#my writing used to be something i was proud of

[for-your-modesty-dude]

As Long As You're There

A/N: AHHHHHHHH This is SO intimidating. My first ever fic posted. I don't feel like it's my best work, but if I don't post this now, I'm going to chicken out, and never write anything ever again. I hope you don't hate it, since I refuse to have my first piece beta read for fear of chickening out from that, too. So... no beta, we die like Jason. Feedback appreciated, but please be nice, LOL. I'm sensitive and very new to this. Love you all! - Hy

Warnings: Reader uses she/her pronouns, not beta read, tenses might jump around (i got nervy), generally nervous author, was supposed to be angst/fluff but I honestly don't know how to describe this one, folks

Synopsis: Eddie is sure Chrissy Cunningham is the girl for him. What happens when he is shown she's not?

It is undeniable. Eddie Munson thinks he likes Chrissy Cunningham - especially after that drug deal before the championship game back in high school. He doesn't really, though. Deep down, what it really boils down to is that he craves to be known and liked by the people who torment him. He sees kindness in her, and thinks that maybe - just maybe - if Chrissy can see past the flaws, even a girl like her could come to have feelings for a guy like him. After all, he's always been funny, charming, and larger-than-life. Sure, he talks a lot, he goes on emotional rants, and always has something to tease his friends about. And okay, maybe he's a little bossy. But at the end of the day, he's just a guy with a lot of affection to give and not enough friends to give it to. He tries, he does, to keep his temper tamed and attitude in check, but it's hard for someone with a past like his. He's a little angry at everything. He wants to get out of Hawkins, sure. But most of all, he just wishes he could feel normal. He likes being different, likes being who he is. But he doesn't like what comes with it. The jeering, the nasty looks, the fear - it's all so stupid. Because despite all of his attitude and temper and hardened look, Eddie Munson is a complete dork with a heart of gold. After all, the jocks and preps don't have a care in the world to take those who look like they've got no one and give them a place and a group to be a part of. No, only Eddie does that. He's done it since he was young, and even now, in his mid-twenties and having completed his Associate's degree to make his old man proud (the one who cared for him, not the one who left him), he still finds himself constantly looking out for people who may need a group. All the while, he keeps one eye open in search of Chrissy Cunningham - the girl who went off to college, got her fancy Bachelor's degree, and then, for some reason entirely unknown to Eddie, returned to her hometown to teach at the very same high school they'd both graduated from.

Eddie, meanwhile, had been stuck working at the auto shop since he'd graduated. Wayne had sat him down and insisted he needed to find real work, lest he get arrested for his extracurricular activities. The conversation, of course, had been prompted by Wayne finding a stash of pills his nephew had hidden (and then forgotten) in the bread box. He hadn't been happy, and had told Eddie he would not be going down for 'having them damn pills in my home.' Eddie had been a little embarrassed, but agreed to get a real job- so he'd chosen the shop. Luckily for him, it was in a perfect spot. It was on the street Chrissy Cunningham passed every morning on her drive to school, and every afternoon on her drive home. In the spring through the fall, she even walked most days - which gave Eddie the chance to say hello. He always tried to be as grease-free as he could, but some stains really just stuck, and he had a habit of wiping his face after changing the oil in his customers' cars... it didn't go well for him in the looks department. 

What Chrissy thought of it, no one was the wiser. None of Eddie's friends really interacted with her. Half the kids were still off to college, Dustin being the furthest and at an Ivy League, so no one could spy or find information. Sure, El was still around, choosing to go to the local college with Max, but they definitely didn't speak to Chrissy. Mike, Will, and Lucas had their own college woes. And Steve and Robin... well, they'd gotten through community college too, eventually, but they stayed within their comfort zone. They didn't make new friends, and they certainly didn't hang out with the likes of Chrissy Cunningham. Nancy and Jonathan had done what they'd always said they'd do - they took the settlement money from the government and went to NYU together, staying in New York City to work at the Times, as journalist and photographer, respectively.

All of these things meant that Eddie was on his own. Except, of course, for his best friend. One of the craziest things about community college to him was that he met people from other towns. Imagine his shock when he met a girl there from a small town not 45 minutes away from Hawkins, studying music history for fun. He was a lover of music, sure, but he was taking the class for the sake of his liberal arts degree. This girl? She was finishing her Bachelor's at the local university and taking courses for fun at the local college. He'd found her fascinating, to say the least. It helped that she was, like him, a little different from the rest. They had similar (though not quite identical) music tastes, and fashion that made their conservative towns uncomfortable. It sparked an instant bond. He'd invited this girl out to Hawkins once, and they'd never looked back. They'd become inseparable. She'd moved out to Hawkins, somehow a nicer town than her own, especially as its commerce grew, and helped Eddie out of his slump. When Wayne had given him that talk, it was Eddie's new best friend who'd helped him nail the interview at the auto shop. It was she who helped him find his new apartment (conveniently a 5 minute walk away from her own), and it was she who listened as he gushed about good ol' Chrissy Cunningham.

So here you were, once again seated at the register at your job, listening to Eddie go on about Chrissy's outfit that day on her walk home from teaching at the school. Did it bother you? Absolutely not. There was no reason for it to bother you. He was just a friend. Your best friend. But... then why did your stomach sink whenever he brought her up? Why did your chest feel tight? Why did it feel hard to smile when he laughed about how cute she was when she'd dropped her purse, or whatever book she was carrying? Why did you-

The ringing of the bell above the door pulled you out of your spiral, if for but a moment. You looked up, never more grateful in your life than to see the likes of Steve Harrington, who'd been introduced to you early on in your friendship with Eddie. He was a good friend of yours now, and often came to visit you at work, as with the others who’d stayed behind, when they had the time. Often, he wanted to talk about the latest gossip to someone who wasn't Robin (after all, he couldn't very well tell Robin half of the things he experienced, because she was usually there to experience it with him). He gave Eddie a good, friendly slap on the back as he approached the counter, leaning his forearms on the counter and leaning forward to greet you. Eddie made a face, annoyed at having been interrupted, but not annoyed enough to voice it.

"Hiya, Stevie," you greeted him with a smile, eyes communicating your relief at his arrival.

"Hey!” He responded brightly, but your relief was short-lived, as Steve took this opportunity to smile suspiciously sweetly at you, "so, any chance you want to take my shift later?"

Your eyes narrowed at him, "so that's why you're here? To ask for a favor? Even though you still owe me for the last shift I covered?" He had the decency to look at least a little apologetic about that, and nodded.

"I swear I'll pay you back for both. But... remember that girl who's been coming in every week to see me? I ran into her today while getting lunch, and she actually agreed to a date tonight. I swear, I'll more than make it up to you if you just please help me out today. I'll beg, do you want me to beg?"

You put your hands up in surrender, "woah, okay. No need to tarnish your dignity like that. I'm good, I'll stay. It's not like I have plans anyway, so one of us might as well get a date. God knows we could both use the romantic luck," you rest your chin on your hand with a huff, and he thanks you about seven times before running back out, leaving just you and Eddie once again (and, well, the three customers browsing the aisles of the store).

"So..." Eddie started, trying to keep the conversation from awkwardness. "No luck on the dating front, then?"

You couldn't help but to shoot him a dirty look, before you rolled your eyes and sighed. "No. There's no- anyone in this damn town. No one interested, and no one interesting. Maybe I need to expand my horizons and take a road trip out to Indie," you huffed. Eddie shrugged, turning to lean his back on the counter as he continued chatting with you, picking at his nails all the while.

"I think I might ask Chrissy to go out tomorrow night. Think she'll say yes?" For some reason, the fact that your misery led to him talking about his hopeful date sparked anger in you, but you didn't let it show. Did you think Chrissy would go out with him? Maybe. She was so sweet, you didn't think she had any reason to say no. She'd give him a shot, at least. But that was the trouble, wasn't it? If she gave him a shot, she'd see how wonderful he was. And then, maybe, you'd lose him for good. Was that something you were cool with? It wasn't like you were together. It wasn't like he'd ever looked at you the way he looks at her. It wasn't like you were in love with him... was it? 

That realization had you smacking your forehead lightly against the countertop behind the register, and Eddie turned around to look at you with a puzzled expression. "You good over there?"

You just managed a frustrated groan and the excuse, "just commiserating that everyone else has successful romantic lives and I'm stuck behind this register. Of course she'll say yes, she's too sweet to reject you, and you're awesome. Anyone who doesn't see my best friend's potential as a boyfriend is stupid and also rude." You finally looked up at him with what you hoped was a convincing smile. He couldn't help his own grin at that, feeling proud.

"It's totally settled, then. I'm going to ask her. What do you think she'll say to going to the new diner that opened up where Benny's old place was?" He asked, and you had to plaster on that fake smile again.

"Eddie, as long as you're there, she'll have a great time. Trust me." At least, it was true for you. If Eddie was present, you knew you’d have a great time. At least, most of the time. When he gushed about Chrissy, you had… less of a good time. But your compliment seemed to work, because he lit up like a christmas tree. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he gave you a beaming sort of smile, leaning over the counter to kiss your cheek. “I think I’m gonna go see if I can catch her on her lunch break. I’ll call you if it goes well!” He turned tail and ran, clearly excited. Luckily, he was gone so fast that he missed the way you deflated entirely. 

You were happy for him, and would continue to be if he managed to date Chrissy. But it didn’t change that you’d be jealous of her. A relationship - especially with Eddie - was time-consuming and all-encompassing. He would spend his free time with her, and you’d be left behind. It was natural, after all. What girl would want her boyfriend hanging out with another girl one on one? The thoughts plagued you, until a customer called into the shop asking about whether a certain book was in stock or not. After that, your day managed to go by a little quicker. 

You didn’t realize how late it had gotten until you were reading a book behind the counter and heard the bell ring as someone entered the store. Eddie slammed his hands down on the counter with a big grin, “guess what?” You peered up at him over your book and your heart sank, but you kept your expression clear for him.

“Hm… you’re a huge nerd?” You joked, and he made a face in response. 

“She said yes! She’s actually going on a date with me!” His eyes were bright and excited. “She said she’s cool with diner food, so… tomorrow night, I’ve got a hot date with Chrissy Cunningham. Will you help me choose what to wear?” And he just looked so hopeful, that you couldn’t possibly say no to him. So you agreed, and he sat around with you until the end of your shift. 

You wound up going back to his place that night, to help him in his search for an outfit. He even threw it in the wash so that he could smell good for his date. That night when you went to bed, you couldn’t help but to stare up at the ceiling and seethe for a few minutes, before letting sleep overtake you. Your dreams were the same as they always were - some shenanigans you got into with Eddie. Only tonight they held a different meaning, and when you woke up you were forced to reconcile with the information that was news even to you:

You were in love with your best friend. 

You went into your shift early that morning, stopping for coffee at your favorite place before starting your day at the store. You were able to distract yourself then, as Saturdays were particularly busy days for book-buyers. You hadn’t thought about your revelation since you’d had it. You had refused to acknowledge it, in fact. Eddie was your best friend. And he was going on a date with Chrissy Cunningham tonight. There was absolutely no point in thinking any more about potential feelings that may or may not exist. So you spent the day working, and maybe pouting. A couple of your friends stopped by to say hi throughout the day, but noticed your demeanor and ended up just letting you mope. 

Before his date, Eddie stopped by your job - and God, did it hurt. He looked so handsome. His curls were freshly washed and styled, his leather jacket hanging off of him like it was made for him, and his freshly washed jeans making him look more cleaned up than ever. When he opened up his jacket, he was proud to show off the button-up you’d helped him choose. ‘Dressy enough to be on a date, dressed down enough for jeans’ was what you’d told him. And his usual worn combat boots looked - almost good as new. When you asked about those, he was proud to say he’d spent his morning cleaning them with carpet cleaner and a toothbrush. Your heart ached that he’d never put that much effort in for you, not in that way. 

Before he could leave, you approached him to fix his collar and a stray curl, making sure he looked his absolute best. You refused to meet his eyes for your own sanity, and if he noticed, he didn’t comment. He just let you work your magic, and when you finally stepped back, you gave him your most convincing smile, and wished him well. “Call me if you need anything at all. I’ll be home tonight, and tomorrow morning. I want to hear all about it,” lie. “She’s going to have a great time, not a doubt in my mind,” truth. “I’ll be rooting for you,” lie. “You’re gonna do great,” truth.

He smiled proudly, and thanked you before giving you a big hug. The smell of his good cologne (only brought out for funerals and weddings) threw you for a loop, and nearly strangled you, but you managed to squeeze him back. When he ran out with a quick “love ya!” you just fell back into your seat behind the counter for the last hour of your shift. 

If you had any idea what was going on in Eddie’s head…

He’d only stopped by because he figured he should share in this exciting moment with his best friend. But something about your excitement had him feeling a little odd about the whole thing. And then you’d come up to him to help him straighten his shirt and fix his hair and you just wouldn’t look at him. He couldn’t understand why, but honestly, he was too focused on the fact that you were wearing your favorite perfume that day. He could tell you’d washed your hair that morning, too, because he caught a whiff of the shampoo you so loved. So when you didn’t look up and meet his eyes, he had to push down a weird feeling of disappointment. But he’d hugged you goodbye and you’d wished him luck, and that was that. 

Or so he’d thought. He showed up to Chrissy’s to pick her up, a cute little townhouse near the center of town, and did all the gentlemanly things he was supposed to do. He’d brought her a small bouquet of daisies, and walked her to the car and opened her door for her - it was all pretty textbook. She smiled and laughed during the drive, and it had Eddie feeling like he was already on the right track with this girl. 

Things did take a turn, though, when they actually got to talking after they’d ordered their meals. Because it would seem that Chrissy knew him better than he ever imagined she would. 

“Can I ask you a question?” She’d asked him, hands folded in front of her as she leaned close in curiosity. 

“Shoot,” he’d leaned back against the back of his seat, smiling. 

“I know you mentioned yesterday that you’ve had a crush on me for years, and I found that so sweet of you, Eddie, but… aren’t you in love with - well… you know…” She didn’t say your name, but only because it felt a little major to bring up your name if he hadn’t considered it. But he blinked at her, puzzled, and she realized she had no choice. So she finished her question with your name, which made Eddie’s eyes go comically large. 

“Sorry, what?” Was all he managed. His eyebrows slowly rose to his hairline, when she gave him a shy smile. 

“Eddie… you hear yourself when you talk about her, don’t you?” She asked, a soft giggle in her voice. “I’m flattered, I am. And I think you’re really amazing, and would love to date you. But only if I thought you actually liked me. I’m not accusing you of lying, I just don’t think you realize just how you sound.”

Eddie was not a man often brought to speechlessness, but Chrissy’s question stopped him dead in his tracks. You? That wasn’t possible. You were his best friend. Comfortably listed in the “friends” category in his brain… or were you? Chrissy, sweet Chrissy, pointed behind him to the entrance, and said “oh, I guess her shift must have ended! She’s here now with someone!”

The speed at which Eddie whipped around to look was nearly breakneck. When he saw you were, in fact, not there, he turned back to Chrissy with a blush and an embarrassed look in his eye. She just gave him that warm smile and sweet giggle, “I’m sorry, Eddie. But that’s not something someone does for just a best friend. Have you ever thought about that?”

He took a moment to rewind and think about his conversation on the drive here. Admittedly, he’d told Chrissy a lot of stories about you. He started by telling her all about how he would gush to you about his crush on her, but then devolved into just telling her about the times you’d hung out, and the fun things you’d done together. When she’d mentioned a restaurant or fun activity, he’d talk about a time you’d discussed the same with him. So, okay, maybe he talked about you a lot. And sure, he had thought about how much he preferred your perfume over Chrissy’s when he’d picked her up at her place, but that didn’t mean anything, did it?

And then he thought about how he’d felt so off when you hadn’t met his eyes when fixing his date night outfit. He’d never voice that one out loud to Chrissy, but he’d wanted you to look up at him and smile, and see how handsome he looked. He’d tried hard. The more he thought about it, the bigger hole he felt he dug himself. 

He blinked at her and groaned, burying his face in his hands in shame. “Shit. I think I’m in love with my best friend.” 

Chrissy, to her credit, took it so sweetly. She giggled and just encouraged him, telling him he should tell you and get it out in the open. Eddie, however, was so afraid. Afraid he would be wrong about the whole thing and you wouldn’t be interested in him in return. It didn’t matter, in the end, because his date (and now friend) was rather persuasive, and convinced him to do it as soon as he saw you next. And before he knew it, he was paying for their date, and driving her home. He liked being friends with Chrissy, he realized, and didn’t exactly desire any more than that. He’d always wanted her to like him, and now he knew she did - in a more important way than romance. She liked him for who he was, and wanted him to be happy. She wanted to be his friend. 

As soon as he dropped her off, she gave him a warning look and told him not to stray from his plan. It would work, and you’d be together in no time. He just thanked her and got back into his truck, driving home. His autopilot must have broken, however, because next thing he knew, he was pulling into the parking lot at your apartment. He sat there and stared at your door, the automatic light coming on and making his heart race. When he looked up, he saw the lights in your apartment were still on, signalling that you hadn’t quite gone to bed just yet. With his last hope of an excuse entirely extinguished, he got out of his car and stood at your front door for a few moments. Luckily, since you lived on the second floor, he got a minute to breathe before you saw him lingering at the door and freaked out about a stranger. So he took a chance, breathed, and did his special knock. 

You had been wallowing in self-pity all night, watching your favorite romcoms and snacking on your favorite chips and dip combo. Anything to try and forget about the realization that you were in love with Eddie. It was the worst possible timing, really. After all, he’d been hopelessly single for so long. You had to realize the day he wanted to ask his longtime crush on a date? You spent a long while beating yourself up about that, but eventually accepted your fate and tried to think about literally anything else. Hence, movies and snacks. You’d even tried to pick up a book at one point, but you realized that even that had a romantic plot, and ended up throwing it onto your bed and returning to the movies. At least romantic comedies had comedy. You’d even cried during one of your all-time favorites, which was infuriating - you could hear Eddie’s teasing voice in your head about how crying over a dumb boy was so not metal. If only he knew. So naturally, when his signature knock came from your front door, you were puzzled. 

You descended the stairs to the front door with your brows drawn together in confusion, opening the door in your pjs - soft pajama pants and a hellfire t-shirt you’d stolen from Eddie years prior. He was standing there, hands stuffed in his pockets as he stared at the apartment number next to your door. “Uh… hi? Shouldn’t you be on your date right now?” You asked, but opened the door further for him to enter. He shrugged and toed his boots off before heading up the stairs, leaving you to lock up behind him and follow - more confused than ever. “Eddie, is everything okay?”

He fell onto your couch and pulled the bowl of chips onto his lap, putting a chip in his mouth just to avoid answering the question. But you were too stubborn, standing in front of him with your hands on your hips. “Edward. What the hell?” He finally looked up at you with his big brown eyes at that, and had the decency to look a little shy. 

“‘M not in love with Chris,” he mumbled with his mouth full. You didn’t quite understand (or, you thought you didn’t) so you made a face at him, and he waited until his mouth was no longer full to repeat “I’m not in love with Chris. She’s- great. But I’m not in love with her.”

Your self-pity melted away for a moment at his ridiculousness, “Eddie, you’ve been on one date. You’re not necessarily going to fall in love over burgers, dude.” You looked at him like he was only slightly insane, which he appreciated. 

“Yeah, no, I know that,” he tugged at a strand of his hair. “I know that. I just… I am in love, y’know? Just- not with Chrissy.” And if that doesn’t confuse you even further. Your chest tightens for a moment, but he’s not making any sense, and you really just need him to stop being so cryptic. 

“Honestly, Ed, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Can you please just tell me what’s going on?” You sat next to him, facing him with your legs criss-cross. He refused to turn and face you, just setting the bowl of chips on the coffee table and staring down at his lap, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. You stared at him expectantly for a moment, and when he stayed quiet, you lightly punched his arm. “Speak, nerd.”

“Hey,” he finally pouted at you, rubbing his arm as if you’d punched him much harder. “I dunno! Chrissy had some enlightening shit to tell me. Apparently she knows me better than I thought she did. Actually, better than I know me. Which was super weird, by the way. I didn’t like feeling so exposed. But uh… She just opened my eyes. Turns out, I’ve been in love with someone for, like, a stupid long time.” When he stopped there, you almost punched him again, for leaving you on such a cliffhanger. He put his hands up in defense when he noticed. “Hey! Okay! I’m talking!”

He took a deep breath, “so, you won’t totally hate me for this, will you?” He felt he had to ask, and you made another face at him. 

“I mean, depends on who you’re in love with. If you have really bad taste, then yeah. I might,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood a bit. He gave you his most unimpressed stare and rolled his eyes, before tugging at his hair again, a nervous habit you found annoyingly cute. 

“Uh- well. You, actually,” he said simply, with a nervous, almost self-deprecating chuckle. You blinked at him for a moment. 

“I’m sorry, me? Me what?” You asked, the possibility simply not computing in your mind. 

“You. I’m in love with you. Apparently been in love with you for awhile. Just didn’t notice because my head was too far up my own ass,” he said, finally meeting your eyes again, this time looking more sincere than he had in awhile. But you were skeptical, and afraid of having your feelings hurt. 

“Eddie, where is this coming from? You’ve always had feelings for Chrissy. It was like, a fact, at this point. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Eddie Munson has a crush on Chrissy Cunningham. You don’t like me, you never have. Not- like that,” you told him, a little insecure. He didn’t really seem to have an answer except to lean over and kiss your cheek, his own cheeks bright red. Your eyes went wide and you stared at him for a moment, fighting your own thoughts. You stared at each other, equally wide-eyed, until you finally blurted out “I’m in love with you too. And it’s so weird because I never knew I felt this way until yesterday, and I finally understood why it irked me so much when you wouldn’t shut up about Chrissy.”

The admission caught you both off guard, and neither of you really knew how to respond. Eddie let out a curse under his breath before leaning in and capturing your lips in a hasty kiss, just quick and short but enough to have both of your hearts racing. You let out a squeak, and just stared at him again, before throwing your arms around him to hug him close, enjoying the smell of his shampoo, and his good cologne. You had no idea where this would take you, or if it would last. All you knew was that as long as he was there, you’d be just fine.  As it turned out, Eddie Munson does not like Chrissy Cunningham. At least, not in the way he thought he did. He liked her as a friend, sure. But his real feelings could be found around the one person who’d been by his side since his first day of his music history class at the local community college. The girl whose nerd matched his, the girl who never needed him to be anything except what he was. A girl to whom he wasn’t too much, or not enough. Instead, he was just enough. Just loud enough, just obnoxious enough, just bossy enough, just funny enough, just clingy enough, just affectionate enough. And now that he had her for real, he would never ever let go.

[beachbunnyofficial]

musings on announce

Lately I’ve been feeling hopeless, not just hopeless but numb. The state of the world is horrendous and I’ve been consumed with the news, practically swallowed whole. We just announced our third album I should be thrilled - I’m not. I’m just going through the motions. From a personal standpoint I worry about how I’ll find my footing. I use to be so confident in what I was writing, now it just feels like creativity is pointless - maybe everything feels pointless (I know that’s not true). I’ve been comparing myself a lot lately to numbers and career moves. No matter what achievements I cross off it feels like I’m always chasing something bigger than myself, a feeling? Maybe I’m expecting to feel something I’ve never felt before. Maybe you don’t feel new emotions at a certain point. Is the excitement I felt winning a trophy in gradeschool the same excitement I felt headlining a fest? Hard to say. I worry my audience is slipping away even though they sellout shows and send me love letters. I feel anxious about how songs are performing when my label, manager, and booking agent all assure me “everything looks great”. My mom told me the other day when you’re at your peak it’s easy to see how far you could fall - maybe that’s what this is. I had no control over my Initial virality and now I’m trying to hold on with white knuckles. I feel guilty - guilty for being ungrateful, guilty for whining, guilty for getting jealous, guilty for not being excited - so many people would kill to be in this position. I think above all else, I’m afraid. I can’t control what’s happening to the world & maybe I’m projecting that unease onto my career - something Ive convinced myself I can micromanage. My ego’s in the drivers seat. If I tune out that could make me complacent. The discomforts a good thing… right?

I worry if you the reader - if you’ll like this album - we’re old friends meeting up for coffee after a couple years of radio silence. It’s awkward because from my end it seems like we had a falling out, but on your end maybe it feels like we’re just picking up where we left off? I can’t tell. Are you mad that I changed? Are you upset that I was distant for a couple years? Do you understand I needed some time to work on myself? Do you wish I would go back to the old me? It’s embarrassing to be insecure…I’m not always like this. But my goal is to capture how I’m feeling authentically, and as of February 15th, a week after announcing Tunnel Vision, I’m not feeling like my best self

I wrote a lot about these worries on the record - lack of control, overthinking, letting go, jealousy. I thought if I could capture those emotions in a song I could exorcise them from my body. I need to remind myself I am not my emotions, I am not my career, I am not a machine. Just a girl in Chicago trying to make some artwork about the complexity of the mind and the hardness of world. I thought at this point in my career the jealousy and comparison would be over and done with. I hope I can convince myself this body of work is important, I hope I can stop checking in, I want to not care about how it’s received. I wish I didn’t care what you think.

I should be proud I made something I truly like, with messages I still stand by, and songs I think are cool. That has always been my philosophy, where’s that now? Where did she go? I feel whole when I’m in community, when I’m watching a show I enjoy, when I’m listening to Lana and eating a bagel, I feel whole when I’m praying before I fall asleep, I feel whole when I sing karaoke, or play a gig, or when I make a new friend, or when I get to reconnect with a loved one. I feel whole when mimzy sleeps on my head and eats my hair, or I’m hugged so tight all the air leaves my lungs, I feel whole when I drink a glass of water and put on sunscreen. Checking doesn’t make me feel full, it empties me out, lowers my vibration, casts a shadow on my confidence. I need to let the art exist without holding a gun to it, I need to let myself relax without assuming the world is ending

xoxo beach bunny

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - loves me, loves me not (part two)

warnings ; alcohol consumption, oral (f recieving), fingering, unprotected sex

request ; linked here

prompt ; in which two childhood best friends fake a relationship for the public eye, but after one rule-breaking kiss, neither of them can pretend anymore.

note ; eeeeek part two!!! i love this duo sm so sad to see them go but this part was so fun to write, enjoy my loves!

part one

You’re not entirely sure when the liquor started betraying you this bad. When you were 20, during a night where apple soju tasted like water, you had hooked up with a friend just for the plot. When you were 22, tipsy off wine that only your parents could afford, you made out with one of your other friends to prove that you could. Now… well, now, the champagne you’re sporting has you lowering all your inhibitions and every last shred of dignity. The night continues in a haze of bubbles and warm laughter, the glow of the gala casting everything in golden light. You should be at ease—your parents are beaming, the public adores you and Jungkook together, and everything is going exactly as planned.

Except for the fact that his hand has been on you all night, and you’re not handling it as well as you should.

At first, it was subtle—his fingers grazing the back of your palm as he handed you a glass of wine, the press of his knee against yours under the table. But then he started running his palm down the curve of your spine absentmindedly, his touch featherlight yet burning, his fingertips tracing slow, lazy circles on your lower back as he spoke to his father. And you? You were fighting for your life trying to act unaffected.

“You know,” you murmur as you lean into his side, fingers tracing idle patterns on his forearm, “you’re actually pretty decent at this whole ‘pretend boyfriend’ thing.”

Jungkook chuckles, low and smooth, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “Decent?” he repeats, feigning offense. “I’d say I’m excelling. You haven’t been able to keep your hands off me all night.”

You scoff, but your grip on his bicep betrays you. “That’s the champagne talking.”

“Mm.” He hums in amusement, his free hand landing on the small of your back, fingers barely pressing against the fabric of your gown. “Or maybe you just like touching me.”

You shoot him a glare, but the warmth pooling in your stomach tells another story.

Before you can formulate a sharp retort, the sound of a spoon clinking against glass silences the room. All eyes turn toward your parents, standing at the front of the ballroom with glowing smiles.

Your mother beams. “We just wanted to take a moment to thank you all for being here tonight. It means the world to us to see so many familiar faces supporting such a wonderful cause.”

Your father nods, lifting his glass. “And, of course, we can’t let the night go by without acknowledging how proud we are of our daughter and her soon-to-be—” He pauses for dramatic effect, eyes twinkling. “Well, let’s just say, we couldn’t be happier.”

Your stomach drops.

Jungkook stiffens beside you, his fingers flexing against your back. You freeze, heat rushing to your face. Soon-to-be what? No, no, no. They can’t be implying—

“Oh?” Jungkook murmurs, clearly entertained. His voice is teasing, but there’s something beneath it, something quieter. “Didn’t realize we were making things official-official.”

You force a laugh, heart hammering. “They’re just getting ahead of themselves.”

“Right,” he drawls, but he doesn’t let go of you. In fact, he tugs you closer, his lips brushing your temple as he whispers, “You’re not running, though.”

You should be. You should be laughing this off, shoving him away, rolling your eyes like you always do. But you don’t. You can’t. Because some ridiculous, champagne-drunk part of you isn’t completely horrified at the idea.

And the worst part? Jungkook doesn’t look horrified either. In fact, he looks like he finds this quite comical.

He turns his head slightly, his breath warm against your ear as he leans in. “Didn’t realize you wanted to marry me so bad,” he murmurs, his voice all teasing silk.

You turn to glare at him, ignoring the heat rushing to your cheeks. “Shut up.”

He grins, entirely too pleased with himself, but the way he’s holding you feels different now—less for show, more like he’s testing the waters. He doesn’t let go, even as the evening carries on, even as you find yourself more hyper-aware of every touch, every brush of his fingers, every lingering glance.

At some point, it becomes too much. You need air.

You excuse yourself quietly, slipping away from the ballroom and stepping onto the terrace, where the cool night air greets you in a much-needed embrace. You rest your hands on the railing, inhaling deeply, willing your heartbeat to settle.

“Running away from me?”

You close your eyes briefly before turning to find Jungkook leaning against the doorway, watching you with something unreadable in his gaze. He’s loosened his tie, rolled up the sleeves of his white button down, showing off his array of tattoos (which you swear he’s doing on purpose.)

“Just needed a moment,” you reply.

He steps closer, and you don’t move away. “Big night,” he muses. “Lots of champagne.”

“And unwanted proposals, apparently.”

He smirks. “Come on, you’re not completely horrified by the idea.”

You scoff. “Oh, I absolutely am.”

Jungkook tilts his head, his smirk widening as he takes another step toward you. “Then why are you blushing?”

You open your mouth to retort, but he lifts a hand before you can, brushing his fingers against your shoulder. His touch is featherlight as he fixes the strap of your dress that had slipped slightly, his gaze flickering to yours as he smooths it back into place.

The air between you shifts, thickening with something you’re not ready to name.

You should step back. You should break the moment before it spirals. But you don’t.

Instead, you watch him, heart in your throat, as his fingers linger just a second too long, his eyes searching yours for something. And for the first time, you don’t know if you’d stop him if he decided to close the distance between you.

But he doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he lets his hand drop, exhaling a quiet chuckle. “Better?”

You swallow hard. “Fine.”

Jungkook’s gaze flickers over your face, as if committing this moment to memory. And then, finally, he steps back.

“Good,” he says. But the way he looks at you before he turns to head back inside tells you this is far from over.

You watch his silhouette disappear back into the ballroom, and an exhale you didn’t know you were holding frees itself from your mouth. Normally, you’re the composed one, the golden child, the girl boss. Now you’ve just dwindled yourself down to some lovesick girl who can’t even handle a simple fixing of a dress strap. It’s all too much, really.

All this to say: you need another drink.

You waltz back inside, beelining. You don’t even look for Jungkook, no use in continuing your torture for the night. Maybe a break is what you need, you’re entitled to one.

It’s no surprise to anyone you get approached by some man within a few minutes, who under normal circumstances, you would say is your type. You’re standing near the bar, champagne glass in hand, listening—at least trying to listen—to whatever the man in front of you is saying. He’s charming, effortlessly smooth, the kind of man your mother would nudge you toward with an encouraging smile. But you’re barely hearing a word.

Because once you finally do a quick scan across the room, Jungkook is smiling at her.

Ara.

She’s always been around, floating within your circles like a perfectly poised ghost. She’s beautiful in that effortless, delicate way, the kind that makes men want to lean in, to hear her every word. She’s got a hand on Jungkook’s arm, her perfectly manicured nails resting there like they belong, and worst of all—he isn’t pulling away.

Your grip tightens around the stem of your glass, your nails pressing into your palm.

You’ve seen him with girls before. You’ve watched him charm, flirt, entertain. And it never mattered. It never made your stomach curl like this, never made your skin prickle with something dangerous and hot.

But this?

You take a sip of your champagne, trying to drown out the feeling, trying to focus on the conversation in front of you. The man—Seojun, maybe?—says something that makes you laugh politely, and yet, even as you force the sound out, your gaze flickers back to Jungkook like a magnet.

And that’s when it happens.

Ara tilts her head, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder as she leans in closer. Jungkook says something that makes her laugh, and then—then she touches him, a light, lingering brush over his forearm.

Your stomach drops.

It’s irrational. You know it is. This isn’t real. None of it is real. And yet your body betrays you, your heart pounding like it’s trying to escape the confines of your ribs.

"Are you even listening to me?" Seojun—yes, that’s his name—tilts his head at you, amused.

You blink, pulling yourself back into the present, forcing a practiced smile. "Of course," you lie.

But your eyes betray you, flickering back to Jungkook.

And that’s when you catch him looking.

He isn’t focused on Ara anymore. No, his gaze is locked onto you, his expression unreadable, his grip tightening around the drink in his hand.

You swallow.

He knows.

And the worst part?

He smirks.

Your champagne glass is empty before you even realize it. The bubbles fizz down your throat, but they do nothing to cool the simmering heat curling in your stomach.

You barely hear Seojun’s next words. You barely feel the polite, empty smile you throw in his direction. All you can focus on is Jungkook and the way he’s still standing there with Ara, letting her touch him, letting her laugh in that perfectly practiced way that’s just a little too sweet.

And that smirk. That damn smirk he gave you when he caught you staring.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you set your empty glass down on the nearest table, murmur something that vaguely sounds like an excuse to Seojun, and turn on your heel. Your steps aren’t exactly steady—whether from the champagne or the heat in your veins, you’re not sure—but you don’t care.

Because Jungkook needs to be reminded of something.

He is yours. Even if it’s pretend. Even if it’s temporary. Even if it’s just for the public.

You reach them just as Ara tilts her chin, her glossy lips parting, ready to say something that you really don’t care to hear. But she never gets the chance.

Because you step between them, seamlessly sliding into Jungkook’s space as if you belong there—which, you do. Your hands find his lapels, smoothing over the fabric of his suit with a familiarity that feels as natural as breathing. Your body presses against his side, your fingers sliding down his chest like you’ve done it a hundred times before.

Jungkook tenses slightly, his hand instinctively coming to rest on your waist.

“Baby,” you purr, loud enough for Ara to hear, your voice dripping with lazy affection. “Are you done entertaining?”

Jungkook blinks, startled, before his lips curl into something amused. You can feel the chuckle rumble in his chest before he even speaks. “Was I entertaining?”

You tilt your head, fingers idly playing with the collar of his shirt. “Not really,” you say, scrunching your nose. “It was getting boring, so I came to save you.”

Ara shifts beside you, her gaze flickering between you and Jungkook. “I was just catching up with—”

“Hmm?” You hum distractedly, finally turning your gaze to her, blinking like you hadn’t noticed her standing there this whole time. “Oh. Sorry, Ara, what were you saying?”

Ara falters, eyes narrowing slightly, but you’re already nuzzling your cheek against Jungkook’s shoulder, a deliberate, intimate movement that makes his grip on your waist tighten.

“Nothing important,” Ara finally says, her voice a touch too tight.

“Didn’t think so,” you say sweetly, letting your fingers trail down Jungkook’s arm before lacing them with his.

“Anyway, we should go. Right, baby?” You blink up at him through your lashes, giving his fingers a light squeeze.

Jungkook is silent for a moment, as if processing what the hell just happened. And then, to your surprise, his smirk softens into something darker, something more interested. He looks down at you, his grip on your waist tightening for just a second before his free hand lifts, his knuckles brushing along your jaw in a way that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, meant only for you.

Your breath hitches. Just for a second. Just enough for his smirk to return.

Ara clears her throat, clearly unimpressed. “Well. It was nice seeing you, Jungkook.”

“You too,” he says absently, but his gaze never leaves yours.

You tug at his hand, ready to make a grand exit, but Jungkook resists just long enough to lean in and murmur against the shell of your ear, “That was hot.”

You scoff, ignoring the way your stomach flips at the warmth of his breath. “Shut up.”

He chuckles, following you without hesitation. “Jealousy looks good on you.”

“I was not jealous.”

“Sure, sweetheart.” His thumb strokes over the back of your hand, a little too soft, a little too real. “Whatever you say.”

You should let go. You should be irritated. But you don’t.

And he definitely notices.

You shake off the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s touch, pushing away the ridiculous notion that you had anything to be jealous about. This isn’t real. It never was. And if he wants to flirt with Ara, or any other perfectly poised socialite, then what does it matter to you?

“Come on,” you say briskly, tugging at his wrist as you weave through the ballroom. “We have a reputation to maintain.”

Jungkook allows himself to be dragged, a lazy smirk playing at his lips. “Oh? So now you care about appearances?”

You ignore him, leading him toward the grander part of the hall where familiar laughter rings out. And then, just as you expected, you stumble upon your family members—drunk, loud, and far too comfortable in the lavish setting. Some elders are seated, glasses of wine half-empty, while a few uncles and aunts chatter excitedly, their faces flushed with warmth and liquor.

“Ah! Look who it is!” your uncle exclaims, eyes twinkling as he waves you over. “Our beautiful couple. The stars of the night.”

You offer a polite smile, but Jungkook, ever the charmer, leans in and bows his head slightly. “Always a pleasure.”

One of the elders, an older gentleman with decades of power woven into the deep lines of his face, chuckles as he swirls his drink. “You two certainly look the part,” he muses, raising a brow. “But tell me, have any of us actually seen you kiss?”

The air shifts.

You feel it immediately, the way Jungkook stiffens beside you, the way your breath catches mid-inhale. A sudden, sinking feeling pools in your stomach, a flush creeping up your neck that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

“Oh, we don’t—” you start, forcing out a laugh, but your aunt cuts you off with a wave of her hand.

“Ah, come now, it’s just a little kiss! Nothing we haven’t all done in our youth,” she teases, nudging the woman beside her. “You two are in love, aren’t you?”

Jungkook clears his throat, his fingers tightening slightly where they rest at your lower back. “Of course,” he says smoothly, his voice composed, but you can feel the tension humming beneath it. “But you know how it is—she’s a little shy.”

Your head whips toward him, eyes narrowing. Shy?

The elders laugh, clearly entertained. “A little kiss won’t hurt, dear,” one of the women chimes in. “Give the people what they want!”

Your palms grow clammy. The entire table is watching, eyes alight with expectation, and your heartbeat drums a frantic rhythm against your ribs. This was never part of the deal. A public kiss? In front of your entire family?

Jungkook turns to you slightly, reading your expression in an instant. And for once, he doesn’t tease. He doesn’t smirk or provoke. Instead, he leans in ever so slightly, dropping his voice so that only you can hear.

“We don’t have to,” he murmurs. “Just say the word.”

The warmth of his breath ghosts over your cheek, and suddenly, you’re aware of how close he is, how his fingers are still splayed protectively along your spine. It’s the gentleness in his voice that almost undoes you, the unspoken question lingering between you.

You swallow hard, mind racing for an escape. Then, in a last-ditch effort, you tilt your chin, feigning exasperation as you lightly pat his chest. “Please. If they want a show, they’re going to have to wait until we’re somewhere more private.”

And when you dare to glance up at him, his gaze is already on you, something lurking, simmering behind those dark eyes.

You don’t know what’s worse—the fact that you almost let him kiss you, or the fact that, for a split second, you wanted him to.

The table erupts in hoots and laughter, satisfied with your answer, taking it as a cheeky refusal rather than outright rejection.

Jungkook chuckles, playing along effortlessly. “You heard her,” he drawls, eyes dancing with amusement. “Guess you’ll just have to keep wondering.”

The laughter at the table settles, but the teasing doesn’t.

“Come on now, just one little kiss,” an older woman coos, her wine glass swaying in her hand. “We’re old, humor us.”

“Exactly,” your uncle chimes in, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “A quick peck, and we’ll let you two lovebirds go.”

You feel your stomach twist, your fingers clenching against the fabric of your dress. The whole table is watching, waiting, their amused smiles only making your pulse quicken. You glance at Jungkook, hoping he’ll throw out another clever remark to dodge the situation, but to your horror—

He turns to you.

Your breath catches in your throat as his hand, warm and steady, slides from your back to your jaw, tilting your face toward him. Your heart is hammering now, and you barely have time to process what’s happening before his lips press against yours.

It’s soft at first. Barely there. A gentle, careful touch, like he’s giving you time to pull away. But you don’t.

You can’t.

Because the second your body realizes what’s happening, a spark ignites, and everything tilts. The warmth of his mouth melts into yours, his fingers tightening slightly at your jaw, his thumb grazing your cheek as he deepens the kiss just enough to make the world around you disappear.

Your breath stutters, and for a split second, you let yourself lean in. You let yourself taste the champagne on his lips, let yourself drown in the scent of him—warm spice and something inherently Jungkook.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, he pulls away.

The entire table erupts in cheers and teasing whistles, but you barely hear them over the roaring in your ears. Your lips still tingle, your breath uneven, your entire body still caught in the aftershocks of what just happened.

Jungkook, meanwhile, is completely unbothered.

He leans back into his chair, stretching one arm over the backrest, a smug, lazy smile curving his lips. “Happy now?” he drawls, glancing at the elders, who are positively delighted.

You can barely look at him. Your thoughts are a tangled mess, your heart still racing in your chest. Rule number one—no kissing—just shattered like glass, and he’s sitting there looking as if he didn’t just turn your entire world upside down.

You grab your glass of champagne and down the rest in one go, ignoring the way Jungkook chuckles beside you.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” he murmurs, just low enough for you to hear.

You turn to him sharply, your voice quieter but sharp. “What the hell was that?”

He raises a brow, feigning innocence. “What? They asked for a kiss.”

“That was not just a kiss,” you hiss, leaning in slightly, your hands gripping your dress so hard it might tear. “You—”

“Relax.” His fingers toy with the stem of his wine glass, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “It’s all for show, right?”

You hate him. You hate him so much.

And worse, you hate how badly you want to kiss him again.

The night drags on, an endless cycle of goodbyes, firm handshakes, and air kisses. You stand near the grand entrance of the venue, your parents beside you, Jungkook effortlessly charming the last lingering guests. His hand is in his pocket, his posture relaxed, but you know him well enough to notice the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drum idly against his thigh.

You haven't spoken since the kiss.

The moment lingers in your mind like a brand, burning at the edges of your composure. Every time you glance at Jungkook, your lips tingle with the phantom memory of his, and it infuriates you. Because this was never supposed to happen. Because he’s acting like it wasn’t a big deal.

Finally, the last of the guests trickle out. Your parents squeeze your shoulder, still beaming, oblivious to the storm raging beneath your skin. Then, at last, you and Jungkook step outside, your car already waiting.

The ride is silent.

The chauffeur drives smoothly through the dimly lit streets of Seoul, but neither of you speaks. There’s no teasing remark from Jungkook, no smug grin, no sideways glances. He’s staring straight ahead, his fingers tapping idly against his knee.

You should let it go. You should leave it be.

But you can’t.

“You broke rule number one.”

Your voice is quiet but firm, slicing through the stillness.

Jungkook’s head tilts slightly in your direction, his brows raising. “Excuse me?”

You grip the edge of your dress, forcing yourself to keep your tone steady. “Rule number one,” you repeat. “No kissing. And you—”

You exhale sharply, staring out the window, shaking your head. “You just did it, like it was nothing.”

Jungkook shifts slightly, turning his body toward you. “What else was I supposed to do?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, something unreadable in his tone. “They weren’t going to let it go. It was the easiest way out.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Anything but that.”

Jungkook frowns, clearly not understanding your reaction. “Why does it matter? It was just a kiss.”

Your heart twists violently in your chest. Just a kiss.

“It wasn’t part of the contract,” you snap, finally turning to face him. “We had rules. We agreed on them. And you—”

You swallow hard, shaking your head. “You don’t get to just change them whenever you feel like it.”

His jaw tightens, his eyes darkening slightly. “You’re overthinking this.”

You let out a humorless laugh, your fingers curling into fists on your lap. “Overthinking?”

“Yes,” he says, exasperation creeping into his voice now. “It was one kiss, in front of a crowd, to keep up appearances. You’re making this a much bigger deal than it needs to be.”

Something inside you snaps.

“Stop it,” you burst out, your voice cracking slightly. “Stop acting like this is nothing. Stop acting like we can just go back to how things were before.”

Jungkook stares at you, caught off guard. The air between you is thick, heavy, pulsing with something unsaid, something neither of you are willing to dissect.

Two weeks. That’s all that’s left. Two weeks before this ends, before you both walk away, before everything you’ve built—fake or not—disappears.

And it’s killing you.

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to look away. “Just—” Your voice lowers, shoulders sagging slightly. “Just stop.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond. Doesn’t fight back. He only watches you, his expression unreadable, his hands curling into fists against his lap.

The car slows to a stop in front of his house. Without another word, you unlock the door, waiting.

Jungkook hesitates for just a moment. Then, with a slow exhale, he steps out.

The second the door closes behind him, you squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your fingers against your temples. Your heart is still racing, your skin still burning.

Rule number one is broken. And you’re not sure if you’ll survive the fallout.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The next two weeks pass in a blur of long workdays and sleepless nights. You throw yourself into your job, burying yourself in meetings, in paperwork, in anything that keeps your mind from wandering back to him. You ignore his texts, let his calls go to voicemail, pretend you don’t notice when he lingers outside family events you used to attend together.

But no matter how much distance you try to put between you, it doesn’t change the fact that the stupid kiss is all you can think about. It’s there when you wake up, a phantom sensation lingering on your lips. It’s there when you try to eat, when you push food around your plate without appetite. It’s there when you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, exhausted but unable to sleep because every time you close your eyes, you see him. The way he looked at you right before he kissed you. The way he played it off like it was nothing.

And then, just like that, you get your wish.

You’re standing in Jungkook’s mother’s office, the air thick with finality. Your parents are there, seated beside you, their expressions unreadable. Across from you, Jungkook sits with his back straight, his hands clasped together as he listens. He looks composed—calm, even—but you know him well enough to see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitch slightly against his knee.

His mother folds her hands neatly on the desk, her expression warm but firm. “[Y/N], thank you so much, darling. You both did great. And honestly, these three months flew by. The press reaction from this was pristine, both of you sold it,” she praises, her voice smooth, unwavering. “Effective immediately, you’re both free.”

Free.

The word lands like a stone in your stomach.

Your wish has been granted. The contract is voided. No more appearances, no more pretending.

You should feel relieved. You should feel victorious.

So why does it feel like the ground has just disappeared beneath your feet?

Jungkook is silent beside you, staring straight ahead. He doesn’t say a word. Not when your mother thanks his. Not when the papers are slid across the desk. Not when the pens are handed to you both, waiting for signatures to make it official.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you take the pen, hovering over the paper. This is what you wanted. This is what you asked for.

Then why do you feel like you’re about to sign away something you can’t ever get back?

The moment the ink dries on the contract, you push back your chair and stand. The silence in the room is suffocating, pressing down on your chest, on your throat, making it impossible to breathe. Your heart is pounding, your hands feel cold, and you hate it—hate that this feels more like a loss than a victory.

“Thank god,” you mutter, voice sharp, controlled. Then, without another glance, you turn on your heel and walk out.

No one stops you. Not your parents. Not Jungkook’s mother. Not Jungkook.

You don’t slow down until you reach the crisp night air. It bites at your skin, cool and fresh, grounding you just enough to keep your expression neutral. You march toward your car, heels clicking against the pavement, jaw locked so tightly you might break it.

This is good. This is what you wanted.

So why does it feel like you’re falling apart, like your body is crumbling into itty bitty pieces, and someone will have to come pick up your residue tomorrow?

Your fingers fumble with the car keys, desperate to get inside before anyone can question the way your breath is unsteady, the way your chest is too tight, the way everything—everything—feels wrong.

But before you can open the door, you hear it—

“Wait.”

Jungkook.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a fraction of a second before turning around. He’s jogging toward you, his shirt slightly rumpled, his expression unreadable but determined.

“What?” you say, forcing a sigh, keeping your voice cold, distant.

He stops just a few feet away, staring at you like he’s seeing you for the first time in weeks. His chest rises and falls with the weight of whatever he’s about to say, and you hate that you already know it’s going to hurt.

“Why haven’t you been talking to me?” His voice isn’t accusing—it’s raw, strained, almost desperate. “You cut me off like I was nothing. I—I don’t understand.”

You clench your jaw, turning back to your car. “There was nothing left to say.”

Jungkook takes a step closer. “Bullshit.”

You flinch. He never speaks to you like that.

“I miss you,” he says, voice lower now, like it’s a confession. “I miss my best friend. I miss you calling me at midnight just to complain about a meeting you have the next day. I miss you showing up at my house and stealing my food like you own the place. I miss you annoying me, because even when you were driving me insane, you were still there.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “And I’m sorry about the kiss. If that’s what ruined this, then—I don’t know—let’s just forget it happened. I’ll do anything to go back.”

For a second, all you can do is stare at him, your hands gripping the door handle like it’s the only thing keeping you standing. And then, before you can stop yourself, the words slip out, like vomit that splatters on the driveway. You know it’s coming out before you can even halt it.

“It’s not the kiss.”

Jungkook’s brows knit together. “Then what is it?”

You exhale shakily, finally meeting his gaze. “It’s me.”

Confusion flickers across his face. “What?”

“I’m losing my mind,” you admit, shaking your head, a breathless laugh escaping your lips.

“At some point along the way, something changed, and I didn’t even realize it until it was too late.” You swallow hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. “I wanted it to be real.”

The words hang between you, heavy, irreversible. Jungkook’s lips part slightly, but no words come out. And that silence—that hesitation—it’s all the confirmation you need.

You let out a quiet, bitter chuckle, dropping your gaze. “But you don’t. And I already knew that.”

Jungkook’s breath hitches, his jaw clenching, but he says nothing.

So you nod once, as if settling something within yourself. Like telling yourself it’s done, that’s enough now. Then you turn, open the car door, and slide inside.

And this time, he doesn’t stop you.

The moment you step inside your apartment, the weight of everything crashes down on you like a tidal wave. You barely make it past the front door before your vision blurs, your breath hitching as the sobs come hard and fast.

You don’t cry over guys. You never have. You’re the one who walks away first, the one who keeps her heart locked away behind sharp wit and an untouchable exterior. You make men cry, not the other way around.

But this—this is different.

Because it’s Jungkook. And somewhere along the way, between fake dates and stolen moments, between the teasing smirks and the way he looked at you when no one else was watching, you fell. Hard.

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to will away the ache in your chest, but it’s no use. The tears won’t stop. They pour down your cheeks, silent and unrelenting, until your shoulders shake and your knees threaten to give out beneath you.

Desperate for anything to calm yourself, you stumble into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of wine. Your hands are trembling so badly that some of it spills onto the counter, but you don’t care. You take a deep sip, your throat burning, but the warmth does nothing to dull the pain lodged deep in your ribs.

A choked sob slips from your lips as you sink onto the couch, curling in on yourself, your glass clutched between shaking fingers. The world outside is quiet, but inside, your heart is a storm, unraveling piece by piece.

And then—

A knock at the door.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. For a moment, you consider ignoring it. Maybe it’s your neighbor, maybe they heard you, maybe—

Another knock, louder this time.

You groan, wiping at your damp cheeks with the back of your hand before stumbling toward the door. You swing it open, expecting concern, expecting pity—

But instead, you find Jungkook.

He’s breathless, his chest rising and falling like he just ran all the way from his parents’ house to your apartment. Sweat beads at his forehead, shirt sleeves crumpled, his hair slightly disheveled, and his eyes—god, his eyes—are filled with something you don’t have the strength to decipher.

Your heart lurches, but you shove the feeling down, force the pain into anger.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Your voice is hoarse, uneven, but you steel yourself, gripping the edge of the door, ready to slam it shut.

Jungkook doesn’t flinch. His gaze locks onto yours, intense, unwavering, and just as you move to close the door, his hand flies out, palm flat against the wood, stopping you.

“Do you really think this was ever fake for me?”

The air between you shifts, crackling like a live wire.

Your fingers tighten around the doorframe. Your throat feels impossibly tight.

“What?” you whisper.

Jungkook swallows hard, his jaw clenching for a brief moment before he exhales sharply.

“Tell me you didn’t feel it, too,” he says, his voice rough, almost pleading. “Tell me you didn’t fall for this—for us— just as hard as I did.”

You stand there, frozen in the doorway, Jungkook’s words ringing in your ears like a deafening echo.

Do you really think this was ever fake for me?

Your grip on the doorframe tightens, knuckles white. Your breath is uneven, your heart hammering so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. But you don’t move, and neither does he. He just stares at you, eyes burning with something that makes your stomach twist painfully.

Finally, you find your voice. “Don’t do this, Jungkook.”

His brows furrow. “Do what?”

You shake your head, stepping back. “Say things you don’t mean. Try to make this something it’s not.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Are you serious? You think I don’t mean it?”

His voice is taut, disbelief etched into every syllable. “You think I came all the way here just to lie to you?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because the truth is too big, too terrifying.

Jungkook steps forward, into your space, refusing to let you shut him out. “I meant it,” he says, voice lower now, steadier. “Every second of it. Every touch, every look. It wasn’t fake for me. It was never fake.”

Your breath shudders, hands trembling at your sides. “That’s not fair.”

His eyes search yours, desperate. “What’s not fair?”

“That you get to say this now,” you whisper, the words raw and broken. “After everything. After I’ve spent weeks convincing myself that you never felt the same.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightens. “That’s bullshit. You know I felt it. You know I wanted this just as much as you did.”

You let out a sharp laugh, but it’s laced with something heart-wrenching. “If you wanted this, Jungkook, you wouldn’t have played it off like it was nothing. You wouldn’t have acted like that kiss meant nothing to you.”

He flinches, just barely, but you catch it. And god, it hurts.

“I was scared,” he admits, voice quiet now, almost hesitant. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought if I made it a joke, it would be easier. That maybe if I didn’t acknowledge it, you wouldn’t walk away.”

Your throat tightens. “I had to walk away.”

Silence stretches between you, thick with everything unsaid. The space between you is small, but it feels like an entire universe.

Jungkook reaches for you then, his fingers grazing your wrist, hesitant but wanting. “I miss you,” he murmurs, like it’s the only thing he knows for sure. “I miss you so much, and I don’t know how to fix this.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, fighting the tears that threaten to spill. “You can’t.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, his grip tightening slightly. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t know how to go back to being just your best friend.

His breath hitches. And then, so softly, like he’s afraid of breaking you completely—

“What if we don’t… go back to that?”

Your eyes snap open, your pulse skittering wildly. But Jungkook is just looking at you, waiting, his heart in his hands, waiting to see if you’ll take it.

Jungkook pushes past you before you can stop him, stepping inside your apartment with a forcefulness you’re not used to. You barely register the door closing behind you, your fingers tightening around your wine glass as you turn to face him, heart pounding.

“You don’t get to just walk in here like you own the place,” you snap, voice sharp to mask the tremor beneath.

He turns, his expression wild with frustration, his chest still rising and falling from the run. “I don’t? I don’t get to fight for you? Because that’s what I’m doing, in case you haven’t noticed.

Your pulse stutters. “Fight for what, Jungkook? A fantasy? We’re being delusional. You and me—we’ll never work.”

His jaw clenches, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Why the hell not?”

“Because we’re different.” You take a step back, gesturing vaguely, as if that could encompass all the reasons why this is impossible. “Because I have my life figured out. Because I have a career, responsibilities—”

“And what?” Jungkook cuts you off, stepping closer. “I don’t? Just because I’m not working twenty-hour days, just because I don’t run around like I have to control everything? That means I don’t have my life together?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then say what you mean,” he challenges, voice lower now, rougher.

You swallow, looking away. “You don’t take things seriously. You never have.”

Jungkook lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “That’s bullshit. You think I don’t take this seriously?”

He gestures between you, eyes burning. “You think I don’t—” He exhales, running a hand through his hair before looking back at you, raw and vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before. “You want to know when I fell in love with you?”

You freeze.

“I was eleven,” he continues, voice softer now, but no less intense. “We were at some stupid family event. I was the only other kid there, and I remember looking at you—this girl who was already so sure of herself. And I asked who you were, ready to say something cocky, and you just looked at me and said, ‘Your worst nightmare if you get in my way.’” He lets out a quiet laugh, but there’s no humor in it—just something aching, something real. “And I thought, God, I’m done for.”

Your fingers tremble around the stem of your wine glass. You remember that day, vaguely. You remember thinking Jungkook was annoying, arrogant, that he talked too much. Even at his young age, he was pissing you off. You never thought that, all this time, that moment meant something to him. That you meant something to him.

“I’ve loved you since then,” he admits, voice raw. “I accepted being your best friend just to have you in my life. Even when it killed me. Even when I had to watch you pretend like none of this mattered.”

He shakes his head, his throat working. “But it does. You do.”

The silence between you is suffocating. Your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, the weight of his words pressing down on you like an avalanche.

“You act like I’m some reckless idiot who doesn’t care,” Jungkook continues, voice quieter now. “Like I don’t think about the future, about where I fit into your life. But the truth is, I’ve been fitting myself into your life since the day I met you. I’ve been waiting. Hoping. And maybe that was stupid of me.”

Your heart twists painfully, your walls cracking in a way you never thought possible. He’s right. He’s always been there, no matter what. He let you push him away, let you pull him back, let you dictate the terms of your relationship because he thought that’s all you would give him.

But that’s not true. That’s never been true.

You set your wine glass down on the counter with a shaky breath. “I put you in my life because I want you in it.”

Jungkook’s eyes snap to yours, something unreadable flashing through them.

You take a step toward him, voice steady despite the storm inside you. “Fine, maybe I haven’t always been in love with you. Maybe I didn’t wake up one day knowing like you did. But you’ve changed. You’ve grown up. And I don’t know if it’s because of me or not, but I love who you are growing into.”

His breath stutters.

“And I love you,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “I love you, Jungkook.”

For the first time since this argument started, the fight leaves his body. His shoulders sag, his breath shudders, and then suddenly—

He’s kissing you.

Not tentative, not hesitant—desperate. A collision of everything left unsaid, of years of wanting and waiting, of stubbornness and frustration and aching affection. His hands cup your face, his fingers threading through your hair, and you melt into him, your hands clutching at his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.

But he won’t. Not anymore.

Jungkook pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours, his lips brushing against your skin as he murmurs, “Say it again.”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes fluttering open to meet his. “I love you.”

Jungkook kisses you again like he’s making up for lost time, like he’s spent years holding himself back and now he never wants to stop. His pink, luscious lips are firm and urgent, his hands threading into your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. You lose yourself in it, in him, in the way he tastes like longing and desperation and something entirely his.

And then, between breathless kisses, he murmurs, “Jump.”

Your eyes flutter open, breath hitching. “What?”

His smirk is pure mischief, his hands sliding down your waist, gripping your hips like a promise. “Jump,” he repeats, voice low and rough. “I’ve got you.”

There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. You push up on your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck, and as soon as you do, his strong hands lift you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist. He holds you up like you weigh nothing, his grip firm and unshaking.

“Damn,” you murmur against his jaw, letting your lips trail along his skin. “Since when did you get so strong?”

Jungkook chuckles, shifting his hold on you as he starts walking, each step confident, controlled. “Have you seen me?” he teases. “I practically live in the gym.”

You hum, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Mmm. So you’ve been working out just to impress me?”

He scoffs, turning the corner toward your bedroom with ease. “Sweetheart, if I wanted to impress you, I’d be carrying you with one arm.”

You laugh, breathless, pressing a teasing kiss to the shell of his ear. “Show off.”

Jungkook grins, his fingers flexing against your thighs as he kicks open the bedroom door. “Only for you.”

The air shifts when he steps inside, the teasing moment fading into something deeper, heavier. He lowers you gently onto the bed, his body following, hovering above you. His gaze is dark, his hands framing your face, and for the first time tonight, he hesitates, as if soaking in the moment, as if memorizing every detail of you beneath him.

“You’re mine now,” he murmurs, voice soft but certain.

“Am I?” You tease, and he gives you a look that makes you squirm and regret your words.

Before he can say anything, you press your lips to his again, pulling him in as much as you physically can. His hands frame your body, propping himself up. You wrap your legs around his waist, trying to feel as much of him as you need, ache for.

With his body pressing into yours, heat radiating from him like a fire you never want to put out, you’re on cloud nine. His fingers move down and grip your waist, firm and possessive, as if grounding himself in the reality of this moment, as if afraid you’ll slip through his fingers.

“You drive me insane,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough, desperate. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

You barely have time to respond before his lips trail down your jaw, your neck, leaving a searing path of heat in their wake. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, and he groans—a low, deep sound that sends a shiver straight through you.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, your head tilting back as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, his hands roaming, exploring, claiming.

He pushes your body back, lets your head rest on the pillows. He figures he’ll need it for what he’s about to do to you. He reaches up, sits you up a little so he can take off your top. His eyes rest on your chest for a few good seconds, mesmerized by it, by the fact he’s seeing you, all of you. “Are you just gonna stare all night?” You taunt him.

He narrows his eyes at you before diving back in, kissing down your neck, to your collarbones, in between the valley of your breasts, unclipping your bra with one hand as the other reaches up to knead your tit. A low whimper exits you, and you’re almost embarrassed at how open, how willing you are for his touch. The bra gets flung somewhere in the room; you don’t even care.

Jungkook cups your breasts together, groans into your warm skin, smells so angelic and divine and unreal. You can feel his erection grind against your thigh. The idea that he’s craving you the way you’ve been craving him as your legs shaking in anticipation, mouth watering for him.

His lips move down your stomach, peppering light kisses. You barely have time to realize where he’s going before your pants are getting unzipped, thrown across the room hastily, revealing your light pink panties that have a bow on it. He’s sure this must be his present. You prop your elbows up to look at him, to watch his next move, his eyes glazed over with something you can’t recognize.

He presses a light kiss to your core, and you bite your lip to suppress some pathetic noise that threatens to leave you. “Tell me what you want,” He whispers against you, breath hot against your soaking wet cunt, waiting, begging for you.

“You,” Your voice is submissive. It almost makes him cream his pants. “Please, Kook. Your mouth..”

He does not have to be told twice. In fact, he barely needed to be told once. The panties are ripped off your body, and you gasp at the force but you barely have time to register it before he’s on you in seconds.

His tongue flattens out against your folds, and it has you jolting up, your hands reaching out to clutch onto his dark hair. He doesn’t move much, just lets his tongue roam around, lets you get a taste of what’s to come.

You writher underneath him, needing, craving more. His arms come around your thighs, spreading your legs widely in front of him, hands snugly holding on.

He becomes a man who’s starving, like he hasn’t eaten in days and this is his first meal. His tongue runs over your clit, flicks up and down repeatedly with a level of expertise you know is from his partying days. It has you screaming, moaning, nearly convulsing into him.

“Fuck—ah, Jungkook!” Your head lulls back, eyes squeezed so tight, as he continues with the same consistency. He pulls back for a moment, looks up at you, but you’re already looking down at him as if to question why he stopped. And when you look at him, really look at him, and see your juices on him, the way his lips are coated with your slick, you feel weak.

Maintaining eye contact, he inserts two fingers, letting the wetness get all around you. You feel it everywhere, dripping down your legs onto the bed. “Baby, you are so wet, god,” He’s in disbelief, like he can’t believe you’re this needy for him.

“Yeah?” Is all you can gather as his fingers pump in and out of you. There’s not many coherent thoughts you can muster right now.

“Been wanting this for years,” He murmurs, dangerously close again to your clit, like he’s speaking to it. “Been needing you.”

His lips wrap around your sensitive bud, sucking and slurping and it’s all too much for you. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and you want to scream at whoever has had him like this before you. You hear your pussy squelch with each movement of his fingers, his tongue there to collect every last drop. You feel it lingering, feel your impending orgasm. You’re tugging on his hair so hard you’re certain you are going to pull it clean off, moving your hips in line with his mouth, riding him just a tad. “F-fuck, oh, just like that, I’m so fucking close, ah,” And you’re really just a mess of words.

Desperation washes over you, legs shaking in his firm grasp, hand running through his hair and grinding your hips up against his mouth. His eyes are hazy as he looks up at you and moans around your clit, the vibration alone enough to push you over.

He’s never seen you like this, the composed businesswoman who never lets herself falter for more than two seconds. And now you’re here, in front of him, crumbling piece by piece. “Want you to cum for me,” He replaces his mouth with his other hand rubbing circles on your clit.

“Want to taste you when you finish,” He’s looking up at you with a gaze that makes you nearly cream yourself.

“You gonna clean up my mess?” You ask, bottom lip tucked under your top teeth, biting so hard you think you’re bleeding.

“Fuck, gonna lick you clean, baby,” He curls his fingers up inside you, and that just about triggers the floodgates and you’re convulsing, moaning, tugging his hair, screaming his name over and over like you don’t know how to say anything else.

His fingers slow, feeling your walls clench around him. His cock is so hard in his pants he thinks he might combust. And you knew he would be good, but not this good. You’re still recovering, still trying to stop breathing manually, while he removes his fingers from you and replaces it with his tongue to swallow your cum.

“Oh!—ah,” You lay your head on the pillows, chest heaving. You need him inside of you so bad it’s not even a question. But he seems to have the same thought as you, rushing to unzip his pants, fling his shirt across the room.

You look up at him, hazy, as you watch him pump his cock a few times, dangerously close to your entrance. You’re a bit in awe of what you see, of how big he really is, and it makes so much sense why he’s so cocky. “I need you inside of me right now,” You whine.

“I know, baby,” He moves on top of you, hovering, his bicep flexing. You run a hand down his chest, feel his abs that you’ve seen before once or twice.

“Please, Kook,” The nickname you called him since you were 11 rolls off your tongue with ease. “Please fill me up.”

And he does just that — his cock slides into you with such ease it’s laughable. There’s a collective gasp from both of you, him reacting to the feeling of your tight, warm walls, and you feeling like you’re being split in half. You feel every inch, every vein stretch you out, and for a second you think you’ll have to tap out, still stimulated from your orgasm. “You’re so big—ah!—feels so fucking good, Kook.”

Your moans are obnoxious, breathy. You’re taking him so well, better than he thought, with the lubrication from your slick covering his cock from the base to his tip. He buries himself in you, trying to feel every crevice, every wall sucking him in.

“Taking me so well, baby,” He kisses your forehead, then your lips, “Look at me.”

You hadn’t even realized your eyes were closed, so focused on regaining your strength. When you open them, you look right into his dark brown eyes, catch his gaze. He thrusts, slowly, agonizingly slow, in and out of you, feeling every inch of him before he slides back in. Your hands latch onto his biceps, gripping the flex of his muscle. “So fucking big,” You moan out.

“God, you are so tight,” His hand moves down to push your leg back higher, loop it around his waist. “When’s the last time you’ve been fucked?”

“N-not since before we started t-the contract,” You look up at him, struggling to keep it together as your fingernails dig into his bicep. “Haven’t wanted anyone but you.”

“Gonna cum so quick with the way you feel,” He mutters, probably mostly to himself but it sends a shiver down your spine. He starts to pick it up, starts to push your leg even higher.

“Right there,” You say, hand traveling down to play with your clit, just a mess of him and you. You can’t stop looking at him, making eye contact as he fucks you so good, so well, enough to make you forget your name, just that you’re his.

“Never gonna let you fuck anyone else again,” He babbles, clearly pussydrunk. “Fuck, this is all mine.”

And you have nothing else to really say to that besides yesyesyesbabyplease, because before you know it, he’s propping one of your legs in his shoulder and the stretch has you screaming so loud your neighbors are going to call the police. The headboard slams repeatedly against the wall, bed creaking with each thrust. He throws his head back, and you watch as he lets out an animalistic moan, “Feels so good, so fucking good,” His thrusts are speeding up even more, chasing a release he’s been waiting on for so long.

“Yeah?” You ask, fingernails scratching down his arms as your walls familiarly begin to clench around with him, stomach coiling and heat bubbles within you.

Just when you think it can’t get any better, can’t feel any better, he props your other leg on his shoulder, holding them tight to his broad chest, and at that point you’re really just putty in his hands. “O-ohmygod, yes,” You claw at the bedsheets, feel him so deep in your stomach you think he might be fucking your lungs.

“So close, baby,” His breaths are coming out fast, body shaking a little. “Where can I cum?”

You’re not even thinking when you’re speaking, just words tumbling, trying to sound coherent, “Fuck, cum inside of me, baby, pleaseplease, need you to fill me up.”

“Yeah?” He asks, “That’s what you need?”

“Please,” You look up at him, pleading, begging for all of it and that’s all it really takes for him.

And when you fall, he’s right there with you, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer, his seed coating your walls, his own breathless curses mingling with yours in the dimly lit room.

Afterward, he doesn’t let go. He keeps you pressed against him, his fingers drawing slow, lazy circles on your back, his lips pressing lingering kisses to your temple.

The room is draped in the golden hush of post-midnight, the air thick with the remnants of heat and whispers. You lie tangled in the sheets, your body still thrumming from him, from the way he knows you now in ways no one else ever has. His fingertips trace lines on your body, the warmth of his touch lulling you into a blissful haze.

“You know,” Jungkook muses, his voice low and teasing, “you really stood no chance after that kiss at the charity gala.”

You scoff softly, dragging your fingers along the hard planes of his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your palm. “Oh, please. If I recall, you were the one looking at me like I hung the stars that night.”

His laugh is quiet but rich, the sound vibrating beneath your touch. “I looked at you like that because I’ve always looked at you like that.”

Your breath catches slightly, but you mask it with a smirk, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “So what you’re saying is, you were down bad for me way before I even noticed?”

Jungkook grins, flipping onto his side so he can properly look at you, his fingers never ceasing their movement on your skin. “Down horrendously,” he admits, no hesitation. “It was honestly kind of tragic.”

You laugh, the sound warm and free, tracing slow, deliberate patterns across his collarbone. “Well, if it makes you feel any better,” you murmur, letting your nails lightly scratch his skin, “I think I fell for you somewhere along the way, too.”

Jungkook’s gaze darkens slightly, his smirk shifting into something deeper, something laced with promise. “Somewhere along the way?” he echoes. “Not when I kissed you breathless in front of all of our elders?”

You hum, feigning thoughtfulness. “That was… persuasive, I’ll admit.”

His fingers dip lower, trailing along the curve of your spine, and your breath stutters just slightly. “Persuasive enough to make you fall in love with me?”

You tilt your chin up defiantly, but your voice is softer now, your body already reacting to him. “Maybe.”

Jungkook leans in, lips ghosting along your jawline, his breath hot against your skin. “I think I can be more persuasive,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with mischief and intent.

You shiver, tilting your head just enough to brush your lips against his. “Is that so?”

His fingers tighten slightly on your waist as he shifts above you, a smirk playing at his lips. “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

In this moment, with his warmth pressed against you, his fingers (and mouth) traveling down to where you need him most, you have never felt lighter. None of the accolades, the titles, the deals sealed in glass towers ever felt this monumental. For years, you built a life of power, of accomplishment, of certainty—but none of it ever made your heart feel like this. Full. Whole. Right. Your stupid heart had been right all along. And for the first time, you surrender to it completely.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

epilogue!

You never thought loving Jungkook would feel this easy, this effortless, like something you were always meant to do. He is a fire and a comfort all at once—challenging you in ways no one else can while grounding you in the kind of love that feels like home. And God, does he know how to pleasure a woman. He worships you in ways you never even knew you needed, unraveling you with his hands, his lips, the hushed words he murmurs against your skin late into the night. You had always been in control, always the one calling the shots, but with him, you find yourself melting, yielding, letting go in the best way possible.

But, sometimes, under all his nonchalance, he really is exactly like you.

Jungkook is pacing. Pacing. Like a man about to face a firing squad. You sit on the couch, watching him with mild amusement, sipping your coffee as he mutters to himself, hands running through his already-messy hair.

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbles. “This is insane. They’re going to kill me. Your dad’s probably got a security team on standby.”

You snort. “My dad loves you.”

“That’s because he thinks I’m your best friend,” Jungkook hisses, spinning on his heel to face you. “This is different. This is me telling him that I’ve been secretly in love with his daughter since I was a kid and that I have, in fact, touched her in very non-friendly ways.”

You raise a brow. “Wow. That’s a way to phrase it.”

He groans, throwing himself down onto the couch beside you, burying his face in his hands. “I’m doomed.”

You roll your eyes, setting your coffee down. “Jungkook, you are not doomed. Our parents are going to be thrilled.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Actually, I do.”

And you do. Because, thirty minutes later, when you both sit across from both of your parents in the grand dining room, hands intertwined under the table, your mother and his mother barely let you finish saying we’re dating before they clap their hands together in delight, hugging each other.

“Well, finally,” your mother sighs, sipping her wine. “I was wondering when you two would get it together.”

Jungkook blinks. “Excuse me?”

Your father chuckles, shaking his head. “We knew this would happen eventually.”

Jungkook’s mouth falls open slightly. “You—what?”

Your mother waves a hand. “Oh, sweetheart, please. We planned this since you were eleven.”

There is a beat of stunned silence. Jungkook looks at you, then back at them, completely shell-shocked. “You what?!”

His father leans back, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Well, not planned exactly. But we knew.”

Your mother nods sagely. “It was inevitable.”

Jungkook lets out a strangled noise, and you—oh, you are relishing this. You squeeze his hand under the table, biting back a grin.

“So let me get this straight,” Jungkook says slowly. “This whole time I’ve been agonizing over how to tell you, how to break the news, and you already knew?”

His father pats his shoulder. “We were just waiting for you to catch up, son.”

Jungkook groans, dragging a hand down his face, while you dissolve into laughter beside him. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, but there’s no real bite in his words. Just the kind of exasperated acceptance that comes with realizing his fate had been sealed long before he even knew it.

And when you lean over to press a kiss to his cheek, whispering, “Told you so,” he simply sighs, defeated. But there’s a smile tugging at his lips, because as much as he protests—he wouldn’t have it any other way.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[cbuumbbles]

[Decode Pt. 2] Self-Aware! Caleb x fem!reader

CW: Smut, this shits gonna get freakyyy, 18+ MDNI. (Contains: egregious squirting, vaginal fisting, cunnilingus, unrealistic belly bulge, HES GOT A HUGE PENIS GUYS, so many orgasms, water breaks to stay hydrated, size kink ??, def hand kink, dacryphilia, misuse of evol, drooling, choking, tummy appreciation in missionary, breeding kink too possibly?? not really, but maybe if you squint, idk if I’m missing anything else w/ out spoiling). SORRY FOR THIS LAUNDRY LIST. I got carried away :p

Summary: You and Caleb had been dating for a while now and your needs couldn't be more met than they are with him.

A/N: Hi people! If you haven't read part 1, go read it! Part 1 is not freaky btw. This is my second time writing for this godforsaken website. So I still don't know how to make it look fancy. Bare with me. Anywho! I hope you enjoy, this is my first time in a long time writing smut, so if it's bad, just tell me nicely so I can fix it. Also sorry this took so long to get out after part 1, I have had 0 time to write.

Part 1

Caleb had finally convinced you to quit your job so he could take care of you full time. You loved the time off, he made sure to pamper you too. Your nails were always done, hair trimmed, and your back massaged. When he wasn't home, you started having to get creative with ways to entertain yourself. He had bought you a vibrator a while back which helped entertain you until he got home. You'd think it'd wear you out by the time he got home, but something inside of you was like an insatiable beast that needed to jump on Caleb as soon as he got home from work. Caleb loved every second of it, he loved giving you as much pleasure as you wanted. If you thought you were spoiled before you got together, you haven't seen anything yet. Caleb would do anything you asked him to, and you've asked him to do a lot. He's always happy to oblige and eager to please you. Being able to code anything about your reality was a life saver. Since he knew what you liked, he coded himself to be able to give you the maximum amount of pleasure you'd ever want. He was also surprised about how you weren't completely dehydrated all of the time, but he made sure you drank plenty of water, even having water breaks in the middle of sex to keep you from passing out.

Right now, you were using your vibrator on your shared bed, waiting for Caleb to come home. All you could think about was how good it's gonna feel once you start feeling his fingers filling you up. You started to imagine his fingers teasing your folds, gathering your wetness and spreading it around. His thick fingers were something you drooled over every time you saw them, they were perfect and all you could picture in your mind when you saw them was how nice they feel pumping inside of you. The vivid fantasies started to feel real when you swear you can feel his fingers start to slip inside of your dripping pussy. They felt so real that you opened your eyes to find Caleb, home from work. "Hi princess, I'm home." He whispers, smiling at you while his fingers were pulling squelching sounds from you. It was embarrassing how wet he could get you. But he knew all of the places he needed to get to in order for you to get undone on his fingers. He bent down, using his tongue to lap up some of the mess you were making. "Always taste amazin', pretty." He praised you. You were moaning in response, unable to form proper words. But that's how he always had you, it was like magic. He could melt your mind in an instant with just his fingers, something he was extremely proud of. All you could say was 'more' and 'Caleb,' it was like a mantra. He sticks another finger in, making it a total of three, but he knew you could handle the whole fist tonight, you were sopping. The spot under you was drenched in your squirt. He loved how messy you were and that he was the only one who could get you to that point.

"I- close, Caleb 'm close." You hurried out, he kept his same pace as you felt the white hot pleasure building in your stomach. The journey to the orgasm was almost as pleasurable as letting go, maybe it was because you knew what was about to happen.

"Come on, angel, come on my fingers." He coaxed, his words being the final push that sends you over the edge. You moan and whine out his name as you feel your pussy pulse around his fingers, squeezing them in. As you ride out your high on his fingers, the feeling fades and you start working yourself up again. He adds another finger, making it four and you feel amazing, on cloud nine. The water works were going everywhere and you couldn't shut your mouth, as hard as you tried. You were making a mess of Caleb, thankfully he undressed himself before starting in on you, you could see drops of your squirt on his chest which made you incredibly more horny somehow. "You're doing so good, takin' me so well, pretty. You think you can handle the whole fist now?" He asked. All you could do was nod your head fervently. "I wanna hear your words baby, think you can do that for me, or are you too fucked out to speak?" He knew the answer, anything past three and you were completely melted. "My dumb little angel forgot how to speak. You're lucky I know you so well, I know exactly what you need." He coos, adding the last finger. You could feel him reaching every possible spot he needed to, his fingers stretching you out and getting you ready for his cock. You felt that familiar feeling start building up again as you suck in his fingers subconsciously. He could tell you were getting close by the way your walls were spasming around his hand. "You're so greedy with my fingers baby, it's makin' me jealous. You're taking me so well, pretty. Getting all stretched out for what's coming later. Gettin' so wet for me, you're drenching the bed. You're doing such a good job, princess. Come all over my fingers." He spoke, all of his praises going straight to your core as you felt that burning hot feeling again.

"Caleb, Caleb, Caleb." You repeated in quick succession, you could feel your release rapidly approaching.

"That's it, come on, angel. Let yourself go, beautiful." He says. His encouraging words help you focus on getting to your release and when you finally snap, it's just as intense as last time. You pulse around his fist and your legs start shaking. You know that tomorrow will have to be a recovery day for, the night is still long from over. "Let me get a taste, baby. Can you sit up for me?" He asks, you try your hardest, able to get to your knees. Your brain was fried and all you cared about was getting more. He handed you your water as you took slow sips, learning not to chug it all at once by now. "Sweet girl, that feel better?" He asks, taking the water back to set it down, as you nod your head. He lays down on the bed and you know exactly what he wants. You hover yourself above his head, staring down at him through tired lids. He grabs your thighs and pulls you down onto his face, he moans in pleasure as a response. "So good, angel. Taste so good." He moans into your pussy, using his tongue to fuck your hole while his nose was rubbing into your clit. You couldn't help your hands traveling down to his head to push him up further into you, using your hips to grind on his face. You were so spoiled, using his face like this, but he loved every second of it. You tasted tart which reminded him of his favorite fruits. You could hear him sucking everywhere he could get his mouth on, it felt so good. You desuctioned yourself from Caleb's mouth, with a wet plop and a whine from him, to turn around to put your hands on his chest. Now he was nose deep in your pussy and his tongue was working on your clit. You fucked his nose, hearing the sound of labored breathing through his muffled mouth. You saw his hips buck up into the air as he was holding you down on his face like a vice.

You just tasted too good, the remnants of squirt still coating your sex. His moans were deep with a heavy vibration that you felt throughout your entire body. It was enough to have you heaving for air as you got closer to your third release, from him, that night. He began sucking on your clit, tonguing it while the pressure from the suction helped get you off. The suction started building your release as you started getting desperate for release. "Please Caleb. I need it so so so bad." You beg, it coming out labored from how little you could focus on anything other than releasing on his face. The sounds of his muffled moaning mixed with the wet sounds coming from both of you were what you focused on to finally snap and pulse your cunt onto his face. You could hear his muffled praises from underneath you as he worked you through your third orgasm of the night.

He lifted you off of his face and flipped your positions with ease. You think you're finally ready for his dick, but he has other plans. "I'm not done tasting you yet. I didn't get nearly enough time with that gorgeous pussy in my face." He said, your slick coating and dripping off his face. He dips his head between your legs again and starts his attack on your sensitive bud again. You jolt in response from how sensitive you were. You felt like you had nothing more to give, but every time Caleb would start up again, you'd be proven wrong. There was a battle in your mind. You wanted to go to bed for the night, but you also wanted every single orgasm he was about to give you. You buck up into his face, grabbing his head to push it down into you, but your hands are pulled from him and held by an invisible force. You whine, trying to fight his evol holding you down. "If you weren't so greedy, I wouldn't have to keep your hands above your head." He comments, looking at you while sticking two fingers in your hole. You gasped, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. His fingers were pushing against your gummy walls, hitting every spot with a precision that made you favor fingers over anything else. Caleb knew your preference and made sure to spoil you. You felt him go back to sucking on your clit, still pumping his fingers into you. It was like he was the conductor of the most beautiful sounding symphony and you didn't want it to end. Everything was so overwhelming that you couldn't help but beg, but you didn't know what you were begging for. Caleb loved hearing your pleading voice repeating his name. He loved breaking your mind with pleasure. There wasn't a time that the sex you had together didn't end up in you becoming a drooling mess. You tasted amazing, he couldn't get over it. If they made a drink inspired by you, he'd drink it every day. He couldn't get enough of you, because, just like him, he is just as insatiable as you are. He'd eat you out all night if he you'd last without passing out. You definitely last longer now, you're able to have more orgasms in one session. You used to get wiped out after two, but he's trained you to go to four. Tonight he wants to try for six, he knows you're ready, that you're so good for him. His tongue wouldn't relent, keeping a sickening, steady pace that made your mind swim with thoughts that were nothing but Caleb. The combination of everything with the steady pace he was keeping and his moans into your sex made the feeling start to build up again. Your moaning turned into whines and whimpers the closer you got to finishing. You could feel tears threatening to spill from the overwhelming amount of times you've came and you didn't know what number Caleb planned on stopping at. He loved making you orgasm, it was one of his favorite things to do. He also loved watching tears roll down your face from how overwhelming the pleasure was.

"Caleb!" You whined out as you were pushed over the edge again, for your forth orgasm. Your breaths were uneven as you tried to come back down. He kept going until you rode out your high, stopping to grab your water again, knowing you'd need it after how much fluid you lost. Again, you sip it, tears drying streaks onto your face, your hair a wild mess from all of the thrashing you were doing and Caleb didn't think there was a prettier sight in the world.

"So pretty baby, such a mess for me. Like a work of art." Caleb was no artist, but he thought that if he were, you'd be his best work. Your chest was heaving as you took in breaths through your nose as you kept sipping the water. Your eyes were closed and you felt ready to fall asleep, but you also craved more. You wanted his cock and thankfully that was the next part of the night. "You ready, angel?" He asked you. You just nodded, handing your water to him with your eyes still closed. "Are you too sleepy?" He asked causing you to groan in protest. He had fucked all of the words out of you. "Alright then, greedy." He narrowed his eyes at you, like a predator with their prey.

You feel his evol moving your legs, folding you in half. Then you felt him hovering over top of you. You open your eyes to see a slice of heaven. His face was glistening with sweat and your juices, same with his chest. You could smell your arousal on him now and it made you realize he had been too busy eating your cunt to even kiss you yet, so you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him into one. You can taste yourself on his lips as your tongues meet together, fighting for dominance. Neither won, but the war was still raging. You bit his bottom lip to surprise him. He moaned in response, taking the hint and doing the same thing back. Your fingers were tangled in his hair to try and pull him closer to you because he never seemed close enough. You desperately wanted to wrap your legs around his torso to slam him down onto you, but he still had his evol holding your legs in that stretching position. You whined into the kiss, wanting friction from him so badly. “Please, Caleb. I need you.” You whimpered, looking at him with the most desperate look in your eyes. He couldn’t say no to you, especially not when you were looking at him like that.

You had taken him many times before, but you still needed a pretty big warm up before he could penetrate you. Saying his cock was big was an understatement. It caused a delicious belly bulge every time he’d go in. “Alright honey, I’m gonna start sliding it in.” He warned you. You felt his tip prod at your entrance making you impatiently eager. The first feeling of his cock entering you made you gasp. It was never not shocking to feel how girthy he was. You felt him keep going and you thought he must almost be done by now, until you heard him say. “Tip’s almost in, honey. You’re doing amazing.” And with that a final pop and his tip was officially in. Now the real challenge was being able to take all of him in. You hated leaving some of his dick out; you didn’t think it was fair for some of his dick to have a taste and the other part left in the dust. This is where the previous size training comes in handy. You can handle all of him, it just takes time to get it all in. After that, it’s smooth sailing.

“God, Caleb.” You choke out, eyes going wide at the sensation of how full you were feeling already.

“Don’t tell me you’re already quitting? We’re not even half way yet, angel.” He teases you.

“No, please keep going. Need more.” You muttered, gripping his biceps for dear life. As full as you felt, he was right, you were so greedy. He loved how you always craved so much of him. He was happy to oblige. He kept sliding further into you that you could feel him in unusual places, but you loved it. You craved it. You couldn’t wait to see him poking through your tummy.

“Almost there, love. Doing so well for me. Takin’ me like you were made for me, baby.” His praises made you throb around his dick, which earned a hiss from him. “Careful, princess.” He warns. You feel the last of him bottom out with his balls on your ass. “Did so good for me. Look at that.” He said, forcing your head, with his evol, to look at the bulge he made. The sight literally made you drool. You were shocked it took you this long to start drooling, but the sight before you was delicious. You detangle one of your hands from his hair to press down on it. You both moaned in response. He starts thrusting and you started seeing stars. He went slow at first, like always, to ease you into it. You knew his mercy wouldn’t last for much longer. Instead of begging for a faster pace, you relished in the calm before the storm. That surprised Caleb considering you were usually whining at him at this point. He figured it must’ve been because of how many orgasms you had that night. Still more to come! “Always so tight for me.” Caleb manages to grunt out. He loved missionary because he got to watch your tits bounce up and down. Your cute little tummy made the same bouncing movements too that he loved.

Then he sped up and you were gripping his biceps like a lifeline. Your face was dug into his neck, biting into his shoulder and accidentally drooling on it. Caleb loved witnessing you turn to mush beneath him. It was a feeling he would never get over, he'd do it forever if you'd let him. You looked perfect, your sweat was making your hair stick to your forehead and it gave your skin a beautiful glow. Your flushed cheeks were calling out to him to kiss them. He peppered your cheeks in kisses as you moaned out his name. You felt yourself building to climax again, this was past your limit. You knew you could do more, Caleb always brought it out in you. Your squirt was spraying up from being smacked into, it was a mess. You could tell how much Caleb loved it by the feral sounds he was making paired with the aggressive thrusting. He had you hovering off of the bed now, holding you up with his arms and keeping your thighs at torso level with his evol. He was grunting in your ear, telling you how beautiful you were, how much he loved you, and other sweet nothings. It helped push you over the edge to the point where you were gripping so hard on his biceps that your fingers turned white and half moons from your fingernails would linger for a couple of days. "Caleb." You whined out, your voice coming out in waves of volume that matched the thrusts he was pounding into you.

"That's it baby, you got it. You're almost done." He said. With every steady, rough thrust, you could feel the build getting faster and faster until eventually it all climaxed and you started pulsing around him, once again. His dick had finally had a taste of your orgasm pulsing around him. It was like you were trying to milk him. He could've came, but he knew he needed to last a little longer to pull that one last sweet orgasm from you. "'m not done yet, princess. Just hold on until I can fill you up." He instructs you, causing you to moan. His pace was relentless and it felt sweet going in and out of you. You were addicted to it at that point, wanting to feel him stuffing your pussy full forever. You'll have to ask if you can cockwarm him sometime soon. He'd obviously agree, but he wouldn't make it easy for you.

He flips you over, using his strength to arch your back and choke you from behind. He used his evol to keep your head back while he stuck two fingers in your mouth. The slight pressure his evol added to your neck was addictive. You sucked and bit down on his fingers, moaning his name. He felt so much bigger from behind that it was almost ridiculous. Your whimpers and whines faded into the distance only to be replaced by viceral moans as he pounded into you with a sickening pace. The noises coming from your sex was like music to your ears. His fingers in your mouth caused you to drool more. Thankfully, you were in the spare bedroom so that way you could change the sheets and clean the mattress and still have a bed to lie down in to get aftercare. Because with the way you were making a mess out of both ends, you'd need a dry place to sleep. "Mmm." You loudly whine, feeling it build up again.

"You almost there again, already?" He teased you. He loved looking at you from behind too. He loved looking at you from any position really. He thought you were the most beautiful angelic person to ever exist. "Come on baby, let's cum together. I'm gonna fill you up." He said as his hands dwared your hips as he began to hold them to slam you back into him. Your tears started up again as they began to stream down your face.

You felt it build up and up and up until it finally spilled over, you spasmed on his cock, feeling impaled. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." You said over and over again like a mantra.

"Fuck baby, I'm cumming." He groaned, pumping his cock into you. You could feel him paint your pulsing walls. It all felt so warming, it could put you to sleep. He pumped his last few times to finish inside of you, pulling out of you and immediately pulling you into him for a much needed hug. "So beautiful and perfect. I love you so much, honey." He said, using the nickname you used to have when you'd fake date. Those same butterflies from back then found their way to your stomach too.

"Mm, love you too... S'much." You muttered out as best you could. You could tell you were fading fast. All you wanted was to fall asleep in his arms while he played with your hair. You also realized how thirsty you were too. "Water?" You asked. He was already one step ahead of you, holding the straw up to your lips. You took sips, making contented sighs as you leaned back into him. This was heaven, you were sure of it. Every day he'd treat your needs as the top priority. You couldn't express how much you truly loved him. It was impossible because there weren't grand enough words to describe it.

"Let's get to bed, baby. You look so tired." He cooed at you, lifting you up and carrying you into your shared bedroom. He laid you down in the bed, going to grab a towel to clean the mess in between your thighs. "You did so well. Six in one session. And that's not even counting the ones you had before I got home. You're so amazing baby. I knew you could do it." He spoke on his way back from the bathroom. He cleaned me and then him, tucking me into the covers and turning on the ceiling fan. He threw the towel in the dirty laundry and finally joined me in bed. By the time he climbed in beside me, I was already half asleep. He turned me around to cuddle me into his chest and I fell asleep with a content smile on my face with his fingers playing with my hair.

[pritong-baboy]

Imagine it’s been MONTHS and Bee, while caving in a couple of times when desperate, has mostly refused to any of shockwaves affections. He doesn’t call him sire, doesn’t want to talk to him, doesn’t want his comfort, etc.

So shockwave starts getting a bit desperate, and when shockwaves desperate… it’s no good for anyone.

Shockwave develops a device that will turn bumblebee into an ACTUAL sparkling. He’s created a device that will turn bee into a baby/toddler, so he can ‘start over’ with him. He’ll get it right this time.

This could lead to a few different scenarios:

He raises bee, who sees him as his sire and genuinely cares and loves him. Which would lead to an eventual devastating fallout when he finds out what shockwave did to him.

Or (if we REALLY want to get into the horror of it)

Bee is still aware of everything. He has his memories, he knows what shockwave did, but he can’t do anything about it. He’s stuck in this tiny body unable to fight off anything or anyone.

He’s vulnerable.

He also can’t regulate his emotions like he used to, because while he has his memories, his processor is still one of a sparklings. So he can’t control some of his actions, leading to him going to shockwave for everything.

I’d imagine that sparklings are drawn to the energy of their parents spark. So bee instinctively clings to shockwave or seeks him out at times, because to his horror— he’s started actually seeing shockwave as his sire.

Perhaps it gets worse over time, and he starts to forget his memories of before. How horrifying would that be? Absolutely terrifying I’d imagine.

ALSO what if a sparkling can create a parent child sparkbond? I’ve seen this before in some other fanfics, that a sparkling and their parent (adopted or biological) have a special bond between their sparks.

Like shockwave tries to establish this bond, and bee refuses to as he still remembers everything. But one day he accepts the bond, I doubt it was accepted intentionally, and was more instinctional. Bee is mortified.

(I wonder if shockwave is aware that bee remembers in this scenario, and if so how does that change how he acts?)

IF bumblebee ever managed to return to his normal age, I wonder how this experience would affect him.

I can imagine him accidentally calling shockwave sire, but also meaning it despite how sick it makes him feel to admit that to himself. Like now he actually does view shockwave as a parent, even though he wishes he didn’t.

And their parent child spark bond, how does that affect them now?

Maybe this bond has special properties, like perhaps the parent is able to feel/see what their sparklings is feeling to a certain degree, then how would that change the dynamic?

Bee lashes out as usual, maybe he tells shockwave that he doesn’t care about him at all and that he never actually viewed him as a sire and never would.

But shockwave knows better.

He can feel it through their bond, the truth. He can feel the conflicted emotions in bee ( something that I’d imagine would be quite overwhelming considering shockwaves whole thing with emotions) and how hate and love seem to be indistinguishable from eachother, that despite how much bee hates him— he loves him to.

And that means he’s won.

Eventually, he assures himself, bee won’t feel any sort of hate for him. Only love and affection, he just has to keep doing as he has been.

(ALSO, imagine bee as a sparkling trying to curse shockwave out or something, but he can’t speak. So bee is determined to learning to talk, and actually manages to quite quickly.

So it leads to him attempting to say some kind of earth/cybertronian insult to shockwave, but it ends up sounding like sire/carrier (and oh my god imagine if he called shockwave that 😭) which makes shockwave just SO happy and proud).

So sorry for word dumping on you, just couldn’t get this idea out of my head (maybe I’ll write a fic if ur cool with it).

hey what if i told you this is driving me CRAZY. honestly, this au is already edging around being borderline horror at times so this ask is like, right up my alley aksdjksd.

also, i love the horrifying implications of bumblebee still having his memories when he's turned into a sparkling, but not having the same emotional maturity to deal with what's happening. like, everything would instantly be so much scarier than before.

it would be crazy if the team ends up finding bumblebee as a sparkling and immediately knowing that shockwave did that to him, and they'd have to "kidnap" him back into their care HOUHGH. just imagining the mess the team has to fix up when bee gets back to normal and he has to deal with these mixed feelings towards shockwave now.

(and pls don't apologize. i really do enjoy reading asks and i won't complain if you send me a 10 page essay worth of words)

[carefreejules]

My personal headcanon of what everyone's teams might look like!

Notes will be under cut! (some Pokemon choices are better thought out than others aka some Pokemon are just chosen purely for aesthetics LOL also there's like, general ISAT story spoilers so don't read if you haven't finished the game!!)

Siffrin:

Since astronomy plays a big cultural role of the island that Siffrin is from, I'd like to imagine Jirachi is a messenger deity or something to the Universe. Maybe when Siffrin is 'running away from home' (more like rowing away from home haha), perhaps the big wish that caused the disappearance of the island used up most of Jirachi's strength and power and they just so happen to fall towards where Siffrin is in his boat, where they catch him and nurse them back to health (tho maybe Jirachi can't really make wishes anymore)

And then Siffrin gets Amnesia Blasted and suddenly forgets who Jirachi is and why they're with him now that the link between Jirachi and the island is gone

But Jirachi sticks with them like the bestie that they are

Wow I didn't mean to write so much lore LOL

Mimikyu: Cute on the outside, scary on the inside

Hatterene: just look at it LOL

Ceruledge: "The fiery blades on its arms burn fiercely with the lingering resentment of a sword wielder who fell before accomplishing their goal." Something something ghost events of past Siffrins from previous loops

Greninja: Frog ninja is fast and cool

Aegislash: "Generations of kings were attended by these Pokémon, which used their spectral power to manipulate and control people and Pokémon." I think if the King also had an Aegislash, Aegislash vs. Aegislash would be rad as fuck

Isabeau:

Sylveon: Eevee is like, the epitome of change, and Sylveon is a trans icon with those colours

Gallade: "True to its honorable-warrior image, it uses the blades on its elbows only in defense of something or someone." Protector Craft!!!!

Lucario: Isabeau is very compassionate and is pretty attune with other people's emotions (especially Siffrin's), so it's fitting for him to have a Pokemon that can read and sense people's auras

Hisuian Arcanine: Cool rock/fire dog looks cool KJAHDKAD

Milotic: another metaphor for his change!!! It takes a lot of work to evolve Milotic from a Feebas, and it took him a lot of work to craft his body into a self that he's a lot more proud and comfortable in!

Metagross: He's smart so I give him a smart Pokemon KJAHDJASD (also he's like, good at math iirc???)

Mirabelle:

Eevee: Because Mirabelle is content with who she is and struggles to want to change in ways that the Change belief encourages, I'd like to think she also has an Eevee that also struggles to know which Eeveelution they might want to evolve into

Ninetales: a reference to the ISAT fan letter thing that was done on twitter a few years ago, and one of the questions was which Pokemon each of them would have and Mirabelle said Vulpix!

Gardevoir: "It will dedicate itself to defending a master it has come to adore. Its pure white dress, reminiscent of those worn by ladies of nobility, is the dress of one who is willing to risk their life." Mirabelle is very dedicated to her role as a Housemaiden, even if she experiences doubts of herself, but it's a role she holds with pride especially if it means protecting her friends!

Audino: since Mirabelle is a healer, she needs a Nurse Joy adjacent Pokemon LOL

Sirfetch'd: The fact that she uses a rapier but is also the party's healer is sick as fuck and it's giving Celica from Fire Emblem. She deserves to had a cool Pokemon that can fight and protect like her

Chandelure: This is my magnum opus because "The Cursing of Chateau Castle" - what do castles tend to have? Chandeliers. What would CURSING castles have??? SPOOPY CHANDELIERS!!!!

Odile:

OK Odile was the hardest to come up with Pokemon for but

Alakazam: "It has an incredibly high level of intelligence. Some say that Alakazam remembers everything that ever happens to it, from birth till death." Because of Odile's sus event, the fact that she remembers every little detail of Siffrin's mannerisms to be suspicious of him, yeah LOL

Noctowl: Owls are cool and I always associate owls with scholars

Flygon: because she has a lot of type coverage, dragon-types are known to have a large type coverage as well and Flygon has like, goggles over their eyes, kind of like glasses!!

Torkoal: Turtles are slow but steady, and I feel like older folks get colder more easily so it's good to have a fire turtle around to keep you toasty!!

Spiritomb: Kind of the opposite of Flygon, in that Spiritomb has only one weakness (it didn't have any until fairy types became a thing)

(Also low mobility - ya'll should look up how Spiritombs move because it's so funny)

Froslass: Cold and unassuming LOL (also Froslass' look like they're wearing kimonos!)

Bonnie:

Nidorino: Because I gave them mostly food related Pokemon, they deserve an eventual Nidoking as a treat LOL (also an ISAT fan letter thing)

Vanillite: The first time Siffrin sees this Pokemon with Bonnie, they're like "Ice to meet you" LMAO

Bounsweet: tropical fruit Pokemon from Bambouche probably!!!

Fidough: Cute bread dog is cute

Capsakid: spicy Pokemon that Bonnie can prank Isabeau with by making him cry from spice LOL

Tatsugiri: Their sister owns a Dondozo heehee

[trash-ainu]

Oh my gosh, thank you for tagging me @perlen-gold!

So I took some time, sat down, and went through your works, so I could come back with some specific compliments as well as examples of what I think you do really well! :3

❤️ I love how illustrative and imaginal your writing is! You mention you work meticulously on each stentence, and it shows -- because not only are they beautifully worded, they are also rich and very evocative. For example, I noticed that one way you contribute to that expressiveness, is by using strings of really original compound adjectives (from one of your works, i jotted down "ink-soft lace," "iron-veiled flanks" and "gold-leaping warmth" as examples!) I think they're really well constructed, and with your other poetic word choices and methaphors, it paints a vivid image of the story in a reader's mind :3 Not only that, you manage to do this in a way that doesn't make the sentences feel over-crowded and too long -- and I feel like that is a great achivement on your part and something you should defintely be proud of! ❤️ You've got a good grasp on your flow and pacing. Now, I feel like it is marginally harder to get good pacing in works that are written in styles that lean towards ornate and poetic. What comes to my mind is classical literature -- but there, elaborate language was often used in order to stall the action and slow the pacing. And yet, I feel like you are able to maintain a good flow, despite the fact you write in a poetic way. This makes things written in your style feel borderline ballad/poem-like, and I think it's ultimately what makes your style original and distinct! ❤️ The way you handle first person POV is great. Personally, I tend to struggle with writing in first person a lot, and I have absolutely no talent for it, so I have less insighful remarks to give about it X'DDDD But it's all the more reason for me to praise you for it, because you manage to deliver a great story directly through a character's eyes, in a way that is engaging and fun to read :3 Phew... I may have... gotten a bit over-excited about conducting a literary analysis, I hope that's okay😅😅

Alright -- now a compliment for myself? Hmm...

I feel like I'm good with characterisation? Digging into the psychology of characters and finding ways to show who they are in the story has always been the most enjoyable element of writing to me. This led to me working on a lot of character studies, so I developed that part of my writing skillzz kinda naturally 😆 On top of that, I play a lot of tabletop RPGs, and those are mostly about finding ways to interact with the world in an in-character way, so... yeah!

Omg, okay, I don't really have many writing friends here, much less writing friends that share their writing, or are familiar with mine, so ahkjfdgdh With absolutely zero pressure to do this, imma tag:

@winds-of-zephyr416, @dragonofmordor, @mai-komagata, @skaelds, and @kanskje-kaffe

And, of course, if this is something anybody else wants to take part in, feel more than free to!❤️❤️

I want to do a compliment exercise. I got the idea from a poll I saw.

First, vote on this poll:

Now, reblog and tag 5 writers that you would want to see do this (no pressure, of course)... and in your CAPTION (not tags), give 3 compliments to the person you reblogged this from's writing. In your TAGS (not caption), put what your answer was.

Give yourself at least one writing compliment too, while you're at it.

If you reblog it from me, don't worry about doing the compliments since almost none of you have actually read my writing (if any of you have 😅).

If you really want to do the compliments for me, you can compliment something else but it isn't necessary when reblogging from the original source.

Let's get a compliment/positivity/love thread going. ❤️

[elodieunderglass]

changes and trends in horror-genre films are linked to the anxieties of the culture in its time and place. Vampires are the manifestation of grappling with sexuality; aliens, of foreign influence. Horror from the Cold War is about apathy and annihilation; classic Japanese horror is characterised by “nature’s revenge”; psychological horror plays with anxieties that absorbed its audience, like pregnancy/abortion, mental illness, femininity. Some horror presses on the bruise of being trapped in a situation with upsetting tasks to complete, especially ones that compromise you as a person - reflecting the horrors and anxieties of capitalism etc etc etc. Cosmic horror is slightly out of fashion because our culture is more comfortable with, even wistful for, “the unknown.” Monster horror now has to be aware of itself, as a contingent of people now live in the freedom and comfort of saying “I would willingly, gladly, even preferentially fuck that monster.” But I don’t know much about films or genres: that ground has been covered by cleverer people.

I don’t actually like horror or movies. What interests me at the moment is how horror of the 2020s has an element of perception and paying attention.

Multiple movies in one year discussed monsters that killed you if you perceived them. There are monsters you can’t look at; monsters that kill you instantly if you get their attention. Monsters where you have to be silent, look down, hold still: pray that they pass over you. M Zombies have changed from a hand-waved virus that covers extras in splashy gore, to insidious spores. A disaster film is called Don’t Look Up, a horror film is called Nope. Even trashy nun horror sets up strange premises of keeping your eyes fixed on something as the devil GETS you.

No idea if this is anything. (I haven’t seen any of these things because, unfortunately, I hate them.) Someone who understands better than me could say something clever here, and I hope they do.

But the thing I’m thinking about is what this will look like to the future, as the Victorian sex vampires and Cold War anxieties look to us. I think they’ll have a little sympathy, but they probably won’t. You poor little prey animals, the kids will say, you were awfully afraid of facing up to things, weren’t you?

[stil-lindigo]

I want to be an artist again, but it’s harder these days.

[nekrosmos]

Oh I'm getting NikPrice thoughts with Price being trans.

Price who transitioned early and was lucky enough to easily pass. He's tall, jaw sharp, voice deep, grew facial hair pretty quickly. It was his well-kept secret, and that was it.

And then came Nikolai. Older, smart, handsome Nikolai, who looked at Price like he was the most beautiful thing in the entire world, who stayed by John's side whenever he needed him, whose attraction to him was barely concealed. John never allowed himself to reciprocate those feelings, even if deep down he shared them. He couldn't, he didn't want him, of all people, to know.

Years, decades of this. They aged together, still alive despite everything, and the regrets grew more and more unbearable. Even then, all these years later, Nikolai still looked at John the same way, dark eyes staring lovingly at him when he thought John wasn't paying attention, a deep sadness hidden behind his gentle smile.

Even someone as stubborn as John cracks eventually, and he does, one day, late at night, after sharing a few drinks with Nik in his Black Hawke. Nik stares at him for what seems like an eternity, searching for approval in John's blue eyes, his face slowly approaching his after obtaining it, and their lips finally meet, barely touching at first, both of them shy, uncertain, the moment suspended in time, but eventually closing the gap, a gentle kiss saying more than either of them could at the moment.

It takes them a while, then, to break the silence that follows. John's hands are tightly gripping the fabric of his pants around the knees, fingers digging into them as he looks down, while Nikolai stares at him, trying to understand.

When he asks him if everything is okay, it takes everything in John to not run away. He doesn't, instead taking a long, deep breath, and starts talking.

Once done, he just looks at the floor, feeling numb, a two decade old anxiety replaced by a feeling of emptiness, almost at peace with what is to come, like a soldier accepting his death.

"I know." Is all Nikolai answers, his fingers tentatively brushing against John's, dark eyes staring at his worried face in the dark.

"You do?" Price's voice is quiet, broken, his eyes meeting Nik's, searching for an answer. The gentleness on Nikolai's face is almost enough to break him, here and there.

"I saw the scars, a long time ago. I'm sorry, John."

There is a lot Price needs to think about, a lot he wants to say, a lot he wants to do. He smiles weakly, opening his hands and letting Nik intertwine his fingers with his, the warmth of his skin almost feeling like another kiss. This time, he's the one leaning forward and placing his lips against Nik's, the Russian accepting it, a gentle hand leaving his and letting his fingers brush against Price's beard.

The two men will have a lot to talk about, eventually. For now, however, all they can do is start making up for lost time in the safety of Nikolai's helicopter.

[purplepixel]

This put such a smile on my face. HEHEHEHE. SWSA changed my brain chemistry so I got to return the favor. Im so happy you love it!! Believe it or not, the closer I was to finishing, the more random bouts of doubt I was getting. But AAAAAA THIS WAS SO FUN TO WORK ON. I FINALLY GOT TO ANIMATE MY FAVORITE FIC OF ALL TIME.

You do not know how long its been since this entered my brain. And I HAD TO WAIT. This kept being pushed out of its priority spot. AND I COULDNT TELL YOU ABOUT IT BC I KNEW ITD BE AWHILE. Ngl half of it was "inked" over the past two weeks, which was the only reason why I hinted this project to you. To motivate me and bc I knew I was ready to commit to finishing. But i had my thumbnails sitting on my ipad ever since august.

Hehe so about i promise to catch you....the animatic came first. This animatic was supposed to be swsa 1 year anniversary. Then it was supposed to be your birthday present. THEN it was supposed to be your christmas gift (I guess it is still technically your christmas gift?). So yes, i did just color a frame from this. In hindsight, im very glad i took my time. I would much rather take a little longer to make something Im proud of then rushing just to get out more art. And im very very proud of this. Its been quite a journey from start to finish.

I strive to animate as well as you write. Which means pushing myself to the max with the symbolism and imagery. How can i represent the text without just drawing the actions? My challenge was to make something that wouldnt spoil the fic but still showed the key moments in ways only a reader would understand. I took "make swsa an animated opening" very seriously and some scenes were actually changed from my original thumbs bc id realize they were too spoilery for someone still reading or who hasnt read it. Besides, I could always give those moments proper attention in other animatics. ;]

I did two bc I didnt want text covering any of my anination. Plus it goes by fast and i wanted the focus on the visuals first and foremost. But it really does hit different when you know the translation to the song. "Tick tock tick tock watch me stop the clock" "you cannot escape my eye" "youre like a doll made just for me". I love dreamcatcher, but the meaning would be lost to anyone who doesnt know korean. So yay two versions!

ALSO HOW DID YOU FIND SOMETHING I DIDNT EVEN INTEND??? THEIR HANDS AS CLOCK HANDS???? I think it was in the back of my mind but i def didnt fully realize this. I almost put the clock in the background of that shot, but then decided to have donnie fall into the clock instead. Visually it works better, but unfortunately it sacrifices the readability of an already incredibly obscure fun easter egg that runs through this entire animatic.

AAAA THANK YOU I TRIED SO HARD WITH MORDICA. I had to really step out of my comfort zone with her bc im not used to drawing dragons like that. I tried my best to be as faithful to your description as possible.

Oh man. I could write essays over this animatic. ESSAYS OVER THE CREATION OF THIS. PLEASE. FEEL FREE TO DISCUSS. Man is this how you feel every time you post a chapter update? Role reversal moment.

But ya, I love your fic so much curly. And i love that my first proper rottmnt animatic is based on something that you wrote. You inspire me so much and I wanna create things that make you feel the same way i do everytime I read your writing. You deserve all the fanart and fan animatics and Im glad i finally was able to deliver!

Spider's Web With Strings Attached Opening [English Version]

Cw: Blood

Based on the amazing fic Spider's Web with Strings Attached by @psychologicalwarclaire

Original Version HERE

[peridots-pixiwolf]

[Start ID. A redraw of the official icons of the ten named slugcats from Rain World, arranged in two rows: Survivor, Monk, Hunter, Nightcat, and Gourmand in the first, Artificer, Rivulet, Spearmaster, Saint and Enot/Inv in the second. Each is drawn in roughly the same pose as in the original art and fitted with speculative interpretations of their biology, and the second image is a “dead” version of this. For example, all ten have slug-like rhinophores in place of ears, cuttlefish-like colorful eyes with strangely-shaped pupils, cephalopod-like beak "teeth", expressive barbels or oral tentacles at the corners of mouths, spiny radulas, and the frilly mantle fringes of sea slugs, though otherwise their faces are squishy, simple and mammalian-shaped.

Cream-colored Survivor and yellow Monk both share triangular, bicolored spots matching their eyes (which are tan and brown, and two shades of blue, respectively), small, bumpy fringes, and relatively neutral looks on their faces. Defensive-looking Hunter is mostly a dull orange-pink, though their blobby fringe is a more violent red and their back is purple and marred with lumps. Nightcat is navy blue and flecked with dots of yellow and teal, their rolled rhinophores are a lighter blue, and their shading fractures into stars in some places. Gourmand is almost uniformly tan, their wide, very ruffly white mantle fringe bordered by a spray of white spots, and their beak sticks out from either corner of their smile. Primarily red Artificer, snarling, has yellow markings of multiple sorts, a prominent yellow dewlap and their characteristic dark scar taking out a chunk of its face. Rivulet is a darker blue than usual, with long barbels, red gills and rings, countershading, and a cheerful expression, sticking out their radula. Spearmaster is purple with orange accents, eyes and spots, a large fringe and spines down their back. Saint’s green caryophyllidia are marked by small, yellow diamonds, and their long, thin radula extends far below them. Enot is decorated with mottled red stripes, blue patches, yellow stars, and an uneven and almost cartoonish imitation of blush, though generally the same deep blue as Nightcat, a passive or almost slightly smug look on their face and their rolled rhinophores out to either side.

In the second image, nine of the slugcats’ eyes are crossed out, indicating that these are death icons. They look fairly the same, with mostly expression differences. Survivor is caught in the beginning of a threat display, a karma flower sprouts from Monk’s side, Hunter is burdened with overgrowing, purple and blue rot, Nightcat’s rhinophores are pinned back, and Gourmand looks mildly disheartened. For the final row, Artificer bites its radula between small plumes of smoke, Rivulet drops their expression, Spearmaster looks very startled, Saint looks almost entirely the same besides half-open eyes and their markings greater in number, and Enot grins confusedly. End ID]

If you'll excuse the unusually lengthy ID: the arena meme introduced by @pansear-doodles at long last after a nearly year-long wip status (or, rather, finished a month ago today to honor my own first time playing it!)

Design notes and shout-outs under cut! :]

The following people are some of those who’ve inspired my designs most since I started this eight months ago (or just inspired me to get a little weirder with slugcat biology), among many others for sure, and I thank them for it–but this is simply to bring attention to artists I find cool, and in no way an obligation to interact or anything :]

> @saturncoyote , @carpsoup , @charseraph , @gallusgalluss , @bitsbug , @dopscratch , and @0hmanit (and a special mention to dddeerbo and hunterlonglegs, who’ve since deactivated)!

Survivor: Surprisingly the hardest to pin down the colors for, since nothing with its sibling's palette seemed to match up right (I did have to add in a little blue somewhere for Monk, the beginning of making it clear how much I’m simply going based off of vibes for the colors of scug innards). I consider them, Monk and Gourmand to be part of the same gene pool of slugcats, and even possibly the same colony even if the latter isn't really related, so took a bit of Gourmand's coloring and fit them in with their inspiration: Goniobranchus verrieri. They serve as a bit of an introduction to my ideas of scug traits (i find it really fun how many people have thought to add so many silly sluglike fixtures of biology completely independent of me, buuut here I’m mostly talking about species variation), and like in-game they’re pretty average! They, Monk and Hunter have a couple scars sourced from a piece of Joar's concept art that I'm failing to find, those across the bridge of the nose, under the eyes, and across the rhinophores, respectively, and my Survivor interpretation features many on the back of the neck, as a result of survived lizard bites.

Monk: Their coloring is primarily based off the fact that I associate them with blue fruits, honestly, a bit because I was compelled to establish a familiarity with Rivulet, and lastly inspired by the spots of Goniobranchus kuniei (and geminus, less important to me as one of my characters is a kuniei instead, but more fitting). Between the yellow + blue and the circular marking in the center of their face, they’re meant to bear a little resemblance to an iterator that shares similarities with the characterization I’ve given them, and similar coding of her sibling can be seen on Survivor’s markings around the eyes. As both a “default” slugcat and one whose campaign I haven’t played, though, I can’t say I have much more to point out about em.

Hunter: The whole rot thing made for a really fun time drawing them, and while the color change on their back is a result of this, it’s also an excuse to relate them to Babakina festiva, arguably my favorite sea slug (mostly for sentimental purposes). And to Spearmaster, a fellow messenger slugcat, and it serves as a gradient between Hunter’s pink and the “traditional” color of Rot seen in the DLLs. Aside from their affliction, they’d actually be the plainest in terms of design, as they don’t have any patterns or quirks of body type, just the red + purple and strange lumps + possible malnutrition. I can’t remember if NSH had created them in particular or just...caught + released or something, but it probably wouldn’t be strange for a lab-grown slugcat to be simple like that.

Gourmand: Like the two above, they’re rather plain in terms of coloring and adaptation, and like the two above, I find that fun. I decided it would be nice to avert the “all slugcats being of the same body type, and Gourmand’s out of place as the exception” thing by just...adding more fat to all of them, really. I did want to emphasize their sheer bulk even so, both fat and muscular (not like I couldn’t have still gone further with it, of course, but slugcat anatomy can be a little obfuscating sometimes, and they were intended to look rather plush considering personal size headcanons and therefore the lack of proper gravity), and the thick and flounced mantle looked like a good addition, as per their sea slug Glossodoris hikuerensis. Unlike Survivor and Monk, I didn’t attempt to hold their resemblance to any particular other character (which means a little less to balance out the “default gene pool” thing), so those are all the design notes I have for em.

Artificer: The second slugcat I’ve ever played, or finished the campaign of, my favorite for at least a long time, and the first thing I did was give them yellow accents, the shape of which have troubled me slightly (not quite like the spots or stripes of the others). They’re both a little more appealing and more explosive-looking to me, and considering how early on I played Arti, actually present in some of my older art. It does give them a little resemblance to Saint (completely intentional, two slugcats with strange relations to karma), as well as the fact that its radula is green for familiarity with one of its children (at some point it was going to have all-green markings, even!). I’m generous with their scars, partly because it was fun to overemphasize the one on their face and partly because it does seem like a reckless slugcat, on top of the dangers of its explosive abilities–I’ll probably just keep adding more forever. Mostly-red sea slugs aren’t too common, but Hexabranchus sanguineus works for sure. The ridged, yellow dewlap can expand for combustion purposes, or something along those lines. Arti’s where I began experimenting with a lot of the mildly-offkilter features seen in my interpretation of slugcats, as they’ve once again been a favorite from the start.

Rivulet: I've obviously given other slugcats spots, deeply enjoy the bubbly-soda markings of other peoples' slugcats, and thought seal riv would be cute. Despite not too closely resembling it, they've been government-assigned Hypselodoris bennetti, for color reasons and for a couple sentimental ones. Originally, the colors of every scug were meant to match up with the custom colors I gave them at the beginning of their campaigns, (though Arti, Gourm and Spearmy are the only three who actually apply here, since I've only played through half the slugcats: I gave arti the yellow as mentioned above, gourm brown eyes and spearmy light pink spears, furthered by the outskirts pearl accompanying me and that palette all the way to moon. Tolerance training for eternity in hell cause I already knew about the maroon pearl quest). I initially gave them the colors of the bi flag for fun... but with the limited palette of this image, I was left without pink for a while and decided to see how they'd look in red. I then realized how they now wonderfully matched Moon, and besides, red's a sort of camouflage in deep water! As a side-note, the difference between their eyes and those of others always bothered me a little for anatomical purposes, and the cephalopod eyes were probably influenced by this!

Spearmaster: Inspired as much as possible by @notyourfunnyman ’s wonderful spearmy: designed in a way that helps it fit in with scavengers, at least between the long sensory tentacles, big ruff, back spines and slightly thin/distended anatomy, a form of defensive mimicry. I always had annulate rhinophores in mind, for a little diversity sure, but mostly because the shape reminds me of radio antennae and communication towers (seems fitting for the comms array and being a messenger slugcat)! I started searching for a real-life slug to give them just by looking up their rhinophore shape...and was met immediately and coincidentally with annulate-topped nudibranchs that fit them more perfectly than I could've imagined: Flabellina and surrounding clades, I think Paraflabellina ischitana works very nicely. The orange was completely unplanned, but there wasn’t a place for light pink among the other slugcats’ palettes, and importantly it likens them to both Hunter and Seven Red Suns a little more.

Saint: I am very much a non-furred slugcat enjoyer, with respect to those who aren’t, so figuring out the only visibly furred slugcat was an interesting challenge. I’ve decided that they likely have other, milder adaptations for help in the cold, mainly just more efficient fat storage, and what looks vaguely like fur is instead a bunch of tubercles (called caryophillia, for the second reminder out of three). Their inspiration doesn’t have these, however, Miamira sinuata’s numerous yellow and blue spots (not to mention...whatever’s going on with that shape) and general effect of being the only really green nudibranch I could find were probably perfect for a strange green echo. Not pictured, but their beak-teeth are tiny and flat to make a surface for grinding soft food against with the lack of a functioning radula, which is tipped with a specialized spiny “grapple-hook” for better traction/grip (not to mention the numerous little teeth running down the whole thing).

(Best part of hiding this under a readmore means edits will be seen by all reblogs, I'm mostly sure, because I completely forgot to mention! The spots on their forehead are simple eyes. Their camera eyes appear closed in-game, I like to believe their complex eyesight is rather poor anyways or otherwise reason that they aren't seeing out of those, and while this was far from her REASON for attunement with the world, it does help compensate for mainly viewing it through a canvas of simple light and dark. This, and the fact that their swapped-out "fur" is not only to commit to a lack of hairs but contributes to sensory input!)

Nightcat/Enot: I guess you could say I found the “these two are technically the same person” compelling. (E.g. similar colors, both very strange and enigmatic, and Enot/Inv/Sofanthiel’s remark during the dating sim about getting removed from Arena Mode.) I doubt they’re the only two slugcats in their body, considering humans with DID tend to have more than a few (and I find it very funny that a slugcat bearing resemblance to Nightcat appears in Gourmand’s ending. They’re allowed in the colony and Enot isn’t </3), and I have to credit @faelingdraws ’s art for being what convinced me on it! Their design inspirations come down to trying to balance a few different ideas: making the patterns and palettes of both look oddly similar (special mention to the stars, since those are fun to draw), basing them off of Felimare sechurana and juliae respectively, using blocks of color with the same placement as in Enot’s official art, and specifically making Enot look...biologically reasonable and imperfect, whilst also clearly trying to imitate human displays of emotion (what with...the eyes and blush on that one piece of official art).

Lastly, here’s just a lineup with notes on body shape and size. Most of the nicknames (existing to give a little more space, that’s all) are obvious, and while I can’t remember why I shortened Nightcat to Nox, it is in honor of my friend by the same nickname :]

[peachfruitcake]

well gosh

[starry-bi-sky]

okay so i was thinking of a joke earlier about how in DPDC Amity Park's slogan "a great place to live" is not only city propaganda but also the city lording it over the rest of America for being normal. But then I remembered that, despite how many DCU Cities with heroes in it there are, the amount of cities in America without heroes still far outnumber the amount of cities in America WITH heroes.

So I did a little digging so the joke would still land. Something most heroes have in common is that they operate in major cities. What makes a major city? I found that the general consensus is that the population is roughly over or around a million. THEN I looked up the populations of cities in the DCU that I thought of off the top of my head. So Gotham, Metropolis, Starling City, Central City, Jump City. All of them ranked up to millions in population (most of them were in the tens of millions).

Amity Park's wikipedia describes it as being similar to specifically Philadelphia, Chicago, and San Francisco.

Philadelphia's Population: 1.576 million as of 2021 Chicago's Population: 2.697 million as of 2021 San Francisco: 815,201 as of 2021

Whiiich means that Amity Park if we take that from canon, is probably a major city. There are approximately 19,000 cities in America with probably less than a hundred that are major cities. Adding the DCU major cities wouldn't skew the data too much.

Which MEANS that I can make the joke that Amity Park's "great place to live" is not only just typical city propaganda, but also its Amity Park lording it over the other major cities for being one of the only major cities that doesn't have problems bad enough to warrant a superhero or a vigilante. Cue stage left the Fentons and Phantom :)

Amity Parkers were probably SO proud that they didn't need a superhero. They didn't have to worry about things like 'world ending threats' and 'super-powered individuals' and 'staggering property damage'. And then enter Fentons.

It also could be used as an excuse for why nobody took notice to Amity Park getting ghosts if folks like me aren't huge fans of the notion of a media blackout via Tucker, Technus, or the US Government. Or if you want to keep Amity Park as its urban city self. Amity Park's news on ghosts gets drowned out in a week because there's news on more popular, well-known cities going on every other day. The shit going on in Amity Park is every other major city's regular Tuesday and it gets filtered as such.

[bookinit02]

ran into my first student using chatgpt and honestly i was gonna be mad until i thought harder about Why he was using chatgpt and i was like well. that part of the assignment was kind of useless bullshit anyway so yk what that’s on me. consider it gone.

[saysflora]

If you ask Mush, winter is one of the best times of the year, but it seems he's one of the only people in the lodgings that feels that way. What starts as a way to take Blink's mind off of the now cold, dark months ends up being a bigger scheme than even he was imagining, and he's more than happy to take the opportunity to plan a celebration that'll have everyone raring with holiday spirit. With help, of course.

OR: Mush throws a Christmas Party.