can offer a proper price for said deal. That said I will not grant money or power. Do you know how many people end up in the lower layers of my domain over that kind of nonsense?"

"That said this is just the case for 'humans'. Non-human get better benefits because I don't have to worry about my power damning them to hell to quote those idiots who are always so holier than thou. How to put this? Ah, Yes, its like how the Japanese and Greek Gods can hand out blessings. I think the Egyptian Gods can too. Dunno, God kinda stepped all over their turf with Moses and man that plague was something else. That said I think God also had a hand in Ramses behavior. I got to remember to go ask him later, he's down in my domain."

"Now I will note, even if I can, I won't grant power that isn't natural to you. There's no way you can possibly pay an appropriate price for that. But for your natural abilities, I can help you make the most of them to your current limits."

"Only my direct subordinates gets power beyond their current limits and that's because their limits are determined by how high their rank in my army is. I'll talk about that some other time. I'm not looking anyway, I don't want another war with God. So if you want a personal trainer, just pay the price for how much training you want. It has the be the exact amount, no more, no less. I don't want you paying too much or too little."

"For the record studies on all subjects within my knowledge as long as its related to hell is free of charge. Its a must to avoid people ending up really outdated. Resulted in the fun scene of knights using guns, missiles and other projectile weapons of the modern age. Don't get me started on barbarians using a tank just for a caveman to hit it with a spell. The metropolis of conflict never runs out of amusing sights."

[ultimateplaylistmaker]

Imagine Toko goïng to the Naegi household to meet up with Komaru and seeïng that the luck is apparently a family thing.

Toko just tryïng to tell the rest of the class about it.

Oh my god I was just making headcanons on what I think the rest of the Naegi family's luck is.

Personally I see the dad as having self centralized good luck, nothing overly extreme, but noticeable of him being luckier then most. He's the kind of guy who tends to be the millionth visitor or find 40 bucks in the grass. Dude that wins like 60 bucks of a scratch card

The mom has bad luck but in a way that always seems to help someone, never bad enough to really hurt her, but she'll drop 20 bucks which will be found by some kid who got kicked out of their house and needs money for food. Or her car will stall in a place only to catch someone else collapse alone on the street and her being there saved his life. Good luck for everyone else and she'd rather help then not, but it is pretty inconvenient and has made her lose jobs for being late too often and the like before.

For Komaru judging but how UDG went I'd say her look works as minor bad luck disguised as good luck for the people around her with a centralized good luck that tends to revolve more around not getting injured. IE: Komaru riles up the adults to fight back, to the adults this is good luck, but as a whole them fighting back mindlessly without a clear goal beyond kill those kids almost got SO MANY people killed but thankfully her luck doesn't go too as much extremes as Komaeda which is why Toko was able to stop the controller from breaking Toko is a good friend for her because Toko who is used to Makoto luck can go "yup thats a luck moment" and move on.

[christian-perspectives]

How To Live The Good Life

How does someone live the good life? In our day, the word “good” is a relative term. What constitutes a good life for one may be totally different than for someone else. In our verse for today, Jeremiah addressed people who described to him what the good life was for them. We will do whatever we want. We will burn incense and pour out liquid offerings to the Queen of Heaven just as much as we like—just as we, and our ancestors, and our kings and officials have always done in the towns of Judah and in the streets of Jerusalem. For in those days we had plenty to eat, and we were well off and had no troubles! Jeremiah 44:17 These people refused to listen to what the Lord had to say! Instead of walking with God, they, in total defiance decided to walk away from Him. Did you notice how they responded? They said, “this is what our ancestors had always done.” Wow, what arrogance and ignorance.

Their Descendants did Commit to Serving God

After their descendants got settled in the promised land, Joshua spoke to them just before his death. They made the following commitment to Joshua and God. The people replied, “We would never abandon the Lord and serve other gods. For the Lord our God is the one who rescued us and our ancestors from slavery in the land of Egypt. Joshua 24:16-17 Maybe they tore that page out of their history books. They said everything was working fine for them. They had plenty to eat and the life they chose to live was good. Until . . . But ever since we quit burning incense to the Queen of Heaven and stopped worshiping her with liquid offerings, we have been in great trouble and have been dying from war and famine. Jeremiah 44:18 Jeremiah let these men and women know that God knew exactly what their actions consisted of. Not only them but their ancestors as well. Do you think the Lord did not know that you and your ancestors, your kings and officials, and all the people were burning incense to idols in the towns of Judah and in the streets of Jerusalem?  Jeremiah 44:21 The prophet warned the people that God had put up with enough. Therefore He enforced the consequences of their detestable worship practices. It was because the Lord could no longer bear all the disgusting things you were doing that he made your land an object of cursing—a desolate ruin without inhabitants—as it is today. Jeremiah 44:22

God will Help You Live the Good Life

The attitude Jeremiah had to put up with sounds similar to what many exhibit today. We can say it in different ways but it still means the same, “we will do whatever we want.” People for centuries have done everything they could do to live the “good life.” And there’s nothing wrong with that as long as Jesus is in the equation. We must remember that life, whether good or not, goes beyond our time here on this earth. If a person keeps living for the moment, they will miss eternal life with the Lord. The 7 churches written about in Revelation each received a letter from Jesus. The message He gave to the Church of Laodicea mentioned three types of people. “I know all the things you do, that you are neither hot nor cold. I wish that you were one or the other! But since you are like lukewarm water, neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth! Revelation 3:15-16 The Cold

Those referred to as cold mean they want nothing to do with God at all. In Jeremiah’s day, the people were honest enough to say they were not interested in serving God. I know people who would give the shirts off their backs. Along with their generosity, they are good people who each live the “good life.” But they want nothing to do with the Lord, the church, the Bible, or anything they consider “religious.”  Their good lives will only last a season because Jesus said . . . “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one can come to the Father except through me.  John 14:6

The Hot He also referred to the hot. People who love the Lord and whose lives revolve around living for and serving Him. This has nothing at all to do with being religious. He will give eternal life to those who keep on doing good, seeking after the glory and honor and immortality that God offers.  Romans 2:7  The Lukewarm

These are people I feel sorry for. Many of them attend church and feel that’s all they need to do to please the Lord. Their “religion” is based on their deeds. Yet they lack faith. Others put God into a box by justifying their sinful actions. They’ll say things like: “That’s the way I interpret the Bible.” Or “God understands my situation.” Many of these folks feel they are going to heaven and I’m not saying they will or they won’t. I am saying, that is very risky. I personally wouldn’t want to take that chance. What did we read in Revelation?  Since you are like lukewarm water, I will spit you out! It doesn’t say spit you into heaven. It says, spit you OUT! Lord, help us to live a good life. One that leads us into your eternal presence. Check out these posts related on how God wants you to Live The Good Life. - Enjoy Life To The Fullest - Living The New Life - Enjoying The Benefits Of Living A Godly Life - God's Plans For Your Life Are Good And Encouraging Read the full article

[bbymochiiiiii]

ZERO

- - - - - - - -

- You got a taste for blood when you were licking your own wounds -

- - - - - - - -

 A boy with nothing to his name but a drunkard mother and a father nowhere to be found, probably off " fucking high-class whores" as his mother so often proclaims in her many broken-hearted tantrums. 

 He was only a boy with scraps for clothes - clothes that were always too big and hung from his scraggy frame - and sticky fingers made for taking from the oblivious pockets of the wealthy. 

 This young boy went by Jeongguk, nothing more to it, just Jeongguk. He was a boy whose first priority was survival, and in a world such as his, surviving was the only option if you decided that death wasn't the answer. 

 "The world turns its back on people like us, my darling boy, and so..." His mother, in her rare moments of sobriety, would gently caress his face lovingly with a gleam of nostalgia in her tired brown eyes. "We turn our backs to the world."

 So that's how Jeongguk would proceed to live out the rest of his life. With his head down, ignoring the whispers of townsfolk and their pitying glances, fake concern from the locals, and jeering from the socialite. Pay little attention to the equally as beaten-down men and women on the sides of shops, ignore the desperate pleas coming from hopeless children-

 Children like him.

 But this was the way he had resolved to live out his life.

 Until it wasn't

 Jeongguk grows up to become intelligent, cunning, and resourceful in every way possible. These are traits to success  for someone like him, someone who lives on the dirty street of Mistras, surrounded by who society deems, as shameful  and  wicked . He makes allies with his fellow miscreants, develops a system so to speak. His own type of hierarchy where Jeongguk sits on top. " Work together, and we survive. "

There comes a day when he falls into the clutches of Madam, a woman whose world revolves around money because, as she so often tells him - " money makes the world go 'round. " Madam was the owner of the only brothel in the slums of Mistras, the best brothel in their town (though many will deny such claims because God forbid such an esteemed gentleman would dare visit such a dirty place), and Jeongguk was her pretty little bird. He had become her reliable little information gatherer, and as a result, was given a way to make money - the money hidden away beneath the floorboards of his mother's bedroom, the last place she'd think to look even when at her worst.

  Jeongguk made good with merchants, both from Mistras and beyond their borders. "W hat say I give you a bag of apples if you startle that old hag just a few plots down aye? Growing boys can't grow hungry. " " How much are those silks down there, boy? Tell me, do I need to up my game? " A game of compromise. He learns the art of trade and how to easily swindle aristocrats and the poor alike out of their cash. 

 What was once a useless boy, barely able to help himself, turns into a young teen with power people like his past self wished they could achieve. Jeongguk became valued and important.

 He had become needed.

 Not as replaceable as he once was.

 And so that's how he grows, from a simple scrawny kid off the street to someone whose name holds a type of power even aristocrats wish they could grasp. 

 Make no mistake, Jeongguk remains an anonomy. He keeps his head down and his nose out of other people's business. 

 But then comes the day where he just so happens to do the opposite and ends up drawing the attention of a rebel leader and his entourage of lovers after saving said leader from some dangerous people.  

 Now he's been dragged into a whole new list of problems and feels just a tad bit out of his element.

Below is the link to the story on AO3! I Hope you enjoy it! Maybe. Possibly? Hopefully!

[watercolourdreamer]

Indelible Lines (NSFW)

Viktor x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: To your ire, you’ve developed a terrible infatuation with Viktor and (un)fortunately he’s noticed. Set pre-Act I, when Viktor was a wee student.

AO3 Link

Alternative Synopsis: Oops, my hand slipped after @arcanescribbles posted this artwork. I couldn’t stop thinking about Viktor’s hands gripping the sheets and how damn hot that is. So here we are. Enjoy!

Tags/Warnings: Hand fetish, mentions of masturbation, marking kink, fingering, face-sitting, blowjob, praise kink, brief aftercare, reader is very horny, lots of swearing (because why not? 🤷🏾‍♀️).

Word Count: 4.5K

There were many things you were sure of in life: that the world revolved around the sun, that the sun rose from the east and set in the west, and that you were infatuated with Viktor — and it infuriated you.

You prided yourself on being an attentive, diligent student. You consistently aced the biochemistry and physiology classes, were the treasure of theoretical physics, and impressed your cohort at The Academy with your prowess as an artist.

You didn’t have time for infatuations. Ambition and progress always came first.

Then Viktor sauntered into your life. Humble, driven, reckless and self-reliant Viktor.

The golden-eyed Golden Boy that Heimerdinger had dragged from the depths of the undercity. The underdog that had charmed the council and admissions board with his sheer intellect, ambition and self-determination, whilst on trial for trespassing academy grounds. And yes, you could admit there was something to admire in these qualities, but his ‘attractive’ qualities diminished them in magnitudes.

The slight bump at the end of his nose, most prominent when profiled by the setting sun during a physics practicum. The beauty marks that adorned his face and skin; marks that often distracted you when he was too close beside you when you were completing back titrations in chemistry. Beauty marks that left you wondering how many more mapped his skin and how long it would take to kiss each one.

The way he twirled his hair was particularly irksome – chestnut curls twisting and untwisting around slender fingers as he pondered over calculus equations during tutorials and lectures. Such beautiful, clean hands with neatly trimmed nails and elegant knuckles.

For all of your annoyance with Viktor, you rarely interacted beyond your academics. Nothing beyond a blushed and polite ‘hello’ in the hallway or student dormitories, or a softly spoken ‘excuse me’ when he shuffled past you in the library or in lectures, finding a seat beside or near you.

So when Professor Sinclair had paired you with Viktor to complete a group assignment to invent a prototype mechanism together, from proposal to product; to say you were brimming with nervous excitement was an understatement.

Maybe this was providence finally intervening, gifting you the time to get to know the unsavoury aspects of this tall and slender man, and rid yourself of this silly infatuation. Gods knew the occasional, non-committal fucks with your peers weren’t helping.

Providence proved to be a cruel mistress instead.

Much to your ire, Viktor was just as disarmingly charming to study with and get to know. Behind those considered words and soft cadence was a sparkling wit and playfulness that left your sides aching from laughter. He was surprisingly empathetic, expressing concern for classmates who struggled, despite being his bullies during various points during his studies.

Viktor was also filled with a limitless desire to not be forgotten, which you observed underpinned his almost self-destructive work ethic. During your study sessions, you were often coaxing water or food into him with a grumble about “nourished bodies and minds produce results”.

Viktor’s dishevelled bed hair during weekend research sessions also left you breathless each time he arrived at the library, coffee mug in hand. Every time you fought the urge to hand-comb it and feel it’s apparent softness beneath your fingertips.

When he wore slightly unbuttoned shirts to quell the impending summer heat, your mind pondered on whether the rest of him was as pale and sparsely haired.

Your undoing was his smile though — mischievous and carefree in its joy. It was contagious like his playful attempts at “winging it” (Viktor’s words, not yours) with all of your prototype tests. Four months later, everything about Viktor was enrapturing to you and you knew you were truly fucked.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Viktor’s dulcet voice drew you back to reality, away from your thoughts. As you looked up from your notes, you found the young man staring curiously at you, a slight smile betraying his amusement.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks. Yes, actually. He was interrupting, groused your thoughts. You’d been daydreaming about Viktor again. Perhaps fantasising was a more apt word — daydreaming about his mouth on your throat as his fingers slowly fucked your cunt, whispering how you were a ‘good girl’ for him.

“Huh. Um,” you looked back at the mess of letters on your page again. What were you working on again? Ah. Right. Law of Conservation.

“No. No. You’re not interrupting anything,” you assured him as you shook your head. “I just.” You chewed the tip of your pencil absently, noting the hands on the library clock: it was ten to midnight. “It’s getting late. Let’s call it a night.”

“Are you sure?” pressed Viktor, a slight frown on his lips. He raised his pencil to his face and tapped it to his bottom lip absently. A vivid desire to be that pencil flashed through your mind, adding to the heat between your thighs.

Fucking hell.

“You’re doing that thing again — where you chew your pencil in thought,” continued Viktor, calmly, thoughtfully; tapping the pencil to his lips again as if to stress his words. “I thought at first that you had finished your calculations but a glance at your notes suggested you were distracted instead. So, y/n, what is so riveting about your thoughts?”

Everything. Climbing onto your lap and fucking you senseless until your every thought is about me and how fucking good my pussy is for you, answered your mind. But you couldn’t say that.

You couldn’t admit that it wasn’t just a once-off fantasy either. No, you’d slid your lacquered dildo into your aching, wet core for months now imagining it was Viktor’s cock instead. You’d cum to constructed scenarios of him begging for you to let him cum, to let him touch you as your imaginary-self traced the veins of his dick with your tongue.

No, that wouldn’t be an appropriate answer. At all.

Viktor’s shoe tapped the side of your shin, interrupting you from your reverie again. You felt the blush deepen on your cheeks, spreading to your neck as a sheepish apology passed your lips.

“Perhaps it’s best if we call it a night,” chuckled Viktor as he began bookmarking and closing the books he’d been reading for research.

“Agreed,” you said, placing your stationery into your painted pencil tin. “Did you need help with the books?”

Viktor shook his head as he deposited the thick tomes into his satchel bag, alongside his notebooks. Carefully, he stood and reached for his cane, which rested against the table.

“I would prefer to walk you back to your rooms though. Daydreamers have a habit of walking into things, if they’re not careful.”

⁂

The walk back to your dormitory room was pleasant. Viktor rambled about possible solutions for your failed prototype testing this past week, theorising reasons for your failures and how to integrate these observations into your production and design folio.

Once you arrived at your door, Viktor paused as you fished for your keys in your satchel. It was as you slid your key into the lock that Viktor spoke.

“You were thinking about me in the library, yes?”

Viktor’s words knocked the air out from your lungs and your hand stilled, mid-motion. How? How did he know? He wasn’t a mage nor was he a mind reader. So, how the fuck did he know?

“Hmm,” hummed Viktor. “I thought so. I’ve been researching this for months now. If you, eh, feel mutually about me as I do for you. Your breathing quickens in my presence. You blush when we touch. And the times I wore clothing with slightly more skin exposed, you were visibly flustered and couldn’t make consistent eye contact.”

Of course. Your infatuation was obvious and Viktor, being ever the scientist, had analysed the evidence before him. But your thoughts were locked more importantly on his words: “If you, eh, feel mutually about me as I do for you.”

“My conclusions are correct, no?” asked Viktor when you didn’t respond.

Gods, he wanted you too.

“If it is and this is something you don’t want, I won’t speak of it again and we’ll remain friends,” continued Viktor. “Your friendship is more valuable to me.”

He wanted you. Gods. He wanted. You.

Heimerdinger’s fucking Golden Child wanted you.

Your blood pulsed loudly in your ears as you considered your response.

On one hand you could reject his advances based on the principle of your infatuation with him ruining your life, and be done with it. On the other hand, you could fuck out these distracting hormones and truly find out if he was a sex god, as the rumours of the past two years had spread throughout The Academy.

You sighed over your internal dilemma and turned the key in the lock. The mechanism clicked open and you purposefully slipped your key back into the back of your satchel pocket.

You turned to Viktor, grasping the smooth surface of the brass door handle to steady yourself.

His long frame stood tall, brown satchel slung across his lithe body as his gaze held yours: fierce, resolute and proud. A brilliant vermillion had bloomed across the sharp planes of his cheeks, and his bottom lip was pulled slightly beneath his teeth in worry. It was the slight tremble of his hand on the curve of his cane handle that betrayed his nervousness the most – his knuckles stretched white as the cane shook imperceptibly in the soft hallway light.

Viktor was a composed, wretched mess. Just like you.

Carefully you pulled your spine up, curved your neck upwards to look him dead in the eye.

“Viktor, I’m going to open this door and you have to make a decision. Either you a) say goodnight and we remain friends and finish this assignment like this never happened; or b) you step into my bedroom and we fuck until the only thought in that splendid brain of yours is me, and only me.

“So what’ll it be?”

⁂

Viktor’s mind was in a panic.

Had he heard you correctly? Were you propositioning him?

Surely not.

Yet here you stood, eyes beholden with unadulterated lust. Chin held aloft as you challenged him to act on his desires; a jawline that he had wanted to litter with kisses, and use to follow the lines of your neck to the juncture of your shoulder. Press his lips, his teeth into your skin until his name was a litany gasped from your throat.

By Janna, his hand – no, other people’s consenting bodies hadn’t been enough to satiate his desire for you these past seven months. Viktor had wanted you, only you, and that desire had become all-consuming these past four months working together.

He had been starting to regret his request to Professor Sinclair to pair you together for the year. Scared that even though his observations of your lust were correct, you were resolute in your decision for this to remain a fantasy, an unactioned desire.

Yet, all he had to do was cross that indelible line, voice his desire and you were his.

“So what’ll it be?”

That was an easy answer, thought Viktor as he stepped over the threshold, into your room.

⁂

You watched nervously as Viktor’s satchel fell next to yours with a soft thump on your bedroom floor.

You hadn’t expected him to accept your, for lack of a better word, proposition. In all honesty, part of you had wanted Viktor to bid you goodnight and leave, his cane hitting the tile floor a toll that this infatuation was over. That you could move on, both of you certain in your mutual decision to ignore and compartmentalise your carnal desires.

“So, how did you want to do this?”

Viktor’s eyebrows curved upwards, a mischievous smile exposing the middle gap of his incisors as he shifted his weight onto his left leg.

“I imagined we would undress, descend onto your bed,” he gestured vaguely in the direction of your king-size single bed in the corner of the room, “and – as you said – fuck until the only thought in that splendid brain of mine is you, and only you,” teased Viktor, his voice husky and low.

You let out a snort of amusement.

“Hmm,” you stepped towards him, until your hands were on his chest. Then your fingers slowly began unfastening the gun-metal clasps of his academy vest. “It’s hardly fair to use my words against me.”

“Eh, you made your expectations clear and I’m simply acknowledging them,” murmured Viktor absently with a cheeky shrug. His elegant hands touched your chest, teasing the buttons on your burgundy shirt; lightly caressing the cotton fabric. “May I?”

You nodded and let out a hum of approval.

It wasn’t long before your upper garments were gone, the fabric shirked to the floor with a satisfying rustle. The planes of his torso were exposed to you: pale skin spotted with freckles and beauty marks, a thin line of dark hair descending from his navel to the waistband of his blue-grey pants.

Viktor was utterly beautiful. More so than you imagined. Absolutely and utterly divine.

And when your eyes met his, you saw your adoration mirrored in gold; and Viktor swore, soft and low.

He pulled you towards him, his forearm hot against your lower back. Shamelessly, Viktor pressed his mouth against the shape of your jaw, then the nexus of your neck and jawline, suckling down the line of your throat, all the while drawing soft whimpers from deep within your chest.

Surely Viktor could taste the blood in your pulse-point as you keened under his touch. Surely he could hear how it rushed through your arteries, your capillaries, heating your skin with an unbearable fire. Gods, you needed him. You fucking wanted him pressed against every inch of your bare skin, your hips rutting up to meet his own.

“Are you okay moving this to the bed?” you asked breathlessly. Viktor’s teeth dragged across the skin of your collarbone before pressing a soft kiss to the column of your neck. Molten gold eyes gazed at you in the lamplight, and you felt yourself melt under them, into them.

Gods, he wasn’t allowed to be this attractive, you thought. It should be illegal for someone to look at you with such wanton desire.

“Of course. Truthfully, even if you fucked me right here, right now, on this floor, I would still be satiated,” admitted Viktor, thumb caressing the curve of your waist. His words broke something in you and you hastily unbuttoned his pants, pushed him onto the edge of your bed and kissed the bare skin of his muscular thighs.

“You don’t have to,” started Viktor softly.

“Actually, I do,” you interjected, trailing your fingers up and down the inside of his thighs. Viktor trembled beneath your touch; a low, loud moan erupting out of him when you marked his pale flesh with your teeth. You watched his skin bloom red, satisfied. “I’ve been wanting to suck your cock for months.”

“Fuck,” groaned Viktor, eyes wide, pupils dilated and rimmed with gold. “Did you, eh, pleasure yourself to that fantasy?”

“Hmm. Many times,” you hummed, your hand reaching up to fist his hardening cock. You stroked him a few times, feeling the veins that curved around the shaft of his dick. “Did you?”

“I did. However – ah ­– my imagination did no justice to how divine you would actually feel.”

Viktor carded his hands through your loose hair and you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes contently as his nails scraped along your scalp. You allowed yourself the moment, letting Viktor calm his laboured breathing. With a deliberate slow sultriness, you opened your eyes and peered up at Viktor from beneath your lashes.

He bit back a moan, teeth pulling his bottom lip inwards.

“Viktor, I’m going to fuck you now, with my pretty mouth, and I want to hear you,” you gave his arousal a hard squeeze and Viktor rewarded you with a whimper. The salty, musky scent of leaking precum sent your mind reeling, and you thumbed it around his sensitive tip, watching Viktor’s face the entire time.

He wasn’t looking at you. His attention was rapt upon your hand, as you stroked him, and your tongue, as you ran it along the thick underside of him and around him. A teasing of what was to come.

You were going to unravel him and enjoy every single moment of it.

Purposefully, you licked your lips and smiled back up at Viktor. His throat bobbed visibly as he gulped.

“I want to hear every sigh. Every moan. I want to hear every praise that falls from your lips, that crosses your mind until you’re cumming in my mouth,” you continued huskily. “Do you think you can do that for me?”

“Yes.” Viktor nodded earnestly. “Yes, I can.”

“Good.”

Then your lips were around his cock, diligently taking him in as his groans echoed against your bedroom walls – loud and delicious to your ears. You started slow, before setting a steady pace, hand fisted around the base of his cock; hot and heavy in your hands. And when Viktor’s hand gripped your hair in his long fingers, applauding you for being a “good girl”, his words shot straight to your core.

“Fuck. Yes. Keep doing that. You feel so fucking good,” praised Viktor, his voice wanton and soaked with carnal pleasure. Gazing up at him, you watched the normally composed man unravel before you.

His neck was stretched taunt, chestnut hair damp against his forehead. His eyes were closed and his slender hand fisted the bedsheets as hips rocked with great restraint against your face.

You were doing that. You were responsible for the pinch of pleasure in his brow, and the way your name fell from his mouth like accolades. You were causing him to lose all self-control as his hands clutched your navy duvet like a lifebuoy in an ocean; his chest heaving shallow breaths as he approached his peak.

“I’m close. Fuck. I’m,” choked out Viktor, panting with exertion. “I’m going to–”

You enthusiastically hummed around him, then pushed his thighs further out and sunk your mouth down until the tip of his cock touched the back of your mouth. It was this – this is what pushed him over the precipice.

His orgasm was furious in your mouth. The salty strings of his orgasm hit the back of your tongue with a fierce ferocity and you swallowed each one thirstily, like a parched traveller in the Shumiran desert. Viktor’s back bowed above you, your name a choked groan on his lips.

You milked every, last drop of his cum out of his pulsating cock into you; until Viktor pulled you off him, face flushed and mesmerised by you. With a messy, ardent passion, he pressed his flushed lips against your own.

⁂

Viktor could taste himself on your mouth: a salty tanginess that left him dizzy with desire.

It had been so long since someone had fucked him like that. Fucked him until stars glistened in his vision and rendered him speechless. Left him consumed with only the thought and the pleasure of them between his legs and how fucking exquisite they felt. You had done that.

All of his limbs still tingled with the aftershocks of his orgasm. His legs trembled as he resolutely pulled you into his lap, until your bare chest was pressed against his own.

If your lips had felt celestial around his cock then your mouth was cosmic ecstasy against his own. Soft and supple whilst hard and rough simultaneously – a paradox of electric desire that felt divine.

Viktor’s tongue gently brushed your bottom lip, seeking permission, and you willingly gave it to him; tongue slipping in to taste the shape of your mouth, to trace the edges of your teeth.

It drew a moan from deep within you, as your hands pleasantly pulled his hair. When his teeth grazed and suckled the softness of your neck, you moaned loudly and rocked your hips against his roughly. Viktor hissed from the overstimulation, still in his refractory period.

But instead of pushing you away, he slipped a hand between you, fingers spreading the wetness of you around your swollen folds before sinking a digit into your warm, tight cunt. The groan it elicited out of you was positively criminal.

“By Janna, you’re sopping,” groaned Viktor, and added another finger to your heat. You clenched around him. And as he started pumping his fingers in-and-out of you, you whimpered with delight, your wanton moans pulling your head back in pleasure, long locks cascading down your back.

You were absolutely sopping and Viktor decided he wanted that against his mouth. Now.

⁂

"Sit on me."

His words had been spoken softly, but they were sonorous, vibrating through your entire body. Heck, immolating every cell of you in a greedy, lust-filled fire. Viktor languidly sucked the sheen of your juices off his fingers, his hooded eyes watching your every expression and tick. Satisfied, he released his slender fingers with a gratuitous pop!, a smug smirk curling his lips upwards.

"You taste delicious," said Viktor, tone laden with desire. He lowered himself onto your bed, his dishevelled curls splayed out in a patina around his head on your blue duvet. "Come hither and let me feast on you."

Fucking hell. Golden Child Viktor was going to be your undoing.

But it still thrilled you as you moved up his frame and your parted legs hovered over his blatantly eager face. Viktor's hands firmly dug into the supple flesh of your thighs, and he pulled you closer, until his lips and teeth nipped at the sensitive underside of your thighs with a pleased moan. It sent tremors through you, straight to your aching, soaked core.

You felt the curve of Viktor's self-satisfied smile against your skin, as he moved closer to where you wanted him to be. He blew warm air across your swollen lips, which drew a deep moan of desperation out of you before he pulled away.

"You bastard,” you cursed.

Viktor hummed nonchalantly. Then he had the audacity to chuckle at you. You. The very person he was meant to be pleasuring. Just as you were about to curse him into the flaming ball of plasma in the sky, he slipped a finger into you, drawing a loud, low gasp from within your very being.

"I’ve found that the best meals are, ah, savoured slowly," teased the scientist as he swirled his finger experimentally in your cunt. Oh fuck. That was more delightful than you anticipated. “But I have a habit of being, eh, impatient.”

Then he abruptly brought you down, onto his face, his tongue running a hot, resolute path along your core that left you aching for more.

To say you had been prepared for this would’ve been a lie. Your imagined scenarios were a paltry tribute to the actual pleasure of Viktor’s mouth, Viktor’s tongue between your thighs. He licked and sucked as if your pussy was a holy grail and your cunt a fine wine. Sporadically he would enthusiastically groan into you, as if praising you for the way you tugged his hair and rolled your hips over him.

Viktor’s pace was agonising – drawing your arousal to a precipice, but never over the edge. And each time you tried to pull him closer or speed up his ministrations, Viktor would duck away momentarily with a snort or breathy laugh of bemusement before strategically slowing down again.

His teeth pulled lightly at your lips, sparking an electric jolt of pleasure through your spine; and when his tongue slid into the entrance of your cunt, your back bowed with an all-encompassing pleasure.

“Fucking hell, Viktor,” you panted above him, your knuckles now tightly wrapped and white around the wrought iron of your bedframe. You were a wreck, body begging for release, your hips hopelessly jerking towards him and his fucking talented mouth.

“Please,” you begged. “Please. Just let me cum.”

Viktor hummed into you, the sound vibrating achingly into your core.

Then you made the mistake of looking down at him: his usually golden eyes were now mostly onyx with desire as he enthusiastically lapped at your cunt, his eyes catching yours with hungry, carnal desire every moment or so. Every now and then Viktor would close his eyes in seemingly absolute pleasure, as if to savour the meal of tasting, eating you.

Watching him was your undoing and you came suddenly, starburst erupting behind your eyes as you cried into the night. Viktor held you firmly against him, his lips tight around your clit as your thighs trembled with pleasure. And as your body slumped with a post-orgasmic glow, Viktor licked the remnants of your cum with a moan of satisfaction.

Gingerly you lifted yourself off him and plopped unceremoniously onto your bed beside him. Your chest heaved, still searching for the air your orgasm had squeezed from your lungs.

You felt, rather than saw, Viktor shift and leave the bed; his gait shuffling softly around the room until you heard a cupboard opening and closing, followed by the shriek of your basin taps running in the annexed washroom.

“Sorry,” said Viktor ruefully.

“It’s okay. The plumbing is abysmal in this dormitory wing anyway,” you reassured him.

You could picture the exact grimace on his face as he apologised though. It was an expression reserved for when you asked if "the prototype is dangerous", and he shrugged noncommittedly before flicking on the mechanism. Sometimes the prototype exploded, other times it combusted, but it was always the same grimace reserved for Viktor's risky ventures.

When Viktor returned to bed, you watched drowsily as he tenderly wiped between, and around, your thighs with a damp cloth. Discarding the cloth onto your bedside table, he then perched himself onto his side, elbow supporting his head as amber eyes gazed reverently down at you.

There was a gentleness to his countenance that you rarely saw – usually caught when he was absently staring into space during your study sessions. Maybe Viktor had also been thinking about you these past four months?

“Thank you,” said Viktor softly as his thumb caressed your cheek. “That was better than I ever imagined.”

“Same.”

You smiled sleepily up at him and pulled him down into a languid kiss before you coaxed him under the bedsheets. Gently, you ensconced yourself in each other’s warmth: your leg between Viktor’s and his arm wrapped around your waist as you pressed your face into the warmth of his chest.

“We should probably call it a night, though,” you continued, now warm and content. “We have an early morning class tomorrow.”

“Yes, I suppose nourished minds and bodies produce results. Goodnight y/n,” murmured Viktor before he pressed his lips to the crown of your head. Whatever Viktor said after that was lost, as you fell asleep almost immediately, exhausted from the day's events.

But it didn’t matter, because when you woke in the morning, Viktor was still there, beside you; and that's what mattered.

⁂

Thanks for reading!

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[shkspr]

hi. on your post where you may or may not have ended on 'moffat is either your angel or your devil' did you have maybe an elaboration on that somewhere that i could possibly hear about. i'm very much a capaldi era stan and i've never tried to defend the matt smith era even though it had delightful moments sometimes so i wonder where that puts me. i'd love to hear your perspective on moffat as a person with your political perspective. -nicole

hi ok sorry i took so long to respond to this but i dont think you know how LOADED this question is for me but i am so happy to elaborate on that for you. first a few grains of salt to flavor your understanding of the whole situation: a. im unfairly biased against moffat bc im a davies stan and a tennant stan; b. i still very much enjoy and appreciate moffat era who for many reasons; and c. i hate moffat on a personal level far more than i could ever hate his work.

the thing is that its all always gonna be a bit mixed up bc i have to say a bunch of seemingly contradictory things in a row. for instance, a few moffat episodes are some of my absolute favorites of the rtd era, AND the show went way downhill when moffat took over, AND the really good episodes he wrote during the rtd era contained the seeds of his destruction.

like i made that post about the empty child/the doctor dances and it holds true for blink and thats about it bc the girl in the fireplace and silence in the library/forest of the dead are good but not nearly on the same level, and despite the fact that i like them at least nominally, they are also great examples of everything i hate about moffat and how he approached dw as a whole.

basically. doctor who is about people. there are many things about moffats tenure as showrunner that i think are a step up from rtd era who! actual gay people, for one! but i think that can likely be attributed mostly to an evolving Society as opposed to something inherent to him and his work, seeing as rtd is literally gay, and the existence of queer characters in moffats work doesnt mean the existence of good queer characters (ill give him bill but thats it!)

i have a few Primary Grievances with moffat and how he ran dw. all of them are things that got better with capaldi, but didnt go away. they are as follows:

moffat projects his own god complex onto the doctor

rtd era who had a doctor with a god complex. you cant ever be the doctor and not have a god complex. the problem with moffats era specifically is that the god complex was constant and unrepentant and was seen as a fundamental personality trait of the doctor rather than a demon he has to fight. he has the Momence where you feel bad for him, the Momence where he shows his humility or whatever and youre reminded that he doesnt want to be the lonely god, but those are just. moments. in a story where the doctor thinks hes the main character. rtd era doctor was aware that he wasnt the main character. he had to be an authority sometimes and he had to be the loner and he had to be sad about it, but he ultimately understood that he was expendable in a narrative sense.

this is how you get lines like “were the thin fat gay married anglican marines, why would we need names as well?” from the same show that gave you the gut punch moment at the end of midnight when they realize that nobody asked the hostess for her name. and on the one hand, thats a small sticking point, but on the other hand, its just one small example of the simple disregard that moffat has for humanity.

incidentally, this is a huge part of why sherlock sucked so bad: moffats main characters are special bc theyre so much bigger and better than all the normal people, and thats his downfall as a showrunner. he thinks that his audience wants fucking sheldon cooper when what they want is people.

like, ok. think of how many fantastic rtd era eps are based in the scenario “what if the doctor wasnt there? what if he was just out of commission for a bit?” and how those eps are the heart of the show!! bc theyre about people being people!! the thing is that all of the rtd era companions would have died for the doctor but he understood and the story understood that it wasnt about him.

this is like. nine sending rose home to save her life and sacrifice his own vs clara literally metaphysically entwining her existence w the doctor. ten also sending rose with her family to save her life vs river being raised from infancy to be obsessed w the doctor and then falling in love w him. martha leaving bc she values herself enough to make that decision vs amy being treated like a piece of meat.

and this is simultaneously a great callback to when i said that moffats episodes during the rtd era sometimes had the same problems as his show running (bc girl in the fireplace reeks of this), and a great segue into the next grievance.

moffat hates women

he hates women so fucking much. g-d, does steven moffat ever hate women. holy shit, he hates women. especially normal human women who prioritize their normal human lives on an equal or higher level than the doctor. moffat hated rose bc she wasnt special by his standards. the empty child/the doctor dances is the nicest he ever treated her, and she really didnt do much in those eps beyond a fuck ton of flirting.

girl in the fireplace is another shining example of this. youve got rose (who once again has another man to keep her busy, bc moffat doesnt think shes good enough for the doctor) sidelined for no reason only to be saved by the doctor at the last second or whatever. and then youve got reinette, who is pretty and powerful and special!

its just. moffat thinks that the doctor is as shallow and selfish as he is. thats why he thinks the doctor would stay in one place with reinette and not with rose. bc moffat is shallow and sees himself in the doctor and doesnt think he should have to settle for someone boring and normal.

not to mention rose met the doctor as an adult and chose to stay with him whereas reinette is. hm. introduced to the doctor as a child and grows up obsessed with him.

does that sound familiar? it should! bc it is also true of amy and river. and all of them are treated as viable romantic pairings. bc the only women who deserve the doctor are the ones whose entire existence revolves around him. which includes clara as well.

genuinely i think that at least on some level, not even necessarily consciously, that bill was a lesbian in part bc capaldi was too old to appeal to mainstream shippers. like twelve/clara is still a thing but not as universally appealing as eleven/clara but i am just spitballing. but i think they weighed the pros and cons of appealing to the woke crowd over the het shippers and found that gay companion was more profitable. anyway the point is to segue into the next point, which is that moffat hates permanent consequences.

moffat hates permanent consequences

steven moffat does not know how to kill a character. honestly it feels like hes doing it on purpose after a certain point, like he knows he has this habit and hes trying to riff on it to meme his own shit, but it doesnt work. it isnt funny and it isnt harmless, its bad writing.

the end of the doctor dances is so poignant and so meaningful and so fucking good bc its just this once! everybody lives, just this once! and then he does p much the same thing in forest of the dead - this one i could forgive, bc i do think that preserving those peoples consciousnesses did something for the doctor as a character, it wasnt completely meaningless. but everything after that kinda was.

rory died so many times its like. get a hobby lol. amy died at least once iirc but it was all a dream or something. clara died and was erased from the doctors memory. river was in prison and also died. bill? died. all of them sugarcoated or undone or ignored by the narrative to the point of having effectively no impact on the story. the point of a major character death is that its supposed to have a point. and you could argue that a piece of art could be making a point with a pointless death, ie. to put perspective on it and remind you that bad shit just happens, but with moffat the underlying message is always “i can do whatever i want, nothing is permanent or has lasting impact ever.”

basically, with moffat, tragedy exists to be undone. and this was a really brilliant, really wonderful thing in the doctor dances specifically bc it was the doctor clearly having seen his fair share of tragedy that couldnt be helped, now looking on his One Win with pride and delight bc he doesnt get wins like this! and then moffat proceeded to give him the same win over and over and over and over. nobody is ever dead. nobody is ever unable to be saved. and if they are, really truly dead and/or gone, then thats okay bc moffat has decided that [insert mitigating factor here]*

*the mitigating factor is usually some sort of computerized database of souls.

i can hear the moffat stans falling over themselves to remind me that amy and rory definitely died, and they did - after a long and happy life together, they died of old age. i dont consider that a character death any more than any other character choosing to permanently leave the tardis.

and its not just character deaths either, its like, everything. the destruction of gallifrey? never mind lol! character development? scrapped! the same episode four times? lets give it a fifth try and hope nobody notices. bc he doesnt know how to not make the doctor either an omnipotent savior or a self-pitying failure.

it is in nature of doctor who, i believe, for the doctor to win most of the time. like, it wouldnt be a very good show if he didnt win most of the time. but it also wouldnt be a very good show if he won all of the time. my point is that moffats doctor wins too often, and when he doesnt win, it feels empty and hollow rather than genuinely humbling, and you know hes not gonna grow from it pretty much at all.

so like. again, i like all of doctor who i enjoy all of it very much. i just think that steven moffat is a bad show runner and a decent writer at times. and it is frustrating. and im not here to convince or convert anyone im just living my truth. thank you for listening.

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Romanced companions (fo4) react to a distressed female soul telling them she found out she's turning into a ghoul (she's known it for a while but she's been too afraid to tell them, worrying about how they'd react)

Romanced! FO4 Companions React to F!Sole Turning into a Ghoul

Thank you so much for the ask anon! (and for your patience, I know you sent this one in forever ago 😅)

I always kind of wondered how the companions would react to this if it was a function of the game 🤔 So I'm glad I got to explore it a bit! I hope you enjoy!

Cait:

No. Not her. Not her Sole. Cait thought, unable to grasp the news Sole had just revealed to her. Her partner was too strong, she was too careful. She was from before the bombs, before the radiation! How could this have happened?

In her mind, it would have made a lot more sense for Cait to turn into a ghoul long before Sole. Her arse actually deserved the pain of watching her physical self peel away day by day, but not Sole. Her companion, her partner, the one damn person she actually loved... No, Sole was too good for this. But the two of them, they could beat it, they could reverse it somehow. One of those vaults could hold the answer, like it did for her, even after she had thought it was too late.

Cait didn't want to stop the change because she had anything against ghouls, really, because she doesn't. But she couldn't stand the sight of her luv's face when, at the light brush of her fingers through her once silky locks, she felt them fall to the ground in webbed clumps, Cait couldn't stand the pain in Sole's expression as her skin began to shrivel and peel off, she couldn’t witness one more instance of Sole glancing in a mirror with such immense sadness in her eyes. And Cait became very troubled when she realized that Sole would be here long after she was dead. Cait couldn't stand to face reality without her partner after all that she's done for her, and now Sole was staring that reality in the face. The poor lass had already outlived everyone she's known and loved once, and now she had to do it all over again, who knows how many times? It just wasn't fuckin' fair.

Well, once Cait had accepted Sole's change as permanent, she would do everything in her power to ensure the pair made the most of their years together, giving absolutely no fucks about Sole's new appearance. And should anyone else decide to look at her the wrong way, or, God forbid, say something to her about it, Cait's fist would be unholstered and swinging before the offensive words could even leave their worthless lips.

Curie:

She would feel sorry for Sole, and constantly be there for her as a source of support. When her love had told her what was happening, Curie had been shocked. Sure, she had noticed a few changes in her partner’s body, but she had hoped it wouldn’t be anything too serious. Still, this wasn't the worst that could happen, Curie would know, after all of the diseases and viruses she had worked with in the vault. Yet... the synth still found her chest throbbing at the thought of watching her love deteriorate before her eyes.

Throughout Sole’s change, Curie would do what she could to lessen the symptoms. There was no “cure” for being a ghoul, but Curie would feel awful if she didn’t at least try.

As Sole’s condition became more and more obvious, she would do everything in her power to make sure her partner knew that she still loved her. Curie had been a reprogrammed Miss Nanny when Sole had found her, she'd been nothing more than a metal machine when Sole had selflessly saved her, and yet, she had found a way to love her for who she was, despite what she was, and she had been there every step of the way as she made the change to her synth body. Curie would be happy to return the favor tenfold.

Also, throughout the process of Sole's change, if anyone was rude to her love, about anything, Curie would be at them with harsh words and a firm teacher’s voice as she gave the ill-mannered stranger a quick ghouls-101 education session.

Danse (Post BB):

Oh… Oh God. Not this. Not her, not his beautiful Sole. The ex-paladin’s stomach would drop as she quietly forced out her confession, refusing to meet his wide, despairing gaze.

He didn’t know what to do. Danse was horrified. Not for the first time in his life, he felt like his world was crashing down all around him. Everything good in his life seemed to revolve around the person in front of him, but all of his love, his devotion, all of the effort he put into protecting this one person he had left, that he valued above all else in his life, it was all in vain. Because now… she was turning into something that he had always feared. Something that he had been taught and trained to despise, to think of as vermin that needed to be extinguished. It was the way he felt about himself when he found out what he truly was. He never wanted to feel that way towards her, never thought he would have been able to, and even now… he found that he couldn’t.

It didn’t matter what she was turning into, what she’d become, she was still Sole. And he was committed to her, he was loyal to her. Godammit, he loved her for Christ's sake. He wasn’t about to let this calamitous development change any of that. She certainly hadn’t when it had been him in her place.

Danse would still often have trouble with his internalized prejudices left over from his time with the Brotherhood, but he would try his heart out for her. Every passing day brought more changes to the woman he loved, each one serving as a reminder to what the end result would be, and witnessing it would break his heart into pieces.

It was strange though, it wasn’t as devastating as he had thought it would be, in the beginning. Sole was still herself, even underneath all of the physical changes, she was still here beside him, and in the end, that’s all Danse really needed.

Deacon:

For once, Deacon remained silent. His brows furrowed low beneath his sunglasses and his hand came up to rub at his mouth, as though he were trying to physically pull out a response. He cleared his throat, and his hand went up to remove his glasses so he could look Sole in the eye. A rare sight, one that made her pulse quicken further as the apprehension of her confession really set in.

Deacon had already known, or… suspected, rather, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. It wouldn’t be the first time the Railroad agent's experienced this kind of dread. When he had found out his wife was a synth, he had felt this same crippling pressure in his chest. But he didn’t say that, Sole didn’t need to hear about his problems, no, not again. Now she needed him to help with hers.

So, the spy would nod at her, and ask her what she needed from him. He's a knowledgeable guy, everyone knows that, Sole most of all, so if she needed anything as far as information on what she was about to go through, he would be able to provide it. Better yet, he could bring her to quite a few folks he knew who had gone through the same sorta hell themselves.

Beyond that, not much else would change. Deacon isn't one to put much stock in a person's physicality, what kinda daft and inconsiderate hypocrite would he be if he did? Hell, he may even speak to a surgeon about altering his appearance to become more ghoul-like if that was something Sole cared about. But honestly? He just would want his partner to know that it didn't matter to him.

"Thought you could get rid of lil old me just by going ghoul? Heh, sorry, cuddle muffin, but it looks like you're still stuck with me."

Sole had been able to forgive him for everything he's done, she hadn't judged or ridiculed him for being a bigoted assface for the first half of his life, and she'd accepted him for the compulsive liar and emotion-dodging, sarcastic smart-ass that he was now; sooooooo, yeah. This whole ghoul thing? Not a problem. Just another glorious and compelling chapter in this wacky book called life.

Hancock:

Hancock becomes the literal epitome of empathy. He knows what this shit's like, he's gone through the motions. He remembers the nightmarish sight of his flesh falling from his body in shriveled tatters, he recalls his once silken voice dissolving to his current raspy timbre, he knows what it's like to see the bright vibrance of his irises vanish over the course of a couple weeks, slowly dissolving to the blackness that he now saw the world through.

But with Hancock, it had been his choice. Okay, so he didn't know for certain that he'd become a ghoul, but he had been ready for it, had known it was at least a possibility. With Sole though, she didn't sign up for this shit. She didn't deserve to go through the same kinda hell he did. He wanted to go through hell, felt like he deserved it. But his gorgeous sunshine? The light of his life, the kindest, most selfless person he'd ever met? Nah. She didn't deserve to watch herself develop the likeness of a certain sorta dehydrated fruit.

Hancock would be sure to tell her every day just how incredible she was, how brave, and strong, and how she was still beautiful beyond belief, no matter what. He would show her how he felt. Showering her in gifts and affection, taking her out to prove to her that he could never even think to be embarrassed by her in any capacity whatsoever. He loved this woman, he cherished her. Every irradiated bit of her.

And now… now the best part. Hancock would try not to seem too overexcited, knowing that this whole process was traumatic and painful for his love, but now he could spend the rest of their lives making her see just how much one person-- one ghoul-- could love another. He'd been terrified out of his mind when he thought he would outlive Sole, by who knows how long. But now… now they had an eternity to spend together, or, however long it is ghouls live for. Whatever, no matter how much time they had, Hancock would never be convinced it would be enough. He just supposes the rest of their long lives will simply have to do.

MacCready:

He'd try not to give away his heartbreak as he gazed back at her, his face draining of all it's color as those fateful words escaped her with a sob. This was a nightmare of MacCready's. He hadn't ever told Sole what he saw that night he had woken up screaming, he had told her he couldn't remember the dream, and she had said "maybe that was for the best." If only he'd been telling the truth. In reality, what he saw was the immensely frightening sight of Sole taking his late wife's place in that horrific memory that was forever burned into his brain. Her body engulfed by a throng of writhing ferals as she shrieked out his name. As with all of his dreams like this, MacCready was rooted to the place he stood, forever imprisoned as a bystander to the brutality taking place before him. The agony only ceased when the pack of feral ghouls dispersed, revealing Sole, now as one of them. She had raced towards him, hunger and madness glinting in the opaque depths of her dark, iris-less eyes. The mercenary couldn't get the image out of his head as he watched the color in Sole's eyes fade away over time, her skin losing its divine smoothness, her soft hair drifting to the ground in wisps of somber defeat.

The couple had cried a lot in those weeks of her change. The process was heart wrenching for the both of them to witness; but MacCready stuck by her side. He could be stronger than his nightmares, than his fears, when it came to Sole.

When the day finally did come when she was referred to as a ghoul by a perfect stranger, MacCready had almost been surprised. It had taken time for her to look this way, to sound this way, and he had hardly noticed the extent to which his partner changed until looking at old renderings and pictures of her from before the bombs. This was just who she was now.

She wasn't a monster, a ravenous zombie that he feared and despised. She was Sole. She still acted like his love, her voice still resembled that of his partner's, her eyes had lightened to a blue that outshone his own, which he was clearly not bitter about, and she still was just utterly his Sole. The same woman he had fallen for in the first place, the one he thought he'd never be lucky enough to be loved by in return. But now, even behind all the changes, he could still see her there, and he could certainly still love her.

The nightmares became much less common after her transformation, oddly enough. And when he finally introduced Sole to Duncan, he was terribly worried that the boy would hate her, that he would remember that traumatic night when the pair had lost a mother and a wife, and that he would be afraid of her. But his son hardly seemed to notice Sole's condition, as he shook her hand and introduced himself with enthusiastic giddiness. Later, Duncan might voice some questions to her about being a ghoul, but they were always out of genuine curiosity.

MacCready couldn't have been more proud of his child than he was then, or more touched than when Duncan expressed his relief at Sole having a skin condition like this, and yet, she was still able to be loved by someone as great as his dad. The boy himself remembered the way people would look at him before he had been cured of his blue boils, and he didn't wish that on anybody, he'd assured both Sole and MacCready of that one day.

No, MacCready couldn't have been more proud. Of his son, sometimes even of himself as he learned to outgrow his fears, how to muscle through his trauma and be the best father and partner he could possibly be; and certainly, he couldn't have been prouder of Sole.

Nick:

Nick would be remarkably sympathetic, taking Sole's hand in his good one comfortingly as she struggled to get out the confession, and having not even a glimpse of a negative reaction in response to her heart-wrenching words.

“Oh, doll… I’m so sorry.” His fingers would stroke over her hand in an effort to comfort her. He had been surprised by the news, but it wouldn’t change anything. He’d assure her of that. No matter what physical changes Sole underwent; the memories of a certain synth, all metal, and fiberglass, and plastic, and the damn near perfect woman who somehow fell for him would fill his mind, and he wouldn’t be able to keep from telling her just how much she meant to him every single day.

Life would go on, they would go out on cases together, and help the people of the commonwealth as they have nearly since the day they met, but if anyone decided to utter a comment as to Sole’s physical state, they would certainly be faced with a stern talking to from one sassy synth.

He tried to not mention it too early on, but Nick wouldn't be unable to keep the thought buried forever. One day, when Sole was feeling especially despondent about her current state, he’d remind her that he’d always be there for her. Always. Now he didn’t have to worry so much about that dreadful and inevitable fast-approaching day that he would have to bid Sole goodbye as she passed away from her old age, leaving him alone on this ruined earth. He’d just have to hope that she would be as comforted by the thought as he was.

Piper:

The news would be hard to grasp at first, and even after she understood what Sole was telling her, she wouldn't know what to do. How can you fix something like this? This was her Blue they were talking about! She could do anything, she'd survived the bombs, had found the Institute, she had found her son after so many years, had done all of that, just to now have to go through this too? Hasn't Sole been through enough?!

Piper would be angry, and she'd feel horrible watching Sole go through the changes, as she was forced to witness her love's physical form deteriorate before her in just a couple short months. Piper would try to tell Sole to keep her chin up, remind her who she was, of everything she's been through, how much she's overcome; and if anyone wanted to bug her partner about being a ghoul, Piper would tear them to shreds with her words, not caring if she made a scene as she made the stranger realize what horrible mistake they had made speaking to Sole like that. She'd rip ‘em a new one for sure, and spend a good portion of the day making sure her love was alright after the ordeal. The reporter knew how much words could hurt.

She would be utterly supportive, and even, if Sole was comfortable with it, might see if she’s interested in being a sort of poster child for a campaign to allow ghouls back into Diamond City (and God help anyone who tries to keep Sole out of the city before Piper has a chance to change the law officially.)

Preston:

Preston tried to swallow through the lump in his throat, but to no avail. The Minuteman didn’t cry often, or, he hadn’t since meeting Sole. But this… He couldn’t stop the tears from spilling as he drew her into his embrace. His voice surely would have failed him if he had tried to comfort her with his words, so his arms wrapped tightly around her, her head pressed firmly to his chest. That would have to do for the time being.

“Sole, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” He managed to whisper to her as his hand came up to stroke gently at her soft hair, trying desperately not to imagine the way it would fall from her head soon enough. He took a deep breath.

“But… I want you to know something. Something really important.” Preston pulled away so he could look into her eyes, hands coming to rest on either of her tear-stained cheeks “This won’t change anything between us. No matter what, you’re still my General, and… and I love you so much. What’s happening to you won’t ever change the way I feel about you.” They’d both be sniveling messes through the night.

But each morning that passed in the coming days, each change Sole underwent, they would take as it came. Preston is a bit of a workaholic, he knows this, and so does Sole, but he’d take a day off if ever her symptoms became unbearable enough. The Minutemen were stronger now than they had been in years, because of her, and so he would try not to feel so guilty about stepping away from his duties to help her.

But he would keep his promise, and, through everything, Sole would remain the General of the Minutemen, with everyone still paying her the respect that the title was due. She would remain the love of his life, he would tell her every day the way that he admired her, tell her how gorgeous he found her, no matter how much her physicality changed, he would remind her of her boundless strength. He just hoped it’d be enough to make her happy, to save her back, in the way she had saved him.

X6-88:

When Sole hesitantly told him about what was happening to her, it had only been after he asked. It was clear to the synth that something was wrong with his partner, but waiting for her to explain on her own had him only becoming more impatient. When she did tell him, he was furious. Certainly not at her, and not necessarily at the Institute’s inability to prevent it from happening, but at the Commonwealth, at the world for doing this to the one he loved. X6 couldn't stand the thought of it, the pain she had to go through. A part of him blamed himself for it. He was meant to protect her, from anything that could possibly harm her, and he had failed. Her changing appearance would be a testament to that failure every day of his life.

In an effort to make it up to her, X6 offered everything he possibly could to his partner, walking her though each and every symptom that came with her change, and ensuring she was utilizing every resource the Institute had at its disposal. Treatments, and skin creams, and supplements, and enough radaway to douse the glowing sea were used in an effort to slow the process of ghoulification, or perhaps even to halt it.

When it inevitably didn’t work, X6 would feel useless, like he had failed in his mission to keep his beloved safe all over again. However, something strange happened to the courser when the one he loves began to physically fall apart in response to the radiation. He didn’t want to leave her. He could stand to look at her, to still love her in the way that he never thought he would be able to, even when she was human. Despite what she had become, she was still his Sole.

After he came to this realization, X6 would take it as a personal mission for himself to ensure that anyone who made Sole feel bad for the way she looked or the way she now spoke would pay dearly for the carelessness of their commentary. X6 would work endlessly to guard his love from insults and dangers alike, from outsiders as well as those within the Institute. That was what he could do for her, what he had to do, if he ever wanted to make it up to Sole. The way he had carelessly let this happen to her... He would never forgive himself, and wonder every day how Sole could, but he will make it up to her. Mark his words.

[junghelioseok]

clandestine. | 05

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 7.6k [5/6]

notes: second to last installment of a fic that didn’t need to be as long as it is!!! really this entire thing can be summed up with last chapter’s warning, which was “reader is dumb and jungkook is slutty.” i stand by it, okay!!! 🤷🏻‍♀️

warnings: dumb banter, a couple brief smutty bits, oral (f receiving), listen to slow dancing in the dark by joji during the soft smut scene in the middle if u want 

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 

“No. No. God, no. Has your music taste always been this bad, or is this a recent development?”

“You will excuse yourself,” you retort sharply, wagging a finger at your brother. “Mr. Brightside is a classic and I will not hear this slander. Please feel free to permanently vacate the premises if you disagree.”

Jimin rolls his eyes from where he’s slouched on the couch beside you, one hand submerged in a bag of chips and his bare feet kicked up on the coffee table. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m dramatic? Really? You wanna go there, Chim?” You raise your hand and begin ticking off on your fingers. “I’m not the one who threw a fit over a piece of cilantro in my taco. I’m not the one who refused to bathe when Mom couldn’t find the right bubble bath.”

“Oh my god, I was eight,” Jimin snorts. “Both times. And cilantro tastes like soap.”

You raise a third finger. “What about the time you hid all the Monopoly money because you kept losing? Or when yo—”

A knock on the door cuts you off mid-sentence, and you nudge Jimin’s shin with your big toe. “Go get the door,” you order, and you aren’t sure if he’s just tired of hearing your voice, but he stands up without complaint and wanders into the entryway to receive your unexpected guest.

“Hey,” you hear him say. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” a very familiar voice replies. “I need some help.”

It’s Jungkook. Of course it’s Jungkook. You haven’t seen him since he dropped you off and kissed you senseless in your driveway, but you’d have to be delusional to think that you could avoid him for the next week and a half before you leave to return to Seoul. And yet, you allowed yourself to indulge in your delusions for two full days, before he tears them apart with ten simple, innocent words.

“So, I think I might have done the laundry wrong.”

Jimin laughs out loud, covering his mouth with his hand. “That’s all you, Noona,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at you, and you don’t even have wherewithal to lecture him about the sexism of his remark because Jungkook is smirking like he’s just won the lottery and you’re his grand prize.

“Noona?” he begins, his voice syrupy sweet and thick with intent. “Can you come help me?”

You glance down at your pajamas—gray sweatpants and a pink Pusheen t-shirt that’s a couple sizes too big. It’s beyond obvious that you have no plans for the day, and therefore no excuse not to help. Heaving a resigned sigh, you clamber to your feet and roll your eyes when Jimin immediately flops down across the newly abandoned couch and lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Have fun,” he calls lazily as you walk out, and you do your best to ignore the wicked grin that flashes across Jungkook’s face.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find a way to make it fun,” he says as he lets you pass by him to exit the house. “See you later, Jimin.”

As soon as the front door slams shut, you round on him with a glare. “Are you serious, Jungkook?” you hiss. “He’s totally going to catch on to… to whatever it is we’re doing.”

“You’re being paranoid,” Jungkook chides, clicking his tongue. He hops over the low bushes that divide your property, and waits patiently as you skirt around them. You follow him into his house—down the hallway and into a little side room that houses the washing machine and dryer—and as soon as the door swings shut, he’s grabbing you by the hips and pulling you close.

“This—this isn’t how you do laundry,” you stammer weakly, winded by his sudden proximity and the dark promise in his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”

Jungkook chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I may have lied a little bit. Would you have come if I hadn’t?”

You don’t answer, because you know he’s right. If you had your way, you would have avoided him until it was time for you to leave again. But Jungkook just doesn’t seem to be willing to let that happen, as he tightens his grip on your hips and tugs until you’re flush against him.

“See, the truth of the matter is, I’m actually good at laundry.” He smirks and tilts his head, dark bangs flopping across his forehead. “I’m good at other things, too. Why don’t you let me show you?”

Attraction blooms in your belly, hot as molten lava, and it takes the last ounce of your wavering restraint to say what you say next. “We can’t take too long,” you whisper, letting him hoist you up onto the dryer and jab the start button. The machine rumbles to life beneath you, and you nearly lose your train of thought when the vibrations go straight to your clit. “Jimin!” you gasp. “Jimin—he’ll kill you if he finds out. He’ll fillet your dick with a dull knife and serve it over rice.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “Why are you talking about your brother? Is this your idea of dirty talk, princess? Because I gotta tell you—it’s not doing it for me.”

“Jungkook!” you chide, and he grins and moves to tug off your shirt.

“That’s much better.”

///

In the days that follow your laundry room tryst with Jungkook, sneaking around becomes routine. Both of your parents work—as do his—so avoiding them is easy. Jimin, however, is a different story. The dance classes he teaches are irregular, and the schedule shifts often enough that you’ve come dangerously close to getting caught on more than one occasion.

And it certainly doesn’t help when Jungkook has taken to texting you at all hours of the day, even when you’re eating a sandwich on the couch with Jimin half-sprawled across your lap in his effort to invade your personal space as much as possible.

[12:35pm] Jungkook: hey i just thought of something

[12:35pm] Jungkook: you know how i call you princess?

You nearly throw your phone across the room. Cautiously, you glance at your brother, who is glued to the television and doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

[12:36pm] You: yeah…

His response is instantaneous.

[12:36pm] Jungkook: well i’ve got a throne for you to sit on

You almost sigh out loud. Please don’t, you write back, and you practically hear Jungkook’s cackle in your head as the ellipses that indicate he’s typing pop up at the bottom of your screen.

[12:37pm] Jungkook: it’s my dick ;)

[12:37pm] Jungkook: get it?

I fucking hate you, you tell him, thumbs flying across the keyboard.

[12:38pm] Jungkook: and i love fucking you

[12:38pm] Jungkook: princess ;)

///

After nearly a week cooped up at your parents’ house, you’re getting restless. Without a car, you’re confined to the suburban neighborhood you grew up in, and the revelation that you’re bored somehow spills out to Jungkook during one of the many heated makeout sessions you’ve started having in the backseat of his sedan.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” he’d asked, tilting his head curiously, mussed hair falling across his eyes. “I can drive you, if you want.”

And that’s how you find yourself wandering around downtown Busan on a beautiful Tuesday afternoon. Jungkook drops you off at the curb after cumming down your throat, and now that he’s dashed off to work the lunch shift at the restaurant, you’re free to explore all of your old haunts. The shopping center that you and your friends used to frequent is right around the corner, so that’s where you decide to start. After all, you’re still in need of some professional attire, and as much as you love your mom, you’d rather avoid the unflattering dresses and itchy pantyhose she would be sure to seek out.

As soon as you step through the glass revolving doors, you find yourself in a familiar air-conditioned paradise of shops and restaurants. Stopping at your favorite coffee spot, you treat yourself to an iced mocha before heading to the first store.

Two hours and three full bags later, you decide to head to the food court for a quick snack. You’d promised Jungkook that you’d meet him at the restaurant once you were finished, but a glance at your phone tells you that you have more than enough time to stop by Kim’s Kitchen. Mrs. Kim makes the best cookies in the entire city, as far as you’re concerned, and you decide to order a dozen to take home and share with your family.

You’re lowering yourself into a seat at one of the many tables scattered around the tree-lined atrium when you spot a familiar head of strawberry blonde hair. The owner spots you a split second later, and you return her smile as she immediately swerves and heads your way. “{Name}, hey!”

“Hey, Chaeyoung,” you greet, gesturing for her to take the chair on the other side of the table. “What are you doing here?”

“Same thing as you, from the looks of it.” She grins and hefts her shopping bag. “I swear I’ve been to every shoe store and still haven’t found what I’m looking for, but somehow I’ve bought this much crap anyway. What about you? What are you on the hunt for?”

“Professional attire,” you say with a grimace. “Why are pants so hard to find? I swear, they’re all either too long or too short, and never fit properly in the waist and thighs.”

Chaeyoung pulls a face. “Ew, I know. Pantsuits are a nightmare unless you have a tailor. And who has money for that?”

You laugh, nodding in agreement. “So what are you up to now? Mrs. Kim has cookies fresh out of the oven, if you’re interested. Cinnamon rolls too, I think.”

“Ooh, that’s tough,” she says thoughtfully, tapping her chin. “Would it be bad if I got both?”

“Not even a little bit,” you assure, reaching into your box and pulling out a cookie. “But here, I’ll make it easier for you. Hope you like chocolate chip.”

Chaeyoung gratefully accepts the cookie you hand over. “Who doesn’t love chocolate chip?” she asks, taking a bite.

“Criminals and heathens,” you reply, snagging a cookie for yourself. “Among others.”

She tilts her head. “Doesn’t Jimin hate chocolate chip?”

“My point exactly.”

Chaeyoung giggles, hiding it behind a manicured hand, and you laugh right along with her. Together, you decide to grab some smoothies, and when you sit back down, the conversation turns to your trip up to the lake house. “Next time, we’ll have to do a girl’s trip,” Chaeyoung says, propping her chin in her palm. “Feels like it’s been ages since we’ve done one. You must’ve been exhausted with all those boys around.”

Unwillingly, your thoughts turn to Jungkook. “It wasn’t that bad,” you say slowly. “It was actually nice, being able to spend some time with them.”

“Who ended up going, anyway? Your brother, obviously. Taehyung? Yugyeom?”

You nod, raising a hand and ticking them off on your fingers. “Jimin, yeah. Taehyung, Yugyeom, Taemin, Minho. And Jungkook.”

If Chaeyoung notices the way you pause before saying the last name, she doesn’t comment on it. Her expression grows pensive, and you can practically see the gears turning in her head as she considers her next sentence. “You must be seeing a lot of him,” she says at last. “Jungkook, I mean.”

You take a massive sip of your smoothie and wonder if you’re imagining the lingering taste of him on your tongue. “Yeah, a bit,” you manage, your voice surprisingly steady. “He games with Jimin a lot.” After a pause, you decide to tell her the truth. “He dropped me off today, actually. Jimin’s working this summer, and I’ve been stuck at home, so he offered to take me downtown on his way to work.”

Chaeyoung hums thoughtfully. “He’s working at a restaurant or something, right?”

“Just a few streets away, yeah.”

Slowly, she nods. “We went out, you know.” Her voice is distant. “Just for a few weeks. He ended it after… well, after we slept together.”

There’s a pause, as Chaeyoung lets you digest this information, and a part of you wants to spill everything to her right then and there. Jisoo told me, you want to say, as acidic guilt begins to bubble up in your belly, every memory of the moments you’ve since shared with Jungkook rising unpleasantly in your throat. I’m sorry. I’m so,so sorry. You say it over and over again in your head, but the apology gets stuck in your throat when you try to voice it aloud.

Chaeyoung takes a sip of her smoothie and leans back in her chair with a sigh, oblivious to your internal struggle. “Maybe I should have seen it coming,” she says, gnawing on the end of the straw. “Everything changed our senior year, you know? It was like a switch had flipped—he started dating around, relationships that never lasted more than a week… I really should have known better when he asked me out. But I guess I thought I was different. We were already friends, after all. But whenever we were together, just the two of us, he was always… distant. Like he was somewhere else, mentally.”

Her words trail off, leaving only silence that you don’t know how to break. Chaeyoung sips at her smoothie again, before huffing out a laugh and waving a manicured hand in your direction. “God, sorry! I can’t believe I just started monologuing, ew. Jungkook this, Jungkook that—god. I’m not even mad at him anymore, you know? I just want him to figure his shit out.” Her eyes flit up to you briefly, before skittering back down to where a cookie crumb has landed on the tabletop. “It’s funny, though. Seeing him at Taehyung’s graduation party was probably the happiest I’ve seen him in a long time. He almost seemed like himself again.”

You can’t help it—the singular word bubbles up before you can stop it. “Really?”

Chaeyoung nods, her gaze flickering up to meet yours again. “Really. And honestly? I think it was because of you.”

Your heart does a series of backflips in your chest, thudding against the slats of your ribs. You try to respond, try to find the words, but they stick in your dry throat and your smoothie is practically gone at this point. Chaeyoung shrugs, unfazed by your silence, and you watch as she swirls her straw around in the remainder of her own drink. “I don’t know—maybe I’m imagining things. But it always seemed like he had a bit of a thing for you. Didn’t he used to follow you around the playground?”

The memory draws a startled laugh from your lips. “Sure, yeah. But that was in elementary school.”

Chaeyoung shrugs, smiling around her straw. “Still. We never really forget our first crush, do we?”

///

You head over to the restaurant after bidding Chaeyoung goodbye, her words weighing heavy on your mind and your heart. Through the tall glass windows, you can just barely make out Jungkook—looking sharp in a black collared shirt and matching slacks as he greets a table of diners. His smile is warm and his stance is confident, and you’re reminded of just how much he’s grown from that gangly kid you knew back in grade school when you catch the edge of flirtation lingering in his gaze.

The boy who used to follow you around the playground is gone. There’s no doubt in your mind about that. And so, you take a deep breath and walk into the restaurant, doing your best to smile at the host who greets you and asks whether you’d like to sit at a table or the bar.

“Hey, you made it!”

Jungkook strides over with a grin, taking the menu off the host’s hands and leading you over to an empty seat at the bar. “It’s full service, so you can order food here, too,” he explains. “You hungry? Thirsty?”

You glance down at the menu he places on the counter, scanning the lines of text. “Not really, but it smells really good so I might get something to go. And this carbonara sounds really good, actually.”

“It is,” Jungkook confirms. “I’ll go put the order in. You want some water or anything to drink?”

“Water’s good,” you tell him, and he nods before trotting off to do his job. You watch him disappear to the back of the restaurant before reappearing with a tray of glasses, and follow his meandering path through the tables as he disperses drinks and checks on the guests. Somehow, his shoulders manage to look even broader in his black shirt, and you can’t ignore the way they taper into a narrow waist that’s only emphasized by the belt threaded through the loops of his dark slacks.

He’s stopping at the table you first saw him at now, leaning in close when one of the women seated there asks him a question about something on the menu. His smile oozes easy charm, and you can’t help the feeling that flares in your chest when she reaches for the menu and purposely lets her fingertips graze his hand. Frowning, you tear your gaze away and focus on the wood grain of the bar counter. Your eyes zero in on a smattering of water droplets near your left arm, and you’re just about to run a fingertip through them when a voice sounds to your right.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Surprised, you look up and find yourself face-to-face with a man who appears to be in his early thirties. Dark hair is brushed away from his forehead, a stray lock falling into his eyes, and you find yourself momentarily at a loss for words when your brain registers just how handsome he is.

“I—uh. I think Jungkook is going to grab me some water,” you finally manage, wanting nothing more than to melt into the ground when you hear the stammer in your voice.

“Ah, you know Jungkook?” The man laughs—a sound that is distinctly reminiscent of a squeaky windshield wiper. “He’s been pretty busy today, so why don’t I grab you that water instead?”

You nod, watching as he fills up a glass from the nozzle below the bar, accepting it when he hands it over. “Thanks.”

“Name’s Seokjin,” the man replies with an easy grin. “What’s yours?”

You return his smile and tell him your name. “Seokjin—Jungkook’s mentioned you a few times, I think. This is your place then, isn’t it?”

Seokjin beams. “Yep! Opened just a few months ago, after we finally sorted out the rat infestation and the asbestos problem in the rafters, and—” He pauses at the dumbfounded look on your face, and several beats pass before another peal of squeaky laughter escapes him. “I’m kidding. One-hundred percent. I promise the whole place is up to snuff.”

“So, I see you’ve met Seokjin.” Jungkook materializes at your side with a glass of water, which he takes a sip out of upon realizing that you already have a drink. “Is he making jokes about the health code again?”

“I would never,” Seokjin sniffs, and you laugh, finding yourself completely at ease for the first time since you entered the restaurant.

Jungkook rolls his eyes good-naturedly and turns his attention back to you. “Your carbonara should be out in a few,” he says, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else?”

“Positive,” you assure him. “I’m full of chocolate chip cookies, anyway. Here, you want one? They’re still a little warm.”

Jungkook eyes the box you pull out of your bag hungrily. “Hell yes. I can smell them from here.” Laughing, you push the box toward him and watch as he pulls a cookie out and takes an enormous bite. “Thanks,” he says in between chews, his cheeks puffy. You can’t help but smile when he takes a sip of water to wash it all down, his eyes growing round.

Turning to Seokjin, you offer him a cookie as well, which he declines with a graceful wave. “I should be feeding you, not the other way around,” he remarks. “You got the carbonara, right? I’ll go see if it’s ready.”

With one last glance at the patrons sitting at the bar, Seokjin departs with a promise to be back in five minutes. Jungkook finishes off his cookie, and you’re considering offering him another when a familiar chirpy voice sounds from your left.

“Wow, it smells amazing in here! What do you think—should we sit at the bar?”

You whirl in the direction of the voice, your eyes immediately landing on a group of three girls standing near the entrance. Two of them you don’t recognize, but the third you’ve seen before. Mina, you’re pretty sure her name was, and you’d recognize her anywhere. The last time you’d seen her was at the restaurant on the night of Jimin’s and Jungkook’s graduation, and your face heats at the memory of everything else that transpired that night.

“Welcome!” Jungkook draws you out of your thoughts, and you turn to see that he’s wearing a bright, welcoming smile. “Were you looking to sit at the bar, or at a table? It looks like there are a few empty spots at the end of the bar, if you ladies would prefer that. Otherwise, I can take you to a table.”

Mina’s face lights up in recognition, and you’re forced to hide your scowl in your water glass. “Hey, we’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“You work at that place a few blocks down, right?” Jungkook jabs a thumb in the general direction of the street. “I’ve seen you around.”

She giggles and tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “That’s right, yeah! I remember you now. Graduation, right? You were my best table of the night.”

Jungkook chuckles. “I bet you tell everyone that.”

“Not a chance,” Mina answers, looking him up and down before a coy smile curves her lips again. “I only say what I mean.”

“Honesty is the best policy,” Jungkook says agreeably. Then he turns to you, distractedly fiddling with his apron as he speaks. “Jin should probably be back with your food soon. Are you okay to sit here by yourself for a bit?”

You can only nod, still staring down into your water glass. “Yeah, sure. Go on, then.”

He smiles and gestures for Mina and the girls to follow after him, and you’re positive you don’t imagine the triumphant look that flashes across Mina’s face before she departs. Frowning, you grab a cookie from your box and break a piece off, grateful for the distraction. Seokjin drops off your carbonara a minute later, and you find yourself suddenly ravenous as you dig into the steaming bowl of spaghetti.

Jungkook returns to your side about five minutes later, raking a hand through his hair as he replaces his notebook back in his apron pocket. “Man, I’m beat,” he remarks. “Thank god Mina and her friends didn’t order anything complicated. My brain would’ve exploded.”

“Thank god for that,” you echo dully. Unwillingly, your gaze drifts over to where Mina is now sitting, chatting happily with her friends. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Seeing Mina here, of all places. I mean, what is she even doing here?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but most people go out and have fun on their days off,” Jungkook responds dryly, a grin breaking across his face when you roll your eyes at him. “Or wait… could it be that you’re jealous?”

You scowl. “Don’t be stupid.”

Jungkook just laughs, tilting your chin up with two fingers so he can look you in the eye. “It’s okay,” he says, his thumb brushing softly along the corner of your lips. “You’re cute when you’re jealous, princess.”

You don’t know how to respond to that, and thankfully you don’t have to. Seokjin returns with a takeout container for you to put your leftovers in, shrugging off your gratitude when you offer it.

“I’m discounting your food, too,” he says, leaving zero room for argument. “Any friend of Jeon’s is a friend of mine.”

Jungkook’s shift ends half an hour later. He turns on his roadtrip playlist on the drive home, and you are more than happy to let the music wash over you, eliminating any need for conversation and drowning out your thoughts.

“See you later, princess,” he says once he’s pulled into your driveway, following your every move as you climb out of the passenger seat.

It sounds like a promise coming from his lips, and you can only nod. “See you.”

///

You’re in the middle of buttering a piece of toast for breakfast the next morning when there’s a knock on the front door. Perturbed, you walk over to answer it, wondering if perhaps Jimin has forgotten his keys again, but when you peer through the peephole it isn’t Jimin who stares back at you.

“Jungkook—” you begin, swinging open the door, but he cuts you off before you can finish, taking your face in his hands and pressing his mouth to yours.

“Hey,” he whispers once he’s had his fill, pulling back just enough to mumble the greeting against your lips. “They’re all gone for the day, right?”

“Yes,” you confirm, still reeling from the suddenness of his appearance and the subsequent kiss. “But how did you—?”

“Jimin told me,” Jungkook answers shortly, before pulling you close and kissing you again. This time, you let yourself get lost in the feeling of his mouth against yours, following his lead as he ushers you back upstairs and breaking the kiss only once in the process. He lays you down onto your bed, the mattress dipping under your combined weight, and you sigh when he moves down to nip at your neck.

“No marks, Jungkook,” you remind him breathily. “You can’t leave marks.”

A low whine escapes him. “Can’t you wear a scarf?”

“It’s the middle of summer!” you huff in amusement, smacking his arm when he whines again and stubbornly sucks at the soft spot where your neck meets your shoulder.

Jungkook’s breath is hot against your skin. His fingers find the elastic waistband of your sweatpants, tugging them off your hips and down your legs, and you kick them off as soon as they’ve reached your ankles. Hungrily, his gaze traverses the newly revealed skin, and you shiver when he gently trails his fingertips up your calves and all the way to the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. “Jungkook,” you sigh. “I haven’t shaved in days.”

“Ask me if I care,” he replies hoarsely, leaning down to press the flat of his tongue against the growing damp spot seeping through the cotton of your underwear. It’s far from your sexiest pair—you’d categorize them as granny panties, in all honesty—but Jungkook doesn’t seem the least bit fazed as he hooks them aside and licks a broad stripe all the way up to your clit. “Want you,” he groans, and the vibrations from his voice send a volt of tingling electricity straight up your spine. “Want you in every way I can have you.”

You don’t respond. You don’t have to, because Jungkook is diving in with the enthusiasm of a man starved, tossing your underwear aside carelessly before banding his arms around your legs to hold you open. His face disappears between your thighs until only the top of his hair is visible, the dark strands mussed. Lips parting in a moan, your fingers find their way to his head, tangling at his roots, and Jungkook parts from your cunt briefly to groan his approval. Then he’s eating you out again—alternating between broad licks and teasing flicks to your clit before his tongue delves into your entrance, inhaling deeply as if he just can’t get enough.

The sun rises higher into the sky, beaming through your window and illuminating Jungkook’s head and shoulders in warm, hazy gold. You chant his name as you reach your high, spurred on by his teasing tongue and whispered words of encouragement, and the grin he wears when he straightens back up is near blinding. Slowly, he peels off his shirt and shucks off his jeans until he’s completely bare before you, the sun painting him in warm strokes of color. Deliberately, he crawls up your body, hiking up the hem of your shirt as he does. He plants kisses into your newly bared skin, and when he reaches your lips he settles there as if that’s where he’s meant to be.

Jungkook kisses you slowly. He kisses you deliberately—sensually—and you melt into his gentle touch, relishing in the feel of his bare body pressed so intimately against yours. You don’t miss the way his cock hardens against your thigh, but Jungkook seems to be in no hurry to do anything about it. Instead, he cups your cheeks and licks into your mouth, and you’re all too willing to part beneath him like a flower in bloom.

The rest of the afternoon passes like this—hot kisses and slow fucking, the two of you meshing until you’re no longer sure where you end and he begins. You keep an eye on the time, though, and by the time your parents and Jimin return home, you and Jungkook are showered and dry, sitting on the living room floor embroiled in a Mario Kart tournament.

“No fair! You played without me?” Jimin whines, plopping down between you and trying to wrest the controller away from Jungkook. “C’mon, let me have a turn. You’ve been at it all day!”

Jungkook’s gaze flickers up past Jimin’s shoulder to meet yours, his lips twitching in barely suppressed mirth. “Yeah. We sure were.”

///

“God, I’m going to be sore for the next month.”

“Don’t be such a drama queen,” your brother snorts, squeezing your cheek between his thumb and index finger like you’re a small child. His three o’clock dance class has just wrapped up, and people are slowly filtering out of the studio. A few of the younger women glance back toward where you’re standing with Jimin, and you have no doubt they’re vying for one last look at your brother in his tight-fitting joggers and loose tank that keeps drooping off one shoulder. Rolling your eyes, you suppress the urge to loudly bring up the time he walked into a sliding glass door and nearly chipped his tooth. Instead, you pinch his cheek back, and laugh when he pouts.

“Ow, hey! What happened to giving me all your love and support?”

“Please, Mom made me come to your class,” you retort, batting his invasive hand away. “I think she just wanted me out of the house.”

Jimin laughs. “Can’t blame her. You’re a goddamn freeloader.”

“Seriously? Because in that case, I’m dying to hear what that makes you.”

Thoroughly nonplussed, Jimin pinches your other cheek before dancing away on light feet. “I’m an angel. Now go away, so I can get ready for my next class!”

Rolling your eyes again, you heft your bag over your shoulder and turn on your heel. “Fine, fine. Good luck, and all that. See you at dinner.”

Jimin doesn’t respond, and when you peer over your shoulder at him, he’s already sprawled on the floor and reaching for his toes in the unmistakable first step of his warm-up routine. He waves when he sees you watching, and you stick your tongue out at him playfully before exiting the studio and heading for the door. You’ve borrowed your dad’s car for the day, and hum cheerily as you climb into the driver’s seat.

You spend the rest of the afternoon running errands—stopping by both the post office and the bank before heading for the grocery store to pick up some ingredients for dinner. By the time you get back home, Jimin has finished teaching at the studio as well, and you fix him with a stare as you plop two full bags of groceries in front of him on the kitchen counter.

“Care to help me carry the rest in?”

“Not really,” he replies, but he stands up and follows you outside to the car nonetheless.

Once all the groceries are inside and unpacked, you begin prepping for dinner. Jimin, to his credit, offers his help without you even having to ask, and with his assistance you finish cooking in record time. Your parents join you in the dining room, and together you enjoy the meal over the evening news.

You retire to your room after dinner, cracking open your laptop to go over the details of your internship for the umpteenth time. You’ve read the emails and the attached documents so many times you practically have them memorized, but the anxiety gnawing at your belly refuses to be quelled. You’re returning to Seoul in less than a week, and your empty suitcase sits in the corner of your childhood bedroom like a taunt. You wonder, briefly, if you should start packing.

“Nah, it can wait,” you decide, muttering the words to your nonexistent audience. Standing up, you stretch lazily before exiting your room and heading down the hall to the bathroom that you and Jimin share, muffling a yawn behind your hand.

You’ve just finished brushing your teeth when your phone vibrates against the bathroom counter, a notification lighting up your screen. Spitting into the sink and rinsing off your toothbrush, you towel off your face before picking up your phone, blinking owlishly at the text.

[11:08pm] Jungkook: can you come over?

By itself, it’s not an unusual request. At this late an hour, though, you can’t help the unease that rises up in your belly. And as if sensing your apprehension, your phone vibrates again.

[11:09pm] Jungkook: my parents are out

[11:09pm] Jungkook: please? i could use some company

There’s an edge of desperation in his last message—something you haven’t seen in him since you returned home. It reminds you a bit of the Jungkook you used to know—the scrawny, gangly one with a nose too big for his face and an all-encompassing fear of the opposite sex. Give me ten minutes, you tell him.

Okay, Jungkook writes back. See you soon.

The next few minutes are a blur. You slather on some moisturizer and consider changing out of your pajamas and putting on a bra, but dismiss the thought immediately. Jungkook has seen you in far less, and you’re staunchly opposed to putting a bra back on after a certain hour of the night. Besides, he’s sure to dispose of your clothes at some point, so there’s little point in changing. With that thought in mind, you tiptoe out into the hall, past your parents’ bedroom and Jimin’s closed door. You carefully edge around the creakiest floorboards and hop over the two steps in the staircase that always groan when subjected to additional weight. Gingerly, you edge open the front door, just enough to slip out into the night.

The trek across the yard doesn’t take long, and Jungkook swings the door open before you even get a chance to knock. “Hey,” he says, and you can’t help but smile at the familiar round glasses perched on his nose. He’s in his pajamas as well—a blue and white checkered set that’s about two sizes too big—and when he ushers you inside, you catch a whiff of his floral laundry detergent.

“Hey,” you say. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Long day,” he sighs, raking a hand through his already tousled hair and mussing it further. “Come on in. You want anything to drink?”

You shake your head, stepping into the entryway and watching as he closes and locks the door again. Jungkook nods and shuffles to the kitchen, where he pours himself a glass of water from the faucet and downs half of it in one swig. His throat bobs as he swallows, his head tilted back to expose the long line of his neck, and you step a little closer as he turns to refill the glass.

“On second thought, maybe I’ll have some water too.”

“Mm. Okay.” Jungkook turns and fetches a second glass, filling it to the brim before handing it over. Then he takes your free hand and leads you upstairs, taking a left turn into his bedroom and nudging the door closed with his foot.

“So…” you begin slowly, putting your water down on the nightstand and reaching for the hem of your shirt. “We need to be quick. My mom’s a light sleeper, and I’m pretty sure I heard Jimin playing games in his room when I walked by.”

Jungkook chuckles and lays his hands over yours, stilling your attempt to take off your shirt. “When did you turn into such a horndog, Noona? Maybe I just want to hang out.”

You blink. “Did you just want to hang out?”

Jungkook plops onto his bed and grabs you by the waist, tugging you down and into his lap. “I mean, yeah—I thought that was obvious. Figured we could watch a movie or something.” Grabbing the tv remote, he switches on the television hanging on the opposite wall. “Any suggestions?”

You hesitate. You’ve been in Jungkook’s bedroom just once since you’ve come back, and the memory of the way he’d bent you over the desk in the corner sends a pulse of heat to your cheeks. Tearing your gaze away from the piece of wooden furniture, you instead focus on the television screen, watching as he navigates over to the Netflix menu.

“We can go old school too, if you want,” he remarks as he scrolls through the list of new arrivals. “I have a DVD player.”

That draws a laugh from your lips. “When was the last time you purchased a DVD? Last I checked, you only had Kung Fu Panda, Iron Man, and two copies of Titanic for some reason that you still won’t tell me.”

Jungkook laughs, his chest rumbling against your back. “Call it human error,” he says, looping his arms comfortably around your waist and propping his chin on your shoulder. “How do you feel about going super old school? I can get the VHS player out of the basement and pop in one of the Pokémon movies.”

“I’m sure we won’t have to resort to that,” you assure him, grinning. “Here, why don’t we just watch Iron Man? Three’s your favorite, right?”

“Three is everyone’s favorite,” he says, scrolling over to the appropriate menu and clicking play. “It’s the best one, hands-down.”

“Won’t argue with you there.”

The movie starts, and you shift off Jungkook’s lap to switch off the lights. Darkness overtakes the room as the screen lights up with the opening credits, and when you return to the bed, Jungkook has sprawled comfortably against the pillows lining the headboard. His eyes remain glued to the screen even as he reaches for you, and you hesitate for only a second before joining him, laying down beside him and letting his arm find its way around your shoulders. The scent of floral laundry detergent fills your nostrils, and you subtly nestle a bit closer, resting your head on his chest.

This isn’t the first time Jungkook has seen this movie. You know this for a fact, yet that doesn’t change how raptly he watches the screen, the action sequences reflected perfectly in his glasses. He’s practically vibrating with excitement by the time of the final showdown, mouthing along to the lines, and you hide your smile in the blue-and-white squares of his pajama shirt as the music swells.

It’s well past midnight by the time the credits roll. Jungkook seems perfectly content to lie on his bed with his arm around you, and when you make to get up, his grip slides down to your waist to hold you in place. “You gotta watch the credits all the way through,” he says, blinking at you with bleary eyes now that the adrenaline from the final showdown has worn off. “There’s a post-credits scene, remember?”

You shake your head, but let him pull you back down onto the mattress regardless. “I’m sure you already know what it is. Why don’t you just tell me?”

“What’s the fun in that?” he asks with a grin.

The end credits continue—an endless stream of names scrolling down the screen. Your eyes begin to droop, the words blurring together, and it’s only when the music stops and the final scene begins that you jolt awake. Jungkook is faring no better than you are, suppressing a yawn behind his hand as he watches the last bit of the film through half-lidded eyes. Then the screen goes dark, and silence descends over the room once more. You glance at the alarm clock on his nightstand and see that it’s nearly two in the morning. A look back at Jungkook reveals that both his eyes have fallen shut, and you slowly begin wriggling free from his embrace in order to head home.

You’ve barely moved an inch when Jungkook’s arm tightens around your waist. “Stay,” he mumbles sleepily, one eye cracking open.

You should say no. You should head home to the safety of your own bed. But there’s something about Jungkook—something soft and fond in his tired gaze and something vulnerable in the way he’s holding you so tightly against his pajama-clad body with his hair in complete disarray and his round glasses askew. Heaving a sigh, you reach up to take them off his face, placing them neatly on his nightstand.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll stay.”

Jungkook smiles sleepily and shuts his eyes. “G’night, then, Noona.”

“Night, Jungkookie.”

Within seconds, his breathing evens out, and you know he’s off in dreamland. Twisting in his grasp, you tug your phone out of your pocket and set a quick alarm for six o’clock. Neither of your parents wake up until seven at the earliest, and Jimin would sleep until three in the afternoon if he could get away with it, so you’re certain that you’ll have plenty of time to sneak back into the house. Besides, Jungkook’s bed is comfortable, and his chest is practically a furnace against your back. You aren’t sure you could work up the energy to leave even if you tried.

So instead, you settle back into his embrace and let sleep whisk you away.

///

There are birds chirping outside the window when you open your eyes the next morning, blinking blearily against the sun shining through the curtains. The blanket is tangled around your legs and there’s an arm looped around your waist, and you sit bolt upright when realization dawns. Jungkook groans and mumbles something unintelligible, but you don’t pay him any mind as you twist out of his grasp, clutching for your phone on the nightstand.

7:03am.

Shit.

Throwing your legs over the side of the bed, you rise to your feet and shove your phone into the pocket of your pajama pants. Jungkook makes a sound that vaguely resembles your name, and you spare him a glance as you fumble for your shoes. He’s flat on his back, blinking hair out of his eyes as he fights to stay awake. “Hey,” he manages, his voice raspy.

“I gotta go,” you whisper urgently, successfully putting your shoes on the right feet and wrenching the door of his bedroom open. And then you turn and dash out, leaving a very sleepy, very disheveled Jungkook blinking after you.

Your house, when you carefully crack open the front door and poke your head inside, is quiet. Much to your relief, you don’t hear any of the telltale signs that your family is awake and downstairs yet—no drip of the coffee maker and no sizzle of bacon or eggs. From upstairs, however, you can distantly hear the sound of the shower, so you dart inside and toe off your shoes, padding into the kitchen to start the coffee maker. You check the alarm you’d set the night prior as you scoop coffee grounds into the filter, and curse under your breath when you realize you’d somehow managed to select six PM instead of AM.

You’re seated in the living room with a mug of fresh coffee when Jimin shuffles in with damp hair and a sleepy frown. “You’re up early,” you remark.

“I have a morning class to teach,” he replies, yawning widely as he grabs a fresh mug. “What’s your excuse?”

You shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Fair enough.”

Suppressing another yawn, your brother turns his attention to the refrigerator, rooting around for the milk. And you return yours to the window, where you can see the side of the Jeon’s house, and Jungkook’s bedroom window on the second floor. There are no signs of life from within, and you wonder if he’d gone back to sleep after your departure. Considering how tired he’d looked last night, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had.

Chaeyoung’s voice echoes in your mind then, soft and wistful. It always seemed like he had a bit of a thing for you. Happiest I’ve seen him in a long time. And honestly? I think it was because of you. We never really forget our first crush, do we?

And then Jisoo’s words rise up in your brain, just a bit louder. He’s a heartbreaker. He never, ever stays until the morning.

So why, then, did you wake up in his arms today?

[maddenleftchat]

I know this is a weird request but how about blob and dream react to mc escaping and how they deal with it thanksss(big fan of your writing btw)

Aw thank you so much 🥰

Triggers: kidnapping, mentioning of being hunted down, mention of being yelled at and yandere like behaviors. Please be careful when reading.

Enjoy.

...Dream...

...Blob Dream...

Okay, so we’ve already been over what it is like living with these two at once.

But one thing that need to be noted, is when push comes to shove these two are fucking horrifying when they work together.

Don’t think Blob is innocent just because he isn’t the one doing physical damage.

He can just as easily work his way around to where your entire life revolves around him, and only him.

So, do not take lightly to either of these boys.

But Dream and Blob are equally as clingy towards you, with Blob actually knowing personal space.

And to Dream, personal space isn’t a word.

So, it would be pretty hard to escape.

At least one of the boys is always home.

But, once in a blue mood, you will be left alone in the house.

It will likely be in daylight, but if you have the option, I would recommend leaving at night.

It will make life easier in the long run.

But it is also a bit risky, counting that you are running from a hunter.

So if you do leave at night, it's best to stay in places like trees.

Places where there are high grounds.

~

Now, let's say you do somehow escape.

Let’s say you got out of the house, and are on the run.

Where do you go?

What is going to happen when you get out?

What will their reactions be?

How much time will you have to get away?

Well…

Let me tell you.

Just, run.

Run.

Run.

Run.

You don’t have time to think.

The minute Dream and Blob get home, they will know something is up.

It will take them exactly 32 minutes and 45 seconds to search the house and the land around it.

You have between the time you leave the house/the time they get home and that 32 minutes to run.

You don’t have time to think, but you need to be careful when you choose your location to run.

But I can tell you where your first goal destination is.

The ocean.

You better have crafted a boat before you left.

Why the ocean, you ask.

It gives you the advantage, because you get a head start, and Dream doesn’t have a big advantage in the ocean.

And it's not like he can just build across it like he does with rivers.

And once you reach the ocean?

Just keep rowing until your gut says to stop.

Your arms hurt?

I don’t care, keep sailing until you know you’ll be safe.

It’s recommended you row for at least a couple days.

~

Now, what would Dream’s and Blob’s reaction be?

Simple, Dream is beyond pissed, and Blob is beyond worried.

These two are polar opposites.

So Blob won’t be mad, but only worried sick about your safety.

While Dream is very angry.

He obviously has a god complex, and doesn’t see why you would leave your god.

After all that he has gifted you, his most devoted follower.

So, there is no way in hell he is going to let all his hard work go to waste.

He will hunt you down…even if that means using a bit of…godly help.

Yep! You heard me, reader!

This bitch brought in XD.

I did say he wouldn’t let you get away…

~

In short: You can try to get away. But you’ll always come right back. Dream will yell at you and be very mean when you first get back, while Blob will comfort and cuddle you once you get back. Dream will give what I call “angry cuddles”. He’ll hold you close to him, but mumble little angry phrases. But deep down just know that he was worried as shit.

Word count: 623

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Thanks for reading.