#with some inspiration drawn from Rent as well

[kingofbodyrolls]

Songs of the Heart (m) | pjm | chap 1: rebirth

Having just settled into a small house on the outskirts of the bustling city, you’re drawn into the haunting melodies of your neighbor’s sad love songs, echoing through the quiet walls day after day. Concerned, you finally gather the courage to knock on his door, unsure of what to expect—only to be face-to-face with Park Jimin, the renowned singer-songwriter whose voice has touched millions. What begins as a simple gesture of kindness soon unravels into something far more complex, as the melodies of his heart beckon you closer.

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: musician!au (not completely idol!au), single dad!au, slice of life!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / neighbors to lovers → Genres: slow burn romance / fluff / angst / smut / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 5.6k → Warnings + triggers: nothing much, just heartache and small misunderstandings 🤭 → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: Hi!!! How are you doing?? 😄 I hope you’re as excited about this new series as I am (and I really, truly mean it when I say this might be my last series for a long while… so buckle up, it’s going to be a ride!). Now, before you go thinking I’m just setting myself up for failure, let me be real with you: my last Jimin series didn’t exactly set the world on fire—sigh. But I adore it, like, adore it. (I know, I’m biased, but can you blame me?) Soooo, this time, we’re going for a more “mainstream” vibe. Think heavily inspired by Jimin’s album Muse (seriously, his whole vibe in that is chef’s kiss), sprinkled with some Face flavor, and, honestly, just Jimin being Jimin. Because, let’s face it—he’s my bias, and I’m OBSESSED. Like, full-on crush mode. So, yeah, it’s basically me writing about my ultimate crush 😳 Now, let’s clear the air about the smut—I’m not going all-out with it here (though there will be some spicy moments, don’t worry 😉). Why? Well, I have a sneaky feeling this series is going to do okay (I mean, I adore these characters so much already 🥹, but engagement might be a different story). So, I’m going to save my energy for what really matters to me—the heart and soul of the story, instead of focusing too much on the smut (which, honestly, I’m not as into writing as I used to be). Okay, okay—back on track. I’m super excited to share this story with you, and I really, really hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Don’t forget to tell me your thoughts—whether you love it, hate it, or just want to fangirl over Jimin with me ✨ This whole story (which will be posted every Sunday for the next eight weeks) is for my dear friend @remmykinsff! I hope you’ll love it 💜

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“Why the hell do you have so many boxes?” Yoongi groans, his voice slicing through the quiet winter air as he hefts a particularly heavy one—something he clearly should have let Namjoon handle. His breath fogs up like ghostly clouds, a silent testament to the biting cold.

You stand by the moving truck, arms crossed, the chill curling around you like an unwelcome scarf. The streetlamp above flickers weakly, casting long shadows over the small gathering of your life in boxes. You shiver, not just from the cold but from the weight of this moment—watching your brother Yoongi and your best friend Namjoon haul the sum of your memories into the truck, piece by piece, bound for a new beginning.

It wasn’t your choice to leave; the landlord had pulled the rug out from under you with a sudden hike in rent you couldn’t possibly manage. But this wasn’t just an ending. There was a glimmer of hope in the move—a small house on the outskirts of the city with a garden that you could already see yourself tending, sunlight warming your face. Perfect wasn’t something you’d often dared to dream of, but this felt close enough to touch.

Namjoon heaves the final box into the truck and straightens with a satisfied grin. “That’s the last of it. We managed to fit everything,” he says, his breath visible in the frost-tipped air.

Yoongi, less triumphant, leans against the truck, arms crossed, his usual scowl softened by exhaustion. “Not a lot of stuff, huh? Then why does everything weigh as much as a small planet?”

You roll your eyes at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Tiny apartments don’t leave room for a lot of stuff,” you murmur, thinking of your now-abandoned shoebox of a home. What you own might not fill much space, but every piece carries its own story, its own weight. To them, it’s just heavy. To you, it’s everything.

“Yoon, you should really hit the gym more,” you tease, your voice laced with playful scorn, though the grin on your face betrays your fondness. The sibling bond—a language of its own, fluent in jabs and unspoken affection.

“Are you calling me weak?” Yoongi snaps, his tone sharp, but the flicker of indignation in his eyes is almost theatrical. He knows the answer. You know he knows. It’s part of the game.

You laugh, the sound light and unbothered, a knowing glint in your eyes as you glance at his slender arms. “I don’t have to say it, do I?”

Before the exchange can escalate, Namjoon steps between you with a calm authority that feels as solid as the ground beneath your feet. “Alright, easy, you two. I’ll take care of the heavy lifting. Yoongi, you drive.”

Yoongi scoffs, letting your remark go as he shoots you a withering look that doesn’t quite land. He climbs into the driver’s seat with a practiced air of resignation, his fingers brushing over the steering wheel as Namjoon closes the back of the truck with a satisfying clunk.

The three of you settle inside the truck, and silence slips in, gentle and familiar, as the hum of the engine vibrates beneath you. The radio crackles to life, filling the space with the soft strains of a slow love song. The melody spills out like liquid silver, sad yet hopeful, and the singer’s voice—a perfect blend of sweetness and longing—wraps around you like a blanket against the cold.

Your chest tightens as the words begin to take root, burrowing into the quiet corners of your heart: “Even though I was pitch black, I can’t stop thinking about you all day long. Without you knowing, I want to take one step, then another, closer to you. Stay with you. I will be your reason. I hope this feeling reaches you.”

You stare out the frosted window, the aching beauty of the lyrics mingling with the soft glow of the late afternoon light. The world outside shifts and transforms as Yoongi steers the truck with steady hands, the city’s sprawling chaos giving way to the calm, snow-dusted edges of the outskirts. Frost clings to the barren trees and lonely streetlamps, their icy shimmer catching the fading sunlight like quiet promises.

There it is—your new beginning, cradled in the quiet of the outskirts. The small house stands modestly, embraced by a low, whispering hedge that frames its quaint charm. A tiny terrace juts out at the front, its stone surface dappled with the faint traces of winter frost. You remember the cozy backyard from the last time you visited—a patch of earth waiting patiently for spring to bring it to life.

Yoongi eases the truck to a stop in front of the house, the engine humming briefly before falling silent. The three of you step out, boots crunching softly against the snow-dusted gravel. Your heart thuds louder with each step as you approach the door. It’s a humble thing—made of frosted glass that blurs the world on the other side, catching the dim afternoon light and casting it gently inside. You know that when the sun graces it, the whole entrance will glow like a promise.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you fit the key into the lock, turning it with a satisfying click. The door creaks open, and you step over the threshold into your new home. It greets you with its smallness—barely 80 square meters—but it feels vast compared to the cramped city apartment you left behind. Here, there’s space to breathe, to begin again. And the rent, blissfully lower than what the city demanded, makes it all the sweeter.

You glance at the neighboring house—a touch larger, its lot sprawling wider—but you don’t feel envy. This space is yours. Yours to fill with laughter, with quiet mornings, with life.

Flipping the light switch, the warm glow floods the entranceway. The layout unfolds before you in inviting simplicity. The entrance flows seamlessly into a snug living room, its openness spilling into the compact kitchen. The single bedroom feels intimate but holds a delightful surprise: a small walk-in closet that sets your heart alight with possibility. The bathroom, unexpectedly spacious, feels almost indulgent—a small luxury you hadn’t dared to imagine.

You stand in the quiet warmth of the space, letting it envelop you. Yes, it’s small. Yes, it’s simple. But it’s yours. For the first time in what feels like forever, you’re not just standing in a house. You’re home.

Namjoon brushes past you with a box in hand, his footsteps purposeful. “Where should I put this?” he asks, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of settling dust.

“In the bedroom, please,” you reply, recognizing your own messy scrawl on the side of the box. He nods, disappearing down the short hallway. Moments later, Yoongi follows, arms burdened with lighter boxes this time, his silent stare speaking louder than words. You’re not sure if it’s disapproval or exhaustion—or maybe a mix of both.

Together, the three of you move with practiced rhythm, unloading the truck, the occasional grunt of effort punctuating the soft winter stillness. One by one, your belongings find their way inside, until finally, after an hour and a half, the truck stands empty. Inside, your life now lies in disarray—boxes scattered like misplaced puzzle pieces across the small living room. Thankfully, the heavier furniture already sits snug in its designated spots, thanks to Namjoon’s methodical eye for order.

You all collapse onto the sofa, a symphony of sighs and tired exhales filling the room. The cushions envelop you like a long-awaited embrace, and you lean back, the ache in your muscles giving way to a fleeting moment of peace.

“Do you need help with anything else?” Yoongi asks, his tone more dutiful than eager. You catch the subtext immediately: he’s ready to leave, and who could blame him?

“No, I’m good,” you reply with a grateful smile, sinking further into the plush comfort of your sofa.

But Namjoon isn’t done yet. “Can we make dinner for you before we go?” he offers, sitting up straight as if a second wind has just hit him. You wave him off, declining politely, but he shakes his head, determined. “I saw a grocery store just down the street. Yoongi and I will grab a few things, and then he’ll cook for you.” He’s already on his feet, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves.

Yoongi remains rooted to the sofa, his arms crossed and his expression somewhere between incredulous and annoyed. “You think I’m going to cook for my baby sister?” he scoffs, throwing you a pointed look.

Namjoon doesn’t miss a beat, rolling his eyes like an exasperated parent. “What, are you planning to let your family starve?”

Yoongi’s brows twitch as he fires back, “She’s over thirty. She’s a grown-ass adult. She can take care of herself.”

Your lips part, ready to volley something back, but before you can, Namjoon grabs Yoongi’s arm, hauling him to his feet with an ease that speaks of strength and familiarity. “Come on, Mr. Grown-Ass-Adult,” he says dryly, shoving Yoongi’s coat into his hands while slipping into his own.

Yoongi grumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t fight it. As Namjoon steers him toward the door, he casts a helpless glance back at you, like a cat begrudgingly herded.

“We’ll be back in a moment,” Namjoon calls over his shoulder, his voice brimming with cheerful authority. “Relax. Or unpack. Your choice.”

The door swings shut behind them, leaving you in the stillness of your new home, the faint scent of winter air lingering. You let out a soft laugh, your heart warm despite the cold. Family might be exhausting, but they’re also everything.

Then the door closes, and for the first time today, you’re alone. The silence wraps around you like a fragile shell, amplifying the creak of settling walls and the faint hum of distant life. You sink into the sofa, letting the stillness settle, until your ears catch something unexpected—a faint thread of melody, a guitar’s quiet murmur drifting through the air.

Curiosity tugs you upright, your steps soft against the floor as you follow the sound. In your new bedroom, you pause, pressing your hand to the wall. The music is clearer now, gentle and raw, strings bending under someone’s practiced fingers. Your new neighbor, perhaps? The thought lingers as you drift back to the kitchen, the faint melody becoming a backdrop to the rustle of cardboard and clinking pans. You begin to unpack—the pans your brother will use to cook, the utensils that clatter together like an impromptu percussion. Cooking has always been his way of showing love, and you can’t wait to taste the comfort it brings.

As you move through the small kitchen, time slips through your fingers like grains of sand. You make progress—each box emptied feels like a small triumph. The living room is next, and though you didn’t bring much, your touch begins to transform the space into something warm, something yours.

The sharp chill of winter sweeps in as the front door swings open, announcing Namjoon and Yoongi’s return. Cold air rushes past them, carrying the earthy scent of snow and fresh groceries. Shoes and coats are shed in a flurry of motion, and Namjoon drags his bags to the counter, while Yoongi mumbles something under his breath—his version of commentary that you’ve long learned to ignore. Yoongi grumbles as he hauls two bags into the kitchen, while Namjoon shoulders four with ease, a playful smirk on his face as he shakes the cold from his hair. Your brother dives into the kitchen, already rifling through drawers to find the pans you just unpacked.

As you help Namjoon sort the groceries, you note their choices: fresh greens, vibrant vegetables, sturdy staples like rice, beans, and coconut milk. Practical and thoughtful, as always. Your brother doesn’t waste time, snapping orders your way to chop this and rinse that. Namjoon, wisely, steers clear of the chaos and retreats to the sofa, knowing better than to tempt fate near a knife.

You and Yoongi move seamlessly, a practiced rhythm born of years of shared meals and unspoken communication. The kitchen fills with the sizzling symphony of cooking: onions crackling, garlic blooming in fragrant waves, and the gentle stir of sauces melding together. The aroma wraps itself around you, warm and grounding, a promise of the meal to come.

When the food is done, the three of you gather at your small round dining table. The plates are filled with comfort—steaming rice, perfectly cooked vegetables, and savory flavors that speak of home. Yoongi hums faintly in approval as he eats, his silence a language of contentment. Namjoon, ever the conversationalist, smiles wide as he asks about the neighborhood. You don’t know much yet, but his enthusiasm fills the gaps.

The meal lingers, rich and satisfying, until the plates are empty and the room carries only the faint scent of what was. They stand to leave, hugs exchanged at the door, their warmth momentarily shielding you from the cold creeping back in. As they drive off, the truck rattling softly into the night, the quiet returns. But this time, it feels different. Not empty.

Your home, though still half-full of boxes, feels alive now, touched by their presence. And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Silence settles again, fragile and heavy—except for that faint sound of a guitar, now joined by a man’s voice. It drifts through the stillness, soft and haunting, the kind of melody that reaches into places you didn’t know were aching. From the little you can hear, his voice holds a quiet sorrow, tinged with a beauty that seems almost too fragile for this world. Wrapped in the haze of a full belly and the gentle pull of exhaustion, you sink deeper into the cushions of your couch. The music lulls you, and before you know it, sleep claims you.

When you wake, it’s to the sharp protest of stiff muscles, your body groaning in rebellion. You stretch, long and languid, wincing as you ease into movement. The living room light is still on, casting a warm but tired glow across the scattered boxes. Reaching for your phone, you blink at the screen: Saturday morning.

A sigh escapes you, accompanied by another stretch, your bones clicking softly in protest. As you yawn, the faint strands of music that lulled you to sleep the night before have grown bolder, louder, weaving through the quiet morning air. It’s coming from next door, a melody more insistent now, rising and falling like a tide against your walls.

You pause, half-annoyed, half-curious. Who plays music so loudly on a Saturday morning? Still, it isn’t unpleasant. The sound curls around you, melancholy and mesmerizing, coaxing goosebumps to bloom along your arms.

Shaking off the morning grogginess, you shuffle into the kitchen to make tea, the faint chill of the floor against your bare feet grounding you. As the kettle hums and hisses to life, your attention drifts back to the music. This song, like the one before, carries a sadness that pierces through its beauty, the kind of sorrow that feels personal yet strangely universal.

You sip your tea slowly, the warmth unfurling through your chest, and let the notes wrap around you. The lyrics, muffled but achingly tender, float into your thoughts. A sad love song, you think—heartache distilled into sound.

And then, for a fleeting moment, your mind wanders. Who is your neighbor, and what might they be feeling? It’s hard not to wonder. To play songs like this on a quiet Saturday morning—it speaks of longing, of loss, of someone trying to untangle the knots of their heart.

Exhaustion anchors you to the couch, your body heavy with the weight of weeks spent unpacking, working, and simply trying to adjust. The hours blur together as you let yourself drift, half-lost in the steady stream of music flowing from your neighbor’s house. Sad love songs, one after another, their melodies curling through the air like smoke, filling the silence with their ache. At least your neighbor has good taste; the voice is mesmerizing, familiar, tugging at the edges of your memory. And then it clicks: you’ve heard it before, floating from car radios or playing softly in cafes.  

Nearly two weeks slip by, the days stacked like unopened letters. Despite the proximity, you’ve yet to meet your enigmatic neighbor, though their music has become an unintentional soundtrack to your life. Namjoon, ever the social butterfly, has nudged you more than once to pay them a visit. “Just say hi,” he urged, grinning. But socializing hasn’t exactly been high on your list, not when there are boxes to unpack, deadlines to meet, and your energy drained to its dregs.  

Still, a seed of worry takes root. The songs haven’t changed—still steeped in longing, still carrying that unshakable sadness. Day after day, it’s as if the house next door is exhaling heartbreak. Maybe Namjoon’s right. Maybe you should go introduce yourself, ask about the neighborhood, and gently check if everything’s okay.  

Which is how you find yourself walking up the snow-dusted path to your neighbor’s door, nerves prickling like the winter air against your skin. Their house looms larger than yours, its quiet elegance a subtle reminder of its age and stature. Even the door, frosted glass like your own, feels imposing—a pale barrier between curiosity and the answers waiting behind it.  

Your footsteps crunch softly on the frozen ground as you approach. You hesitate, your breath clouding in the cold, before raising a hand to knock. For good measure, you press the doorbell too, its chime echoing faintly into the stillness.  

And then you wait, heart thrumming in quiet anticipation.  

The music drifts out from the house, faint yet achingly persistent, wrapping around you like the winter chill. You shift on your feet, blowing warmth into your hands, impatient as the cold nips at your nose and fingers. Just as the thought of retreating crosses your mind, the door creaks open.

Your gaze lowers, meeting a pair of wide, brown curious eyes belonging to a little girl. She’s impossibly small, bundled in a sweater too big for her, her dark hair a gentle mess. Her smile, shy but sweet, carries a warmth that momentarily pushes back the frost.

“Hi,” she says, her voice as soft as a whisper of wind through snow-covered trees. She studies you carefully, her head tilting as though trying to puzzle you out.

You return her smile, bending slightly to her level. “Hi, I’m Y/N. I just moved in next door.” A pause, then a gentle laugh. “I was getting a little worried with all the sad music coming from here. Are your parents home?”

Her smile falters, her gaze flickering downward before rising to meet yours again. There’s something heavy in her small expression, far too much for a child her age. “It’s just me and my dad,” she says quietly, her voice tinged with something you can’t quite name.

Your heart clenches at her words, though you don’t fully understand why. She’s so young, so sweet, and yet there’s a fragility to her presence that stirs something protective in you. For a moment, you wonder about her mother, where she might be, what might have happened.

“Is your dad home?” you ask gently, your tone as soft as your smile.

She nods, stepping back into the warm glow of the house. “I’ll go get him. Please wait here,” she says, her words so polite they make you smile again. She scurries off, leaving you at the threshold with the frosty air swirling in around your feet.

As you stand there, you catch glimpses of the house’s interior: the dim light casting long shadows, the faint smell of wood and something floral, and always that music—a bittersweet tune that seeps into every corner.

When she returns, she isn’t alone. A man follows her, his presence filling the doorway.

Your breath catches, your jaw slack as your mind struggles to process the sight before you. You’d expected the father of the sweet little girl to be ordinary, unassuming. But this? This man? He’s a vision pulled straight from the realm of angels.

The first thing you notice is his presence—tall, confident, yet carrying a quiet weariness that tugs at the edges of his posture. He’s dressed simply, but somehow that makes him all the more striking. A plain white t-shirt stretches across his chest, the sleeves rolled just enough to bare sinewy arms, and on his wrist, a faint tattoo peeks out like a secret. His black dress pants sit high on his impossibly small waist, falling loosely down his legs in elegant folds, a sharp contrast to the effortless way he carries himself.

And then there’s his face—soft yet devastatingly sharp, a contradiction of beauty. His jawline is so defined, it looks as if it could carve through stone, and yet his full lips, slightly parted as if mid-thought, ground him in warmth. His eyes—soft brown, tender, and framed by glasses and sleeplessness—pull you in, speaking of long nights and untold stories.

His hair, warm blonde kissed with streaks of brown at the roots, falls in uneven waves, longer in the back. It looks as if it was tousled by the wind or restless fingers, and you can’t help but wonder if he even knows how effortlessly beautiful he is. A few faint birthmarks dot his skin, adding something human to a face that feels otherworldly. As he steps closer, his features soften even more, and your pulse quickens.

“Hi,” he says, his voice a low, soothing melody that sinks into your bones. It’s angelic yet grounded, the kind of sound that lingers, reverberating long after the words are spoken. “What can I do for you?”

For a moment, you forget how to speak, how to breathe, how to exist. All your intentions, your purpose, your very reason for knocking on his door dissolve under the weight of his gaze. You can only stare, unmoored, helplessly captivated.

“This lady said she’s our new neighbor,” the girl chirps beside him, her bright voice cutting through your daze like sunlight through clouds. She looks up at her father with a grin, and he nods, clearing his throat.

He steps closer, extending a hand toward you, the motion deliberate and polite. His hand is warm when it meets yours, soft in a way that belies the calluses at his fingertips—marks of labor, of skill, of a life lived. 

“I’m sorry, where are my manners?” he says with a gentle smile, and you realize your heart is racing, thundering in your chest like it’s trying to escape.

“My name is Jimin, and this is my daughter, Hwa-Young,” he says, his voice soft yet resonant, like the distant hum of a melody that refuses to be forgotten. It’s only then that you realize—mortifyingly—that you’re still holding his hand, the warmth of his palm grounding you far too much. With a jolt, you release it, your cheeks burning like embers, the sting of your foolishness wrapping itself around you. This is why you don’t talk to people, you scold yourself silently. You’re a mess. A fool.

The moment blurs, and you barely register Jimin’s words as he politely repeats something—was it your name? Before you can respond, Hwa-Young steps in, her voice clear and chiming with youthful certainty. “Her name is Y/N,” she declares with the pride of someone who’s solved a puzzle.

Jimin smiles, his expression warm enough to melt the frost clinging to your thoughts, and opens the door wider. “Would you like to come inside for a cup of tea, Y/N?”

You nod mutely, words lodged somewhere between your heart and throat. Speaking feels too dangerous; your silence, you hope, can’t betray how tangled your thoughts have become.

Inside, the house welcomes you with a kind of quiet charm. You peel off your coat and shoes, swapping them for a pair of slippers left by the entryway. The hallway leads you into a living room bathed in soft, creamy tones, its minimalist style broken only by the unmistakable fingerprint of family. Children’s drawings hang on the walls in uneven rows, their vibrant colors a stark but beautiful contrast to the muted decor. A small clay sculpture, wobbling slightly on its base, sits proudly on a side table. It feels like stepping into a story—a place where every corner holds a piece of life lived and loved.

Jimin gestures toward the sofa, and you sink into its inviting cushions, the fabric soft against your fingers. Hwa-Young follows, nestling beside you with a quiet familiarity, her presence grounding. From the nearby kitchen, the faint clatter of porcelain and the rustling of tea packets signal Jimin’s quiet movements.

The room feels alive with warmth, not just from the home itself but from the gentle energy of its inhabitants. You take it all in—the way the light filters through the curtains in golden streaks, the faint scent of lavender mingling with the hum of boiling water, and the soft chatter of a child’s imagination as Hwa-Young shows you a paper star she made.

You glance toward the kitchen, where Jimin moves with unhurried grace, and a strange calm settles over you. Maybe, just maybe, this unexpected meeting wasn’t such a mistake after all.

“Are you from the city?” Hwa-Young asks, her voice bright with curiosity, her smile tugging at the corners of her youthful face. You nod, mirroring her smile with one of your own.

“Yes, I just moved in about two weeks ago,” you reply, the words tumbling out like snowflakes in the quiet. “How old are you?”

“I just turned ten!” she exclaims, her voice brimming with pride, her grin wide and unrestrained. Somehow, the innocence in her joy stirs something deep within you, a warmth that begins to thaw the cold edges of your weary heart.

“Congratulations,” you say softly, folding your hands in your lap as if to hold the fragile moment still.

Jimin enters the room, carrying two steaming mugs of tea. He sets them gently on the coffee table, the soft clink of ceramic against wood breaking the silence. With effortless grace, he disappears briefly, returning with a glass of water for his daughter. As he takes his seat in a plush chair opposite you, his presence feels both calming and grounding, like the steady rhythm of a familiar song.

“How are you liking the town so far?” he asks, his voice carrying a soothing cadence, as if he’s accustomed to drawing out answers with kindness alone.

Lifting the mug to your lips, you blow softly on the surface of the tea, the fragrant steam curling upward like a wisp of memory. “I like it so far,” you say, your tone reflective, as though you’re still making sense of this new chapter in your life.

The faintest flicker of realization ignites, and you remember the reason for your visit. You set the mug down, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “I haven’t seen much of it yet. Between work and unpacking, I’ve barely had a chance to explore. But, actually…”

He takes another sip of his tea, and you can’t help but let your gaze linger. The delicate curve of his lashes, impossibly long and casting soft shadows on his cheekbones, draws your attention. His lips—pink, full, and unassuming—meet the edge of the mug, and for a brief, absurd moment, you find yourself wondering how something so simple could be so captivating.

What are you even thinking? You shake off the thought, clearing your throat.

“Ah, yes,” you stammer, a little too loudly. “I couldn’t help but notice…” You trail off, grappling for the right words. “I’ve heard a lot of sad songs coming from your house since I moved in, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Like, not…heartbroken or anything?”

Your words hang in the air, an awkward tangle of concern and curiosity, and you silently curse yourself for blurting them out. Was that a question or a statement? Even you aren’t sure.

But then he smiles—a real, genuine smile—and for a split second, his eyes vanish into crescents of warmth. His teeth peek out, slightly crooked, but so charming it nearly takes your breath away. Running a hand through his tousled blonde hair, he chuckles softly, his laugh like a melody in itself.

“Oh, that’s me. I’m the one guilty of all the sad music,” he admits, his voice carrying a quiet confidence that makes you feel at ease despite your earlier awkwardness.

Your brow furrows in thought as you tap your pointer finger against your lips, the name of the voice eluding you. “What’s the name of the artist? I know I’ve heard him on the radio, but I just can’t place it…”

His smile blooms, radiant and unrestrained, his eyes crinkling into crescents of pure light. “That’s me,” he says, a giggle escaping his lips, soft and melodic like the hum of a lullaby.

You blink at him, utterly perplexed, your mind spinning as you try to piece together what he could mean. “Sorry?” you venture hesitantly, hoping for clarity, your confusion painted plainly across your face.

“The artist,” he explains, his voice effortlessly calm and sure, “is Park Jimin. And I’m Park Jimin.”

The name lands in your ears, but it takes a second longer for the meaning to sink in. His daughter bursts into delighted laughter, while you sit frozen, your expression surely something straight out of a cartoon—wide eyes, jaw unhinged, disbelief written all over you.

Your thoughts race, chasing one another in circles. His voice, angelic and hauntingly beautiful, had felt familiar from the moment you heard it. And suddenly, the puzzle clicks into place. The songs—the ones that wrapped around you like a bittersweet embrace—were his. His.

Your eyes dart toward one of the rooms down the hall, where the music had been flowing endlessly up until the moment he greeted you. But now, the silence is palpable, a stillness that confirms your dawning realization. It wasn’t the stereo at all. It was him.

“Daddy, show her a song!” Hwa-Young pipes up, her small voice brimming with excitement as she hops off the couch and scampers toward a room. The door is ajar, revealing a glimpse of equipment and scattered papers.

Jimin’s smile softens, his eyes meeting yours with a gentle invitation. Without a word, he rises and gestures for you to follow. And as though caught in a spell, you do, your curiosity pulling you forward.

His studio is a world unto itself—a symphony of black and white, sleek lines, and personal chaos. Guitars in all shapes and sizes line the walls, their polished bodies gleaming under soft light. A microphone stands at attention, its cable curling like a lifeline to the scattered pages of sheet music littering the desk and floor.

It’s not just a room; it’s a glimpse into his soul, a sanctuary of sound and vulnerability. You can’t help but let your gaze linger, taking in the effortless beauty of it all.

Hwa-Young leaps onto the couch with a boundless energy that only a child can muster, the cushions bouncing under her weight. She pats the spot beside her, a silent invitation laced with an innocent warmth. You accept, settling in as Jimin crosses the room with a quiet confidence, his every movement purposeful yet unassuming. He retrieves an acoustic guitar, its wood glowing faintly under the soft overhead light, and perches on a nearby stool.

“Play her that new song, dad,” Hwa-Young beams, her voice lilting with pride and affection. She leans back into the couch, her tiny frame dwarfed by its embrace, but her presence fills the room.

Jimin nods, a soft smile tugging at his lips, and then his fingers meet the strings. A single strum reverberates, low and tender, a sound that seems to dissolve the walls and pull you into a different world. 

And then he sings.

His voice flows like a stream over smooth stones—gentle, searching, yet laced with a fragile ache. Feather-light and haunting, it brushes against you, delicate as a whisper yet powerful enough to root you in place. “We never met, but she’s all I see at night.Never met but she’s always on my mind.Wanna give her the world,And so much more.Who is my heart waiting for?If every day I think about her,Yeah, every day of my life.Then tell me why I haven’t found her.”

Each note hangs in the air like a secret meant only for this moment, for you, for the stillness that has settled over the room. Your mind empties, swept clean by the sheer beauty of his voice, each syllable carrying raw emotion that you can’t help but feel, though it’s not your story to claim.

You watch him, this man who pours his heart so freely before a stranger, as if vulnerability were as natural as breathing. His fingers dance over the strings with practiced ease, but it’s the weight in his voice—the yearning, the quiet pain—that lingers in your chest.

A flicker of a question rises, unbidden, as you take in the scene—a renowned singer-songwriter, his talent unmistakable, living humbly in this crappy and cheap neighborhood. Why here? Why this place, when his voice alone could carry him anywhere? But the question dissipates as quickly as it forms, lost in the tide of his music. At this moment, none of it matters.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv

→ Series taglist: @13-manggaetteok @mima795 @hnnnjm @flaneuseonthestreets @miniesjams32 @graydolan12

→ Author’s endnote: soooo?? Tell me everything! What do you think about Jimin? Is he stealing your heart yet, or is it his adorable daughter who’s totally got you wrapped around her tiny finger? 👀💜 And don’t even get me started on what’s coming next... are you excited? Nervous? Ready to cry?? Because trust me, the next chapter has all the feels™. Let’s hear your thoughts—I’m dying to know!

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[sams-art-domain]

Why not me?

Ivan/till

No alien AU

Inspired by this artwork by @carlozw

Chapter 1 of 2, 4007 words, 99.99% angst,

Till is more emotionally mature than I meant to make him so he’s a little sillier.

Tw - general TW of death and all that entails

hehehe Please reblog if you enjoy! :3

ff under the cut.

It’s summarized pretty well by the first few sentences.

A weight on his shoulder, a squeeze around him. Maybe even an all too familiar head pat. Till knew what was going on,

 Ivan couldn’t even leave him alone through the afterlife.  He was sure of it. 

That freak had somehow found a way to bother Till, even though he was dead. And it was starting to get hard to bare, 

Till sat in a criss-cross position, drawing. Not really paying attention to what, it had been about a week since Ivan died, and his fucked up producers was going to make Till show face on stage in a few hours. Just saying a few things about the… stunt Ivan pulled, and he did not want to do that. 

Till’s face reddened at the idea of it. He couldn’t believe that selfish- annoying- Idi- 

Till jumped out of his train of thought- A strong hand patted his head, he could feel it but it wasn’t there. 

“Fuckin- Ivan-“ Till swatted his hands above his head. Even though he was alone in his bedroom, he felt stupid and if anyone else saw him, they’d probably call him crazy. 

Till stared at his paper, he had drawn the stage. Where Ivan was shot. By some insane fucked fan. Of his. His fan. It wasn’t Ivan’s fault that Till was a worse singer. If Till sang better that fan wouldn’t have flipped out and shot Ivan. If Till had moved faster then he might’ve been the dead one. Not Ivan. 

Till stood up. Suddenly very- something he didn’t know what he felt but he was pissed about it anyway, 

“God fuck this-“ He went to go punch a wall. Even though this was an apartment rented by his producers, they would have to pay for the damage. 

He hit something that’s definitely not a wall. 

“Fucking- IVAN-“ He hit him again. And again, and again, and for once in his 17 years of living he would have done anything to have been able to see Ivan’s face. Probably smiling like the weird ass freak he was. 

He slumped against the wall? Ivan? He actually didn’t care. He was tired. Really fucking tired of having to feel like this. His face scrunched up in that empty angry way. When you want to scream with frustration but there's no air in your lungs to scream with. Till stared at the floor of his stupidly fancy building.

Ivan’s fucking dead and Till just gets to move on? He gets to go show face today and make thousands of dollars while Ivan just sleeps in his coffin. It’s not fair. Till should be in the ground right now. Not Ivan. 

Till leaned more of his weight on to the wall(ivan). He exhaled in less of a sigh and more of a last-breath kinda way. He felt dizzy. Exhaustion taking hold in his bones. Like he had never not been tired. “Why not me?” He asked under his breath. Knowing no one would hear it. 

He fell asleep standing there. 

He woke up an hour or so later. Lying in his bed, his heated blanket on the highest setting and wrapped around him. He curled in on himself. Not really remembering how he got to his bed but he didn’t really care. He checked the time. 

1:45ish. He has to get up, like. Now if he wants to make it to the stage in time. “Fuck this…” Till Weakly hit his head on his pillow a few times. He didn’t want to get up. 

Something tugged at his arm. Tug. tug. Till looked at his arm, above the blanket. Something definitely was tugging his arm. 

“Ivan-” Till knew he sounded insane. It was kinda stupid, really. But what else would it be? He wasn’t exactly close with any other dead person. 

“Augh-” Till grunted as one swift, strong tug had him upright in a sitting position. Tills head spun from the sudden change. He felt weak. And tired. Really, really tired. But of course, the producers wouldn’t care that he was being haunted or that he was grieving or that he was tired. They’d threaten him. Or his mom. Tell him that her wellbeing rests on his shoulders. And he knows it does, They wouldn't be able to afford her treatment otherwise. It sucks but that's how it is. And Till loves his mom. He isn’t a quitter. 

Till stood up, and as he did, he felt Ivans hand pat his shoulder. Which was oddly tame and almost comforting. He sighed, and then got dressed in the outfit his producers instructed him to. All black, the shirt having a wide neck that was slightly off of the shoulder. The same outfit he wore in round six. The same outfit Till wore when Ivan died. Sick fucks. Didn’t give a crap about him. 

Whatever. Not like he had a choice. 

Till went to the bathroom, did his own routine rather swiftly. Covered his eyebags with concealer.then swiped eyeliner on his eyelid. Per request of the producers, he put on some subtle black eyeshadow. Till looked in the mirror. HIs brain still felt asleep. Fuzzy. Sedated almost. He just looked at himself. Thin. Thinner than usual? Tired. More exhausted than usual? He looked kinda dead. Ironic all things considered. Till felt like crying. His nose burned like he was about to. But he couldn’t cry. He just put on makeup.. 

He was hugged from behind. It was horrifically comforting. If this was all in his head he was gonna need to have some serious medication to fix it. It felt so real and as much as Till wanted to believe it was real there was always that doubt. ‘You’re crazy. Insane.’ Till didn’t really know how to feel. Never did anymore.

 He wanted to quit this stupid idol job and do something with his stupid life. But he loved singing. 

He wanted to cry but also didn't want to wallow in his own self pity. 

He wanted to see Ivan’s stupid face but also wanted to forget him more than anything.

His life was just stupid contradictions and ultimatums. Hell- his own birth was due to a failed abortion. His mother wanted to get rid of him but couldn’t. 

Till slammed his fists down on the bathroom sink counter. 

Ivan pulled him away from the sink. Holding his hands, still behind him. Till squeezed his eyes shut. Willing the tears to go away. He went to check the time. Ivan held his hand still. Sometimes Till wasn’t even sure this was Ivan. He thought Ivans soul? Spirit? Whatever. Would have been troublesome. And chaotic. Not cuddly and touchy-feely.

 Maybe this is what Ivan had wanted. To be near to TIll. To be able to hug and hold TIll. Maybe it would’ve been easier if Till had let him. Why’d Till even push Ivan awa-

Till's phone rang. He scrambled to pick up his phone. Ivan let go of him. Tills phone read “evil assholes” The producers. “Fuck my life I guess.” 

Till answered. 

“WE NEED YOU HERE IN 5 MINUTES. NOW. THE TAXI IS ON THE WAY. BE READY, IF YOU’RE LATE YOU BETTER CATCH A TAXI TO THE HOSPITAL BECAUSE THE BILLS ARE GONNA GET REAL HARD TO PAY REAL FAST.” The producer on the other end practically screamed through the phone. Good thing Till hadn’t cried. He wouldn't of had time to redo his makeup. 

“Yes. Sir.” Till spoke through his teeth. Enraged he was being held by a leash like a dog. He wanted to punch that fucker in his jaw for threatening him like this. Till hung up aggressively. A silent fuck you to the producer. 

Till walked out of the bathroom. Seething. So fucking angry. Too. Fucking. Angry. Till could feel his breath hitch like he was gonna scream. But couldn’t because this was an apartment with thin walls. Didn’t want any of the stupid rich ass CEO’s next door to flip out. Instead, Till sat on the cough to get his shoes on. Slamming his fists down on his knees hard enough to bruise before slipping his shoes on.

Till, now with his shoes on, had a moment. Briefly mind you. But a moment. To be really. REALLY. Fucking angry. Nothing even mattered to Till right now he just wanted to hurt and hurt and hurt. Whether it be him or someone else didn’t actually occur to him. Till gripped his own shoulders like a crazy person. Furious he had to live like this. Why’d his mother get sick? What did he ever do to deserve such fucked up shit to happen?  

“Fuck. THis-” Till hit his own head with the ball of his hand. He didn't even know what to do with himself. He just wanted to hurt something. He stood up. Practically shaking with anger. He couldn't even remember why he was angry. Hardly. He should be used to being held by a string like this, it had happened since his late middle childhood. When his mom got sick ad his life was turned upside down and the fucked organization that ran this show found him and abused him until he was so completely dependant on them he couldnt escape. Honestly? “Why am I even surprised!? THEY NEVER EVEN FUCKING HELPED!!!” Till was trying to stop from yelling but he had let that one slip. He trembled with anger and he couldn’t put it anywhere. His hands balled into fists seemingly on their own. He turned towards a wall and began punching. Harder. Harder. Harder. His hands hurt bad. His hands were scraped now. He kept hitting the wall and then-

“Till- you have a ride prepared. It is here now.” A higher pitched voice called through the door. Snapped Till out of his rage. 

Till looked at the door and then his hands. Shaking like he was in a snowstorm. His left, index knuckle bloodied. He didn't have time to care. It would just make the producers look bad. Till didn't mind that at all. He exhaled. And turned to the door. Putting on a straight face. Trying to hide any evidence of his breakdown from before. He could only imagine he looked horrible. He hadn't eaten in 2 days. Hadnt slept well since Ivan died. He hadn't even hardly gotten out of bed since Ivan died. Only getting up this morning because he had to.

Till ran his hand down his face, then opened the door. 

Till had made lots of mistakes in his life, but walking out that door? Probably the worst. He was bombarded with paparazzi, 3 professional grade cameras. Tons of other people with their phones out. How do they always find where he lives? What the fuck. 

“Till, I'm so sorry they just followed me and then I couldn't get them to leave-” The girl apologized, but Till just nodded. Deciding he was gonna mentally tap-out right about now. Already overwhelmed as people yelled questions at him(that he of course, ignored.) 

They practically crawled through the crowd and to the taxi as he got in, it finally being a bit quieter. 

“I’m so sorry- I didn't know if i should call security or not, I hadn’t meant for it to get this out of hand.” The woman looked like she was going to cry, and Till knew it wasn’t her fault. 

“Next time just call security, they’re here for a reason. It’s not your fault they don’t know how to act.” Till looked out the window.  But then decided to just rest his head on the front passenger seat. Already far too tired to be doing this. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder, he went to look and woe-and-behold, no one. Well, not technically no one. Ivan. The woman driving had shivered, under her breath, saying something about how cold it was in the car. Promptly turning up the heat in the car, despite it being 80 degrees. 

Ivan hadn’t felt cold to Till. He had always seemed somewhat cold when he was alive, but he was always warm to Till. Something of comfort even. Till always felt far from Ivan when he was alive. Though now Ivan felt so close to Till it was suffocating. 

Kind of like the night after it was made public that Mizi was kidnapped, almost a year ago. Ivan had visited Till. He had felt so weirdly there. And close. He was so real then even though usually Ivan had felt fake and far away. He had even asked before hugging Till. Who at the time was so distraught and scared that he had let Ivan hug him. It would have been normal for any other person, but the softness and vulnerability was so new and different. It was really nice. Which is something Till didn’t know he could have with Ivan. Till thought about that night often. He had sat on the couch with Ivan and he wrapped his arm around Tills shoulder. They hadn’t said much that night. Just hello, goodbye, and Ivan had asked- “Can I hold you?” That was really it. Ivan had hugged and cuddled Till while he cried. But since then they hadn’t said much. And then Ivan was shot. And died. And Till could officially say that this was the worst year of his life. The only thing that could make it worse was his mom dy- 

Don’t jinx it. Do not finish that fucking sentence. 

Till had started to think he was the one hurting the people he loved. The day before till was going to confess to Mizi she was kidnapped and had not been heard from since. The day that he had started to really think about Ivan as more than just an annoying guy he’d known for years he died. He died. 

The car stopped. Great. He was at the place he thought of as hell on earth. It was so fucking hot in the car yet the woman driving still had the heat on. 

He sat in the car. Wishing a crazed fan would shoot him next. But he wasn’t shot, so he opened the door. 

Y’know how earlier he thought he had made the worst mistake of his life? Well this was a worse one. 

People, people, people people- Till had decided then he HATED people. There were hundreds. Some with microphones and news reporters. Some were just phones. Some polaroids. He hated being watched like this, fuck his stupid life.  

A man holding a large camera asked him a question, loud enough that he could actually hear outside of the loud ambience of a crowd this huge. “Had you been dating Ivan before he was shot?” 

Why? The. Fuck. was the first question he was asked. Not. ‘Are you okay, how have you been? Why are you back so early?’ 

No. It had to be about that stupid thing- Ivan- Fucking hell Ivan why did you have to kiss me- and then die?! 

Till thought he might’ve punched the guy. Then he felt a strong hand grab his. Ivan. It made Till tired. Sad. Less angry. So he did what he did best and ignored the question. Just wanting to get backstage and away from these people. 

And he did just that. 

Once backstage, Ivan had let go of his hand. And Till felt an emptiness. Ivans soul was very… comforting? Safe? Whatever. 

Till didn’t get to feel safe here. 

As he walked through the entrance to the room directly leading to the stage, several makeup artists rushed him to a seat and began working. Obviously, they had to make him as emo as possible. Heavy eyeliner, using contour to make him look more tired than he was. Trying their best to really make him look like he was mourning- but in an aesthetic way not “I’ve barely eaten or slept in days because I’m, so horrifically distraught and empty and of course the soul of my dead person is haunting me why wouldn't he?” kinda way. 

Once they had finished, The producer. Anakt. Came up to him. Great. 

“WE NEEDED YOU HEAR 10 MINUTES AGO!!!! WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN???” 

Till looked up at him, a sickening amount of rage washed over him. He stayed silent though. 

“UGh- fuck this. Just go out there, say some kind of basic-ass eulogy, confirm you are NOT. gay or queer supporting at all, tell them that round 7 is in two months and then get off the stage. I’ll be deducting 10% of your paycheck for your tardiness. Don’t let it happen again.” Anakt walked away. Leaving a Till trembling with rage and fear.

He stood up, and made face. 

On this stage alone is a privilege. Usually only given to the winners of Alien Stage. But of course, Till is standing here because he wasn’t shot. 

He walked up to the microphone. Sick with so many emotions. Resisting the urge to cry. And he didn’t know what to say. The crowd went silent. 

Till figured if this was gonna be about Ivan, this was gonna be honest. Something he never was with Ivan. 

“Hello everyone. I-” Till gulped. his throat already dry. “I’m here to talk about the events that happened 6 days ago on this stage. The day that Ivan-” He paused, debating his words. “The day that Ivan was murdered. Shot 3 times through his back.” Till swallowed tears. 

He looked at the crowd, the one that was usually cheering. But now dead silent. 

He felt a strong hug. Arms wrapped around him. He decided to keep going. 

:”I’ll miss him. A lot. And I don't think my life will ever be the same again.” Arms squeezed tight. Till let it happen. 

“I think I deserved to have died on that day. Taken Ivans place.” Despite being a celebrity, Till wasn't good at words and struggled on what to say next. Ivan rested his head on Tills. It felt like it was just him and Ivan. Words came easier. 

“But I didn't. So it's up to me to keep living now. I’m sorry that this is how things ended up.” Till sighed. 

Ivan pressed his forehead to Tills. And Till leaned into it. He probably looked a little weird, but who cared. 

“If I could say something to him today I’d say this: 

Ivan, you have been the person I've been closest to for almost 10 years. You have made me happy and mad and sad and made me feel just as much as I didn't know I  could. But despite that you’ve always been fabricated. Hidden. Far away. Yet I could always feel your warmth. LIke the sun, so far away yet warm all the same. 

Maybe under different circumstances we’re normal kids. Not forced to fame. Not used liked dolls. Maybe we bicker and fight but we never have to worry about faking it for PR. Maybe you’re genuine and real and we’re close and we hang out after school and play video games. 

That’s truly impossible now. And I think- I think I hate the man that shot you. Which is hard for me to say because I don't want to hate anyone. But I do. I know I do. And I think there was a time in my life where I hated you. For always being so clingy yet distant. For always being so blunt but hidden. It pissed me off. 

But now I don't think there's anything in the world that would make me hate you. Nothing at all. The only reason I hated you is because no matter how much I tried I couldn't understand you. You were so fixated on me. But was never honest. Never real.  Never close- I’m just going in circles now. But anyway. I didn’t understand you, and I still don't, and I don't think I ever will understand you. And I guess I'm stuck with that now because you’re gone. Sometimes I think you’re not really gone. Sometimes it feels like you’re right there. That I could reach out and feel your stupid hand. Or that if I could just squint a little harder I could see your stupid smile. But I guess you are really gone. I’ll never know you. And that's my biggest regret. I think. 

Since you’ve died I've barely slept, eaten, or got out of bed. Since you’ve died every morning when I check my phone, I feel something in me die when there's no good morning. Every night, I feel like my whole routine is thrown off because I don't get a good night's text. I don’t think I've had any real conversation with someone since you’ve died. The fucked up part of someone dying is that they’re existence doesn’t end. They still exist, just not with you. They’re still alive in an unfulfilled routine, a memory, a dream, a feeling. The hurt. And it's the worst. Like how when you empty a cup of water, you’ll get thirsty again but the cup is empty, and eventually you die of dehydration. And there's nothing I can do to fix it.”

Till couldn’t stop from letting a few tears slip. Ivan squeezed him, holding him like he was trying to protect him from himself. Till swallowed and kept going. He knew his producers were much more than furious at this point. Figured he could keep going. 

“I said that I wish I had died that day, not you. And that's true. Ever since you died all I have been able to think of is ‘why not me?’ ‘Why wasn't I shot?’ And I still wish I was dead right now instead of you. Though I don't think I would've wanted you to suffer like I am right now. The last thing I would have wanted was for you to be forced on stage to excuse your death while you’re still grieving. So there's gotta be a reason I didn't die. I don't know what it is. But I know that there has to be one. Right as you died. Hands around my throat, you smiled. You smiled like this was the best day of your life, and maybe it was. Maybe you were surprised, but happy with your death. Maybe you wanted it. You always were selfish. Always just doing whatever you wanted- or maybe you didn't want it? But you had accepted it anyway. I don't know. I could ask questions like these all day. It doesn’t matter.”

Ivan was holding till so gently. With so much caution and love- and Till was crying. Fat, hot tears rolling down his face as he tried to only look at his feet. 

“I don't know what was hoped to be accomplished with this. But I did it. So, before I go, I want to confirm two things.” 

This might be the true, real, most horrific mistake of his life. But Till seemed to have been making lots of those lately. So he figured, Why not one more. From this, he realized something. From Ivan dying and this speech, he had made one of the scariest and most upsetting realizations of his life. And now he was gonna tell the world. He tried to hide his slowing tears as fast as possible.

“Ivan loved me, that's why he kissed me that day.” The crowd seemed to perk up at that, lots of whispers, and Till figured that he might as well make his worst mistake, ever. 

Ivan let go of the hug, him not even expecting this.

Till decided to just say it, get it over with and walk off the stage. “And I love him. Which is why I let him.” Till remembered that at the time, he had tried to push Ivan away, so he added. “Sorta.”

“That is my eulogy for Ivan. Round 7 in two months.” Till walked to backstage, and the crowd fucking erupted with cheers and claps and screams. 

Ivan held his hand the whole time.

also yes of course the title is a mitski reference what do you take me for? A good author?

[hermetiqa]

What advice do you need for your current situation?

Daily Message: 21.08.24

Reminder: it doesn't matter if you saw this reading a day or a week or a month or a year after posting this. My readings are timeless. You'll see this when you're meant to see this and receive your message.

Close your eyes and take a deep breath before picking a pile. If you feel drawn to more than one pile, it's alright, you may take the piles that you're drawn to. What's important is to take it how it resonates and leave what doesn't.

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Pile 1

I'm getting some student energy from you here, Pile 1. It's either you're a graduating student or you already graduated. You're thinking and planning to move out of your house/parents' house with someone here, I'm hearing a friend or someone you're in a relationship with. You're planning to move out with them and rent a place together, specifically an apartment. You've been thinking about this a lot and you're willing to take the risk on this one. But I'm getting that you should be patient with this and don't rush it. I'm hearing that you want to start anew here because you might have some bad relationship with your parents and family, and you will, just take things slow and don't act on impulse. Ask for some help from people who were in the same situation as you and now they're happy and stable with their own lives. Make them your inspiration.

Pile 2

So you're thinking of walking away from your relationship. You might have had some conflicts or arguments and for you, it's not working out anymore. This person might be apologizing to you now but you chose to take a break for a while, have a cool off, and reassess the relationship. I can see that you're reassessing this relationship and you're thinking that maybe it really just won't work out, but you still might be hopeful about this. You're trying to heal from all the pain that this person had caused you in this relationship. And now, after reassessing for a while, you're thinking that perhaps it's best if you break up with them. And I'm getting that yes, it is. It's starting to get toxic and unhealthy, it's not good for your well-being. So it's time to start anew on your own. You don't need them in your life anyway. You might still be in some kind of in denial stage, you might be trying to convince yourself that this will still work out, but it won't anymore. You took some break from this relationship to see things clearly, and now you shouldn't gaslight yourself for something that will not happen. Take some time to look back in your life without this person and think how happy you were without them. Go on, start anew without them and heal yourself from what you've been through in this relationship. Don't let this person manipulate you and convince you to give them another chance and they say that they'll change because with all the chances you had given them, they didn't change. This time won't be any different.

Pile 3

You're anxious about the school year coming up. It's so near and this is making you anxious. You might be a transferee student and you're scared that you might not do well in your new school/university, perhaps you're a freshman. Either way, I'm getting that you need to do some advance study now. Set your hobbies aside for a while and include studying in your daily schedule and routine. You're scared that the teachers/professors won't recognize your efforts this year and you need to protect yourself from this feeling. Don't let this fear take over and control the way you manage your day-to-day life. Don't let it hold you back from actually improving and doing your best because you're thinking that it might not be enough. You've already went through a lot here, especially when it comes to your studies, you already learned a lot and you're even done with all the school drama. Now, it's time to get yourself and your life together, welcome this school year with passion and be interested in what you have to learn this year.

[ivesambrose]

ℜ𝔞𝔥𝔲 𝔦𝔫 𝔓𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔰 & 𝔎𝔢𝔱𝔲 𝔦𝔫 𝔳𝔦𝔯𝔤𝔬 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔱 𝔪𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔰

October 30, 2023 — May 18, 2025

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Picture 1

You'll look back at your childhood, early teen years or even the eras before you that you haven't lived and take inspiration from there when it comes to your creative expressions. Might revisit old films, old forms of media, music etc too.

You'll feel detached to modern life quite a bit. I believe for a long time you've been quite cynical since even the field of creativity moves too fast being heavily reliant on content generation so you had kept your hobbies aside till now or were worried about learning anything new and allowing yourself to develop in your craft.

However, you'll have this unabashed sense of confidence which comes from simply catering to that version of you that wants to find joy and awe in the arts and whatever makes you feel less doom and gloom.

You might adopt a pet or find yourself feeling closer to animals. Also, do not worry too much about your finances. They will pick up.

Some of you might rent out a place or move into a new house.

Some of you will have prospective romantic suitors or an existing relationship will bloom slowly but with assurance.

A word of advice is to invest your money properly and not mindlessly spend it at the same time the harder you hold onto it the quicker you'll find your funds decreasing. Find a middle ground.

Detachment from what you have pushed yourself to hustle for tirelessly for so long and allowing yourself to dream, explore, rest and take it slow is going to eventually bring you what you truly want without you having to lose your sanity in the process.

Picture 2

Life seemed to have been filled with toil and labour that may have been showing it's adverse effects on your health. That and the need to achieve perfectionism has been constant but the results have been futile.

Either you have been working towards something you're passionate about and will see the results finally come through or you'll finally find a reason to be passionate about or something that is worth the dedication and labour you put for the long haul and you'll appraise it's results by the middle or towards the end of this transit.

You may be realizing certain connections (likely romantic) however established will not be making it. But that's okay, you'll be eager to take steps towards a new direction even if the past seems to come snapping at your feet. (Literally, take care of your legs and feet.)

You'll also eventually be pushed to become your own boss and validation. Learn and break the cycles of your own deliberate ways of self sabotage. What does that bring? That success you have previously slaved away for.

When illusions and distractions fall away, true transformation occurs. A clear mind is a gift of it's own, a power you can confidently weild. You can finally move forward without the constant anxiety of looking back.

Picture 3

You've been impatient for your own metamorphosis, your rewards, your blessings as well as your rebirth. The previous month's felt like someone grabbed you by the head and pushed you down in an effort to make you sink at some point, you prayed that it's done with, just so the suffocation would end. That's exactly what has happened but you don't realize it yet, but will in the coming months, the old you is gone.

Some of you may be feeling drawn to dark Goddesses (learning about them or working with them however this applies to you)

You'll be pushed in the spotlight now, unknowingly, suddenly and inevitability. The metamorphosis is complete see? You haven't noticed but the people will. And although there are so many fulfilling offers both in career and love, why must you run from it? Maybe cuz you've chased all of this or wanted all of this for so long, now that it's here, you feel a sense of detachment. And although aloofness is soothing and maybe even attractive, live a little. In fact, you should unapologetically live out loud.

You have this pent up energy of wanting to beautify, nurture and bewitch everything and everyone around you and that you will, it will start with yourself first. A lot of you will venture into an artistic field that will require travel, travel in turn will also help you in connecting with your soul tribe. Listen to your heart a little more because you certainly love being in your head.

You've also been worried about your family, you'll see them happy and fulfilled.

There's so much to create, to achieve, to learn, to teach, to explore to give and to receive. So don't hold back.

Picture 4

Sometimes realizing that what you thought brought you joy because it looked exciting and good in the pictures was sucking you dry after all, can also feel like a heartbreak or an afternoon cry under the shower. You've been sick likely and devoid of true merriment. Perhaps some of you aren't as happy with the company you keep. Good thing is, that's about to change, even though at first it may not feel like it.

There's conflict internally and externally, it might bleed into your proffesional/academic life. Is everything really supposed to be competition? How much of your authenticity have you compromised so far?

I do see you managing your finances/material life/academics/work/business etc efficiently. Finally resting, recharging and looking after your well being too.

At some point you'll encounter someone unlikely who will feel like a guiding star to you and might end up being a friend, a muse, a mentor or lover and if you're lucky, all of them in one person.

You have courage but you also have Intuition and foresight, trust it, use it. So that the joy you feel and what you celebrate next, fills your soul not just your glass.

[help-i-lost-my-sock]

Fireworks (Sanji x Reader)

Word count: 1666

Summary:

SFW.

Fluff.

The Straw Hats have a day off from adventuring. Reader has a crush on Sanji, but is unsure whether he likes her back... Until that night.

Other notes:

Inspired by Episodes 134 & 139 (Firework Island & Rainbow Mist);

Written with pre-TS Sanji in mind.

Not proofread.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Traveling the seas brought the Straw Hats to all sorts of new places, one more exciting than the other. But no matter where they went, you could be sure to never get bored.

You’d been traveling with the Straw Hats for some time now, and for some time now you’d had your eye on a certain love-cook. His grace, charms, and manners captivated you instantly, but it was his cooking - second to none - that truly sealed the deal, and reserved him a place in your heart, and in your mind, where he’s now been living rent-free. 

You couldn’t help but marvel at him. His chivalry was truly unique. His charms, while quirky to others, never failed on you. Sometimes you wondered if he noticed; wondered if he truly paid more attention to you or whether you were just imagining it - whether you were just blinded by your fancy, looking for a sign that he felt the same. 

Whenever he’d cook, you’d be in the kitchen with him, helping out wherever you could. You honestly weren’t even sure anymore how it started - did you really enjoy cooking, or were you then already looking for an excuse to get closer to him? 

When the dishes would be more elaborate, Sanji, polite as always, would seat you down with a treat while he did the work. His treats were delicious, always and without exception. But no sweet in the world was as sweet as his goofy smile when he turned to look at you over his shoulder. Even then, his skilled hands never stopped the preparations - steadily chopping, slicing, dicing, grinding, or stirring. His hands… You so often found yourself staring at them - so graceful, and so skilled. Every once in a while your thoughts would slip a little further, wondering what else those beautiful hands of his could do, and just how skilled they would be with you. Other times you found your eyes drawn to his rolled up sleeves, or the way the shirt hung off his back, or the way those pants suited him well enough to drive you mad. His cheerful voice, and bright smile would tear you out of your daydream every so often, as he asked you questions you did not hear. The smoke from his cigarette would swirl up, clouding the air around him, much like he clouded your judgment. 

But today was a day to relax. The crew was in no hurry to their next destination, and decided to stop on a small island along the way to restock their provisions, and spend a day off the sea’s swaying waves. 

After finishing the necessary shopping, the crew split up to explore the island. You, Nami, and Robin thought of going shopping. As luck would have it, Sanji and Chopper decided to tag along, while the others went their own merry ways for the remainder of the afternoon. 

Shopping with the girls was always a unique experience, what with Robin’s dark humor, and Nami harassing the vendors for unreasonable discounts. Nevertheless, it was your quality time with them. But today, with Sanji there, things were bound to be different. 

Nami wasn’t particularly fond of having Sanji tag along at first, not looking forward to his attentions, until she realized that she could use him as a mule. Robin didn’t seem to mind. She never seemed to mind spending time with any of the crew. And besides, she knew that while Sanji always spoiled the ladies, there was one in particular he always paid more attention to in particular; one in particular that, if given the choice, he would naturally gravitate towards, and that was neither her, nor Nami. It was you. You, who’d been pining for him for so long, and yet, were still so blind to his affections. Robin found it amusing. She and Chopper even had a little bet on it.

As your little group sauntered from store to store, Sanji’s load of bags piled on and on. You tried to refuse his help at first, feeling bad for him caring so much, but Sanji, ever the gentleman he was, would not take no for an answer, as his deft hands swept the bags from your hands. The feeling of his soft skin brushing against your own, made you feel all warm and tingly with a soft, sweet, subtle kind of joy. And so, the only thing you were left to carry for the day, was your ever-growing love for the love-cook. 

As the day progressed, you and Sanji spent most of the time talking to each other. Robin and Chopper exchanged looks and chuckled to themselves, knowing that their bet was soon to be settled. Nami seemed a bit suspicious - suspicious of Sanji’s lack of flirting with her and Robin, suspicious of Robin and Chopper’s discreet glances, and suspicious of how in the world you were able to put up with him for so long, and not go insane. You could see it in her eyes, as she looked at the rest of her group. Her brows would furrow in confusion every so often, before she’d shrug it off - at least she didn’t have to put up with him, right? And you, surprisingly enough, actually seemed to be enjoying yourself. 

By the time the evening started setting in, it felt almost as if he’d forgot about everything else but you. And you, about everything else but him - his calm and soothing voice, his kind and flattering words, his poised walk, the way always kept an eye on you, the way his lips moved when he spoke. By the time the evening started setting in, the two of you were so immersed in each other that you had shut the world away. 

But every day must come to an end, and so, your little group headed to the ship to drop off the bags, and regroup with the rest of the crew, before heading into town for the evening. 

The evenings were your favourite time of day to explore new towns - the enticing smell of local cuisine, the cheerful townspeople toasting at the pubs, the stars shining brightly in the sky as the whole world left shed their worries, and came together. 

“Oooohh !! That smells good! Let’s eat there!” Luffy was quick to catch a whiff of a local spiced roast, and then quicker still to rush towards the place. 

“Oy, Luffy! Wait a seco-” Nami tried to stop him, but it was too late. Once Luffy zeroed in on food, there was no holding him back. 

The rest of the crew laughed and shrugged, and started following their captain. 

The skies were clear that night, exposing millions of stars twinkling in the skies. But clear skies also brought chilly winds, and Sanji, who’d been walking right beside you since you left the ship, was quick to notice you shiver, even if only so slightly. 

“Ah, ___-swan, are you cold?” This man - always so attentive, always so chivalrous - had no intention of waiting for an answer, and was already taking off his suit jacket. “Here, take my jacket. I wouldn't want you to catch a cold.” 

With a small nod, you allowed him to guide your arms into the sleeves of his jacket. A smile made its way to your lips, and your eyes softened as your mind zeroed in on the jacket. It was so warm. So soft. And above all, it smelled of him, and his cologne. It’d never really occurred to you before, but now that the scent was so close, you remembered it - it was the same cologne you gifted him for his birthday a few months back. 

A booming sound followed by crackling caught your attention before you could reach the restaurant. The crew all looked up to the skies to see the dying sparks of a firework, quickly followed by another, and another, and another two, then five, then ten, twenty, until the skies were lit with spirals, and scattered sparks of red, and gold; of blue, and green. 

“Woah!” 

Most of the crew were transfixed by the fleeting artworks that painted the skies above them in a myriad of colourful sparks, there one moment, gone the next. 

As you gazed at the skies - your eyes wide, glittering with joy; your mouth agape in awe - you felt an arm wrap around your waist, gently at first, testing for a reaction. When you turned around, you found none other than Sanji, looking down at you with a soft and warm expression on his face, though you knew he was nervous. You could see it in his shy smile, and the way his arm tensed around you. Sanji, the object of your affections, was holding you. And most of all, he seemed genuinely nervous - nervous to not mess this up, because it was you that he wanted most of all. And what a pleasant surprise this was. 

It took you but a moment to return his smile, as you looked up in his eyes. A soft blush crept onto your cheeks as you settled deeper in his embrace. This was all he needed. You quickly felt his hold of you tighten, pulling you closer still into him, and deepening your blush. 

Sanji leaned down to your ear, his breath warm as it fanned against your skin, his golden locks soft as they brushed against your cheek. 

“The fireworks may be beautiful, but they cannot compare to you,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear. 

Bewildered by his words, his whispers so intimate, you turned your head to look up at him, before he continued…

“For you, my dear… Are breathtaking.” 

There was no cigarette smoke to cloud the air tonight, but he continued to cloud your mind, and his words of romance would have you stripped of inhibitions, as you raised yourself up on your tiptoes and pressed your lips against his. 

The fireworks, as charming as they were, could not compare to him.

[periprose]

Ps5 Peter Parker x reader inspired by this?

It's one of my favorite MerDer moments on Grey's anatomy 🙈😭

Peter explains something about physics or an idea for a gagdet...

🤣 this image really cracked me up lol thanks for the ask!! I've set the fic to take place in the first game, Peter and Reader are Otto's assistants at Octavius Industries. Please ignore the science mumbo jumbo in this fic.

/

Otto's lab was really cold this time of year. He barely had the funds to make rent in Manhattan, let alone provide optimal heating and other luxuries.

Still, you shiver, searching through your locker for your comfy, oversized jumper. You're just pulling it on when Peter pops up from behind you.

"Hey."

"Jesus!" You flinch and then rub your eyes. "Hey, Peter. How do you get behind me so fast? That's the third time this month I didn't even see you come in."

"Uh... I just have good reflexes, I think." Peter's mouth twists a little, as he tries not to laugh at your jumper. "Are you sure that's up to lab standards? Where's your lab coat?"

"Ah, Otto doesn't mind. He knows I'm cold." You explain, and Peter sighs.

"Well, he never gives me special treatment."

"Probably because you're not as cute as I am." You joke, but Peter nods and you feel a callous level of attraction towards him for being so nonchalant in terms of flirting.

You never really know where you stand with the guy. He's a naturally witty person and you refuse to read into anything any deeper, just for self preservation.

"Hey, I can't disagree with that." Peter laughs that quiet, soft laugh that makes you smile on your own. "Here, I got you a cup of coffee. That should help warm you up."

You look down and see, sure enough, Peter's holding a coffee cup tray, loaded with three cups, surely your usual orders- for you, extra black espresso to stay awake, for Peter, usually some kind of healthy tea hybrid, and for Otto, a large, creamy Italian coffee blend that's particularly expensive (Peter always jokes that Otto wastes funding on things like this).

"Oh, I'll pay you back." You reach back into your locker for your wallet, but Peter stops you with a raise of his hand.

"It's free of charge. No worries." He hands you the cup gently, and your hand skirts across his. You think for a moment.

"Nothing is ever really 'free of charge', Peter." You give him a side glance. In the last couple of months you've known this guy, you've figured out when he has an ulterior motive.

"... Alright, alright. You got me." Peter starts pulling you along by the hand, towards one of Otto's offices filled with white-boards and desks and equipment. You take a sip of your coffee and notice that it's still quite hot- Peter must've been really fast to make it so.

Not that you're complaining, and now that you're warmer you do feel more inclined to listen to him.

"Okay. You know how Otto's neural interface for the experimental arms have been glitching out?" Peter's got a firm look on his face, as you sit and listen.

"Yeah. It's a poor prototype, I think he asked us to leave it alone? He said he'd deal with it." You shrug. "I've moved on to his requests for a tighter, stronger arm. You know I deal with hardware."

"Yes, but even so, the neural interface problem still persists. Otto's lying." Peter looks at the whiteboard, and sees that half of it is covered all over with erratically drawn diagrams and equations. It's fine, he knows he can write what he needs in that space.

"Okay, look." Peter begins drawing a diagram of the neural interface's circuitry. "See how the voltage is really high?"

"Yeah- but isn't that what Doc wanted?" You grimace. "Last time I brought up the voltage issue, he told me to mind my business and continue with soldering. He wants so much power for some reason."

"Right, that's what I'm talking about. Notice how Otto keeps having those outbursts?" Peter sighs, a deeply upsetting look overtaking him. "He's getting a bit aggressive as of late, and I think it's because he can't figure this out."

"You're telling me. Just yesterday he chewed me out for clocking in a bit late." You sniff. "Okay, I was fifteen minutes late, but still."

"I've been there, you don't even have to justify it." Peter laughs, and begins drawing squiggly lines. You can't help but notice how his strangely muscular arms are tense and visible through his lab coat as he scrawls, and you take a sip of your coffee, savoring the view. Looking isn't illegal, you try to rationalize, but you quickly banish these thoughts as Peter looks back with a sly glance, to make sure you're paying attention.

"This is the electricity flow... and it should be heading this way, but the neural interface is made incorrectly and the flow of energy is heading back this way... towards the-"

"The battery of the arms, not the interface." You suddenly realize, and take a scrap piece of paper off the desk, scribbling down notes. "Hmm... maybe the wiring used for the arms is absorbing too much energy? Or the batteries are too big?"

"Maybe, but neural interfaces are tricky business." Peter winces as Otto yells at something in the background of the lab. "I told Otto not to get too involved with it- it's far too easy to accidentally mess with your brain, and then suddenly you've got anger issues or worse-"

"Dementia." You finish his sentence with an equally grim expression. "Okay. I hear you, but how are we supposed to fix it, exactly? I can only think of using different, smaller wires, or a less cost heavy battery- but then it won't move at the speed Otto wants it to."

"Yeah." Peter's shoulders slump a little, and you feel bad. He's always just one dude trying to take on the entire world's problems.

"Peter, it's not your problem, really. You can only do so much- the man has made up his mind, he's going to have to take the brunt of the problem." You try to console him, but Peter has that determined Parker Pride you've seen far too often, and you know he's not going to let it go.

"Wait, wait. Okay..." Peter starts frantically drawing on the board, and seeing that he's running out of space, without missing a beat, begins to draw on the wall.

"Peter! You're drawing on the wall!" You admonish him, and to your shock and utter horror, but not to your surprise, he keeps going. "Now you've completely lost it- it'll take two seconds to erase the board-"

But Peter isn't listening, in that overly stubborn, inventor way that you know you've done before. He's too lost in his own thoughts, and you know that spark will disappear if he takes a moment to stop drawing.

"I'll clean it. It's fine. We got to get a move on." Peter points to the new diagram on the wall. "Look at this."

Peter's drawn a rudimentary depiction of the robotic arm prototypes you've built for Otto, but the battery pack has been split up into several, smaller batteries that extend over the course of the arms. Something about the way the arms move in Peter's drawings look a lot more... smooth, silky, like a cephalopod.

An octopus.

But you are amazed at Peter's capabilities, either way. "Using multiple different batteries, so the energy isn't drawn away from the neural interface in a great capacity?" You blink, a bit amused at Peter's eager expression. "It would work, I think, but only if Otto is willing for a slight decrease in power."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. We don't need to sacrifice power at all." Peter draws a set of gears, interlocking through the squiddy looking arm, and you clap your hands, clambering up out of your seat, finally enthused by his idea.

"Peter Parker, you genius!" You shake his arm excitedly, and he turns a bit pinker as he watches you, grinning. "Otto wanted the arm to be almost entirely synthetic material- but if it has rotating gears, the less it will jerk around. It'll be faster, smoother-"

"Thus requiring less power anyways, and less power will be redirected into his neural interface. And, hypothetically, no more angry Otto." Peter grins, and you smile up at him. "I mean, it'll still take some tinkering to figure out, but incremental improvements are still improvements, right?"

"Definitely. Plus we can always try to convince him about solar power again." You joke as Peter snickers.

Peter opens his mouth, about to say something to you, but he stares for a moment too long and hesitates, especially because in the nerdy excitement, he had gotten so close to you, and he was a liar if he said he had never checked out his cute co-worker. Any second now, you should be teasing as you usually do- but your eyes are wide and Peter gets the sense you've been swept up in this too.

He's never been so... close. He can make out individual eyelashes, tiny scars, imperceptible to normal people, but not to him.

And his phone buzzes with some kind of alert. He looks it over with bright, concerned eyes, while you take a moment to step back, much to Peter's mild irritation.

"Ah... must be MJ?" You ask, trying so very hard not to sound like a jealous girlfriend, just a curious colleague. You have nothing against MJ- you just feel that she and Peter are so meant for each other, and this is exactly why you've been trying to protect yourself.

Who are you kidding? You and Peter are both so busy- you'd never have time to be his doting, adoring girlfriend. You just have to remember him as a friend.

Already you feel the walls coming into place, your expression turning neutral, your heart becoming steely, when Peter looks at you again, surprised.

He can tell you're holding yourself back- and he doesn't like that. He wants you to come back to him, to be close with him again, and it drives him nuts that it has to be your choice, but he respects that.

"Not MJ. We broke up a while ago." Peter swallows, hoping he's saying the right things. "Uh... I don't think we're going to get back together. She's dating someone else now."

"Oh." You squeeze Peter's shoulder as comfortingly as you can. "Peter, I'm sorry. I would've been less of an ass if I'd known."

"No, don't be." Peter fixes a firm, kindhearted glance at you, taking your hands, the warmth of his own making you feel especially treasured. "You're great."

There's a teeny bit of hope working it's way into you, into your silly, girly heart despite all the steel around it, and Peter has a soft smile reserved just for you- you know that smile, you've seen it before when he comforts you when an experiment goes poorly, or when you've had a Eureka moment.

He rubs your hands. "Jeez, you're cold! I know women are usually freezing in the workplace- different body temperatures on average and all that- but I'm going to have to talk to Otto about making it warmer in here."

"Lest I die of hypothermia, right." You snort, and Peter snickers, but he still stays close, as if he's using this as an excuse. "Well, at least I have your hands."

Peter's phone buzzes again, another alert, which he apologetically takes a moment to read after letting go of you. Something about Fisk's thugs making their way through Grand Central Station- he shouldn't leave right now, but he can see your curiosity is piqued.

"Just a news alert. Nothing big." Peter lies, and you don't quite buy it, but you don't want to pry at this moment after he's complimented you and been so nice to warm up your hands.

Otto bursts through the entrance of the room, sighing.

"Will you two lovebirds stop canoodling with each other and test out the circuitry? You know, like I'm paying you to do so with very limited funds?" He barks, and then inhales. "Sorry. Just... try to stay on task. And I know you're young and all... but stop drawing on the walls!"

He leaves, grumbling about youth being too romantic and wishing they would understand sensibility.

You're about to refute whatever Otto said, so Peter doesn't feel uncomfortable, when he speaks first.

"I take it he isn't a romantic." Peter jokes as he grabs some paper towels, and you laugh, feeling that Peter's flirting was more genuine than you thought.

[hexalianrebel-blackfeathers]

 (Tickle) Fight Club

Panda's Notes: Hello, hi, yes, I have been slightly obsessing over this AU for the past few months, and I finally finished...a part. >w< Buckle in, kids, this is a lot longer than I first thought it would be. You can once again thank the lovely @rosileeduckie for facilitating my nonsense.

...What? No, I totally don't have recent commitments that have an encroaching deadline. What are you talking about?!

[Ao3] || [Commissions] || [Ko-fi]

[1] || [2]

Warning: ~10K words about Miles brutalizing some folks. Enjoy. >w<

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Miles had a terrible habit of getting drawn in by Ganke’s nonsense.

“Hey, that character looks sick; you make that?” turned into binging episodes of an anime every night through junior year. He wasn’t complaining, but somewhere between the third movie and the 700th episode, it was a miracle his grades hadn’t completely tanked.

“Dude, nice shirt! Do those, like, spell something, or…?” became an entirely different binge through half of senior year. And Miles maybe fudged the truth a bit with one of his art teachers when he submitted a project that was only loosely inspired. Again, not complaining!

“Oh, nice mash-up, man; I loved that song when I was a kid, but I don’t know where it’s from.” You’ll never guess what happened after that. Those games were fire, though, and at least this time, he could move at his own pace, even if Ganke was nagging him over text every few days while he was away at college to geek out.

When Freshman year ended—finally, thank the gods—and Miles returned to New York, he was met at the train station by Ganke and immediately dragged to the apartment he was sharing with—

“You moved in with my brother?!” He asked in disbelief. “Wait, I didn’t even know he left home!”

“Well, technically… Your parents don’t entirely know yet—”

“What?!”

“—And he hasn’t actually moved out. I did. We just split rent here. Both of us have jobs and projects going pretty well, and he kinda just tells them he’s hanging out at my place, which is technically still true; they just don’t know my parents aren’t here—”

“Hold up, wait—” Miles flailed a bit to interrupt Ganke’s rambling. “Gross; is this like ya’ll’s love nest or something?”

Ganke’s arms dropped to his sides, a bright blush coloring his pouting face as he glared at Miles. Miles just snickered and crossed his arms tauntingly. “I’m not hearing a no, Mr. Lee~”

“Y’know, when he tossed out the idea of letting you borrow his room while he’s at school—just, like, use it as an extra little art room or whatever—I thought ‘wow, just like when we were roommates at Visions; how funny!’. But now, I’m gonna tell him you’re banned.”

“Pfft, what?!” Miles giggled, following Ganke toward the back of the apartment.

“Yep, calling him right now…” Ganke pulled his phone out of his pocket all dramatically, pretending to scroll through it.

“Ooh, I bet you have him saved under something dorky~” Miles had lunged forward, hands squeezing playfully at Ganke’s sides as he made obviously fake efforts to peek at his phone. He had a sort of squawking-type laugh whenever he was caught off guard, and Miles loved it. Even when they first met back in high school, Miles had made a habit of sneaking up and prodding him. They liked to get into little fights, usually ending in Miles wrestling Ganke into an easy pin while sneaking scribbles up his sides.

This is important information, because today, and today alone, Ganke suddenly wrenched his arm out from under his own weight, hooking Miles by the arm and rolling both of them into a reversed position. He sat heavily on Miles’ waist, his hands quickly moving to try and worm fingers into his armpits. Miles’ legs kicked as he hugged his arms tight to his sides, and his voice was tangled in nervous squeaks and giggles.

“Someone’s awfully squeaky for starting a fight with the one who knows your weak spots.” Ganke sneered, pressing lightly along the edges of Miles’ ribs to try and slip through his defenses.

“W-When did you get good at wrestling?” He asked through clenched teeth, trying to twist to one side.

“Hm, probably around the time you started sucking at it.” Ganke taunted, raising his hands slightly and wiggling his fingers.

“I do not!” Miles argued with a laugh, his leg kicking out when a few fingers traced along his neck. There was a jarring thump, and despite Miles apparently not feeling pain all of a sudden, both of them were concerned when a few things fell off of the dresser he’d kicked.

“Goddamn, you have been here for ten minutes, and you’re destroying the place!” Ganke teased, pushing himself up off of his poor guest.

“That was not my fault, and you know it.” Miles giggled as he sat up, picking up the picture frame that had fallen beside him. He glanced at it as he stood up, curiosity taking over his face as he realized something.

“Hey, wait a second; I’ve never seen you wear this!” He noted with a laugh as he got to his feet. Ganke peeked over his shoulder, and a chuckle slipped out as he remembered the photo. He was in some costume, mostly purple and some bright green. Looked like a cut-off t-shirt under a biker jacket. There was a paw print drawn on his stomach and whiskers drawn on his cheeks, and he was grinning like a champion as he held up what looked like a gold medal. If it was the same medal dangling from a hook next to the mirror, it was definitely plastic.

“Haven’t worn it in a while either.” Ganke shrugged, taking the frame and setting it just so under where the medal hung. “I should probably bring it home and wash it, actually.” He reached up and pulled the medal off the hook, smiling fondly as he ran his thumb over the feathers embossed in the plastic. He smirked slightly as he caught Miles staring at it in that all-too-familiar way.

“You wanna know how I got it~?” He asked almost tauntingly, and he laughed as Miles slapped his arm and pouted.

He seemed to be physically struggling with himself, crossing his arms as he kicked childishly at the carpet. “…Yeah.” He admitted, smiling in defeat.

-----------

“Okay, so, final checklist: the safe word is Blackout.” Ganke explained as he led Miles down the hall from the changing room. “It’s the real deal though; we basically shut the whole thing down. Very different from tapping out. Do not confuse the two. What’s the safe word?”

“Blackout.” Miles said firmly, wrapping the last loop of tape around his hand and cracking his knuckles softly.

“Nice.”

Miles was wearing a slightly loose t-shirt—kindly loaned by Ganke—and some old basketball shorts. Ganke had been pretty coy about what all this was supposed to be. He seemed to struggle with what to tell Miles without giving the whole thing away. He eventually settled on saying it was somewhere between wrestling and improv club. And, coincidentally, there was an “open tournament” coming up. It was one of the ways they invited new members; the “hands-on” way, so to speak.

“Let me see your nails…” Ganke murmured, taking each of Miles’ hands for a moment as they walked. “Okay, so, we have a little side room you’ll be waiting in. You’ll know the signal when you hear it. You’re still cool with the audience, right? It’s just the theater dorks from the other side of the building; twenty people, max.”

“I’m fine with a little crowd.” Miles chuckled, shifting closer to elbow him gently. “You still haven’t told me what’s going to happen though.”

Ganke laughed lightly and shrugged. “What’s to know? You either pin your opponent for ten seconds or you tap out if you can’t handle it. Nothing else at all~”

“You are awful.”

They chuckled with each other for a moment before quick footsteps suddenly approached from behind them. Two people jogged past them with hoods up, laughing casually as they waved at Ganke and kept running.

“Hey, you guys are late!” Ganke scolded playfully as they disappeared through a door.

“Oh, we’re late?” Miles almost flinched at the sound of a third, heavily accented voice, and someone purposefully shouldered past him. More like elbowed past him, really, which Miles realized when he turned to see a man at least a head taller than him sauntering by. “Shouldn’t you be in the booth then, mate?” His hair was done up in thick locs, and those were tied back behind his head. The man’s dark eyes fell on Miles like a weight, but he smirked as he lifted a hand from his pocket and lightly tapped Miles’ shoulder with the back of it. “Ey, you brought a new fish. Looks like he won’t last a minute.”

Miles scoffed silently, managing to contain his offended face as the man sneered and stepped away. “What’s his problem?” He asked Ganke, trying not to smile.

Ganke shrugged and snickered. “We wonder that every day, man.”

“He thinks he’s the final boss or something?” Miles asked just a bit louder than necessary, a grin pulling his lips as the man stopped and looked pointedly back at them.

Ganke looked between them for a moment, grinning a bit himself as he moved to block them. “Okay, I see where this is going. Save it for the ring, you nerds!” He teased, pressing his palm to Miles’ chest and shooing the other man away. “On ya bike, then!”

The tall man snorted, throwing his hands up as he turned and went through the door the others had used. Ganke smirked as he nudged Miles to a different door.

“You go in through here. There’s an exit on the other side. Like I said: you’ll know the signal when you hear it.” He instructed, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Good luck! You know I’m rooting for you—Oh! Real quick, uh…” He pulled his hand back with an apologetic wince after grabbing Miles’ arm. “Since this is just a trial thing, we usually don’t use challengers’ real names. Privacy; just in case. You, uh, got a name in mind?”

“Geez, put me on the spot, why don’t you?” Miles wrung his hands a bit, looking away as he itched the side of his head. “I…I kinda like New Fish…” He admitted a bit hesitantly.

Ganke snorted, almost giggling. “Seriously?”

“Shut up…”

“Hey, I’m not judging~ Much.” He taunted, shoving Miles playfully before starting to pull the door closed. “What’s your safeword?”

“Blackout.” Miles spoke with an audible pout as Ganke still smirked at him.

“This is going to be great.” He snickered, motioning to Miles with one hand. “No shoes in the ring, man. See you out there.”

Miles rolled his eyes, pulling his sneakers off as he sat on a bench to wait for this supposedly obvious signal.

-------------

There was always something about the ring. Okay, look, it’s not actually a real fighting ring or anything, but just—Here, try to imagine:

There’s the timbre of the crowd: the rhythm of applause and little echoes of folks calling out their favorite cheers. When Ganke jogged into the room and the cheers redoubled, he couldn’t stop himself from basking with a grin before continuing his rush to the “Commentators’ Booth”. Frankly, they owed the theater club a lot for being such good sports; it almost felt like it was grander than eighteen chairs situated around a large square arrangement of blue gym mats.

“Little late, aren’t we, Mr. Lee~?” The young lady in the chair beside him taunted as Ganke slid into the booth. “I almost wanted to start without you.”

“Very funny, Margo.” He chuckled, leaning under their table to fiddle with the volume knob on the boombox their microphones were plugged into. “I wouldn’t miss tonight for the world; not with this turnout either!”

The audience cheered in response. They knew their roles well for not being around in a while.

“Ooh, I do love a good crowd.” Margo readjusted the cat ears clipped into her braids. “More importantly, though, we finally have a challenger again. Feels like it’s been forever.”

“Hasn’t it been, though?” Ganke sighed dramatically, resting the back of his hand on his forehead. “Reminds me of our time in the ring; those were the days.”

“Ganke, that was only, like, four months ago.”

He leaned back in his chair, draping his whole arm across his face as he pulled his microphone closer with the other hand. “An eternity in my heart, Margie.”

Margo rolled her eyes and snuck a poke at his exposed side. “Anyway, I hear this one’s a friend of yours. Any details you can sneak us?”

Ganke snickered and bat her hand away. “Nah, you’re not getting anything out of me that easily. Just know I’m betting on him. Honestly, I can’t believe he didn’t join sooner.”

“Only thing I can’t believe is that he actually let himself be called New Fish.” Margo murmured intentionally into the microphone, earning chuckles from the crowd. She blinked as her watch buzzed against her wrist. “Ooh, the gang is getting restless. Make noise; make noise!” She hit the table with open palms, signaling the audience to clap and stomp while she stood from her chair. “Yeah, get hype! And let’s welcome our newest challenger!”

Right on cue, the “challengers’” locker room door opened, and the audience cheered as Miles walked out into the small gym. He seemed just a bit nervous, but he smiled as he walked, fidgeting with his hands while he approached the mat.

“Ooh, you didn’t tell me he was cute!” Margo giggled as she sat back down. “Looks a bit familiar though, doesn’t he~?” She’d placed her hand slightly over the microphone, sneering at Ganke as she elbowed his side.

“You shut up.” He shot back, looking away as he blushed. “Absolutely irrelevant. Although, actually, I don’t really know why he never came until now.”

“Did you tell him what we’re all about?” She glanced between him and their guest waving shyly at some audience members.

Ganke leaned back in the chair, unable to keep the mischief out of his grin. “Oh…I told him enough.”

She laughed softly, giving him a little kick under the table. “Terrible.”

He smirked, letting his chair’s legs thump on the floor as he hopped to his feet. “Alright, Fish!” He called, motioning Miles over to the so-called ring. “Let’s get you in the tank, because we’re bringing out your first opponent!”

------------------

The second locker room door was pushed open, and the small crowd cheered excitedly. Miles watched warily as one of the robed figures they’d passed in the hallway casually walked out. Halfway to the mat, they finally lifted their hood off, revealing a young man just about Miles’ height with light brown skin, the brightest, most joyful eyes, and some amazing shiny hair that he started to tie under a gold headband after handing his robe over to Ganke.

He was dressed almost identically to Miles in terms of shirt and shorts style—which he was quick to point out as he stepped onto the mat—but he had several different spider shapes tattooed—or maybe just drawn—up and down his arms in glittery gold ink.

“If I had known we were going to dress the same, I’d have asked Claw to give you a color to match, machhalee.” He spoke with an Indian accent, and he took a few steps slowly to hint Miles to do the same. His eyes seemed to light up as Miles matched his circular movement, but he schooled his expression and casually set his hands behind his back. “Sooo, New Fish, since you’re new, Fish, we’ll be using our names too. They call me Sona here. Well, they call me a lot of things, but Sona’s the one I picked out.”

Miles chuckled softly, resting his hands in his pockets as they circled each other. “Sounds nice. Kinda like it means something when you say it like that.”

“Oh, it does.” Sona grinned playfully. “If you survive, I’ll tell you what it means.”

“Survive?” Miles brought a hand on his chest, letting his face act shocked. “Oh, it’s a death match, eh? I see you.”

Sona paused, giggling as he started to walk again. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

Miles shrugged with a grin. “Well, I’ve known…Claw?” He glanced over at Ganke, who nodded smugly. “I’ve known him a while. ‘No Spoilers’ is one of his Nerd Laws.”

“Hey!” Ganke called as the audience chuckled. “Pretty sure I didn’t drag you out here to insult me!”

Sona snickered. “Ah, I don’t really know how I feel about them hiding stuff from challengers, buuut, I admit I like a little surprise. So, I guess I’ll give you a hint.” He stopped, and Miles grew wary as he closed a bit of distance with slow steps. “…Tickle fight!” He laughed as he lunged.

Miles flinched, nervous excitement shooting through him at the call before he really processed what had just been said. He planted his feet firmly, catching Sona’s hands in his own and holding him back. “W-Wait; what?!” He asked in disbelief.

“Ooh, subtlety be damned; let’s go!” Ganke called as the audience cheered them on.

“Shine bright, Golden Boy!” The girl beside him—Margo, he was pretty sure—laughed, picking up her microphone.

“You’ve got some reflexes on you, huh?” Sona teased, curling his fingers where they were caught between Miles’.

“Were you actually serious?” He felt like he’d been blindsided, and, well, he had been. “It’s a tickle fight?!”

“Well~ We try not to be too serious around here.” Sona giggled. “But I wasn’t kidding.” He leaned suddenly to one side, and Miles stumbled as he yanked his hands back and shoved them against Miles’ sides. Sona followed him as he fell to the mat, kneeling beside Miles and scribbling across his stomach.

“Little early in the game to be floundering, isn’t it, Fish?” Sona teased, grabbing at Miles’ wrist as he giggled loudly. The audience groaned around sparse snickers, and Sona nearly giggled too.

Miles let out a harder laugh of his own, trying to pull his hand back. “Oho, he’s got jokes, huh? I—Hey!” He squeaked and twisted as Sona’s hand moved to squeeze up and down his flank.

“You what?” Sona smirked a bit as Miles’ free hand caught his wrist, letting his fingers scratch insistently at his hipbone as he squirmed. “You’re ticklish? You still seem a little shellshocked.” Sona walked his hand up Miles’ side, clawing quickly into his ribcage.

Miles tried to glare up at his opponent, but he couldn't fight the grin on his face. Sona was goofy and gentle; he didn’t seem to weigh much—Miles tested with weak pulls on his wrist. Oh, this was definitely going to be fun. In a quick, fluid motion, he let go of Sona’s hand and grabbed ahold of his shirt, pushing off the mat with one foot as he pulled Sona down. The audience cheered excitedly when Miles managed to roll them over, and he boxed his knees firmly against Sona’s shins.

Sona’s eyes were lit up with panic, and his cheeks ran a bit red as he laughed nervously. “Hi…” He giggled, holding his hands close to his chest.

Miles smirked, resting his hands on Sona’s wrists. “Hey.” He pulled the other man up suddenly, wrapping him in a hug and squeezing tight to pin his arms against his ribs.

“Oh, my God.” Ganke snorted, holding the mic away from his face for a moment. “I know this one.”

His cohost sat up straighter, leaning to nudge him with her shoulder. “Yeah? You want to clue us in?”

He started to say something when Sona let out a loud squeak and writhed.

“Aw, seriously?” Miles chuckled just a bit overdramatically, drawing one finger slowly back down Sona’s spine. “You totally seem like the type to have Angel Wings. Hm, maybe…” He shifted both of his hands, scribbling his nails across his shoulder blades and grinning as Sona giggled brightly and seemed to try more not to move.

“Ohh, I see now~” Miles teased right in Sona’s ear, smiling brighter at the way his giggles escalated. “That’s almost a shame.”

“N-No talking!” He whined halfheartedly, just barely managing to twist his hands enough to scribble at Miles’ waist. This quickly backfired when Miles’ flinch made him squeeze Sona closer.

“But if I don’t talk…” Miles nearly bit his tongue as he stifled a squeak. “How am I going to count these ribs of yours?” He pressed circles against the highest bone on his ribcage, sneaking his hand to that spot right under his armpit.

Sona let out a loud laugh, wrenching his arms out of Miles’ hold—almost as if he wasn’t holding him at all, actually—and shoving against Miles’ shoulders. The effort wound up pushing Sona’s back against the mat, and Miles was happy to reward him with all ten fingers digging into his ribs without a hint of mercy. This time, he didn’t even bother to grab at Miles’ hands, his arms wrapping loosely around himself as he laughed loudly.

Miles chuckled and shook his head, kneading along his lowest ribs and smirking when he squealed. “Shine bright, Golden Boy~!” He taunted, grinning brightly at the incredulous noise he heard Margo make behind him.

Sona blushed and put one arm over his face, the other flailing light slaps on Miles’ shoulder.

“That’s a tap!” Ganke called excitedly, standing up as the crowd applauded. “Sona is out!”

Miles blinked, letting his fingers go still as he glanced around the room. They were cheering for him—for both of them, really. Sona smiled up at him as he giggled and caught his breath.

“Don’t clap too hard now,” Margo snarked a bit teasingly while Miles was pulling his opponent to his feet. “Literally everyone beats Sona.”

Ganke scoffed, clearly in disbelief. “Oh, yeah?! Where was that energy when he had you on the mat last week?”

They took their time with their playful argument, and Miles took the opportunity to shake Sona’s hand, which he returned excitedly.

“You were amazing.” He said in a near whisper, his eyes bright as giggles still lined his voice.

“Yeah?” Miles said coolly, leaning a bit closer to him. “Well, next time, I want a real fight.”

Sona visibly prickled, his face running a bit redder before he just…smirked. His eyes had gone from playful to almost devious. “Oh, I don’t know if you’re ready for all that, Fish.”

It gave Miles a bit of pause. He might have just been hooked. Sona grinned again, bright as the sun, and caught Miles in a hug before taking his walk of shame. He grabbed his robe off of Ganke’s chair as he passed it and slung it across his shoulders, speeding up to a jog as he went back through the locker room door he’d originally come from. Miles stood just a bit awkwardly alone on the mat, a slight smirk pulling his lips as he fidgeted with his hands.

“Someone looks proud of himself~” Miles shot a slight glare at Margo, and she sneered back tauntingly. “Hey, keep that attitude, tough guy. Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together; because we’re giving up the Ghost!”

The audience was suddenly loud and talkative; Miles could hear playful teases and jabs—particularly some coos about Ghost being adorable—under the clapping as the door opened again. Sure enough, it was the second character he remembered passing in the hallway. Pale-skinned hands came up to pull the hood back and…Miles was definitely not going to survive today unscathed.

“Ghost” was a blonde with bright blue eyes and one side of her head shaved down, and when she grinned over at Miles, he caught the piercing on her eyebrow. He gave an internal pout as he remembered his studs were with his jacket. She seemed to whisper something to Margo before letting the robe drop from her shoulders and handing it off. She was wearing a cropped t-shirt, cut just above her stomach, a loose long-sleeved jacket that stopped under her chest, and, frankly, Miles was pretty sure those were just pajama pants. Something that quickly caught his eye was the spider drawn on one side of her stomach in blue and pink. He couldn’t help but grin as she stepped onto the mat, stepping back slightly as she took a mark and rested her hands in her pants pockets.

“Eyes are up here, thanks.” She teased with a little wave; he could tell she couldn’t resist.

Miles almost laughed too, resting his hand slightly over his mouth as he tore his gaze from her little tattoo. “I’ll have you know I’m actually terrible at eye contact.”

She snickered, shaking her head as they started to circle each other, and Miles already knew he had to hear her laugh.

“Ooh, she’s hooked him.” Miles had a feeling he and Margo would get along.

“That quick? No way.” Ganke snickered.

“That’s Ghost; she’s a cutie!” Margo laughed. “It’s why everyone loves her.”

Miles pouted as he felt his face heat up, and Ghost chuckled, twirling casually as they continued to walk.

“Don’t worry, Li’l Fish,” She called playfully. “You learn to ignore the peanut gallery.”

“Excuse the hell outta you?” Ganke said firmly, causing Ghost to freeze, and Margo and the audience “Ooh~”-ed teasingly.

Ghost cringed and blushed, covering her face with both hands as she giggled.

Miles had kept walking, and he let his shoulder nudge against hers as he spoke. “So…how’s that ignoring thing workin’ out for you?”

She gave him a playful shove as the audience snickered, putting the distance between them again and smirking. “You hush.”

Miles smirked back, resting his hands on his hips. “So, why Ghost? You don’t seem so scary.”

“You think that now, sure.” She fished under her sleeve and pulled a hair tie off of her wrist, pulling her hair up into a ponytail before putting one hand back in her pocket. “But I’m told I can be haunting.” She wiggled her fingers teasingly, showing off brightly painted nails, and Miles chuckled.

“Okay, okay; you’re cute. Is that what you want to hear?”

She nearly froze up again, hints of red filling her cheeks as she smiled shyly. “Am not.”

“You so are, though. And besides, between the two of us, I’m not the one with their weak spot all exposed.”

She eyed him warily, giggles lining her voice. “You’re asking for it, huh?”

“Why don’t you come over and give it to me, then?” Miles was glad his back was to the crowd by now, but he found himself smirking as they shouted playfully. Margo and Ganke watched him with shocked smiles, and she pawed at his shoulder.

“Where were you hiding this guy?! Definitely my new favorite.” She laughed.

Ghost, similarly, had laughed in disbelief, and Miles almost sneered as he shrugged.

 “Hey, if she giggles herself half to death before I even get my hands on her, do I still win?” He snickered as Ghost looked absolutely offended.

“I’m gonna say yes!” Ganke said quickly, grinning as Ghost glared at him.

“You guys can’t just change the rules!”

Ganke looked to Margo. “I think we can.”

Margo nodded with a shrug. “I think we should.”

He smirked back at Ghost. “Just for you. Since we love you so much.”

As they spoke, Miles had inched forward, lifting one hand to aim a poke at her very exposed stomach.

And she sidestepped him easily, her hand clutching tightly on his wrist. She grinned toothily as he looked up at her, and she yanked him off balance as she swept his legs with one foot. Well, this felt familiar. He managed to keep his chin from hitting the mat, and he felt Ghost’s hand press on his back as she leaned over him. He glanced up at her, but as he made eye contact, she smirked and pushed herself away.

He felt her weight settle on his thighs, and before he could try to twist, he burst into loud laughter as her nails snuck under his shirt to scribble against his lower back. He pulled his hands in close to his chest to keep himself from flailing before reaching to grab at one of her wrists. She seemed perfectly fine to let him, and her other hand was quick to zip up his spine and pinch gingerly at the back of his neck. Miles would definitely deny the shriek he let out, but he laughed and tried to push himself over. Ghost chuckled, twisting her wrist to get ahold of his while she stood up again. She pulled him quickly onto his back, straddling his waist this time as she slipped her wrist suddenly out of his hand by pulling it back through her sleeve. She snatched his wrist with her free hand when he tried for her stomach again, and she grinned nervously as he sneered up at her.

“I’m so gonna get you~” He taunted, laughing lightly as her face went red again.

There was a hint of a stalemate, with Miles trying to read her eyes while she watched his face. All of a sudden, her sleeve was yanked out of his grip, and her hand was shooting to scribble her nails against his neck. Instantly, he cracked, laughing loudly and flailing to grab ahold of her wrists. Even when she let go of his wrist to get both hands against his neck, he couldn’t help but focus on trying to block her, and, dammit, she was much stronger than she looked.

He could hear the audience going wild as he tried to struggle, and Ghost giggled softly as she leaned closer to him. “What happened to all that big talk, Li’l Fish~?” She whispered into his ear. “Not so tough now, are we?” She took a breath before blowing gently into his ear, and Miles kicked against the mat as he practically shrieked again. The audience got a bit louder as Ghost looked expectantly at the judges.

“Aw, he kicks; that’s so cute!” Margo laughed, only for a bit of panic to shoot through her expression when Ghost turned to them. “Wait, does kicking count?! We didn’t talk about that.”

Ganke had bit his lip, glancing between the two women and the audience, and he realized he wasn’t containing his smirk very well. “I’m gonna say kicking doesn’t count today!”

“Wha—Since when?!” Ghost’s voice was pretty close to real outrage as her hands suddenly stopped, and a select few audience members backed her up with jeers.

“Since I said so!” He said more firmly, chuckling. “Consider it a perk of being in the peanut gallery.”

The audience laughed, and Ghost rolled her eyes before looking back down at Miles. As she did, he’d moved his hands, managing to land them on her waist and pressing his thumbs into her hips. She squeaked and shoved herself back, stumbling slightly as she scrambled out of his reach.

“Now she wants to run, huh?” Miles snorted, his hand catching around her ankle only for her to slip his hold before he had a full grip. She was quick to return the gesture, yanking his ankles before he could try to get up and kneeling on one of them. He struggled to push himself up onto his hands, only to nearly fall again when she dug all ten fingers into his socked sole. Keeping his hands still now was definitely nearing impossible, but he tried to also keep in mind to not kick her off of him. But, wow, she was merciless.

“So, toes are bad, huh?” She teased over his laughter, scratching under his toes as they curled tightly. “Not your weak spot, but you might get along with—Eek!”

Miles couldn’t tell if she actually didn’t expect it or she just got cocky, but she didn’t duck away this time. He’d pushed himself forward, snatching the back of her hoodie and pulling her into his arms before falling backwards. The audience was loud again as she tried to flail out of his grip, her voice already tangling itself in giggly protests as he fought to wrestle both of her arms against her sides without losing his grip on her.

“Quit that!” He giggled along with her when she kept trying to shove his face. “And what are you laughing about? I haven’t done anything yet!”

“Shut up!” She squeaked, laughing softly as she tried to catch her breath.

“You tired now, li’l fish? Flopping all over the damn place like that.” Miles taunted into her ear, smirking as she cringed and giggled. He spoke a bit louder as he heaved them both upright while keeping her square in his lap. “I’ve figured you out, by the way, they call you Ghost ‘cause you’re slippery, right? You ‘phase through’ grabs like that a lot?”

Ghost turned her head, not that she could really look at him from this angle, but he saw her grin as she shrugged casually. “Well, y’know, it’s what stuck.”

Miles scoffed, squeezing her a bit tighter. “Stuck like you, huh? I’d love to see you slip this one.” Without any more hesitation, he let one of his hands drop to her stomach and skitter across her bare skin, and he was definitely not disappointed. She squealed and immediately started to struggle again, giggles jumping to loud laughter within a fraction of a second.

“No, no; I wasn’t ready!” She whined through her squeals.

“Oh, she’s not ready…” Miles huffed with a roll of his eyes, letting his fingers go still as he dragged his hand slowly.

“You bastard…” She spat in a giggly half-whisper.

“Ghost, be nice!” Margo called down to them.

Miles teasingly blew into her ear again, dragging his nails softly before sneaking a few squeezes on her side. “Tell me when you’re ready for tummy tickles, okay?”

She blushed, shaking her head as she whined and squeaked at each little pinch. “You’re terrible! N-No…”

“Mm-hm?” He curled his fingers and tapped them against her stomach before tracing one slowly around her bellybutton. “If I press this button, will you be ready then?”

She’d had a full-body flinch at the tracing alone, kicking against the floor as she giggled loudly. “Don’t you dare!”

“Aw, c’mon~ You have to work with me here.” Miles poked her a few more times. “You ready now~?”

“Stop teasing!” Her head tipped back on his shoulder, and she yelped when he blew across the side of her neck.

He laughed, smirking softly. “You said you weren’t ready! I do have to tell you, though…” He let his fingers walk to about where he remembered that little drawing on her skin. “You’ve had this spider on you this entire time and it hasn’t moved at—” He suddenly started scribbling his fingers, absolutely relishing in the surprised shriek it got out of her. She kicked hard, knocking them both over, but he didn’t dare let her go. She barely got a chance to protest between her squealy laughs, and Miles could hear her feet flailing against the mat under the cheers of the crowd.

“Think she’s happy we let them keep the kicks now?” Ganke asked playfully, leaning on one hand.

“Yeah, she looks like she’s having fun.” Margo snickered. Both of them flinched a little when Ghost squealed again.

“Hey, do you think he can get one?” Ganke asked with a smirk.

Margo let out a cackle. “If he gets her that bad in his initiation, she will hate him.”

Miles, meanwhile, was starting to have a little bit of pity on the poor Ghost. She seemed to have tired herself out again, having stopped kicking in favor of trying futilely to curl up. She was tough; he could admit that in a heartbeat, but, frankly, his arm was getting tired.

“I’m still wondering what this does, you know.” He mused, and the only bit of mercy he offered her was slowing his fingers down just a little as he finally focused his tickling on her bellybutton.

She absolutely lost it, breaking into loud cackles as she struggled to move her arms. “N-Not there! Please, I-I can’t—!” She squealed, snorts breaking through her laughter as her cheeks ran red. The crowd went wild with cheers and teases, and Miles was pretty sure his heart was melting.

“Tap! I tap! Let go…” She cried out through squeaks, and Miles lifted his hand away and let her go. She curled up beside him, pulling her hood up to hide her face as a few more snorts slipped into her giggles.

“Ghost is out! Make some noise!” Ganke shouted, grinning as they already clapped excitedly. Miles smirked back at him, softly rubbing one hand on Ghost’s back while she caught her breath.

“You good?” He asked quietly, trying not to tease too much. “Need a hand?”

“You’re a natural.” She whispered back, smiling a bit tiredly as she looked up at him. “But you’re not ready for Spider-Punk.”

“Wha—?” He was about to ask, but she started to get up, and he stood quickly to help her.

“And anyway,” She spoke up this time, for the others to hear. “You wouldn’t have won if you weren’t pals with the judges.”

“No, honey,” Margo called back. “You might not have lost if you didn’t run your mouth off.”

Ghost pouted, crossing her arms as she levelled a glare. “Fuck you both.” She huffed, rolling her eyes and smirking.

“Ooh, Swear Jar. Five seconds.” Ganke said quickly. Without being told, Miles grabbed at her sides. He made sure to be gentle this time, barely scribbling with his nails, but she still burst into giggly squeals as she tried to push away from him. It was definitely more like three seconds, but Miles didn’t mind giving her some grace, except for the poke he landed on her bellybutton before pulling his hands back. She didn’t snort this time, but she did punch him in the arm while she grinned at him, and he could settle for that.

“Make nice, you two, let’s get moving.” Margo insisted. Miles offered his hand to Ghost, smirking broadly when she actually hesitated to take it. He might have itched the palm of her hand with one finger when he went to shake it, and she snickered and shook her head.

“You might want to think about whether you want to stick around, because I’m getting you back.” She said softly, grinning.

“Yeah, alright, Tickle Button.” He taunted playfully, laughing as she punched his shoulder again. She squeezed his hand as she turned to do the walk, snatching her robe off of Margo’s chair and flicking the side of Ganke’s glasses.

“I’ll see you in the ring next week, asshole.” She growled with a sneer, and Ganke smirked back at her.

“That’s ten seconds, Ghost.” He chuckled, covering the microphone. “I’ll see you too.”

Her face nearly faltered, but she ruffled his hair, and the audience cheered as she walked back to the locker room.

Margo stretched her arms over her head—Ganke smirked knowingly toward Miles and the audience, but he didn’t do anything—and she shook her hands out with a sigh. “My, oh my, Mr. Lee. Our first challenger in months, and he’s tearing through us. Maybe we should have gotten back in the ring instead of letting these cute little bugs handle it.”

There were claps and murmurs from the crowd, and Miles couldn’t help but be curious about that story.

“At this rate, I think you might be right, Kitty.” Ganke sighed dramatically. “But, then again, if we destroyed him first try, we wouldn’t have anything for this great crowd!” The audience cheered, and Miles couldn’t help but clap along. “And you all really have been wonderful tonight; thank you all so much for coming out—”

“You do know we’re not done, right?” Margo asked playfully.

Ganke pulled a face and pretended to wince. “Are you sure we can’t be done now?” He groaned, resting an arm over his eyes. “You know how he gets.”

Margo smirked, thumping a rhythm on the table that the audience was quick to copy with their hands. “Ladies and Gentlemen—and, of course, our dear New Fish—I want you to give me your best!” The volume grew louder, and Miles felt tingly with the energy swelling. “It’s down to the wire; the last roundup; this one’s for all the marbles! Let’s hear it for Spider-Punk!”

The audience roared—as much as, like, twenty people could compare to a roar—and a good number of them stomped as they clapped. The locker room door opened, and, predictably, Miles saw the tall British man that had inspired his dumb stage name. He bounced a bit on his toes, smiling excitedly as he watched his approach.

Spider-Punk walked confidently, with his robe already thrown over his shoulder instead of being worn. He was also wearing a cropped shirt, funny enough, but it was underneath a battle vest covered in cool patches. He wore a pair of pajama pants too—much more obvious than Ghost’s just by the pattern—and they were cut off just below his knees. He was wearing black lipstick, which he definitely hadn’t been the first time Miles had passed him. He motioned to the crowd with one hand as he purposefully draped the robe over Margo’s head, encouraging them to get louder before he stepped onto the mat.

“Well, well, well…” He practically purred, and Miles felt like a shock ran through him. “Big fish in a small pond, aren’t ya?”

Miles’ eyes lit up, and his hands flapped a bit as his brain failed to process a response.

“You’re doing the thing.” His opponent half-whispered to him, gesturing to his hands, and Miles flinched just a bit nervously. Spider-Punk grinned, chuckling. “Not sayin’ you should stop, love. Ghost’ll get you wound up like that, she’s pretty fun.”

Miles let himself giggle at that and nodded. “I mean, yeah, she’s pretty cool for a ghost.” He said coolly. “Shrieks like one, too.”

Spider-Punk snorted, shaking his head as he smirked. “Fair play, fair play.”

Miles crossed his arms as they started to circle each other. “So, turns out you actually were the final boss, huh? What was that about me not lasting a minute?”

“Oh, you remember that, eh?” He laughed just a bit mockingly, his eyes scanning over Miles before his grin somehow grew even more smug. “I still stand by it.” He asserted with a shrug, resting his hands on his hips.

Miles scoffed, mimicking his little pose and rolling his eyes. “You really want to say that when you know I just wrecked two of your friends?”

Spider-Punk suddenly broke from his path, walking straight toward Miles and spooking him into a half stumble. “Do you really want to ask that when you don't know why they saved me for last?” He reached out quickly to grab Miles by his shirt to stop him from falling, pulling him sharply into a tight hug. Miles flailed slightly, bringing his hands to rest on his opponent’s arms where they squeezed softly around his neck. His own arms were completely free, but his brain also might have been overheating. He could hear the sneer in Spider-Punk’s voice when it tickled his ear. “Your freckles pop up when you blush~”

Miles fell into squeaky giggles, pulling at Spider-Punk’s arms as best he could, and his opponent only hummed casually at the effort, rolling his eyes as he rested his chin on Miles’ head and scribbled gently at his shoulders. Miles quickly switched tactics, digging his fingers into the punk’s armpits. The taller man flinched pretty hard, half a snort slipping out as he let himself laugh. Or, actually, he kind of giggled. It was rough and bass-sounding, almost scratchy, like he was just barely resisting. The crowd behind him murmured softly.

“Oh, not this again.” Miles chuckled teasingly, keeping his voice mostly low this time. “You just want to get tickles, tough guy?” He squirmed just a bit when long fingers trailed down the center of his back.

“Wouldn’t you like to kn—” Spider-Punk’s voice hitched on a louder laugh when Miles dropped his hands to scribble on bare skin and squeeze his sides, and he flinched backwards when Miles pressed his thumbs against his hipbones. Miles grinned a bit smugly as the punk stepped back, and he crossed his arms as he stepped forward.

“I wouldn’t have thought someone so cool would be so cute when he gets a few little scratches.” He taunted before faking a pout. “I expected more fight out of you though, punk.”

Spider-Punk chuckled lightly, making a bit of a show in slightly covering his sides. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you?” He teased right back, setting his chin on one hand and batting his eyes. His nail polish matched his lipstick perfectly. “You should watch yourself though~ Could be in bigger trouble than you think.”

 Miles laughed, cracking his knuckles. “Well, the bigger they are…”

“That doesn’t even work for—” Spider-Punk didn’t put up much resistance when Miles hooked his arm and more or less dragged him to the floor, and he laughed brightly Miles tickled across his stomach.

“Ooh, he’s got him on the ropes, huh~?” Margo asked playfully, nudging Ganke with her elbow.

Ganke shot her a sideways glance, pout set on his lips. “Shut up.” He huffed with a chuckle, and she laughed.

Miles’ focus was stuck on Spider-Punk, his grin turning more playful as he let his fingers skitter lightly on his opponent’s back and relished the giggles it brought out of him. He had pulled Spider-Punk’s arm across his shoulders, clutching his wrist in his left hand while he tickled along his back and opposite side.

“Y’know, ‘Spider-Punk’…” Miles mused softly. “If Claw had told me that I’d just be thrown into a fake tournament to tease a bunch of adorable lees to death, I probably wouldn’t have even believed him. I’d say I’m disappointed, but it’s been pretty fun.”

The punk huffed out a laugh, sounding much more derisive than ticklish all of a sudden. “Is that what you think?”

Without any warning, Spider-Punk shifted the hand in Miles’ grip, his fingers managing to scratch along his ribcage and chip some startled giggles out of him. His other hand shot to dig into Miles’ side, completely exposed with how his arm was wrapped around the punk’s back. Miles yelped, immediately letting go of the wrist he held to flee; his opponent snickered, keeping his arm hooked across Miles’ shoulders and holding him close as he pulled some squeaky laughs from his side.

“And there it is.” Ganke fake-pouted as the audience started to get riled up. “Every time with this one.”

Margo was absolutely ecstatic, giggling brightly as she leaned on his shoulder. “If it ain’t broke, y’know? Maybe you should have warned him~”

Miles laughed and tried to flail, but the tickles he landed on the punk’s ribs were hardly distracting him. Instead, Spider-Punk leaned back, pulling his arm from around Miles’ shoulder while his other hand shoved him down to the mat. He was strong. Like, way stronger than Miles expected. When Miles tried to grab at his arm and pull, he couldn’t move an inch, and he wasn’t even sure if Spider-Punk was using his full weight. The giddy sort of panic must have shown in his eyes, because the taller man sneered as he loomed over him.

“Caught in a web, poor thing.” He taunted as he locked his knees around Miles’ legs, ruffling his hair with his free hand before leaning close. “You got a lot to learn, New Fish. For example…” He took a deep breath, and Miles didn’t even get time to panic before he was squealing with laughter as a loud raspberry was blown into the crook of his neck. His legs tried to kick, but his opponent gave him zero leeway. It didn’t help at all when he tried to push him away, only to get scribbling fingers in both of his armpits as another raspberry hit him.

Miles might have broken a little under all that; sue him.

“Oh, yeah, he’s dead.” Margo snickered as their challenger shrieked and writhed under Spider-Punk’s hold.

“Yeah…” Ganke admitted, but he glanced at Margo with a smirk. “You would know though, wouldn’t you? You have a thing or two in common with him.” He snuck a poke just under her arm, and she nearly whacked him with her microphone with how hard she flinched.

Miles, meanwhile, was trying his best to be tough, his hands gripping Spider-Punk’s sleeves to keep from flailing. Those long fingers drilled right into the center of his hollows, and his head fell back against the mat as he cackled. Spider-Punk chuckled over him, finally pulling away from his neck to whisper in his ear again.

“So, who’s the adorable little lee here again, bruv~? You talk so big, but I break brats like you.”

Miles tried to shove the punk’s face, earning some faster scribbles whenever his arms moved an inch. Spider-Punk sneered and pulled one of his hands back, catching Miles’ wrist and blowing another raspberry against his palm. His reaction was much squeakier than attacks on his weak spots, but Miles more or less collapsed in a slight daze. The punk slowly lifted his hands, chuckling a bit deviously as the poor fish tried to catch his breath.

“I’ll give it to ya, mate; you’re a tough one.” Spider-Punk taunted, slipping his hand into his pocket. “Or you’re a hypocrite. Hopin’ it’s the former, since a funny thing happens to hypocrites around here~” He drew his hand back up, and it was covered by a strange-looking glove.

“Oh, Murder Claw!” Margo shouted, and the audience went wild.

“You actual cheating bastard!” Ganke scolded with a grin. “I told you not to bring that!”

“Murder Claw! Murder Claw!” Half of the audience chanted with Margo leading on her mic.

“Margo, don’t encourage this!”

She elbowed him teasingly before playfully punching his side. “Aw, c’mon, Tiger, where’s that Panther blood?!”

“We're supposed to be behaving!” Ganke couldn't help but laugh as the energy swelled.

Miles watched nervously as Spider-Punk wound a little dial on the wrist of the glove. Something about the sound of the mechanism clicking felt…familiar. Coiling springs? It all happened within a few seconds; Miles tried to grab Spider-Punk’s sleeve, only for him to snatch his wrist and pin it firmly over his head. The pure mischief on his face was going to kill Miles before his hands did.

“Go on and give ‘em a show, lovely.” He whispered, showing off the glove on his hand before pressing one of the fingers to the side of Miles’ neck. He felt a sort of click, instantly followed by rapid vibrations that had him nearly screeching. It was barely more than two seconds, but it was almost worse than the raspberries. When the four other fingers pressed into his armpit all at the same time, Miles knew it was over. Quick as it was, that buzzing sensation had him hysterical, and his free hand flailed against the mat as he tried to writhe.

“The Fish is cooked! It’s all over!” Margo shouted over the roar of the crowd.

Spider-Punk gave him another smirk and a cheeky-bastard wink before pushing himself onto his feet, except Miles caught him gently by his wrist.

“That…was definitely more than a minute.” Miles said softly through quiet breaths.

Spider-Punk seemed to light up, barely stifling an incredulous laugh. “You don’t quit! I like it.” He said softly, taking Miles’ hand in a quick handshake before letting it fall. He grinned smugly as Margo ran to his side and hugged him with one arm.

“Your reigning champion, folks!” She called out to the audience. “Give it up for Spider-Punk!” The tall man raised his hands dramatically as the crowd clapped excitedly, seeming to relish in the attention as they started to get up and talk to him and each other.

Miles was content to stay on the mat for a moment with his tired giggles, and Ganke approached to offer him a hand. He might have gotten a little dizzy when he was heaved to stand up, but he played it off with a smirk. Ganke ruffled his hair and snuck a tickle behind his ear, and Miles shouldered him playfully as he went to do his walk of shame. But Ganke grabbed him by his shirt, pointing him toward the locker room door that his opponents had been entering from. Miles glanced at him for confirmation, getting a quick nod and a shooing motion before Ganke went to stand beside Spider-Punk.

“What a freakin’ upset, huh?” Margo said teasingly, leaning to look at Ganke.

“Yeah, I’m upset!” He insisted exaggeratedly, shaking his head as Spider-Punk hugged him to his side. “Should have known you’d let him cheat again.”

Margo laughed right back. “Well, since you want to be boring all of a sudden, and the crew’s on leave, someone has to keep up the Panther vibe, yeah?!”

--------------

Miles let them and the crowd’s chatter fade behind him as he entered the locker room. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. It wasn’t even any different from the first one. Except, well, this one had a ghost leaning in from the door leading to the hallway. She quickly motioned him to follow her, holding the door open before jogging away.

They wound up at a meeting room upstairs, where Sona opened the door after they knocked.

“Told you so.” Ghost said playfully as they entered the room, and Miles rolled his eyes as Sona laughed. There were six pizza boxes on the tables in the back and a cooler stashed underneath next to what he assumed were their bags and things.

“He cheated, didn’t he?” Sona asked once the door was closed, playfully nudging Miles with his elbow.

“Is it really cheating when we know he’s going to do it though?” Ghost rummaged in the cooler for a juice pouch before also snatching a half-finished water bottle from the edge of the table.

“I feel kind of cheated.” Miles said with a shrug, crossing his arms.

The pair of them looked at him with wary expectation, seemingly worried about him.

“I mean, I had a whole fight with you—” He looked pointedly as Ghost. “—And I didn’t even know raspberries were legal. Seems unfair to me.”

He let a taunting grin spread across his lips as Ghost glared at him with a rising blush. Sona had burst out laughing, patting him on his shoulder.

“I really hope you stick around, Fish; you’re hilarious.” He giggled.

“Yeah, you’ll be laughing, all right.” Ghost pouted for a moment, but she started to laugh along with Sona.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Sona stood in front of him, resting his hands on his hips as if he was a superhero or something. “My name is Pavitr. Forgive me if it’s forward, but you’re Miles, right? It’s so cool to finally meet you!”

Miles was a little surprised, but he quickly realized what had happened. “I take it Ganke talks about me a lot?” He asked with a chuckle.

“Oh, definitely.” Ghost nodded, smiling as she leaned slightly on the circular table in the middle of the room. “And somehow, he neglected to mention that you’re a five-alarm tease.”

“Well, time and place, y’know.” He shrugged, chuckling. “Although, I guess I haven’t teased him in a while~”

“You are something else.” Ghost said, playfully flinging the now empty water bottle at Miles’ head before offering a handshake. “I’m Gwen, by the way.”

Miles accepted it without any mischief this time, and she smiled much more genuinely this time. Pavitr approached him from the side, pressing a cold bottle of water against his arm and giggling as he snatched it from him.

“You can grab a plate, by the way.” He offered, opening his own water bottle to take a drink. “We kind of got them for you. Oh, except those two big ones on the end.”

“Oh, yeah?” Miles chuckled, as if he hadn’t been eying the table since he’d walked in. Of course, he had to have been raised to never take the first plate.

Gwen nodded, pushing herself up to sit on the table. “We haven’t had a tournament in a long time, and it’s been even longer since we had a new challenger. We’re celebrating a little, and since somebody didn’t win, it’s more a little party for all of us.”

“You really do snark a lot for someone in a crop top.” Miles grinned and shook his head.

“Maybe, but at least I’m not the one with spider bites on my neck.” She taunted, and Miles could feel his face heating up as he realized what she meant. She laughed teasingly as he covered the side of his neck with one hand.

The door opened suddenly, and a very loud Spider-Punk burst in with Ganke, Margo, and a couple of faces from the audience in tow. “Oi, oi, what’s up, losers?!”

Gwen sighed loudly. “There goes the neighborhood.” She rolled her eyes and smirked as he approached her first.

“Love you too, Gwendy~” He said playfully, ruffling her hair as he leaned to kiss her forehead. His smile widened as he spotted Miles, and he strode up to him like he could definitely tell Miles’ head was spinning. “You stuck around, huh?” He offered his hand and that stupid wink. “Hobie Brown, at ya service, love.”

Accepting the handshake was apparently the wrong decision, because it ended in Miles being yanked into a tight hug as Hobie laughed a bit mockingly. He wasn’t even doing anything, but Miles couldn’t help laughing with him and trying to squirm away, only for Pavitr and Gwen to pile on the two of them.

Ganke had placed Miles’ shoes and things under the table with the others’ stuff, and Margo had done the same with their boombox and microphones. She grabbed the two set-aside pizza boxes, handing them over to the theater club members along with heaps of gratitude for their presence. They happily accepted both before waving to all of them as they left. As soon as they did, the pair of former hosts turned to the interesting little hug-fight their four friends had gotten into.

“Guys!” Margo called, managing to get their attention. “You were all fantastic out there! Miles, they loved you! Hell, we loved you!” She stepped forward, and Hobie let Miles go so she could grab onto his hands excitedly as she spoke. “I wasn’t even kidding, Ganke, where on Earth were you hiding this one?!”

Ganke shrugged, crossing his arms. “What can I say? I like to have an ace or two up my sleeve.” He said with a smirk. “It has been a while since I’ve seen you go all out like that though, hasn’t it?”

Miles grinned a bit proudly. “You know I like to make a good first impression.”

“I have literally never heard that about you, but go off, I guess.”

Miles pouted a bit as the others laughed.

Within minutes, they were all around the circular table, plates piled with pizza slices and cracking soda cans. Miles leaned on his hand to look Ganke in the eye.

“So, how long has this been going on anyway?” He asked, just a bit incredulously. “You never mentioned it while I was gone.”

Ganke nearly glared at him halfway through a bite of pizza. “I told you I made some new friends after you left! And I definitely remember telling you I joined a club.”

“Yeah, and I thought you meant a robotics club or something, not, like, tickle tournaments! You didn’t think I’d be interested in that part?”

Ganke chuckled. “It’s not that I didn’t think you'd be interested.” He set down the slice and leveled a sneer at him. “I just know you get weak around too many cute people.”

Miles nearly choked on the sip of water he’d taken, and he could feel eyes on him as the table got quiet. They were all smiling, some more smugly than others, and Miles buried his face in his hands.

“Asshole…” He groaned, only to flinch a little when Gwen poked his cheek. He glanced at her, and she giggled, and Hobie smirked, and Pavitr grinned.

“Especially cute lees~” Ganke whispered, blowing across the side of his neck, and he barely stopped himself from jumping out of the chair. The others stifled laughter as Miles felt like he was going to melt from the heat rushing to his face, which he promptly dropped into his arms on the table.

“You’re all rosy, mate.” Yeah, like Hobie really needed to tell him that.

He recognized Ganke’s hand patting him on the back. “Sooo~?”

“’M free on Friday…?” He offered.

“We’ve got an Initiation Day!” Ganke shook him by the shoulder as the whole table cheered, and Miles felt himself smiling as hands ruffled his hair and pat his back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Panda's Extra Notes: Some minor things for consideration.

*I might go back and retcon it, but I'm considering using one of Hobie's beta designs for this AU. Specifically the one with his long braids.

*Miles falls under the Ace umbrella here, hence the joke Ganke makes toward the end. He is very vulnerable to "tickle-crushes", though. And actual crushes, obviously, but we'll get to that later. >w<

[thatssomuchlove]

Fic-O-Ween Day 10

Characters by the lovely @lumosinlove and fest organized by @noots-fic-fests!!

Prologue for a Stardust AU (a sort of hodge-podge of book and movie) featuring the one and only Ramsey O'Hara:

Ramsey’s scrap of sanity was getting pretty threadbare. He loved his son dearly; he loved his wailing and crying son so dearly, but he was going crazy. He knew that losing his wife in childbirth was just as tough on his baby as it was on him (he hadn’t loved her like the storybooks say, but it was a practical match and they really were very good friends), but god he just hadn’t had a break in over a year. That’s why Ramsey had written to his sister to come stay with him for a little bit. He needed the company, he needed the help, and he desperately needed the pot of tea she was making for them in the kitchen. Alex had quieted down by the time Shannon brought their teacups to the sitting room where Ramsey was bouncing him in his arms. He breathed a quiet word of thanks to his sister before sitting down in his armchair with one arm around Alex where the baby was now sleeping on his chest and the other raising the tea to his lips.

“Ramsey, darling, you look exhausted,” Shannon started.

“Ah, well I can’t imagine why,” Ramsey responded before taking a sip from his teacup. She just gave him a look over the rim of hers.

“How about I take him for a bit? You need some fresh air,” his sister suggested.

Ramsey clutched Alexander a little tighter. The boy may wear him out, but he needed Alex as much as Alex needed him, if not more. His child was the last piece of his wife that he had left, and sometimes letting him go felt impossible.

“I am perfectly capable of putting him down,” Shannon added with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, all right.” But Ramsey was slow to get up and hand Alex over. He really was such a sweet baby. Those huge brown eyes framed by dark red lashes could bend Ramsey’s will on anything, and he felt their pull even while they were closed peacefully. He grabbed his coat then bid them goodbye with a kiss to his sister’s cheek and his baby’s soft, sweet-smelling head. Right before he was out the door, he turned back to the people that mattered most in his life. “Thank you, Shannon.”

She just smiled and waved him off, and Ramsey stepped out into the cool autumn night air and shut the door softly behind him. He looked up at the stars, fainter in the glow of his porch lamps, and chose a direction. After passing the last house on the lane, he almost stopped dead in his tracks when he felt an urge—the first in a long time—to whistle a tune. Ramsey also felt himself being inexplicably drawn to the wall that inspired the name of his town. It was one of the rare Market Days at the beginning of November. He had rented out one of the rooms in his house to a curious man in a black silk top hat because the inn always filled up very fast, and it was considered rude if the townsfolk did not offer up their homes to the visitors—for acceptable payment of course (though what was considered acceptable varied greatly with this strange lot; Ramsey was currently being paid both in coin and the promise of his and his progenies’ Heart’s Desire). He was only comfortable leaving Shannon alone in the house because he knew that his mysterious tenant always stayed out in the Faerie Market all night. Ramsey had never been to the Market, as he had moved from Ireland less than three years ago. Escaping the growing food scarcity, he started working for sheep farmers in Wall to send money back to his family. He became good friends with the farmer’s eldest daughter; and very quickly, he and Daisy were expected to marry, so they did. They had Alex a year into their marriage, and just like that, she was gone. His in-laws generally took care of Alex while he was working, but he still hadn’t expected to have the time nor the energy to see the Market. However, something about this opportunity that would end tonight and not come again for nine years was suddenly irresistible.

When Ramsey emerged from the tree line to see the wall guarded by none other than Mad-Eye Moody himself, he was surprised to find no one passing through either way. Still, he nodded to Moody and attempted to go through the crumbling gap in the wall before his chest bumped into the cane that Moody had thrust out in front of him.

“You can’t pass through the wall, O’Hara,” Moody said in his rough, gravelly voice.

“Why but it is a Market Day,” Ramsey responded with his eyebrows pinched together.

Moody stared at him hard, “yes, but I only let people through midday to dusk. It is not safe over there after nightfall.”

“Oh,” Ramsey knew that Moody was not someone who could be bargained with. “Well… that sounds rather final. Better just go home then, I suppose.” Ramsey turned around to make it appear that he was heeding Moody’s warning, but that last strand of sanity had finally snapped.

“Good,” Moody started walking back to his seat off to the side of the gap. He wasn’t fast enough to stop Ramsey when the young man suddenly turned back around and sprinted towards the wall, leaping through the gap and not stopping to the shouts of “wait!” and “O’HARA!” that followed him into the forest on the other side of the wall. Ramsey knew that Moody would not leave his post, but he didn’t stop running to catch his breath until he was well into the trees.

The Faerie Market lay outside the town that served as a magical counterpart to Wall. He could hear the hawking of wares and music from instruments he could not identify as he moved closer to the orange glow filtering through the forest. Ramsey did not want to look like a tourist, but he felt like his eyes held the same naïve wonderment as his son’s when he finally entered the Market. Some of the stalls were already closed up as it was past normal hours, but there were still plenty of people selling wild things like parts from animals he had never heard of and bottles of swirling clouds and sweet-smelling food (that he knew very well not to take thanks to his Maimeó). He felt almost in a trance as he wandered the winding rows of stalls until sharp awareness flooded back as he beheld the most beautiful woman he had ever seen standing behind a table of small glass flowers that chimed delicately. She had long curly auburn hair hanging loose over bare shoulders and past the neckline of her blue dress with ruffled skirts. Her violet eyes and pointed ears alerted his brain that she could be dangerous, but his heart told him that it didn’t matter.

She caught him staring, “See anything you like?”

It was then that the man with the black silk top hat passed by, though Ramsey did not notice his presence or whisper of a debt being paid in full.

“Definitely,” Ramsey breathed. He could not stop looking at the woman, and when she smiled in response, he lost all higher brain function. He averted his eyes to the flowers and stammered, “they- they are very lovely,” and he picked up a violet that seemed to sing as he held it, “how much?”

“We don’t take money at this stall.”

Ramsey cocked his head, “what do you take?”

“I could take the pattern of freckles on your cheeks… or your memories of the rain. I could even take your ability to smell fresh baked bread or the spice of autumnal air.”

Ramsey put down the flower, feeling a little out of his depth, but he would give up quite a bit just to keep talking to her.

“What is your name?”

She smiled sadly, “I no longer have a name,” and she held up her skirts just enough to show a silver chain tied around her ankle, “I am a slave, and the name I had was taken from me by the witch-woman who owns this stall.”

Ramsey tried not to let too much of his horror show on his face, “And you are her slave forever?”

“No, not forever. But the conditions in which I gain my freedom are not so easily met. My mistress lured me out of my father’s lands and caught me many years ago. I dream of the day that I can return to them as a free woman.” The young woman, who had been looking out unseeing into the middle distance, returned her gaze to Ramsey, “Will you buy a flower from me, young master?”

“My name is Ramsey,” he told her, having been enraptured by her sad tale and forgetting that one must be careful with names in the land of Faerie. He gave the table another look and picked up a white snowdrop that he knew Alex would like. “And what would this cost me?”

“That one would cost a kiss, just here on my cheek,” and she tapped it coyly.

Ramsey grinned at her, “oh that I will pay gladly,” and he kissed the soft skin of her cheek. He felt the overwhelming desire to linger and continue breathing in the inviting, magical scent of the woman, but he pulled away and searched her unusual violet eyes.

“Will you stay awhile? My mistress will not be back for some time,” she asked.

The quickness with which Ramsey started nodding made him pause, “I feel as if I am under some sort of spell.”

Her laugh was even more wondrous than her smile. “You are under no spell, pretty boy,” and she led him to sit in the grass between the painted caravan and her table of wares.

They both looked up at the stars in the clearing between the trees, and Ramsey could not help but remark on the unidentifiable difference to the ones he saw mere hours ago on his side of the wall, “these stars, they seem like… more.”

The woman beside him (she was so close, but he could feel the inches between them so distinctly) hummed melodically and asked, “What are your stars like?”

She looked at him as he struggled to name the difference, “They are beautiful.” He met her gaze and his breath caught, “But everything feels so much more alive here.”

“What about you? Do you feel more alive?”

He didn’t tell her about the challenges he was facing back home—grief, loneliness, homesickness—but he had a feeling she knew anyway. “I think I do,” he whispered and brought a hand to the cheek that he had kissed. He leaned in, and she brought her mouth to his. The desire that Ramsey had felt from that first kiss on her cheek multiplied tenfold, and it felt only natural when she led him through the small door of the yellow caravan.

~

When Shannon scolded him and told him she was this close to forming a search party at the late hour that he finally returned to his home, Ramsey made up some story to placate her and quickly fell into bed (but not before placing the snowdrop carefully on his bedside table), utterly exhausted and strangely content.

~

Nine months later, Ramsey received a surprise in a basket delivered by Moody to his doorstep after hearing a knock at dinner time. The surprise had a little bit of fuzzy red hair and startlingly familiar chocolate brown eyes when he opened them to peer up at Ramsey curiously.

Moody stated gruffly, “This was left at the wall for you. It says his name is Finn.”

All Ramsey could do was stare at the man, and then at the baby.

“Dada! More, peas,” Ramsey heard from where Alex was seated in his highchair at the dinner table.

“One second, a leanbh,” Ramsey called back to Alex before taking the basket from Moody. He told the man thank you and received a grunt in response before closing the door and heading back into the dining room. He set the baby and basket onto the table and picked up the piece of paper that had “Finn Callahan O’Hara” written in looping cursive. There was also a letter and a small package addressed to Finn tucked into the side of the basket that he did not touch.

“What dat?” Alex asked, trying to peer over the edge of the basket, and while there was no written confirmation, Ramsey knew. He knew that he was going to do this again. But he didn’t feel as alone this time. He had Alex, he had his sister, and he had the people in his community, like Iva and Marius, who were always willing to help.

Ramsey gently lifted Finn into his arms and held him so that Alex could get a good look. “This is your little brother Finn,” Ramsey said to Alex and watched his eyes go wide. He then turned to the baby, who had reached out his hand at the sight of the toddler. “Finn, this is your big brother Alexander.”

At least it was going to be easier to get Alex to believe the stork story now.

[diazsdimples]

Fic Writing Review 2023 🥳

Words and Fics

222,730 words published to AO3

1 fandom (9-1-1)

Most recent drop: sugar and spice and all that smells nice (Buddie | 6.3k | E)

Longest fic: Buck's Baby (By Accident) (Buddie | 119k | G)

Top Fics By Kudos

Buck's Baby By Accident (Buddie | 119k | G)

Fucking Finally (Finally Fucking) (Buddie | 3.9k | E)

Burning with Need (Buddie | 3.8k | E)

First Words (Buddie | 2k | G)

In sickness and in health (but mostly in sickness) (Buddie | 3.7k | G)

My Fandom Events in 2023

Didn't do any! I joined the fandom in June and didn't write anything until July 🙃

Upcoming Events and Projects for 2024

This all depends on how many babies need delivering next year ngl, and how much of the year I spend on call but here's the WIPs I have so far!

To finish/publish:

With you I'm home - I quoted 20 chapters for this because Buck's Baby was also 20 chapters but I am 100% playing this by air. In this fic, we see Buck and Eddie embarking on their first year of marriage. They have a 2 year old son (Aidan) and Christopher, who is 14. This fic will show them navigating parenting a boisterous toddler and a sassy teenager while they begin their journey to having a new baby.

Cat Fic!! - this has been sitting in my WIPs folder for months now and I haven't had the beans to write it recently! Buck has adopted a cat with a curious name that brings a whole load of feelings to the forefront of his brain (is he saying I love you to the wrong Eddie?) and also provides some excellent material to fuck with his friends.

AUs that live in my head rent free

GTA AU - Listen I know this sounds weird, BUT, Buck and Eddie are heads of rival motorcycle gangs and constantly engage in turf wars. They realise they have the same product dealer for their cocaine lockups, who has been selling them dodgy product, resulting in loss of revenue for both men. They come together to confront the man realise they work extremely well together and who knows, maybe rival MC gang members can fall in love!

Piano Teacher!Buck, Parent!Eddie and Student!Chris - this was inspired by my Musician AU Play me like a fiddle, and was vaguely encouraged on Ao3 by @theotherbuckley, and will be a oneshot of Eddie coming to Buck after being referred to him by Christopher's physical therapy. Buck is more than happy to take Christopher on as a student is fast delighted by his constant, bubbly optimism. Eddie watches as Buck teaches his son and watches Christopher's confidence in himself build and realises, fuck, he's slowly falling in love with his son's teacher.

His Dark Materials AU - Buck finds himself in possession of an alethiometer and the more questions he asks of it, trying to figure out it's true meaning, the more he finds himself being drawn towards a dark, mysterious man he's noticed hanging around the college lately. Buck's daemon is instantly drawn to Eddie's daemon and the two find themselves unlikely friends, embarking on a quest to discover what it is the alethiometer is trying to warn them about.

Single Parents AU - Buck is the single father of two daughters and has just joined the 118 and is struggling to find his place. He meets another single father at his daughter's school in the pick up line one day and Eddie reveals he's training at the LAFD but struggling with childcare while he does it. Buck suggests they combine childcare and offers to help Eddie train, and even gets him a position in the 118 when Eddie graduates. How long will they coparent their three kids before they realise they've got it bad for each other?

Misc. ideas that haven't quite developed into fics yet but exist!

Magic Au - Buck and Eddie both have the power to control their auras (which have a colour and scent specific only to them) and go through rigorous training to enable them to save the earth from the Elder Race threatening to take over (inspired by Michael Scott's Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

Detectives AU - I've been watching too many Scandinavian crime shows and want to write Buddie solving a grisly murder

Chances are I'll come up with more over the summer!

Tags and rules under the cut

Rules: Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please don’t eat glass but don’t feel like you have to do this either.

Tagged by @jesuisici33 and @hippolotamus thank you my loves!

(no pressure) tagging @malewifediaz @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @theotherbuckley @disasterbuckdiaz @thewolvesof1998 @callmenewbie @cal-daisies-and-briars @daffi-990 @monsterrae1 @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels @rainbow-nerdss @wikiangela @steadfastsaturnsrings @spagheddiediaz @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @loserdiaz @smilingbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie @spotsandsocks (ignore if you've already done it!)

[delinquentsharlene]

RP GET TO KNOW YOU QUESTIONNAIRE.

NAME?: Bailey!

PRONOUNS?: they/them

MOST ACTIVE MUSES?: Sharlene, at the moment, since I can apparently only handle one muse at a time LMAO. I'd like to bring Lusamine back soon though.

RPG CLASS I'D BE: I tend to go for thief classes when available? Does that count.

FAVORITE COLOR: Crimson babey!

FAVORITE TYPE OF THREAD: I love love LOVE to write my muses snapping. Like this is the last straw and now I'm gonna lose my composure and scream at you and throw things and it'll be scary. Writing an unhinged muse is genuinely so much fun. I also crave more ~violence~, someone come beat up Sharlene LMAO

FAVORITE THING ABOUT MY MUSE: I like how chill she is and how easy it is to throw her into situations. Feels a lot less restrictive than, say, Lusamine.

HOW YOU LIKE TO RP: I'm not the beeest at plotting but I do at least need a base to work off of. I need to know that our muses will be compatible in some way (even if ESPECIALLY IF it's toxic or antagonistic), and we need a foundation for how a thread between us will start. I don't work well with vague prompts and I always need something to work off of, so to prevent this problem, talking OOC is very much needed to some extent. I'm fine with both silly one-liners and multi-para threads! Whichever fits the mood.

FAVORITE PLOTS: Like, here? Of all time? I haven't had too much going on with Sharlene yet but I would Love a thread where she talks gender with someone.

WHERE YOU GET YOUR INSPIRATION FROM: I have no earthly idea if I'm being totally honest. Shit just pops into my head and I'm like "Yeah that's good shit" LMAO. I've probably drawn inspiration from other RPers and various media, I just can't name any off the top of my head.

FACT ABOUT YOU:⠀Sharlene is my first fandom OC since I was a kid. Back then I had a self-insert trainer name Sara (based off my character from Sapphire) who was unreasonably strong, she was the Hoenn champion and defeated anyone that stood in her way. Sara had a love interest by the name of David. He kinda looked like Lance, in my head. I don't remember anything else about them but they lived rent fuckin free in my head from ages 8-11.

[abbymorla]

Blog Project #1 1/17/23

As far as Edo Roasted Playboy is concerned, I find this comic to be a great depiction of the life of the overly spoiled and rich. This young man named Enjirō is clearly privileged and behaves in a manner that is unbecoming of his family name. I think Enjirō may have a bit of only child syndrome (sorry to you only children out there). I am not sure the intention of this comic, however, to me it appears to be making fun of the rich. Enjirō is a pathetic hopeless romantic who wants to kill himself??? He is quite dramatic. Once he is done with being a drama queen he returns home to his wealth and marries his geisha. Lucky him.

The Thousand Sliced Arms of the Bodhisattva of Mercy was a funny tale that incorporated a bit of capitalism, religion, and of course perversion. I feel like many dated comics and pieces of literature somehow have both a religious component and a perverted one and I am not sure how or why they are connected. I think the man that rented out the arms was super smart making a sick profit and helping some people out as well. As far as the uses for the arms- they were quite entertaining. I enjoyed the bit about choosing the left arm on accident.

Lastly, when it comes to the complex origins of Japanese manga, I think it is safe to say that there is inspiration drawn from many different sources. I can agree with Timothy Craig, that manga takes features from comics of the West and combines it with centuries of traditional art and humor. I also second the fact that kibyōshi should be respected on its own and not only for its contribution to manga as it is entirely unique.

[pareidoliaonthemove]

A Side-By-Side Analysis

It was a fantastic opportunity.

On paper.

Circumstances yet to be determined during a test of a ‘Mysteron communicator’ inspired by the thrice cursed ‘Moon Base Console’, and powered by more conventional means, had somehow created a rent in the fabric of spacetime and had drawn through four Spectrum agents from a different universe into their little part the multiverse.

While the Research and Development team frantically tried to figure out what exactly had occurred, and how to reverse it, with Captains Ochre and Magenta in attendance – Magenta to oversee the work, and Ochre to ensure there was no ‘unauthorised external collaboration’.

In the meantime, the four displaced operatives had been brought to Cloudbase, both for the security it afforded them, and for the opportunities to compare intelligence, in the hope of both sides gleaning new insights and methods of dealing with the Mysterons.

The Scarlets and Blues had paired up, and were by all accounts getting along like a house on fire. The Captain Blues had managed to wrangle permission to go groundside and do some comparison testing of the vehicles. The Scarlets had tagged along, and wound up in the groundside base’s pub, drinking and commiserating with each other on the intricacies of Mysteronisation. The alternative Destiny Angel had been pounced upon by the full complement of Angels, and along with much gossip, a full assessment and comparison of the aircraft was quickly produced.

These arrangements had quickly produced good intel for both sides, with a lot of technical details and insight traded.

It was the fourth member of the visitors that was causing problems.

“Incredible, simply incredible, that such a primitive thing can be used to detect Mysterons!”

Fawn gritted his teeth as ‘Dr Gold’, his alternate universe counterpart – thankfully not his alternate self – brandished a set of x-rays, showing the effects of Mysterionisation. X-Rays may not be the most common diagnostic tool these days, but – and thank God he had – Dr Fawn had taken complete x-rays of all senior staff when they finished Spectrum training.

And now Gold was getting fingerprints all over the irreplaceable x-ray films of pre-Mysteron Scarlet’s skull.

All of which Fawn could possibly have overlooked if only the man had any useful information to reciprocate.

“There are tell-tale genetic markers that can be detected in a simple blood test.”

What markers?

“They are flagged by the computer analysis.”

What blood test?

“It is automatic, the computer runs it.”

Every question. Every possible angle that Fawn could think of to come at the technical details was met with the same answer.

The computer.

The friggin’ computer.

Fawn wasn’t a particularly religious man, but he was putting out a fervent prayer to any god that had a passing interest in the physical health of the residents of that particular branch of the multiverse. They certainly needed all they help they could get. He wouldn’t trust the other man to apply a bandaid.

The computer probably did it for him.

Adding to Fawn’s frustration was the fact the man couldn’t describe how the machinery he used operated, either.

From the information the other three visitors had offered up, the basis of their technology was vasty different to what was found in this universe. Their descriptions of the capabilities of the scanners and data processors was so tantalising that Lieutenant Green and Captain Magenta were in danger of flooding their respective surroundings out, so much were they drooling at the thought.

Fawn wasn’t much better himself, after some of his more frustrating interactions with his counterpart, he found himself surreptitiously reading the other’s reports and daydreaming of what he could do with such computing power.

After all, he was a very highly qualified roboticist and programmer, as well as a medical doctor, even if his current colleagues tended to forget that.

Fawn sighed. It looked like he was going to have to become a geneticist, as well. That would necessitate him going back to school, hitting the books so he could come back to the lab and recreate – if possible – the alternate universe’s results.

Then again, there was no practical reason why he shouldn’t be able to, after all, the alternate Scarlet showed the same imperviousness to x-rays as this universe’s Scarlet, while his colleagues did not. It appeared that the Mysteron’s powers and processes remained constant across time and space.

There was a discreet chime from the intercom, and a flashing green light indicated that Lieutenant Green in the Control Room was making contact. Fawn hit the ‘accept’ button with more force than strictly necessary.

“Colonel White’s apologies, Doctor Fawn,” the young Trinidinese man said. “But there is a briefing on the progress of the R&D team in the Conference Room in fifteen minutes. Could you and Doctor Gold please attend?”

Fawn sighed again, and assured the Lieutenant that they would be there.

Fawn gathered up his notes – such as they were – and divested himself of his lab-coat, before pointedly reclaiming his x-rays – once again glaring at the obscuring fingerprints, and leading Doctor Gold out of sickbay.

They were the last to arrive, and Fawn was greeted with doubletakes from his colleagues, and amused sympathy from the visitors. He grit his teeth further, apparently his frustration was more obvious than he would have liked.

Gold took his place on the ‘visitors’ side of the conference table, and Fawn gladly slid into a seat on the ‘home team’s side, as Grey had cheerfully designated it. Away from Gold.

Though not nearly far enough.

The news that Ochre and Magenta were going to be present was a surprise, but a pleasant one. Hopefully this meant they had good news on the progress of the research team working to return the visitors to their rightful home.

As White took his seat in the centre of the conference table, Lieutenant Green called from the Control Room to announce the arrival of Ochre and Magenta’s SPJ.

Five minutes later, the pair entered the room, Fawn’s eyes narrowing in assessing irritation as he watched Ochre guiding Magenta who was blinking and stumbling like a man newly awakened from an exhausted sleep.

Which proved to be the case, as White invited them to report first – undoubtedly knowing that the everyone was eager to hear what progress had been made on returning the visitors to their rightful home.

And the news they brought was good – Magenta had brought the lead researcher’s full briefing paper, but he managed to provide a summary that was understood by his audience, the main point of which was that they had managed to calculate what had gone wrong previously, and managed to calculate the calibrations for a return journey.

The news was well received, especially with the addition of the advice that the apparatus was even now being charged up for use. It was anticipated that there would be a 48 hour wait before the equipment would be sufficiently charged to return the four to their home universe.

The briefing then went around the table, the Scarlets and Blues reporting on the differences in the tactics and strategies used in the respective universes. Which, it seemed, was substantial – although largely explained due to the differences in the different cultures and technologies they operated it. Fawn rolled his eyes at the lively interest that the revelation of the high-atmospheric adaptions to the visitor’s uniforms, and outright glared when the subject of the ‘Stallion Raid Bike’ came up – evidently an ‘attack motorcycle’ with a limited gliding attachment allowing it to deploy from ‘Skybase’. He was mentally calculating the extent of injuries liable to be sustained when he met White’s gaze. The CIC coughed nervously, and moved the conversation along.

The Angels went next, all decrying ‘male patronisation’, before moving on to a final critique of the strengths and weaknesses of the different aircraft, the Blues also having weighed in. Nobody missed noticing Ochre sliding the sketches of the alternate-Angel Fighter over and losing himself in the listed specifications.

Then it was time for the medical report. Gold jumped in, talking over Fawn’s attempted preamble, and expressing – once again – his disbelief at the “simplicity” of the x-ray test. Fawn noticed Gold’s three companions all perk up at this information.

“X-Rays,” the alternate Scarlet said thoughtfully. “It would be a lot easier to set up a systematic mass-testing situation.”

“A lot of people act up at DNA testing, even within Spectrum,” alternate-Destiny agreed, “never mind civilians. The X-Ray test would be easy to conduct at, say, a concert or convention. It would be minimally invasive and inobtrusive, if you included it with metal-detector station.”

“Have you been able to make a portable test?” Blue asked.

In answer, Captain Grey went to a cupboard in the wall, and pulled out a Mysteron Detector, after a questioning glance at Colonel White, and receiving a nod in response, he turned to the Scarlets, “May I?”

The alternate agreed enthusiastically, while the ‘proper’ Scarlet was less eager, but amenable. Narrating his actions, and allowing the visiting Blue and Destiny to watch, he quickly snapped images of both Scarlets, pulling the developed images – showing the positive ‘photograph’ of the faces.

He then turned the detector on the Blues, allowing the alternate Scarlet to watch the operation of the device as he produced two negative ‘x-ray’ images of the Blues’ skulls.

“How was the miniaturisation achieved?” asked Scarlet, turning the device over in his hands, testing the weight of the object. Fawn pulled a slim folder from his bundle of notes, and slid it across the table to him. The alternate Blue picked it up, and opened it. His eyes widened.

“The blueprints?” he asked incredulously.

Fawn shrugged. “No point making you start at the beginning,” he said. “Though I don’t doubt that the technology your universe uses could produce a smaller, more discreet unit.”

The alternate Destiny glanced at the blueprints, before turning to Fawn. “Did you design this?”

Fawn shook his head. “R&D did. I’ve just been trying to produce a package that is not obviously the Mysteron Detector for production and dispersal in Paramedic and Rescue and Relief equipment.” A glance at White. “Could you imagine the benefit of this set up in emergency responses, or mass casualty events?

White frowned. “I look forward to receiving your proposal on this matter, Doctor,” he eventually said, taking note of the thoughtful looks everyone else was giving the innocuous-looking instrument now sitting on the desk.

It was Meldoy Angel who got the conversation back on track. “So if you didn’t know about the x-ray test, how do you detect Mysteron agents?”

All eyes turned back to Gold. He shrugged. “There is a blood test.”

There was a pause as everyone waited for him to elaborate. Eyes turned back to Fawn, whose lips thinned. “The computer does it,” he said wryly, and had the satisfaction of watching Gold’s colleagues all roll their eyes and look at the other doctor in frustration.

White looked at Gold in dismay. “You cannot provide details?”

Gold shrugged. “I have no need to have everything memorised. The analysis is completed automatically. During the routine testing after Scarlet’s Mystronisation, the difference in the DNA was flagged, and subsequent analysis of Mysteron agents showed it held true. There is no need for the details to be memorised. Being stranded in a technologically-primitive alternative universe was not something that could be reasonably expected.”

The alternate Destiny glared at the man from across the table. “Doctor Gold,” she hissed. “I expect you to apologise to everyone here for your rudeness.”

As Gold started to bristle at her reprimand, White quickly adjoined the meeting before it could devolve into an all-out argument.

As Fawn started ‘escorting’ Magenta off towards his quarters, to make sure he didn’t sneak off to the Room of Sleep, he was approached by the alternate Scarlet and Destiny. Behind them, the alternate Blue was practically frog-marching Gold off towards the quarters allocated to the visitors.

Scarlet offered Fawn a folder filled with handwritten papers. He smiled sheepishly, “I, uh, was sort of expecting Gold not to be able to offer you anything useful.” He rubbed his neck, awkwardly, “I made a point of learning everything I could about how I was different now. This is everything I could remember. Not sure I ever understood it properly, but it might be a start for you.”

Fawn gratefully accepted the notes and leafed through them, scanning the bullet points. Key phrases jumped out at him, it was disjointed, and full of question marks in parenthesis and misspellings.

He smiled up at the man. “I wish our Scarlet was interested in understanding more about his condition,” he commented.

Magenta snorted. “Why would he need to; he’s got you, hasn’t he?” He gestured at the alternate, “From what I’ve seen, he’s got to sort things out for himself.”

The alternate Scarlet grinned. “He has mentioned that you are particularly … dedicated … to figuring the situation out.” And he gestured towards the Medbay. “And he might be waiting in the Sickbay for you to be able to draw bloods to start work on verifying the genetic markers hold true.”

Magenta laughed at Fawn’s astonished reaction. “How did you get Scarlet to voluntarily enter Sickbay? That never happens!”

Destiny shrugged, “How well do you think you would hold up after being trapped with Gold for a week?”

Scarlet nudged Fawn, “Better get going, before he changes his mind.”

Fawn was nearly running as he moved down the corridor, clutching the folder to his chest as he started considering possibilities.

Notes:

Inspired by @myladykayo's fantastic art of Doctor’s Fawn and Gold working together in Original Series’ Sickbay. Look at it! Go on, it’s here! I hope I've done it justice.

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Captain Scarlet, either the Original or CGI Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

[fatehbaz]

The ways in which ideas about ‘Zomia’ have provoked, inspired, jostled and indeed riled are certainly intriguing. [...] A G[oo]gle search for the term ‘Zomia’ yields 90,700 results (as of [2019]) [...]. Among these, [...] in an opinion piece [...] titled “The Undiscovered Country” (14 Feb 2012), Frank Jacobs [...] offered up a short history of ‘refuges, sanctuaries, freetowns, zones of no control’, adding [...] ‘Zomia’ to this mix. [...] Jacobs suggested that,

there exists another type of border, one that doesn’t reflect back our image. In vampiric asymmetry [...]. The world as we know it -- reciprocal even across national borders -- ends here. [...] The borderline does not merely separate two territories, but two paradigms: law and order from anarchy, progress from primitivism. Or perhaps, seen from the other side: freedom from oppression [...].

In Germany, a caravan park calling itself “Wagenplatz Zomia” has also drawn inspiration [...] as the community protests against high rents in Hamburg [...]. [C]ommunity members face eviction from [...] hostile and inept municipalities that spend millions of Euros building commercial centres that end up derelict and empty [...]. The authorities are also seen as utterly resistant to providing affordable housing for low income residents. Here, Zomia encapsulates protest against the state, represented by the neo-liberal economic vision of progress.

Generally speaking, the debate generated, particularly by Scott’s emphasis on Zomia as an intentional ‘non-state’ space, has been significant [...], and it continues to unfold in surprising ways. [...]

---

On the other hand, scholars not necessarily working in highland Asia but inspired by the emphasis on indigenous agency, namely that communities ‘chose to place themselves out of the reach of the state’ [...], have found ways to incorporate these ideas in their own research. [...] Benjamin Powell and Malvika Nair (2012), for example, have incorporated many of these ideas while engaging in comparative studies between a 19th century South Indian banking caste and modern day Somalia. Thus, as a ‘heuristic of resistance’, Zomia has stimulated considerations of applicability [...]. Perhaps the best example is Caroline Humphrey’s exploration of Zomia as an idea in Inner Asian studies. She wrote (2015: 105):

Thinking in terms of Zomia allows a looking outwards from peripheral areas as at the impositions of states and empires. It becomes clear that the ‘friction of terrain’, the very difficulty or remoteness of these zones, has given an advantage to the [...] inhabitants, who know the local passageways, the hideouts, the hidden desert wells, as so forth [...], while at the same time rendering tax collection, military conscription, etc. [...] difficult enough [...] for a pre-modern state apparatus. [...] Zomia-like areas could maintain a certain independence [...]. [T]heir relative inaccessibility was the very reason why these zones became refuges for repeated waves of runaways, migrants, deserters and bandits, and also, in some cases, sites of millenarian resistance to colonialism. [...]

---

Tom Brass, in his piece “Scott’s “Zomia”, or a Populist Postmodern History of Nowhere,” (2012: 125) suggested that Scott’s Zomia project [...] follows a trend of ‘resurgent populist historiography’ that orientalises the agency of people living at the margins, a trend that has ‘colonised academic journals’ [...].

Hjorleifur Jonsson (2014, 2010) similarly sees Scott and many of his followers as failing to recognise how the notion of everyday resistance as a kind of cultural trait essentialises a great multitude of complex peoples that are anything but the nostalgic anthropologist’s ‘pure’ and ‘unpolluted’ small-scale societies. [...] Sanford Schram, on the other hand, has suggested that the myriad forms that resistance and evasion from state interference engendered in Scott’s account point to a very important, context-specific insight, thus, on those grounds alone, meriting further exploration [...]. Unsurprisingly, in an age of increasingly authoritarian regimes, unfettered global capitalism, and [...] state and private surveillance, the idea of a large swath of Asia existing beyond state control [...] is very attractive.

Critics have been clear about the fact that we mustn’t essentialise this space. [...]

---

Text by: Arkotong Longkumer and Michael Heneise. “The Highlander.” The Highlander: Journal of Highland Asia. Volume 1, no. 1. December 2019. [Bold emphasis, italics, and some paragraph breaks added by me.]

[primalinfinity]

5! 7! 9!

HI!

5. What inspires you to write?

I live by the creed "Write what you would want to read.", and there are so many story ideas I'd love to see take shape in every genre under the sun. So, I create them and fill those lil niches in my own tastes.

I love creating worlds different from our own, making them real, exploring them...yeah. I write the things I want to read and embrace. :)

That's what inspires me.

7. Create a character on the spot...NOW!

Aight, bet! But I'm going to use my own fictional world here, so...prepare for some terms none of you will know the context of;

Phoebe Reed had just been a simple student at the School Of Glass in the city of Kalosana, reaching her Third Chain as a healer and having been content with a future career at the hospital treating the wide range of ailments that are common in a coastal city-state.

But, the Third Mage War changed everything, and the young healer found herself on the front lines of a conflict where her home seemed willing to tear itself apart.

And she watched as Kalosana was left to rot, suffering massive casualties as their longest term ally abandoned them to massacre.

Surviving the war and returning home, with no family left and most of her friends dead, Phoebe found herself drawn in by the powerful rhetoric of the war hero Lush. Talk of revolution. Of rebelling against the edicts forbidding the students of Glass from learning combat magic.

Now she practices the ancient and forbidden magics in secret, embittered and resentful, and readying herself for the oncoming revolution.

9. A passage from a WIP!

Okay! Here ya go;

“That’s...fair. I’m sorry. I passed out.” Sighing, Yang pressed a kiss to Blake’s forehead, getting a reassured hum in response. “Thanks for not killing me.”

“I considered it, but Ruby and I can’t pay rent alone, and you’re just so much prettier than any of the other options in the regiment.” Blake gave a smirk before rising up and pressing her lips to Yang’s in a good morning kiss.

Grinning, Yang didn’t hesitate before scooping Blake up in her arms and kissing her with a loving smile.

Meanwhile Ruby had stepped and turned away so that she didn’t have to see or hear the encounter happening behind her, and watched as three of her comrades trained in the yard in a free-for-all. Crossing her arms and leaning against the side of the wooden stairs that led up, Ruby had a small frown of concentration on her face as she studied the way the three fighters moved, their footwork smooth and well-trained.

There wasn’t a single poor fighter in their order, you had to reach a certain standard for the King to notice you enough to name you to the ranks in the first place, with most members being pre-existing veterans from a military that had seen far too much action in recent years. Even Ruby and Yang had done their service for king and country despite their young ages, the most recent war against Mistral four years ago having gotten the army desperate enough to take anyone willing to pick up a sword.

Even two girls, both still in their teens at the time with Yang at eighteen and Ruby at sixteen, without more than a purse of ten coppers and their old farm horse to their name. Yang had known how to throw a punch, since growing up the tallest girl in a village dominated by boys had been a firm teacher, but fists won’t do much against musket and cannon.

But they’d learned."

[lesliesaurussims]

Welcome to my first Simblr post! 🎉 Thank you in advance for your support - I appreciate you stopping by to check out my creations and share in my love/hate relationship with The Sims (IYKYK) 😂

THE INSPIRATION

I've always had an affinity for Maine (as well as all things ocean, lobster and blueberry), so I was drawn to this little oceanside bungalow when it showed up in my feed one day.

There's a lot about it I couldn't replicate exactly, so I decided to give it a bit of a more lux renovation to make it a little less "shabby chic". It still retains the charm of a little cottage by the sea, but feels like a place where you could escape for a long weekend to relax and unwind with nature without having to tough it out surrounded by mosquitoes.

Tip: To make it look more like the real thing, change the roofing to the red "Heavy Metal Paneled Roof Sheet" that came with the Eco Lifestyle pack. I loved the way it looked, but in terms of blending in with the neighborhood, it just stuck out like a sore thumb.

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LOT SPECS

Brindleton Bay, in the Cavalier Cove neighborhood

20x20 (replacing Bedlington Boathouse)

Residential

Tier 3 tiny home (70/100 tiles)

1 bed, 1 bath

$68,225

LOT TRAITS

Bracing breezes

Homey

Natural light

PERKS OF THE PROPERTY

Ocean views

Beach access

Wild rabbit home and two resident rabbits ready to be your new friends

Lots of greenery, inside and out

Washtub and clothesline, saving you money and infusing your freshly laundered clothes with the refreshing scent of salty sea air

A bike for easy-going rides around the neighborhood to do some beach combing and fishing

EXPANSION PACKS/STUFF PACKS/KITS USED

Expansion Packs: Cats & Dogs, Cottage Living, Discover University, Eco Lifestyle, For Rent, Get Together, Growing Together, High School Years, Horse Ranch, Journey to Batuu, Outdoor Retreat, Seasons, Snowy Escape, StrangerVille, Vampires

Stuff Packs: Backyard Stuff, Home Chef Hustle, Laundry Day

Kits: Bathroom Clutter, Blooming Rooms, Decor to the Max, Modern Luxe

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CUSTOM CONTENT

A huge thanks to these amazing creators for providing the materials that made this build possible! I want to be you when I grow up.

awingedllama: Apartment Therapy Inspired V2 // Boho Living // Nostalgia Living

Felixandre: Grove Part 1 // SOHO Part 1

Harrie: The Brownstone Collection 1 // The Coastal Collection Part 1 // The Coastal Collection Part 2 // The Coastal Collection Part 3 // The Coastal Collection Part 4

heybrine: Crystal Clutters // The Nana's Collection Part II // Noova

House of Harlix: Colonial Set Part 3 // Jardane // Kichen // Bafroom // Baysic // Orjanic Part 1

Joyceisfox: Simple Live Collection #5 // Simple Live Collection #7 // Summer Garden Part 1 // Forever Autumn Part 4

MAX20: Cozy Bathroom Kit // Master Bedroom // Garden at Home

myshunosun: Luna Bedroom // Rosa Bathroom

Peacemaker: Creta Indoor & Outdoor Kitchen // Hudson Bathroom // Round Jute Rugs

Pierisim: MCM House Part 5 // Oak House Collection (Parts 1-5) // Woodland Ranch Part 2 // Woodland Ranch Part 3

SIXAM CC: Kessler Kitchen

Syboulette: Happy Stairways Set

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ABOUT ME

About me💃🏼 Hi, my name is Leslie and I identify as a broken Sims patch update \(ツ)/ I mean well and do my best, but sometimes I'm glitchy. But hopefully, my builds never will be!

Base Game only? Nope! 🏡 I own almost every Sims 4 expansion pack, game pack, stuff pack, and kit - and I intend to use them! That's not to say I'll never have builds that are base game only, but if that's what you're in search of, I'm probably not the right creator for you.

Custom content🎨 I also own a decent amount of custom content from amazing creators who make Build/Buy and CAS items - and I intend to use those, too! I will always provide a list of the custom content used in each build in the description of each release. I don't make my own custom content at the moment (but never say never).

Playtesting ▶️ I'll never roll out a build that hasn't been playtested. I'm not about builds for the sake of aesthetics - I want them to work! And if for some weird reason I do release without playtesting, I'ma call that out in the release post.

Download the build on my Patreon for free!

[theultimateescaperooms]

Discover Solvang: The Best Outdoor and Indoor Activities for Families

Solvang, a charming Danish-inspired village nestled in the Santa Ynez Valley, offers an enchanting mix of outdoor and indoor activities perfect for families. With its quaint streets, unique attractions, and family-friendly ambiance, Solvang is a hidden gem on California's central coast. Whether you're looking to explore nature, dive into history, or experience thrilling adventures, Solvang has something for everyone in the family.

Best Outdoor Activities for Families in Solvang

Hans Christian Andersen Park

Hans Christian Andersen Park is one of Solvang’s top outdoor spots for families. Named after the famous Danish author, this park is perfect for children to run around and explore. The park offers a large playground area, picnic spaces, and even a skate park for older kids.

One of the highlights of Hans Christian Andersen Park is the natural setting, surrounded by oak trees and offering trails for hiking. It’s a wonderful spot for a family picnic, and the open spaces provide plenty of room for kids to enjoy some outdoor fun. With a serene environment and a touch of fairy tale magic, this park is an ideal place for families to relax and enjoy the beauty of Solvang.

Tip for visitors - Bring along a packed lunch and make use of the picnic areas for a relaxed meal under the shade of the oak trees. Kids can enjoy the playground while adults take in the peaceful surroundings.

Alisal Guest Ranch & Resort

If your family enjoys horseback riding and outdoor adventures, the Alisal Guest Ranch & Resort is a must-visit destination. Located just a few miles from Solvang, this ranch offers a variety of family-friendly activities, including horseback riding, fishing, hiking, and golf.

Families can explore the scenic trails on horseback, experiencing the natural beauty of the Santa Ynez Valley. There are also fishing lakes and guided nature walks, making it a great spot for both outdoor adventure and wildlife exploration.

Why it’s perfect for families - The resort caters to families, offering kid-friendly activities and a welcoming environment. Whether you’re riding horses or enjoying a relaxing day by the lake, the ranch offers a true outdoor escape.

Solvang Trolley & Carriage Tours

For a unique way to see Solvang, hop aboard the Solvang Trolley, a horse-drawn carriage that takes visitors on a scenic tour through the village. The trolley ride is a delightful experience for children and adults alike, offering a relaxing and informative way to see the town's iconic windmills, Danish bakeries, and historical landmarks.

The guides are friendly and knowledgeable, often sharing interesting facts and stories about Solvang’s Danish heritage. It’s a perfect family-friendly activity that combines sightseeing with a touch of old-world charm.

Family-friendly - This activity is perfect for younger kids who may not be able to walk long distances. The leisurely pace and informative tour make it fun and educational.

Cycling Around Solvang

Solvang is well-known for its cycling culture, and biking around the village is an enjoyable way to explore with your family. The streets are lined with beautiful Danish-style architecture, and there are plenty of scenic bike paths that take you through vineyards, countryside, and more.

Many local shops rent bikes, including tandem bikes for families who want to ride together. If your family enjoys a bit of exercise with stunning views, cycling around Solvang is a fantastic way to spend a day.

Why it’s great for families - With plenty of safe bike paths and gorgeous surroundings, this is a great activity for families who want to explore Solvang at their own pace. Younger children can ride in bike trailers, making it an activity everyone can enjoy.

Sunny Fields Park

Another great outdoor destination for families is Sunny Fields Park. This park is designed with a whimsical, medieval theme, making it a hit with children. The large wooden play structure includes castles, towers, bridges, and slides, allowing kids to use their imagination as they play.

With plenty of shaded picnic areas, Sunny Fields Park is a great spot for families to spend a relaxing afternoon. The open grassy areas are perfect for a game of soccer or frisbee, and the playground itself provides hours of entertainment for younger children.

Perfect for young families - The park is a safe, enclosed space where kids can run freely, and the medieval-themed playground adds a fun twist that makes it more than just an ordinary park.

Best Indoor Activities for Families in Solvang

While Solvang’s sunny weather makes outdoor activities highly appealing, the town also offers exciting indoor adventures that are perfect for a change of pace or when you need a break from the heat. One of the most thrilling indoor experiences for families is visiting The Ultimate Escape Rooms.

The Ultimate Escape Rooms

If your family loves a good challenge and enjoys solving puzzles, The Ultimate Escape Rooms in Solvang is a must-visit. Escape rooms are immersive experiences where you and your team must work together to solve puzzles, uncover clues, and “escape” from a themed room before time runs out.

The Ultimate Escape Rooms offers a variety of themed rooms, each designed with intricate storylines and interactive elements that will engage both kids and adults. Whether you’re working together to uncover the Phantom of the Big Top, solve the Gold Fever, or escape from The Mischievous Nisse, these escape rooms provide an adrenaline-pumping adventure that will have everyone in the family involved.

Why it’s one of the best indoor activities - Escape rooms are a fantastic way to bond as a family, encouraging teamwork, critical thinking, and communication. Plus, the immersive themes and exciting challenges make it an unforgettable experience for all ages.

Tip for families - Make sure to book your escape room experience in advance, especially on weekends or holidays, as slots can fill up quickly.

Solvang Vintage Motorcycle Museum

For families who enjoy history and unique collections, the Solvang Vintage Motorcycle Museum offers a fascinating indoor adventure. The museum houses an impressive collection of rare and vintage motorcycles, as well as European racing bikes. It’s a great way to introduce children to mechanical history and learn about the evolution of motorcycles.

The museum is small but packed with interesting exhibits, making it easy to explore with kids. The friendly staff is always happy to answer questions and provide insights into the history of each bike on display.

Family-friendly - Even if you're not a motorcycle enthusiast, the museum offers a fun and educational experience. It's a unique way to spend a few hours indoors, learning about engineering and design in a family-friendly environment.

Elverhøj Museum of History & Art

The Elverhøj Museum of History & Art is another excellent indoor destination for families visiting Solvang. Dedicated to preserving Solvang’s Danish heritage, the museum offers interactive exhibits that highlight the town's history, culture, and art.

Children will enjoy the hands-on exhibits, and the museum regularly hosts family-friendly events and activities. It’s a great way to learn about the cultural roots of Solvang while exploring artifacts, paintings, and exhibits that showcase the town’s unique Danish-American history.

Educational and fun - The museum offers an engaging way for families to learn more about the cultural significance of Solvang, and kids will appreciate the interactive elements that make history come to life.

Old Mission Santa Inés

If your family enjoys exploring historical landmarks, Old Mission Santa Inés is a must-see while visiting Solvang. Founded in 1804, this beautifully preserved mission offers a glimpse into California’s rich history. The mission grounds include a museum, chapel, and picturesque gardens.

The museum displays artifacts from the mission’s history, and the peaceful gardens are a lovely place for a family stroll. It's an educational experience that offers a look into the early days of California, making it a meaningful stop on your family adventure.

Tip for families - Make sure to take a family photo in front of the mission's bell tower, one of the most iconic landmarks in Solvang.

Solvang is a perfect destination for families looking to explore both outdoor and indoor activities. From the natural beauty of parks and horseback riding at Alisal Ranch to the thrilling challenges of The Ultimate Escape Rooms, this charming village offers endless opportunities for fun and adventure. If you are looking for team indoor fun in Solvang,The Ultimate Escape Rooms is the best option. Contact them via email or by calling 805-857-0777.