#> Blackhole Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[questforgalas]

Notes: This was the first chapter I ever wrote for this series, coming straight to my brain after "The Tipping Point" aired and first published it the day after, and I near lost my mind when "The Summit" aired the next week, and Tech literally said the "We don't leave our own behind" line. Anyway, enjoy my first ever brainrot-after-an-episode-fic

Tags/Warnings: None

Words: 2.4k

Masterlist

For those who prefer Ao3

Sergeant Hunter of Clone Force 99 could count on one hand the amount of times his brain failed to come up with a solution to a situation the moment it was presented to him. Part of it was thanks to the enhanced engineering he shared with every clone of the Grand Army of the Republic, beings bred in laboratories on the ocean planet of Kamino for the sole purpose of being the best soldiers in the galaxy. Part of it was thanks to his enhanced skills as a tracker, his senses and brain operating on another level previously unknown to other sentient beings. It’s what made him the perfect leader for Clone Force 99 - a special operations force that often found themselves in scenarios that they only saw the other end of thanks to Hunter’s ability to find a solution in a split second.

So as he stood blinking at his brother sitting in the chair in front of the ship’s computer, Hunter tried to explain away why the six words Tech just put into the galaxy weren’t computing in his head. 

“And Crosshair is one of them.” 

Those six words rattled around, refusing to register, refusing to settle. Haunting him in a way no botched mission ever could. 

This had to be another trick, another lure by the Empire. Another desperate ploy to finally get their hands on the genetically enhanced clones the Empire valued so highly for some reason. 

It had to be.

Because if it wasn’t, if this was true, and Crosshair truly was a prisoner of the Empire, truly defected, then that means they’d left their brother in the clutches of that rotting stain of the galaxy. 

No. They didn’t. 

He did.

He made the calls. 

He left their brother behind.

Teal and orange armor that previously felt like a second skin scratched like a blanket of thorns, the galaxy falling still around him. The fresh, sea breeze drifting through their ship’s door turned with the stench of rotting fish, churning Hunter’s stomach.

Spiraling thoughts swirled around in his brain, opening a blackhole he stood on the precipice of, staring into the black abyss that was the consequences of his actions. 

A familiar booming voice broke through the howling whirlwind, dragging Hunter away from the edge, and Hunter had never been more thankful for Wrecker’s larger than life personality.

“You mean, Crosshair turned on the Empire?” The brawler asked. 

“How sure are you about this?” Hunter finally forced his mouth to form words.

“Very.” Tech didn’t hesitate. The encrypted information cracked moments ago reflecting off of his goggles. “After discovering his clone number on the transfer register, I checked our old comm channels and found a recent distress message sent from Crosshair’s old code.” Tech raised his eyes to Hunter’s. “Plan 88. The Seeker.”

“What does that mean?” The smallest member of their group, Omega, asked from her perch against Tech’s armrest.

“We are being targeted.” Tech explained to her before turning his attention back to Hunter. “I believe he is warning us.”

And Maker, did Hunter want to believe that. Wanted to believe with every cell of his being that Crosshair, their Crosshair, had their backs as if his black armor still donned scratched red paint.

 In the span of a breath, Hunter was age 4 again, listening to the constant storm Kamino called weather battering the window of their barracks as he laid in his bunk, struggling to shut it all down. Another day of their enhanced traits tested on top of the extensive list of basic training they needed to complete, hours of exertion that resulted in Tech clinging to Wrecker’s back while they dragged themselves back to their barracks, digging deep for the energy to simply take their armor off before falling into their bunks, but while the others found sleep immediately, Hunter struggled to shut everything down. Every footstep in the hall sounded like a blaster in his ear. Every swoosh of a door blowing like a hurricane. The silence in between a vacuum. 

Eventually, restless legs kicked the standard-issue blanket to the floor, and he was seconds away from waking Wrecker just so the brawler could deck him right in the head, anything to turn his brain off, but before his legs left the mattress, quiet shuffling across the room interrupted the bombardment on Hunter’s ears. In the soft glow of the window, a lithe figure appeared next to his bunk, barely taller than the precious firepunche rifle carried in their hand. 

“Get up. I have an idea,” Crosshair’s raspy voice broke the dark silence.

“And what’s that exactly?”

“Going to put that restlessness to good use before I strangle it out of you.”

Hunter threw his cadet fatigues on. “We both know I’d wipe the floor with you, Cross.”  

“Sure, you can brag about it after I’ve shot all the droids on your position.”

The soft thunk of Hunter’s fist hitting Crosshair’s shoulder echoed around the quiet bunks. “Alright, so what do you have in mind?”

A few minutes and a break-in into the training simulator later, Hunter was sneaking around the training grounds, lights off, while Crosshair sat in the tower nests, attempting to tag Hunter in the dark. 

The enhanced sniper versus the enhanced tracker. 

It was the most fun Hunter ever had, and hours later, when they returned to their barracks, his head hit the pillow like a sack of ammunition. 

As sleep took him, a smile permanently on his lips, he mumbled out, “Thanks, Crosshair.” 

“Anytime, Hunter,” was the last thing he heard. 

That was their Crosshair. The Crosshair who watched their backs so fiercely, the Batch never looked over their shoulders to see if they were clear. The Crosshair who knew his brothers better than themselves, quietly observing through the years. The Crosshair who valued his family above everything. 

Not the Crosshair in all black armor. Not the Crosshair hunting them down across the galaxy. Not the Crosshair loyal to the Empire.

Or who was.

“Or it’s a trap, like he’s set for us before,” Hunter gritted out, mind back on the Marauder. 

“Well, how do we find out?” Wrecker looked between Tech and Hunter. 

Great question. 

Hundreds of possibilities ran through the sergeant’s mind, and neither one offered a clear way through. 

Option one: The Batch ignore the transmission, continue their lives, and risk leaving Crosshair’s fate up to the Empire. 

Option two: They attempt to infiltrate an off-the-grid imperial science lab at the risk of being taken and subjected to Maker knows what the Empire has in mind. 

Not to mention option three: Confirming Crosshair actually turned, which would mean infiltrating said off-the-grid imperial science lab, extracting Crosshair, making it back to the Marauder, and making it out of the system without the Empire tracking them.

The tension in Hunter’s head pounded behind his eyes.

A throat cleared. “Hunter, I understand your caution, but let’s look at the bigger picture here. The empire wasn’t hunting us. It was Crosshair. So, why would the Empire waste man-power and resources to fake a transfer log that was never released and was never guaranteed that we’d see it just so a clone could catch the attention of his old squad?” Echo, always the voice of reason on the squad. His big, brown eyes stayed fixed on Hunter. “Rex and I have seen the rate they’re decommissioning clones. The empire is trying to get rid of clones, all clones. Them laying a trap like this doesn’t make sense.”

“Unless it is an attempt to enhance their cloning efforts. Our interaction with the Zillo beast confirms that they are indeed continuing cloning experiments, and it is plausible that they would want to obtain us for further experimentation.” Tech interjected.

“Experimentation?” Omega squeaked, eyes wide. 

Echo knelt next to her, drawing her into his side, always the protector, a comforting arm draping over her shoulders as he shot a narrowed glare at Tech.

Yet, the genius missed it all, glazed eyes looking at the computer screen but not taking anything in. Hunter recalled another time when the same vacant look took hold of his brother, glow of a bacta tank reflected in his goggles.

Age 7 of cadet training graduated soldiers up to live explosives training, and as much as Hunter used to wish for one training to go as their instructors intended, the Bad Batch never received the memo.

There wasn’t enough time to register Wrecker’s yell “Tech not that one!” before an explosion rocked the simulator. Heat swarmed Hunter’s body as he was thrown onto his side, senses overloaded, managing a weak cough through lungs that felt as if they’d been crushed by a rancor. Ears ringing, he lifted his head and saw a frantic Tech hovering over a large clump. A shake of his head. Crosshair sprinting to where Tech kneeled. Standing on wobbly, unsteady legs, the haze cleared.

It wasn’t debris Tech hovered over.

“I-I-I don’t know what happened. I-I thoug-thought I could maximize the explosion radius. I heard Wrecker shout and th-the-then the mine... He shielded me from it.” The stuttered words barely made it out of Tech’s mouth.

Slowly, Crosshair knelt next to Tech, taking shaking hands into his steady ones. When Tech finally lifted his gaze from Wrecker’s still body, he collapsed, but Crosshair was ready, wrapping his arm around Tech’s shoulders, keeping him upright as he sobbed into the crook of the sniper’s neck. 

“Shh. It’s ok. It’s ok. He’s going to be ok.” Crosshair’s soft words were mumbled into Tech’s hair. “He’s going to be ok. More than your tinkering is going to take Wrecker down.” 

The next minutes passed in a blur – Wrecker whisked away, the Batch running behind, medics telling them they can’t come into the med bay, Crosshair lunging at the medics, Hunter letting him. 

The medics relented, realizing keeping them from their brother was more trouble than it was worth, and one pointed at an empty bacta tank glowing in the middle of the room. “He’s going in there if he makes it. Just, wait there please.”

No words were spoken, a silent agreement passing in the air that the chairs scattered around the recovery room were now the Batch’s personal bunks until they could see their brother again. 

Hours passed, each feeling like a rotation. Hunter stared at Crosshair sitting still across from him, not having moved an inch this entire time, and he’d never been more envious of the sniper’s ability to just sit before, feeling his hands develop minds of their own as they twitched, itching for one of his knives.

“He’s going to make it.” Crosshair broke the silence. “He owes me a sparring match.” 

Hunter gave a half-smile, grateful for the attempt at cutting the tension, but Tech remained still, the steady rise and fall of his chest the only indication of life.

Only time would bring their brothers back to them. 

So, they waited.

The late hours of the night approached. The tank blurred through Hunter’s half-open eyes, a slow battle the eyelids were winning, but a small voice spoke up in the bacta-lit shadows

“I know we’re soldiers, and I know our purpose is for war. Is to - die out there.” For the first time since the simulator, Tech met their gazes, fire burning behind the goggles. “But I – I can’t – well, I’m not leaving you behind. Any of you. If you die, I’m dying with you.”

A soft hum agreed, and a raspy drawl spoke next to Hunter. “We don’t leave our own behind.”

But they left Crosshair behind.

Hunter heaved a heavy sigh. “We don’t have enough information,” he decided. “It’s too risky going in blind like this. We need more to go on, and then we can plan from there.” His eyes landed on Omega still curled into Echo’s side. “We’ve come too far. There’s too much to risk now based off of one transmission. Let’s regroup tomorrow, see what else Tech can dig up.” 

The dismissal was clear.

No one moved from their huddle.  

Tech swiveled his chair around, looking at Wrecker, the brawler leaning on the back. Silently, a conversation passed between the two of them, and once Wrecker nodded down at Tech, they both looked to Echo. The ARC already watched them, ready, and he gave a quick nod of his own when their eyes met. 

Three heads turned in unison to Hunter’s direction. 

Maker help him. 

Slowly, Hunter closed his eyes, steeling himself for what came next. “Any chance I can pull the ‘I’m your sergeant’ line before you three tell me what’s on your mind?” 

“Has that ever worked?” Echo smirked.

“Technically, since the war ended, you are no longer our sergeant, and therefore, pulling rank would be an ineffective tactic,” Tech supplied.

“Yeah, like we were so good at following orders before,” Wrecker laughed.

“Hunter, we have gone on missions with significantly less intel than this.” Tech tilted his head in Echo’s direction.

“That was infiltrating the Techno Union, not an imperial laboratory,” Hunter countered.

“Gregor was kept in a prison dug into a mountain. Can’t imagine a science laboratory being much different,” Echo argued back.

“And that didn’t exactly end as planned, now did it?”

“Besides, this is Crosshair we’re talking about. Not some reg,” Wrecker shrugged at Echo. “No offense, but ya know what I mean.” The ARC simply shrugged back, smiling up at him. 

Hunter quickly ran out of counters. Using the chair in front of him, he leaned against the back with one hand resting on his hip. Sorting through his options, his eyes wandered back to Omega. She’d been unusually quiet through the whole discussion, but when she came into his view, his eyes softened.

Her gaze had been focused on Wrecker and Tech, face set in a look they’d all become familiar with since they took her off of Kamino a year ago. But it wasn’t the determination that made Hunter pause. It was the subtle scrunch on her nose, a tell that liked to appear during her more stubborn moods. A trait he’d only seen on one other clone. One who could possibly be the only being in the galaxy to out-stubborn their little sister. 

And the one member of their family who wasn’t on this ship.

“Hunter,” Tech said softly. “We don’t leave our own behind.”

Kriffing Tech.

“Alright.” Hunter took a deep breath. “Let’s go get him.”

[futuretechnerd]

"Meet Porphyrion: the black hole that just redefined our understanding of the universe! These jets span 23 million light-years, forming one of the largest cosmic structures ever recorded. 🌌✨ 

How do these massive jets come from something so small? Mind blown! 🤯 

#futuretechnerd #spaceexploration #blackholes #futuretech #galacticweb #astronomyfacts #cosmicwonders #porphyrion #astrophysics #technology #sciencefacts #mindblown #BlackHoleDiscovery #CosmicJets #GalacticStructure #SpaceNerd #TechAndSpace #FutureOfScience #SpaceFacts #SupermassiveBlackHole #Astrophysics #FutureTech

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[bluerthanblue-excerpts]

goldfish aquarium

The dreamland. The asylum. and the borderline between fantasy and reality. She remembers everything and yet sometimes, nothing. She carried the remnants of her episodes from years ago and the current present. As if it was stored in a goldfish aquarium, and she, swimming inside, for as long as she could remember. She didn’t want her brain tracking down the memory lane and nostalgia so she envied and resented the carefree goldfish in the aquarium that only has a short-term memory and attention span.

Her namesake, the muse of the memory would probably open a treasure box of repressed emotions and memories from a long time – even from a distant childhood. It would be better, perhaps for her to forcibly vanish the nasty and painful memories and dreams that kept on haunting her at her lowest moments. But a part of her, the recesses of her personality craves to exalt everything for creative expression – to create bold colors and strokes with deep meanings from abstract ideas formed from episodes and in ‘asylum’. The insanity somehow kept her sane, an unhealthy connection between staying in touch with reality or craving for otherworldly desires – the dangerous waters filled with shadows and blackhole.

She kept the goldfish in the aquarium, feeding it with feeds from a store managed by a smiling storeowner who gave her a fake coral. Her neighbors sometimes see her behind the goldfish aquarium, splashing the colors on her canvas or her wide sketchpad on the easel. Her artworks are a representation of isolation and alienation, the sublime and mundane notions of humanity, and the societal and internal pressures that drive her to psychosis.

At midnights, she begged the muse to just store her memories away or wished that these memories and dreams would knock at desperate times – when she badly needed to coax colors and splash the insides of her mind. But her pleas were unheard and what did she expect for a muse that only exist in stars millions away from her, unreachable, non-physical, and unreal? So she suited herself everyday, with her beloved goldfish, colors, and her rich inner world filled with bits of light colors and darkness – too much darkness.

[redraven393]

so in the span of several minutes, we have discussed about new cool space discovery about a blackhole that is spinning so fast it disturbed the fabric of the universe, a Dinosaur kid show that has its season final episode being them experiencing their extinction even when they manage to go through the modern age, and then a cartoon character called fern being an awakening for many young ones.

fun stuff

[evilminji]

It would be the PERFECT therapy? Would it not? In the sarcophagus of forever sleep? Can't come out until The Force thinks you're done. Which? Historically? No one has MANAGED. So they think it's a coma box.

But instead? You shove basically a RAGING Sith Lord in there and??

Oh.

The pain has stopped.

The reaching and reaching, never good enough, anger and fear and screaming POWER in his head like a vice on his skull...

Gone.

Instead there is? Light. Stars. Peace and connection and the life force of living things. Like endless lace made of starlight, spanning eternity. Music without sound. It's... it's beautiful. Everything has just STOPPED and it's just so... beautiful.

His is the wisdom of a terrible man. A GREAT man. Not good, Great in the way all warlords are. He... he TRIED. Lost himself. Was no saint, even at the beginning. But he spiraled into something terrible, unrecognizable as himself, in the end. And like Yoda? He has CENTURIES on these mere children.

He Fell for far longer then the Skywalker Clan even EXSISTED. Much less Anikin himself. Was a monster for far longer then these little Sith sniviled and schemed. But... what does he care? Truely. WHY should he care?

It is fleeting.

Beautiful.

But fleeting. As all life is. And their schemes will collapse just as their enemies did. Empires rise, empires fall. The Balance will find itself, in the end. But... if the Force so insists he go and sit on the stairs? So be it.

Only? Then Anikin fucks up.

Like that seemingly tiny, shallow river that is actually MILES deep and has killed countless with it's riptide? This Itty, bitty little youngling? Fluffy little head and peaceful expression? Hides an OCEAN inside. A MONSTER. It's like a toddler raging against a wise man but worse. It's an ant... against a giant.

Unlike Anikin he does not sit wide in the Force... he rests DEEP.

Like a blackhole.

Light by simple virtue of scoffing at the WEAKNESS of the Dark. The lack of control. He COULD be a monster again, if he chose, but that's the very thing? Isn't it? He's choosing not too now. Letting go. Healing.

Doesn't give a FUCK about your petty little politics or mortal wars. But still!

Progress.

I just realized? But a Reincarnated Force Sensitive Soul?

In Star Wars?

Would have a HELL of a time. Like... for real... you would be? Higher then most satellites. Assuming of course, you had ACCEPTED you're death. Made peace with it. Which? The Force would probably knock out for you?? In like... 3-4 business days. Tops.

What with being Connected To The Heart Of EVERYTHING.

Taste-Smell-Soul-Feel the RAINBOW and be at PEACE, bitch! Your Vibes are transcendent and your crops sublime.

It's? Probably like if LSD had not down sides or bad trips. You are ALREADY Luminous. Barely connected to this fragile matter. What do YOU care? Why be upset... about ANYTHING? Isn't the fragile light of this nearby fern ENCHANTING? Watch as it grows. Let's sit here for hours. Miss meal time. Pass out from hunger and dehydration, cause we forgot the flesh of our form need support, and we are a toddler.

We were watching grass grow.

At one with the universe.

No, we aren't paying attention. We haven't been and probably won't be. We concern people greatly. It's a legitimate medical concern.

Cause like?? Born knowing you are to die again. That this is all a beautiful dream. Why pay attention? Get attached? Why not relax instead? Watch the starlight. Ponder the flow of the Force through the trees? Lay by the fountains and just... listen to the water. Know Peace. Give Peace. Accept that it will end.

Be somehow the MOST Jedi a Jedi has ever been AND a living testament to how it is unsustainable to be so. You connect to no one. Cling to nothing. You do not thrive, you HAUNT. Your serenity is peaceful, yes. But it is the peace of the dead.

Is this what they have become?

It'd be? Very interesting? To see Cannon change? BECAUSE a character accepts it. Decides to do... nothing. In fact, so PROFOUNDLY does Nothing. So COMPLETELY is at Peace with their Inevitable Death... it horrifies everyone around them into action.

Is the small child, at utter Peace, radiating Acceptance and Tranquility, on the Temple steps. Well beyond the Gaurds. Knowing EXACTLY why Skywalker is walking towards them. Not looking up. Not stopping their meditation. Just... small. Peaceful. Someone who has never hurt him and isn't armed.

All it would take... is one movement.

A single slash.

So.....so why isn't he? W-why? (Because they're small. Because Padme wouldn't want this. Because they don't feel scared or angry or...or... Force, when has he last felt such... such peace? He's so tired.)

I can imagine, they'd still TRY to protect the innocent. It's different acceptance of your own End and acceptance of another's. But? It'd be so sadly beautiful? Hushed. And they'd make such huge differences while changing nothing at all.

That's just what haunting my brain, at least.

@legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @mayfay @babbling-babull @hypewinter

[rainbow-taishi]

When the fandom you’re in gets unbearable due to ship wars and rabid shipping

[ihopeitruinsrocknroll]

wait in DP you know how some ghosts are Ancients like Pandora or Vortex etc?

Well what if after beating Pariah Dark, Danny doesn’t turn into the Ghost King until he’s older or something, but the act of power is enough to ‘promote’ him to the status of Ancient?

He’d probably control space cause that’s his secondary obsession, and hope is taken by Pandora, so maybe that means he could have protecting others as it instead?

Just, imagine Danny as Phantom turning more and more space-like. His hair gets wispier and looks more like a paintbrush swept the galaxies across his head, his eyes have literal black holes/ stars in them, and whenever he moves it looks like gravity can barely hold him.

this could pair into eldritch danny too, with him not ageing at all until Clockwork points it out to him. and at that point, he kinda looks like one of the elves in the mythical forests, flying and laughing.

but imagine this in the dcu.

The watchtower’s in space, and since the Infinite Realms spans across realities and multiverses, it’s not too far of a stretch to say that they could cross paths.

Now, there’s a fight on the watchtower, and the JLA are losing cause there’s not enough people.

Someone in the league cries out for help, and it’s a coincidence that Danny’s in the area. He basically just warps the people into blackholes ( they’re not dead, just basically in a thermos)

[haruchyio]

tokyo manji daycare hcs

— children!toman members + caretaker!reader

— themes. fluff, crack, chubby cheeks toman

— bonten members ft kurokawa izana ver.

# sano manjiro.

he's always hungry that you wonder if his tummy is made of a blackhole. he drinks five bottles in a span of ten minutes and will cry if you don't give him his sixth. is that even healthy? is that even okay? you don't know anymore because his crying just won't stop. he cries just to get his way with you, this cheeky little shit >:(

# ryuguji ken.

the one who also takes care of mikey even though he's a baby himself. will give mikey all his snacks and toys if his friend asked for it. he will probably fight you if you don't give mikey what he wants because what mikey wants, mikey gets.

# baji keisuke.

the worst child you've handled so far. demon child. a whole MESS. this baby pulls at your hair whenever he gets the chance, refuses to nap when its time for nappies, and he always bully the other kids into eating all his greens for him. he never listens to you at all and had you running around in circles for hours before he himself gets tired.

# chifuyu matsuno.

is absolutely infatuated with his caretaker (you). always going on and on about how he's going to marry you when he grows up and promised you a grape-flavored ring pop when has a job. this baby sticks by your side wherever you go and clings to your leg when its time for him to go home.

# mitsuya takashi.

the most normal child you could ever ask for. a breath of fresh air from the other kids. he's aways calm and quiet, watching a nursery rhyme on the television screen, he even eats his greens and licks his plate nice nad clean. an absolute angel. best child.

# shiba hakkai.

trails behind mitsuya like a baby chick. he refuses to go near you because you have "cooties." one of the hardest child to work with because he won't let you touch him, hiding behind a clueless mitsuya. he's a big crybaby but when he warms up to you, he'll let you pat his head

# hanemiya kazutora.

he and baji are two peas in a pod. wherever they go, trouble always follows behind. he and baji have the weirdest mini conversation ever, comparing booger sizes. one time, he wiped his finger on baji so now they're on a baby war at each other.

# seishu inui.

an absolute charmer. just like mitsuya, he's always quiet and calm. he always asks you to read him a bedtime story when it's nap time, and he specifically asks for fairy tale ones. he loves snow white and beauty & the beast the most, he says his dream is to become a prince some day.

# kawata nahoya.

cute twins (1/2) the cheekiest one out of the pair. another troublesome child but its okay because he's always smiling. he never really cried, but when he's sad, he throws tantrums with his signature smile. he will throw his toys on a corner until it dawns on you that he's sad and having his baby tantrum moments, and you're confused as to what to do because he wont tell you what's wrong.

# kawata souya.

cute twins (2/2) always surrounds himself with stuffed toys, especially when he's sleeping. he and hakkai are known for crying about the littlest things and while its adorable, sometimes its annoying. will cling to his brother whenever he gets scared, his snot stickimg on nahoya's clothes and you'll have to wipe it off later.

© sen (haruchyio). all rights reserved. no work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without my permission.

[ciderjacks]

this is huge for me. No like ok. I’m not smart so I will struggle to put this into words. I’m just gonna do caveman speak ok bear with me bc I have the concepts in my brain now but I have no idea how I’d lay them out right.

BLACKHOLES REPRODUCING EXPERIENCING NATURAL SELECTION

SAME WAY AS ORGANISMS

UNIVERSE IS IN BLACKHOLE WHICH ALSO IN A BLACKHOLE INFINITE UNIVERSE BLACKHOLES

UNIVERSE WITH MORE LIFE = MORE BLACKHOLES = BETTER CHANCE AT BLACKHOLE SURVIVAL CONTINUING THE GROUP

MEANS THAT POTENTIALLY BLACKHOLES ARE LIVING BEINGS SAME AS YOU OR ME

MEANS THAT BLACKHOLES COME FROM SOMEWHERE

-THIS IS JUST ME SPECULATING ALA BLUE SKY PHASE AT A THEME PARK REALLY BEAR WITH ME IM JUST SHOOTING OUT IDEAS-

POTENTIALLY MUCH LARGER PLANE OUTSIDE KNOWABLE REALITY

WE EXIST INSIDE A BEINGS SYSTEM LIKE BLOOD CELLS ? (MORE COMPLICATED THAN THAT)

BLACKHOLES COME FROM SOMEWHERE BUT WHERE WELL IF WE ASSUME BLACKHOLES ARE LIVING WE CAN POTENTIALLY EXAMINE HOW LIFE ON EARTH FUNCTIONS IN COMPARISON

OK SO LETS TAKE BIOLOGICAL ANGLE TO A BLACKHOLE?

WHERE DID WE COME FROM. ATOMS AT FIRST.

WHAT WOULD THAT BE FOR A BLACKHOLE

COSMIC DUST? HEAR ME OUT.

COSMIC DUST SEEN AROUND BLACK HOLES BUT MAYBE ITS NOT OUTPUT LIKE SOME PEOPLE THINK. MAYBE IT IS TO BLACKHOLES WHAT ATOMS ARE TO US

OR AT LEAST MAYBE IT FORMS WHAT ARE THE ATOMS THAT WILL CREATE A BLACKHOLE

JUST LIKE THE RIGHT CIRCUMSTANCES ARE FOR LIFE MAYBE THERE ARE RIGHT CIRCUMSTANCES FOR BLACKHOLES

BUT SHIT WHAT EXISTS OUTSIDE BLACKHOLE ?

BECAUSE WE TALK ABOUT LIFE RIGHT?

WHAT EXISTS OUTSIDE OF EARTH LIFE ? WELL THE UNIVERSE AND ASSUMING WHAT EXISTS OUTSIDE OF THE UNIVERSE IS BLACKHOLES WHICH WE ARE ALSO ASSUMING TO BE ALIVE, WHAT EXISTS OUTSIDE OF THEM? DOES ANYTHING?

WHEN WE TALK ABOUT INFINITY WE ARE TALKING FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF SOMETHING UNIMAGINABLY SMALL

WE CAN BARELY PICTURE OUR OWN LITTLE UNIVERSE IN ITS ENTIRETY

BUT WE ASSUME RIGHT WE ASSUME THAT BLACKHOLES ARE LIVING BEINGS INSIDE THEMSELVES SPANNING FOR HOWEVER LONG

AND WE HAVE A FEW WAYS TO GO FROM THERE

NOT ALL LIFE FUNCTIONS THE SAME AND WE KNOW SO LITTLE ABOUT BLACKHOLES, BUT POTENTIALLY (I AM FULL ON BULLSHITTING HERE PLEAAASE BEAR WIH ME) BLACKHOLES EXIST IN GROUPS THE WAY MANY ORGANISMS DO

BUT ITS JUST THAT THE INDIVIDUAL GROUP OF BLACK HOLE EXISTS WITH ITSELF

THAT WOULDNT BE TOO WEIRD CONSIDERING HOW A LOT OF EVEN JUST EARTHLY LIFE TENDS TO LOOK

SO LETS ASSUME THESE BLACK HOLE FAMILIES ALL EXIST WITHIN A LARGER MOTHER WHO EXISTS SEPARATE OF THE OTHER MOTHERS

THEY COULD ALL BE WITHIN A LARGE SEA OF BLACKHOLES. YOU KNOW THAT COSMOS EPISODE THAT SPECULATES WE COULD BE EXISTING IN A SEA OF OTHER UNIVERSES?

I BELIEVE SOMETHING SIMILAR COULD EXIST WITHIN THIS HYPOTHETICAL

EXCEPT ITS NOT UNIVERSES BUT RATHER INDIVIDUAL FAMILIES OF BLACK HOLES CARRIED BY A MOTHER EXISTING IN THIS HUGE SEA OF OTHER BLACKHOLES

AND OK. LETS MOVE AWAY FROM THE OUTSIDE FOR A SECOND AND GO BACK IN BC MAYBE ITS DIFFERENT

IS THERE COMPETITION? HOW DO THEY PROPAGATE WITHIN THEMSELVES OK REALLY DO HEAR ME OUT PLEASE JUST. I KNOW I SOUND CRAZY. IM JUST SHOOTING OUT IDEAS OK PLEASE

BLACKHOLES ARE ALIVE AND THERE ARE THEORIES THAT BLACKHOLES WITHIN OUR HYPOTHETICAL BLACK HOLE ARE ACTUALLY CONTRIBUTING THINGS NECESSARY TO MAINTAIN LIFE IN OUR UNIVERSE

SO HYPOTHETICALLY THE CHILD BLACKHOLE IS MAINTAINING ITS SURVIVAL BY MAINTAINING THE LARGER BLACKHOLE FAMILY

BECAUSE THE MORE LIFE A BLACKHOLE HAS THE MORE LIKELY IT IS TO SURVIVE

DO BLACKHOLES EVOLVE? OK HEAR ME OUT

I AM SPECULATING ON THIS NOTHING TO BACK IT UP HOWEVER FROM MY OWN PERSONAL PERSPECTIVE AND KNOWLEDGE LIFE IS ACTUALLY PRETTY SIMILAR NO MATTER WHAT IT IS. IT MAY SEEM VERY DIFFERENT EXTERNALLY BUT IF YOU ACTUALLY PAY ATTENTION NOTHING STRAYS TOO FAR FROM LIFE’S BASIC FORMULA

THINGS CHANGE FUNCTION AND APPEARANCE OVER TIME AND THAT EVENTUALLY LEADS TO EVOLUTION

SO IF WE ASSUME BLACK HOLES ARE LIVING BEINGS THEMSELVES AND WE TAKE INTO CONSIDERATION THAT A BLACKHOLE CAN DIE OR BE BORN OR EXPAND OR PROPAGATE ITS LARGER FAMILIES CONTINUED SURVIVAL

THEN WHY WOULDNT THEY EVOLVE?

NOW MIND YOU I IMAGINE THIS WOULD TAKE A SPAN OF TIME LONGER THAN ANY OF US ARE ABLE TO COMPREHEND

FOR ALL WE KNOW WE’RE STILL IN THE EQUIVALENT OF THE HADEAN EON

BUT WE COULD ALSO BE LATER ON

WE DONT KNOW MUCH SO WHOS TO SAY

MAYBE BLACKHOLES THEMSELVES ARE THE CELLS MAKING UP SOMETHING MUCH LARGER AND WE AND EVERY UNIVERSE IS AN ATOM MAKING UP THAT CELL

MAYBE. OK THIS IS MY FINAL SCREWBALL HYPOTHESIS. REALLY DO BEAR WITH ME ITS PROBABLY THE MOST OUT THERE ONE YET

WHAT IF ITS ALL JUST. LIKE. AN INFINITE PHOTO

YOU KEEP ZOOMING IN AND ZOOMING IN UNTIL YOU’RE SEEING THE SAME PICTURE YOU SAW BEFORE

EVERYTHING IS JUST MAKING UP ITSELF

YOU ZOOM IN AND YOU ZOOM IN ON THIS

UNTIL EVENTUALLY YOU REALIZE YOUVE ZOOMED OUT

SO MAYBE ITS A HUGE SEA OF BLACKHOLES MAKING UP BLACKHOLES MAKING BLACKHOLES

CELLS FORMED FROM ATOMS FORMED

AND ALL OF IT IS JUST LOOPING BACK INTO ITSELF

LIKE THIS

SEA -> MOTHER BLACKHOLE -> HOWEVER MANY UNIVERSES -> OUR UNIVERSE -> US -> SEA

AAAAHHHHH?!?!??!?!??!

[josnhoes]

If that's okay could i add something about the MC turning into a kid?

Since they still have the intelligence of a teen/adult i think it would be pretty funny seeing them have DEEP convos with the cast, like imagine a kid who's like what? 7/8 years old? Talking about what?? Taxes(this is just a random example)??? And they're actually right?? Wild bro😦

Or the MC helping aduece with homework😭😭

Thank you for adding in, I have such a brain worm.

You are absolutely right, Yuu is still able to think like their older age. Sometimes it takes her a little bit longer to recall things the mentality of an adult or not, a child's attention span messes with her.

Lilia absolutely loves when Yuu starts talking older, he thinks it's the most precious thing. Partly because he still thinks you little pretending to be older, and the other part is you two balance eachother in a comedic way, old but acts young vs young but acts old. Though he worries about Yuu's mental health at the more existential moments.

Ace finds it terrifying, like he is the only one who is starting to believe your story about not actually being a kid because he is so scared at some of the adult topics you talk about. Sure hearing a little kid complain about taxes is one thing, but the talk about things like the various forms of inequality and capitalic hellscape the world is absolutely shakes him to his core. Alsoesses with his self-esteem. Why is this munchkin smarter then him?! No that doesn't stop him from casually getting your help.

Deuce just gets concerned. He starts to consider you had a parent like Riddle's mom who forced you to become an adult and learn so much, neglecting your chance to be a kid. So he takes it on himself to help you have more fun. Respectable, child safe, law abiding fun. After homework of course, he still had to become an honors student! The blow to his pride though when you do math better then him. He knew he was bad bit ouch.

Tutoring the ADuece combo is difficult. You fight your slightly diminished attention span and the attention span sucking blackhole the pair being together causes. Then you have to battle with their wounded egos when you prove them wrong or correct an answer. Ace is the biggest issue on that, Deuce usually just accepts it but there are moments and questions where he swears he had it right and your messing with him!

It's a slow going process but you have helped raised their grades, Ace calls you the guru of grades when asking for study sessions. "Oh great guru of grades, I need your wisdom." A statement that always gets a laugh from you, which is why he does it. Not only does it make you more willing to help, but in his heart he knows he likes seeing your serious self lighten up. Possible teen/adult or not that scowl is weird on a kid...

Eventually you get a small group of students who come to study with you of other first years, including some background students. Which had Crewely saying you were the smallest teacher he'd ever seen, and comment on how good you train the puppies. Do not even pretend you think he's getting you a puppy he will and use the excuse it's a gaurd for you...unless you want a dog then pretend you though he said he was getting you a puppy.

[madcatdaderpydrawer-blog]

A little shadow child named Zana was basically Lord Blackholes version of Zeze, being a little kid that got into trouble a lot and needed to be helped out. Zana tended to get herself stuck in trees because she climbed them wanting to play with or watch the animals, so Blackhole would usually offer to show her the animals she wanted to see so she’d stop climbing the trees to find them. She was also one of the kids that helped make flower crowns for Blackholes kitty, and was one of the kids that helped make the drink that got swapped out.

She’s still alive by the time Starholder tf sun finds out about blacky. Shadows have much longer life spans so she’s still alive, but a older adult at this point. She still remembers him though and is one of the people who speaks most about him telling stories to the younger kids about him.

[neroli9]

Hello! I just reread your story! And I noticed in the chapter notes you mentioned showing a day in blackhole Sans' life. I was wondering if you still planned to do that seeing as you've effectively mapped out the rest of the story? I love it btw

It has been so long, it took me forever to find it in my tremendously messy notes! (I used to just know where everything was. Not a good long-term strategy.)

Sans never sleeps well in any timeline, but black hole Sans is an insomniac. It's a consequence of knowing that every time you fall asleep, it'll be decades, maybe centuries until you wake up again. Luckily, Papyrus doesn't sleep much either anyway. They sprawl out on the couch, listening to Mettaton's radio drama, or sit at the table and do puzzles. Sans knows Papyrus is never going to be part of the Guard. He helps him practice puzzle creation anyway, and spars with him every day. The district is in mourning after the kidnapping and certain death of Asriel Dreemur; Sans shuffles around, conscious that the jokes and pranks he'd usually use to get a smile or a groan out of the district's residents and lighten his own mood would be spectacularly mistimed. He tried getting drunk a couple of times, and it only made things worse. He stopped a crusader by straight up threatening him, putting the fear of God in a man who thought he was already pretty well acquainted with God. Papyrus fussed at him for it… but in this timeline, he can't let his brother take any risks.

He fears above anything being in his lab during a reset. Since he confirmed what was happening the first time, he's only been back once - a week later, to see if it was still happening. It was. He figured he wasted valuable decades on taking the shortcut, sitting down, reading over the data.

He snuck out, went to one of the sex clubs. If Papyrus hears about it next month, he figures, that's another thousand years away. He enjoyed the sex. He's always had dominant tendencies, but he's never really been able to share that side of himself with a partner he doesn't really know, since it goes against both his self-image and the image he projects. He just laid back and let his partner do all the work. He'd done it because he wanted to lose himself in something, and he liked the idea of sex that spanned centuries. In the most recent minute of his existence, he had a weird, fleeting desire to sleep with a human. The idea made him laugh. He doesn't know the first thing about human sex anyway, and he wasn't all that interested in using his precious time to figure out how it was done. Better to be with his brother, for as many seconds as he could steal.

He would be darkly amused to know that the Sans from the main timeline calls him the "black hole Sans." He has a name for his counterpart: "scrambled Sans." And, when he looked at the timeline, he felt quite sure he's the lucky one.

[alchemistc]

hey babe, for the fanfic writers ask game, numbers 7 (if you remember) and 26 ♡

7: tell us about the plot of the first fanfic you ever wrote

oh god. to be completely honest fanfic was my escape from some fucked up shit in childhood that a therapist would delight in helping me unrepress, so i have no idea other than it was probably hp-fic, but the first one i remember is a potc series of 100word prompt-fics based on elizabeths life post at worlds end with a revolving cast of all the different characters from the first three movies. my favorite dynamic was elizabeth and barbossa. i'm pretty sure those fics are lost to time and or Strikethrough, but they were definitely fun.

26: do you like to write one-shots or series, and why?

primarily one-shots, mostly because i am notoriously bad at finishing anything that requires me to sit down and outline before i write - i just want to get into the thing, and often that means if i try to write out a more in depth fic i either get bored, lose focus, or write myself into a plot-blackhole. the plus side to this is that my one-shots are often categorized as "20k worth of fic in 5k or less" but the downside is that knowing this about myself makes it even harder for me to commit to writing anything more in depth than a 2-parter. i'm working on it though. already forcing myself to outline an fucking PLAN for steddiebang, so prayers up to my attention span.

but i also do really enjoy the process of one-shots - finding that snapshot moment in time that is important/interesting enough to take the time to imagine internal thought processes, finding ways to make a dynamic interesting when you've only got 5000 words to do so (i'm thinking back on my other response and realizing this might have been the onus for the way i like to write, damn, i should do a 100word prompt fic again, those were rough to get just right) - really diving into why this scene or concept or theme is interesting enough to write about. i love that shit.

ask me fanfic questions to distract me from plotting out my steddiebang fic!

[loisroo]

11, 17, 25 for the ask game, please! 💜💜💜 thankyou :***

Of course!! 🖤🖤🖤

11. anything from your childhood you’ve held on to?

besides trauma? lol i’m a really sentimental person so i have a few really things i’ve kept! i have a stuffed kangaroo that my daughter sleeps with now. a working(somehow) talking and moving togepi doll. my grandpa’s hat. a ton of photos. i have a ‘hug’ craft that my niece made which is a cut out of her hands and string measuring her arm span. my grandma’s first engagement ring. every jane austen novel. a box of dvd’s that I refuse to not have forever. an ‘i love lucy’ ornament. various random things i get a rush of emotion from when i pick it up and my heart yells ‘no’ when i try to throw it away.

17. an anxious compulsion you do everyday?

hmmmm… i’m not sure if it’s compulsion but i have to drink a glass of ice cold water every morning. the entire glass and usually in a mason jar before I start my day.

25. would you say you have good taste in music?

ummmm no. lol so my taste is not really bad but i wouldn’t say it’s good. i just freaking love music so much it’s silly.

i have adhd so I hyper focus a lot which means my playlists are like living breathing entities of their own. i struggle to pick favorites because i love each song for different reasons and i’m a music nerd so i’m always looking for something new or interesting. i also had five siblings and my mom who all listened to different genres growing up so now I know everyone song from every genre form every year from 1963 on. you want me to sing ‘the rose’ and then transition into ‘blackhole sun’ and add some lil jon adlibs in there? — i got you.

[yeojaa]

( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do.

pairing.  jjk x named f!reader.  jhs x named f!reader makes a lil (big) appearance. 

genre + rating.   rockstar!au.  e2l (exes n enemies!).  angst.  general.

tags / warnings.  this starts surprisingly soft!  and then it gets...  sad.  no real tags, though.  just...  mentions of butts?  also kicking butts?  jungkook is a bit of a manipulative dingus.  the usual.

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ and @periminkle​!  i would be nothing without them.  💛 

wc.  2.7k

chapter two.

“Are you okay?”  

It’s a question that doesn’t beg an answer.  He already knows you aren’t - that there’s no way you possibly could be - but he asks anyway.  He offers the words like a hand in the dark, a light on the horizon.  A reminder that you’re not alone and he’s here.  

He, with sunbeams in his smile and a dependable heartbeat.  He, who is melted and never frozen, a calm sea to your raging storm.  Jung Hoseok.

He holds you delicately, with utmost care, as if he’s worried you might shatter into the same pieces he’d found you in three years ago.  Or worse.  He cradles you to his chest, tracing stories into your skin;  his fingers press against the brassy ladders of your rib cage, fitting care between the spaces and double checking your heart still beats there.  Every beat reminds him that you’re stronger than he gives you credit for.  He offers his support anyway. 

“I’m…”  The words don’t come.  They’re barely realised, hardly tangible - sailors who’ve died with no names or wives.  

You falter, just a little, where gold thread fails.  There’s only so much someone can take.

It isn’t asked of him - it never is - but he does it anyway:  catching the splinters in his hands.  He pretends like they don’t hurt him just as much and the truth is, they don’t.  He’s faced enough hurt that yours is nothing - simply a stroll through a rose garden, barely a blip on his radar.  So he does this for you, because he can and he really doesn’t mind.

Where he’s able, he fills the cracks with the glory of his smile, with passes of his hands and lips and breath.  He does his best to keep you from catching your hands on those sharp edges - turning them round with a trail of tenderness against your temple.  Then another.  Then one more.  Touches passed in tandem with the tears that spill from your eyes, far too full to stop.  “It’s okay.  Take your time.”

He’s not going anywhere.

You apologise and hope the saltwater doesn’t rust your insides that he’s worked so carefully to scrub clean.  The downpour continues, relentless and miserable.  He waits and for that, you’re grateful.

“I didn’t think it would be that hard.”  Not quite true.  You’d expected it to be worse - an entire blackhole devouring your universe.  It still hurts more than it should.

Hoseok laughs.  It isn’t cruel.  It exists only in sound and even then, hardly at all.

“Did you think it would be easy?”  

“Not easy.”  Different, maybe.  A pain less sharp.  Pressure on a healing bruise rather than a festering wound that’s been poorly, wrongly stitched together.  You didn’t get it - you’d had time to heal.  Why was there still this cut-out in the centre of your heart, shaped exactly like Jungkook and torn around the edges?

“Did you think he’d changed?”

It feels silly to say yes.  It feels sillier to lie.  “Maybe.”

He tries again.  “Did you believe he would’ve changed?”

Had you hoped for it?  Wasted wishes on pennies and stars?  “Yes.”

“Vi.”  So soft you almost miss it, coloured in melancholy and sympathy.  You’ve heard it enough times to recognise what follows.  From Hoseok and your brother and your best friend.  “You need to let him go.”  You know he’s right.  More than that, you know he cares.  He doesn’t want to see the same shell of a girl from years ago - a house without any lights on inside.  

“I’m trying.”  You are, truly.  You’d left, hadn’t you?  Not once but twice!  Two whole times.  

You’d never thought you would.

“I know.”  Hoseok is kind - kinder than you could ever hope to be.  Stronger, too.  You feel it in the way he holds you, keeps you afloat when you’re so close to being pulled under.  “Just know I’m here.”

You can’t count how many times you’ve said it.  You repeat it again, earnest and heartfelt.  “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.”  It means more than the words, more than it’s fine .  It’s everything in between, unspoken but understood.  It’s his way of reminding you that you - exactly as you are, a little broken and bruised - are everything you need.  That you are exactly as you should be, with the people that love you most.

“What would I do without you?”  You can’t quite picture it.  You don’t want to.

The arms holding you tighten, warm grip holding you tight against his chest.  His lips are dry upon your cheek, his breath ticklish over the shell of your ear.  “You’d be fine,”  he insists, so assured you can’t help but believe him.  “Colder, probably, but you’d be just fine.”

You laugh for the first time since you’ve been in his bed, the sound still a little wet but far better than it was.  More you, with sunshine peeking out from behind the rain clouds.  

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”  

You peer at him from your periphery, reminded once again of how lucky you are.  You might’ve had your heart broken but it was whole again, if not a little worse for wear.  

His was gone - buried six feet under. 

You can’t help yourself.  “Really, Hobi.  Thank you.”

“What’d I say?”  It’s a little huffy - all for dramatic effect, you know.  

“I know but—”

“No buts.”

“But—”

“No buts!”  You catch the look of mischief before you catch something else - a playful palm that lands with a quiet smack.  “Unless it’s yours.”

“You’re ridiculous.”  

“And you’re laughing, so who’s really the winner here?”  

He might think it’s him, but you know it’s you.  Because he’s everything you’ve ever imagined.  Calm, cool, collected.  Shoulders carved from boulders and a heart made of pure gold.  He’s the solid foundation you’d never thought you’d needed but that steadies you now - a reliable foundation for the home you’ve been rebuilding.  A friend who gives everything and asks for nothing.

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to repay him. 

Don’t bother, you know he’d say.  It’s nothing, he’d insist.  You’ll still try.

“Let’s eat.”  You beat him to it, tossing whatever words he’d levied out the window as you extract yourself from the tangle of his limbs and linen sheets.  His expression shifts - swings from pouting at the loss of your body to delighted at the prospect of food in the span of three seconds - and he’s kicking his way to freedom alongside you. 

“Should I make pancakes?  Or are you in a waffle mood?”  

Truthfully, you’re in a drown-your-sorrows-in-wine mood but you figure at ten in the morning, carbs might be the better option.  Especially if they come in the form of his chocolate banana pancakes, third on your list of favourite comfort foods.  “Pancakes.”

“Pancakes it is, then.”  

The shirt he pulls on falls mostly into place before he offers a hand to you, one of his various hoodies - baby blue with Supreme emblazoned across the front - held in the other.  “Put this on and let’s get cookin’, good lookin’.”

Your brother joins the two of you for breakfast, the temptation of free food too strong - even for him.  He shuffles out of his bedroom, a sleepwalking zombie that only perks up at the smell of coffee and sizzling bacon.  He steals a piece before it’s even fully done, jumping out of the way of your wayward chopsticks when he nearly leaves a trail of pork fat over the counter. 

Knives and forks clatter across kitchenware and steam curls out of ceramic.  Caught in this little piece of Sunday morning paradise, it’s easy to imagine this is just another day.

“How’re you doing?”  It comes around a careful mouthful of batter and chocolate chips, Yoongi’s expression soft and expectant across the table.  There’s no hesitation in his question, even as Hoseok shifts in his seat beside you, free hand dropping to rest - inconspicuously - over your knee. 

Yoongi notes the motion with an imperceptible tick of his stare but says nothing.  It’s an unspoken agreement between the three of you. 

If you don’t acknowledge it, it doesn’t exist. 

“I’m…”  The words fall short, yet again, but none of you are in a rush.  The quiet sound of chewing fills the void until you’re able to, in your soft and measured way.  “I’m okay.  I’ll be okay.”  That’s what matters. 

He hums an acknowledgement before digging further into his plate, slicing through a perfectly cooked yolk with the edge of his knife.  “You’re not going to see him again, right?”  You can tell he’s trying to be conversational - ask without demanding, understand without judging.  You know it’s hard for him.  It’d be hard for you too, if the roles were reversed. 

“No.”  

It’s punctuated by a squeeze of your thigh and the tiniest nod from the corner of your eye.  Hoseok knows it isn’t his place to butt in but he offers his support where he can, in the little ways you can’t miss.  Like the sun in the sky, you can’t always see him, but you know he’s there. 

“Good.”  The relief is palpable, fully formed and bright as it pops off Yoongi’s tongue in a pronounced exhale. 

You can’t help but smile, though you’re not entirely sure it meets your eyes.  It’s hard to remain chipper when faced with your nightmares.  If only you could leave them in bed, far away.  “Don’t worry.” 

“You’re my little sister - I have to.”

You catch the grin that forms across Hoseok’s mouth, heart-shaped and hidden behind the rim of his coffee cup.  “She’ll be fine, hyung.”  It takes a lot for him to say it but you appreciate that he does.  Sometimes, it feels like you and Yoongi are fighting over the wrong things;  he recentres you both when that happens.

Feline eyes train on you, indecipherable in their depth.  The bond you share with your brother is unparalleled, despite the oft forgotten fact that you aren’t actual siblings but a chosen family.  You sometimes wonder if you’d be able to read him better if you shared the same coding - if his thoughts might slip into yours one day.  Not that it’s necessary.  He’s always been honest with you.  “I know she will.  She’s strong.”

“Thanks, Yoongs.”

He nods - a short, curt thing that’s diffused by the way his mouth moves, lips curling into the peculiar gummy smile he’s had since he was a kid.  “Just know if he comes within ten feet of you again, I’ll kick his ass.”  With the laughter that sprouts around his words, it could easily be mistaken for a joke.  A bit of nonsense between friends.

You know better, though.  Yoongi would throttle Jungkook with his bare hands if he ever hurt you again.  He’d told you enough times, drilled it into your mind that first year when he’d had to pick up all the pieces.  You can’t blame him;  they’d hurt him, too, just in different ways.

You’d lost the love of your life.  He’d almost lost his little sister.  It was hard to come back from that.

“I know you will.”  Because while decidedly slimmer - a good, maybe, thirty pounds less than your former love - Yoongi would, with no doubt in your mind, obliterate the boy who’d done the same to your heart.  It was a family thing.

“Does he know that, too?”

You’re sure Jungkook does.  He’d be stupid not to, right?  “Yeah.”

“Good.”

It’s a whole three days later when you realise how wrong you are and how stupid Jeon Jungkook is.

The familiar number flashes a total of four times, glaring up at you like a neon sign that demands your attention.  Even when you blink, they’re seared against the back of your eyelids - a highlight reel of your worst moments encapsulated in a simple ten digits.  

Letting the calls ring through, untouched, is almost impossible.  You can do it, though.  You know you can.

You repeat that over and over again until the vibrating stops and the screen is black.  

That wasn’t so hard, you think.

Then the missed call reminders are replaced by a voicemail notification and all of your pride sinks like a weight to the bottom of your stomach.  Unease bubbles up in its place, fizzles and snaps - a movie theatre fountain pop.  You hate pop.  

Deleting the message without listening to it is what you should do.  Pretending like it never happened is what Yoongi would want you to do.  Neither of those things happen.

You know you’re going to regret it the moment you press play and his voice fills your ears, reaching all the way into your chest as if that’s where it belongs.  You only repeat it for a second time because you’re not sure you’ve heard right.  You can’t believe the words he’s left.

But Jungkook is Jungkook and you really shouldn’t be surprised. 

After all, he certainly isn’t when you swing open the front door.  In fact, he’s almost smug, cheeks pressed into that heartbreaking smile of his.  Even the cuts on his nose and his bruised eye do little to detract from the charm of it.  He could wear a brown paper bag and he’d still, somehow, have your heart racing a mile a minute.

“Hi, Pumpkin.”  

You barely react when he closes the distance and pops a sweet, chaste peck to your forehead.  You don’t know how to react.

It’s like having a bomb dropped on you - a cataclysmic shift that tips your entire world on its side and leaves you scrambling for purchase on a tilted axis.  All at once, everything returns to revolving directly around the boy standing in front of you.  

Just as he had three years ago - how he almost had, only three days ago - Jungkook becomes the centre.

The realisation is sobering, startling you into action. 

“What are you doing here?”  

He blinks once, twice, doe-eyed and adorable.  It’s impossible not to see what he’s doing - see right through the facade he crafts so well, with such practiced hands.  It’s even harder not to fall for it.  

You’d thought you wanted nothing to do with him - not since he’d bumbled his way through his last lie, too guilty to even properly correct the mistake he’d made.  You’d been certain that would be the final straw.  Hoped it would be, with every last tired breath.

“I wanted to see you.”  

He looks so pretty on the outside.  A picture perfect dream come true, plucked straight from your afternoon fantasies.  The boy you’ve wished for forever, wrapped up in hyperactive laughter and black silk.  

But you know he’ll break you from the inside out, turn your heart to ash.  He’ll articulate his love in the form of unnecessary bouquets and drunken voicemails that come too late.  He’ll disappear for weeks at a time then come crawling back, begging for your help as if he hasn’t tripped over his own two feet.  You’ll be too weak to say no, wrapping him in the bandages you should be keeping for yourself. 

You know all of this - and yet you wait, hope, pray , that this time might be different.  

You wonder if he can tell.  If he can still read you in the ways he used to, between the lines and in the dark.  You think he must by how he stares at you, relentless and restless, searching your expression for any sign of forgiveness.

“Pumpkin?”  If words held weight, you’d be crushed beneath it.

“You can’t just… come here.”  Where I have nowhere to run.   

Jungkook shifts his weight, dances from foot to foot.  He’s peering down at his shoes - Italian leather, polished within an inch of their life - mouth rounding in that pout you recognise so well.  “You want me to leave?”  

Don’t answer that.

“I’ll leave.  Just tell me to go.” 

Tell him.  It’s one word.  Hardly a feat.

“Vira, tell me to leave and I’ll go.”

You can’t.  You can’t.  There’s no anger now - nothing to spring you to your feet in a fit of rage.  It’s only sadness, all-encompassing and blue, enough to swallow you whole and spit you out.  It’s so heavy it aches in your bones and all the way through to your toes.  

“Tell me to leave — or let me in.  One or the other.”

author note.  another short chapter but one that lays some important groundwork.  further pain will be forthcoming!  xoxo

tag list.  @jalexa83​ @aa-ronpa​ @kookiesbreaky​ @celestialflamefairy​ @xjoonchildx​