#sharing wip because this will take longer than expected

[thedrotter]

goofy wip closeups !! (ft. a mysterious character yall have never seen before in this page he is NOT plastered all over my page he is new here /j)

[kookiestarlight]

Lines of fate: 01 | jjk

➵ pairing: tattooist!jungkook x f. reader

➵ genre: apocalypse au, exes to lovers (?) dad!jungkook, survival, angst, smut

➵ summary: the last thing Jungkook ever imagined was an outbreak that turned the dead into the living. But even more unexpected is seeing you—an ex he’s known nothing about in the past four years—with a small child who bears a striking resemblance to himself. As Jungkook grapples with the shock and the city spirals into chaos, the two of you are thrust back together, forced to confront unresolved feelings, long-buried truths, and the horrors of the deadly virus taking over.

➵ word count: 11.9k

➵ warnings: swearing (jk says fuck way too much), graphic depictions of violence and death, blood and gore, seizures, virus and zombies ofc, brief mentions of alcohol consumption.

➵ series masterlist

➵ a/n: it’s finally here!! <3 sorry this was postponed way longer than expected, all I can say is: life :,) anyway!! posting my writing again after years on hiatus definitely feels nerve wracking lol. this idea has been in my wips for literally years so I’m so excited to finally be sharing it with you all!! I would greatly appreciate your feedback and thoughts as it is something quite different from anything I usually write (it’s definitely been a kick in the ass) it’ll also really help me stay motivated to continue writing it. thank you for all the hype and excitement you showed for this fic before it was even released cause like hello?? that’s crazy to me😭 thanks for always showing my stories love and support🫶🏻 I’ve taken inspiration from all the zombie movies and videogames I’ve ever seen and played over the years (thanks dad). I should also mention, I had a very thorough plot for this planned out and it kinda went to shit in the process of writing so we’re kind of going off vibes only and 20% of the plot I had originally planned so yeah, bare with me🤪 I also want to say, updates on this will most likely be slow, but I will try my best to get them out as fast I can for you🙏 now that that’s over, I hope you enjoy this series as much as I am enjoying writing it!! this chapter is just the very beginning <33

The autumn sun filters through the large window with an amber glow as you take a slow sip of your coffee, the warm bitterness spreading in your chest as you attempt to chase some kind of comfort. But the loud hum of the city just outside and the muffled chatter of the bustling cafe are very much a grounding reminder of where you are — and where you really wish you weren't.

Your gaze travels down to your daughter sitting on the booth beside you, her little legs swinging off the seat contentedly as she picks away at her blueberry muffin. Completely oblivious to your ongoing little inner torment. Her big eyes flicker up to meet yours, brimming with glee. Brushing a crumb off her cheek, you force a little smile for her. 

Like a dull sting under your skin, you feel how little teeth of guilt gnaw away at you, not only because it’s been almost impossible to offer her a genuine smile in the past two days since you stepped foot in this dammed place, but because you simply wish you could share the same excitement as she does, and perhaps…feel more positive about this whole situation. For her.

But all you’ve been able to feel is guilt.

An incessant amount of it. Guilt and fear. Slowly brewing up inside you like some sort of poison that has had you feeling a little sick to your stomach.

”You’re spiraling again.” Hoseok pulls you out of your absentminded state, studying you over the rim of his half finished iced americano.

You blink. You often tend to forget how well he’s capable of reading you. Though you suppose that’s a skill acquired with nearly twenty years of friendship, and an unavoidable consequence of growing up constantly together, practically like siblings. 

Hoseok has been the only constant in your life for as long as you can remember, like a brother to you — conjoined at the hip as his mother always used to joke. It all began when you moved next door. With your parents always working late and often times far away from home, Hoseok's home slowly became your second one — the place you spent most of your childhood and adolescence and formed some of your fondest memories. A place where you were never alone.

You do suppose it’s no surprise the years and the unbreakable bond you’ve formed have given you exceptional abilities to know when something is off with just a simple glance. But it's never less surprising.

The corners of your mouth tug upwards into a tiny smile at his words, brows pinched in a pathetic attempt to hide your truth. “I am not.”

“You are. You’re thinking too much,” he stirs the ice in his drink with the straw, eyes flicking up to meet yours again. “Which if I may remind you, is one of your fatal flaws.”

You scoff, only slightly offended as you watch him take a slow sip. Pushing your sunglasses further up your head as you lean back. “Thinking too much is not my fatal flaw.” 

He’s may very likely be right about that, but of course, you’d never actually admit it.

Hoseok snorts, clearly unconvinced. His voice just above a whisper when he murmurs, “Right. Sorry. It’s definitely lying.”

Before you can argue, he leans forward to accept some crumbs of muffin Jieun is so eagerly offering him. The sight tugs at something deep in your chest, watching his expression soften to mush as he thanks her with that brightest, tender smile he only ever uses for her before he brings his attention back to you. 

“If it weren’t your fatal flaw, you’d actually be enjoying that overpriced coffee and oh—, maybe being reunited with your best friend again. I haven’t even seen you in like three months.” He shakes his head in utter disappointment, sitting back with a dramatic sigh.

“Hobi, I am so thrilled to be reunited with you, truly.” You roll your eyes ever so slightly and place a hand on your heart rather sarcastically as you say it, but deep down you hope he knows you’re only half joking. No one has done for you more than what hoseok has in the time you’ve known him.

You suppose all the change has got you in a rather sentimental state. But you bury it away. Hoseok deserves a nice time out with a friend for once too. He’s seen enough of your tears.

“Yeah?” he leans in, studying you with mock concern. Though not falling for it even a bit. "That's your thrilled face? You sure about that?” You almost laugh in response, but then, he shifts, looking more serious than just seconds ago. “You know,” he pauses, crossing his arms over his chest. “For someone who finally landed a nice new job and has everything working out, you don’t look all that thrilled to me, actually. That’s all.”

You press your lips together and glance down at your coffee, suddenly the truth a little too hard to face. You should be happy. He’s right. Because things really are starting to look up for you again. Everything you’ve spent the last few months wishing for has finally become a reality. And yet, you can’t shake the fact that there’s a deep buried sense of dread that seems to be getting in the way of that, a familiar fear that's been present for years, but only intensified since you stepped foot in Seoul again. 

Hoseok follows your gaze, watching you carefully, then nudges your foot under the table gently. “Come on.” He murmurs softly, eyebrows raised gently. “What is it?”

You suppose your real fatal flaw is your emotions showing up as flashy neon subtitles over your head apparently, or the fact you are simply terrible at hiding them, because Hoseok doesn't budge. He sees right through your little facade — always has. And as much as you know he is a great listener and that he genuinely cares to hear it all, always ready to give you a helping hand in any way he possibly can, you just don’t want to sound ungrateful. Not when anyone else in your position would be feeling over the moon right now.

Besides, you’ve never liked burdening him, or anyone for that matter. Never wanted to add more weight to the heavy things he already carries himself. He deals with so much of that at work already. So many problems significantly worse than your own worries. So you simply shake your head, putting on a small smile once again in hopes to appease him.

“I’m alright, Hobi. It's just…strange. Being back here. Overwhelming, I guess,” you admit, though only to half of the truth. “It’s so calm on the island. I suppose I got used to it. Everything here is just so intense. But that's all.” You cross your arms on the table as you gaze out at the busy streets. Hoping you don't sound as pathetic as you feel. Though in truth, this whole things isn't just strange. It’s all actually fucking terrifying.

In many ways it seemed like nothing here had changed since the day you left four years ago. The cityscape is as bustling as you remember – a stark contrast to the quietude and stillness of Jeju, where you had been building your new life up until now. People in suits rush back and forth and push into each other with no care, everything is always shadowed by a maze of buildings that don't seem to have an end. Cars weave through traffic like they want to crash into each other, and neon signs and billboards still flicker blindingly even in the daytime. 

The fact that everything remains the same, terrifies you. The rush, the stress, the chaos. That constant hustle and bustle that seems suffocating. It wasn't the reason why you left. but it was certainly a factor that made your life here something you wanted to escape from. It feels like stepping back into the life you thought you’d left behind for good. Like stepping onto a moving treadmill, when you no longer know how to run. Not sure if you’ll ever find your place here again.

Hobi hums in understanding, and the warmth in the familiarity of his smile helps lessen the knot that's been forming in your stomach all morning. And though you've only let out a tiny portion of what's on your mind, you already feel like you can breathe with more ease.

Sometimes, it’s not so bad that he can see right through you. Because you also tend to forget he’s the only one that truly gets you, understands you when even you struggle to understand yourself, and has never once been one to judge you, no matter how small or ridiculous it may be.

“Yeah, I get it. It can be overwhelming.” He nods slowly, letting the words settle. “But if I were you, I’d be damn proud of myself.” His expression is calm and his words full of sincerity as he speaks. “You did what you had to do, and now you’re doing it again. Making more big changes. Really tough decisions, and I know that’s not easy.” He pauses. “But you've always made it after all. This time won't be different. Besides, think about this, we’re close to each other now. I’ll be here for anything you guys need, you know that.”

Your heart softens at his comforting words, and the reassurance feels like it melts some of the tension off your shoulders. And for just a split second you feel that roar of confidence, thinking about everything you've accomplished, but it's not lasting, and deflates with the weight of your heavier thoughts.

You want to believe what he says — you really do. For your daughter's sake. Because this is finally your chance to start over and build something better. To give Jieun the life she deserves, something stable, a chance to thrive in a place full of new opportunities. 

A fresh start. 

After all, isn't that all you've ever been chasing?

You don’t want to allow your fears and the past to come in the way of that. But it's never so simple. At least, definitely not here — definitely not for you.

Because the truth is, being in Seoul again feels like roaming a haunted city. Tainted and plagued by shadows from the past, by who you used to be, and everything and everyone you left behind all those years ago when you ran and didn’t dare to look back. Being here now, you can’t shake the feeling — the apprehension and fear that everything you once left behind is lurking around the corner, ready to jump out and haunt you, making everything you've finally built up crumble to pieces once again. This place just gives you an indescribable feeling of…dread. Eeriness even. Enough for it to linger gut deep with a painful sense of discomfort that hasn’t eased since the day you arrived. As if you can never truly let your guard down.

But after all, it was an opportunity you couldn’t pass up, even if it meant returning to the city you swore you’d never step foot in again. The offer came at just the right moment, a lifeline after months of uncertainty and dead-ends. After losing your job, and endless nights crying yourself to sleep with the heavy burden of becoming a failure of a mother and not knowing how to make ends meet. You practically cried with joy the morning you finally got the call, and ignored the pit that formed in your stomach when you heard where it required you to move to. It had felt like you were about to reach the peak of a mountain, only to drop all the way back down to the bottom. But it was a steady paycheck, and a chance to finally give Jieun some stability. It wasn’t glamorous or grand — a position in a small marketing firm. But it was enough to rebuild. The breakthrough you so badly needed to start over and secure a future for your little girl. 

How could you possibly turn it down?

That was your biggest and only goal in life.

There was nothing you wouldn’t do for her. So you knew in that very instant you had to take it. Even if it meant returning to the place that broke you beyond repair. So you packed up your life and now, here you are. Back where you never thought you’d be. So far from the tranquility of the home you had made for yourself in a secluded tiny seaside town four years ago. Where you were happy. Where you didn't live in constant fear.

“I know this is what I need right now,” you speak softly, more to yourself than anything. You reach out, gently brushing your fingers through Jieun's baby soft hair, watching as she focuses intently on her muffin, completely unaware of the heaviness of the conversation. “I just don’t want to mess anything up…the job, you know, our new life here. I want to get this right. I don’t want anything, getting in the way of that.” You swallow thickly, fingers tightening around the mug of coffee in front of you, and Hoseok knows exactly what you mean by that. You hesitate, letting out a quiet breath before speaking again. “I know there's so many opportunities for us here but…I was happy in Jeju. Jieun was happy.”

Hoseok nods, slow and understanding. “I know you were. A city like this takes some adapting to, you know that.” He reaches out and gives your arm a gentle squeeze, “but give it time. You’ll settle right back in.” He says warmly, reassuring. You return a tiny smile, more genuine this time.

“Seriously though. Change is good. New home, new job, meeting new people…maybe even someone special…” he adds.

You scoff, eyes widening, only half incredulous at how fast he swerved the topic there. So typical of him. 

“Yeah no, thanks. You can stop it right there.” You shake your head.

“What?” Hobi leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he waggles his eyebrows, a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, completely unbothered despite your clear opposition. “I'm just saying,” he adds in, raising his hands in mock innocence, though he feels like your glare could actually kill him. “You’re young. You’re no longer in that tiny ass town full of old drunk married cheating men. Everyone deserves a little fun. It wouldn't kill you to-”

“Hobi,” you sigh, cringing internally at the memories of disastrous dates you told him all about over the phone. You throw a pointed look in his direction, but Hoseok just chuckles. “I’m done with all that. Seriously.”

“Come on,” he presses.

“No. No way. I told you.” You interject, tone firm, not even allowing space for the idea. “I’m a single mother, Hobi. That’s been off the cards for years. I have different priorities now.” You straighten in your seat, making a point to scoop Jieun's hair back and out of her drink. These are your priorities now.

Hoseok raises a brow, watching you carefully, but there's no judgment in his expression now — just silent understanding. He leans back in his chair again, smile dying down, tapping his fingers absently against his iced americano before his gaze drifts over to your little girl. His expression softens, fondness flowing in his eyes.

“I know,” he says after a moment, his tone a tad more gentle. “But I’m just saying…you’re allowed to let yourself be happy again, you know. You deserve that.”

Something uncomfortable twists in your insides. Happy. What a simple word, but what a complex thing. 

You lift your eyes to meet his, the sincerity in his gaze cutting right through. You could argue, explain that you don't agree, that romance is a door locked for good. Not only out of fear, but out of necessity. It’s no longer just about you. You don’t have the luxury of reckless choices or fleeting little flings like you did before.

There's simply to much buried history to let anyone new into your life.

And deep down, you don't believe you deserve it. But you don’t voice any of that. There's no need to explain. Hoseok knows your history better than anyone, the pain etched deep into you, the one you carry like a scar beneath your skin. He knows Jieun's father plays a big role in that, even though you don’t dare to mention him and haven’t in years. He knows his existence and every memory he’s involved in is something you merely refuse to acknowledge. And though Hoseok wants nothing more than for you to thrive, he knows better than to press on the matter. 

Still, he hesitates before speaking quietly. “I’ve been here four years, and I’ve never seen him again.”

He says it gently, in hopes the information is comforting to you, to maybe put you at ease, but instead it feels like a small jab between your ribs. You stiffen, for just a second. You feel your heart begin to race a tiny bit faster. And you wonder when the mention of him will stop having this goddamn effect on you.

Hoseok notices, and regret quickly flickers across his face. He realizes he might have overstepped, treading on thin ice that he fears may slowly be cracking beneath him.

But it doesn't. You take a deep breath, and you simply nod. It’s okay. You know you can’t avoid it forever. Besides, who’s to say he even still lives here? The thought should be reassuring, bring you some sort of peace, be relieving. But it isn’t. Because the thought of ever seeing him again makes your palms sweat, and your chest a little tight.

“Yeah.” You say quietly. “You’re right. Who knows.”

You don't mention how many late nights you've stayed up, haunted with thoughts like if ever did make it out of here. If he ever made it to the states and accomplished all those things he wanted. If he's perhaps settled down and started a family or if he's stuck right where he used to be, how he used to be. You don't mention that sometimes, you mind even attacks you with the intrusive thought of if he’s even still alive.

You don't dare mention any of it.

Hoseok exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I just-” He pauses, voice lowering as he checks Jieun to make sure she's not listening, not that she would know or understand, but you appreciate that he does. “I know we’re not meant to talk about him–“

You push past it, giving a small dismissive shake of the head. Instead, you plaster on a small practiced smile, turning to glance down at the little girl beside you as well. It isn't something easy to avoid. But for the past four years, somehow, you’ve managed it. 

“Anyway. I am happy,” you say, voice softer now, steering the conversation elsewhere. “I get all the love I need from my little lovebug right here, don’t I?”

The little lovebug in question remains completely unaware of the heaviness of the conversation. Instead, her wide eyes are fixated on something outside, her eyes big and small fingers suddenly clutching your sleeve.

“Mommy, look!” She gasps, tugging desperately for your attention, she calls you again, tearing you away from your conversation. “The birdy!”

You follow her gaze, a small black bird just on the other side of the glass, and the simplicity of her joy softens you, eases the heaviness for a second. It really doesn't take much to amuse a child, and you’re glad to see at least someone enjoying her time here so far. “I see, baby.”

You smile with her, that is until, just a moment later, you notice… the small bird is no longer pecking at crumbs on the pavement. It’s… acting rather strangely. Its head twitches sharply to the side, body jerking with twitchy erratic movements as it flaps it’s wings like crazy, then suddenly, it freezes, before twitchting again.

Your brows furrow, unable to take your eyes off it. What the hell? Something about it sends a strange chill through you, suddenly understanding what had Jieun so surprised.

“Oh, I think that poor bird might have gone a little coo coo.” Hoseok turns his head to take a look himself, and you both exchange a puzzled glance, to which Hobi just shrugs with a mildly disgusted expression.

“What, you know I hate birds.” he whispers, shrugging like someone just walked over his grave, and you swat his arm and shush him, suppressing a laugh. You wouldn't want your sweet animal loving daughter hearing that. 

“Isn't that so weird. I’ve never seen one do that before.” You say, and hoseok tilts his head, staring at it with a mildly grossed out frown. “Probably has some kind of parasite or something. Not sure.”

“It’s gonna die?” she looks up at hobi, her little face full of worry. You wrap your arms around her, pulling her in closer.

“Not necessarily, bub. I’m sure it’ll be okay,” Hobi answers, trying to be tactful, however, Jieun doesn’t look convinced, but she nods sadly and resumes eating spoonfuls of her hot chocolate that's long gone cold. 

“Yeah, it’ll be fine baby.” You kiss the top of her head, as you glance out the window once again, only to see it’s no longer there. 

“So odd.” You shake your head, taking another sip of your coffee, and Hoseok nods and lets out a low hum, taking another sip himself.

“So, what’s the plan for the rest of the day? Are you actually gonna start unpacking, or are you going to let those suitcases rot in your living room for another week?” He taunts.

You chuckle. “I’ll unpack eventually. This little girl and I have a long list of errands left to do today.”

“Uh-huh.” He gives you an unconvinced look, then looks at Jieun with a dramatic pout, cooing. “My poor little monkey. Prisoner to moms to do list. I remember that feeling.”

She giggles, and you speak up. “Shhh, she loves errands with mommy, don't you-”

Suddenly, a loud crash sound from the back of the café, startling you all.

The sharp clatter of metal rings out and you hear a young worker gasp, emerging hastily from behind the counter as the previous muffle of conversation begins to die down. Heads immediately start turning towards the scene unfolding before them. 

“What the hell?” you murmur as you hastily turn around yourself, pulse spiked from the jump.

Near the back of the cafe, a chair is knocked to the ground, a mans body hunched over on the floor, shaking and convulsing with an unnatural force that seems to take over him completely. The man sitting beside him instantly scrambles to the floor next to him, shaking his shoulders in a failed attempt to break him out of whatever is happening as he calls out for help in a trembling voice, panicked.

“Oh my god, Hobi-” You gasp and your stomach twists as you take in what is occurring, grip instinctively tightening around your daughter's hand, turning her away from the scene. One of the members of staff pulls out her phone, announcing that she will call an ambulance right away, the man on the floor now surrounded by two other workers that instantly made their way over to him.

Hoseok takes just a few seconds to register what’s going on. “Shit.” He mutters, “A seizure.”

Instantly, he’s up on his feet, leaving you and Jieun behind and rushes over to help, but before he can reach the man on the floor, a young worker steps in front of him, his hands raised. 

“An ambulance is on the way!” he blurts out, eyes darting between the unconscious man and the crowd gathering around him, Hoseok noticing his eyes full of panic. “Please, just give him space.”

“It's alright. I’m a nurse,” Hoseok urges, trying to step around him. “Please, let me-”

This time, there’s no resistance — only relief in the young man's panicked eyes as he steps aside, allowing Hoseok through to where the man is convulsing on the floor.

Jesus christ. On his one day off. He thinks internally.

Without hesitation, Hoseok drops to one knee. “Don’t hold him down,” he instructs the mans friend beside him as he proceeds to unbutton the first few buttons of the man's shirt to facilitate his breathing. He presses his fingers to his wrist as best as he can, taking a pulse. He attempts to roll him on his side, but he seizes with too much force, limbs jerking far too erratically for him to do so. 

“Has he ever had seizures before? Is he epileptic?” Hoseok asks without tearing his eyes away from the man.

The man's friend just shakes his head. “No…no- he was fine right before.”

“Ambulance is just two minutes away,” the barista yells, phone still pressed to her ear. Hoseok nods but keeps his focus on the young man. Face contorted in concertation as he's checking his pulse once again before tilting his head to ensure he’s breathing properly.

You sit speechless few tables away, watching the scene unfold, your heart erratic in your chest. But feeling so much relief Hoseok was here. Jieun's small hand holds yours tightly, grip strong. She shifts in her seat, trying to peek over the booth to the commotion, but you gently pull her in beside you. Pulling her close, you brush a soothing hand over her hair.

“It’s okay, baby,” your whisper. “That man wasn’t feeling very well. But uncle hobi is helping him. Isn’t that so good? He’s really good at helping people remember. It's okay.”

Jien nods slowly, though her brows are still drawn together in concern. She doesn’t fully understand, but she doesn’t doubt your word, or her uncle's abilities.

Across the large space, Hoseok presses his lips into a thin line, his eyes watching carefully as the man's convulsions finally begin to slow, the violent jerking finally seeming to ease up. But just as the worst seems to have passed…Hoseok stiffens. 

There’s a concerning, deep purplish hue creeping up the man’s neckline, peeking through the gap of his unbuttoned white shirt. Dark veins snaking against his pale skin, spreading like ink through thin cracks. Hoseok swallows hard, alarm bells ringing at the back of his mind. 

That…that doesn’t look right. His medical knowledge kicks in, a thousand possibilities racing through his mind, digging for the most fitting answer. Is it cyanosis? an undiagnosed vascular disease? Possibly an infected wound? blunt trauma?

His mind dashing for answers in an instant, but before he can take a better look and unbutton his shirt completely, after what feels like a lifetime, the piercing wail of sirens cuts right through his thoughts, and just moments after, paramedics burst into the café, pushing past the gathered crowd near the Hoseok and the patient on the floor. Hoseok quickly regains focus, stepping back to allow them to take over. 

“He had a seizure. Approximately a minute long. His breathing is stable but—“ He hesitates for a second, then presses on, giving them a brief diagnosis and rundown. “I think he may have another underlying condition. Possible hypoxia.”

The paramedic beside him nods, wasting no time as they swiftly load him onto a stretcher. He stands back, his jaw tight, fingertips tingling with the urge to do more, watching as they wheel him out through the entrance. The murmurs of the coffee shop begin to start up again, confused and concerned looks turning left and right, but Hoseok can’t shake all the questions in his mind. 

He just hopes the guy turns out to be okay. The same way it goes with every patient he sees. You have to do your part and let go. That's how it works. but this time, he's left with a weird feeling bubbling inside.

After a few minutes, Hoseok turns back to your table. The moment his eyes meet yours, you’re already standing and asking, “God, is everything okay? He’s okay, right?”

“It’s alright,” Hoseok reassures you, though his tone is softer than usual. “They've got it under control.”

His gaze flickers toward Jieun, who’s still clinging to you, her small face twisted in worry as she glances between the two of you. She tugs your sleeve, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mommy…what happened to the man?”

“The ambulance people will take care of him and take him to the hospital so they can help him.” You say gently. She blinks up at you, then glances toward Hoseok, as if waiting for confirmation.

Hoseok lips form a small smile, crouching slightly to be at her eye level. “Your mom is right,” he says carefully, patting her head. “Sometimes when people don’t feel well they need a little help. That’s what doctors and nurses are for Jieun. It’s okay.”

Jieun watches him for a moment, and gives him a slow understanding nod. He then straightens and exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking back toward the road in front of the entrance where the ambulance is now setting off.

You nod, now feeling a weight of unease in the crowded space. It would probably be best to give them space to handle the situation, and to get some fresh air after that. So you retrieve Jieun's little pink puffer vest from off hobis chair and gently help her arms into, zipping it up snuggly to keep her warm from the afternoon chill, before taking her hand in yours.

As the three of you finally step outside, you're grateful for the crisp autumn air that lifts some of the heaviness off you. God, that was stressful. The distant sounds of the city hum around you, and life moves as if nothing happened.

“God, I hope that guy is okay.” You say quietly only for Hoseok to hear, taking your daughter's hand as you let out a slow breath. “First that weird bird and then that poor guy.”

Hoseok hums in agreement and gives a small reassuring nod, pushing his concerns aside. But you know how hard it is for him to switch off. How even when the emergency is over, his mind replays it again and again, analysing— wondering if he could have done more, if he could’ve done better. Even when he deals with stuff like this everyday, it’s never been easy.

“Jesus Christ. What's that saying, bad things always come in two’s? Three’s? ” He chuckles, letting out a huff. “I told you, there’s never an uneventful day out here.” Hobi shakes his head, forcing a smile to lift the mood. But his body still buzzes with tension. Then, in one swift movement, he scoops Jieun up, swinging her into his arms. “Now, time for ice cream?”

Jieun giggles loudly, kicking her feet excitedly at his words, all her earlier worries forgotten. “Yes!”

“Hobi, she just had a hot chocolate. Do you even have space for ice cream, Jieun?” You say, trying to sound stern, but the sight of them giggling together pulls a real smile out of you. And something inside already tells you you’re going to give in.

“She’s with uncle hobi now, there’s no rules.” He sing songs, walking ahead of you with your daughter in arms, all smiles as she squeals at his gentle tickling. The spitting image of joy if you ever saw it.

And for just a moment, you try to push away the nagging feeling that’s been pressing at the back of your mind. 

Because maybe, just maybe, this time, everything will be just fine after all.

Jungkook steadies his hand, a quiet hiss of pain getting lost in the low thrumming of the tattoo gun that fills the quiet studio, lulling him into that comforting sense of calm he knows so well. It’s a fairly big piece, he’s been here hunched over for hours now, that familiar dull ache creeping up his back, but he barely registers it. Because all that matters is the art taking form beneath his touch. 

Here, in these moments, it's when the feels most himself. Distracted, at peace, In control. Something he’s never found that easy outside of these four walls.

Every stroke, every line falls exactly where he intends it to. In a way, the rest of the world seems to fade away — no worries, just ink and skin, art coming to life. And it grants him a satisfaction nothing else can quite offer. And if there’s one thing Jungkook prides himself on, it’s his work and dedication. He built this place with steady hands and relentless effort, and he knows damn well he’s good at what he does. Confidence hasn't always been second nature to him, but time and experience have definitely sharpened him.

He leans back slightly to take in the work before him, his disheveled strands of dark hair falling over his eyes as he uses a paper towel to wipe up some excess ink from the client's forearm before glancing up. “How are we holding up?”

The young guy shifts in the chair, letting out a breathy chuckle. “Let’s just say I felt that last bit there.”

Jungkook nods, noting the slight sheen of sweat on the guy's forehead. He’s just glad he’s not a squirmer. That shit makes his job so much harder than it needs to be. 

His own body is the canvas of plenty tattoos. All colours, shapes and sizes. He's more than numb to the pain now. But he gets it.

“You’re doing really well. I won’t torture you much longer. We’re almost done with the worst part.” Pressing the pedal again, he feels the familiar vibration travel up his arm, he tongues with his lip piercing, a habit that signals his concentration. His hair is dusting over his eyes as he continues with the last bits of shading and does the final touch ups of all the smaller details. Another forty five minutes pass, broken by lighthearted conversation here and there. Though Jungkook never used to be one for making conversation before, he has long mastered the art of letting his mouth wander while his hands and precision remain steady and focused.

“Alright, and we’re done,” he wipes down the fresh ink one last time before setting the tattoo gun aside, letting out a silent exhale as he wheels back, peeling off his black gloves to grab the aftercare instruction sheet, ready to spew his usual little lecture he knows most people don’t even pay much attention to.

“Sit up slowly.” Jungkook instructs.

When the guy finally stands, he marvels at his tattoo in the mirror. Jungkook feels a flicker of pride swell in his chest. No matter how many times he does this, seeing the completed, polished work and his client's expressions of amazement never gets old. “Looks sick man. Better than I imagined.” He beams, twisting his arm under the light, his smile spreading all across his face.

“Good choice with the design.” Jungkook replies with a faint smile tugging at his lips. He then places the protective film, gives him a quick rundown of the aftercare and hands him the sheet. “Take care of it. Follow the aftercare instructions and it’ll heal nicely. And you know, any issues just come by or give me a call and I’ll check it out.”

“Will do. Thanks man, it’s perfect.”

As the last client of the day slips out with a final wave and he hears the bell over at the entrance ding, Jungkook finally feels the exhaustion set in — the kind that only comes after hours of steady concentrated work. Fuck, he really does need to work on his posture. He stretches his back, then cracks his knuckles, stretching his toned, inked arms over his head. But despite the tiredness, he feels no rush no rush to get back to his empty apartment.

He never does.

Instead, he takes his time wiping down his station, tidying all his clutter and ink in the methodical and organized way only he understands — something Yoongi always grumbles about when borrowing his space. But this is his sanctuary. He makes the rules. And yoongi may complain, but he accepts it.

When he's done cleaning up, Jungkook emerges into the entrance area of the studio, rubbing the back of his neck and ruffling his hair at the nape.

Yoongi stretches in his chair behind the front counter, arms lifting above his head as he lets out as wide yawn, smacking his lips as his eyes land on the younger. “Christ, I thought you were dead in there,” he says deadpan, watching as Jungkook attempts to roll out the tension coiled in his shoulders, stifling a yawn himself. “Or are you? I genuinely can't tell.”

“Very funny.” Jungkook mutters, slumping onto the leather couch with an over dramatic sigh, throwing the back of his arm over his eyes as he lets his body sink into the plush cushion. It’s moments like this he’s really fucking glad they invested in a good sofa. He wants it to swallow him.

“Sure you can survive the schedule tomorrow? We’re fucking packed.” He says.

Jungkook’s brows knit together as his eyes dart over to Yoongi, eyeing the printed schedule in front of him as he rubs his jaw. “What? You think I can't handle it?”

Yoongi shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He coughs into his fist, a rough dry sound that echoes through the quietness of the now empty studio. “I know you think you’re some kind of machine,” he gives the younger a pointed look, “but let me just remind you that you are, in fact, very much not.”

Jungkook's lips quirk. “Woah, woah. I’ll be fine. Unlike someone who sounds like they've caught the plague.” Lifting his arms from his eyes just enough to peer at Yoongi, he swings his arm as if to push him away. “Stay away from me with that. I can’t afford a day off anytime soon.”

Yoongi scoffs, waving a dismissive hand as he coughs into his fist again. “Relax, it's just the dust. Or if you’re lucky enough I've caught that shit going around. Won't be on your case anymore for at least two weeks. That's if I survive.”

The sound is muffled by his arm as Jungkook lets out a tired chuckle, but his eyes remain closed. “Now you’re just trying to get out of work tomorrow, hyung. I know your little tricks.”

“If anyone should be trying to get our work, it should be you. Admit your running on fumes.” Yoongi drops the piece of paper to the desk and crosses his arms, looking right across to Jungkook, his eyes squinting lightly.

Jungkook feels his heavy gaze, but he's not in the mood to face one of Yoongis lectures right now. He can’t exactly argue that. Because he knows Yoongi is not entirely wrong. 

He's working six days a week, morning till night, barely stopping to take a breath. Hell, it would've been the entire seven days of the week if Yoongi hadn’t raised hell the day he suggested it. Jungkook had tried to reason with him, insisting that Yoongi would still get his days off as usual, that he’d open up the studio alone on weekends and get everything sorted for the week ahead. But it was never about that, and he knew it.

Jungkook has always had a knack for picking up self-destructive tendencies. A slow brewing kind of self destruction, pushing himself way past his limits, working himself down to the bone until he can barely function. And Yoongi simply wasn't going to stand back and watch it happen all over again right in front of his eyes.

Most days, he only eats because it’s Yoongi who shoves food his way, whether he wants it or not.  Prepping meals and stashing them away in their mini fridge in the back room where Jungkook can find them, labeled with a little note in his unmistakable messy handwriting that reads “eat.”

Because behind his serious facade, Yoongi had always tried his best to care for him. 

From countless nights of dragging his black out drunk body home back in college, and many times after college as well. To picking him up from the streets at 4 am after he got into a nasty fight, bruised and bleeding and sobbing his heart out alone on an empty sidewalk. Yoongi didn’t question it back then, didn't hesitate. He never does. He just helped quietly with no second thought, allowing him to sit with his silent sobs on the car ride home. He had always been there, offering him a home when he had nowhere else to go, offering everything he had if it helped Jungkook from drowning.

It was Yoongi that had seen the potential in him and had patiently guided him to finally see it for himself, helping him build this studio from nothing — helping him build every piece of furniture, putting up every shelf, painting every wall, making sure Jungkook finally had something to call his. 

And now, despite all the hardships, he’s come further than they both could have imagined.

Yet deep down, Yoongi knows no amount of help can stop Jungkook from being who he is, not when he has it so deeply rooted in himself to self sabotage in every way he possibly can. It's simply how he’s wired. Yoongi has long accepted that some things are simply beyond his reach, and that Jungkook won’t ever fully change. And he may never admit it out loud, but somewhere in his heart, as the eldest, he’s always felt an unspoken weight of responsibility for Jungkook. That's why he tries relentlessly to guide him towards better choices.

Even though Jungkook has matured and come a long way from his troubled past and the reckless kid he used to be, he’s far from eradicating his bad habits entirely. He knows he’s working himself down to the bone. He knows it's not healthy. Unrealistic for him to sustain in the long run. But he doesn’t like himself when he’s unoccupied. 

He doesn't like the quiet.

Because when there’s silence, there’s space for his mind to make noise.

So that’s what he does. He works, works until he can exhaust himself to the point of passing out, too drained to even feel. It means no thoughts can haunt him when his head hits the pillow. And he’s okay with that.

Besides, he loves his job. That's a fact. The only thing he’s passionate about. All he’s ever found himself to be good at. He doesn’t need anything or anyone else. 

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

“Fumes are still fuel,” Jungkook shoots back. He reaches behind his head to grab an old vintage manga off the small side table, flipping through the pages without really reading.

Yoongi studies him for a moment, his sharp gaze softening just a fraction. He shifts in his seat, resting his elbows on the counter, zeroing in on him as if he were ready to throw out a serious scolding, like he did back when he was a kid. But his next words are nothing but gentle. “You know, if you wanna keep up with that schedule, you’re gonna need sleep. I can close up if you wanna head out first.”

Jungkooks expression falters — just a flicker. But he covers it with an exaggerated groan. It does get on his nerves ever so slightly, just slightly. What is it with everyone always underestimating him? Treating him like he's not capable of making his own decisions. But his tongue toys with his lip ring as he continues flicking through the pages, feigning nonchalance. “I’m good. I wanna sketch out a few new designs first. Got some ideas ratting around.”

Yoongi squints at him, clearly unconvinced. “You do know that old couch isn't a substitute for a bed, right? and you could just…do that at home.”

Jungkook tosses the comic aside as he shrugs, already bored of the conversation, his inked fingers drumming relentlessly against the worn red leather. “I focus better here.” Is his simple answer, but before Yoongi can speak, a loud siren cuts through their conversation, blaring jarringly as it flashes by across the street. Almost instantly another follows, and then another.

Instinctively, both of their heads turn towards the window, though it only gives view to a small glimpse of the larger front street, most of their view blocked by the building across from them, all they can see is the bright lights flashing as they rush past.

“The hell’s that about,” Yoongi mutters, straightening in his chair.

Jungkook furrows his brows, pushing himself up on his elbows to get a better look outside. But from what he can see, everything seems normal enough — cars passing by, people going about their night and a few students heading home from late study sessions. Nothing in particular out of the ordinary.

The studio is located on a fairly quiet smaller side street, on the outskirts of the city, just a little further from the booming heart of Seoul. It’s never as busy or chaotic here, much quieter.

“Accident, maybe?” Jungkook guesses, a tired breath slipping past his lips. It’s still Seoul after all. When is it ever completely quiet? 

Yoongi hums in agreement, but as if on cue, another set of sirens blares through the streets, overlapping with others as the noise grows, this time it’s police cars too, wailing violently and urgently before fading into the distance as they speed away. Jungkook glances at Yoongi, who meets his gaze with an equally puzzled expression.

“Must be pretty bad.” Jungkook says.

Yoongi just pulls out his phone to check the time and sighs. “Well, whatever it is, I'm not sticking around to find out.” He pushes himself to his feet, patting his back pocket to pull out his dented pack of cigarettes before reaching for his jacket draped over the back of the chair.

A slight sense of uneasiness crawls up Jungkook's spine. That was about four ambulances and three police cars if not more. That’s….that’s a lot. But he soon brushes it off. “I’ll check the news later.” He mumbles, letting his heavy body drop back against the soft cushion, with no energy or intention to move.

Yoongi tugs his jacket on, tossing him a small glance. “Well, if you’re gonna stay here, at least don’t fall asleep on that damn couch again. You drool, and it’s gross.”

Jungkook chuckles, though it's half hearted. “I won’t ruin your sacred couch, hyung. Don't you worry.”

“Good.” Yoongi deadpans, heading toward the door. He flips the neon sign to closed before turning back to Jungkook once more, his tired features softening just a touch. “Don't stay too late. Tomorrow is fucking packed and you’ll regret it when youre half dead in the morning. And don’t forget about that girl you booked in at 9.”

He presses his eyes shut for a moment, letting out a breath. The girl needed some touch ups to her tattoo but had a busy schedule and no time to visit any other day or at ay other time. So Jungkook did the favour, and offered to book her in before opening time. But fuck. He really does need to stop bending his schedule for people.

He knows he’s going to regret it.

Jungkook just waves a dismissive hand, already getting comfy on the couch. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll leave soon.”

Yoongi doesn't believe him, but he doesn't argue, just pulls out a cigarette from the pack and raises his hands in surrender before he pulls open the door. “Alright. See you tomorrow.”

Jungkook hums in acknowledgement. “Rest up, Hyung.”

The studio fades to dead silence once the door closes. Though sirens still echo faintly in the background.

Stretched out on the couch, Jungkook stares at the ceiling a little longer than necessary. His limbs feel heavy, exhaustion pressing down on him heavily. He wants to work on those sketches, he wants to push his limits a little further. But his body seems to know what's best for him. And within minutes, he’s passed out.

When Jungkook’s eyes crack open, it’s to the gentle sound of rain pattering against the windows. But it’s not rain the noise that woke him. Distant voices shout over one another, and the erratic wailing of car alarms and sirens blast in a near distance, sounding like he’s still stuck between consciousness and a dream. Jungkook blinks, then suddenly, screeching tires follow into a loud crash, something heavy and metal hitting the pavement. His heart spikes, and his body jerks up instantly before his mind can register what the hell is going on. The sudden movement makes him lightheaded, blinking as he tries to shake the disorientation fogging his mind.

Shit. How long had he been out?

He curses under his breath, his head throbbing. Did someone just fucking crash their car outside? In his dazed state his fingers fumble for his phone in the front pocket of his jeans. He squints, the bright screen glaring back at him painfully in the darkness of the studio.

11:48 PM.

The first thought that comes to mind is drunk people causing a ruckus. It certainly wouldn't be unusual for Friday night. But then… he stops to listen. Are they breaking in? then his mind steers more towards the possibility of some petty street fight, or some idiots causing trouble. It’s the only conclusion his sleepy can come to.

But then, he hears it. 

Raw, panicked, screams erupting from the streets outside. It sounds close. Really close.

What the fuck? 

Jungkook feels a sickening pit form in his stomach.

Because that's definitely not the drunken shouts of a fight, not the sound of some petty fight or a car accident. It’s the kind of scream that crawls under your skin. And Jungkook knows the sounds of panic when he hears it. He feels his heart beating in his chest now, fast and strong. Something isn’t right. Before his mind can think  further, he pushes off the couch and yanks his leather jacket from the armrest, pulling it on in a swift motion, feeling a little dizzy as the room slowly begins to spin from getting up so fast. 

Behind the front counter he crouches, reaching for his motorcycle helmet. But his grip isn't steady, his palms suddenly feel a bit sweaty. The air in the room slightly suffocating.

His mind scrambles as he finally strides for the door, all he knows something is telling him he needs to get out. He’s ready to leave and check on what's happening outside, but just as his fingers brush the cold metal door handle—

A loud bang crashes into the large front window of the studio.

The impact rattles the entire front window, the glass shuddering violently as something smacks right into it with bone crushing force, causing large cracks to expand from the center like a spiderweb, blooming outwards across the glass. The helmet drops to the ground with a loud thud and Jungkook stumbles back in the darknesses, almost crashing back into the front counter as his breath gets stuck in his throat.

Jungkook freezes. His entire body completely paralyzed as he watches a thick, dark gush of red begin to trail down the ruins of the window. His eyes slowly follow it upwards and then…then he sees it.

A face, wedged between the shards of glass.

Jungkook sees the face of a man...except, it can't be. The skin is unnaturally pale, sickly white, dark veins bulging beneath the surface, tiny pieces of glass wedged everywhere into its flesh. Blood coats its entire mouth, dripping to the floor beneath — but it's the eyes… They send a shot of terror right down Jungkook's spine. 

They’re clouded and gray, almost white and eerily vacant, yet somehow, they’re locked right onto him.

Jungkook feels like he can’t take a breath, his chest tight as his eyes grow with complete shock and confusion.

Then, it moves.

Its head twitches in a slow agonized form before it seems to fully register Jungkook's figure standing right across. It cocks his head towards him completely with a grotesque sound of craking and lunges forward, slamming its hands against the glass with inhuman strength. Giving it all his power to break inside. It lets out another groan, a guttural broken sound as it reveals a row of blood stained teeth, the deep red liquid dripping from its mouth.

Jungkook swallows hard. If he moves will it move too? Will it...chase him? He feels like no oxygen is reaching his lungs, or his brain, his mind struggling to even process what he is seeing. That…that can't be real. It can’t be human. All he can do is watch as his heartbeat pounds like a hammer in his chest, louder than the sirens and screams growing outside, louder than the animalistic banging against the window.

That…thing is trying to kill him. It’s going to kill him.

It doesn’t stop. It claws at the glass, smearing the blood, desperate, mindless — growing more violent as it seems to realise its stuck. But the glass creaks more with each hit, trembling under the pressure of each movement, and Jungkook realizes it might not hold up much longer. He has no time.

Move.

He has to move.

Like a spring snapping, his body finally kicks into action. He stumbles backwards, feeling glass beneath his shoes as he tries to hold in a breath, his eyes fixed on the creature as he tries to back away with steady steps. After a beat, he sprints towards the back of the studio, running as his body pushes through the beaded curtain into the back room. 

His hands fumble frantically in his pocket — keys, keys, keys — but his hands are trembling too much to grip them. Fuck.

Jungkooks mind races with a thousand questions colliding all at once. But none of them make sense. None of them are even remotely rational.

That thing. It wasn’t human. Then what the hell was it?

Another jarring bang echoes in the studio, followed by a loud screech. But Jungkook doesn’t look up. He doesn’t have time. His only thought is to get out of here. Fast. He needs to get away from whatever the fuck that is. He needs to get to his motorcycle. He needs to get the police.

His fingers finally curl around cold metal. The keys. With a sharp inhale, he yanks opens the heavy back door leading into the tiny side alley and slams it shut behind him as he rushes out.

It’s dim, lit only by a flickering street lamp near the end, casting eerie shadows across the brick walls. The air is cool and damp, the smell of rain fresh on the damp asphalt and the sound of sirens and shouting voices in the distance become even clearer than before. But Jungkook can't see the one thing he’s looking for. His gaze darts around frantically and he feels a dreadful realization claw at his throat. 

His motorcycle is gone. The spot where it’s always parked is empty. 

Jungkook panics, his hands coming to his hair. Fuck, fuck, fuck. As he looks around helplessly, his breath only grows more erratic. He finds no other option but to run, so he runs to the end of the alleyway, running right towards the screams and tumult, and when he reaches the end, the scene unfolding before him almost kicks him to his feet.

The once quiet street had turned into a horrifying scene. People mindlessly running away from something. But what his eyes land on almost immediately is on a young woman in the middle of street, clutching her neck with both hands, her body swaying as she chokes out for help before she drops to her knees, her body shaking. Jungkook watches in horror as someone else runs right past her, coming from the same direction, white button up shirt soaked in something dark as his features display a kind of terror he’d never witnessed before. Across the street, an older man is pulling down the storefront gates as he locks himself inside, letting two kids in high school uniforms scream and kick as they beg to be let in, screaming and crying.

“What the fuck...” the words escape involuntarily in a quiet mumble to himself, his hands coming to his head.

Jungkook blinks repeatedly, completely aghast. But he doesn’t think— just moves, bolting down the street. His thick leather boots slam against the wet pavements as he runs, his dark hair blows in the air, his skin covered in a layer of sweat as he weaves past a fallen trash can and then a body, his breath ragged as he tries not to slip on the broken glass. The rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins too strong to even feel his body protesting.

Rounding a corner, he nearly collides into another person, but his hands instinctively come up to push them away, almost knocking them to the ground. He doesn’t have a space in his mind to think about it or time to dwell on it. His body acting on autopilot. The more he runs, the more people seem to be running in the opposite direction. Away from something. His legs burn as he sprints faster, but coming off onto the main street of Jongno, he comes to a halt as he takes in the state of the streets, pupils blown as something terrible dawns on his expression.

The city is in shambles.

Everything.

Chaos.

Cars sit abandoned in the middle of the road, their doors flung open, some have crashed into street lamps and traffic signs, into each other at intersections, even buildings, the smoke clouding up into the dark sky. Blending with the red and blue of wailing sirens. People are everywhere. Hundreds of people are running in all different directions — some screaming, some covered in blood, some sobbing and some seemingly unmoving on the ground. Pushing and tripping against each other, running, but most don’t even know what they’re running from, simply following the crowd. 

How many more of those rabid people were there? How far had this spread? 

He wants so badly to be wrong, but something deep inside him tells him this is something big.

He stills for an instant, trying to orientate himself. He scans the street hurriedly for the best route to avoid getting stuck in a crush, to avoid more of those things…but all he sees is the panicked chaos spreading by the second. 

Jungkook feels like he’s outside of his body, like this is a dream, a nightmare he’ll wake up from any second now. He closed his eyes for a second and inwardly prays for it to be just a bad dream. But the air is thick with the acrid scent of smoke and blood, and the pounding in his chest is too real. The world around him still screams, set aflame.

This can’t be real.

This…this can’t be happening.

Just a few meters away from him two figures wrestle on the ground — except one of them isn’t fighting back anymore, and the other is hunched over them, their head buried in the victim’s throat. Jungkook staggers back, his stomach lurching at the gut wrenching sounds of someone being mauled alive, bile burning the back of his throat when he watches infected pulls back, large chunks of flesh dangling from its bloody mouth, dripping crimson.

The truth slams into him, but his mind is till fighting to accept it.

People are killing people. Eating people. Except…they're not people. They’re monsters.

Jungkook scans the crowd for an escape route, desperate. After a moment, he catches sight of the least crowded street, it's right on the way to his place. He takes a sharp breath and runs, runs non stop down a dozen blocks. But as he navigates the frantic roads, he spots something as he runs past a small street. Stopping him in his tracks. He notices a tiny figure huddled up alone at the beginning of an alleyway, wearing bright pink, shoulders trembling and hands pressed over her ears as she sobs violently. 

A child, no older than three or four if Jungkook had to guess. He halts, heart pounding as he registers her small frightened face, streaked with tears. 

He should keep running, he knows he should. His body is urging him to just keep moving, his insides shaking with adrenaline. That’s not his responsibility. He hasn’t stopped for anyone. But the burning images of what he’s just witnessed flash fresh in his mind. And something deeper roots him in place. Something inside him twists, snaps almost, an unfamiliar instinct that overrides his own confusion and fear.

Ah, fuck it. 

Before his mind can catch up with what he’s doing, he rushes into the alley, approaching the child cautiously with slow steps as he gets closer. He crouches down to her level, looking over his shoulder nervously. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” his voice is gentle but hurried as he searches her face. “Where are your parents? Are you lost?”

The small girl just looks up at him with large, wet eyes and a trembling pout, her hands balled into tiny fists. She doesn’t answer, just stares, whimpering and hiccuping softly, like she’s been warned to not talk to strangers — especially not ones clothed head to toe in black, covered in tattoos and piercings like himself. He glances around, hoping to see someone rushing towards them, any sign of this child's parents so he can just hand her over and run, but there’s nothing, just the crowd at the end of the alley pushing past in frantic waves and yelling, no one stopping to even look in their direction. 

He has to do something.

“Do you…where did you see your parents last-” a loud metal bang echoes in the distance, making Jungkook and the child flinch, a heavy breath escaping him. Fuck, his mind races as he realizes she’s truly alone. The girl just sobs more and he curses under his breath, eyes pressed shut as his mind scrambles for what to do.

He can’t just leave her alone in whatever the hell this is. But what the hell is he supposed to do?

“Uh, alright,” he coughs, throat dry, and speaks softly but hurriedly, trying to mask his unease as he reaches out his hand. “Come with me. It’s not safe here. I’ll… I'll help you find your parents.”

He’ll take her home, get her out of danger and call the police. That’s what he should do. 

It’s the right thing to do.

Okay. 

He hopes she knows he’s only trying to help. God, his pulse races every second he’s standing here still. They need to move. Now. She just stares at him, uncertain, then slowly reaches out with her tiny fingers, clasping his much larger hand with a surprising grip. She must see past his intimidating exterior, or be so terrified that she’ll take up any offer of being reunited with her parents, either way, her innocence makes Jungkook's heart sting a little. He can't just leave a child out here, he has to help her before something terrible happens to her or she falls into the wrong hands. He doesn't know what the hell to do, all he knows is they have to run, run right now and get away from this, and-

Suddenly, a piercing, desperate voice breaks through the havoc of noise, loud enough to catch Jungkook's attention.

“Jieun!” 

The sound makes his entire body lock up, his heart jumping in his chest as he turns toward the voice. 

Running towards him, just feet away, eyes filled with worry and tears, he sees you.

Jungkook feels the blood drain from his face. 

For a split moment, the world seems to fall silent. The noise, the screams and chaos, the sirens — all of it blurs into a distant hum in the back of his mind. He feels like the air is knocked straight from his lungs as he slowly takes in your face, a slightly more matured version of a face he once knew every inch of, a face he’d buried away along with every memory he’d tried so hard everyday to annihilate ever since you disappeared from his life. A face he could never forget, not even after four painful years.

It can’t be.

No, no, no-

But it’s real, because there you are. Lunging forward and arms out reaching for the little girl beside him with thick tears of relief flooding from your eyes. The child lets go of Jungkook's hand instantly and her tiny feet pat across the concrete as she launches herself into your embrace, leaving him behind to watch, frozen and stone cold like a statue. 

“Mommy!” She cries.

Jungkook feels his stomach drop. He thinks he's going to throw up.

He must’ve heard that incorrectly.

Mommy? That child is…

He feels like he can’t move, blood cold as he watches you crumble to your knees, gathering the little girl into your arms with a grip that looks suffocating, as if she might disappear into thin air again. Your whole frame trembles as you hold her close, relief pouring from you in loud, choked sobs, your fingers getting tangled in her wet hair as you comb though it desperately.

That’s.. your child?

“Jieun, oh my god, baby. You’re here, you’re okay,” your voice cracks with all the pain your body just underwent, whispering against her temple. “Are you hurt? You’re not hurt are you, baby?”

The last thing you remember is being in the convenience store when the chaos began. When you walked out you had no choice but to run into the crowd. How Jieun was holding your hand and in the blink of an eye, her hand slipped from yours. You turned back, screaming her name, but she was gone, just another small figure lost in the stampede of a city falling apart.

By the time you fought your way out of the crowd, Jieun was nowhere in sight. Your heart is still hammering loudly between your ribs, mind stuck on the past horrifying minutes since she disappeared from your side.

But as you finally look up… all your relief shifts, eyes darkening with shocking realisation that mirrors the expression in the man standing just feet away when you. Heart hammering in your chest as if it recognized him before your eyes do.

You blink once, twice to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. Completely distraught.

If Jungkook thought he was stuck in a bad dream before, he’s certain now this is all a cruel, sick and twisted nightmare. He feels his stomach churn. The weight of clashing emotions and utter disbelief thrown over him. So many questions he can’t yet voice crashing into him like a bucket of ice cold water, making his blood run cold.

This has to be some kind of sick joke. 

All of it. 

“Jungkook?” Your voice trembles, barely a whisper, as if the sound of his name out loud might shatter you to pieces.

He’s standing in front of you, drenched from the rain, his wet dark hair hanging messily in his face — so much longer than it used to be. He has new piercings on his face, and his features have definitely matured. He looks…different, yet somehow exactly how you remember him. His big dark eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, you feel your world stop. 

“Y/n?” His voice cracks slightly, like he’s just been punched in the gut. “Wh…what are you doing here?” but there’s no anger in his voice, just confusion, and perhaps, a hint of something painful. His words hang heavy between you, getting lost in the sounds of the burning city beyond this tiny street, and you feel a paralysing weight on your chest. Your mind reeling beyond comprehension.

You open your mouth to speak, ready to say something, anything. But you feel like you’ve forgotten how to form words. So you close it again, no words come out. His eyes flicker from your face to the little girl clutching your side, and you feel a pit sinking in your stomach. God, please no.

This can’t be happening — not here, not now. 

Not like this.

You want to bolt, to run and not look back like you always do. You wish the earth would just swallow you entirely. But all you can do is stand there, your heart pounding faster in your chest, mouth dry.

You try to step around him, desperate to move forward, to escape this horror. But before you know it, his hand catches your arm. He grips you gently, but with a force that indicates he won’t let you slip away again. His touch almost makes you fall to your knees.

“Come with me.” 

Your body stiffens at his words, and you swat your arm loose of his grip. You lift Jieun into your arms instinctively, fingers curling around her small body as if the mere act of holding her can shield you from everything. From him, from all the pain, from all of this living nightmare.

“No,” you say, the word coming out broken, like your breath is caught. “I can’t go with you. I need- I need to get hobi-” 

“My apartment isn’t far,” he cuts in, not giving you space to say more. “We need to get off the streets.’’

You hesitate, watching his gaze scurry between you both again. Everything in you is telling you to just run, to put as much distance as you can between yourself and Jungkook. Willing this conversation to die before it can even begin. Before he can start asking questions you’re not ready to answer. Before you have to face things you’ve already buried deep. Before it’s too late.

You need to leave. But Jieun is shaking, clutching onto you for dear life as she whimpers against your chest, and the sounds of screams still ringing in your ears. And there’s infected everywhere. You’re stuck in the middle of a warzone, and you have no idea what to do, no idea where to go.

All you know is you need to get Jieun out of this. Away from danger.

“Have you not seen what the fuck is going on? People have gone fucking insane!” His tone grows harsher now, trying to knock some sense into you. “We need to move.”

A gut wrenching scream echoes from somewhere beyond the alley, closer than before this time. Too close. 

Jungkook swears under his breath, running a hand through his hair, torn between a storm of brewing emotions and the immediate danger closing in. His jaw tightens as he looks behind him then back to you. “Y/n, we need to go. Now.”

You shake your head violently, and you can feel hushed tears burning behind your eyes. You can’t breathe, can’t think clearly. All you can feel is Jieun trembling in your arms.

“Please-” his voice drops, raw and desperate. Almost a plea.

And don’t know when or why it happens, but the next thing you know, your feet are moving. You’re running with everything you have left in you.

Somehow, the world is ending, and you’re allowing yourself to be guided by Jungkook down streets devoured by chaos, heading to the only safe place around you. 

His home.

➵ taglist: @amatun28 @ahgasegotarmy116 @knjs95s @jeoncookiebar @badaspice @lachimolalajeon @tearykth @lovingkoalaface @jcrl99 @hellbornsworld @mortqlprojections @xumyboo @honeymeraki @justanarchiveforfics @iamnotdrunk420 @iveivory @k-p0p-4ever @jksjx @yoonberriez @lotustv @hannahmae18 @eclipsethemagic @bybyash @rjooniesdimples @minimoninini @satisfied18 @pinkpunkdynamite @jheneeko @sungiesworld27 @neuviloved @somehowukook @iohwa-com @lola75111 @hanversace @ot7even @rie-pdf @futuristicenemychaos @chl0buggy @happycheesecakedelusion @busanbby-jjk @minyoongi7016 @stellamalonesolaria @qyurryus-m @ex7stance @dchimminie

[allfearstofallto]

A wip that I started that I liked a lot. I don't think I'll ever finish it though because I genuinely CANNOT REMEMBER WHERE THE STORY WAS SUPPOSED TO GO.

anyways Venti x Fem! Reader

TW: alcohol and drinking

Your travels took you to lots of places. The harsh deserts of Sumeru and the stormy terrain of Inazuma being two that you could think of right off the top of your head. Being an adventurer meant that places like that would be common for you, not something to look forward to, but something to be expected and dealt with accordingly. With that being said, even you found yourself grateful when the most you had to worry about in Mondstadt being small hilichurl camps and winds that could at most, blow your map away.

The city of freedom truly lived up to its name. It was the smallest in size, but somehow the most lively you’d been to. Bards were commonplace and music being played on the streets was normal to the point where you rarely ever heard the silence. The people, while often drunk, were friendlier than in most cities. In exchange for their help, all they’d ask for was to share a drink, while you told them a tale of your adventures.

That was one thing that they loved most. A good story. Especially one that went well with their liquor, hence why you were always so popular in town. Your adventures, while they seemed rather tame to you, were like music to the ears of the people of Monstadt. They just couldn’t get enough of you. Even though you were supposed to leave days ago, you found yourself unable to pry yourself from the comradery of the city, choosing to stay for just a bit longer.

You nursed your drink and listened to a sailor who’d just gotten home tell the tale of a monster that he was convinced he saw in the sea. The bar patrons heckled him, calling him a liar in more ways than you’d ever heard of, all the while he continued on as if he weren’t being shouted at. It surprised you the first time you saw something like that, them yelling at the person giving the entertainment. It didn’t take long for you to realize that this too was normal and also in good fun.

“I have a story to share,” all eyes turned to the corner of the room to find the source of a voice which was followed by the strum of a lyre harp. Even you found yourself perking up at the sound of the mysterious verse, “A story in the form of a song.”

The bar went silent as the man plucked the strings of the instrument, playing a slow, solemn melody. The way his fingers moved was hypnotizing, they were like waves of water, splashing over the shore in a pattern that was heavenly. But he didn’t speak, didn’t sing, just played that tune into the silence with his eyes gleefully glued shut.

“What are you waiting for? Tell us the story!” someone shouted from across the bar. This caused an almost instant reaction amongst the crowd of more yelling and cheers.

“But it’ll cost you,” he said, finally peaking open one of his swirling green eyes, “The price of one drink.”

There was an instant groan and booing amongst the masses after he said this, but he didn’t falter. He just shut his eyes back, crossed one leg over the other, and began strumming on his lyre again, playing peacefully as if none of the complaining was bothering him. Everyone else went back to what they were doing, ignoring the man once in favor of talking amongst themselves, already sick of his antics. Everyone, but you.

What little bit of the song you’d heard was already stuck in your head, to the point where you just had to hear more. You scraped the mora you had in your pocket out and handed it to the bartender, a tall glass of dandelion wine was slid back to you. A specialty of Mondstadt, you seldom drank it yourself. The taste of it was sweet, a little too sweet. Its sweetness hid the taste of the alcohol, to the point where you found yourself drinking a little too much of it. You didn’t remember any of that night and decided to lay off the wine for a while.

Slowly, you eased the glass onto the table next to the bard, but before it could even leave your hands completely, he had already picked it up and was chugging it down. You watched in relative horror as he swallowed the drink down, each gulp of his throat making the glass become emptier and emptier before he slammed the now completely drained glass onto the wooden table.

“Phew! That hit the spot!” he breathed dramatically, using his forearm to wipe away what little liquor had fallen away from his lips.

Words couldn’t even escape your mouth. You just stared at him in what was akin to horror. Even you, who had a pretty okay tolerance, knew that downing a whole glass like that with no breaks, would get you too drunk to see straight, let alone still act entirely sober. Yet here he sat, lyre in hand, staring up at you with a playful smile.

“So it’s a song you wanted to hear?”

A mere nod was your answer. Curiosity had gotten the better of you in actuality and drinks cost so little. It wasn’t much effort to see what he was offering.

“Then a song you shall receive,”

[ddejavvu]

HI!! I rlly like ur spring fling jake seresin x reader series and was wondering if you already started writing part five?? (no rush, ofc <3)

if you have, would you be willing to share a small part of it was a WIP maybe?? :)) you don’t have to if you don’t want to! just wondering bc I literally love this series w/ every fiber of my being💗🫂

I'm so thrilled to hear that you like spring fling!! as a matter of fact i have started writing chapter five, actually i'm almost finished! but i'll admit it has taken me a long time to write it, and I think you all very much deserve a sneak peek!

The water is cold, colder than you remember as you splash into it, and when you come up for air, already laughing, Jake’s facing you, having turned when you’d fallen from his shoulders. He’s grinning too, a hand already outstretched to help you up, but upon seeing you stand his eyes widen and his face drops.

“Shit.” He lunges for you, cutting through the water as his arm wraps around your back to yank you tight against his chest. You protest, grunting with exertion as you try fighting against his grip. But his muscles are impressive, and you’re trapped against his chest despite your best efforts.

“Would you cut it out? I’m trying to help you. Your top came untied.”

“What?” You splutter, water trailing down your face as you quell your instinctive struggle against his crushing hold. You realize that the reason for the extreme cold had, in fact, been because your bikini top had abandoned ship, and you barely have time to process the feeling of your bare tits slammed up against Jake’s hard, toned chest before he’s fishing the bathing suit out of the water and feeding it around your waist.

“Up,” He instructs, lifting his eyes to the expansive blue sky above you so that you can separate yourself from his chest for long enough to cover your own again. It’s- a strange gesture of courtesy that you would have expected from Daniel, sure, but not Jake. Perhaps that’s why you’re so sluggish, why it takes you longer than expected to fit your top back over your tits and grapple with the strings.

“You decent?” Jake asks, and when you grunt in confirmation he drops his eyes again. He notices you struggling with the ties and reaches for them himself, gently swatting your fingers away as he uses his advantage of sight. It presses his muscular shoulder up against your face, and you turn so that your cheek rests against it instead of your nose. Suddenly you’re held against his chest like a slow dance, and something terribly squirmy happens in your stomach.

[roomwithanopenfire]

Stats Wednesday

I am many days late for sharing my March stats, but I still want to share! I have not written any words at all in many days, but i'm begining to write again. This post is kinda long, so expect graphs, stats, and musings under the cut. And I promise there IS a snippet down there somewhere :)

I posted 1 thing in March, and it was technically posted April 1st, but I'm counting it as March since that's when I finished writing it. It's a short ronance one shot for Stranger Things, if that interests any of you!

Total words written for March: 14516 (despite me falling off the writing wagon in the last week of the month this still beats Feb by 100 words!)

Days I met my writing goal (200 words): 24!

Days I didn't write or edit anything: 6

Day I wrote the most: Mar 2nd with 2422 (this beats last month's highest WC of 2249!)

Number of Fics worked on: 9 (but a bunch of these are small oneshots I'm hoping to finish for Carry On Sapphic Week!)

Daily Average: 468 words (but like always i am highly inconsistent and my WC varies wildy depending on the day)

And here's my WC distrubution pie chart!

You get to know the WIP name of SECRET project (Letters) now (not that knowing the name makes anything clearer lol). Also I worked a lot on THTHIPWGI last month, which was going to be a longer fic for COSW, but tbh I don't think I'll finish it anytime soon and it's probably doing to be on the back burner for a bit. Here's hoping I'll get to it one day.

Some thoughts:

I am very glad I decided to backtrack and make this post because i thought I written hardly anything in the month of March, but actually it was only a week of no writing and i'm doing amazing

However I have not written a word since March 25, but I started writing again yesterday so I'm back on the wagon. april's word count will likely be pretty low, but that's okay because i'm SO busy with school and stuff. Soon I will be free.

I should stop making promises about The Way We Are. i have such a love/hate relationship with that fic. I love it so much, but it's the hardest thing i've ever written, and i feel like the amount of effort it takes does not show in the final product. I literally have just one scene left to write it should NOT be taking this long. If you look at my chart it looks like i wrote a LOT of words but most of those have since been deleted.

There are two (2) reasons I haven't been writing as much. 1) i've been a bit of a funk. 2) I binged watched all 120+ episodes of 9-1-1 in less than 3 weeks and have since read many tens of thousands of words of fanfiction. Sorry to everyone who will now be subjected to my reblogs, i'm going insane. (also sorry if you're someone i've dmed since starting this show, it is like ALL i've been talking about)

My plans for COSW are kind of doomed, but I WILL be finishing at least 1 fic, you can count on that.

WAIT I forgot that I started a new fest last month too??? Okay, i need to stop beating myself up, I did a lot in March actually. Check out @carry-on-many-cakes, a very lowkey fest that me and @the-beard-of-edward-teach are running!!

Snippet from The Way We Are

The line inches closer to the door, and I take in the signs by the entrance.  Ghosts and ghouls must remain corporeal at all times. Please don’t touch the three-headed dog. All vampires are welcome here. (A sign that will help Marjorie and I cross the threshold.) Absolutely no mages allowed. I frown at the last one, thinking about my wand tucked into my arm holster.

Tags and Hellos!

@alexalexinii @aristocratic-otter @argumentativeantitheticalg @artsyunderstudy @arthurkko

@blackberrysummerblog @best--dress @bookishbroadwayandblind @bookish-bogwitch @brilla-brilla-estrellita

@cccloudsss @confused-bi-queer @cutestkilla @drowninginships @facewithoutheart

@fiend-for-culture @emeryhall @hushed-chorus @iamamythologicalcreature @ileadacharmedlife

@theimpossibledemon @jyae23 @larkral @lovelettersto-mars @m1ndwinder

@monbons @nausikaaa @noblecorgi @orange-peony @prettygoododds

@raenestee @rimeswithpurple @run-for-chamo-miles @shrekgogurt @simonscones

@skeedelvee @supercutedinosaurs @sweetronancer @talentpiper11 @thewholelemon

@valeffelees @youarenevertooold @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

[mythals-whore]

WIP Word game

THE RULES ARE: You get a word (or in my case, seven words) and you share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of your word!

@basedonconjecture @hyperions-light @jouskaroo @rookamell @thedissonantverses & @seaglassmelody (shoutout to @becausedragonage who Dm'd me a word also)

I am genuinely giggling & kicking my feet to be thought of so many times. Luckily for all of us I have a hefty WIP folder and wordcount. But! To make this fun for me I've pulled from all my WIPs and I'm not going to tell you which ones.

FATES

F - Fingers thrusting roughly into the hair at Harding's nape, tugging some of it loose from its careful braids. She doesn't seem to mind, moaning breathily into Taash's mouth like she had dreamed this and can't quite believe it's happening.

A - And he’s never enjoyed a chase more than this one—though he considers that maybe it’s because he’s never sure he has her. Even now.

T - “The Viper.” She says, extending a delicate hand and a sultry smile.

E - Even the candles aren’t lit, as if the Lighthouse itself knows what the others won’t accept. Rook isn’t coming back.

S - She tries to blink away the burning in her eyes. Her chest. "I can’t afford to make the mistake you did."

VIPER

V - Viper,

I did manage to stop by that tea shop, thank you for the recommendation. I was able to place a regular order for the jasmine blend you requested. Tested it out myself while I was there. Sweeter than I expected, but reliable.

I - Instead, tears start rolling heavily down her face. And then Davrin is on his knees in front of her, reaching for her without even a moment’s hesitation. The moment he touches her, the breath she attempts to take turns into a sob and the tears start sliding down her face in earnest.

P - Purposeful and thorough in the way Davrin always is. And there’s something in it, this kiss. Some promise that she’s not yet ready for.

E - Even if thinking it hones the wanting into something so sharp it carves something out of her. Something that she knows is no longer hers, anyway.

R - Real panic starts to rise in her throat then. She would not die without a fight. She would not die like this, she would not allow that future she’d seen to pass, not any version of it.

WOUND

W - Whatever it takes. The trouble is that she knows how hollow victory rings when the chasm left by loss is too deep to hear it.

O - One that she hopes conveys it all: I’m here. You’re safe with me. 

U - Usually he marveled at it, but now it made him frantic with the need to know what it was that she was thinking.

N - Not a cathedral like this, but a smaller chantry. Three pews deep and a candelabra with chipped gold paint. It’d been brief, and she stood uncertainly at the back while he knelt at that altar.

D - "Did you love me?" She knows exactly why she asks the question. Knows why her heart leaps into her throat. Still she can't bring herself to look at him, though she feels his wide eyes. Sees his mouth open and close again from the corner of her eye.

KALEIDESCOPE

K - Knowing that she wanted him, knowing what she tasted like—it was unbearable.

A - As she floats toward them, the slightly puffed sleeves that hang off her shoulders flow up and down, almost like the beating of great wings. Her hair is long and loose, but pulled back from her face with golden combs.

L - Lyria is gathering that he’s quite angry with her, but can’t quite figure out why.

“If you were one of my men, I’d have you demoted—and sitting in the brig for a week at least.”

E - Either because the woman shows almost no fear in the face of old gods and fish freak her out or because he still can’t quite believe that she’s tucked herself into his bed with the intent to sleep there.

I - It’s different, somehow, to watch him undress himself.

S - She is not just another polished little piece on their board, some play thing that they can simply use and discard. And though he knew they needed her to be, he hated it all the same.

C - Cullen immediately wishes for any way to erase it—to even take it from her for a moment.

O - One of her hands was pressed against her face and her mouth hung slightly open. She looked so young lying there—much too young to have the weight of all Thedas on her shoulders

P - Part of a set he's been working on quietly. Battered, but still intact.

E - Especially as he pulls the first boot off, and presses a rather chaste kiss to the inside of her ankle before starting work on the other.

MAGIC

M - "My wife is never wrong." a warm smile curls his lip, throwing the scar there into sharp relief, "She won’t let Rook stay lost."

A - And Taash has yet to meet another Lord who can even comprehend the word prude.

G - Growing up in the magisterium, paraded around constantly, he’d grown used to donning a bland, pleased expression. He’d learned to staunch most of his tells. But those bright green eyes flicking over him unabashedly is almost enough to make him blush. Ashur is grateful for the mask covering his face.

I - "I’m never going to catch a break with you, am I?" Davrin asks, brushing her hair from her face with a sigh. A sly smile slides across her mouth, "You need breaks now?"

C - Cyrilla Mercar, so plagued by pain and loss. Second guessing yourself at every turn."

LUCID

L - Like they’re two threads finally being woven together.

U - Until last night, he thought such stories were mere exaggerations. He recalls a time he would have thought a loss of control like that reason enough for the circle to exist, but now he felt a sort of smug satisfaction over it. The commander did quite like winning, and he couldn’t deny that those rolls of thunder certainly sounded like victory.

C - Clearly grieving and eager to throw herself into her work, but for a spymaster who deals in secrets, she was…unexpected. Sharp and shrewd, yes. But there was another side to her, too. A part of her that wanted to be warm and soft. 

I - "I can’t afford to make the mistake you did."

D - "Did it hurt, like—?"

BISCUIT

B - Beneath the silken buttons, some inner corset is laced. He clears his throat again, hesitating. “Do you want me to…?”

I - If you betray us again—betray her—there is nowhere you can go, Dread Wolf, that I will not find you.

S - Sick burns Cullen’s throat, because he understands immediately.

C - Cullen manages to spin her once, and her eyes crinkle warmly, even letting out a short, breathy laugh.

It may be the most valuable thing Cullen was ever given in his life.

U - Unnecessary, because when her clothing is discarded his hands are immediately sliding over her thighs, like he never wants it to stop, either.

I - “I only had to kill one guy.” she shrugs.

“Jesus, Cyri—”

T - "Then you get to do what you always wanted: save the world all on your own."

I am tagging @sugar-peanut-cat @the-sparrohawk @gingervitus and anyone else who hasn't done this already, please do this please tag me. Your word is LANGUISH (and/or RECONCILE)

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Spring Cleaning Update:

Hey there, everyone! First and foremost, Happy Wednesday - I hope you’re doing well and taking care of yourselves the best way that you can.

Secondly, I figured that now o’clock seems like a good time to share some updates since it’s been a while and some things are changing.

Writing Things:

I’m going to be slowly but surely migrating to AO3 as my main fic posting place. A long ago version of me once thought that I’d keep up with posting to both places but I quickly learned that I’m a one trick pony (one site poster) and at the time, tumblr became the numero uno. But with all this talk of it not being around anymore, I’m jumping back over to the archive.

New chapters of ongoing wips will still be posted here until the wheels fall off. (until tumblr dies or the fic is finished) I’m going to start cross posting with shorter pieces/one shots, but the goal is to get it all on AO3. But until further notice, you’ll be able to find new chapters to ongoing series here as well as eventually there.

New stories will only be posted to AO3. I’ve already started this with The Contractor. I’ll still make announcement posts here when new chapters are up, again, until the wheels fall off, but new stuff will only be posted to AO3.

I’ll still be here in the meantime! My inbox is still always open, and so are my DMs. I’ll still be here to chat and gush about fictional characters and do tag games and support other writers and other members of the community and all that jazz!

But in case of fire, I’m also on discord. Same name over there, same dashes between the words. I’m not always the quickest to respond, but feel free to come say hi!

The March Fic Madness Mega Masterlist is live! Come and get your fic recs, folks! And if you’re still compiling your rec list, no worries! Send me a message or tag me whenever it’s complete and I’ll add you!

Bonus update: Currently working on Survivor Blues and The Contractor, so expect some Joel soon!

Putting the rest under the cut because it’s personal stuff and that’s probably not why you’re here.

Personal Things:

Mental health? Not good. Not going to mince words, I’ve been struggling a lot more than I ever really have before, for a longer period than I ever really have before. (I know that I’m in no way the only one going through this, especially right now with the world in the fucking toilet, and I’m so sorry to anyone else in this boat. It sucks so damn bad.) It’s been so long since I’ve actually felt like myself at this point that I’m worried that I’d walk right past her on the street. Being ground into the dirt for a prolonged time is just making it very hard to stand back up recently. I’m very lucky to have a great support system, so that does help a ton, though most days I still feel like my brain is in the dark and my lungs are shrink wrapped too tightly.

Physical health? Ha! Because of the aforementioned issues, I definitely physically feel like garbage most of the time, too. I haven’t slept a solid 6 hours in months at this point and I look it. I’ve also lost weight that I didn’t want/couldn’t really afford to lose, and I look it. Headaches and racing heartbeats have become a new normal that I absolutely hate. The very second that I have access to healthcare (unfortunately I’m uninsured at the moment) I will be seeking medical help for both the mental and the physical issues, but until then I’m doing what I can to keep on trucking.

Okay two bad things are enough, how about a good one? I’m starting to focus a little more of my attention and energy (when I can) on some original fiction! I’m challenging myself to submit pieces to writing contests as well as literary magazines, and I’m planning to partake in nanowrimo this November. My first deadline for a flash fiction (1k words or under) contest is in a few days, and it’s a spooky themed event!

Okay! I think we’re all good and caught up, now. (Bad and caught up, too.) If you have made it this far, please know that I’m sending you a hug through the internets. 🫂 💚

[regthomas1728]

Confidence is Underrated, Humility is Overrated

That title is misleading. This is to any of the writers who are waiting until they think their writing has to reach a certain level of "awesomeness" before they can share it with others for editing, beta reading, and/or publishing.

You are going to want to share your writing before you write it. I know. I understand. The issue? Your writing looks like shit! (Not really, this is just the critique in each of us telling us we could never be a good author or writer.) You think you can't share it until you've attained damn near perfection!

Let me tell you, this simply isn't true. HOWEVER! If you'd like a few quick and dirty tips to make your writing a slight bit better before trusting yourself to share your story, I've included a few things below.

1.) Take a break from your writing.

Work on another project or don't write a single word on anything. Either way, give yourself and your mind a break. Try a few days or a week for a good cleanse. When you open the document back up, change the size and font of your story then reread it. Go through and make comments or use parentheses for commentary as to what you want to change or fix. If you have time, you can wait even longer than a week! I've done this with a few works, a few times. I've waited a year before touching a WIP. It's up to you.

Another thing: sometimes the person and writer we are now isn't the person and writer that needs to create your story idea. Sometimes, you need to grow and mature a bit before you can touch that idea. That's okay, too.

2.) Know your strengths and weaknesses.

If you know you suck at keeping to one tense or one perspective, write that down. Reread your work with that ONE goal in mind. Don't approach two or more unless you can multitask. Even then, you may miss some and you'll need to be okay with that. You aren't perfect and no one expects you to be.

3.) Utilize Resources

Pinterest, Tumblr, Youtube, and many more will teach you grammar if you're willing to learn it. In fact! I'll hold grammar lessons any time for any one FOR FREE if you want to learn and apply it to your own writing. I have plenty of textbooks and plenty of resources to help anyone who wants it. Pinterest includes hot tips, Tumblr includes detailed descriptions and people who are willing to help, and Youtube holds lessons.

Find what works for you and get down to business. If you really want to improve, you'll take the time to learn. And be patient with yourself when you don't get it immediately.

4.) "The BIGGER the issue, the smaller you write"

Think of the war scene in the first Mulan movie. There's a burning/burnt village int he background and what's int he foreground? That child's toy. A doll. It shows how evil the opposition was, that they could kill a child and leave her toy next to a soldier's helmet. The opposition not only didn't care for the innocent lives they were taking but they were cruel enough to mock our protagonists with a dead child's toy. We saw so much more with that than we ever could if they'd shown the burning village. We could only guess the horrors but with that picture set, we don't have to guess how cruel the opposition is. We know.

This also goes into the "Show don't tell" thing and I'm not gonna get into that right now because plenty of people have. I feel like it's still strongly debated because everyone has their own method.

5.) "There is/was"

I saw a tip saying to search up every instance of "there is" or "there was" and rewrite it. They said it helps "declump" the writing.

Ex. "There is a strike of lightning" becomes "Lightning strikes the sky"

In my opinion, the "there" isn't what's bad. But, you are making the action happen quicker? I don't know if that makes sense. It sounds better because the lightning is actively striking rather than a strike is happening "Oh and it's lightning". Make your action active rather than just happening.

______________________________________________________________

Hope this helps. I have a few more tips but this is a good start.

Keep in mind that the first draft is so the story exists and makes sense to you. The second draft is to make sense to your beta reader/free audience and to make it functional. The third draft is to achieve the goal you set when starting this journey. You can create more drafts than three. Some steps take longer than others.

Regine Thomas Tumblr Arse | With (His) Spunk regthomas1728@gmail.com

[clovemaysilee]

WIP wednesday

tagging @julietasgf @ylvisruinedmylife @majorsoapfan @ongreenergrasses @atefingersdagger

a small idea I played with of clato in a zombie apocalypse but in a modern au setting. inspired by @atefingersdagger as well as @bloodmoon-spades sending me that ask for the dailyclatoisms

He was sent on a rather simple errand, at the urging of his bossy, demanding, erratic sort-of stepsister, to find whatever hadn't already been looted at the nearest gas station and collect the scraps for themselves. Humbling as the task is, Cato has more interesting things to do than search for crumbs in a barren wasteland, like watching the gorgeous stranger who still hadn't noticed him lurking nearby as she slept with her head leaning against the peeling, sloppily painted wall of the building, her stringy dark hair coming out from underneath her stained grey hoodie and falling down her shoulders in uncombed waves.

Staring would have been considered rude, in ordinary circumstances. Manners were the first thing that went out the window when the end of the world arrived. Still, out of respect, and because she looks far too vulnerable in this state in a way that makes him feel like something worse than a voyeuristic stalker, he manages to tear his gaze away, ignoring his natural curiosity that, despite his better judgement, instinctively pulls him toward a woman who isn't even his problem, a gravitational attraction. Leaving her there is the smart thing to do, if not the most decent.

Of course, in this new age, decency became about as much of a priority as manners.

Early morning sunlight peaks out from behind the horizon, giving his surroundings a sort of rustic, rural feel, intensified by the abandoned road that leads away from the gas station to the world beyond. If he didn't know better, and focused only on the endless stretch of road meeting the bright pink sky, it would be easy to pretend that nothing had changed, and his life wasn't ruled by a series of decisions that all were motivated by a desire to avoid having his brain devoured. Somewhere in the distance, a horde of ravenous corpses with sloughing cement-colored skin trapped in a perpetual state of decay could easily make him one of their own, and all of this will have been for nothing.

Cato won't let that happen. With renewed purpose, he grabs his baseball bat from the passenger seat, tightens his hold on it until the knuckles become whitened with the effort, and heads inside, browsing the emptied shelves in the futile hopes that the mobs might have missed something.

No food, no drink, the refrigerators are no longer operating with the electricity having been cut off. The cash register is empty as expected - not that currency in the form of green slips of paper had much use anymore.

It is only by accident that he clumsily collides with just the right spot in the wall, revealing an impressively hidden bottle of liquor, miraculously still in decent condition. “Hell yeah!” He roars his appreciation to the desolate store, having little need to care for stealth, not when zombies relied mostly on their sight to find prey. Taking a swig of his newfound post apocalyptic treat, and promptly coughing in discomfort as the vile liquid burns a path down his throat, he ignores the whisper of common sense that reminds him Glimmer won't be particularly happy, or interested in drowning their shared sorrows with alcohol.

A second sweep of the aisles, just so he can tell Glimmer that he was thorough, predictably gives him nothing to work with. Cato is prepared for a relatively uneventful drive back home, even dares to whistle an old song that was playing in between bursts of static from his barely functional radio.

The sharp, vicious curve of a kitchen knife placing pressure against the lump of thyroid cartilage in his neck definitely throws him off. His back collides with the doorway, and he blinks uselessly at the smaller figure before it occurs to him that now would be a great time to defend himself.

An angelic pair of warm hazelnut eyes stare him down, narrowing into catlike slits of contempt. She barely comes up to his shoulder, and has to crane her neck all the way back to meet his gaze, yet Cato so easily finds himself unconsciously submitting to her will. He could grasp that delicate wrist of hers with ease and twist it to an unnatural angle, or rearrange their positions so that she is cornered against a wall instead.

Cato does neither of these things, releasing an ill-advised bark of laughter at the situation. To his dismay, this might be the only human contact he'll have for the foreseeable future, with someone who wasn't like an irritating little sister to him. He knows well to keep his hands to himself, but his mind wanders anyhow, brings his attention - against his will - to the fact that the stranger is just inches away from pressing her chest against his, or how the cotton material of her jacket might feel underneath his roughened, scarred palms.

“You've got a car,” she observes finally, voice gritty and crackling with disuse. The force of her blade against his fragile skin does not ease up in the slightest.

Glimmer would have groaned in exasperation and then slapped him for his recklessness, this girl looks close to relieving him of his lifeblood if he makes a wrong move, but Cato just can't help himself. “Oh, really? Huh, thank you for pointing that out to me. I'm glad you like the car. Not surprising, really. The ladies usually dig it.”

Cheeky responses are not the wisest way to avoid aggravating dangerous women with lethal weapons. His sarcasm is not a fatal offense, because although her jaw clenches at his brazen words and he can feel a trickle of blood being set loose to drip onto stainless steel, he is lucky enough to still be breathing. Judging by the flat, disapproving line of her mildly tempting mouth, this might not be the case for very long.

Her irritation - observed in tiny details like her wrinkled thick eyebrows or the furious redness in her cheeks that are dotted with freckles like blood splatters - makes her distractingly pretty. It's an unfair advantage she has.

She seems to be considering something for a moment, an internal debate he is not a part of. Eventually, she settles on one demand. “Take. Me. With. You.” She's shifted the knife downward, relieving his throat and exchanging this target for his heart instead. Her small hand lying with the palm flat on his chest makes it impossible to think clearly, and the liquor was certainly not helping matters.

Cato shrugs his acceptance, jerking his head toward the pickup truck parked over by the pump. Paying more attention to the part of his brain that yells at him to value self-preservation, he waits until she puts away the knife - tucking it under the waistband of her dark wash jeans and unveiling a delightful amount of bruised, discolored, beckoning skin in the process - before continuing to run his mouth. “If you wanted me to take you home, Princess,” he teases as he trails behind her, “all you had to do was ask politely.”

“This will be a much more beneficial arrangement if you don't talk,” the girl decides, pulling open the car door with more aggression than strictly necessary. He realizes two seconds too late that she went for the driver’s seat. At his questioning look, she shakes her head in disgust. “Please, like I was going to let you drive me anywhere. I heard you in there, getting drunk and practically making a siren call to zombies in a 20 mile radius.”

Accepting his fate, Cato hardly puts up a fight for the spot in the driver's seat, settling instead for a refreshing nap. “Fine, but we need to go pick up my sister on the way to wherever the hell you're going. And I'm not drunk, it was a few sips of some old liquor that tasted like ass. And zombies don't have that kind of hearing.”

“Maybe not, but you should be more careful,” she snaps, venom spilling from her voice like the blood from when she nicked him slightly with her knife. As they back out of the parking lot, headed for wherever the hell she intends to take them, he feels for the spot of injury, his thumb coming away with a few droplets of blood.

“How sweet,” Cato comments, his filter and self control somehow eliminated - really, obliterated - with the effect of this one girl. “Minutes ago, you were going to slit my throat and leave me for dead, and now you're lecturing me on safety.”“I still can, you know.” She sniffs primly, raising her chin in defiance. “Who's going to care if I just leave you to bleed out and toss your body off the highway when you're done?”

“Who’s to say I'm not considering doing the same to you?”

Out of the corner of his left eye, Cato swears he catches her lips curling into an amused smirk. The sight gives him an odd sense of victory, pride and self-satisfaction swelling in the space behind his chest in a warm sunburst.

Other than the occasional directions to the hideout he and Glimmer had made for themselves - finding their home in a jewelry store filled to the brim with engagement rings that now no one would ever buy - they pass the rest of the ride in silence. He sneaks occasional glimpses of her, taking in as much detail as he can, hopefully without the risk of her carving out his eyes for the unwanted attention. The knife was her weapon of choice, that much was obvious, but with the gas station cleared of any useful materials, he has no idea how she was surviving this long, and on what resources. Politeness prevents him from commenting on her obviously unwashed clothes and generally unhygienic, yet somehow ridiculously appealing, state.

[in-my-loki-feels]

I'm very curious about 'Threesome threesome sequel' for the WIP ask game!

I wondered if anyone would take that bait. 🤭 Thank you for the ask!

As I was finishing My Mind's Aflame, I was already thinking about what might happen with these three in the future; specifically how President Loki (who revels in being in charge) would handle meeting God Loki. 👀

What I came up with was a scenario where after Loki ascends, Mobius goes back to the Void to see if President Loki has survived, because he still has a soft spot for broken things, and he still occasionally thinks about that time in the Void. He brings President Loki out but surprise! Our Loki (now God Loki) is also there!

God Loki isn't free of his multiversal duties yet and he doesn't want Mobius to be lonely (and he knows Mobius still thinks of that time in the Void). Mobius does genuinely want President Loki around, but is also determined to get Loki out of the tree. President Loki thinks he can waltz in and boss the both of them around but boy is he in for a surprise! (Plus an even bigger surprise when he realizes these two people might actually care about him. OH NO! FEELINGS!)

This one is more outline than fic but I can share a little snippet:

“You expect me to believe that offer is genuine?” “About as much as I believe this desire to continue being a big fish in a small pond. But it's up to you.” Mobius shrugged and stepped back through the Time Door. It hung open, a yellow-orange rectangle of temptation.  Loki snarled wordlessly and conjured a dagger before diving through. If he was walking into a TVA trap, he wouldn't go unarmed this time.  He arrived in what appeared to be some kind of Midgardian domicile. It certainly wasn’t the TVA. Mobius stood in front of him with his hands in his pockets, a couch and television behind him. His smile widened when he saw Loki; it didn't seem mocking.  Then Loki’s dagger was ripped from his hand by an unseen force and sent flying. Loki turned to see a variant of himself—identical, familiar—standing off to the side, arms crossed. “So it was a trap,” he spat, shooting a glare at Mobius.  “No, but I won't allow threats this time,” said the other Loki.  He was different than when Loki had seen him last, older somehow. He was also no longer dressed like a pet of a TVA. He wore deep green robes, far more simple than anything Loki would’ve chosen for himself, and he had horns where his head had been bare before. Massive, seemingly made of black stone with gold veins running through it, they curved high above his head. Loki would’ve made a joke about overcompensating but there was something about this Loki that put him on edge, made him wary.

From this list. Other answers here.

[weirdbrothers]

Stranger Things Fic Rec

Let me get one thing out of the way: absolutely nobody asked for this. But I love these pairings and stories so much I had to share it with you all. This is heavy on Steve/Billy with some Steve/Eddie sprinkled in.

If you've never read Stranger Things fic, or when you saw this post thought "oh yeah, that 80s kid monster show" I encourage you to give these a try! You don't have to know much about the show besides the bare bones of the plot. (And my ask box is always open for Qs!) If you like angsty teenage boys who are in denial about their feelings and hate their hometown, read on.

Now, on to the porn and depravity!

if i stare too long by @brawlite & @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger | Steve/Eddie/Billy

After the end of the world, Billy Hargrove is a mess. But at least he has company.

Notes: Literally one of my favorite fics of all time, I will never shut up about it. Gay threesomes. Angst. A sweltering midwestern summer. Homoerotic undertones that builds to filthy gay porn. The vibes are all there.

Pressure by Yellow_Blue_Books | Steve/Eddie

"You never did tell me your name," he called at Munson's back. The older man was already in the trees when he turned back around and stated his name, eyes bright and grin wide. Steve never heard it; he couldn't read his lips from so far a distance between them. So instead, he watched Munson walk away; the teen, now wide awake, went to sit on the hood of his car to wait for Hopper to show. On that crisp, cold January night in 1985 - Steve Harrington heard the sound of Eddie Munson's voice for the first and last time. He never even knew his name.

Notes: The only WIP on this rec list, and totally worth the wait. Great characterization. So many little tidbits of information that have me squealing with joy. But also dark and grounded in reality.

chokechain by @brawlite | Steve/Billy (and Tommy is there)

Tommy H. invites Billy to a party at Steve's house. Billy expected hot chicks and booze, but when he shows up, there's only the latter. Steve and Tommy teach Billy that in Hawkins, sometimes you just gotta make do.

Notes: When I think of this fic I literally start sweating its so sexy. The fic that got me hooked on Steve/Billy and gay Steve in general. Its so subtle and gritty and grimy and hot. And Tommy is egging everyone on, yet oblivious, just how I like him.

so good at being in trouble, so bad at being in love by @the-copperkid Steve/Billy

Steve's sophomore year, Billy showed up.

Notes: A fandom classic. The perfect example of Steve/Billy getting together in world, and dealing with their feelings (+ porn, because I'm me and I need porn in all my fic).

We'll Go Down in History by @eternalgoldfish | Billy/Steve

Hawkins High takes a field trip to Baltimore to see historical sites and Steve would rather jump out his hotel window.

Notes: So much teenage angst and tomfoolery in this one! A little more lighthearted than others on the list. Gets to that theme in ST that I love: the idle hands of teenage boys are the devil's playthings.

Dom 4 Hire by @lazybakerart

Steve is naked, on his hands and knees, in the apartment he shares with his high school sweetheart for a man he only just met in person five minutes ago.

Notes: From the second I saw Steve Harrington on screen I knew that boy was a sub dying for someone to call him a good boy. And Billy is just the dom for the job. My only complaint is that I wish this was longer!

Maybe we're something uncool by desert_dino | Steve/Billy

It’s only noon; Billy knows neither of them have work that evening, and their shitty gen-ed biology lab was cancelled. They’ve only been hanging out for an hour, and maybe Billy isn’t quite done fucking around with Harrington yet. Maybe he’ll indulge him.

Notes: Cocky Billy is what the world needs! Great banter and dialogue. Just a snapshot of what I imagine their afternoons would look like, and the teens of Hawkins would be like "why the fuck are they always hanging out?" totally oblivious.

slipping through by sightetsound | Steve/Billy

It was the weed, and the pilfered whiskey from Steve’s daddy dearest they passed back and forth. It was actually how Steve’s eyes caught the moonlight. How his mouth moved when he spoke, and how it curved on a grin Billy would call relaxed when they were alone. Admitting as much felt too much like giving ground, and so it was the weed and whiskey.

Notes: Really bittersweet, heartfelt, and sincere. A different kind of pace for this pairing.

You Get Too Close by @trashcangimmick | Steve/Billy

Steve sits at the back of the bus on the way to a basketball match in Gary. Billy Hargrove sits right across from him.

Notes: Be for real- when we saw that basketball and shower scene we were all hoping it would go in the direction of this fic. Gives me the vibe of an 80s porno in the best way.

Reflecting on the Longest Wavelength by @trashcangimmick | Billy/Hopper

Billy’s heat hits early. Jim Hopper happens to find him before anyone else does. 

Notes: This pairing is a little rouge, I don't see it often and its hard to pin down for me past all the basic tropes. I really like the A/B/O world-building here and find myself returning to it.

[hyperbolicreverie]

❄️ share a WIP snippet? 👀

Gladly! This one is from the post-Dressrosa WIP I mentioned in my last post. Here are two snippets:

Zoro’s eye goes wide as his arm dips under Kikoku’s unexpected weight, and Law almost congratulates himself on startling the generally stoic man. He knows from experience that swords like those Zoro favors are much lighter, and while Kikoku is by no means the heaviest longsword out there, there’s still definite heft to her. “How the hell are you swinging around something this heavy with those stick arms of yours, Torao?” And good feelings gone. Bastard. Law very much wants to protest that a history of severe illness that directly affected his musculoskeletal structure as well as being in possession of a devil fruit that consumes a stupid amount of energy that might otherwise go to his body are perfectly legitimate reasons to not have passed whatever arbitrary strength expectations are rattling around inside the other swordsman’s green head. That there were several reasons why different people develop muscle at varied speeds and levels of effectiveness. A hissed “I do not have ‘stick arms,’” is what comes out of his mouth instead, because being around the Straw Hats makes him dumb. “Yeah, you do,” Zoro says absently, but he’s not really paying attention to Law or any embarrassing outbursts he may have just indulged in, focusing instead on Kikoku and acting much like a kid in a candy store. Law guesses he hasn’t had a lot of experience with longer blades. Well, aside from the one that put the scar on his chest. That one was pretty big. “Does she bite?” Zoro asks suddenly, as Law starts walking off. “Kitetsu bites.” “Kikoku? No, she doesn’t bite,” Law says, turning back briefly. Zoro just nods, still giving the lion’s share of his attention to assessing the nodachi in his lap. If anyone were to ask him later, Law will deny the admittedly shit-eating grin that steals over his face. “She might scream at you, though. Hope you weren’t planning on going back to sleep.” He more feels than sees Zoro’s head snap up behind him as he continues to walk away, ignoring the shout of “What do you mean, scream? Oi, Torao!” that comes from behind him. It’s fun being on the other side of the Straw Hat stress equation, he decides. He should do this more often.

and

Law takes a deep breath. His fault for alluding too much, perhaps, but Luffy’s got the bit between his teeth now and quite frankly, Law is far too tired to deal with the full and complete spectrum of Straw Hat’s stubbornness. “My full name is Trafalgar D. Water Law.” He’s not sure what he’s expecting. Recognition, maybe, of something shared. Complete obliviousness, perhaps. With Luffy, it was impossible to predict. An advantage in battle, certainly, but not when you were trying to have a conversation with him. What he gets is the most put-upon sigh he’s ever heard come out of the man’s mouth, and a look that actually appears to be somewhat annoyed. “Torao,” Luffy says, almost plaintively. “Your name did not have to get any more complicated.” Well. Now Law’s just offended. “It’s not complicated,” he protests. “Your name is almost as long, and you don’t seem to have any trouble shouting the entire thing from the rooftops anytime someone asks who you are.” “Yeah, but—” Luffy says, as if it were obvious. “My name is my name. Of course I know how to to say it, Torao. It would be really weird if I couldn’t.” He squints suspiciously at Law. “Besides, it’s all easy sounds. Half of yours sounds like you’re gargling on rocks.” He shrugs. “Torao is easier. Saves time.”

[rav-rabies-art-blog]

Wip Friday

I just wanted to share how some things are coming along

That Zanzo/OC pic with Kale and Roxanne is coming along.

below is a Zanzo/Kale fic I'm working on which is still in rough shape but I'm happy with how it is coming along. (Zanzo is very oblivious in this one and Kale is a bit of a creep.)

Zanzo grumbled as he rode the elevator up. He was getting real tired of the pranks. Today, EVERY SINGLE PEN went missing in R&D.

Every single one… who has that much time to be that petty. He thought, Probably Roquf- no. He probably couldn't stomach taking that much time not making money.

He had spent a good chunk of the day looking for them. he didn't necessarily need them, but it was the idea of it. The 'why' of it just pissed him off. He had finally found them on a high ledge. All shoved up there, save the ones that had somehow been knocked over.

Zanzo sighed and pressed is back against the elevator's glass wall. Feeling frigidity, he tugged on the collar of the sleeveless t-shirt he changed into after clocking out. His was stewing in simmering annoyance but it was the start of the weekend. Pulling out his phone, he connected it to his head set and opened the Vandelay music app.

Skimming through his play lists he tried to decide if this weekend called for something loud and thumping or a mellower lo-fi sound. Then the elevator stopped earlier than normal.

Zanzo looked up and saw Kale. His boss looked at him wide eyed. Well probably looking at the less-than-tasteful art for the thrash metal band on his shirt. Kale got in saying something to Zanzo. He couldn't hear Kale clearly and pointed at his phone before disconnecting it.

"Sorry I couldn't hear you." He said.

Kale shrugged. "Just small talk." He said.

The two stayed silent as the elevator reached the ground level. Zanzo noticed Kale's eye dart to him every few seconds, but thought better than commenting. The two stepped out and Kale turn to Zanzo.

"By the way are you… Taller?" He asked.

In fact, Zanzo was looking further down than normal at Kale.

"Oh!" Zanzo exclaimed and placed his hand on his head. "I had to reach something up high, a lot of somethings. I-it was just easier to raise the heel than try to - I forgot to lower my heels after. Give me a second."

"Wait." Kale shouted then cleared his throat. "I mean don't worry about it." he said. He wasn't looking away from Zanzo's legs and hips.

Zanzo's eyes narrowed. "Okay." Zanzo said not hiding the suspicion in his voice.

"What do you have planned for the weekend?" Kale inquired.

"N-nothing?" Zanzo asked not sure what game Kale was playing with him.

"Ah." Kale said. "If you're interested, I would like some company for dinner."

Now Zanzo was very on guard, but he didn't see an easy out. "Sure." Zanzo said with the enthusiasm of a man being led to the firing squad.

Honestly that could very well be they way he fires him.

"Six then, the… casual dress is fine." Kale said before turning away from him.

"Oh boy." Zanzo sighed.

--

Kale lived in a very nice part of town, because of course he did. He lived in one of the expensive, snootiest buildings there, because of course he did. He lived in the penthouse of that building, because of course he did.

The lobby was decorated in art deco style which had a resurgence lately. Some of the pieces where clearly vintage. The nicotine yellowed opaque glass signs were clearly among these. The polished-to-mirror-shine black and white tile floor and wooden furniture, on the other hand, were new.

As soon as he entered, Zanzo was flanked by two staff members within arms reach of him. They didn't even bother to hide what they were doing. He took advantage of his longer gait and out paced them to the welcome desk. Its attendant looked him up and down.

The other guest were openly gawking at him as well.

Zanzo sighed and said "Mr. Kale Vandelay is expecting me."

The clerk didn't even hold back his scoff.

Zanzo ignored this as said, "Just call him and let know Zanzo's here," and walked away.

The man called up a hush voice so Zanzo couldn't hear him half way to the elevator. Zanzo did hear the the clerk's sputtered apologies. That put a pep in his step as he got in the elevator.

The elevator attendant was a scraggly teen with acne. He seemed to find Zanzo fascinating to look at. "What floor, sir."

"Penthouse," Zanzo snapped. He was normally happy to be the center of attention. Right now though, he felt like a zoo attraction.

"A-re you in a band?"

Zanzo inhaled and said, "No, I'm a engineer. I build robots," in one, very tired, well practiced, exhale.

He could have grown an extra head right then and the little twerp would probably look less surprised.

The elevator finally jerked to a halt. Zanzo stepped out with out a glance to the attendant. After the elevator shut, Zanzo was alone in a, he guessed, waiting room in front of the door to the penthouse. The walls were decorated with dark wooden panels cut into large squares arranged like tiles. everything pressed inward like a boujee padded cell. Zanzo pulled his shoulders up and hunched over, despite having plenty of space.

Before he could knock on the door, Kale opened it. He had taken off his jacket and vest. The top two buttons undone on his stiff, white shirt revealing some of his robotic body just above a loosened tie.

It wasn't his beloved black combat body but his more casual body whose matte materials was painstakingly matched to his natural skin tone, save for a few red and black accent points as well as the vibrant blue power core.

"Zanzo, you're coming in right?" Kale said dripping on his usual faux charm save only a razor's hint of annoyance.

Zanzo stepped in, noting Kale's eyes tracing his employee's legs again. Maybe it was Kale's more relaxed appearance but Zanzo felt less weary of his gaze. In fact, from the moment he stepped in Kale's whole demeanor softened quite a bit.

Zanzo figured he wasn't getting the boot after all. Maybe he'd get a promotion?

"Thank you for having me." Zanzo said feeling like he could breath again. The penthouse had a open floor plan first floor. Zanzo's . most of the first floor had glass walls. Zanzo's shoulders relaxed as he took in all the glittering shining lights from the city bellow.

"Nice view right."

[cherrychilli]

18+

All of my WIP's are on ice for the moment because ✨writer's block✨ Have some saucy HC's about sharing an apartment with Steve because wouldn't that be nice?

🍒Morning sex before heading off to work? definitely, but on those days Steve's running a little late, you're in the kitchen bagging up something for him to eat on his way to work. He'll sneak up behind you once he's dressed, hands inching up to your breasts, kissing down your neck, teasing you for thinking that he'd leave without getting to fuck you first. You end up bent over your kitchen table getting pounded until your breakfast gets cold and when the two of you are done and you slump exhausted into a chair he'll zip up, kiss you all sweet on the cheek before he plucks the bag you'd fixed for him and tell you that he can't wait to take his time with you when he gets back.

🍒Cleaning the house in your underwear is a great way to rile him up. Acting all innocent on your hands and knees, pretending to scrub at an imaginary smudge on your floors just to give him a view of your ass perched out for him. Or just being naked around the apartment in general because why not? It's fun, it's freeing and you're bound to get fucked when he sees you walking around like that.

🍒Showering together all the time. All you have to do is strip and step inside and he takes care of the rest, soaping you up, probably lingering on certain areas a little longer, lathering your hair with shampoo and when you're out of the shower he'll offer to rub lotion on your legs but to him this is all just foreplay because of course his fingers are going to wander up your thighs and between them. You're definitely going to end up having to shower a second time. He also likes to hide the clothes you left out on your bed when he comes home to find you showering alone just so he can play dumb when you come out dripping in your towel before he playfully tugs it off you for some fun.

🍒During movie nights he likes to keep you close. He's got an arm draped over your shoulder while watching a movie on your couch with his hand dipping into your shirt to hold your boob. At first it's just a comfort thing, something soft and warm to hold but eventually he'll start squeezing it and teasing your nipple, working you up as you lean closer and palm his bulge over his sweatpants. I also think he'd be into having you cockwarm him during the movie. He'd keep you still in his lap when all you want to do is bounce on his cock, teasing you and telling you that if you're good, he'll fuck you when the movie's over.

🍒He's into exhibitionism because I say so. He loves fucking you on the balcony when it's late at night or really early in the morning and you hope your neighbors are still asleep. He'd also fuck you on the rooftop of the apartment building if you're feeling extra risky.

🍒Your neighbors might not love sharing a wall with the two of you. A few noise complaints seems likely. This'll start a sort of competition between you and Steve to see who can make who cum the loudest and each resultant noise complaint is just a tally mark to keep score of who's winning. Also, competing to make the other cum first and assigning chores to the loser to make things more interesting around the apartment. Like loser has to make dinner or do the dishes or laundry or something like that.

🍒If you're going out to meet friends or head out for an event you're almost never on time because the two of you have to have a quickie that ends up being anything but quick before leaving the apartment.

🍒Walking in on each other masturbating when one of you gets back home earlier than expected. If Steve catches you when he comes home early from work he'll make you touch yourself while he watches, probably jerks off at the same time. Some good ol' mutual masturbation for sure.

🍒I couldn't think of one more. Just imagine getting to fuck all over your shared space with Steve - like every room and against every possible surface - walls, floors, tables, chairs, sofa, the fridge, in the closet idc. Sign me up.

[onyxsboxes]

I'd love to know how Not your best idea honey is going if you feel like sharing <3

Hi Ali 💕, hi anon <3,

Hope you're doing well :)

'Not your best idea, honey' (or nybih) is part of my werewolf!gale au and takes place after the war, when they're back home. They went their separate ways, promising to see each other again soon, just long enough to get home and sort things out, but it took longer than expected. Once things are back to normal, Bucky takes Meatball with him and goes to surprise Buck.

But it's not Buck who opens the door, nor is it the reunion he's been dreaming of (even if the tears are there).

For the moment, it's a two-chapter fic: the first is where Bucky comes and learns what happened (chapter almost finished 🥳) and the second is where Bucky sees what happened while he was away (chapter not finished at all 😭).

So it's been a while since Bucky was confronted with what happened to Buck and unfortunately for him they haven't interacted yet because i didn't write much 😭 I really need to get back to it so they can hug and comfort each other.

Here a snippet :)

John attention returned to the boy as he asked him a question. “Is that a wolf?” His voice is questioning and his fingers point to Meatball, auburn hair falling over his forehead as the wind slowly moves it. “No, not really, that fella's a husky. He's part wolf, part dog.” The kid tilts his head to the side, like a curious cat, squints his eyes to try and see the difference, the tip of his tongue poking out in concentration. “We had a wolf around here not long ago.” “Yes, I've heard of it. I hope he's doing well.” The kid gives him a strange look and is about to open his mouth to say something before suddenly halting at the realization of where they are.

I use the tag #spoiler not your best idea honey for this WIP 😉

[aristocratic-otter]

Hey y’all! I’m here, despite a shitty flare up of my fibro this week. I appreciate all of your art and writing so much, you have no idea! Thank you to : @emeryhall,  @monbons, @thewholelemon, @cutestkilla, @bookish-bogwitch, @best--dress, @blackberrysummerblog,@rimeswithpurple, @Iamamythologicalcreature, @artsyunderstudy, @theearlgreymage

Here’s one from each of my official WIPs

From Saving Simon Snow: 

 “What did he add?”

She thinks for a bit longer, but then shakes her head. “I don’t remember. We’ll have to ask him.”

“Ask me what?” comes a voice from above our heads. Baz is there, looking sleep tousled and heavy eyed. A knot of longing forms in my stomach and I suddenly want to drag him back into our (our!) bedroom and tumble him back into bed. I restrain myself, because I don’t really understand where Baz and I stand right now, and because Penny’s sitting right next to me. 

From the Heart in the Well

“Simon,” I breathe, “[Redacted] is one of the fae! Fairy kind disappeared centuries ago!”

Now Simon’s smile drops away. “Yeah, well tell him that. At least I know why we’re here now, though. It’s so stupid—you’d think it’d be safe to eat a loaf of bread someone left out on their porch.” 

Now I’m shocked and annoyed. “You mean you ate a fucking fairy offering, Snow? What in Morgana’s name is  wrong with you?

From Snow Fox: enter Premal

“Word has it,” Gareth drawls, as he strolls into camp, “a passel o’ Tory boys is lookin’ to sign up with the Snow Fox. Turning their coats, as it were.”

Penny lifts a skeptical brow from where she is sitting in the corner of my tent. She’s been poring over what we’ve gathered on British movements for the last several hours, and her eye has developed a bit of a twitch. “Says who?” she asks.

“Says Premal Bunce,” Gareth says. “Ran into him at the tavern.” 

From TikTok Dancer: 

.I frown for a moment about the freckles. How does he get enough sun on his arse for freckles? He’s got no visible tan lines…

I shake my head at my woolgathering. He’s probably a devotee of tanning salons, that’s all. Though it’s odd, I think, as I trace an outline of the constellation Leo by connecting some of his many markings. 

From Stars, Flowers, and Children,

He’s not looking at me now that he’s said his piece. His jaw is locked, and his arms are crossed over his strong chest, which is heaving from exertion. He’s staring out over the horizon with a fixed look on his face. Probably pretending I don’t exist. 

And I don’t. I don’t exist to him now. And it’s my own damned fault. 

From Cupid’s Shield:

It’s 12:30 pm on February 14th, and the day has been so unseasonably warm that most of the school has taken their luncheon out to the Great Lawn to picnic in small groups. Penny and I are no exception.

I spent my entire morning in a pleasant glow of happiness, thanks to my mysterious Valentine sender. 

I think, whoever she is, she’s grown more skilled each year, because this morning’s card looked worthy of being displayed in a museum. I couldn’t do more than gape at it, for a long moment. I think I also wanted to delay touching it, because the feelings trapped inside have become more potent as each year has gone by. And it’s started to really bother me that someone in the World of Mages loves me so much and I’ve got no notion of who she is. It feels unfair, unbalanced or something. 

From my COBB project:

Penelope Bunce and Christie McCoy take the second room on the left without comment. That means, since Rhys and I are sharing the first room on the right, that Simon Snow and Baz Pitch are left to share my old room, the second on the right. 

I don’t know if the two men expected to have rooms to themselves, but there’s definitely some odd subtext to their interaction when I offer them the final room with a silly flourish. They don’t laugh at me. They don’t even look at me. Instead, they’re eyeing each other intensely. Snow looks uncertain for the first time, and Pitch looks…if I didn’t know better, I’d say he looks scared. 

What’s there to be scared about in a bedroom?

Baz

And now we’re roommates again. Lovely. 

I’m also itching to start another WIP because I had a super angsty (meaning fun!) idea. But I must be good…if I finish Heart in the Well, I’ll let myself start it. The only teaser I’ll give now is it starts with an (apparent) major character death 😉 . 

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