#literally makes me picture like tendons snapping

[i-want-purity-bxtch]

A recent food ick of mine is when you bite into a carb friendly tortilla cheese wrap and it snaps between your teeth

Like bitch I just wanted a roll up why you gotta make me feel like the flesh of christ is between my teeth bitch tf

[hiskillingjar]

oooh what about strade forcing mc to do increasingly humiliating things by request of the chat stream, he does it under the guise of letting them go eventually but literally just kills them anyway

1500+ words, part one

urine 🔨

"You know, I never thought I'd let any of you see my backyard, but, ah, I suppose I can make an exception for my regulars, can't I?"

Your body trembled as you knelt in the warm grass, sun kissing your sweat-slick skin, your severed tendons bleeding and (poorly) bandaged, staring forward as Strade propped up a tripod holding up his work phone, adjusting the camera so your naked body was framed nicely in the middle of the screen.

Before all of this, you had thought about that sort of thing, before you had been dragged into a ring of Hell itself (and you knew how much deeper it could go). How things were framed in pictures, selfies, videos and films you made with your friends in college.

You wouldn’t get the chance to do any of that any more, of course.

Now, all you could hope for was, maybe, a peaceful death at the end of it all, when Strade was finished with you.

"Come on, don't look so shy," Strade said, standing up straight behind the tripod with his hands on the small of his back, his mask pulled down around his neck while he wasn't on camera. "It’s almost like you've never been in a porno or something."

"I have never been in a porno," You said under your breath, barely audible as you watched a stream of comments start to pop up on the tiny screen, too small for you to read, naturally, but more than enough for you to be aware of just how many eyes were on you, watching through the voyeuristic gaze of the camera. 

"Well, there’s a first for everything, isn't there?" He then added with good humour before folding his arms across his chest, his head tilting to the side. "So…do you know what we're doing?"

"No…haven't a clue." You replied dejectedly, sitting back on your ankles to relieve some of the stress and pain on your knees.

"You're not very bright, are you?" He asked with a teasing smirk and another tilt of his head, condescending and subtly mean. "No guesses? No context clues giving anything away to you?" 

He paused, waiting for your reply, before giving you another shrug.

"One of your fans would like you to play ‘puppy' for him," He said with a smile and a shrug, nodding towards the camera. "Not sure why I’m the one doing it. Pretty normcore if you ask me, but, ah, he paid a good price to see it...and I suppose some others are interested too, I have more viewers than I usually do-."

"Play puppy?" You repeated, frowning. "What does that mean?"

"If you keep acting stupid, I'm gonna hurt you," He replied, his smile not budging despite his threat. Pretty typical for Strade, but your body still tightened up and your jaw snapped shut. "So, act like a puppy for us. Or, ah," He laughed. "Dog, right? Not young enough to be a puppy anymore~"

Your jaw clenched as he teased you (why did that feel like an insult, just calling you a dog, as opposed to a puppy?), but you slowly set your hands, fingers curled up against your palms, down in front of your knees and looked towards him, your tongue idly poking out to wet your lips nervously. 

"...Woof." You barked without much heart, but it was still enough to make him smile, making his smile lines dimple.

"Cute," He praised. "But that's not going to satisfy your audience. How about you, ah," He reached up and rubbed his stubbly chin, the cogs in his brain turning before his smile turned devious and mean. "Go to the bathroom like a dog does, hm?"

Your face went bright red at his words and your thighs pressed tightly together, the muscles trembling slightly.

You forced yourself to bite down on the inside of your cheek, though, to stop yourself from explaining your outrage and demanding an explanation from him, wanting to understand what he wanted from all of this, lest he make good of his word and hurt you for the new audience. 

Though, you knew this wasn't really what he wanted. 

He was appeasing an unseen audience, the same audience that was still commenting on your naked body and your flushed face. 

"Come on," He drawled, trying to gently coax your body out of its tightness like he was speaking to a real dog. "I'll let you sleep on the big bed if you do."

Fuck.

That was pretty tempting. You hadn’t slept in his bed for almost a week, and it would have been nice to, especially with your sore knees.

You frowned at the fact you were genuinely thinking about it, looking up at him, though he was still smiling as he so often did. 

He was probably pretty proud of himself, the smug bastard.

You wondered how much he'd gotten paid for this.

"You're hesitating," He said, interrupting your train of thought in a tone just as jovial and teasing as before, but with a slight touch of warning to it, like he was waiting for you to slip up and do something wrong. "I really thought you were past this, fraulein...I wasn't wrong about you, was I?"

You trembled a little more, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Do you want me to be cruel to you?" He canted his head to the side as the light in his eyes dulled, just slightly, like he was suddenly absent, disinterested, empty. "Or do you want to earn my favour?"

You licked your lips and looked down, unable to meet his gaze when he looked at you like that, before giving him a little shake of your head.

He said nothing, but you knew what you had to do.

You let out a soft, dog-like whimper as you raised yourself back onto your knees and started to crawl through the grass, your mouth open and your tongue slack and panting like a dog.

You did so in idle circles, all the while making sure not to leave the frame of the camera (making sure to be good, play the perfect little model for the camera), before lowering your head down and starting to sniff the ground, trying to smell the scent of another hypothetical dog (or fox, in your case) and mark your territory, in a way you had seen dogs do before.

Your face was bright red as you did all of this, your body shaking from the shame, but Strade seemed to like it, laughing and clapping his hands each time you played the ‘good dog’ for him.

"Good girl," He praised with another laugh, the (familiar if equally unsafe) light back in his golden eyes as he paced around to the side of the camera (represented on screen as a pair of khaki trousers and army boots) and petted your hair, his palm rubbing the crown of your hair. "Good girl, atta girl. Looking for somewhere to go potty, huh?"

You cringed inwardly at his juvenile phrasing but continued to pant and sniff the ground.

"Yeah, I think here is a great spot," He motioned closer to the camera with his boot. "A really good spot, don't you think so?"

You knew what he wanted.

You knew what he expected.

Taking a moment to suck on your teeth and swallow your pride, you crawled to the spot he was gesturing towards and brought your hips forward, doing your best to copy the pose of a female dog squatting, and-

You started to urinate.

"Gooood girl," He drawled, reaching up to readjust his mask over his face before walking forward to pet through your hair again, rubbing your scalp with his fingers as he squatted to your level, idly lifting some of the flesh of your (cut) thighs to give the camera a good look at you. "Very good girl, look at that."

You must have needed the bathroom more than you thought, as the stream was still going after nearly ten seconds, so much so that it was beginning to wet the palms of your curled hands.

You grimaced a little at the feeling, but kept going until you were done, whining a little as the final drops leaked out, stinging your sore cunt.

You were always so sore these days.

"Ah, I think people are pretty happy with that," Strade said. When you looked up, you saw he was looking at another phone as he kept petting your hair. "Happy with how well I trained my dog my pet...although-"

The hand in your hair then curled into a tight fist and he forced your head down into the large puddle of urine, the strong sour smell of ammonia hitting you first (you really needed to drink more water) before the clean(er) mud was rubbed into your face, smearing your skin with dirt and muck. 

You’d never felt more humiliated, and you hated how much your body was responding to it.

"I don't remember telling you it was okay first," He growled softly, that mean smirk audible in his voice, even through the mask, as he leaned forward and pressed a knee against your shoulder, pinning your body still and slack and pliant.

"Don't make that mistake again, okay~?"

[jkstompers]

just to study | jjk

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader

summary: your seat partner asks if you’re free after class, just to study.

genre: fluff, college!au, established friendship, flirtationship, mutual pining, they go to a ‘frat’ party together, also yugyeom! a sweetheart<3 we love him.

warnings: mature!!, mentions of alcohol + alcohol consumption, mentions of sex, strong language, SEXUAL TENSION, mentions of dick sucking??, hints of a wet dream on oc’s end, very strong urges to kiss each other but no kisses today </3, that’s pretty much it!

word count: 7.4k (i...kinda went overboard)

authors’ note: hello!! this is a pt. 2 to sleepyhead! it’s based a few weeks after so yeah <3 also the pacing is kind of weird but… i don’t really know how being drunk is so............(＞人＜) i’m sorry about that! one scene was inspired by this post haha it was just so cute to think about i had to do it. ALSO i literally haven’t taken anatomy since high school so i just used random terms from quizlet T_T pls excuse that as well! but otherwise, enjoy!!!!!!!!! (っ^_^)っ

(if u see any typos...ignore them pls T_T)

side note: imagine jk looking like this when he goes to the party lmao classic fboy look with the camo bomber and his piercings ugh <3

banner pic creds here ! <3

you made it to class on time today, woke to your alarm and even had enough time to eat breakfast before you came. in a particularly good mood, you made your way up the stairs to the row jungkook was sitting in, hoping that the seat next to him was empty (you didn’t have to hope, jungkook always saved the seat next to him for you, no matter what.)

“good morning, ___!” jungkook’s voice greets you the same as always as soon as you appear next to him. he moves his bag out of the way for you to sit down.

he looks especially cute today. his long floppy hair framing his face, his sweet smile beaming up to you. you wonder how dumb you looked drooling over him for a minute before you replied, “hi jungkook, how are you?” with the same smile on your face that you show him every time he sees you. it never changes, but it never fails to make jungkook’s heart skip a beat.

“i’m doing okay, you?” he answers while you pull out your laptop.

you didn’t have a chance to reply before your professor starts talking. informing the class about the test that’s planned at the end of the month, finals in two months, and then dropping the bomb that there’s a quiz tomorrow about the things you’ve learned in the past week. a slight panic takes over you, although you didn’t know why, you understood what he was teaching and you were retaining all of the information well. but when the professor pulls up all the information on the screen to review it all, all of the words and pictures overwhelm you.

to make things worse, jungkook is to your left, not paying attention to a word your professor is saying. instead, playing some game where he has to click his touchpad an obnoxious amount of times. your attention is split between jungkook’s erratic tapping and the notes that the professor projects onto the screen, even though his computer barely made any noise, his incessant movement was distracting you.

“jungkook, you’re taking notes and playing a game?” your voice comes out as a rushed whisper. there’s a snort that comes from him before he nods. you couldn’t be mad at him. “there’s a quiz on all of this tomorrow, you know?”

“i know,” he continues to tap and click, the motion growing incredibly annoying. you didn’t know why you couldn’t have just tried to block it out, but he was just so close to you and admittedly, you looked at his hands, a lot. the way that his fingers tapped against his keyboard and his veins that accentuate his already beautiful hands, it was free art you could look at, how could you not? at this point, you’re contemplating holding his hand to make him stop tapping.

you were in the middle of typing when he finally stops, leaning back and stretching his arms up into the air. you let out a sigh of relief, until he starts again. apparently he reached the next level on his game, tapping even faster, if that was even fucking possible.

quietly, you groan. turning your attention solely on him. you place your hand on top of his, the tapping ceasing almost immediately. “please, jungkook, you’re distracting me.”

he looks at your hand before he looks at you, his chocolate doe eyes wide to the action. he gulps, “sorry.”

you remove your hand, focusing back to the presentation. jungkook feels the heat from his cheeks travel to his hand. the feeling of your hand on his wasn’t something he was expecting to experience today, but he wants nothing more than for you to do it again. he exits the game tab and changes his focus to the lecture.

or moreso, you focusing on the lecture.

you look so cute. your cheek pressed up against your fist. he stares at the way that your forehead creases in concentration. he taps on your arm that’s resting on the table, “hey, you look like you’re stressed out.”

you turn your head slightly to look over to him. “that’s because i am,” you send him a quick smile before you go back to looking at the projection.

he furrows his eyebrows, “why? you’re smart, there’s no need to worry about what you get on this.” you were an a+ student, never anything less than that. jungkook knows that you ace every test that you take, so he doesn’t quite understand why you’re so stressed.

“because jungkook,” you groan. you expected a lot from yourself, sure b’s were okay, but a’s and a+’s were what you wanted and what you thought would make you feel satisfied. there was no way you could explain this without sounding like an overachiever. so you just sigh, “i’m just not really prepared.”

jungkook thinks of the perfect way to spend more time with you, snapping his fingers before suggesting, “we should study together after class, studies show that studying with someone else will give you an a+, guaranteed.” the confidence in his voice makes you smile, and helps you ease up a little bit.

you raise an eyebrow, a laugh creeping up from your lungs. “source for that statistic, sir?”

he taps his right temple, the gesture making you snort. “no but seriously, i’ll help you out,” he assures. his laptop turns towards you to show you all the notes he took, different words highlighted and colored differently.

you act like you think about it, staying quiet for a minute or so. but you know the answer was yes no matter what. “just to study?” you tease. jungkook raises his eyebrows in surprise, an amused smile on his face, “just kidding, we can go to mine? i owe you for the ride you gave me like two weeks ago.” you tap your fingers against your laptop nervously, your teeth taking in your bottom lip as you ask. you haven’t had a guy over to your apartment, not since you’ve moved in. there’s a certain anxiousness that comes with the suggestion.

jungkook nods, “sounds good.”

“okay, again.” you brush your hair behind your ears, preparing yourself once more for another pass of the flashcards. the two of you have been at it with these cards for the past hour or so, you were determined to get these right no matter how long it took. jungkook knew you were gonna get it down, you only had three more cards, these ones specifically stumping you.

“aponeuroses,” he looks at the card and then to you.

“connective tissue that forms a broad sheet which attach muscle to bone or muscle to other muscles,” you speak confidently. jungkook nods, moving onto the next card of the set of three.

“endomysium,” he reads the card. you hesitate on this one for a second, he plays with the corner of the card until you snap your fingers.

“that’s the connective tissue surrounding the… the— uh, oh! muscle fiber?” your brain works extra hard. jungkook rewards you with another nod, flipping to the last card.

“fascia.”

“dense connective tissue,” you begin, pausing to think of the rest of the answer. you start biting your thumb nail, knowing there’s more to it but it’s not coming to your brain quick enough.

jungkook just stares, watching your facial expressions as you search for the answer in your brain. this could be the worst crush he’s ever had, he thinks you’re cute when you’re just sitting there, thinking. he doesn’t remember ever liking someone this much, most of the time his crushes went away after a few weeks or so. but it’s almost been an entire year since he’s started crushing on you, and it still hasn’t stopped. you still manage to find a way to make his thoughts surround you.

“separates and holds individual tissues? it’s the one that extends into the tendons, right?” you perk up after a minute or so. your brain finally coming up with the answer. you blame jungkook’s presence for slowing you down. maybe you shouldn’t have accepted this offer to study together, because how could you focus when jeon jungkook is sitting right in front of you?

“you’re amazing,” he praises, setting the flashcards down onto the table. you blush at the compliment, jungkook takes notice, but he doesn’t mind, he thinks pink is pretty on you. he’s never wanted to kiss your cheeks as much as he did now, and trust, he’s thought about it many, many times. “all done?” he asks after staring at you for the longest time.

you nod, “just gonna highlight these terms to review them later so i can get it down 100%.”

jungkook watches as you diligently reread your notes and highlight them. an apple on the table taking his attention away for a second when he realizes he hasn’t eaten at all today. he takes a bite, the loud crunch noise seemingly startling the both of you. it makes you turn your head and raise an eyebrow towards him.

“sorry,” he chews, “hungry.”

your stare lingers a little longer than you wanted it to. his cheeks are full of apple, you can’t help but laugh a little. “there’s still the sticker on it,” you point out.

he turns the apple around to see the blue sticker. peeling it off, he holds it on his fingertip, an idea sprouting in his mind to see that sweet smile of yours again. so he places the sticker on your cheek, your gaze moving from your screen to him and then to the fruit sticker now stuck onto your cheek. “get it? ‘cause you’re sweet like this apple is,” he smiles.

oh my god. you blush embarrassingly, your entire face flushed pink as you hide your cheeks behind your hands. he laughs at your reaction. jungkook was feeling bold today, so he moves forward, gently taking your hands away from your face to see the cute pink tint he caused. he sits back, admiring your pretty face.

you feel yourself burning hotter and hotter the longer he stares, looking everywhere but his face, too scared to make eye contact. you look back to your computer screen, “um— there’s pasta in the fridge— if you’re hungry, i made it last night.” you offer, but he declines politely, telling you that he has to leave pretty soon because his friends are expecting him to join them today.

begrudgingly, you watch as jungkook packs his things up. he thinks about how content he felt hanging out with you today, and how he wanted to do it again, as soon as possible. a thought pops into his head before he opens the door to leave. he turns on his heel.

you weren’t expecting the sudden turn, accidentally bumping into his chest. “oof! sorry.”

“it’s alright,” he laughs, helping you steady yourself by holding your shoulders. “i just wanted to ask— uh, my friends are throwing a party tomorrow night, do you— do you wanna come?” his words come out jumbled, jungkook never fails to trip on his words whenever he’s near you.

tomorrow night...it’s a friday tomorrow, the quiz is tomorrow, why the fuck not? a stress reliever from all the studying you’ve done. “sure,” you answer after a minute or so of deliberation. you look up at him with a smile, suddenly realizing how close the two of you are.

your eyes flicker between his eyes and his lips, the close proximity makes you hold your breath. “great! i can pick you up? be your DD?” he quirks his head, a smile that matches yours on his face.

you nod, “yeah, i’d like that.” with that, jungkook takes a step back, widening the space between you both as his right hand goes to hold the strap of his bag.

“okay, i’ll text you the details.” before he turns around, turning the knob of your front door and letting himself out. before the door closes, he sends you a wave, one which you reflect as he pulls the door closed. you move up and lock the door, your forehead resting against the cold metal slab.

you wonder if this crush will ever advance into something more. neither of you really push the agenda, most of the time just cutely flirting with each other and only talking to each other during class. maybe this party will be a chance to further the bond the two of you have. you could only wish that you could drop this nervous shield that pops up everytime you’re around him, but jungkook is just so cool. the campus heartthrob, everyone wants to be him or be with him.

for the rest of the day, jungkook seems to occupy your mind, as he always does. when you get to sleep, the fantasies of jungkook’s lips on yours drift you into a deep sleep, one that eventually leads to a dream that has you rubbing your thighs together. his hands were all over your body, his cologne that you were so familiar with tormenting your nose, it all felt too real. so when you woke up to the sound of your alarm, sweat beaded at your hairline. you took deep breaths, cementing the fact that he isn’t here, and he certainly isn’t doing those things with you right now.

it was not helping that you dreamt of him sexually on the day of your quiz, the one that you were immensely stressing over. now, you’re gonna have to walk into class, act normal around jungkook even though your brain produced pornographic images of him, (it’s not the first time, but it’s the first time you’ve had to face him right after it happened) and ace this quiz.

you tried almost everything you could to have cleared your brain of your dream sequence. taking a shower, eating breakfast, studying once more, etc. but when you’re walking into the lecture hall, flashes of the dream and the sound of his imagined moan echo in your mind.

you walk up the stairs with your eyes down, not sure if you could make eye contact with jungkook without turning red. “hey, ___, good morning!” the familiar voice greets you.

“morning,” you reply, dryly. taking the seat next to him and silently taking your laptop out, waiting for the professor to start the quiz. jungkook seemed a bit taken aback by your cold answer, but he took into account that you’re probably just super nervous and stressed out because of the quiz, so he doesn’t take it too personally. instead, just sitting back in his chair and waiting patiently to take the quiz as well.

at this point, you were psyching yourself out, swearing that you already forgot all of the terms. if you were quizzed on the parts of male anatomy, specifically jungkook’s, then maybe you could ace it, but the terms that you were working oh so hard to memorize yesterday slip from your mind. when the professor tells you to separate and start the quiz, you start to bite your thumb nail again.

jungkook takes a look over at you, noticing the bad habit of yours. he gently takes a hold of your arm, pulling your thumb away from your teeth. the action causing you to make eye contact with him and his big doe eyes that hold so much love and light. you find yourself a bit speechless then, too many thoughts running around in your mind.

he whispers, “you’ll do great, okay?” the statement soothing your nerves. his voice somehow makes your body relax, even though you thought you would freak out if you made any sort of contact with him.

“you— you too, good luck,” you mutter. a half smile on your face. you were grateful that jungkook broke you out of your trance, his words of encouragement suddenly placing you in the testing state of mind. the images from last night's dream seem to put themselves away for now.

the next twenty minutes are complete silence. everyone focused on the questions before them. of course, you zoomed through the quiz, prepared for the trick questions and the harder ones that come up. jungkook finishes after you. it wasn’t a surprise, jungkook didn’t even have to try, you swear you’ve never seen him stress out before. nobody was perfect, you believed that, but jeon jungkook was the closest to it.

“okay, class! the quiz will be graded by tonight hopefully, you’re free to leave,” your professor alerts the class. jungkook waits patiently until you’re standing, following you down the stairs and out the door.

you decide to speak first, since you greeted him with such a dry response this morning. it wasn’t his fault that you dreamed of him on top of you, so why were you punishing him for it? “how’d you think you did?” you asked, turning to look at him.

he shrugs, “good i guess, i think i fucked up on one or two questions.”

“was it the striation part? i think i messed up on that one too.”

he shakes his head, “you know you aced that, don’t lie.”

you stay silent, the two of you walking to the campus parking lot. neither of you engage in conversation as you usually do. the images of last night’s dream slipping into your consciousness once again. you try to shake your head, to rid yourself of the thoughts. nothing else to distract you from them because jungkook was oddly silent the entire walk. you fear that he can actually read your mind and see all of your thoughts. if he could, he doesn’t mention it. not saying one word to you until he walks you to your car, greeting you with a ‘see you next class!’ before leaving to go to his car. not even mentioning the party to you, you start to wonder if he regrets inviting you. up until you heard your phone ring when you parked in the lot of your apartment complex.

[10:24 am] jungkook: hey! forgot to remind u about the party 😫

[10:24 am] jungkook: ur still down to come, right?

[10:28 am] you: hi! yeah :)

[10:28 am] you: is there a dress code or smth? haha

[10:29 am] jungkook: not that i know of 😂

[10:30 am] jungkook: u can wear anything u want

[10:30 am] jungkook: ur cute whatever u wear

[10:31 am] you: oh stop it jeon ur making me blush

[10:32 am] you: but tell me :( should i wear something casual? pants? a dress?

[10:34 am] jungkook: 😂

[10:34 am] jungkook: it’s kind of like a frat party…

[10:35 am] jungkook: so anything is okay

[10:37 am] you: ah okay

[10:37 am] you: i’ll surprise u then ;)

[10:40 am] jungkook: alright :)

[10:41 am] jungkook: i’ll come by around 9 to pick u up? sound good?

[10:42 am] you: yeah! gives me enough time to nap and get ready lol

[10:44 am] jungkook: great :) see u then cutie

you wake up from your nap around one, you had more than enough time for you to get ready for a party. so you decide to clean your apartment first, little chores to waste time before you get yourself dolled up. when you finished, it was around seven thirty. you washed your face, brushed your teeth, all that good stuff before sliding on a simple black bodycon that you got last summer. styling your hair and spraying on your favorite perfume before looking at yourself in the mirror. this wasn’t too much, right? lots of people wear stuff like this to frat parties, so you didn’t find it too fancy. the notification sound from your phone goes off, you move to check and see if it was who you were expecting.

[8:54 pm] jungkook: i’m here :)

[8:54 pm] you: ahh gimme a sec i need to pee haha

[8:55 pm] jungkook: take ur time cutie

[8:56 pm] jungkook: i’m right in front

jungkook only really had to wait about five minutes. the visual of you walking out of your apartment doors, looking the way you did, was breathtaking. his jaw drops, mouth slightly agape as he watches you walk up to his car through the passenger window. you are so gorgeous. it’s probably the first time jungkook’s seen you in clothes that really compliment your figure, most of the time you show up to class in hoodies and sweaters. so greedily, he takes in the way the dress hugs your curves deliciously. he shakes the thoughts from his head to get out of the car and open the door for you.

“what a gentleman,” you tease, getting into the car.

he joins you soon after, “you look...gorgeous.” jungkook doesn’t seem so shy now, his eyes taking in your beautiful self.

“thank you,” you blush under his stare. “is it too much?”

“no! no— not at all, all eyes will be on you tonight.” he smiles, turning the car on. now you were able to gawk over him. a simple outfit, all black with a black and white camo bomber. his side profile is perfect, his long hair draping over his face so gracefully and his piercings somehow sparkling in the dark of the car.

he doesn’t drive too far, somewhere in the suburbs where the big houses are. a huge iron gate in the front, seemingly too fancy for a frat party setting. jungkook rolls his window down to greet someone waiting in front of the gate with a couple of other guys.

“jeon! you’re late dude,” one of the guys gives him a handshake through the window.

“sorry man, i’m here now though,” jungkook laughs. the guy giving him the greenlight and opening the gate for him, jungkook parks inside on their stone driveway, decorated with a fountain and a beautiful garden.

“your friend lives here?” you inquire, impressed by the look of the place.

he nods, “fancy right? his parents are ceo’s.” makes sense, and it would also make sense as to why they were throwing a frat party here, rich sons always seem to stir up trouble whenever they’re bored.

he steps out of the car to open the door for you, always a gentleman. he takes your hand and helps you out, the two of you walking to the huge open double doors. as soon as you walk in, the smell of alcohol hits your nose, you try your best not to cringe. the blare of the speakers is the second thing you notice, along with the shouting of jungkook’s friends greeting him. “who’s this?” one of them asks, referring to you.

jungkook seems to hesitate at first, not really knowing how to introduce you. he settles by saying, “this is ___!” not attaching any ‘friend’, ‘classmate’, or anything to the introduction. his friend holds his hand out to shake yours.

you take it with a smile on your face, “i’m yugyeom, it’s nice to meet you!” a smile that reflects yours is on his face, it made you feel welcome. you were never really the type to go to parties, your time is spent working and/or going to school, but this interaction helps you ease up a little more.

“hello, yugyeom!” you reply, shouting over the music.

“do you wanna take a shot?” he asks. pointing to the enormous kitchen where they’re housing all the alcohol, you look to jungkook first who’s paying more attention to his phone rather than the conversation you were just having.

you shrug, “why not?”

yugyeom leads the two of you to the kitchen, jungkook following behind you blindly. he looks up from his phone, done with whatever business he was dealing with to ask, “where are we going?”

“taking a shot,” you answer, pointing to yugyeom who’s already pouring three shots.

“dude, i’m not drinking, don’t pour three.” jungkook tries to stop him before he fills up the third shot glass but his arm knocks yugyeom’s in the process, the bottle spilling the clear liquid into the third shot glass.

“i’ll take two,” you suggest, feeling a bit wild and down to venture out of your comfort zone.

yugyeom smiles at this, “i like her, jeon.” he hands you the two shot glasses full of vodka, jungkook stands next to you and watches as you down the first shot. your face cringing as soon as the alcohol touches your tongue.

“you didn’t even give her a chaser,” jungkook notices, scolding yugyeom who's already downed his shot and is sucking on a lime. “here, suck,” holding a slice of lime up to your lips. his choice of words disorienting you, especially since he was holding the lime up to your mouth instead of just handing it to you. your eyes flicker between the lime and his face, but nevertheless, you suck. sinking your teeth into the sour fruit. jungkook’s eyes zeroed in on how your lips wrap around the slice, slightly grazing his fingers. it’s not long before you’re making a cute scrunched up face from the sourness. “good,” he praises. you don’t deny the slight burn your lower belly felt when he said that to you. you swear he was making sex eyes to you, but you couldn’t tell. he broke eye contact with you soon after, throwing the fruit into the trash below the table that the alcohol was perched on.

yugyeom hands you another lime for your second shot, this time no jungkook to hold the fruit for you. the second shot burning down your throat with the lime chasing after, both yugyeom and jungkook cheer, congratulating you for being a trooper (even though two shots were their warmups).

the next hour or so, jungkook brings you around. he introduces you to his friends and making conversation with them. one certain group, you didn’t really enjoy. a group of five girls, clearly swarming jungkook as soon as he turned around from talking to another one of his friends. the girls ask how he’s been doing, all of the basic conversation starters. when jungkook tries to introduce you, they all turn to you and give you a little head nod before turning their attention back to jungkook. he stands there, conversing with them longer than he had with any of his other friends, and you found yourself getting, hm, jealous.

so you search around the room crowded room, looking for some way out. your eyes spot yugyeom in the backyard through the huge sliding doors, sitting on one of those lawn chairs with the one next to him empty. you decide to leave the group you were currently getting pushed out of and join yugyeom. he notices you when you step onto the grass, trying your best not to sink into the dirt with your heels. “you doing alright? where’s jungkookie?” he asks, sitting up.

you plop down onto the lawn chair next to him. “he’s in there,” you point to the house, “with five girls.”

the last bit of the sentence makes him laugh, a cackle where he holds his stomach because he was laughing so hard. “do you want a shot?” he offers after he recovers from his fit, pulling a tequila bottle out from nowhere.

but you agree, “two, please.” he fills the two shot glasses, but not completely like he did with the vodka earlier. there were no limes, or any type of chaser for you to take around, so you take the two shots like ripping off a band-aid, quick.

“you’re a funny girl,” yugyeom compliments when you’ve downed the shots.

“thanks?” you cough, the feeling of the alcohol still burning your nose and throat, “what did i say that was funny?”

“i think it’s because i’m tipsy, but that joke you made about jungkook being with five girls was hilarious.” he slaps his knee, almost making himself laugh up a storm again, but you weren’t laughing.

you raised an eyebrow, speaking with a serious tone. “it wasn’t a joke, he’s in there with five girls.”

yugyeom tries to collect himself, sitting properly on the lawn chair when he asks you to clarify, “you mean he’s fucking them? or he’s talking to them?”

you’re silent for a second before replying, why did you say it like he was in there fucking them? maybe it’s because he might as well be, so engrossed in whatever the hell they were saying to even notice that you were gone. “just talking to them,” you reply.

“that’s what i thought, jungkook isn’t like that anymore,” yugyeom nods his head, pouring another shot out for you.

“anymore?” you ask. he hands you the shot, you hesitate this time, starting to feel the effects of the first four shots you took. he doesn’t push you to take it. he just leans back onto the lawn chair as he sighs.

“you could say he’s retired,” he shrugs.

the term makes you laugh, “...a retired fuckboy?” you sit back into the lawn chair as well, looking up to the night sky. the shot glass forgotten on the table next to you. your body feels like it’s floating.

“yeah, he hasn’t really been doing stuff like that recently,” yugyeom spills. you stay quiet after he feeds you this information. yugyeom offhandedly telling you that you shouldn’t be jealous makes you feel guilty. why were you even jealous? jungkook was technically still just a friend to you. just because the two of you flirt every now and then doesn’t mean you’re together. of course he would be surrounded by girls, just look at him!

“there you are! i was looking all over for you,” jungkook interrupts your inner monologue. his voice comes from across the lawn, you look up to see him walking over to you and yugyeom.

“hi, jungkookie,” you smile up at him. the alcohol having more of an effect on you the longer you let it sit in your stomach.

he almost freezes up at the nickname, looking over to yugyeom and asking, “did you tell her to call me that?”

yugyeom holds his hands up in innocence, “i didn’t tell her to do anything, she’s like five or six shots deep though.”

you take the shot that was forgotten on the table and down it. “six,” you clarify.

“alright, slow down, iron liver,” jungkook jokes. yugyeom stands from the lawn chair, receiving jungkook’s telepathic signals to get the fuck up to he could talk and hang out with you.

“play beer pong with me later, ___! i’m gonna go look for eunwoo,” yugyeom points to you, giving you a thumbs up before leaving the backyard and moving into the house.

“feeling okay? think you might throw up soon?” jungkook asks, replacing yugyeom in the chair next to you.

“feel like i’m surfing, you know? like wavy,” you answer. the feeling was hard to explain, you weren’t dizzy but at the same time your brain was telling you to stop moving, even though you were completely still.

“ah, you’re getting there,” jungkook snorts. you didn’t have much willpower to answer, so the two of you sit there in a comfortable silence before a group of people coming towards, all greeting jungkook and you. they offer you a red cup, despite your current predicament. leaning against the chair and your droopy eyes, telling them that you’ve taken too many shots. a lightweight at her peak.

jungkook tries to deny it for you, but with a smile, you accept the cup. it was filled with the fancy mixed alcohol juice they had. “thank you,” you place the cup onto the table, “i’ll drink it.... later..” your words begin to draw themselves out. jungkook somehow finding a way to make the entire group leave, making it just the two of you again.

“give it to me, you’re starting to slur your words.” his hand is open, laying on the table and waiting for you to surrender the cup.

your eyes flicker from the red cup, to his face, then to his hand. a smirk on your face when you hold the cup up to your lips, tilting it back and drinking the cursed juice. you weren’t able to down it all, it was too much, you drank maybe ⅔ of it. you cough, taking in a deep breath as you try to steady yourself.

you weren’t sure if it was because you were drunk, but the way that his face looks in the moonlight was so pretty. so you just had to tell him. leaning forward, you speak, almost a whisper, “you’re so handsome.” you drag your finger across the expanse of jungkook’s hand. “did you know i have no gag reflex?” you smile, not your typical sweet smile that he’s used to, but a devilish grin.

jungkook’s eyes widen, his cheeks flushing immediately at your remark. “alright, you drank way too much.” he takes the red cup from your hands, dumping it out onto the grass in front of you both.

“hey, i wasn’t done,” you pout, but jungkook didn’t give you much time to mourn your spilled drink before he was holding your arm, lifting you from the lawn chair you were sitting on. “where are we going?” you ask, trailing behind him with your hand in his.

“gonna get you some water and something to eat,” he answers. the two of you move through the house, jungkook pushes through groups of people and makes sure you’re safe behind him.

“i have to pee.” you tip toe to tell him your emergency in his ear. he stops at the stairs, knowing a bathroom where no one else goes. his friend specifically telling him to use that bathroom when they have parties because the other ones get way too gross.

he brings you up the stairs to the guest bedroom, opening the door to reveal one of the biggest rooms you’ve seen. “the bathroom is there,” jungkook points to the door on the left. you nod, your wobbly legs making their way to the toilet.

jungkook sits on the bed patiently, waiting for you to finish. he hears the flush and the sound of the sink running, the door opens and you’re coming out of the bathroom, pulling your dress down. “are we gonna have sex?” you utter, slurring the end of your sentence. your alcohol poisoned mind taking over your ability to speak.

his eyes widen at the question. “no! no— oh my god, this is just the room with the cleanest bathroom, we’re not—“

you’re next to him now, “you don’t want to?” you pout. glassy eyes looking into his.

“no! i mean, yes, i want to but— fuck, just— just not now, yeah?” jungkook stumbles over his words, his face blushing a blood red. your pretty face peering up at him makes him even more flustered, his hands start to sweat.

“okay,” you nodded. your drunken brain deciding to stop the interrogation of jungkook’s desire for you. to which jungkook lets out a sigh of relief, taking your hand and bringing you out of the room, down the stairs, and out into the driveway. he brings you to his car, opening the passenger door for you. “wait, are we leaving already? yugyeomie wants me to play beer pong with him,” you complain, wiggling your hand from his grasp.

goosebumps appear on your arm when you make it outside of the house. jungkook notices when he turns around to look at you. without a second thought, he takes his jacket off and places it over your shoulders. the newfound warmth shielding you from the cold night. he didn’t mind the breeze, especially since he was still recovering from the stunt you pulled in the guest room.

“we can come back later if you want, let’s just go grab something to eat first so you won’t regret this tomorrow morning.” his explanation is pretty solid according to your drunken brain, so you oblige, moving to sit in his passenger seat.

he joins you in the driver’s seat not long after. “can we get mcdonald’s?” you ask as soon as he sits down.

a smile appears on his face as he starts the car, “sure.”

the drive made you feel a little dizzy, it makes you laugh. “you okay?” jungkook asks, but you nod your head. he’s so sweet, always asking if you’re okay, making sure you weren’t feeling too awful, etc. it only makes sense that you were falling head over heels for him.

“totally fine,” you look over to him with a smile on your face. he’s so fucking pretty, his side profile is something you could rave about for days. as he’s pulling into the mcdonald’s drive through, he’s talking into the intercom, ordering the two of you something to eat when you’re suddenly mumbling, “mcflurry, kookie, oreo mcflurry.”

he looks back to you, an amused smile on his face, “oreo mcflurry?” he repeats. you nod, “okay, anything for you.”

he reiterates the request into the intercom and the server gives him the greenlight. he drives forward and waits until the next car moves up, in the time being, he looks to you. your head laying up against the door and your eyes slowly blinking, warning him that you might fall asleep. so he reaches into his backseat, his arm looking for the water bottles that he usually keeps in his car.

“hey,” he taps your arm gently, “drink some of this first.” he hands you the water bottle, you blink slowly, trying to figure out what he was handing you. once you realize it was a water bottle, you take it, opening it and gulping some of the water down. jungkook is grabbing the food when you’re screwing the cap back on. he parks somewhere in the parking lot and tells you to start eating.

you grab your mcflurry first, the feeling of the cold ice cream on your tongue soothing your dizzy brain. “yum,” you think out loud.

jungkook laughs, taking out his hamburger while he takes out your chicken nuggets. “make sure to eat some of this, yeah? don’t want you throwing up and hating me.”

the thought makes you smile. jungkook was taking such great care of you. sure, he let you down the alcohol like it was nothing, but you never opposed to it, always taking the shot because you wanted to. now jungkook is here, taking care of you, because he wanted to. you knew that if it were anybody else, they probably would have left you at the party, letting you fend for yourself. the sudden warmth in your chest makes you want to tell jungkook everything.

with his jacket wrapped around you instead of him, you can see the bulge of his arm muscles peek out from the short sleeved shirt he was wearing. even drunk, your brain seems to travel back to the images from your dream. “you know, i had a dream about you, a reeaaaallllllyyyyy dirty dream, jeon jungkook.” you blurt out the confession before your thoughts catch up with you, the alcohol still very much blocking off the common sense part of your brain.

he tries his best not to overreact, but you had a dream about him? a dirty dream at that? it awakens something in jungkook, but he pushes it down, ignoring the feeling as he asks, “you did? what was it about?” he curious as to what you meant and what your dream entailed, but he didn’t want to push too far. especially since you were drunk and most likely just spilling everything because your brain doesn’t have the willpower to hold it back.

you stick your hand into the bag to steal some fries, stuffing them in your mouth. “oh, you don’t wanna know,” you chew.

jungkook quirks a brow, “well, was i good at least?” he jokes.

you scrunch your nose, nodding nevertheless. “too good, couldn’t even focus during the quiz because of it.”

jungkook is silent for a second. the conversation making him hot even though he wasn’t wearing his jacket anymore. so he clears his throat, trying to change the subject in a subtle manner. “is that why you were so mean to me this morning?” he pouts, connecting the dots.

you laugh at the question, “sorry, i didn’t mean to, i swear.”

with that, the rest of the time is spent eating. jungkook makes sure that you ate enough and drank enough water, the empty water bottle in his cupholder as proof. “do you want me to take you home now?” he asks, the two of you finished eating and now a silence takes over the car.

“are you going back?” you ask, fiddling with your fingers. he thinks you’ve started to sober up, or maybe have gotten to the point where you just want to sleep.

he shakes his head to your question, “honestly, i’m kind of tired, but if you want to go back, we can go.”

“no, i’m okay,” you decline the offer. jungkook laughs, starting the car again and driving back to your apartment complex.

you take this time to try to get yourself together. you know you’ll regret confessing to jungkook that you had a wet dream about him in the morning. but in the moment, it felt right to confess, (to your drunken brain of course). you tilt your head back, pushing your head against the headrest, and suddenly, you’re reminded of the stars jungkook has on his ceiling. you were silent as you admired the lights, jungkook takes a look at you when he’s stopped at a red light.

so cute, he thinks, staring up at his ceiling like it’s the real night sky. when he pulls up to your apartment complex, he wishes the night could be longer, that he could spend more time with you. he parks the car in the front, exactly where he picked you up. you’re looking to him now, your hands in your lap and your heart seemingly beating three times as fast as it usually does. it wasn’t the alcohol.

“did you have fun tonight?” he asks. his voice never fails to make you melt.

you nod, “i did.”

“i’m glad,” he smiles. there’s a small silence before he speaks once more, “also, y’know, you don’t have to stress yourself out so much, i know you might have expectations for yourself and stuff, but you should give yourself a break from time to time.”

the alcohol’s effects fading slowly from your brain when you start to realize that the entire reason jungkook invited you out was to help you destress. it makes you fall even harder, he was so thoughtful. even though a party wasn’t your scene, he invited you to give you a glimpse into how he has fun and hoped that it would help you loosen up a bit. you were grateful for the mental break he provided you.

you didn’t reply, purely because you were thinking about how much you want to kiss him right now, but it wouldn’t be right. when he speaks up again, there’s a nervous lilt in his voice, scared that he’s overstepped. “if you need anyone to help you— i don’t know, let loose? you can— you can always call me.” he scratches the back of his neck.

but you try your best to reassure him, smiling at the offer. “i will, thank you for tonight, jungkook, i really enjoyed it, despite being a lightweight.”

he laughs, staring at the way your face cutely scrunches when you giggle. he too, is fighting the urge to kiss you, because right now isn’t a good time. he wants to do it right. he doesn’t want to fuck it up with you. so instead, he hops out of the car and moves to open the door for you. helping you out of the car and walking you to your door, your hand in his.

“i’ll see you in class?” you turn to face him, squeezing his hand.

he nods, “yeah.” his signature bunny smile coming out to greet you a goodnight. “text me before you sleep?” he requests. you give him a thumbs up before he’s letting go of your hand and you’re sticking the key into your door, it’s then that you realize that you’re still wearing his jacket.

“oh!” you exclaim, taking the jacket off and handing it to him. but he holds his hand out to stop you.

“keep it, you can give it to me the next time we hang out, or something,” he suggests. you try to hide the growing smile behind a nod.

you hold onto his jacket, “goodnight, jungkook.”

he sticks his hands in his pockets, sending you another grin, “goodnight, ___.”

jungkook drives home, his empty apartment welcoming him. he plops down onto his bed, not even bothering to change out of the clothes he was in because he was that tired. the events of today running through his mind.

he hopes you don’t think he was doing anything with those five girls. he saw you walk away when you did, he tried his best to escape the conversation, but they kept pulling him back. he gave up after ten tries of trying to get away, standing there for a good fifteen minutes listening to them babble about how much they missed him. jungkook had never rolled his eyes so many times in a conversation.

the talk the two of you had after was another thing taking over his mind. your dirty flirting and your dream you mentioned in the car had his imagination running all over the place. he didn’t want to push you when you explained, but he was very curious as to what he did in your dream, and how good it was for you to have it run through your mind all day.

his phone rings next to him. he turns and opens it, a smile on his face when he reads your message.

[12:32 am] you: hi jungkookieeeeeeeee

[12:33 am] you: im sleeping noww

[12:33 am] jungkook: alright cutie

[12:33 am] jungkook: goodnight! again 😂

[12:34 am] you: goodnight <3

he turns his phone off after that. looking up to his ceiling with a dumb smile on his face. his mind thinking of you and only you.

[weabooweedwitch]

Honestly dude just tell em no curbside or you quit at this point; just make sure you have another job before you do so, in case they won’t budge.

It's just like. I was making all of those posts because for one I just hate these services but also, yesterday I had literally the worst curbside order EVER

TWENTY FIVE LABELS. A label for each bag or item too large to fit into a bag. Look there are literally cases of soda with a label across multiple boxes. That first picture is JUST her unrefrigerated goods and it takes up an entire shelving segment!!! And she was nice and helped me load her car but I was so fucking furious that i was kind of a bitch and I do need to apologize cause in hindsight I think she felt bad about ordering so much. I actually dropped some shit in front of her and I was so frustrated I didn't even apologize. I hope she doesn't complain to a manager although I sorta deserve it 🥺

I would also like to add like even though I've had my leg surgeries I do still have physical issues so it really burns me that like this service was originally intended for disabled and immunocompromised people and here I am, the disabled girl, doing the work for able bodied people. You know the main employee who does curbside besides me literally has torn tendons in his elbow that he needs surgery for

Its just. Ugh. Another thing is that as much as I hate the curbside service its also job security for me because they still need to train more people how to do it and I am in like, the top three (or was before I stopped giving a fuck)

I just. I make 16.50 an hour and the thing is thats a lot better than most stores and retail jobs? Even though it isn't enough its better than a lot of places and we get a seasonal raise during the holidays. I just. Ugh. I had a manager why I wasn't full time the other day, asking why I work so many hours as a part time employee, and I just kind of give her a look and say "well I'm not really supposed to be because I'm on state insurance"

It's like. We keep having people randomly quit or never show up so they need me a lot. I know I'm like a core member of staff at this point and if I quit it would fuck a lot of people over and I would feel bad. But im also very overwhelmed and I don't feel like I have any time for myself anymore? Or I'm getting way too stressed, constantly, just like consysnt heart palpitations at the slightest sign of a problem? I'm literally working 40 hours this week and then another 38 next week and like.

Sigh. It's scary because I have no savings and im an impulsive buyer so I really need to be working 24/7, saving 24/7, but mentally im not capable of it. If I lower my hours then ill be worrying about money so... I dunno. I feel like I'm being complacent at this point, putting up with it because I'm too nervous to rock the boat or scared I'll make my situation worse and im just kind of waiting until I wither snap or get fired

[capricornus-rex]

Hi hi, I have an idea for a request idk if you'd be up for it, but Cal being drawn to the reader when they first meet because she's strong with the force but it turns out she's related to a sith and has been hiding from Palpatine because she doesn't want to give in to the dark side and hurt innocent people, mayhaps? But if you're not feeling it then no worries love!❤❤

Hi Anon! Sorry if it took me a while to answer, I had to finish the other requests, but I was already making the draft when I got this request so obviously I was up for it~! ^w^ So sorry again that you had to wait, but I hope you’d enjoy this fic, Anon! ❤❤

“Stronger Than Blood” | Chapter 1: Another Happy Landing | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: Meeting another Force-sensitive was one thing, but having them related to one of the most formidable known duelers was a whole other story to tell. While being stranded in another planet after barely escaping the Haxion Brood, Cal crosses paths with someone who’s at a crossroads with their own identity and lineage.

A/N: This was fun for me to write on, because obviously this prompt is new to me. Rarely do I make the Reader a Dark Side character—one way or another. Also, I wonder if the devs are ever gonna put a currency system in the future SWJFO games—you know, like actual money to buy stuff? That’d be so great. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy the fic!

Also posted in AO3

Tags: Force-User! Reader, Force-Sensitive! Reader, Sith-Related! Reader

Next: Part 2 | Masterlist

1 of ?

Four consecutive blasts from an unseen enemy quakes the Mantis. The screens in the cockpit—both big and small—flash red as an alarm blares from an unknown source. All three crew members were on high alert.

“Captain, what’s going on with the ship?!”

“We’re being pursued by a freighter ship!” the young Jedi reported with a frantic voice, he had to hold his monitor with both hands to keep it from shaking.

“Haxion!” the captain hissed. He then threw his arms all over his dashboard while keeping himself glued to his seat.

Apparently, the flailing of four arms altogether was a bit distracting in Cal’s peripheral vision. When Greez met the boy’s expression that obviously screamed “What are you doing now?” the captain got cocky and began to prep the ship for hyperspace in the middle of a burnout.

“GREEZ, THAT’S TOO DANGEROUS!!” Cere objected.

“I DON’T PLAN ON FLOATING IN THE DEEP VACUUM OF SPACE IN FRONT OF THE BROOD!”

The two adults bickered, having Cal stuck in the middle of it all—with nothing else to do but to watch the monitors, turn some knobs to stabilize the overheating and keep it that way.

“Guys, if you’re done arguing!!” Cal finally snapped. “The ship can make a jump to the next planet that’s seven parsecs away.”

“Well then, let’s get to that seven-parsecs-away planet!!”

The Lateron continued his handiwork with all of the controls in front of him, the finishing touch being the pull of the lever to activate the jump to lightspeed. He cranked the silver handle hard—so hard to the point that the sound of the shaft was a loud clank of gears and cogs—and the next thing they know, they were looming through that bright blue tunnel of light into the next side of the galaxy.

The crew finally got a breather after evading cannon fire from the Haxion Brood’s ships, but the Mantis is barely holding herself together. The screens continue to flash red at the crew, Cal caught a glimpse of their destination in one of his dashboard’s monitors.

“Nalima,” he reads out loud to everyone.

“I’ve heard of this planet—the capital city isn’t too far in our trajectory,” Cere spoke while keeping her eyes glued to her communications monitor.

“Yeah, I’m picking up a lot of signatures in my screens here,”

“Well, I hope we find a nice spot just right in front of the Imps’ noses, eh?”

Greez’s sarcastic remark was received with an unimpressed glare from Cere, adding up Cal’s awkward side-eyed glance just to see both persons’ reactions.

Things returned to their regular flow seconds later—save for the constant red alert that the Mantis keeps reminding the crew—and they’re about to exit hyperspace in less than a parsec. Greez expressed perhaps the greatest concern he’s ever openly said to his crew—and it was something not to be taken lightly of, the other two knew caught wind of it and actually had similar thoughts.

Cal, who always seem to be optimistic about things even in the most dire of predicaments, suggested landing someplace where there’s a docking bay and a workshop where they can have the Mantis checked.

“Let’s hope it’s not gonna cost me as much as a new ship!” Greez jabbed.

The Mantis throttles its way through the atmosphere, the turbulence was much stronger considering that the suspension is nearly asunder—along with the other parts of the ship that the Brood has taken a hit on. The captain warns everyone to buckle up and hold on tight, as he himself does the same while keeping a grip on the steering wheel with all four arms.

Greez struggled to keep the Mantis from swerving, there wasn’t much he could do with the exhaust that caught fire when they tore through the thin sheet of the atmosphere. Cal managed to find a spot where they can safely land, away from the eyes of prospective enemies—since they’re not even sure if the Empire has planted its feet on the planet’s soil, but it’s not much of a stretch for that to be a fact.

The captain landed the Mantis in what ought to be an abandoned shipyard. Perfect. Literally away from all the eyes who would take interest of ransacking the thing—except, of course, thieves.

“Well now…” Cal ran his fingers through his hair, combing back the locks that drooped over his forehead. “Another happy landing.”

Promptly, the entire crew checked on the vital areas of the Mantis. Cal sped back the engine room—which was also his bedroom—and hot air fumed within the narrow space, beads of sweat instantaneously dotted his neck and temples the moment he stepped inside.

“Okay, I think we got a cooked hyperdrive compressor here!” he coughed, fanning the pungent smoke that wafted around his bedroom.

When he was received with no reaction, he assumed the other two had gone out of the ship to check the exterior damage. He repeated what he found inside while Greez gawks at the horridly bent hydraulic tendon of the landing gear.

“Well, that’s just great! Where are we gonna get spare parts!? It’s gonna take forever for us to patch her up again!”

“Look on the bright side, at least we’re in civilization—there’s bound to be one,”

“Kid, I wish I could see that bright side in this dark place I’m in,” Greez whined.

Cere consoled the Lateron captain, assuring him that things will come through. In the meantime, Cal volunteered to go around the city, hopefully to find a kind soul who could hook them up with some spare parts for cheap and an extra set of hands—if they’re extra lucky.

“We’ll stay in the ship, see if the Imperial presence is dense here. We’ll lay low while you go around,” Cere’s tone immediately changed from cool to stern, that meant that she’s about to repeat herself in warning Cal to be careful.

“I know, I know. I mean, hey, what could go wrong past this?”

“I wouldn’t count on it, Cal!” Greez added, anxious of whatever outcome will walk into the picture in the next moment.

Cal mumbled “Come on” to BD-1 perched onto his shoulder before heading into the city proper. The little droid replied with a tiny beep in agreement. The Lateron’s overly-anxious grumbling over the Mantis is gradually drowned out by the busy noises of the city as Cal approaches.

[freewithyourtempo]

Could you write a cherik fic where Erik is this really famous/hot actor who keeps his personal life very private and all of his fans speculate who his wife his and want to date him until he shows up to a red carpet with Charles (in a wheelchair) and shocks everyone and reveals they’ve been together since like childhood

I’m really sorry it took me so long to write this.I hope you’ll like it!

 "Are you ever going to tell us who you’re dating?“ 

The room holds his breath.Erik Lehnsherr smiles, slow and dangerous. Not in a pleasant way. 

Well, Emma rectifies, it is still a boiling hot smile - how could it not be, with those cheekbones and that jawline -; but it isn’t meant to be reassuring. She feels her face warming. 

Lehnsherr takes his time answering. 

He fetches the bottle of water hiding the plaque with his name - as if anyone could not know who Erik Lehnsherr is at a press conference for his latest blockbuster-, long fingers leaving prints on the cloudy glass, and refills his cup. 

He tilts the bottle, tendons bulge on his arm. Dozens of eyes follow the spilling water on its way down. 

Emma could bet the journalist is already regretting her question, and hides her smirk behind a clever swipe of her lipstick. 

Someone coughs in the heavily silent room. 

Everyone is staring at Lehnsherr’s working throat, up and down with his Adam’s apple, and Lehnsherr is grinning down at the poor journalist, who, at this point, can only squirm in her pastel tailleur.

Eventually, Lehnsherr puts his glass down and pops his lips. “You’re not my type,” he says.

The journalist looks flabbergasted. “I- What?” 

Emma shifts on her chair and uncrosses her legs. 

Lehnsherr blinks. “The only reasonable excuse for you to ask me anything about the identity of my partner is that you’re interested in what I like. Because, otherwise, your question would be highly inappropriate. So… I’m saving you time. You’re not my type. Next question?”  

The journalist sits back down with no further comment. 

Emma raises her hand to ask a question. 

***

According to the Internet, Erik Lehnsherr is so hot that staring at him without your sunglasses could send you directly to the Emergency Room with burnt corneas.

But boy, wouldn’t it be worth it.

Your internal eyelids would forever preserve the image of those sharp cheekbones, those sin-inducing lips, those bulb-exploding grey eyes.

But it isn’t just his face, it is his whole attitude.

Brooding, mysterious and confident, with a smile that could slice open paparazzi’s cameras and a taste for dark characters with disputable morals and indisputable appeal.   

Every woman wants to do him, and every man wants to–

No, scratch that.

Everyone with a sexual drive has dreamt at least once of his long fingers and rough jaw in the last year, no exception.

Hell, Erik Lehnsherr is so convolutedly sexy that Byron would have had wet dreams about him.

Once Emma saw a video of him smoking and that night she woke up, skin burning hot, with the sheets wrapped around her calves and a tuft of blonde hair stuck to her damp forehead.     

And as any self-respecting tormented artist, he is a recluse.

He doesn’t attend galas or parties if he can help it (he can help it pretty often), he has never been photographed with his hands up someone’s skirt in an alley behind a dark disco or been arrested for skinny-dipping in the Trevi Fountain. The last one is a pity.

He doesn’t even have one chatty, bribable relative in all of New York.

Emma would know, she has gone looking.

It is frustrating.

Fundamental questions about his person are still unanswered, and one of them above all torments Erik Lehnsherr’s fans like a rock in their shoes.

A rock the size of Mount Rushmore.  

Who is the lucky bastard who has chained him with a wedding band?

Emma is torn between her desire to bloodily maul them and to gift them a star on the walk of fame. 

The inscription would be something on the line of: “The unknown sucker that wakes up every morning with Erik Lehnsherr’s ass at arm’s length. Hope you plump him up like a pillow, sugar.” 

But the identity of the unknown spouse will in all likelihood stay a secret a little longer.

It is probably the blonde top model who has co-starred his last movie, anyway. Hollywood’s couples are never a big surprise. 

***

Logan has a work ethic, even if he is a paparazzo. 

Just because he makes money on people’s missteps, heartbreaks and scandals - the snottiest, the better-, it doesn’t mean he can’t be compassionate about it.

That’s why he has come to the conclusion, while squatted behind a smelly trash can in front of Lehnsherr’s trailer, that he will give the actor a heads up. 

He will still sell the photos of his imminent cheating to the highest bidder, obviously.

That kind of stuff is worth thousands of bucks, and he is not Gandhi. 

But he will magnanimously offer Lehnsherr time to have a heart to heart with his significant other, whoever she may be. Cry a bit, beg for forgiveness, buy diamonds. The usual stuff one does when they are very sorry and not doing that again. 

He could put an anonymous letter in the mailbox, maybe. 

Yes, Logan thinks, chewing on his battered cigar, that will do it. 

He is such a good guy. 

He lifts his camera and zooms on the very pretty girl waiting outside of Lehnsherr’s trailer. 

Logan sees her knocking twice, then tossing her dark hair on one shoulder and putting a hand on her cocked hip. Her tiny, tiny dress rides up her thigh some more and she doesn’t fix it.

It takes a few moments, then Lehnsherr opens the door in his sweatpants, hair ruffled already. 

The girl takes a step forward on her staggering heels, and Logan starts snapping photos of the two like his life depends on it.

He’s grinning like a maniac, the trashcan he’s leaning against squits periodically and his index finger hurts, but there’s no way on Earth he will let this opportunity get away. 

Now Lehnsherr will look around furtively, making sure there’s no one in the vicinity, will grab the girl by the arm and close the door behind their entwined figures.  

Except that he doesn’t. 

Logan can literally feel the bills being taken out of his pockets and he almost wails. 

His camera records the evolution of Lehnsherr’s surprised, frowning, distrusting and openly hostile face.    

He’s not aroused, he’s not intrigued, he’s not even remotely interested in freeing the entrance of his trailer.

He looks almost offended. 

Lehnsherr lifts one eyebrow, syllables something that can’t be anything but a piercing “no” and snaps the door closed. The girl jumps. 

Logan captures the moment with a sigh and looks critically at the result. 

The next morning the most-clicked tabloids display a full-page picture of Lehnsherr’s unforgiving rejection with a dozen variation of the same question. 

“Does he prefer blondes?”

***

Emma wishes fans were fashionable, because Erik Lehnsherr has just stepped onto the red carpet, showered by the frantic flashes of the cameras, and she suddenly feels weak in the knees.  

Somebody next to her whistles under their breath, and she totally shares the sentiment.

He doesn’t look ethereal, he looks very, very solid. Tall and self-possessed, straight shoulders and slim waist in a gorgeous oxford-blue suit that makes his legs go on forever. 

There’s something less than stoic in the line of his mouth, though, Emma notices. 

A nervous flicker of the eye, and then something happens. 

He turns around and smiles.

Emma stares.

It’s not his usual smile, sardonic and knowing, charming but in a honed way.It is a flustered smile, face flushed, bright eyes and everything. And it is directed to one man and one man only, who is approaching him with strong pushes of his wheelchair. 

Cameras go crazy around them, other actors forgotten.

Lensherr waits for his companion to join him, face so open it looks like it has lost its bark.

Emma can’t see the face of the stranger, only the straight lines of an expensive suit and a mop of rich, brown hair, and almost gets on her tiptoes to have a better view. 

The men share a few words under the hungry stares of the journalists, then Lehnsherr rolls his eyes and indulgently bends over to have his bow-tie straightened.

Emma can’t hear anything from where she’s standing, but she is quite sure Lehnsherr has just warringly asked: “Are you happy now?” 

The other man answers, Lehnsherr snorts and kisses him on the forehead. 

Then he freezes, and turns towards the people gathered as if spotting them only then. 

He glares at the journalists, steely eyes back in their place in a clear warning, and straightens back to move forward on the carpet. 

Emma walks as fast as she can without breaking into a run, heels sinking into the moquette and jewels tingling.“Mr. Lehnsherr!”She knows he has heard her, because his back stiffens, but he doesn’t turn. She frowns. He’s not getting away from this. “Mr. Lehnsherr!”The man in the wheelchair stops, turns his head and smiles so charmingly at her she feels instantly flattered. “Erik, dear, that lovely woman is trying to get your attention.”

He has a silver-polishing British accent, voice calm and collected.

“She won’t have it.”

“Dear.”

It is an obvious reprimand, one that sounds smoothed by use, and Emma sees Lehnsherr’s shoulders sag in defeat. She smiles smugly at his disgruntled frown when he turns.

His British companion swiftly approaches her, and Lehnsherr follows him a few steps behind like a recalcitrant body-guard. 

“What do you want, Frost?”

“Erik!” the man exclaims, scandalized, and glares at him. “Don’t be such a yahoo.”

He delicately lifts Emma’s hand and draws it close to his lips. 

He blinks on his blue, blue eyes and looks at her from below, and Emma feels her face redden. “Miss, I apologize for his behavior. He’s usually well-mannered.”

“Charles, you are making me sound like your corgi.”

“Nonsense, dear,” Charles answers, and winks at Emma. “You would at least be a Doberman.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Emma feels scrambled.

Lehnsherr doesn’t smile dreamily, doesn’t get teased and laughs it off. He glares and scoffs and frowns and scares people away. Who is this Charles, and what power does he have? 

“You’re gaping, Frost,” Lehnsherr says icily. “Is something the matter?”   

He moves closer to Charles and puts his left hand on his shoulder to squeeze it lightly, in an obviously protective stance. His wedding ring shines proudly against the dark fabric.

Charles tilts his head and briefly strokes his cheeks against Lehnsherr’s fingers, equally obviously calming. 

“You can’t blame me for being surprised,” Emma shoots back. “He’s too nice for you.” 

Lehnsherr sharpens his eyes and assays her, then nods once, imperceptibly.

“Now, now,” Charles intervenes, tone pacifying. “Erik is the best man I’ve ever met, and the best boyfriend I have ever had!”

Lehnsherr looks down at him. “I’m the only boyfriend you’ve ever had, Charles.”

“Well, I’m sure you would have been the best, anyway.”

Something inside of Emma is melting, but she finally remembers that she has a job to do. “High-school sweethearts?”

“No,” Lehnsherr answers, and tightens his lips to show how unwilling he’s to share more on the subject. 

“More like childhood sweethearts,” Charles adds. Then smirks. “Erik proposed when he was ten. We had met the previous week.”

Lehnsherr blushes, actually blushes. “You accepted,” he grumbles. 

“How could I not? The first time we met, you saved Cerebro. You were my knight in shining armor.”

“Cerebro?” Emma asks.

“His cat. That dunce was stuck in a tree.”

“How can you call him that, you were inseparable!”

 “He was silly!”

“He was curious!”

Lehnsherr huffs “A ridiculous cat for a ridiculous man, Xavier.”

Emma chokes on her breath. “Xavier? Xavier of the Xavier Corporations?”Charles Xavier smiles bashfully, and Emma considers it a confirmation. “I’m just a professor, really…”“A university professor,” Lehnsherr corrects. “Yes, but…”“You have been called ‘a prodigy’, If I recall correctly.”“Erik,” Charles mutters, reprimanding. He straightens his tie and clears his throat.  Emma looks from one man to the other, blinking. “You’ve just become the hottest couple in the whole city, I hope you know that.” She considers for a moment, then adds. “In every sense.” 

[intergalactic-nebula]

Till Kingdom Come

Chapter Seven

Rey tossed and turned in the cool, silk sheets, sweat dampening her head as she slept. Flashes of red danced behind her eyes, flashes of memories gone but not lost played over and over, and she bolted up in bed with wide eyes moments later only to see Kylo sitting in front of her. "Your dreams--nightmares are so loud," He corrected himself quietly and Rey looked to the side of the bed where Ahsoka was no longer laying. "Is he still alive? I can--"

"I killed him." Rey blurted out and Kylo's eyes flashed curiously, the brunette instantly regretting saying it out loud as her hands flew to her mouth. She had never said it out loud. "Yes...yes, you did, didn't you? Some would call that cannibalism, Rey."

"J-just stop, stop being in my head!" Rey snapped and Kylo inhaled quietly before leaning in silently, his crimson eyes gleaming in the moonlight streaming in through the large French windows in the room. "But did you enjoy it, Rey? Did you enjoy finally ending his life? To hear the sound of tendons ripping from his throat--"

"B-Ben!" She choked out a sob and he instantly paused. She knew he was Benjamin now, she knew hours ago, but she did not know saying his true name would make him look at her like this. Eyes of softness replaced cold ones, and he gently touched her cheek. "Say my name again," He whispered and Rey sat frozen still. "Please." His whispering was a plea, and she most certainly heard it. 𝘍𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮, something deep and carnal whispered from within her, and she instinctually leaned forward. He smelled 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥. "Ben, please," She breathed out as she reached out and gently cupped the back of his neck, Rey feeling as if she was on autopilot. She couldn't even stop herself if she tried.

"Please what?"

"Feel what I'm feeling..." She pleaded quietly and Kylo closed his eyes as they pressed their foreheads together. "I know what you're feeling, I feel it too, but you can't go back. You can't leave, Rey, you can't. He needs you--"

"For what...?" She asked softly, knowing he was talking about Vader, and his eyes opened slowly. "You're the only animal left...we need to fix you--"

"Fix me? I like me, why don't you?" Tears pricked her eyes and he just stared at her with a forlorn look in his eyes. "I like you, Rey, but your kind is dangerous. Obi-Wan left because he finally learned, because he finally found out what he was, and my grandfather's mind tricks could no longer work on him. He died fighting along side the humans, he did and--and when grandfather found his body--" Kylo quickly looked away and Rey understood. The bombs. The bombs that decimated most cities. "I'm not a Kenobi--"

"Oh, but you are," Kylo moved slightly back but Rey only brought him closer once more with a burning look in her hazel eyes. "What am I, Ben? Why am I here? What is the bloodline of Kenobi?"

"...Lycans, Rey," Kylo barely whispered and Rey instinctually jerked back. Lycans. Werewolves. "It's buried deep within you, it's why you haven't transformed even once, but we're going to fix it and make you one of us--"

"One of you? And then what? I become Vader's pet? Your pet? The Empress' doll? I don't want this, surely you must know--"

"We don't choose our bloodline, Rey. You're a Kenobi, you belong to the Skywalkers. He'll...most likely feed off of you constantly, yes, even when you are turned, but you'll be mine. Surely you must understand--"

"No! No, I really fucking don't!" She barked in outrage as she got off the bed and his eyes only followed her. She slept nude, of course she did, but this was the first time she ever felt uncomfortable in her bare skin. His eyes were on her, never leaving her, and she felt as if she was a dying animal being watched by a starving vulture who was patiently waiting to pick the meat off her bones. He looked 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺, and that inner carnal creature deep within her screeched in pure delight. It was...unnerving to her, that this other part of her utterly worshipped him in some sick sense, and she was trying not to let it back up like it had been moments ago on the bed.

"I don't understand why I'm here, I don't understand why you had to take me from my home--"

"It wasn't really a home, was it? It was filthy and moldy--"

"IT WAS ALL I HAD!" Rey shouted at the top of her lungs as she clenched her fists and a look of pity came over his face. She was beginning to hate that. Pity. All people (well, were they really classified as people except Poe?) here looked at her with the uttermost pity and she was starting to loathe it. They should be proud of her--wait, no, she doesn't want their validation! Rey groaned (more like growled) loudly in frustration as she buried her face in her hands, yanking at her hair as she did so. She marveled at how soft her hair was, but now was not the time to get distracted. "It was all I had, and you took it from me." She mumbled in her hands and Kylo slowly stood up from the bed. "Rey, forgive me, but I'm starting to think you don't like living in luxury." Luxury?!

"Oh--oh, my God, that's so rich!" She snorted as she looked up at him and he only stared back in response. "This may be a luxurious home, yes, and you may have clean water and food, yes, but your Emperor literally 𝘧𝘦𝘥 off of me when I didn't offer! I had to bless a pool to hide from him! A pool, Ben, a fucking POOL!"

"Does it hurt?" His question knocked her entire very being out of the park. Her hand instinctually flew up to her neck to cover the twin feeding marks, which, in turn, made her wince visibly at the stinging pain of touching them. "I'll manage, I've had worse wounds before."

"No, let me see." He was in front of her in the blink of an eye and she jumped, obviously still not used to how fast these beings were. "I said I'm fi--"

"I'm not going to bite you, Rey," His tone sounded annoyed and Rey huffed loudly before slowly lowering her hand. She couldn't fight him off, she tried that, and he had just held her in place. "...I'm going to heal it anyways." She heard him mutter under his breath, that enraged look in eyes there once more, and she had a feeling she wasn't seeing the big picture. Did...did Vader 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 the bite not to heal? To scar over? Did he--oh, my God, 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥. He wanted to 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬 her as 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘺. "Heal it now, oh, my God, heal it now! Heal it right now!" Rey whined loudly in panic as tears pricked her eyes and Kylo blinked in shock before understanding. "You're having a panic attack." He muttered quietly and Rey let out another loud whine as she grabbed his hand and put it on the feeding marks. "Heal it! Heal it, heal it, heal it!" She repeated in the same frantic voice but Kylo looked extremely conflicted.

"He could become upset--"

"HEAL IT!" She cried out and Kylo inhaled sharply before cursing under his breath and bent his head down to her neck, his hand slipping away as his tongue darted out and licked--oh, no, this wasn't good. This was worse. This was so much worse. "W-wait, n-no--" Rey cut herself off as she squeaked loudly when his tongue grazed the marks again. "I'm healing it, be thankful that I'm going against him...for you." Kylo pulled back and quickly left the room without even looking at her, Rey hugging herself tightly and breathing heavily as she began to process what had just happened.

[chrystening]

Coming To Terms - Peter Parker/Male Reader

Title: Coming To Terms Fandom: Spider-Man Homecoming (2017), MCU Rating: T Words: 3.7k Summary: Peter brings you closer until your foreheads touch, and his hands are dangerously settled on your waist. To anyone else—literally anyone else in the world—it’s beyond a friendly gesture. Or, in other words, what you thought was naiveté was just… not knowing. Warnings: coming out, jealousy, teens being teens, Peter is a Bi

a/n: reupload from my ao3 :^0 i think it’s my fave fic i’ve written lololol

also my commissions are open!

Iron Man — the Iron Man — is dropping you off at your house.

In fact, the sentence bears repeating.

Iron Man is dropping you off at your house right now.

He lowered you onto your roof, the propulsion from his boots causing the shingles of your roof to rattle, dangerously close to becoming loose altogether. He had one arm wrapped around you as the other helped him steer through air. You gripped the hand on your side tighter, titanium almost cutting into your skin.

“Easy, kid,” came billionaire Tony Stark’s voice, slightly tinny. “Easy,” he basically cooed, as he settled finally. You both released your hold on each other. Breathing deeply, you were pleased to meet solid ground – or rather, solid roof.

Spider-Man was here as well; you saw him pacing back and forth prior to your descent. He stood tensely. His ‘eyes’, wide white lenses, widened with relief as he let out a choked sigh. You couldn’t see his face, but you could feel that he was looking at you in disbelief.

Spider-Man tore his mask from his face, and you were graced with Peter’s painfully worried face. His eyes glisten. You smiled, eyes wet as well, as happy to see him as he was you.

Iron Man was slightly taken aback, looking from you to him. “Um, kid, I don’t think you get the whole secret identity thing–” His complaints fell on deaf ears as Peter crushed you into a hug. You returned it with just as much fervor immediately, trying to ignore his very skin tight suit and the body under it, instead trying to focus on platonic things like his soft hair, his sweet scent.

Peter let you go only after he had his fill, but even then kept hold of you at arm’s length, looking you up and down for damage. You shook your head, still a bit too choked to speak. I’m okay, the gesture said.

Suddenly remembering you two aren’t alone, Peter whipped to his mentor and started stumbling over his words. “Oh, God– thank you, Mr. Stark, seriously– I won’t let it happen again–” Stark held a hand up, his iron mask sliding away like a visor, revealing the face you’d only ever seen on a screen or in a magazine.

He looked stern, eyebrows furrowed. “I–” he started, but sighed when he saw you both hold each other protectively. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just—God—look out for him next time, okay?” Peter nodded so fast you feared his head would fall off as Stark pointed an accusatory finger at his protégé. “It’s your job to keep track of civilians.”

Mr. Stark’s attempt to turn the weak scolding into a lesson worked like a charm. Peter stored the lesson retentively in his mind. “I’m not always going to be around to find your friend in the aftermath.” Then Stark turned his attention to you, and you flinched.

“And you,” he jabbed a finger, “need to stop snooping around where you shouldn’t.” You looked away bashfully, scratching your head.

“Yeah, yeah, I know...” you muttered, blushing. In your defense, you didn’t know you were going to stumble across super villains in that alley. You had just been trying to test out your new powers—powers still a secret from Peter.

Satisfied, Mr. Stark’s visor mechanically snapped into place.

“See you sometime, kid.”

He stepped off the roof, and you waited to hear the thud of a landing, but there wasn’t one. Instead, you heard the roar of his thrusters, and in an instant Iron Man was ripping through the night sky.

You stood there gawking after him, eyes following the faint blue trail he left behind, star struck. You blinked dumbly, turning to your friend.

He turned to you at the same time, eyes flickering with exhaustion, relief. He placed his hands gently on your shoulder, eyes furrowed at how subtly you’re shaking. You still feel the crippling fear of being caught by men you’d never want to be caught by, chased down and hunted just for having walked by at the wrong time.

“I was so scared,” he said lowly, the weight of his fatigue clear in his voice.

Peter brought you closer until your foreheads touched, and his hands were dangerously settled on your waist. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. To anyone else—literally anyone else in the world—it was beyond a friendly gesture. It was too intimate, the air too quiet, you both too close – but you doubt Peter even noticed. In fact, when had he ever noticed?

After all, we’re just friends, you thought spitefully. Just friends that hold hands together, sleep on each other’s beds together, take turns feeding each other together, lay on each other together, stare into each other’s eyes together–do everything short of bathing together.

“Thank God you’re okay,” he rushed out, bringing you out of your thoughts with the sincerity flooding his tone.

“Thank Mr. Stark I’m okay, technically,” you said cheekily. “Though, he kind of is your god, huh?”

Peter’s cheeks were pink. His hands on your waist pinched you in protest. “He is totally not God to me.”

“He totally is,” you snickered. You shove Peter playfully, and he feigned injury. “Please,” you snorted. “That did not hurt.”

“Things like that hurt me emotionally,” he returned, clutching his heart.

“I’ve seen you stop trains with your bare hands. You’ll live.” You stepped closer into Peter’s chest and linked your arms around his neck. “Now get me down from here.” Peter wrapped his arms around you and hopped down effortlessly to the ground, dark grass crushed under his feet.

As soon as you could, you slipped out of his grip before you could get lost in it. You smiled at him, hoping you didn’t look as sad as you felt.

“Thanks, Pete.” He nodded and took a step forward, opening his mouth to speak. You knew he was about to ask to sleep over, but you just couldn’t. You couldn’t deal with another night of him so close yet so far, couldn’t deal with another night of pretending. And you definitely couldn’t deal with another night of seeing him strip in front of you to change into pajamas.

“See you tomorrow?” you asked, effectively shutting it down.

Sheepish, Peter nodded. “Err, yeah, okay. Yeah, you should… get some rest. See you.” You nodded and waved weakly before entering your home without a second look.

Shaking your head, you thought about how you also couldn’t deal with the crestfallen look on his face.

You heard the rustle of grass, the thwip of a web, the whistle of air, and you knew he was gone.

-

“… Bro, no—“ you begin, about to firmly but gently fucking school Peter on just who exactly was the strongest character in the comics you both were reading. Peter’s brow furrows, and he’s about to interrupt you when someone else does.

“Are you two… dating?” a classmate asks, clear apprehension and disgust on his face.

You both turn around.

It’s the passing period before second period. Students file out their classrooms and into the halls, and the air is alive with conversations overlapping over each other. You and Peter’s lockers are right next to each other, contrasting with his filled with books and science notes and yours with your favorite bands, but both containing the same copy of a picture of you two from a photo booth.

You shift your weight onto your other leg, smirking. You knew it was only a matter of time before someone asked.

You say coyly, “And if we are? So what?” You turn to Peter, whose eyes look at you with approval. You smile widely, enamored with him.

You snorted mentally. Was this dude blind? Of course you two were dating. It had happened seamlessly—neither of you truly said the words, but neither of you had to. You both were just on the same wavelength.

Your cheeks heated and you hoped it didn’t show as you bit your lip, looking at Peter. You wondered what he was doing tonight…

“… Gross,” your peer utters, walking away.

“Fuck off,” you spit after him. You turn to Peter, “Who cares about his shitty opinion?” Beside you, Peter is nodding fervently, seemingly empowered.

You grin as Peter turns to where your classmate had walked, shouting after him, “Yeah, what he said!” Then in words that made you freeze, he added:

“Besides, we’re just friends!”

-

You blinked, looking down at your book but not seeing. The words are little more than alphabet soup before your eyes. Your mind reeled back from the memory of last week. It seethed, whined, whimpered – just friends?

“… just friends! … just friends! … just friends!” It played on repeat in your head.

You shook your head, turning a bit to the right.

At his desk, Peter was tinkering with the Lego Death Star that Ned had dropped. His eyebrows were furrowed in deep focus as you marveled at the tendons and muscles that shifted under his skin. He bit his lip at one part, pausing to see where it would fit best. He looked great like that, hair in a casual quiff. Realizing you were staring, you huffed. Only Peter could make assembling Legos look good.

Suddenly, an idea niggled its evil way into your head.

There was no way Peter doesn’t feel anything for you, you mentally resolved. At least, there had to be no way, because the alternative was something you didn’t think you were mentally strong enough to consider.

You raised your book up to your face, bringing your knees to your chest as you sit on his bed.

“Mr. Stark’s pretty hot, right?”

Peter looks befuddled, first at the silence being broken, and then in registry of what you actually just said.

“I… What?” You smirked, hiding it behind the book you pretend to be invested in.

“I’m just saying,” you began nonchalantly. “After last night—I just realized he was kind of attractive, is all.” You didn’t hear anything but silence, so you spared Peter a glance. He was still looking at you in abhorrence, but ducked his head down, back to his toy.

“Well, not to me,” he said, clipped and bothered. Was that the slightest hint of bitterness? You wondered if it was wrong to feel giddy. You hated to play with Peter like this, but you had to. You couldn’t handle things continuing the way they had.

“Really?”

Peter let out a breath, trying to squeeze a Lego block where it clearly didn’t belong. “I—yeah, I just don’t think he’s like, all that.”

“Really?” you said. “He’s totally attractive, and funny, and he’s a superhero, and he’s rich. That makes him even hotter.” You feigned gushing over Peter’s mentor, even though Peter was at least three of those four things and so much more. You looked at Peter, wishing he knew that, as he didn’t look at you. His shoulders tensed, bunched up near his ears. “It’s not wonder he has so many people falling at his feet. I don’t blame them.”

He didn’t respond. You put your book down in your lap, eyeing your frustrated friend. You had to fight a smug grin from your face in lieu of oblivious concern. “Pete? Why’re you so angry?”

He shrugged, not looking up. “I’m not… angry.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, whatever—upset.”

Peter raised his hands in defense. “I’m not upset either.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just…” Peter’s jaw shifted.

No, we’re having this breakthrough, damn it. “You just…?” You tried to bring him to speak.

“I just never knew you… liked him like that.” Peter looked… sad. A pang of guilt rushed your heart. Knocking over his self esteem was not in the plan.

“I mean, I don’t really,” you disclaimed, blurting it out before Peter could feel anymore sorry for himself. “I just… think he’s cool. You think he’s cool, too.”

Peter looked offended at the possible insinuations you hadn’t even made yet. “Yeah but not like that!”

“Like what?” You feigned ignorance.

“Like…” He gestured widely with his hands as if they’d do the talking for him. “Like a boyfriend—”

“I don’t want him to be my boyfriend,” you said truthfully, leaning so far towards his direction you’re about to fall off the bed. “I don’t want him to be my boyfriend,” you reasserted, hoping to send some telepathic message to Peter.

But like all the time you’ve known him, despite his intelligence and acute observational skills, he was utterly blind to the matter of your ‘friendship.’

Peter’s shoulders relaxed, and he no longer bristled. It seemed he no longer cared to finish the conversation, having gotten the confirmation he didn’t know he needed. You, on the other hand, were dissatisfied. You sighed and stood, knowing you couldn’t be subtle about it anymore.

You treaded to Peter in a steady pace, not too fast, not too slow. You didn’t want to scare him.

When you were a small distance away, he turned, looking up to you.

You stopped in front of him, frowning but eyes hard with iron resolve. You leaned down, and you could see the question form in his eyes. You put your hands lightly on his shoulders, hoping the contact would calm him down. You were an inch from his nose when you could see him finally realize what the fuck was going on.

Then you stopped thinking of all thoughts—all thoughts besides how soft his lips were, even though they were chapped. You didn’t think of how he stiffened under you, of how it was quite possible he really didn’t like you, or of how you’d have to face the consequences of this kiss in a few seconds. Instead, you just pressed harder against his lips. Your body felt hot and your tongue wanted to do nothing but slip past your lips and past his own. But you knew you had to keep it tame. It was no doubt his first time.

Just as it was yours, you thought with a blush.

After a time that was both seconds and years, you stopped. You didn’t stand to your full height, instead squatting to meet Peter eye to eye. Your leg muscles whined, but you ignored them. You opened your eyes, and had to stop yourself from laughing in his face.

Peter looked petrified.

You would’ve grinned, if not for the sudden bolt of fear that reduced all your resolve to ash. Oh god, what if he really doesn’t feel the same—I’ve ruined it. I’ve ruined it—

You terror-fueled thoughts eased to a stop once you saw the telltale red darken his cheeks, ears, and spread down his neck. Your breath hitched and you dared to hope.

“I… like you, Peter,” you confessed. A bit belated, perhaps, but better than never. He gawked at you as if he was seeing you for the first time. “I like you a lot.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you shook your head.

“No—I have stayed silent for forever, so please let me speak.” You didn’t wait for a nod before continuing. “I… I kind of thought we were already together but—hey, do you remember last week that one guy walked up to us and asked if we were dating?” His eyes lowered as he tried to remember, but you kept going. “And then I told him to fuck off and you said ‘Yeah, what he said! But we’re just friends!’?” At your leg muscles' crying, you pulled up the chair right behind you. You felt only physical relief as you sat down.

“That…” You swallowed thickly, still not brave enough to tell him what it had felt like. Just at the thought, tears stung, warning you to not wander too closely to the topic. “That … really sucked,” you finished lamely.

You both stared at each other, silent.

You had thought of this moment forever, and everything you’d say and tell him so he’d know—but now, you realized you had little to say at all. Or rather, you wanted to listen. What was Peter thinking?

Peter wasn’t as shell-shocked as he had been moments before, but he was clearly just gathering his bearings. Once you saw gears turn in his head, he blinked rapidly and averted his eyes from the eye contact.

“I…” he started. “I… did just think we were just friends.” It should’ve discouraged you, but the uncertainty in his tone made you feel as if there was hope. He then looked confused with himself. “I mean… I think I did.”

You sat back in your seat, sighing.

“Hugging,” you said after a while. He looked to you, expecting elaboration. “Holding hands.” You let one of your hands trail down to his, fingers resting on his with a feather-light touch. “Wearing each other’s clothes all the time. Sharing beds. Hell, we cuddled to sleep once,” you finished, exasperated. “Do you do that with all your friends?”

“I—“ he started. You paled, a scary thought you hadn’t considered coming to mind.

“Do you do things like that with Ned?”

“What, no! I,” he sputtered. “No,” he admitted, looking down. Then his eyes whipped back up to you as he exclaimed, “I mean, he’s… Ned! He’s not you—and us…” He looked embarrassed, but as if he was trying to articulate something. He tried to make sense of it with his hands, gesturing anxiously.

“We’re just… like that.”

Like what? Your mind screamed, before you saw his expression. You recognized that look of bewilderment, having made it before. It had been years since, though.

His expression and last words connected a pair of threads in your head, and you felt a wave of what you could only call ‘… oh’ wash over you. You thought he was oblivious, that he was frustratingly naïve but… Peter didn’t even know. Hearing him explain, or rather, fail to, you smiled weakly. It was a tired one, but a smile nonetheless. Because after all this time, you had your answer, even if he didn’t know it himself yet.

“I think,” you started, slowly, “you like me, too.” He looked to you, eyes wide, confused, scared, and eager all at once. I do? His expression asked. You breathed deeply. “I think you’re just…confused.” He looked at you with an unamused expression, one you laughed at.

Laughter dying, you elaborated, “I mean, yeah, obviously. But like… confused about being g…” You chose your words carefully, not trying to scare him. “… liking guys.” He sat straight in his chair, as if the thought had never crossed his mind. Well, you were sure it hadn’t.

Between the demands of school, being an anxious teenager, and being a superhero, when did he have time to think about anything?

You felt any irritation at him ebb away. When did he have time to think about anything… especially something as confusing to come to terms with like this.

“… I like guys?” He looked to you for an answer. You smiled.

“That’s something only you could know the answer to.” But yeah, you probably do, you thought. “And sometimes,” you trailed, looking far away. “It takes a while to even know. Some people never do.”

You paused to let him think, patient.

His eyes then filled with surety, and you smiled even wider. Had he come to an answer?

“I… I don’t know.” You raised an eyebrow, spirits falling. Then he looked at you. “But I do know I like you.” Your heart filled to the brim with an emotion inexplicable. You could only describe it as light, warm, pink, and lifting.

“I like you, too,” you smiled, refusing to let your eyes glisten. You could’ve laughed at the pitiful croak of your voice if you didn’t see Peter lean in.

“I think… I want to date,” he said in a whisper. You nodded fervently, leaning closer to him like you were drawn by strings.

You two met in the middle, eyes closing and heads tilted so you both would fit perfectly. His newfound revelation was evident in his kiss. He was a bit hesitant, testing the waters. But he didn’t stop.

Not separating, you gave him an encouraging nod, lips curling into his own as your cheeks warmed. You allowed one eye to peek open, and you saw his hands were suspended in air, not knowing what to do with themselves. You took them and placed them on your waist and the small of your back. Though to do so, you had to hop from your seat onto a new one—his lap. You let out a muffled chuckle at his reddening face.

With movements a little clumsy, it dawned on you that neither of you knew what you were doing. But somehow, that was all the fun of it. You both could figure it out together. You could help Peter figure himself out as well. That is, if you were alive to. Peter wasn’t letting up at all, only growing more fevered as time went on.

You tried to draw the kiss to a close, but he only pressed further. You tapped on his shoulders, but he only tightened the grip he had on you. You stirred hotly and decided the moment needed to end before it got too far.

You ripped yourself from his lips, gasping deeply. Peter looked at you in confusion, oblivious.

Coughing, you asked, “Do spiders have extreme breath-holding skills?”

Peter’s chest heaved with deep breaths, mirroring your own. He looked winded, but by no means uneager to begin again.

“I... don't think so,” he panted. He huffed some more, his lip quirking. He looked at you like you were the sun. You beamed down at him, kicking your feet childishly. You both settled into a comfortable silence, your arms locked behind his neck and around his shoulders.

“But, I’ve got to ask this time,” you said slowly. Your expression grew soft. You wished you could sound more confident, or even be so confident to not even ask, but you were still fearful of being blindsided. “If … someone asks if we’re dating—“

“We’ll both say yes,” he finished, looking to you for confirmation.

You were more than happy to reassure him with a warm gaze.

His hands on your waist, his eyes meeting yours, the air still and quiet—you grinned, marinating in the moment.

Anyone—anyone in the world—would be able to tell you both were more than just friends.

[ravenwolf1132]

Scooby Doo Plot Bunny that wouldn't leave me alone (Cyber/Biopunk-ish???)

So I can up with this interesting twist to @phantoms-lair “Wizard Shaggy” not-so-crack theory, since let's be honest, Shaggy is totally a wizard. However I wanted to add my own twist. Mind you, this has nothing to do with the actual series Scooby Doo and is only an artistic “what if?” scenario I came up with. You see I love “punk” culture, and by punk culture, I mean biopunk, cyberpunk, steampunk, solarpunk, lunarpunk, you get the picture. The whole aesthetic is fascinating to me and I love the concept, so I'm aiming for a cyber/solar/biopunk thing here. It's gonna be like Shadowrun so magic will be involved. Cyberpunk because it would be set in the distant future, solarpunk because of the hippie culture of the 70s and the whole clean energy thing is something I wholeheartedly believe in, and finally biopunk is the actual reason as of why I thought of this. Most of the original theory is based around the seemingly impossible things Shaggy can do or survive, but I'm going to be focusing on the things he can survive because you can basically just chalk up the rest of it to magic. So here's my little AU crack theory thing.

(It will be in the form of a story so be warned and it gets a little creepy and demented just to let you know)

Norville Rogers had always been a sickly child. He was frail and his bones were weak, no matter how much he ate he was still painfully skinny, and he was terrified of practically everything. He had to take medications daily just to function without collapsing. He had barely any friends because his family kept him locked in his room for his safety. He meet his best friend his only friend [Daphne] at a party his family was invited to and he managed to escape his guards. She was standing on the balcony, sad and lonely, just like him, so he introduced himself and asked her for a dance. Ever since then, the two had been close friends, sneaking out to see each other whenever they could. She even gave him his new nickname, “Shaggy”.

Soon, however, his father decided to ship him off to military school after finding out about their meetings, and enrolled him into a special program they have for “special needs” kids, including genetic modification and advanced transhumanism. It was used to help permanently “fix” children in the eyes of the government, “Lead him up in the way he should go and he will never stray from it” [Quote from Bioshock Infinite]. The night before he left, he gave his friend one last goodbye, she begged him to stay to run away, but he refused. He said that he couldn't survive without his medications and couldn’t be himself without them, so he promised that he would find some way to return to her, and told her to wait for him. And she did.

The academy was like hell. They poked and prodded at him to figure out just what was wrong with him. They injected so many serums and fluids into him he lost count. But, it definitely worked. He was stronger now, his bones were reinforced with carbon nanostructures, his skin and tendons strengthened with tissue proteins like orb weaver silk. His blood oxygen saturation was increased and his resting heart rate reduced. TCSs for increased learning capabilities, scleral implants to widen the focus distance of his eyes, electrosensory abilities through silicone pads with rare earth materials, improved hearing sensitivity with protection from loud noises, increased sensitivity of vestibular sense of balance, and even added a subvocalization system to his larynx! [All of this I got off of another post by @kasaron it just reminded me so much of Shaggy and all the weird shit he can do.] While all of this was great and all, it was still as painful as hell to get and the training was worse. He knew he had to escape after four years of the onslaught of torture.

(CREEPINESS STARTS HERE)

They forced the students into “real life” battle scenarios and pretty much scarred them for life, they physically abused them to the point of exhaustion, and their super fast metabolism didn't help and in fact starved them to death since the program refused to give them more than what they were regulated to give out. It was a kill or be killed, strong survive over the weak, world. And if that wasn't bad enough, they were using the program to turn the “students” into monsters. Mindless, soulless, monsters that only followed the directions their given and turning to obedient puppet like slaves, ment for war and killing purposes only. If they didn't have orders to fulfill, then what good were they? Shaggy was terrified of this and had to get out of this hellhole. He had tried multiple times, but had yet to succeed, until an opportunity appeared to him.

During the final exam of his last year before being sent off to the real military, he was facing off against one of his “teachers” - tormentors more like - and won. This teacher wasn't like the others though, he was demented and the source of the physical abuse and had a creepy thing for poor Shaggy. So if Shaggy failed this exam, he wouldn't just fail for the year, but would lose literally everything, winner takes all. The exam was to fight against the teacher and win, so he used everything to his advantage to try to get the upper hand without hurting himself, but so did he. The teacher liked to taunt and mock this students to get them to grow angry and lose control, costing them the match, and he was doing the exact same tactic to antagonize Shaggy. But Shaggy was different, with every insult and mockery he threw out it only fueled his drive to escape, until he said something that shook him to his core. It was like a switch, in that moment gone was the kind hearted and loving boy the academy students knew and in his place was a killer with a heart made of stone.

His speed doubled and accuracy increased, he attacked from all sides dropping his defensive guard. The teacher thought he had finally gotten to the kid, but his smug smile was wiped off his face when he realized that Shaggy's movements weren't random acts of anger lashing out, they were calculated and thought out attacks, looking for his pressure points, weak points, and staying in his blind spots. Unlike other kids, when Shaggy is thoroughly pissed off, his emotional right brain is shutdown and only his cold and calculative left brain remains, fueled by the drive to escape his tormentors, even if that meant to run them down. Unconsciously, he begins to use his dormant magic to amplify his abilities and, while in a blind rage, strikes down his teacher in cold blood. Upon realizing what he had done, he snaps. Staring down at his blood stained hands, a small smile pulls at his lips and laughter bubbles in his chest, soon enough, he's full-blown cackling, laughing hysterically. His laughter turns to hysterical screams and cries, sobbing as it finally dawns on him that he killed his teacher.

The academy decides that Shaggy had become too strong, too powerful, to keep at their facility, and is even more of a danger since he doesn't recall the actual fight. They decided that they would stage his death and execute him. Upon arriving at the scene, Shaggy can't afford to waste anymore time and makes his escape. Terrified of being captured and killed, he runs away.

(CREEPINESS ENDS)

As he finally made his escape, he had to go through the entire facility to get dirt and evidence for what the place was doing. During which, he came across a dog in a very similar situation to his own. SC-00-B3-RT D:00 was a prototype experiment created by the academy to be a hunting and attack dog with human like intelligence. Equipped with navigation systems and a black box like feature, he saved the pooch and brought him along. The record system on the collar SC-00-B3-RT, or Scooby as he called him, had given Shaggy the idea to steal the “school's” records and use it as evidence, especially what they had done to him. As he did so, he was found and chased throughout the facility. This eventually got him caught in an explosion that should have killed him, but didn’t, however the school took it as his demise and simply moved on without a care.

Thankfully, Shaggy was alive though just barely and was found by a group of people that nursed him, and Scooby, back to health [I imagined Texas's gang from Legend of the Phantosaur]. They helped him find his way back home to his family and explained to his parents that he “dropped out” of the program and transferred to the public school system. Thanks to the men who helped him, all the paperwork was already in place and his parents could do anything about it. And without Shaggy's records of even being there in the first place, the “School” couldn't tell his parents that he was “dead.” Living with his parents again was relaxing, yes, but he couldn't help but feel empty. Finally deciding he has had enough, he moves out just before his freshman year and goes to live with his aunt in the apartment above her cafe and bakery shoppe.

In his first year he meets a young man, just a couple months younger than he is [Fred, I headcanon that Shaggy is the older one since technically him and Fred are the same age], and invites him to live with him. He found the poor kid trembling with his wrist slit open and leaning over bloody sink in the bathroom and managed to get him to spill about the abuse in his home. They became good friends after that since they really didn't have anyone else other than themselves. His Sophomore year, he found his best friend again. Overjoyed, he didn't want to leave her side again and surprisingly, Shaggy and his two friends had the same classes together. And finally, he met a wonderful little lady that had a knack for science [Velma], and even dated her for a while before eventually cutting it off, but that's a whole ‘nother story.

During an after school detention they got for separate reasons, they found out about a mystery that their school was literally built on top of and a legend about the old principle of the old school that still lurked in the catacombs beneath them. Since then, they had gained a pension for getting into situations and mysteries then meddling in things they didn't understand. Despite all his complaining about ghost and monsters, at least this was more enjoyable than his time at the academy. Sure, the gang was curious about the seemingly miraculous things he could do and survive, their skinny friend was something of an enigma to them, but they trusted that, when he was ready, he would tell them about his scarred past.

Oooh boy, that turned into an origin story for Shaggy real quickly. I know the “punk” elements aren't very prominent, but I tried to link everything that Shaggy can do and survive, and even included his constantly terrified behavior, into it too. But this was just a little plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it down. If you want me to expand on this let me know, I have multiple ideas roaming around in my head for this, I just have to wrangle them all up.

[impulseislost]

Winter nights

edit; totally didn’t forget a title whoops

Being alone for so long, it does strange things to one’s mind, the boy thought as he hung, suspended upside down in mid air. The general bustle and noise of the humans around him, even walking through him at times, did nothing to alleviate the sense of loneliness he felt.

For, even if he saw them, felt their bodies pass through him with a disgusting clarity, the humans didn’t see him. Didn’t see the barely concealed scars upon his body. Didn’t feel the way he tensed up, when someone’s chest passed through his face.

He was completely, and utterly alone, in a street of people.

It’d been that way for years.

He drifted, following paths that gave him a sense of Deja Vu. He was used to the feeling, wondering if any of the people he passed were people he used to know. Wondering if any paths he walked down, were paths he’d walked in life.

It wasn’t a new thought.

Seoul at night, that was his favourite time of day in this city.

When the neon lit the streets up in a multi coloured haze, and he could see rainbows through his translucent skin. The lights making him vanish into the night, and he could forget he was alone.

When the darkness of an empty park swallowed him whole, and he could see his veins and tendons lined under his skin, against the dark grass. When he could become real for a few hours.

When the ground was blanketed with fresh snow, and he could run and play in drifts, forgetting that cold and heat had ever existed. When he could play.

When the lights on houses and apartments came on, and the man was on his balcony waiting patiently for the ghost to appear. When he could talk to the only person in the world who could see him.

He’d met Changbin a year prior, when the boy had quiet literally run into him, expecting to pass through him, and didn’t.

“Dude, what the fu---Oh.” He’d snapped, turning around to glare at the ghost, and froze. His eyes had widened then, as he’d realised that this scary, tough looking human, was looking directly at him.

“You, you can see me.” He’d stuttered out, shifting back from the human, who’d rubbed the back of his head awkwardly and glanced around.

“Yea... Uh, listen this is a really bad place to talk for me so...” He’d let out a nervous laugh, before motioning the ghost to follow him. Which was how he had learnt that;

  A) Changbin lived in a small apartment with his best friend, who never seemed to sleep.

  And B) That his name was Changbin, and he was a stressed member of a group of humans spread all over the world that could see ghosts.

And the only one, that either of them knew in Seoul.

Tonight was different, the ghost noted on night, as he perched in the railing waiting for Changbin. There was something different about the feeling and he wasn’t sure what.

Maybe it was the wind, or the stars he could barely see among the bright city lights. Whatever it was, he was enjoying it. Through the window of Changbin’s sliding door, the one both he and his flat mate had apparently decided to leave the curtain open for tonight, the boy could see Changbin talking to his flat mate. The other had apparently dyed his hair from that golden blonde he had yesterday, to a dark blue. It looked nice.

As he waited, for the other to notice him, the ghost played with the snow on the balcony. He looked away, enjoying the city’s bright night life, his fingers running through cold that he chose not to move. Not for the first time, he wondered who he’d been before his death.

He remembered how he’d died, the chaos around him as it’d happen, but nothing before that. He’d told Changbin this when the other had asked.

The sound of the sliding door opening drew his attention, to the human closing the door and waving gently.

“Hyung.” The ghost greeted softly, his hand falling off the railing to wave back. He’d decided months ago that because Changbin was older than him physically, that it was only right to call him hyung.

“Have a nice day?” Changbin smiled and nodded, coming to lean next to him.

“Figure out anything else about your past yet?” The conversation they were having, was one they’d had countless times before. The ghost almost knew his response off by heart now. He’d deny that he knew anything, and ask the human if he’d found anything else out only for him to deny as well. Then they’d switch topics. That was how the ball went.

“Unfortunately not.” The ghost whispered, not that he needed to, “Did you find anything out for me?” He already knew the answer to this, He alrea--

“Yes, actually. We finally got lucky.” The ghost fell through the failing, and several floors, in his surprise. And he was very grateful for Changbin waiting while he rose back up to his balcony.

“You did? What’d you find out?” He asked, excitedly, as he hooked his arms over the railing. He could hardly breathe, well to be fair he never breathed, out of excitement. Finally, he’d find out about himself.

“Yea. I was thinking about how you’d told me about... Y’know. So, I decided to search up any deaths similar to yours. I found a few, but one of the articles had a picture of someone looking like you. A student ID picture or something by the looks of it.”

“Do you, do you have the article? Can you show me?” he asked frantically. Changbin nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket and opening it. The ghost watched as he tapped his way through screens of white, before lifting it to show him.

The article had been titled, Missing peoples finally located, which hadn’t surprised the ghost. He’d barely started existing like this when the police had stormed the place.

It’d started off explaining the situation, how his captor (Or so it seemed) had been kidnapping random students of the streets and taking them to a secluded building on the edge of Seoul. From there, it had comments from other people he remembered seeing in the room with him. Then--

“Students, Kim Seungmin and Choi Yeonggi were among the few to...” The ghost trailed off, getting distracted by a picture of a familiar face. His face. He examined the caption under it closely, lips parting.

“Is that...?” He asked, looking up at Changbin with wide eyes. The question didn’t need to be finished for the older to figure it out.

“Yes. That’s you, Kim Seungmin.” The name felt right. Seungmin smiled gently, looking relieved.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.” He whispered gently. The other smiled again, looking pleased as he tucked his phone away.

“I can take an educated guess though.”

[kingcriccket]

Impulse Variability, Chapter 1

Read it on Ao3!

Stiles comes back from the station in a cloud of smoke and sulfur-- properly Biblical stuff, he thinks, very dramatic- and then his feet hit the pavement and his knees fold up like accordions, all those complex bones and tendons and muscles going awry all at once, the lazy jerks.

Stiles goes palm-down on the sidewalk and pukes his guts up. There is still the sound of horse in his ears, tack and hoof. (he remembers that running gag with Umbridge, in the Harry Potter movies, where the centaurs scared her so bad she freaked at hoofbeats forever, and Stiles's brain follows that thread for a moment, so the first thing he says to his best friends, after being pulled back into reality, is

"Man I hope I don't get like, horse trauma after this."

His voice is (ha ha) all hoarse from the puking. His face is a mess of snot and tears. Stiles looks up, slowly, from the sets sneakers all arranged around him, to the concerned faces peering down.

"Stiles?" Scott says. Not like he will, sometimes, when he isn't sure what Stiles is talking about but like.

Like a question. Like, " are you Stiles?"

"Hi," Stiles says. Tries to straighten up and just ends up on his haunches-- further away from the puke, at least.

The streets are rain-wet, all silver with it, and between that and the smoke still boiling away from wherever they pulled Stiles out of, it feels very properly horror movie.

But it's hard to feel too scared, with the pack all there around him. Their tired, dirty faces, the smile breaking across Scott's whole fucking body, and-- Lydia .

Lydia, who drops Malia's hand to step forward and help him up. Lydia who he lists into when she gets him standing.

She smells nice. She always smells nice, like perfume or something. Like girls smell.

And her cheek is all torn bloody and her hair's in tangles but her shoulder is strong, when she drapes his arm across it.

"Scott," Lydia says, "help me with him?"

And then Scott's taking Stiles's other arm, and Stiles barely has time to feel the warm fuzzies before he's passing out again.

He will remember, later, Lydia dropping Malia's hand.

Which meant she had been holding Malia's hand.

Which meant: ??

Mark that one red, for now.

Later, when Lydia saves him from the gun pressed up to his forehead in the locker room (deja vu, by the way, and so not the good kind), she will say--

She will say "I didn't say it back," her throat all raw from banshee scream.

"You didn't have to," Stiles says. Means it. He knows she loves him-- doesn't know when he realized it, only now it feels like something he's known forever, something fundamental. Right there in the marrow of him, producing blood cells and shit. Which-- okay, this metaphor’s gotten away from him, maybe, but the point is Lydia loves him. And she kisses him there, in the locker room, and this time Stiles isn't shocked and fish-lipped under her, and it feels good , and they love each other, and so that's how these things work out, isn't it?

Everything according to plan.

"I'm not saying it," Malia says. Peter is sitting on a train-station bench in front of her, reading the paper all peaceful. It's alien, really, seeing him do something so.... benign.

"Malia," Lydia says. Toes a book out of the way to step forward, put a hand on Malia's shoulder.

"I'm not!" Malia turns, this coyote-blue gleam waydeep down in her eyes. All around them, people sit and stare into middle distance and wait, as if Beacon Hills isn't collapsing in all around them.

This past month Lydia's felt like that, a little. Like she's been-- waiting for something, without quite knowing what. Waiting while the crucial infrastructure of her life all falls apart.

Stiles, she's sure. It has to be him. He loves her. And she loves him back-- of course she does. Memory or no memory. He must be what's missing. What she's waiting for.

"Malia," Lydia says, and the library/train-station shimmers all around them, the unreality of it.

Except-- she's real, isn't she?

And Malia is real. Her shoulder is warm under Lydia's hand, all her rangy coyote muscle, and she frowns at Lydia, brow creasing up the way it will when she's not quite sure how to be human. Her jaw tightens. And she puts her hand over Lydia's, for just a moment. Turns around.

"Dad." She says. Unconvincing.

"Like you mean it."

Malia turns back, again, and bares her teeth at Lydia, but Lydia knows when to be afraid of her, and this isn't one of those times. She bares her teeth back (it feels very silly, without those pointed canines). Malia rolls her eyes, and Lydia nods at Peter, unnatural calm on his bench.

Malia sighs. Squares her shoulders, like she's facing up to a fight, and Lydia sees the tension in her forearms, sees where claws threaten at her fingertips.

"Dad?" Malia's voice wobbles, in the middle, and Lydia's chest wrings out like an old washcloth.

But she has no time for the weird, tender feeling rising up in her, because Peter blinks, and stirs, and Malia says," Dad ?"

And Peter stands up and says, "Malia?" Incredulous, and then there is work, to be done.

But anyway the point is that they're friends, right, and friends feel things for each other. Right? They feel for each other.

Lydia remembers, before Alison had--

Well.

Lydia remembers Alison's little bedroom, her perfect white-washed windows and her charmingly out-of-date wallpaper. Remembers one day, in particular:

Lydia's sitting criss-cross-applesauce against Allison's headboard, absently tracing her fingers over the white-on-whiter pattern of the bedspread. Florals, she thinks. Can't identify the specifics.

She's trying her level best not to burst into the bathroom, where Allison has been barricaded for too long.

"Let me freshen up," she'd said, like a woman in an old movie. Lydia can picture the smell of perfume, heady, see the pearls tight around her throat.

She's always been good at that. At picturing people as they might be, might look-- it’s a type of problem solving. So: Allison, 'freshening up' in some smokey old restaurant. Not Allison, breaking down over the death of her mother.

It's as easy as that.

The bathroom door creaks open-- Lydia turns like her head's on a pull string. Like she'll always turn to look, for Allison, until one day--

Well. Until one day she won't.

Alison's red around the eyes, but she's put concealer over the blotchy way her cheeks get when she cries. Lydia can see a little swipe of slightly-darker peach where Allison hasn't blended, properly.

She thinks about the bedspread, white-on-white, a pattern she can't quite make out, and something goes funny in her stomach.

She holds out her hand, and Alison staggers across the space between them-- staggers . The bed dents under her weight, and Allison's face dents, too. Crumples up in the effort not to keep crying.

"Oh," Lydia says, soft, and reaches out slow as anything. Allison lets her. Leans into Lydia's hand, even, when Lydia blends the foundation in, with her fingertips.

" Lydia ," she says, voice all watery "It's just--"

"I know," Lydia says. Alison collapses forward against her chest. Collapses , and later Lydia will find black marks on her blouse, from Allison's mascara gone wet and runny on her shoulder.

"It's fucked ," Allison says.

There's not much to say, to that.

It is. It's fucked.

So Lydia just brings her arm up, and hugs Allison across her shoulders, tight as she can.

That's what she feels, looking at Malia saying the word "Dad" like it's hurting her, like the concept's scarier even than her mother, filicidal literal-monster that she is.

This weird, tender, mushy feeling, like all the vital insides Lydia knows the precise names for have stopped working like they should. Like her heart has impossibly skipped a beat, like her stomach has an impossible knot all tied up in it.

Her friends are in danger. It's how she should feel.

Lydia's had reasons enough to feel crazy, in her life, but surely this isn't one.

And this is what teenage friendships are like , she’s seen movies. She has braided hair and told secrets and this is what it is supposed to be like. She feels how she is supposed to feel.

Surely, surely.

And, anyway, it all works out, doesn't it? They save everyone, for once. Lydia is not left-behind-forgotten in a ghost town. No one dies. Not even the bad guy dies, and so they're getting better at this, apparently.

And that's good news.

Kind of unequivocally.

"Can I take you out for coffee?" Stiles says, his backpack hanging off one shoulder.

Lydia startles.

She never used to startle-- could always kind of tell when Stiles was around, but maybe un-forgetting someone isn't the same as not having forgotten them in the first place.

She closes her locker, turns. The school's last-day empty, deserted, and she has this horrible vision of it empty when the riders came through,  of the lights all hanging down from the ceiling, the creeping feeling they'd failed, and she's the last one left after all, until Malia comes out of the library and prods Lydia in the back and goes, "what are you looking at?" And the fear goes down like cough syrup. Leaves a bad taste in her mouth, but here, here's Malia helping her choke it down all the same.

"Lydia?" Stiles says, and Lydia snaps her eyes to him. Realizes she's been staring into the hallway, vacant, and she smiles as bright as she knows how (which is fucking thousand-watt, by the way).

"Yes?" She says.

"Is there-- I mean are you having like. A moment."

When he says 'a moment' he wiggles his fingers at her, like there should be spooky music alongside, and it makes Lydia laugh.

"No," she says. "Sorry. I was just thinking."

Stiles bobs his head. Tugs his backpack on all the way. "Great. No corpse to retrieve. Good news." He's gripping the straps, white-knuckled, & it makes his elbows stick out. Akimbo , Lydia thinks. It was a word on her vocabulary list in grade 6, but she never really knew what it meant until she got to know Stiles.

"So." He says.

Lydia gives him an expectant look.

"Coffee?" Stiles clears his throat. "Uh, us. Can we get coffee-- can I get a coffee, uh, for you?"

"Oh," Lydia says, and there is this weird, queasy flip in her gut. She smiles. "Sure. Saturday?"

Stiles blinks. "Uh, yeah. Yes! I can definitely-- do Saturday."

He's smiling. He has this awkward smile that makes Lydia smile, too, reflex, and she remembers kissing him and she thinks-- well, of course.

Impulse variability is when a person means to do one thing- in fact, believes that they are doing one thing- and end up doing another.

It's the cause of car crashes, sometimes. People hit the accelerator, and think they're hitting the brake, and so they go when they mean to stop. Panicking, they will press harder on what they believe to be the brake, and accelerate even faster, until-- well. They stop accelerating.

It's not negligence. These people really think- are really convinced- that their foot is on the brake, not the throttle.

Lydia Martin had never once in her life done something without meaning to, and then Peter used her to haul himself up from the grave, and everything went so fucking sideways she almost didn’t notice at first. Like something can go so completely wrong it nearly reaches ‘round to normal, again.

Lydia would go to bed and wake up the woods. She would think she was driving straight and end up making turns, circling the block till she ran out of gas.

Ever since, there's been this nagging-- well. She knows it doesn't make any sense. But ever since Peter, Lydia's had this nagging feeling like she's just being pulled along on a string.

Since before Peter, maybe, actually.

She is a pretty girl. She dates a handsome Lacrosse player. She excels in school but she isn't cocky about it. She applies to and gets into a prestigious college. And life's easy like that, isn't it? Like, lay out the track, and there she goes along it. Lydia Marten, the world's most complicated wind-up toy.

Stiles has always felt a little like that.

Inevitable.

Like no matter how things went, there they would be, together, at the end of it.

But, back when Stiles was gone, there is this:

Lydia sees the flash of Malia's long, long legs disappear around a corner, barely covered by some alarming bad-idea of an outfit. (Lydia admires that, and not in a passive aggressive, housewife-stereotype way. How she just wears whatever).

Lydia follows-- Malia's been unstable lately and Lydia wouldn't tell her this, of course, for knowledge of the bared teeth that would be her answer, but she's--

Well. She's worried.

She follows Malia down through the school, the halls bright-fluorescent, mismatched linoleum and that nagging sense of missing something.

They end up in the boiler room which-- like, okay, Lydia's watched Buffy, she knows what happens to people who end up in the boiler room.

But instead, there is Malia with one arm chained to a pipe, and she is holding the loose end of a second chain in the other hand.

"Someone used to do this for me," she says, and rattles the chained hand, and she looks at Lydia with just this complete, this absolute helplessness.

Lydia unsticks from where she's been hanging in the doorway. Crosses the room halfway and Malia growls , and then her face crumples entirely.

" Fuck ," she says. "Sorry. I don't--"

Lydia waits for Malia's teeth to pull back into their gums.

"It's okay," she says. Takes another step, and when that seems OK, she closes the distance between them.

"Here," she says, and reaches out her hand. Malia gives her the loose end of the chain.

"No-- Malia."

Malia tugs her chained hand as close to her chest as she can. Her eyes are huge-- are enormous, they are impossible not to see. They are welling up, wet, with tears. Such a pretty colour , Lydia thinks. Thanks god Malia doesn’t wear makeup, because with mascara Lydia wouldn’t- no one would- be able to look away from those eyes of hers.

"You can't," Malia says, and yanks at the chain. Lydia startles out of her tangent. "You can't . I don't want to--"

"You won't." Lydia means to reach for the chain but she sort of gets Malia's hand, instead, ends up with her fingers over Malia's fingers over Malia's heart, the manacle pressing up cold against her skin. "Malia, you won't hurt anyone."

And Malia takes this deep breath, shaky, and she says, "I was going to say you."

Lydia frowns.

"I don't want to hurt you ."

And-- well, what is there to do, with that? Lydia slams shut the door that opens up in her, stems whatever soppiness might've come leaking out.

“You won’t,” Lydia says. “Let me undo this.”

Malia looks at her a long time-- takes a deep breath, and the tension goes out of her forearm. Lydia feels it, the unflexing of muscle. Malia lets Lydia coax her hand away from her chest. Lets her unlock the manacle.

And then her legs kind of fold up under her, and Lydia goes down with her, so they’re both crouching there, on the cold and gritty concrete, some basement-dampness soaking through the knees of Lydia’s leggings.

Malia’s hand is still in Lydia’s, and her wrist is all ringed in blood, a bracelet carved in by the manacle.

“I hate this,” Malia says. Her voice has the edge, just the very edge, of a growl, and Lydia’s legs are bracketing hers, and Malia’s head is hanging forward, hair tickling Lydia’s collarbones, and it is all--

It’s very strange.

They never used to hang out, Lydia thinks. Just the two of them. She knows there was someone else, but when she tries to grab that thought it skates out of reach. It’s-- h mm. she’s not really used to not knowing things, to be honest. Or, rather, not really used to not being able to find something out, when she needs to.

“Me too,” she says to Malia. The concrete is digging divots into Lydia’s one hand, where she’s leaning on it, and it makes clear to her only how warm Malia’s skin is, in comparison.

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

Can I ask why the guidance counselor's assistant wanted to fight you to the point of stalking? This wasn't Recruiter Scott or whatever his name was, was it? Why did you have multiple adult stalkers that's really fucked up btw

You are thinking of a different blog with the stalker recruiter story sorry, I’m like 98% sure it was @ gallusrostromegalus. 

But anyway- the Assistant. It was a brand new job for her and she wanted to do Really Well. There were a couple of guidance counselors at the school, and I’m not sure if she was working for all of them or just my specific guy, but. I was apparently the only transfer student or something that year (10th grade) so she literally latched on to me. It was so weird. Like at first it was just sorta, oh, okay, she just wants to make sure I’m adjusting to the new school well, okay. But then she just…wouldn’t leave me alone? Like she kept showing up outside of my classes to talk to me, and she kept pulling me out of lunch to make me eat with her so we could discuss how stuff was going. But then she’d be like…Molly, you aren’t making any friends! What’s the problem? And I’d be like, you literally keep pulling me out of lunch where I have an entire table full of friends who are wondering where I am! But she never believed me??? Because I was sitting at an all senior table (two of the girls I knew thru theater) and she like. Didn’t believe seniors would be my friends or something?

And she just kept doing stuff like this like…I got into an academic problem at one point because my history teacher forgot to grade an important essay, but before my meeting with him she was on a tangent about how my grades are constantly in peril of failing (they weren’t) and even after the teacher showed up and literally said, “Sorry, this was my mistake, I remember Molly’s essay on Roanoke very well, I can’t believe I forgot to enter the grade” she was like…still acting like it was my fault? Like I acted irresponsibly somehow that made him forget to enter the grade for a paper I turned in and he read? And she did this with all my classes. Like she just kept really over exaggerating how bad I was doing in them (Like, I was only really having any issues in math and science, and none of those issues were Failure Worthy, like, I was still a pretty average student?) She kept trying to call Academic Emergency Meetings™ with like me, my mom and the teachers and every time they’d be like “She’s fine why are we here” it was so weird. 

I think the problem was she probably had a hold of my transcripts- when I switched school’s they made me come in to take an aptitude test or an iq test or something, and I got a REALLY HIGH score on that and the school was all excited and kept telling me about their honors programs, but then they got the transcripts of my grades and were like “oh. Well. Why don’t we start you off in a nice normal class”. And I think she must’ve probably saw that and determined I wasn’t applying myself or something, but the actual problem was just I Was That Unfortunate Kid Who Did Bad On Standardized Tests No Matter What. Like, give me a paper or a report and I’m fine, but tests just never worked out for some reason, it was so annoying. But of course that’s a Ridiculous Excuse, Molly, and I think she must’ve come up with the idea that like if she can make me try harder I’d be an amazing student and she could take all the credit for it? 

So it gets to the point where this woman is following me from class to class, badgering me the whole way about how I must be the laziest student she’s ever seen, and then she keeps pulling me out of lunch to complain even more about how I’m not applying myself or putting myself out there enough and that’s why I can’t find a place to fit in at the school, because obviously the fact some woman was stealing literally ALL of my free time had absolutely nothing to do with that, that’d be ridiculous. This went on the ENTIRE first semester. 

And as I mentioned in the post I referenced this lady in- I had a partially torn Achilles tendon that wasn’t healing properly, so I was really slacking in gym class. Like, I just really need to paint the picture of why I was putting off gym class: I was told to stay off my feet as much as possible. But this was a BIG SCHOOL (the distract blew like all their money on it making it the huge and ridiculous with way too many features and then they were like ‘wow oops suddenly we’re poor’). I had classes all over the school. So even if I didn’t have gym one day, it’d still be enough walking that my ankle would be swollen by the time I got home. And the gym classes were like “run laps for six minutes and then do ridiculous amounts of stretches until the teacher gets bored and then get shoved into a game of soccer or whatever with the most competitive kids in the school”, and then the big ‘final’ grade for the semester was to run the mile in however many minutes. And if I can’t get through gym class without tapping out or heading to the nurse’s office, there’s no way I could have run a mile. So, I kept putting it off. The gym teacher’s still weren’t accepting my story without a doctor’s note, so I just, uh, started getting the stomach bug on days they rescheduled it to. And here’s the thing- like 97% of gym class is just showing up. By all means, I was passing gym class. If I just didn’t run the mile, it wouldn’t have even brought me to a failing grade, it just wouldn’t have been a grade up to the standard’s of this ridiculously fitness obsessed high school (I remember when I told them my 9th grade school didn’t have gym class, they all looked like they were gonna have a stroke from the sheer shock of it). 

So this lady, who is 100% stalking me by this point, to the point where teachers and other students are asking me wtf is going on, I’d walk out and see her and literally feel sick I was getting so annoyed- but she’s loosing her shit about this gym thing. She kept trying to convince me that I was making the biggest mistake of my life by ditching the mile (and like first off, she had no proof I hadn’t been sick, so I was insulted by that), that not running the mile was going to leave a permanent stain on my record, this was totally going to effect my entire academic career, they were going to SUSPEND me if I didn’t run it, and like…I am a shy ass person!!! I couldn’t bring myself to ask anyone for help with this situation because the concept of talking to people was scary!!! Like, my mom new it was a Problem but she figured it was just because I was a new student. I definitely knew what was going on was an issue, but I was like 15 and couldn’t figure out how to stand up for myself and get her to leave me alone. I take ‘being polite’ to the point of a character flaw, sometimes. 

So, one day, after pulling me out of class like five times to tell me I absolutely have to go to this mile run, because it’s the last after-school scheduled one before they like, I don’t know, kill me and sacrifice my body fat to the gods or something, I’m trying to sneak onto the bus because dude. My ankle was visibly throbbing. You could literally SEE it moving it hurt so bad. This woman intercepted me and like practically dragged me to the track- which was, of course: To the front office, out a secret side door, across two parking lots, up five different flights of steps, and down a winding path before we FINALLY get to the track- and I’m trying to like, not be forced into this, like hey teachers, would you just literally look at my leg for a moment- And this woman fucking snaps. Starts going off like, I’m a bitch and an awful student and incapable of making friends, I’m too lazy and I’m never gonna succeed in life, she spent like!!! 10 minutes telling me that I’m the worst person to exist!!! It was so fucking ridiculous. I tried to speak up for myself at that point, which just enraged her more and like, you could tell she was getting ready to physically fight me. Like this woman was literally going to pounce on me, one of the teacher’s made her leave at that point and she just stormed off. So I’m like, Totally Not Crying and can barely walk and just almost got punched by a guidance counselor, but, oh, well, you missed your bus, and in the time it’ll take for your mother to come get you, you might as well just run the mile!!!! 

I was LIMPING by the end of it (and I finished like, 20 minutes after the other students that had to make it up, so I got a bad grade on it ANYWAY). I was then left to my own devices to get back to the front of the school where my mother was to pick me up, and I wasn’t very well acquainted with the outside of the building yet, so after getting turned around more times than I’m proud of I finally get there, literally crawling and Totally Not Crying. 

My mom called my guidance counselor the next day and like- honestly, this poor man. He was this tiny old, Mister Roger’s knock-off who barely spoke above a whisper. My mom literally M U R D E R E D him oh my God the other people in the front office could hear her yelling through his phone. 

I don’t know if the lady got fired or if the school just did a Very Good Job at keeping her away from me, but I never saw her again after that. She was not missed. 

[lorenasha]

NZed to The Great Wall

Close to 40 countries and God knows how many blog entries later it finally happened, my New Zealand notes were mysteriously deleted from my email drafts. Taking notes along the way is the only way I’ve been able to paint anything close to the picture that is a trip around the world. Rather than force you through some b.s. version of what I think I remember, I’ll mention the highlights of what I know I’ll never forget. Ah, NZed… Queenstown to be exact (and a little bit of Auckland too). In my opinion, the most beautiful place on earth. The air is so clean I literally choked as I stepped out of the airport. Is it that this air is so clean or that L.A.’s air is so dirty? Who knows, but I’ll take it. I haven’t smelled air this clean since the Swiss Alps! Ah, the Swiss Alps. I smile just thinking about that beautiful place.

As the inventor of extreme sports, I told myself that if I made it to New Zealand (the proverbial end of the earth) I would “no holds bar” do everything I could get my hands on. Luging, check. Skydiving, check. Zorbing, well let’s just say the track was closed due to a very unfortunate incident. Big fat goose egg and I’m ok with that. Not sure which Kiwi decided locking yourself in a plastic ball and plummeting downhill was and good idea, but it seems a track or barricade of some kind is in order, or at the very least no nearby cliffs of any kind.  Bunjee jumping, ummm, everything in me questioned if I should do this one. If not due to my severe neck injury from a head on collision when I was 16, then perhaps due to the fact that a cadaver Achilles tendon now makes up my left ACL. Just as I grew the cahonas to agree to take the plunge, AJ Hacket’s medical team decided I wasn’t clear to jump due to the fact my neck still goes out at least once a year. Probably a blessing in disguise and happy I told them. They said there is absolutely a ‘snapping effect’ that happens at the bottom. Definitely a blessing, although admittedly I was upset at the time. 

I wish I could recall more, perhaps a tidbit or two here and there. Being in New Zealand is like being inside one massive Bob Ross painting, or at least how I’d imagine it to be. Happy Trees is an understatement. We should all be so lucky to die and come back as a tree in New Zealand. They’ve clearly taken care of their land and cherish it’s natural beauty and resources in a way that again, I haven’t seen since Switzerland. I imagine this is what America looked like before…well before the white man came and fucked it all up. I mean yay democracy, but I think we could’ve done a much better job of protecting the land and it’s people. After travelling from deserts to wetlands and from rice patties to major metros, one thing I can say for sure is that not every land is lucky enough to be blessed with the vast natural resources of America. Sorry, my Central American and South American friends would say I’m no longer allowed to refer to America as America…they are Americans too. Ok, so the United States of America to be exact and I guess that makes me a United Statesean?

I’d be remiss not to mention their quarentine process. Toughest I saw anywhere and honestly I’m still not sure if I followed all of the rules. Does dried fruit count and how thoroughly should I have washed my shoes? What exactly qualifies as back country or farmland and to be honest, I have no idea what I’ve been exposed to during this trip. It was the only country where the quarantine process (and line!) was completely seperate from customs and immigration.  God knows they make you aware of the financial penalties, but incarceration with friendly Kiwis and epic views doesn't exactly strike me as a threat. Trying a Fergburger is must, assuming you’re prepared to wait in the line, and best save room for dessert because their bakery next door has the best hot cocoa in the world. I wish there was more, but even if my draft hadn't been deleted, quite honestly at this point I was tired, sick, and ready to make my way home.

New Zealand is a place I will definitely come back to, preferably when  I have more time. Boy did I underestimate the size of this country. I’d like to spend more time on the North island and get the local experience courtesy of my dear friends Emma and Ish. Met those two love birds in Guatemala and was seriously so dissapointed we were unable to meet up. Speaking of love, it was around this time I began to question my rushing through the end of this trip. Well I guess I had always questioned the decision, but this was the first time I was really doubting it. Xavier’s behavior had become suspicious, at best, and I suddenly found  myself questioning if I just sacrificed the 4th leg of this journey for the wrong man. People say go with your gut. Those same people say you won’t call it quits until you’re good and ready. Well I guess I wasn’t ready. I mean we had made it this far, or had we? If I could just make it to New York, I had hope our love would survive.

Pit stop, China. Beijing to be exact, well The Great Wall to be even more exact. There was no way I was spending over a year of my life and six figures on a trip that didn’t include the last and final World Wonder. A wonder it was and far more vast than can ever be described with words. The English language really is limiting, not that I would actually know how vast any other language is… (see earlier references regarding to my ineptitude with language). The coolest part of The Wall, other than the obvious, was luging back down. While I had gone luging in Queenstown, this was different. It was legit. Like something straight out of Cool Runnings. Such a rush and despite the little Chinese men yelling at me to slow down, I did not. Given I hadn’t died yet (and I can recall multiple times I was sure I had reached my end) I highly doubted I was going to die on this mountain. Hill? What qualifies a mountain as a mountain vs a hill? Anyway, seeing for myself how effective a wall like this can be, now makes me wonder if Donald Trump (sorry President Trump as he has since been elected) is really that crazy for suggesting an effective wall can be built between the U.S. and Mexico. Not stating my position on the wall or his election, but just saying, wouldn’t be the first time a massive wall was seen as a solution.

I thought I could bang this out with one more entry, but looks like China, to NYC, and back to Mexico (promised to finish this journey where it started) will need to follow in one finale of an entry. I will say I’ve been home now for almost 1 year. I took my business back and couldn’t be happier with the direction it’s heading. I’ve managed to maintain my chi, or this new level I’m vibrating on, and while everything around me is basically the same, I’m different, which makes everything around me different. I keep waiting for it to wear off, to fallback, or for me to lose sight of everything I’ve learned. My conclusion,  the lessons that come with a trip around the world are lessons that cannot be unlearned, forgotten, or destroyed.  Priorities realigned, my purpose redefined, and most importantly my core, my self, who I am when this material world fades, is in tact and improved in such a way that I can only hope and pray my light is brighter and my impact on this world is now greater.

[msbunky]

Hi, how are you? 

How are you doing?

How are you feeling these days?

Oh boy…do you ever get those loaded questions? I do and as much as I appreciate that people care and want to know how I am, I also wonder if these are “polite” questions, or do these people genuinely want to know how I am. It’s so hard to know how to answer. So, generally, I respond with, “I’m doing okay thanks”. 

But what if I told the truth? 

The truth is, I’m struggling right now. I’m struggling physically with pain and exhaustion and I’m struggling with my blogging and I’m struggling with feeling lonely and housebound, but I’m pretty sure no one really wants to hear about all that when they ask me how I’m doing so I don’t tell them. 

But I’m going to tell you.

I’m averaging about 2-3 hours of sleep a night right now. I manage about 45-60 minutes at a time and then I wake up. I feel like I’ve slept for hours, but I look at the clock and barely any time has passed at all. I’ve always struggled with insomnia and I’m going to be trying some new meditation music, but it’s frustrating to not be able to get decent rest. It doesn’t allow my body to heal, which contributes to my overall pain. As I type this, I can feel my hands and legs and feet throbbing with pain. It’s almost like a drumbeat – thump THUMP thump thump, thump THUMP thump thump, thump THUMP thump thump, over and over again. My legs muscles feel tight and almost crampy and my fingers and toes feel swollen. My back is tight and tense and I can also feel the tension in my jaw and neck. My vision is blurry and I can feel the spot just under my cheekbone where my Trigeminal Neuralgia flares up – it’s gently pulsing, almost like it’s teasing me.

Now, I don’t tell you this to ask for sympathy. It’s just stating the facts. The same as I’m struggling right now to come up with various subject matter to blog about. With two blogs on the go now, I’m working at how to monetize one of them, and keep this one for posting on. I’m taking some courses about how to make money blogging and I’ve signed up to review a couple of courses as well. In the midst of that, I’m also taking a general writing course, plus I’ve applied for a new volunteer position – another committee that I’d like to be a part of. I’ll be back to work on one of my current committee assignments soon, which I’ll write about, but it still leaves me struggling with core subjects to blog about. It’s not for a lack of writing prompts, that’s for sure. Generally, what happens is I get an idea in the wee hours of the morning and then I write like crazy and bang out a post in about 30 minutes. It happens when I write poetry too. It just comes to me, I don’t plan it. When I wrote Wistful Thinking, I literally had the idea and the concept and completed poem done in 10 minutes. 

The other issue is that I’m housebound for the most part. It’s because I don’t do enough to get out and about, because of pain and exhaustion (and because I’m busy blogging). Well, no more excuses for that. I just bought a new walker/rollator to get me out moving again. She’s a pretty silver/blue Xpresso and I’ve named her Bluebird:

Isn’t she lovely!!  So much nicer than my old one, as there are no exposed cables, the basket is deeper, the seat is thicker and so is the backrest, and the wheels are designed to go over gravel and other rough surfaces. The handle area is large and smooth and she rolls beautifully, plus it’s still a one-handed close…I just pull up on the handle in the middle of the seat and voila! she folds sideways, so easy to transport when needed on the bus!!  Hopefully, this will be the incentive to get me out and about more often…there is a gorgeous lake just 15 minutes from my house with a perfect walking path around it and I’m making it my goal to get down there at least once a week.

I also plan on getting back in the pool, and Bluebird will be great for walking to the bus and back. I’ll be speaking with my new doctor in the next week about taking an Aqua Therapy course at our local Pool and Fitness Centre. It’s a specialized one-on-one program for People with Chronic Pain, working with a registered Kinesiologist to help with rehabilitation in the pool, so it’s easy on the joints and muscles. By getting my doctor’s approval, there’s a good chance I can have the costs paid by my Long Term Disability provider. I’m excited about it and even though I have to take a bus to get there, it’s only a 20-minute ride. I’m sure there’s parking available for Bluebird as I’m not the only one who takes these types of classes.

I’ve also been trying to be more physical at home, and not just sitting in my recliner all day (although it is rather molded to my butt shape). I’ve been doing wall push-ups and bicep curls and was trying to do squats as well, but those became too painful for my knees and ankles. I’m going to start doing planks to see if those work and maybe some gentle lunges with no bouncing. Everything hurts my joints so much, but I need to become more flexible. I think my Achilles Tendon is ultimately going to need surgery as it’s responded to nothing else we’ve tried – no physio, no stretching, no taping. I’m not sure what else is left, but I see Dr Winston soon, my Physiatrist and we’ll talk about options. It’s slowing me down and affecting how I walk and causing my left hip to have even more pain than necessary, which is going to increase the time before needing a hip replacement on that side as well. I’ve also developed some painful Neuropathy in the left foot, on the top and into the big toe, that might be related to my Type 2 Diabetes, so more to talk to my new doctor about. This just came on in the last few days, while on the motorcycle trip. 

Mentally, I’m worried because I think I’m going to have to come off the drug I take for my Bipolar Disorder and it’s the med that has given me all the energy I’ve had lately, Abilify. It’s causing me some major side effects; brain zaps, tongue trembling, handshaking, vision blurring and an uncomfortable amount of weight gain. I’m only 5’2″ tall, so any weight gain over 145lbs is too much and I’m up to 160lbs. It’s the brain zaps that are the worst though…I can actually feel them…they’re like an electric shock in the brain, but in high speed, and you can both feel them and hear them – a lightning bolt that goes right through the head from one side to the other. If I had to describe them based on something we physically have, I’d say it’s like one of those electronic fly killers that buzzes when it kills a fly…same sound, that bzz-zap!

Annoying!!!

There are good things happening in my life though. Ever since we bought our new motorcycle, I’ve been able to get out for more and longer rides with my husband Ray, which is a real treat for me. Our new bike is a 2007 Yamaha Venture and more of a cruiser than the sports bike we had before, a Kawasaki Concours.

The Venture is super comfortable for me and I’ve been able to go for longer rides each time we’ve been out, including a very recent Grand Adventure! Ray and I took the bike and went to Mt. Vernon, Washington to visit an online friend of mine named Maura so I could hang out with her and binge watch the second season of This Is Us, a tv show that I started watching on Netflix, but is no longer being carried there. Maura is a huge fan as well, so I spent 2 days with her watching the show while Ray went off exploring on the bike, then we hung out with her and her hubby Paul for dinner the first night (and with their daughter Anna – their son Matthew was out), and on the second night, we took them out for dinner at a local pub. On Saturday morning, Ray and I left at 5am to head for home, taking the I-5 freeway to the Blaine border crossing and then the Tsawwassen ferry home to get back to our cat Dorie at just after 9am.

Altogether, I’d say I spent 2 hours in the saddle but every second was great!! I know I can go for longer now and be comfortable. I can get on and off the bike easily, and it just feels good to ride. As an added bonus, I have a new leather jacket and gloves! Ray bought them for me on Saturday, August 25th here at a leather shop close to home. I really wanted pink, but decided this black jacket was too sexy to pass up! It has just enough detail on it to make it look sharp without being tacky. The leather is buttery soft with black stitching up the sides on the back, and on the back of the arms from the wrists to the elbows. Ray will have to put a new snap in at the wrists to make them tighter (I have short arms and tiny wrists) but it fits beautifully everywhere else and I’m delighted to have it. I also bought proper bike gloves – I got gauntlets, the kind that goes over the jacket sleeves to protect me from bees flying into my sleeves, etc. 

Here are a few pictures. I’ve also included a picture of yours truly with my hubby Ray, as we were coming home from our trip. It was taken on the ferry from Tsawwassen, BC to Victoria.

I’m still keeping busy with my volunteer work and have applied to sit on a new committee for Island Health’s Laboratory Services Quality Council. I access Lab Services every three months for blood work, so thought it might be fitting to be a part of their quality control council. I’m also waiting to hear back on a couple of other opportunities I had my name in for so it could be an exciting fall!

So there you have it…a bit more about me and what’s been going on in my life and how I’ve been truthfully feeling.  The next time someone asks you “how are you doing”, how will you answer them? With a short predictable answer? Or will you tell the truth? 

There is always hope

  How Are You Doing? Hi, how are you?  How are you doing? How are you feeling these days? Oh boy...do you ever get those loaded questions?