#i think my sleep paralysis demon texted you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wttcsms · 5 months

Note

WAIT DON'T CLOSE IT YET!!!!! the 'love story told in untraditional format' prompt and DABI??? mm.

would like to meet, touya todoroki ;

pairing touya 'dabi' todoroki x f!reader word count 1.9k synopsis the dregs of society run rampant on hinge, and everyone knows you're not going to meet The One on there. but you know the saying... love does come when you least expect it. alternatively: catching feelings through the hinge dms. content contains one reference to jumping off a building, some sexual jokes author's notes OK not necessarily a love story, but there are feelings in involved, i swear. this is supposed to be fun & silly!!!!

You nearly throw your phone across the room. Download Hinge, your friends encouraged you. It’ll be fun!

You frown at Shigaraki’s ever-so-eloquent opening line of I’d blow yo back out. Yeah, you can see why this app was designed to be deleted. The fucking dregs of society are crawling all over this thing. Just one nice, well-adjusted individual. That’s all you’re asking for!

Apparently, any decent guy is either taken or not on Hinge. You debate throwing in the towel and just meeting someone organically, like, out in public, exactly as the good lord intended, but right before you do, your phone vibrates.

New Notification!

Hinge | Dabi liked your image!

Hinge | Dabi sent you a chat!

It’s a Friday night, and you know for a fact that there is not a single sane man on this app, especially at this hour. Considering the fact that you’re sitting in bed right now, about to rewatch Pride & Prejudice for the sixth time this week, what else do you have to lose? Dignity? You open the app.

Apr 22 10: 24 PM

Dabi: You’re hot, what’s wrong with you

You: ??

Dabi: You’re too hot to be single and on here. What’s your deal

You: you’re on here too? 🤨

Dabi: Would you say I’m too hot to the point where it’s suspicious I’m on here

You: i’m not here to give you an ego boost

Dabi: Then what’s the point of being on here

You: so you just get on here for free compliments?

Dabi: Maybe I have premium. Maybe I pay for these compliments

You: yeah, you look like the type to pay for hinge premium ngl

Dabi: Bye I’m going to talk to girls that are easier to manipulate

You: please do 🙏

Apr 23 1:21 PM

Dabi: Did you miss me

Apr 23 3:15 PM

You: so much

Apr 23 4:47 PM

Dabi: How much

Apr 23 6:01 PM

You: i was going to jump off a bridge if u didn’t text me

Apr 23 8:01 PM

Dabi: Damn that’s crazy

Dabi: How I don’t care

Apr 23 10:15 PM

You: don’t you have anyone else to bother

Dabi: I want to bother you though

You: you probably scared off every girl you’ve ever come in contact with

Dabi: True

Dabi: Except for you because you’re stupid

You: you pay for hinge premium, there’s an idiot in this conversation but it’s def not me

Dabi: I was joking

Dabi: I don’t have money like that

You: i can tell

You: you probably take girls out for coffee as a first date, and then make them venmo u their half of the bill

Dabi: Nah

Dabi: I make her pay the full amount

You: i’m not surprised

Dabi: That was a joke too

Dabi: I never take girls out

You: thank God

You: you’d probably be every girl’s worst date story

Dabi: Want to test that theory out

You: no thanks, i don’t feel like being content material for some crime podcast

Dabi: Smart girl

Apr 24 12:13 PM

Dabi: Wyd

You: at the police station, filing a restraining order on you

Dabi: Damn

Dabi: You want to be the one to put me in cuffs

You: the officer here actually has pink cuffs, i know some guys find that emasculating but you seem like you wouldn’t mind

Dabi: I love pink actually

Dabi: I’m so down

You: i think you’re my dream guy

You: more like my sleep paralysis demon, but same difference

Dabi: Aw you think of me when you sleep

Dabi: You’re that obsessed already

You: stfu

Dabi: Don’t feel bad

Dabi: I’m a munch fr

Dabi: I need u

You: what you need is to be put on some medication

Dabi: Yeah you’re my medication

You: you need to be psychologically evaluated

You: r u a social experiment

Dabi: Stop flirting with me

You: you’re so childish

Dabi: Am I bothering you

Dabi: Do I elicit strong emotions

You: you don’t look like someone who knows the word elicit

Dabi: I’m in grad school

You: wow

You: this is the first time you’ve left me genuinely speechless

Apr 24 3:55 PM

Dabi: Yo when’s ur bday

Dabi: Do you have any siblings

You: are u gonna ask for my mother’s maiden name too

Dabi: Yeah actually

Dabi: Give me your ssn while you’re at it

You: ur a creep, ur lucky ur cute

Dabi: Wow, you can’t have deep convos with anyone any more without being accused of trying to get answers to their security questions

You: tell me something abt you first

Dabi: My dad sucks

You: yeah you look like you would have daddy issues

Dabi: Lmao

Dabi: I’m being fr though

You: yeah, a lot of dads do suck. what abt the rest of ur family?

Dabi: I haven’t seen them in years

You: oh

You: do they suck too?

Dabi: Nah

Dabi: I moved out as soon as I could

You: your dad was that bad?

Dabi: The worst

You: are you trying to get pity pussy rn???? don’t tug on my heartstrings if it’s all just a lie

Dabi: Damn wtf

Dabi: But also depends. Do u wanna give me some pity pussy rn

You: bye i thought we were actually having a serious moment

Dabi: I wasn’t lying. Swear

Dabi: Now tell me something too

You: im an attention seeker. that’s why im on here

Apr 25 1:56 PM

Dabi: Did u miss me not giving u attention

Apr 25 3:56 PM

You: sorry, i was having really crazy sex waiting for u to come back

Dabi: Fire

Dabi: You deserve it

Dabi: Me next?

You: only if you promise to tell me u love me before the post nut clarity hits

Dabi: I love manipulating women during sex

Dabi: Anything for u

You: you say that but someone else is in my dms telling me that i can be his housewife and raise our kids and never work a day in my life again so pls top that offer

Dabi: DAMN

Dabi: I bet he’s boring

You: he’s not boring, we’re actually getting married and gonna have a big family

Dabi: Well clearly the fact that ur talking about him to me shows that u aren’t interested in him

You: i’m telling u abt him so u have something to aspire to

Dabi: Damn you should date him then

You: that’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said

Apr 26 7:00 AM

Dabi: I hate you

Dabi: Wyd today

You: pls mind ur own business

Dabi: Smd

Dabi: Tell me or I block you

Apr 26 8:19 AM

Dabi: U suck

You: and swallow

Dabi: No you don’t

Dabi: You probably spit it out

Apr 27 9:34 AM

You: true but in my defense, you look like you would produce something that tastes like toxic waste

Dabi: Were u deadass ignoring me

You: don’t be so needy, dabi. it’s not a good look

Dabi: Sorry that was a moment weakness

Dabi: So what now

Dabi: Is this when u give me ur insta

You: i don’t have any social media

Dabi: Nah you’re a catfish

You: maybe

Apr 27 1:34 PM

Dabi: Wyd

You: you’re a true wyd warrior, do u realize that

You: i’m currently getting my back blown out by a dude who posted his headshot as one of his hinge pics. i am not even faking my moans.

Dabi: Stfu 😂

Dabi: Do u even know what sex is

Dabi: Name one position

You: easy, missionary

Dabi: Well you’re on your phone so obviously the sex you’re having isn’t that good

You: im just a good multitasker

Dabi: tell me if ur shit is grippy

You: hold on, let me ask him

Dabi: Whats his name

Dabi: Whats he saying

You: don’t worry abt his name

You: he told me im gripping him so tight, it’s like i’m trying to take his blood pressure rn

Dabi: LMAO

Dabi: That means ur not attracted to him

You: wow, a guy who knows that tight doesn’t equal aroused, i’m genuinely impressed w you

You: and for the record, i would never actually fuck a guy who posts a professional headshot as one of his pics on hinge

Dabi: Oh now you tell me

Dabi: Guess I have to cancel the appointment I just made to get a headshot done

Apr 28 6:20 AM

Dabi: Im leaving Okinawa to go back to work. I’m sad, cheer me up

You: just commit a crime so they won’t let you leave

You: also i think maybe u need a psych eval or smth bc why are u still talking to me 🤨

Dabi: Nah tbh you’re the most interesting person on here

Dabi: I’m gonna go to tokyo and commit a crime on u

You: yea, u not being in my guts rn should be a crime

Dabi: Chill my dick isn’t big enough for that 😂

You: i want you to seek professional help

Dabi: I want u to seek these nuts in ur mouth

You: when should i ghost you

Dabi: Whenever u want bae you can ghost me anytime

Apr 28 7:26 AM

Dabi: REPLY

You: u literally told me i could ghost u anytime WHAT IS UR DEAL

Dabi: Damn ok well when you do at least say goodbye

You: when i do, i’m reporting ur hinge account in the hopes that u get banned and have to resort to meeting women irl

You: i’m actually reporting ur account rn

Dabi: Good idea

Dabi: I’ll report u too

Dabi: Before you get banned from hinge, can I have your number

You: no

You: i don’t give my number out to random ass strangers online

You: and ‘dabi’ is a weird name to have saved in my contacts

Dabi: Touya

Dabi: That’s my real name

You: oh

You: who the hell uses a fake name on a dating app??? 😭

Dabi: Stranger danger is real

Dabi: If I take you out on a date will you give me your number

You: a REAL date???

Dabi: Yeah I’m actually a gentleman in case you couldn’t tell

You: i don’t know how i could’ve missed that fact.

Dabi: I’m being fr though

Dabi: Dinner reservations and everything

You: are you paying the entire bill 🤨

Dabi: Why wouldn’t I

You: hmmm

You: every sex joke i made was definitely just a joke though, pls don’t get any crazy ideas

Dabi: Obviously you were joking, I’m not an idiot

You: you’re not gonna try to hit on the first date?

Dabi: If it’ll make you more comfortable, I’ll tape a 10 ft pole to my chest so I can’t get anywhere near you

You: cute

Dabi: Dinner tomorrow?

You: yes, dinner tomorrow

Dabi: And if I do well, I get your number?

You: hmmm

You: i guess

Dabi: Fuck yeah

Dabi: I’m tired of texting you through hinge

You: you only get it IF you do well

Dabi: I’m gonna rock your shit

Dabi: Romantically

You: sure you will

Apr 30 12:01 AM

Are you sure you want to delete the Hinge app?

Yes | No

You selected Yes! Reason for deletion?

[ ] No new matches

[ ] App is difficult to work with

[ ] Found another app to use

[ X ] I met someone

#dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #one shot #drabble #fluff #imagine

177 notes · View notes

eoieopda · 2 years

Text

lacuna (knj)

lacuna (n): a blank space, a missing part

In his twenty-eight years, Kim Namjoon had made countless mistakes. Most of them were insignificant and could be shoved easily enough into the back corner of his mind. The worst of them were all tied for first place, keeping him up at night.

Loving you, losing you, and now – picking up the phone.

Pairing: Ex!Kim Namjoon x Fem!Reader Type: One-Shot (Angst, Smut - 18+ or else.) Word Count: Like, 7K (?!) Content: ex-boyfriend au; exes to something?; literally so much angst; yearning; pov switches; oral sex (f receiving); unprotected sex; p in v penetration; cursing; texts from Yoongi. A/N: For reasons unknown, I decided to break my own heart today! The lyrics you'll see below are from "Sooner" by The Low Blow. There's also a reference to one of my favorite tv shows at the end - did you catch it? (1/9/23) The sequel, Redamancy, is finally here! (3/17/23) There is now a playlist 🥲

Sitting cross-legged on the rug, your weary, unfocused eyes stared somewhere in the vicinity of Min Yoongi. Shrouded all in black, you nearly assumed he was your sleep paralysis demon, hunched over his keyboard with his eyes narrowed in thought – but you hadn’t slept much at all lately. Not with your deadline looming overhead like the sword of Damocles.

He relayed what was already looping through your brain. “It’s missing something.”

You scrubbed your hands over your face, too burnt out to care if your foundation stayed where it was supposed to. “I know,” was all you said, though it wasn’t all you were thinking. Listening to this demo – this crushing song about love lost – you knew what was missing.

Or rather, who.

Once again reading your mind, Yoongi spoke with a wary sigh. This time, he said the quiet part out loud. “Listen, I know that on a personal level, this is a terrible idea. But if you really want this track to ache –”

“I’ll call him.”

Yoongi turned to look at you over his shoulder. He, like you, hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours; but his surprise still managed to crack through an otherwise impassive expression.

“You sure you want to be the one?” His frown was microscopic, but it was there and it bruised. “I have to hit him up, anyway, so I can handle this for you.”

You’d never told him – or any of your friends, come to think of it – the details of your whatever it was with Namjoon. You couldn’t call it a breakup; that would necessitate a relationship. You couldn’t comfortably assign that word to this indescribable something.

But maybe that’s precisely why it hurt to breathe when you thought too hard about it. Maybe the thing that burned in your lungs was the fact that whatever it was wasn’t much of anything at all.

The universally known narrative was that you met Kim Namjoon at a release party two years prior. After years of putting out extended plays, he was dropping his highly anticipated, full-length masterpiece.

That’s what your label called it; that’s what the press called it; but you couldn’t agree. That word wasn’t heavy enough – it didn’t give due credit to the pieces of himself he broke down and buried within those twelve tracks. You felt seen when you heard it. When you saw him, it was game over.

As the story goes, you went home with him that night. While true, it was the tiniest fragment sitting sharp at the tip of an iceberg. The rest was an ill-equipped ship, sailing in slow-motion through the dark.

He'd spent the entirety of his celebration focused on you. What you thought; what you wanted for yourself; what made that tipsy, uninhibited giggle come flying out of your chest. And then, holding his hand like it’d been tailor-made for yours, you followed his lead out of there while confused partygoers murmured in your wake.

He fucked you like he knew you – on a cellular level – and he looked at you like you were all there was. You’d spent the entirety of the following day there, draped over him or nestled underneath him. You were never not touching in some way – in the little interludes of sleep; while cooking a breakfast too big for the two of you alone; on every surface of his apartment.

He changed your life in those twenty-four hours, but not enough for it to stick.

You’d spent as much time with him as you could in the year afterward, until your twin ambitions sent you both rocketing in other directions. Your various obligations never allowed you to be in the same place for long; and when they did, it was over too soon. No amount of time would ever feel like enough, but half a day, here and there, felt like a cosmic joke.

Like the universe was punishing you for wanting everything, all at once.

Eventually, you came to a fork in the road. His career, though international, was rooted in Korea – home. Yours took you to Los Angeles, to a vastly different time zone, and a schedule that refused to make space. And you tried, but when it came down to choosing – idling together or racing forward alone – your respective dreams were so heavy that they tipped the scales.

Neither of you could blame the other. After all, you’d both made the same decision. There was some small comfort in knowing that he understood you. That consolation couldn’t keep you warm at night when you’d instinctively reach out and find half of your bed still empty.

It would’ve been so much easier to live without him if there was some horrible betrayal to pin it all on, but he was as perfect when you lost him as he was when you found him.

Shaky legs pushed you off the ground. Without meaning to, you groaned as your body returned to its regularly scheduled programming. Yoongi simply muttered, “Same,” as he made additional adjustments in his editing software.

You affectionally touched your knuckles to his shoulder as you passed by, though you quickly realized this gesture wasn’t made to comfort him.

You shut the door softly behind you and headed up the hallway. Having kicked off and subsequently lost your shoes several hours ago, you padded in socked feet across the hardwood. The pattern – the various evolutions of Eevee – clashed so blatantly with the extravagance around you. Glancing down, you chuckled. At least some parts of you were still recognizable.

The door to the stairwell creaked as you pushed it open and ducked inside. No longer camped out in the soundproof studio, you could hear the smattering of raindrops as they pummeled the exterior walls of the building. Somewhere between a drum roll and machine gun fire, you couldn’t figure out if the noise emphasized or relieved your anxiety.

Gently, you lowered yourself down on a step halfway up the flight. As you stared down at your phone, your knee bounced of its own volition.

For once, you were thankful for the seventeen-hour time difference. This was the kind of call you needed to make at midnight, but one you didn’t want him receiving at midnight. It felt so much safer in daylight.

At least one of you had eyes on the sun.

You’d deleted his number from your phone months ago because you thought it might help you let go. It didn’t. And to make matters worse, you still knew it by heart. As you typed it out easily, you wished this realization surprised you. You also wished that you’d catch him at a bad time, so you could simply leave a message.

You’d never been lucky, though, had you?

Namjoon was half-asleep at a café table when the vibration of his phone against the wrought metal snapped him out of it. In his under-caffeinated daze, he couldn’t determine what that unbearable grinding noise was.

He could, however, see the way the elderly woman nearby was scowling at him. He furrowed his brows and blinked back at her; silently asking what the fuck her problem was. Just as silently, she pointed an angry, wrinkled finger to his tabletop.

By the time his brain kicked into gear, he was too late. He picked up his now-quiet phone and nearly dropped it in an instant when he saw your name tied to a missed call.

He didn’t think twice before returning it – he should have – having figured there was only one way to know if he was truly hallucinating. You picked up immediately in a voice so you that he couldn’t have imagined it. He knew because he'd already tried.

“Hey.”

People who didn’t know you often mistook the natural rasp of your voice for tiredness, but he did know you. You were beyond exhausted, more so than the last time he’d heard from you. Five months and twenty-one days ago.

This sounded like another all-nighter; like you got so consumed in creating that you couldn’t sleep until you finished. Remembering you like this opened a black hole in his chest – all this fondness with nowhere to go, collapsing in on itself, pulling.

What kind of masochist was he, voluntarily subjecting himself to this conversation?

“Hey,” He croaked. Even his voice didn't know what to do.

He heard shuffling on your end. You always pinned your phone between your right ear and shoulder to start — he immediately recognized the sound of your hair against the receiver when you switched it to your left side. Vanilla and honey flooded his nose despite the thousands of miles that separated him from the scent of your shampoo.

There were a thousand questions spinning dizzy in his mind, but he couldn’t untangle them to spit one out. The longer you both remained quiet, the worse it got – and the worse he felt for his silence. Even without seeing you, he knew that your brows were knitting together. He knew that quiet made you feel too exposed.

Namjoon cleared his throat to speak at the same moment you asked, “How are you?” His words echoed, a half-second from being uttered in unison.

He prayed to any god that he’d stop feeling so nervous. There was no reason to be, not with you. You were his comfort zone, his safe space and – oh. Past tense.

Presently, you were – what, exactly? Could he call you an “ex” if you’d never had a title? It all felt too juvenile, hearing people whisper about his girlfriend. You were –fuck – You were home, and now his house was haunted.

A ghost.

“I’ve been good,” he said quickly, planting a hollow smile on his face that wouldn’t have convinced you if you were there. Liar, liar, liar. “Busy. You sound –”

“Awful?”

“– like you’ve been working all night.”

He heard a sheepish chuckle and his clumsy, thudding heart went flying off into the void.

“That’s actually why I’m calling,” you admitted in a voice so tiny he nearly missed it, “And I wouldn’t be – I promise – if I could’ve bothered anyone else with this. This one, though… when I hear it in my head, I can’t imagine anyone –”

“Say less.”

It slipped out of him automatically. He couldn’t stop it. Now it was dangling there in dead air where he couldn’t reach it and shove it back down his throat. He must have said that to you a thousand times, giving you whatever you needed before you could even finish asking.

This was the first time he’d ever said it without punctuating it with a kiss to your forehead, though. And now, his equilibrium was off, like the staircase had one less step than he was expecting.

When you finally broke the silence, he could’ve sworn he heard you sniffle, but he quickly kicked that thought back into the cage it escaped from. Your voice didn’t sound sad at all, so you couldn’t have been crying. Why would you be?

“I can have Yoongi send you what we have so far, lyrics too. If you’re interested, just let me know – verse, bridge, whatever you want.”

“You’re with Yoongi?”

It came out exactly as he hadn't intended – accusatory. It was no business of his who you spent time with, professionally or otherwise. And it didn’t even surprise him that Yoongi would stick around after the – whatever it was. All your shared friends stayed shared. His confusion was solely that Yoongi never mentioned working with you, let alone flying stateside to do so.

Why hadn’t Yoongi said something? Did he assume Namjoon wouldn’t be interested in hearing about your project? Because he would - he kept up with all of your releases, even if it hurt. Was he scared that the mere mention of you would exacerbate the tailspin Namjoon was barely surviving?

Or was it something else?

“Yeah, he got here a few days ago. I offered to send the vocals to him, but he said he wanted In-N-Out,” Your laugh, even under the weight of your sleepiness, still packed a punch. “Might be the longest trip anyone’s ever made for animal-style fries.”

Namjoon felt like he was going to pass out, but for your sake, he tried to echo your laugh. “Sounds like he’s got his priorities in order, as usual.”

That uncomfortable silence crawled back in and settled in the space between you. It never used to be like this. His mouth remained open as if his broken brain could think of a single thing to say. There were hours in every second that passed, but he didn’t hang up – and neither did you.

“So, if I figure something out, I can shoot it back over –”

You interrupted this time.

“No need,” You chirped. You must’ve sensed that his train of thought now consisted only of question marks because you dove right back in, “I’ll be in Seoul at the end of the month, so we can put all the pieces together then.”

Please be speaking metaphorically. Please say –

“I’ve gotta hop off now, but it was –” Your voice petered out at the end of your statement, and he didn’t know what to do within the pause.

What pleasantry would you settle on to end this conversation? Was it nice to hear from him, or did you also feel like you’d walked through the emotional equivalent of a car wash?

It was heavy when you exhaled the amendment, hitting the ground with a thud that could’ve knocked him over.

It was torture, and it drop-kicked him into the abyss at full-speed. No light above, no hope below. A black hole that he kept selfishly refusing to close – all because he answered your call.

“Thank you, Joonie.”

Fuck. He was doomed.

You spent a shocking percentage of your life on international flights. It was a privilege – you knew it – to travel to the extent that you did, but it was so lonely.

If you were flying, there were two justifications. The first was the most common – touring. You’d touch down in cities all over the world, stay for a few hours, and then you’d leave again as soon as you could blink.

Your interactions were limited, either one-sided conversations from a stage; or facilitated entirely by a local translator. Never truly connecting, missed phone calls and texts sent too late to get a response. The same stale conversations with the crew that had been stuck with you for months.

The second was less common, and somehow even lonelier – visiting a home that was no longer yours.

It always went the same way. You’d touch down at the Incheon International Airport in your home country and feel just as foreign as the tourists bustling around you. You’d gather a suitcase’s worth of belongings and try not to think about the fact that they – and everything else you owned – once lived there, too. You’d hit customs and then, as a reward, snag yourself some boba from the café on your way out the door.

In all those trips, you’d never once hailed a cab because Namjoon was always waiting. You’d hear him before you saw him with how loud he kept his car’s stereo, but when you did finally lay eyes on him, you’d light up like a sparkler. He’d shower you with affection – publicly, despite his usually private nature – and swap out the luggage in your hands for some thoughtful surprise. Flowers, usually, after painstaking deliberation over the meaning he wanted to convey.

Now, you stood on the sidewalk with your empty hand in the air.

Shortly after settling into your cab, you fell asleep. The person who would have gently scolded you for taking this risk wasn’t there to do so. Instead, you woke up stiff and disoriented to the sound of your driver honking his horn. You quickly learned that he wasn’t honking at traffic; he was honking at you with a scowl on his face.

“Time to go! Wake up – your stop!”

He was speaking in English, so it took you a few moments to determine whether you were dreaming. Impatient, he honked again.

Did he think you were a tourist? Was he right?

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you threw the door open and hurled yourself out. You ran to the trunk, snatched your suitcase, and tried not to remember that you didn't used to have to do this part yourself.

Yoongi had the foresight to give you a spare keycard before leaving California, so you were able to get into his building quickly – before you were honked at again. Spoken to in English again, like this place had never been home.

You, belonging nowhere and to no one, kept yourself together until the elevator doors gave you some semblance of shelter.

Alone, alone, alone, you cried so hard that your shoulders shook. The mirrored walls around you showed infinite versions of you, all pitiful like you were still that little girl who’d gotten separated from her parents at an amusement park. It was incredible how you felt smaller in that elevator than you did as a child.

And fuck, did that embarrassment make you cry even harder.

Eventually, those doors would have to re-open, and you’d have to let yourself into Yoongi’s unoccupied penthouse just to wait for his return. You were so sick of walking into empty apartments and hearing nothing but your own footsteps. No warmth, no laughter, just a black hole of your own creation.

You chose this, you reminded yourself. This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? You were so busy chasing broader horizons, you didn't notice that the sun had disappeared. If you’d known – really, truly known – what the fall would be like, would you have taken that leap of faith? No, you think, but you did and there’s no jumping back into the airplane once you’ve dived out of it.

Ding.

There was a post-it note waiting for you on the inside of Yoongi’s door that you would’ve missed if you hadn’t taken so much time to shut it behind you. His handwriting was shockingly neat for someone who was always in a rush. His note told you that he’d be home in two hours, that there was food for you in the refrigerator, and that you should help yourself to whatever you needed.

The sinkhole in your stomach wasn’t created by hunger, so you pushed that down to the bottom of your to-do list and dragged your luggage to the guest bedroom down the hall.

Every inch of his place was undeniably Yoongi – monochromatic and edgy, but still so confusingly inviting. His guest room was similar in style, but with more personalized touches than most visitors tended to expect. Framed photos of friends, and the collaborators he was most proud to work with.

Your eyes eventually found one of you, beaming brightly.

It hurt to look, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away. It was taken in a photobooth at Kim Seokjin’s wedding last spring. You were sandwiched on a small bench seat between Yoongi and Namjoon.

The former, like you, was captured in the middle of a laugh - smiling at the camera with all teeth, eyes crinkled at the edges but still sparkling. The latter wasn’t looking at the camera at all – just you, like you were all there was.

Forcing yourself to look away, you returned the frame to its place on the vanity and kept moving. Your primary instinct was to hurl yourself into the plush bed and never leave it. But you felt stale after spending so much time traveling, and you didn’t want to collapse into those beautiful sheets until you’d scrubbed the day off you.

Shuffling off to the bathroom, you finally remembered to take your phone off ‘airplane mode.’ All at once, the floodgates opened. The onslaught of texts, emails, and voicemails was so overwhelming that your phone froze.

When the flurry stopped, you scanned through your various inboxes for anything that might require an immediate response. Finding nothing urgent, you were about to set your phone down when you saw an email from Namjoon, addressing both you and Yoongi.

His verse, you realized as you opened it.

I think I lost you sooner than I wanted to And I know you can't say the same But I can't hate you for doing what you've gotta do Cause I'm just in bed sleeping through the pain Do you see wasted potential when you look at me? Of what we could be if it wasn't like this I know you asked me not to try and change myself But when I was with you, I felt fixed

It took everything you had not to drop to your knees.

Namjoon was an incredible liar.

He didn’t utilize the skill often – in fact, he was usually too honest – but when he did, he could get himself out of any unwanted scenario.

In the distant past, he’d slip out of obligations made by his label to stay home in bed with you. It worked every single time. Instead of putting on some over-priced suit, wasting his breath swapping empty pleasantries with industry tools; he’d be hooking his arms around your quivering thighs, pinning you to his face as he fucked you with his tongue.

In the present, he lied again.

Yoongi asked, “How did it feel to hear from her again?”

“To be honest,” Namjoon started, knowing full well that nothing he said next would be, “That shit’s behind me, man. I was surprised her number was still in my contacts, you know? She’s been a non-factor for a minute.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, “With the number of girls you’ve gone through in the meantime, I imagine it gets hard to keep track.”

Hook, line, sinker.

Namjoon offered a smirk and a shrug in response, which Yoongi accepted without further comment. The relief of being believed did nothing to cure the nausea swirling in Namjoon’s stomach, though - not just for the cruelty of his lie, but for the way he’d acted since you left and stayed gone.

He learned early on that it would take more than fucking someone he didn't know to keep warm, but knowing better didn’t mean he did better. None of them – and there were many – could pull him from the limbo he found himself in without you. There was an emptiness gnawing at his insides that he couldn’t fill, and the more he tried, the more it tore at him.

The only thing he succeeded at was becoming someone he didn’t recognize –someone he didn’t even like.

Yoongi pulled into his parking garage and turned to Namjoon, staking him through the heart with words alone. “Well, the non-factor is upstairs, so try to remember her name when you see her.”

Namjoon chuckled, but it didn’t sound anywhere close to convincing. There was a flicker of doubt in Yoongi’s quickly flexed eyebrow, though he kept any questions he may have had to himself. Without a word, they clambered out of the car, and they stayed quiet until they stepped into the elevator.

“How has she been?” Namjoon asked more quietly than he meant to. Like someone who’s scared of the answer - or worse, being asked why he’s asking. Quickly diverting further inquiry, he provided clarification Yoongi hadn’t sought. “Sounded tired as fuck on the phone.”

Yoongi glanced at Namjoon before selecting the button marked with his floor number. “You know how she is,” He hummed.

That one hurt. He knew how you were – past tense.

Except for that one phone call, he hadn’t heard your voice in months. He hadn’t seen you for even longer than that. Your number hadn’t changed, but for all he knew, everything else could have. All he had now was his memory’s pale imitation of you, always in sight but never within reach.

A ghost that disappeared into the walls before he could get too close.

When the elevator door opened, Namjoon was fighting between running forward and running away. Incapable of doing either, it was Yoongi’s light punch on his bicep that prompted his feet to move. Namjoon trudged along after him until Yoongi stopped short with a groan.

“The fuck?” Namjoon coughed as he collided with Yoongi’s back. “Don’t tell me you’re already winded, dude. I’m not giving your old ass a piggy-back ride.”

The scowl he received could’ve scorched the Earth.

“I forgot my fucking phone in the car.” Yoongi tossed his apartment key at Namjoon. It thudded against his unsuspecting chest only to be caught on the rebound.

Then, Yoongi pointed at the door. “Go play nice and figure out where we’re getting take-out from. I had a dream about bulgogi last night that was borderline sexual, so keep that in mind.”

Namjoon’s face scrunched up. “I’ll be trying my best to keep it out, so thanks for that.”

Yoongi had already turned around, waving a dismissive hand as he stalked off.

As soon as Namjoon heard the elevator doors close, his phone chirped in his pocket and caught him off guard. He glanced down to find a text from Yoongi – who was, apparently, also a liar.

Yoongi [18:19 PM]: fyi you always say “to be honest” when you’re about to say some bullshit Yoongi [18:19 PM]: "non-factor" my asssssss

Namjoon grimaced and shoved his phone back into his pocket before walking to Yoongi’s door with his heart in his throat.

Clearly, Yoongi wanted Najmoon to fix things with you. He’d crafted some false narrative to get himself out of there, to give Namjoon the time and space to do it. But there wasn’t a single fucking thing he could say to rebuild the bridge you’d both demolished together.

That is, if you even wanted him to try.

After unlocking the door, he froze. A full minute passed before his hand received his brain’s signal to turn the knob, and even then, his feet felt as if they were encased in concrete. If hearing your voice made him spiral, he was terrified of what the sight of you might do.

More than anything, he was scared to see how you looked at him – and he didn’t know what reaction he wanted. If you lit up the way you used to, it might kill him. If you had no reaction at all, it would definitely kill him.

He would’ve stalled at that threshold all night if you didn’t appear in the hallway, straight ahead. You froze like a deer in headlights, one hand still on the door you’d exited from. Eyes wide, lips parted ever so slightly in surprise.

He didn’t notice the red rims around your eyes right away, but once he did, every cell in his body screamed at him to run to you, to hold you.

But he didn’t.

Touching you now only to lose you again tomorrow - well, that was a scab he couldn’t rip off again. There was only scar tissue where his heart used to be.

“Hey,” You smiled so sweetly when you saw him, but it didn’t reach your eyes. Those fucking eyes! He’d give up everything he had to erase the sadness swimming behind them, threatening to spill out.

Why were you still so far away?

You glanced around him, noting Yoongi’s absence, but didn’t ask where he was. “I was thinking we could get something from that –”

The longer he stared at you, the more impossible it became to keep his distance. He couldn’t stand on that doorstep with you over there, trying so hard to look like you hadn’t been crying – like you weren’t about to start again.

Fuck it.

If he was so dead-set on re-breaking his own heart, he’d do it with you in his arms.

“Joonie, is everything oka–”

No, nothing was. Nothing had been, not for – fuck, are his eyes getting misty? - a long time. Not since you walked out of his apartment for the last time, and he let you. He couldn’t make any of it okay, but with you there now, he didn’t give a fuck about where you were before.

Your eyes were as big as the moon when he finally reached you, blinking your surprise up at him.

Did you really think he had any other option than to hold you? Did you have any idea how you looking at him like this - bare-faced, freshly-showered, vulnerable - demanded his immediate affection?

It felt like coming home, sliding his fingers through your still-damp hair. He could’ve fallen to pieces when the familiar scent of your shampoo – vanilla and honey – crashed over him, but he didn’t. His lips collided with yours, and for the first time in a fucking year, he felt whole.

You clung to him so desperately, you could’ve ripped a hole in his shirt. You couldn't care about that, though, because he kissed you and it was pure starlight. He kissed you hard, nicking your lip between his teeth until you opened your mouth against his.

You whimpered into him, drunk on the wet heat of his mouth, melting and falling and spinning and flying. You felt it all fall to the wayside, every second wasted without him, every text you didn’t send, every wrong turn that led you so far away.

You didn't realize until you finally broke apart that the tears on your cheek weren’t exclusively yours. His gaze locked with yours, and all either of you could do was gasp for air - chests heaving, lips kissed swollen. If not for the arm around your back, pinning you against his chest, you would’ve floated away. But he had you, completely.

Finally, you felt tethered.

Your trembling hand settled on the side of his face. Fuck! That face. The warmth of his skin, the heights of his cheek bones, the gentle slope of his nose.

How many mornings did you wake up and miss it? How did you ever fall asleep without it nuzzled into the crook of your neck, without the whisper of warm breath on your skin?

You wanted to scream until the hurt left your chest, but you didn’t dare – not with that face so perfectly close to yours.

He spoke first, “I’m so –”

Your eyes followed your thumb as it swiped over his bottom lip, unearthing a quiver that burned you up inside. He was paralyzed by your touch. Enraptured. Leaving that clause hanging open in the air.

His eyes were wide with anticipation as he watched you, pupils dilating when you whispered. “Say less.”

Faster than you could process, he lifted you off the ground as if you weighed nothing at all. Automatically, your legs locked behind his back; your lips re-captured his and his kiss never faltered as he carried you back into the guest room. Quickly and with a shocking display of control, he kicked the door closed without slamming it – or breaking it.

Like so many times before, he laid you gently onto the mattress as if you were crafted from porcelain. And when he finally pulled away from you, you gazed up at him in awe.

This was one of the million reasons you couldn’t seem to let him go – the way his eyes softened when you were breathless underneath him, like you were the only thing in the universe worth looking at.

There were too many things to be said that neither of you could verbalize. You felt them all falling down around you like confetti, loose ends to be tied up later. He didn’t need to say a thing, so long as he kept looking at you like that.

When his fingers landed at the hem of your shirt, you knew what came next. A dance you’d done a thousand times, you lifted your arms for him to pull it up and off. Still damp from your shower, the ends of your hair raised goosebumps as they chilled the bare skin of your back.

He moved slowly and without breaking eye contact as he unbuttoned your jeans. Your zipper followed, then your jeans and underwear in tandem. The denim dragged so deliciously against your thighs as he slipped them down, down, down. As he tugged them off your ankles, you discarded your bra and tossed it aside. You were entirely bare and shivering with anticipation when his gaze found you again.

His shirt soon joined yours on the floor. Kneeling between your legs, his bare chest burned against your own as he kissed you for the third time. So many more were needed to make up for lost time, but you could feel how much of himself he poured into the kisses he’d credited you with so far. The taste of his mouth on yours was indescribably intoxicating after so much time apart.

With you sufficiently distracted, the hands that cupped your face began to migrate. You felt so small under his touch, reduced to putty in the warm expanse of his palms. His face lowered too, freeing your mouth to moan as he placed open-mouthed kisses down the length of your neck.

Involuntarily, you gasped when his fingers pinched at one of your nipples. The curve of his smile impressed upon your throat as he suckled at the sensitive skin he found there, leaving clouds of indigo behind.

As he marked you, he rolled and tweaked your nipples in turn. Your eyes fluttered shut and you keened while your head crashed back against the pillows, “That mouth – feels s-so fucking good.” Your fingers carded through his hair, fingernails scratching lightly against his scalp; his silence broke with a shuddered moan.

“S’all I want, baby,” He hummed as his lips trailed down from your neck and beyond your collarbone. “To make you feel good.”

You were trembling when he claimed one of your nipples with his mouth. Then he had the audacity to look up at you from under his lashes when he released it with a lewd pop, causing your back to arch against his chest with a gasp. There was a rumble from deep within him when your grip on his hair tightened, and the sound alone made you gush.

“To taste you,” His tongue left a wet stripe above your navel as he continued his descent, large hands dipping beneath you to squeeze the doughy flesh of your ass. Shit - you would simply never recover from this. “To devour you until you melt in my mouth.”

Another sharp tug at his hair, another guttural moan breaking free from your chest.

How often had you dreamed of this in your time apart? How many times did you try to remember how it felt when that timbre whispered sins against your naked body? Fuck. With those words alone, he had you on the brink.

You whined when he pulled away from you; but it quickly turned into a gasp when he hooked his arms around your thighs and dragged you with him towards the end of the bed. Now kneeling on the floor, he ducked below your knees until they rested over the tops of his shoulders.

Face so near to your aching core, he growled, and you felt it. “I missed this pussy –” He placed a wet kiss on your inner thigh, prompting you to clench them reflexively. “I missed the way your thighs squeeze around me while you fuck yourself against my tongue.”

Shivering, slack-jawed, and stupid, you grabbed fistfuls of the comforter below you. He was so painfully close to your cunt and still so fucking far from you. You knew he could see how badly you craved him - you’d beg for his mouth if you had to.

Of course, you didn’t have to - you never did.

Seconds before your impatience could drive you fully insane, he was on you, tongue flat against your cunt, dragging up against your slit. When the tip of his tongue flicked over your clit, you cried out with a buck of your hips. His grip on you tightened, pinning you flush against him as he teased you.

“That it’s, baby. Good girl.”

It’s a miracle either one of you could form words with how relentlessly he licked, nipped, and suckled on your throbbing cunt. All you could do was babble in response to his praise – until the tip of his tongue penetrated your weeping hole, and you screamed.

A flurry of curse words spilled from your lips; his name sprinkled in between the obscenities. Fuck, you needed more. More, more, more. You extended your arm and reclaimed your grasp on his locks. Once you did, you began to grind yourself against his tongue until your abdominal muscles burned - you hadn’t utilized them to this extent since the last time.

His hand squeezed your thigh, goading you, encouraging you to use him the way you needed to. The pressure of his tongue increased with your pace. You had no control over the sounds you made; the breathless moans escaped you before you could think of trapping them. The coil was tightening, burning red-hot in the pit of your belly.

So good, so good, so g –

“Fuck!”

One by one, your muscles tensed in quick succession until your body shook violently in his grip. Toes curling, back arching, head crashing backwards into the pillows, mewling.

When you finally gathered the strength to re-open your bleary eyes, there were spots dotting the edges of your vision – and then there was Namjoon, fuck-drunk between your weakened knees, with a mixture of his saliva and your orgasm shining on his chin.

Lustful eyes locked squarely on your flushed face; his tongue slid from between his swollen lips to attend to the mess you’d made of him. His panting rivaled yours, but unlike you, he was still capable of speech.

“I will never – ever – get tired of watching you come,” he sighed before wiping his mouth against the back of his hand, “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

As he climbed back on top of you, he placed a chaste kiss on your sweaty forehead. “So vulnerable –” Then the tip of your nose. “So vocal –” Then, too briefly, your lips. “Perfect.”

“Joon,” You murmured against his lips. His mouth curved into a smile at the nickname, which you used almost exclusively to win arguments, or to persuade him to do something. It worked every time.

He nudged your nose with the tip of his as he tried to conceal his laugh. “Baby?”

The fond look in his eyes was quickly covered by fluttering eyelids as your fingertips whispered down over his chest. They snapped open and bored into you as your fingers slid over the waistband of his joggers, tracing a feather-light trail over the bulge below. You felt his cock twitch autonomously against the warmth of your palm.

“Shit,” He hissed through gritted teeth as you squeezed him. Eyes drifting shut once again; he rolled his hips to exacerbate the friction. His neck tensed, head thrown back, when you finally dipped under the elastic and took him into your hand. Skin to skin, burning up.

The next moan from his fawning mouth was something you hadn’t heard in his voice for months – your name. “I need you. Now.”

In the few moments he pulled away to remove his pants, a chill crept in and settled where the weight of his body had just been.

There it is again, you thought, the feeling of having him and losing him.

When this night was over and he was gone from you, would he stay that way? Should you have gone this far, knowing nothing would be different in the daylight?

You were blinking fast when he reclaimed the space above you. Something flickered in his eye as he assessed the look on your face, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he leaned down and kissed you so gently that you could’ve imagined it – but so completely that your brain could never have fabricated it. Not successfully, anyway.

You’d already tried.

Breaking apart once more, he reached down and stroked himself slowly. His eyes never left yours. You both held your breath as he slid into you, millimeter by millimeter, reminding your body – after all this time – how to take him. All of him, to the hilt, until you could finally exhale.

Stretched to accommodate his width, so fucking full, you saw a way out of the nothing that had you trapped like quicksand. It was him, always. Your safe haven.

Neither of you could speak once he began rolling his hips against you. The quiet was electrified by heavy breaths and whimpers. The wet heat of your cunt squelched as your walls enveloped him, just as unwilling to let him go as the rest of you.

Over and over, he grinded into you, dragging his length across your most sensitive places; hips swiveling slightly to the side as he pushed and pulled himself through you, the way he knew you liked it.

Open mouth beside his ear, you keened and sighed, wordlessly informing him that you wouldn’t last much longer. He was perfectly attuned to your subconscious movements, and he responded to each of them without hesitation.

He’d never need to be reminded that the fingernails digging into his biceps meant faster, and the upward tilt of your jaw meant deeper. That when your eyebrows rose above your closed lids, you were seconds away from your release.

He remembered exactly how to fuck you through your orgasm when it came – shallow, staccato thrusts that unraveled you further as you writhed against the sheets. The spot on your neck to nip at like some secret switch, praise dripping hot in your ear like honey.

“Such a good girl, squeezing me like this,” He panted, “Taking me so well – so fucking perfect for me, angel.”

As soon as you crashed down through the atmosphere, his movements threatened to ricochet you right back into space. You keened helplessly with your half-numbed fingers gripping any part of him where they could find purchase.

“I c-can't stop -” You mewled, “How am I s-still c-coming?”

His response didn’t come in the form of words. His lips collided with yours hard enough to clink teeth as he drove himself deeper and deeper and deeper. Sloppy, kiss-bitten lips laying claim; relentless in their mutual need for closeness. Your walls were still fluttering around him – was this your second orgasm or your third? - when he moaned into your mouth.

Every part of him tensed above, around, and inside you as the flood of his release filled every crevice of your cunt.

Breathing ragged, his head fell into the crook of your shoulder. Considerate as ever, he tried so hard to keep his full weight off you, but his exhaustion undermined his efforts. You didn’t mind at all – you’d re-build your home there, staying forever between his body and that borrowed bed if you could.

But you couldn’t, could you? If you felt empty before, how could you feel whole again after this? His name etched itself into your ribcage, and now your body would never re-acclimate to his absence.

Why did you do this to yourself?

You squeezed your eyes shut tight when you felt tears prickling in their corners.

Everything you felt for him – over the course of two years – came crashing down over you. You buried your face into his shoulder and tried your best to keep your crying to yourself.

You’d never get his scent off your body now.

He could sense your shaking; it forced his heavy lids open.

“I don’t know what to do with it,” you sniffled, silently begging yourself to stop. You felt yourself shrinking under his eye. It would only be a matter of time before you disappeared entirely.

His tone dripped with concern, serving only to deepen that infernal ache in the pit of your stomach. “With what?”

“All the love I have for you. I don’t –” You sobbed, “I don’t know where to put it now.”

His breath caught in his throat as if you’d punched him straight in the chest. If you listened hard enough, you might’ve heard his heart break. You could certainly feel it in the way he tensed in your arms.

When he moved off you, you feared the worst – that your incessant crying overflowed the bathtub, and your admission was the toaster thrown recklessly inside. But unlike the last time, he didn’t leave - and neither did you.

The mattress shifted as he claimed the space at your side - where he should have been all this time. Strong arms enveloped you as he turned to face you, and even though he held you, he couldn’t stop you from shattering.

For a while, he let you. Squeezed you hard, stroked your hair the way he used to, let you cry out all the poison that filled the spaces in the cavern of your chest.

And when you could finally breathe again, he kissed your forehead. “I’ll trade you for it.”

(1/8/23): Check out the sequel, Redamancy, here.

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deviantplum · 29 days

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Cute Things to Text your Crush:

I thought you were sitting on my bed, but sadly it was just my sleep paralysis demon

Good Morning, my Portent of Doom. It's time to strike fear into the hearts of men

I just saw a documentary about natural disasters and it made me think of you 💖

Your skeleton looks so segmented

I just went to Scared of You Island and every one of your enemies was there

You cleaned the meat from that fresh carcass so gracefully

#bad pickup lines #shitposting #monster lovers #monster fucker memes

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elhuei · 10 months

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Writer Q&A | Tag Game

Thank you to @mthollowell-writes for tagging me! 💞You can find their original post here! :)

1) What motivates you to write?

(Stories are like ghosts that haunt my thoughts and writing is the only way to exorcize them) I'm motivated to write the kind of books I want to read + the sort of characters I want to read! Not enough black lesbian girlies in fiction so I gotta do my part by releasing them into the wild 💅🏾

2) A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

I'll share the first few paragraphs from Little Infernos! Its old + I shared it before but it lives in my head rent free <3

Possession is an impossible skill to grasp. The doctor told her as much. “Think of yourself as a ghost,” he’d said, with a chuckle and a thin-lipped smile. Play pretend. A game to take her mind off the terror of stealing back her body from whatever’s taken it the night before. Remember, start small. The tips of a finger, a big toe, maybe even a whole pinky, if she was feeling so bold. Slip back in, one part at a time. This time, Dante is sprawled out in a bed of Ponderosa pine-needles. Bitter moss and loamy soil weighs down her tongue, pebbles rolling hard behind her throat. Aftertastes of pondweed and eelgrass. A ring of trees loom overhead, peaks fading into a dark and stainless sky. She moves her right index finger first, dragging in a breath of dirt and timberland air as she revels in the prick. Something small. Next is her left finger, then her pinky and middle. Soon, she is grabbing a fistful of earth and leaves and morels, propping herself up on empty arms. Another fight to push herself back into her body. The thin-lipped doctor says it’s sleep paralysis. Her father says it’s demons, the ones which drew her to Beau. Web M.D. also says sleep paralysis, so it must be true.

3) Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

Hmm Dante from Little Infernos! She just like me fr (in an alternate universe where I'm a little freak who has little freak things happen to her.) Since I focus on my fantasy projects so much I don't often get to explore more contemporary characters. I love Dante because she's the kind of black girl we don't often see in media (shy, quiet, introverted, ✨feral✨) and I get to aspects of myself in her that I can't quite replicate in my fantasy wips.

4) What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

Worldbuilding! I love building out worlds for fantasy projects, and thinking about all the little intricacies that go into developing a fleshed out world. It's super time consuming, and if I don't reign myself in it can become a never-ending process, but it's so much fun regardless.

5) What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

Hmm I think I'm fairly good at scene/setting descriptions! Ironically enough I do suffer from White Room Syndrome during first drafts because I tend to focus more on dialogue/character interactions, but during editing I think I do well setting scenes + making the worlds I'm writing about feel alive.

6) What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

I love how friendly and encouraging everyone is! We're all here to write our silly little stories and obsess over our silly little characters together :)

7) A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

I used to use Scrivener to compile all my worldbuilding notes (personally I don't enjoy drafting in Scrivener lol) BUT I've recently started using Notion and I love it so much! Very easy to use and satisfies my urge to make all my notes ✨aesthetically pleasing✨ Its like having secret wip pages just for myself and I love it sm <3

8) A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

I love the magic system I've built for A Killing of Kinfolk! Mayhaps one day I'll make a more in depth worldbuilding post but tldr; all living things have magic (Kin) within them, some people can wield Kin while others cannot. A person's magic (regardless if whether or not they can wield it) essentially works like antibodies, protecting from outside sources of magic. Casting/using magic on another person is always going to be a painful, invasive, and if prolonged, deadly process. This makes the most prominent use of Kin, healing magic (Mendwork) extremely difficult. Healers have to work slow and meticulously to ensure they exert enough Kin to heal their patients without too much pain or further harm. There are other schools of magic within AKOK (seedweaving, bonewielding and banework) but Mendwork is by far the most complex and interesting to me. I really liked the idea of a magic system that's actively hostile to its user—a healing magic that hurts just as much. Very fun <3

9) What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

READ! I feel like this is overused advice but I know all my worst writers block moments come when I haven't read anything in a while. I'm trying to be better about reading regularly and revisiting old favs when I get stuck to inspire me and remind me why I want to write.

10) Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters

I'm continuously inspired by writers such as @coffeeandcalligraphy , @fluoresensitive , @yvesdot & @seasteading, and I have to shout out @aninkwellofnectar , and my beloved @harehearts for being such kind and supportive writeblr friends 💞

I'll no pressure tag: @cuntylittlesalmon , @serenanymph , @thepixiediaries , @meerawrites & @tragicbackstoryenjoyer + anyone who'd like to join in!

#tag games.#q&a tag #writeblr #writers on tumblr #wip: little infernos #wip: akok

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calico-kiwi · 5 months

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The Coffee Trials

Chapter 4: Quest Unlocked: BananaJam in the Target

Fandom: Maribat (Miraculous Ladybug x DC)

Tags: Tim Drake/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Original Character, fluff & Shenanigans, no plot & no update schedule

Work Summary: Both Tim Drake and Marinette Dupain-Cheng are incredibly successful and busy people. Two people who both view coffee as their lifeblood. When they find themselves needing each other to obtain ultimate coffee rights at their favorite cafe, two total strangers become allies. And friends. And perhaps eventually… something more.

Chapter Summary: Skye reveals the quest Tim and Marinette must complete in order to earn their first hint. Shenanigans ensue, as they always should.

Links: ao3 work, ao3 chapter, First Chapter, Previous Chapter

Read below the Keep Reading!

“Your quest,” Skye begins, “is…”

“To film a video in the cereal aisle of a Target with one or both of you dancing in a banana suit wearing sunglasses.”

Tim and Marinette are left standing there, speechless.

“Tim, I’m never letting you spin the wheel again,” Marinette deadpans.

“How the fuck did you manage to come up with that idea!?” Tim asks Skye incredulously, ignoring Marinette’s comment.

Skye simply shrugs, answering, “My sleep paralysis demon is easier to deal with if I imagine he’s a funny silly goofy little guy doing funny silly goofy little things.”

“I guess?” Tim says. “Ok,” he continues, “where the fuck are we supposed to get a banana suit though?”

Marinette sheepishly raises her hand. “Um-” she starts. Thinking to herself, ‘Oh my kwami I can’t believe I’m about to admit this,’ she tells them, “I… actually already have a banana suit somewhere in my apartment.

This, at least, seems to be the first piece of information to visibly shock Skye, and Tim too holds a certain look of bewilderment.

‘Damn Adrien and his stupid Banana Noir costume that he managed to get shipped with the rest of my things when I moved to Gotham. I can’t believe that mangey cat’s prank actually paid off,’ Marinette thinks. ‘Damn you Agreste, but also thank you.’

“It’s… a long story,” she says, wincing. “But the face is covered. Would it still count?”

Skye, over their initial shock, smiles. “Hey, I’m not one to judge. I think the fact you have that lying around is hilarious, regardless of the reason. And yeah, even with the face covered, that’ll work. Add the sunglasses on top of the costume in that case. Just make sure you address the camera at some point in the video so I can hear your voice and confirm it’s one of you. You don’t both have to dance in banana suits, so if one of you chooses to be the person taking the video instead, just be in-frame for a portion of the video so I can confirm you’re there as well.”

Steeling herself for the embarrassment to come, she sighs out, “Alright then. I guess we’re doing this.”

Tim leans over to show her his phone, and looking down, Marinette can see the Target website pulled up. “There’s a Target a couple of blocks away from here that closes at 11:00. It’s only 9:30 right now so that gives us an hour and a half if you wanted to just get this done tonight.”

Marinette elects to ignore the chill that goes down her spine at having Tim speak so close to her ear.

“I don’t live too far from here, so I can grab the costume and sunglasses to meet you there at like 10:15ish?” she offers.

Nodding, Tim answers, “Perfect. I’ll text you the address. If you don’t mind, can I be the one to wear the banana suit? I, uh, would rather have my face covered. Honestly with my reputation I don’t think too many people would question it, but I’d rather not draw attention to myself at the moment.”

“Sure,” Marinette agrees. She’d done her fair share of research about Gotham before moving, so it hadn’t taken her long to realize Tim was pretty famous here in America. She wouldn’t bring it up because, quite frankly, she knows enough famous people at this point to not really care.

Turning back towards Skye, who is currently erasing the “Q#3” option from The Wheel of Punishments and writing “spin again” in its place, Marinette announces, “I’m gonna head out now Skye. We’ll probably be back to show you the video, “ she looks back over at Tim, “around elevenish?”

Tim gives a thumbs up, confirming, “Yeah, around 11:00.”

With that, Marinette says goodbye and heads back to her apartment. It’s not until she’s finally back home and staring at the closet with the banana suit that the full absurdity of the situation reaches her.

Tikki, who had been sitting idle in her purse, flies out. Giggling, she asks, “Having fun? You look a little shell shocked.”

Slowly running a hand down her face Marinette mumbles, “What even is my life…”

Floating higher to gently pat Marinette on the head, the kwami states, “It’s all a part of the universe trying to balance out the energy you emit. Having such prolonged contact with the Ladybug miraculous and being my holder has imbued you with my creation energy and good luck. So the world around you tends to be filled with chaos to balance out the luck you pour into whatever space you’re in.”

As Marinette sighs Tikki adds, laughing, “You also happen to be drawn to very chaotic people. Though I’m not sure if that’s a side effect or if it’s purely you.”

Thinking back to her earlier childhood and the mischief she, Nino, and Kim would get up to, she admits, defeated, “I think it’s just a me thing.”

Nudging her towards the closet Tikki urges, “Hurry up now, don’t want to keep Tim waiting.” There’s a knowing glint in the kwami’s eye as she says Tim’s name. Marinette thinks it’s best not to dwell on that particular detail.

Sifting through the things in the closet, Marinette finally finds the banana suit buried behind boxes of umbrellas which Adrien had also managed to ship to her apartment.

Her relationship with Adrien has been a bit of a roller coaster. Eventually though, they realized both in and out of the suits, they preferred to stay just friends. After everything they’d been through, not even their identity reveal was enough to persuade either of them to pursue a romantic relationship with each other. Hell, even Alya and Nino admitted that they acted more like siblings than anything else.

The comfort from working as partners for so long, finally having revealed their identities, realizing they were already close friends out of the suit, and the fact any romance between them had effectively been thrown out the window had led to them confessing how they each came to fall for the other. And, consequently, un-fall for each other.

She almost smothered Adrien in pillows when he wouldn’t stop laughing at her for an umbrella being the cat -alyst for her past crush on him. He, even now, refused to let her live it down.

Smiling at the memories, Marinette pulls the banana suit out of the closet.

“And here it is in all its bright yellow glory,” she mused, looking over to Tikki.

Flying back towards her with sunglasses, Tikki laughs. “Ever think this would come in handy?”

Shaking her head and taking the sunglasses from Tikki, she replies, “Didn’t have the faintest clue. I swear though if Adrien finds out I actually needed this god awful costume for something I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Stuffing the sunglasses in her purse and folding up the suit as best she can, Marinette motions for her kwami to follow her. “Alright Tikki, let’s get going. I have a feeling this’ll be a long night.”

Twenty minutes later she finds herself in the mostly empty parking lot of her local Target. She’d sent a text to Tim letting him know she was there.

As she was absentmindedly drumming her fingers against the steering wheel, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Taking it out and glancing at the screen, she realized Tim was calling her. Raising her eyebrow, she hit the accept button and held the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” she asks.

“Ok so,” Tim starts. The way he says the words has Marinette already feeling like face palming. “I’m here, but I realize we didn’t really think of the fact I still need to change into the banana suit. We could meet up at the cafe instead, have me change, and then we come back here, but that’s cutting it close to when Target closes… By any chance would your car have tinted windows?”

Tentatively, Marinette asks, “… You’re telling me your car doesn’t have tinted windows?” She made sure the disbelief was clear in her voice. Honestly, she’d thought one of Gotham’s well known elites would’ve taken more precautions.

“Well it does,” Tim says, and Marinette can already hear the unsaid ‘ but ’ in his sentence. “ But ! I didn’t really take my car here…”

Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, Marinette questions, “How did you get here then?”

“Motorcycle,” was his simple answer.

“Ah,” was all she said in reply. “Lucky for you that the car I’m leasing has tinted windows, then. I’m basically five rows away from the front of the Target. There aren’t any other cars around me so you should be able to find me pretty easily.”

“Yeah I think I see you. Your car’s dark grey, right?” Tim asks.

As Marinette tells him, “Yep,” she sees someone with Tim’s same outfit, hair, and build walking towards her car. “I think I see you too,” she tells him.

As the person takes a few more steps towards the car, Marinette can see it’s Tim and rolls down her window. “You can change in the back while I stand outside. The suit’s already in the second row, and I can give you the glasses when we get inside Target,” she says in lieu of greeting.

“Y’know,” Tim says as he climbs into the back seat, “you’re weirdly trusting to let someone you’ve known for less than a month be left alone in your car. “Not that I would do anything,” he adds hastily.

As she steps out of the car, Marinette smiles at him and says, “I tend to trust my intuition when it comes to people and their intentions. Something tells me you won’t steal or vandalize my car.”

Closing the door she bites back the unsaid part of that statement, which was, ‘One of the side effects of being the Guardian lets me see if people have harmful intentions through their aura, and you’re in the clear.’

When Tim steps out of the car Marinette chokes back a laugh. The suit, which had fit a previously teenage Banana Noir, looked laughably small on Tim. Tim wasn’t necessarily a very tall man, but it was obvious that the roughly 180 centimeters of him was far too big for a children’s costume. The yellow tights and the long sleeve undershirt were all but abandoned, presumably too tight for Tim to fit into.

Marinette had guessed as much, which is why she’d made a quick alteration on the gloves using the little time she’d had. Somehow they looked even more ridiculous as fingerless gloves.

Instead of the yellow tights, Tim wore his faded jeans, and instead of the undershirt, the sleeves of his white t-shirt could be seen. The rest of his arms were exposed, but Marinette elected to ignore that. She wasn’t sure she had enough self control to not switch from laughing at his ridiculousness to drooling at his muscles.

“How bad is it?” comes Tim’s muffled voice through the banana suit.

Still trying with all her will to not die on the spot from laughter, Marinette wheezes out, “It’s perfect.” Still smiling ear to ear and biting on her tongue to stop herself from losing it, Marinette pulls out the sunglasses and places it over the banana’s soulless, all seeing eyes.

Stepping back, Marinette doubles over in her attempt to not collapse into a laughing fit. “Oh my Gods,” she breathes out in a small voice.

“Ok, well while you have fun losing your shit over this, let’s head for the Target so I can take this potassium monstrosity off as soon as possible.” Gently pulling her along by the wrist, Tim drags a (still hysterical) Marinette towards the entrance of the store.

By the time they’ve walked through the door, Marinette has gathered herself enough to walk normally (though she would giggle every few seconds before slapping a hand over her mouth.

As they make their way towards the cereal aisle, Marinette is suddenly struck with a brilliant idea. “Tim,” she whispers, coming to a sudden stop and yanking on his arm so he does the same. He slowly turns around to face her and Marinette forces herself to look at his Converse instead to stop from bursting out laughing at the ridiculous banana face.

“I know exactly what song you can dance to,” she says mysteriously. She quickly tugs him the rest of the way to the cereal aisle (dutifully ignoring the bewildered stares of the other shoppers and various employees they pass) before depositing him in the middle of the aisle.

“Can I borrow your phone to record? I need mine to play the music,” Marinette asks. Wordlessly, Tim hands over his phone, already opened to the camera app, and Marinette takes a few steps back.

“Ok, just stand there and be ready,” she instructs. “As soon as I play the song you’ll know exactly what to do, don’t worry.”

Once she gets a muffled and confused, “Sure?” from Tim, she holds the phone vertically, makes sure the front facing camera is on, and hits record.

Making a show of holding her own phone next to her mouth with her other hand and visibly fending off laughter, Marinette says clearly, “Hey Siri, play the macarena-”

When the first note hits, Marinette flips the camera so it’s recording Tim. The phone speaker rings out, “Dale a tu cuerpo alegría Macarena-” and Marinette can be heard manically laughing in the background as banana Tim dances to the song.

“Que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegría y cosa buena-” Tim continues to dance and the camera is visibly shaking as Marinette breaks down in a fit of laughter.

“Dale a tu cuerpo alegría, Macarena-” Tim’s movements are unnecessarily exaggerated and Marinette can still be heard maniacally cackling as the camera tilts, presumably because Marinette is leaning against the shelving of the cereal aisle to stay upright.

As the final line of the chorus rings out, “Hey Macarena, ay-” Tim sassily places both hands on his hips and slowly rotates them in a circle, still using exaggerated movement.

Just before the song finishes, a random shopper from behind Marinette can be heard shouting, “GO WHITE BOY GO!” which leads to Tim, with one hand still on his hip and the other pointing at the stranger, exclaiming, “Thank you random citizen!” in an attempt to copy the voice of Metro Man from Megamind.

The video ends with Marinette crying laughing, having fallen on her knees, sinking to the floor.

Tim shakes his head in exasperation (or at least Marinette thinks that’s what he’s doing, it’s hard to tell with the suit on). But seeing as how the head of the banana suit doesn’t turn, all that happens is the whole banana body shaking.

This, of course, does not help Marinette’s laugh attack, and Tim is forced to hoist her up and be used as a human (banana?) crutch for her to lean against as they exit the target.

Once they make it to the car, Marinette, who is thankfully no longer hysterical, unlocks her car so Tim can change in the back seat. Thankfully by the time he emerges, she’s calmed down enough to only be smiling.

“I want you to send me that video, because I honest to gods don’t think anything else has ever made me laugh so hard ever. It’s probably partially from the lack of caffeine but oh my gods .”

She’s so glad Tim doesn’t seem the slightest bit off put that he's just done something most people would find mortifyingly embarrassing, or that she’s laughing her ass off at him.

“Sure. On the condition that whatever crazy quest Skye sends us on next has you be the main focus,” Tim bargains, giving a teasing smile.

Smirking, Marinette says, “Easiest deal of my life. Meet you back at the coffee shop? I got a feeling Skye’s gonna get even more of a kick out of this than me.

Still smiling at her, he says, “See you there.”

Marinette really hopes Tim turned away fast enough to not see the blush that crept up her face after he smiled at her like that. If he looked at her so softly again she wasn’t sure she’d be able to muster up enough denial to ignore the beginnings of the feelings she was starting to have.

When they got back to the cafe and showed Skye the video, the barista took even longer to stop laughing than Marinette.

It got to a point where the two were genuinely scared for Skye’s health, because when he heard ‘go white boy go’ he collapsed on the counter rasping out things along the lines of ‘can’t breath’ and ‘oh my god I’m gonna die’.

Once Skye recovered, the smile stayed on their face the rest of the night. “I want you to send me that video,” she said. “Also, congratulations you’ve passed the quest! The first ingredient hint is espresso shots.”

Marinette saw Tim’s eye twitch out of the corner of her eye. “We did that to get the hint espresso shots as an ingredient for one of your most caffeinated drinks ?!”

Raising an eyebrow Skye shrugged. “Hey man, you spun the wheel, that’s your fault. The hints are in a predetermined order, so that’s the hint you would’ve gotten regardless of what you were saddled with in order to earn it.”

Tim sighed as Marinette reiterated her sentiment from earlier in the night, “Never letting you spin the wheel again.”

Stealing one of the uneaten cookies from a display case, Skye says, “You guys only have tomorrow to show me your weekly attempt before things are reset, by the way. Once Sunday hits it restart the week, and you’ll have access to earn another hint and another attempt at showing me what you guys’ve created.”

Looking over at Tim, Marinette suggests, “Well, I don’t know about you but I don’t think I have enough general knowledge on the making of drinks or of the ingredient list to throw together an attempt.”

“I don’t think I do either,” Tim adds, “How about we reconvene on Sunday to see whatever ludicrous thing Skye plans for us to do to get a hint.”

Smiling tiredly, Marinette nods. “Sounds good to me. I’m gonna head home.” She says goodbye to Skye and Tim, then heads to her apartment.

Flying out of her purse once Marinette’s inside, Tikki giggles. “Quite an adventure today,” the kwami muses.

“It certainly was-” Interrupted by the chime of her phone, Marinette pulls it out of her pocket and looks at the screen. It’s a message from Tim, with the video of him dancing in Target attached. Marinette snorts, screenshotting a frame in the video to set as Tim’s contact photo.

She takes another screenshot of Tim’s updated contact and sends it to him. ‘Would u believe me if i told u ur the second person to need to use that banana suit’ she texts to him.

‘ur jokling’ he replies. ‘wish i was, that thing is, as you so eloquently put it, “a potassium monstrosity”’ she sends back.

‘Idk i think i pulled it off’ Tim sends. Marinette laughs before sending, ‘no clue how u managed to do that tbh. but hey if u ever wanna model smth hmu. if u can pull off a banana suit i can only imagine how well ur modeling career would be’

Marinette could almost hear the smirk in his next text. ‘Oh so ur imagining me now r u?’ Marinette rolls her eyes before responding, ‘Oh, so ur getting cocky now, r u? If ur in my dreams it’ll be as a dancing banana, don’t get ahead of yourself’

Tim’s message after that made Marinette’s heart melt a bit, though she’d never tell him that. ‘Well i hope u have sweet ones’ ‘dreams that is’

‘gn my dancing banana’ she sent, smiling down at her phone.

‘gn coffee thief’

Marinette collapsed and was unconscious the second her head hit the pillow. She chalked the fact that she fell asleep so easily up to the overexertion from laughing so much and the general craziness of the day.

It definitely had nothing to do with the ball of content that sat comfortably in her stomach, which was warming her heart. And that content certainly had nothing to do with the unfairly attractive dancing banana she’d somehow found herself stuck with.

AN: Forgive my many spelling mistakes, I have the horrible tendency to only write for this fic in the dead of night. i have this fic on ao3, but I realized I never posted it to tumblr as more than a link. if you wanna keep up with it, but dont wanna subscribe to it on ao3, just ask to be added to the taglist either through this post or an ask to my blog and I'll keep you updated!

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r0b0tb0y · 3 months

Note

Multiples of 6 for the ask game

questions for fic writers / I'm going to choose 1 Rogue Street for my [insert fic] because it has the funniest answers

6. What’s one fact about the universe of [insert fic] that you didn’t get a chance to mention in the fic itself?

(you already know everything but) Kay looks Like That because human belief shapes the demons. Cassian, who grew up in the 1990s, filled in the blanks of his sleep paralysis demon with Doom and GWAR. Tarkin is an insubstantial barterer because that's what Krennic wanted. Bor Gullet's what gives Bodhi nightmares. Vader gives everyone nightmares?

Rogue Street also takes place in a timeline without Brexit or covid because we can dream.

12. Are there any tropes you used to dislike but have grown on you?

Maybe AUs: I sometimes find they get too out-of-character when you take That Guy out of his Situation, but with a writer I trust it's a great opportunity to explore new settings (gonna talk about this more at the end).

18. If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?

There's about 500 words of 2 Scarif Street waiting for a climax. I love the idea of bringing Din Djarin into that world but I can't quite get him to snap into a story arc yet. I'm already in your DMs about it.

24. Are there any easter eggs in [insert fic], and if so, what are they?

Rogue Street has MANY. One passage is borrowed from The Yellow Wallpaper (my favourite haunted house/time loop book), about walls with "a sickly sulphur tint. There was a faded pattern, dull enough to confuse the eye in following."

30. Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

I always want to try something a little bit different with each fic. I think one that influenced my style the most afterwards was Highwater? Because the purpose of the fic was to push these characters (and the timeline itself) to breaking point, I got a lot more comfortable with the emotional extremes, loved writing on a cosmic scale, and playing with the metaphysical/sensory contrasts. You can blame Highwater for the angsty timeskips in many subsequent fics.

36. Do you visualize what you read/write?

Yes!!! Sometimes I draw maps/schematics, and I make moodboards. I prod @blxcksqvadron to draw me stuff. Now I have a tablet I sketch ideas myself, or make what would have been ficlets into comics.

42. Have you ever received a comment that particularly stood out to you for whatever reason?

Someone once told me they put their phone in the freezer because one of my cliffhangers was so intense. That was like a decade ago and I'm still fascinated and flattered by it.

48. What’s the last fic you read? Do you recommend it?

I last read The Saga of the Coal-biter and the Skraeling by @notasapleasure . Highly recommended! The first-person narrative gets more and more interesting as the story goes on, and the historical detail is jaw-dropping. It's one of those AUs where you're never sure how much it will follow canon plot events—who lives and who dies, when the characters will meet or part, and often when you realise that it is going to follow the text, the tension is excruciating. And obviously, selfishly, I have a soft spot for Brasso with a touch of magic to him.

#ask memes #thank youuuu #1 rogue street #highwater #fic rec

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howaboutcastiel · 1 year

Text

I've Made Up My Mind

Summary: (7) Layla’s on a hunting trip… and she hasn’t been home in a few days. FWMS Masterlist.

Genre: Mostly fluff, a little spicy, a tiny bit angsty.

Content: Kissing, heavy petting ig. Vague talk of human trafficking and description of a violent nightmare. Overall… PG-13? 4.1k words.

A/N: I could have made the text messages abbreviated and more ‘realistic’ or whatever, but I would rather them be readable. Just pretend Marc was an English major ok. This was originally only ½ a chapter but it got too long.

Marc had been texting her a lot.

It was part of their agreement, but neither of them had expected it to actually be working. Layla had met Marc halfway with his mental health treatment—he refused to go to therapy, she refused to sit by and watch him go on without help. He agreed to write and, by extension, he agreed to write to her. Every single day, whether he felt like it or not, whether he had anything to say or not.

Sometimes it would come in the form of simple good morning and good night texts. Other times, he’d stay on the phone with her late into the night, whispering the vulnerable things that he should have been saying to Layla all along. Some things were easier than others, he had come to find out, but that didn’t really matter. He stuck to his word.

Layla had been on a “work trip” in Dubai for the last several days. The targets that she was tracking were high-risk, high-reward, and the job took all her attention. Most of the time, she was unavailable to reply to him, but Marc still sent his texts like clockwork.

Marc: Good morning, I love you.

Marc: Goodnight, I love you.

Marc: Good morning. Please be safe.

Marc: Having a hard day today. I wish you were here.

Marc: Goodnight. I love you.

Marc: Morning babe. Hope the weather’s good where you are.

She hadn’t answered in over three days, but he wasn’t upset with her. Marc was scared, though. As much as Khonshu had protected him from harm, he wasn’t very convinced that Taweret could be trusted to do the same for Layla. He’d seen the entire Ennead’s avatars slaughtered in one night, and their gods were supposed to be protecting them, too. Maybe Taweret was good on her word, or maybe she was just as much of a pompous ass as the rest of the Egyptian deities. Either way, Marc was getting concerned at Layla’s lack of reply. His anxiety was palpable.

Marc: I just realized that I don’t even know what your favorite flowers are. That’s one of the first things a husband should know, isn’t it? As soon as you get home, I’m buying you flowers.

Marc: I love you so much. Goodnight.

Marc: I think that the nightmares have started again.

He didn’t know much about his PTSD, except that a doctor had told him a long time ago that his nightmares were part of it. At the time, most of them were about his brother, save for a select few brutal ones about his mom. Now, though, he had a whole array of horrors that would threaten to greet him every time he closed his eyes. They only worsened when his bed was empty.

Steven’s presence helped a little bit, but Marc was still losing enough sleep to affect his cognition. Even if he did manage a few hours, he’d wake up exhausted all the same. His heart would be racing, his sheets would be drenched in sweat, and his limbs would be so heavy that it almost hurt to drag himself to the shower and then to the kitchen to brew a too-strong cup of coffee. Sometimes the body rested better when Steven was the one at the front. Sometimes, though, he’d return to the Duat when he fell asleep. Paralysis would follow, but instead of a demon to haunt him, there would just be the dreaded image of endless dunes and the feeling of sand in his throat.

Needless to say, the boys were not sleeping very much. They had come to be used to it, but it seemed quite unfair that they’d made so many strides in sharing the body and still could not manage to get a good night’s rest. Steven knew of many ways to pass the time when the restlessness came, but Marc wasn’t used to it. Each time a terror managed to tear him up from his bed, there was only one thing he had to fall back on.

Marc: Last night it was about our trip to Tokyo. You remember that? I was scared as shit that whole mission but you didn’t even flinch.

Marc: It wasn’t like the trip though. I was so slow, it’s like I was frozen in place. You were running around fighting just like normal. But you were too slow, too. I just watched it all in slow motion and they took you away from me.

Marc: I don’t know what I would do if that happened.

Marc: I miss you so much. I know you’re busy but please let me know you’re okay.

Marc: I love you so much.

He couldn’t believe the man he was turning into. Marc had never spoken this much about anything in his life. Ever. Even if it was just over text, even if he didn’t have to say the words out loud, he’d never been so… vulnerable before. He never knew that he even could. The more time he spent saying these things to Layla, though, the more natural they felt to share.

Marc: You know how they say that love at first sight isn’t real? I call bullshit on that. The first time that I saw you I was already done for. You had on that leather jacket and your hair was pinned back, and you tore into that guy at the display case when he credited your father’s work to some other dickhead. There was just so much fire in you and I knew right then. I was hooked. I had to have you.

Marc: That sounds all sexist doesn’t it. That’s not what I meant. You know what I meant. You were just all the perfect things and I didn’t even know what to do with myself. I wanted to protect you, I had this NEED to protect you. But you never needed it, you always took care of yourself. You still do.

Marc: That was the only way I knew how to love you.

Work had been a solid distraction, but time was stretching on and there was still no word from Layla. Marc’s unease was beginning to grow into panic. Now, his lack of sleep was from worry just as much as from nightmares. It took everything in him not to turn to the bottle for comfort, or god forbid, one of his other coping mechanisms.

Marc: I just want to know you’re okay.

Marc: I’m sorry for the things that I did. I know that I already apologized but… I’m sorry. The way that I lied to you all that time. I don’t know what was wrong with me. It’s still hard not to lie sometimes, but I never do. I promise. I will never lie to you again. I was so goddamn stupid and I thought that you were better off without me. I don’t know, I still think that, but I don’t want to hurt you like that again. Plus you have Steven now too. He can give you things that I can’t. He can be the things that I’ll never be. The things that you deserve.

Marc: Please tell me you’re okay. It’s been four days.

He was half-convinced to book a plane ticket to Dubai. Marc gave himself another day. If Layla didn’t reply in the next 24 hours, he was coming to find her. Ceremonial suit or not, he would be there to make sure she was safe. He couldn’t help himself.

It was nearly two in the morning and Marc hadn’t even shut his eyes once. He knew that he needed to be up at the crack of dawn, but he couldn’t get his heart to stop jumping into his throat. Marc had taken ibuprofen for the pounding in his head, but it barely muted the physical pain and didn’t touch the rest of it. He sat at the edge of his bed, drawing circles on his skin and willing the motion to calm some part of him down. It wasn’t working.

Suddenly, the dead quiet of the night was interrupted by a sharp, chiming tone.

A text alert.

Marc flinched at the noise and his head jerked in the direction of his night stand. The flip-phone sat motionless on the side table, the screen illuminated blue. He snatched it into his hand.

The phone started going wild. Text after text flooded in until more than a dozen messages had been alerted in quick succession. Voicemail tones rang in-between them. Marc could only stare at the phone in shock until the onslaught slowed. Finally, the tones stopped and the room was once again silent. He pulled the first message up on the screen.

(4 Days Ago) Layla: I’m about to lose signal for a few days. Not even sure I have it now. I don’t know if my messages will send, but I’ll try to update you.

(4 Days Ago) Layla: Goodnight. I love you.

(3 Days Ago) Layla: I’m beginning to think that the wings on this suit are giving me a complex.

(3 Days Ago) Layla: I’m safe, by the way. Might not text for a day or two. I got a good lead.

(3 Days Ago) Layla: I miss having my partner to help me.

(1 Day Ago) Layla: Finishing up here. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back to London. Leaving later tonight.

(2 Hours Ago) Layla: Oh God. I just got your messages. None of mine even sent to you did they?

(2 Hours Ago) Layla: I just got off my flight. I’m waiting on the bus now. Are you awake?

(2 Hours Ago) Layla: Can I come over?

And then, one final ping.

(17 Minutes Ago) Layla: Fuck it. I’m coming over.

If Marc was restless before, he was wide awake now. He fumbled for the switch on the lamp beside his bed, illuminating the room with a much harsher light than the glow of the moon seeping through the windows. The apartment was a mess—dirty mugs littered about the place, shirts and sweats strewn across the floor. Marc scrambled to clear a path from the front door, hiding the clear evidence that he’d been falling apart for the last couple days.

He had just placed the last mug in the sink when a gentle knock against the door echoed into the kitchen.

Marc was at the door in an instant. He turned the knob and pulled it toward him. Layla was dressed in a hoodie and sweats, likely the clothes that she wore on the plane. Her hair was tied up in a bun. She looked tired.

Her feet dangled in the air as Marc scooped her up into his arms, taking less than a second to look her over first. Layla gasped at the impact, digging her nails into his back. She expected him to put her down after that, but he didn’t budge. Marc's arms were wrapped firmly around her and he wouldn’t let go. He couldn’t.

“Hey, baby,” she hummed. Layla leaned into his touch, bringing her hand up to the back of his head. He sighed into her neck. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I love you,” Marc groaned. His breath was hot against her skin. He kicked the door shut and stumbled backward to the sitting room. “I missed you.”

Layla chuckled when the backs of his knees hit the couch. “I know. I love you, too.”

Marc was shaking. He hadn’t realized it until now, but he was practically buzzing with energy. Whether it was excitement or shock or something else, he wasn’t entirely sure. All he knew is that he couldn’t physically get any closer to Layla, but he didn’t feel quite close enough.

“Scared me to death.” His grip didn’t soften. He leaned back until his shoulders hit the cushions. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Her weight shifted on top of him. Her mouth found his ear and her teeth grazed the lobe. “I’m back now.”

He hadn’t felt like this in so long. In some respect, Marc had never felt like he was feeling right now. He had never wanted to hold her so tightly. He had never been so utterly terrified to let go. What Marc could remember, though, was the feeling of longing. The feeling that their bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle. The feeling that Marc’s only goal in the world was to make Layla feel good. Like that was his purpose.

Marc pulled her down into a kiss.

They moved together lazily, but passionately. It seemed that neither of their bodies quite had the energy for what they truly had in mind. He held Layla against him with all the strength he could muster, keeping her body flush with his and giving her the opportunity to explore his waist with the limited movement of her one free hand. The two of them could have stayed there for hours, save for the fact that it was nearly three in the morning and neither of them had slept a wink in days. Marc persisted, though, as long as he could. He only finally pulled away when his lungs could not physically handle being deprived of air anymore.

Layla wrapped herself around him from behind when they made their way to the bed. She was nearly as tall as him, her frame almost as big, so she had no difficulty enveloping him in her arms. He was rigid against the feeling at first, but managed to sink into it in a matter of minutes. He felt safe in her arms and, though he wouldn’t admit it, he really needed her to hold him right now.

“I’m happy you’re here,” he mumbled to her. Sleep was tugging at him in a way that it hadn’t dared to in days. Her breath tickled his neck.

She interlocked their fingers, breathing a chuckle. “Me too. Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

His eyelids were heavy. He was as tired as he’d ever been before, but only now did his body seem to think it was safe to relax. Marc thought, for just a moment as he drifted off, that he might actually sleep well tonight. That would have been too good to be true, though, and sure enough, the nightmares came just the same as they always did.

This time it was Cairo. Nothing too fancy, nothing imaginative. Marc’s mind was filled to the brim with imagery of Arthur Harrow and his followers. The violet beam that Harrow flung from his cane wrought destruction in every direction. Marc reached for the crescent blade on his chest, but felt only fabric underneath his palm. Just like always, Marc’s feet were frozen in place. He couldn’t move, couldn’t protect himself. More importantly, he couldn’t protect her.

“Layla.”

He called out to her, intending to shout, but the noise came out barely a whisper. She couldn’t hear him. Layla stood before Harrow in her avatar suit, just a few steps away from the tip of his outstretched cane. He had noticed her presence. It was only a matter of moments before he decided to strike against her.

“Layla!”

Still, nothing came out. Marc could only watch in horror as the beam of light struck Layla square in the chest, knocking her backwards. He wanted to scream at Harrow—to distract him, to make himself the target instead of her—but his voice was shot. The disciple walked right by him, zeroing in on his wife. She seemed in no rush to pick herself up off the ground. Marc already knew how this ended. In a hundred different nightmares, he’d seen the same thing before. Layla, fighting against all odds, determined as always. Him, frozen and unable to help. Too slow to protect her. Too weak to protect her. He had watched his enemies strike her down a hundred times before. That’s all he could ever do. Watch.

Harrow brought his cane over his head, aiming the crocodile-shaped knob on the end against Layla’s skull. Marc tried to look away as he dealt the first blow. His head wouldn’t turn though, and his eyes wouldn’t close no matter how hard he tried. Even if he’d seen it a hundred times, even if a small part of his mind always knew that it wasn’t real, it didn’t hurt any less. He yelled for her, one last desperate plea.

Marc was at the edge of the bed before he even realized he was awake. He almost wanted to laugh at himself—it was normally Steven that woke up running. The beginning light of the sunrise illuminated the room just enough for him to see the outline of a figure beside him. He lowered himself back into bed, blushing at the way Layla was staring at him. He didn’t know if his movement had woken her up or if he was talking in his sleep. Either way, it was obvious she knew he’d just woken from a nightmare.

“Sorry,” he murmured. His body was still trembling and his heart was still racing. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright,” she chimed. She held out her arms as an offer to hold him. To comfort him. “I get them, too.”

He shook his head, moving to sit at the edge of the mattress. “I don’t think I can go back to sleep right now.”

“You should at least try, darling. You’ve barely slept three hours.”

“I’ll be fine.” He put his head in his hands. Layla was having none of it.

“At least lay with me.” She repositioned herself so that he could lay his head against her chest. She patted the bed beside her. “Please? Keep me warm, baby.”

“Okay.”

Marc always loved the feeling of Layla running her hands through his hair. It was the most relaxing sensation he could think of. Layla carded her fingers through his curls as he laid against her, and Marc could feel his muscles relaxing more than they had in months. The trembling died down the longer he listened to her steady heartbeat. After a while, he brought his arms up to wrap properly around her torso.

“Thank you,” he mumbled into her chest.

Layla pulled the cover up over him. “For what?”

“For staying.”

The sun was rising above the horizon by now. The low golden glow illuminated the studio just enough that Layla could see the content on his face. She could also see that, despite his relaxed demeanor, he wasn’t going back to sleep. As much as it would have made sense to get up and put on a pot of coffee, Layla wanted to stay warm under the covers for just a little while longer.

Marc wasn’t the only one who had fallen apart over the last few days.

“Marc.” Her voice was worried, hesitant. He craned his neck to look at her, picking up on the tone immediately. “I don’t think that I can be alone right now.”

He hadn’t asked about the details of the mission. Layla had told him the basics: a trafficking ring was wreaking havoc on the people of Dubai, particularly on the women and children in poorer communities. Taweret had found a gap in their operation—one that Layla could squeeze into perfectly, if she played her cards right. It was never meant to be a one-and-done trip, but Taweret had hoped they could take a chunk out of the organization, to weaken them right from the start. Marc hadn’t yet asked whether she and Layla had accomplished that.

“You don’t have to be.” He brought his hand down to hold hers. Layla’s wedding ring brushed along his palm and he squeezed her hand tight. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No,” she piped. Layla gritted her teeth. “But I need to.”

They readjusted, so now Layla was laying as Marc had just been, her head resting on her husband’s chest and her arm wrapped around his waist.

“It’s only fair,” he half-smiled. “I’ve been baring my soul to you for weeks.”

She smirked. “You’re supposed to be doing that anyway.”

“So are you.”

Layla took a few deep breaths before starting. Talking about things was easier for her than it was for Marc, but that still didn’t mean it was easy. She sighed. “This job is so much bigger than I thought. And it’s so much…worse. It’s horrible.”

Marc nodded slightly and she cleared her throat. She continued, “I saw things I don’t know how to forget. I mean, some of our adventures together got pretty rough, right? But this was something else entirely. It was like going to hell. Actual hell. These people are demons, Marc. I don’t know what else to call them.”

The worst of the worst, Marc thought to himself. “I can see why Taweret wanted them punished.”

“No, not punished.” Layla shook her head. “Eradicated. It’s not about them Marc, it’s about all the people they’ve hurt. All the people they’re still hurting. They need help. My help.”

Her breath shuddered and Marc brought his hand up to rub circles on her back. “But it’s not just Dubai. It’s not even just the peninsula. It’s everywhere, love. I mean absolutely everywhere. It’s at least over half of Asia and probably just as much of Africa and Europe. I don’t even know if calling it the tip of the iceberg would do it justice. There’s got to be a million people involved, or close to it. The ring isn’t that powerful, but it’s so spread out. I can’t imagine how far.”

Marc didn’t like any of what he was hearing. He hated the thought of that many people in danger, of that many children in danger, but it wasn’t just that. He could tell by Layla’s tone that her fear was not pushing her to forfeit the mission. It wasn’t motivating her to step back or to minimize the scope of her goal. No, he knew better than that. Layla was terrified, not because she had bitten off more than she could chew, but because she was sure now more than ever that she would not stop until the ring had burned to the ground.

“So what are you going to do?” He questioned hesitantly.

Layla almost winced as she thought of her answer.

“I’m going to dance with the devil.”

She buried her head deeper into his chest, trying to absorb the heat. “It’s already started. I have to go in as a participant. I have to work for them, or at least make them think that’s what I’m doing. That’s why I couldn’t text for a few days, they had to search me. Had to be sure I wasn’t a cop or someone from a rival group. I had to make them trust me. Or at least, not actively distrust me.”

“Layla…”

“I know, baby. I know how dangerous it is and I know what it means I’ll have to do. But I can’t stop now. You should know that more than anyone.”

Marc’s heart was skipping again. “Is Taweret making you do this? Is she forcing you?”

“No, Marc. She’s not like him. She wouldn’t do that. This is my choice, alright? I’ve made up my mind.”

And Marc knew what it meant that Layla had made up her mind. There was no point in arguing, no point in trying to convince her otherwise. There was no point in doing anything besides helping her or getting out of her way, and Marc was in no position to help. Not the way she needed him.

“I’ll talk to Steven about helping you track them.”

Her body went rigid at the statement, and she hugged him tighter. “Thank you.”

“Now come on, we gotta get up.” He stretched underneath her, trying to gently roll her off.

She didn’t budge.

“Come on, babe. I’ve got work.”

Layla made a noise of discontent. “Five more minutes.”

He scoffed, then smiled. “Fine, but you’re making breakfast.”

~~~

I hate that this chapter is so late. Ill try to keep to the schedule better.

@n1ght5h4d3-24 @magicwithaknife @rmoonstoner @nervouslaught3r @unavoidabledirewolf @kbakery @mccn-bcys @gingermous @avatarofseshat @damreonsgirl @dragons-are-my-favorite @k8esilver @competentpotato @theconsultingdoctor10 @rayrlupin @moony-artemis @nerdory10 @valkyrieace

@ahookedheroespureheart @mt2sssss @loki-hargreeves @starfirette @celeste412 @avengersinitiative2012 @sifinskies @unspokenmoon @maplemind @mainstreambitchlife @hot-mess-express1 @toracainz @zarahbronstein @daughterofthequeen @am-3-thyst @romanarose @wand-erer5 @jake-g-lockley @in-between-the-cafes @alexismm @moonmoonboys @joyful-soul-collector

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #layla el faouly #marc x layla #marclayla #moon boys #fire within my soul #Masterlist

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poppyseedoncaffeine · 11 months

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Sun and Moon show quotes because my sleep paralysis demon said so

Most of these aren't in character and I think its funny, Also Rays is good Eclipse and ya'll know who jigsaw is.

Monty, looking at their watch: It has been 2 hours and sixteen minutes since I’ve been insulted. Monty: It’s been about 5 seconds since I’ve been assaulted, but let’s not talk about that.

Monty: Lunar… Why did you draw a pentagram on the floor? Lunar: Your text told me to satanize the house before you returned. Monty: Monty: I wrote sanitize, Lunar.

Lunar: Can we get a birthday cake? Sun: It’s not your birthday. Lunar: The cake won’t know!

Monty: So according to the cease and desist order I got, apparently you can’t ‘legally’ be a lawyer if your license is ‘cut out of a cereal box’.

Shapeshifter: transforms to look like Monty Monty: Okay, are you like BLIND? You look nothing like me. First off, I'm way taller. Secondly, I DO NOT look so sleep deprived and lastly, if you could drag comb through that hair you're like a 7 on a good day and I've been told I'm a constant 10.

Eclipse: Look at the buns on that guy! Lunar: lying on the floor, covered in hamburger buns Monty: This is the comedy police! The joke's too funny! Eclipse: I'm not going back to jail!

Eclipse: Could you be anymore annoying? Goast!Lunar: Yes.

Goast!Lunar: Like they say, "If you can't beat them, curl up in a ball and protect your organs."

Lunar, holding a scooter: Monty! Can I go outside and play with this? Monty: Sure, whatever. I'm not your parent, okay? Lunar, running outside: Thanks Monty! Monty, running out after them and screaming: NOT ON THE STREET! STAY AWAY!

While the Squad is in a battle Goast! Blood Moon, trying to warn Sun about the location of an enemy: To the left! Sun, Extremely sleep deprived: Take it back now y'all! *gets decked in the face*

Moon: Did you two buy eggs like I asked? Lunar: Even better! Moon: What did you- Earth holding up a chicken Her name is Fluffy.

KC: What’s the status up here? Rays: Fucked up, about to die, Sun’s a nerd. The usual.

Monty, holding a kettle: Coffee or tea? Rays: Tea. Monty: Wrong. It's coffee.

Sun, in a room with Monty, Moon, and KC: It’s calm in here. Sun: It scares me…

Lunar: sharpens knife We've got ways of making people talk. Lunar: cuts piece of cake Jigsaw: …Can I have some? Lunar: Cake is for talkers.

Sun: How would you rate your pain? Rays: 0/10. Would not recommend.

Sun: Lunar, I don’t think I can handle any more of your tomfuckery. Lunar: Oh yeah? Well I can keep going until you’re all tomfuckered out!

Eclipse: What's two plus two? Monty, has a concussion: Math. Eclipse: …I will accept that answer.

Lunar: Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Foxy: Why start now?

Monty: Fruits that do not live up to their names; passionfruit, grapefruit, honeydew and dragonfruit. Monty: Fruits that do live up to their names? Monty: Orange.

Rays: According to the footage here, you shook the vending machine and when the shake alarm went off, you punched the glass and broke it. Rays Moon: …I was hungry.

Bloody: I called you like ten times! Why didn’t you pick up? Lunar: remembers dancing to the ringtone Lunar: I didn’t hear it.

Moon: …I'm pretty sure that place is fire-proof, or something. Eclipse, grenade in hand: Alright, but is it explosion-proof?

KC: Uh, Moon? Rays is in the pool and I don't think they're waterproof. Moon: What? Bloody: I think they meant, Rays is drowning. Moon: WHAT?! Meanwhile Rays: is drowning Lunar: OH MY GOD, RAYS! KEEP SWIMMING! Rays: I can't swim, dumbass— sinks Lunar: RAYS!

out grocery shopping Rays: takes a free sample twice Rays: Robbery and Fraud. I am a Rebel.

Earth: We all have our demons. Sun, grabbing Blood moon: This one’s mine!

Monty: Prepare to feel really bad about yourself. Rays: I’ve been prepared for that my entire life. Monty: Rays: Or something mean about you.

Sun: I’m so tired. Rays: Did you get to bed late? Sun: No. Rays: Did you do something strenuous? Sun: No. Rays: Then why are you tired? Sun: I’m alive. Rays: Sounds exhausting.

Monty: Hey, how did my phone break? Sun: You were drunk yesterday. Monty: And? Lunar: You threw it. Monty: Why? Eclipse: You turned on airplane mode and kept screaming “FLY DAMN YOU!” Monty: And why didn’t you stop me?! Foxy: We were busy laughing our asses off.

Monty: I’m not lazy, I just find it hard to put effort into things I’m not passionate about. KC: What are you passionate about? Monty: Sleeping.

Moon: You’re a loose cannon, Eclipse. Eclipse: No, I’m not. I’m a cannon, maybe, but a loose cannon? Is that what you think of me? Monty: I think you play by your own rules. Earth: No way, they think rules were made to be broken. Moon: Those are all attributes of a loose cannon. Eclipse: No, I’m just a reckless renegade. Rays is a loose cannon. Rays: smashes a chair Aah! You shut your trap, Eclipse! Earth: I’d say Rays’s more of a cop on the edge with nothing to lose. That’s an entirely different thing. Monty: Now I’m just confused. Is Eclipse a loose cannon or not? Moon: All right, put on a pot of coffee. We’re gonna get to the bottom of this. Eclipse: groans Rays: Aw, man.

Monty: Yum, thanks! Kidnapper: puts more tape over their mouth I said stop eating it.

KC: I ran into Monty in the kitchen at 1 AM last night and when I asked them what they were doing, they just shrugged, said “these are my roaming hours,” and wandered off, strumming vaguely on their Bass guitar.

Eclipse: I’ve been sleeping so little the past few nights that when I go to the alarm app, I click on the “power nap” button. I don’t set up alarms, I set up timers, Lunar.

Foxy: Sorry I'm late, I was doing stuff. Monty: YOU PUSHED ME DOWN THE FUCKING STAIRS!

Monty: You know, people treat me like a god. Foxy: How? Monty: They ignore my existence unless they need something.

Monty: The floor is lava! Sun: helps Blood moon onto the counter Lunar: kicks Eclipse off the sofa Moon: lays on the floor Monty: …Are you okay? Moon: No.

Sun: Who hurt you? Rays: snorting What, do you want a list? Sun: …Yes, actually.

Eclipse: I feel so burnt out. Monty: Don’t worry, it'll be over soon. Eclipse: Are you gonna… assassinate me? Monty: Well not if you’re expecting it.

#sun and moon show #sun and moon show eclipse #sun and moon show lunar #sun and moon show kill code #sun and moon show earth #sun and moon show montgomery gator #sun and moon show sun #sun and moon show moon #Sun and Moon show Good Eclipse #Sun and Moon show Jigsaw

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ilovemyblanket · 2 years

Text

I'm currently thinking about how I got to know ORV in the first place.

So there's this classmate of mine who is really passionate about anime/manga/manhwa/etc. and one day she texted me about Solo Leveling, saying I should read it because the protag is cool and handsome af. I listened to her then gave SL a try. It was a fairly pleasant experience, and also introduced to me this genre (fantasy action? Idk how to call it but I heard leveling/system/dungeon... is quite popular in Korea).

After a month or so, friend texted me again, and this time was about ORV. She hasn't read it, but told me the protags are hot. I was hesitant as the webtoon hasn't been finished yet and the novel is too long (the longest one I had read at that time was only ~300 chapters). But anw, being kinda intrigued and couldn't sleep (since I kept thinking about it after reading some reviews), I read the webtoon first, saying to myself "meh, maybe it will be similar to SL, protag got stronger, defeated bosses. I hope I got bored soon so I wouldn't have to—"

That aged like milk.

Now ORV is like my sleep paralysis demon, haunting me days and nights. I keep asking myself "Wtf is wrong with you, you read novels for pleasure not for depression". I also wonder how tf the authors managed to disguise ORV as "oh it's your basic power fantasy ;)" then just fucked me up mentally and hurt my only braincell as I tried to connect the stories as a whole.

Anw. Please read this novel if you haven't.

I CAN'T BE ALONE IN THIS SH-

#omniscient reader's viewpoint #omniscient reader #orv #my classmate didnt even read orv why

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cheryyori · 2 years

Text

moon knight fic idea that I had brewing in my head for 2 months but I can't push myself to write right now bc I'm having writer's block ofc

Might write them down as headcanons/bullet points to have them down before making this idea more concrete

fem!oc used for this fic idea btw! (can be read as a reader insert as well if you so choose as, but written this idea with an oc in mind), also lots of Japanese and other Asian mythology that I find would fit the story in mind, also I'm Asian so why tf not let me project a bit ok???

fic idea:

Imagine oc being able to see ghost and spirits (more specifically yokai and anything close to the sort) since childhood. Terrifying really.

Demon paralysis be damned when you open your eyes to see a literal shadow figure staring down at you. Panic attack ensue.

Oh yeah, did she mention the voice in her head guiding her on what to do with these spirits and how to handle them, yeah that's a thing too...

Apparently they're the goddess Izanami, overseer of the underworld Yomi. Fantastic.

She also mentions how more spirits are running amok and unchecked bc APPARENTLY THANOS' SNAP HAD FUCKED THE BALANCE OF LIFE AND DEATH. So I guess those that disappeared weren't actually dead but literally just ceased to exist and it threw Yomi is a disarray of chaos.

Basically the goddess was pissed. So now oc is their unwilling paranormal detective, being forced to faces these horrendous spirits so they can pass on. Fucking fantastic.

Also the Blip actually made it worse too. Great.

Apparently there's some consequences of being forced to help these spirits

They're not limited to out of body experience while taking the train home, usually with oc being in the place of the memory of the spirits that were either before or lead to their deaths. Awesome. More nightmare fuel for her ig.

While this happens to her mentally, physically her body will either be unconscious, spaced out, or even moving on its own unconsciously.

When she sleeps they become vivid nightmares she can't remember usually, only the terror she felt. Sometimes she'll find bruises and scratches on her and remember only bits of what happened. Night terrors. Check. Bodily harm. Check.

Works in the museum both Dane and Sersi works at too bc I can and pls Jeremy add some Dane/Steven/Marc interactions for season 2 pls I'm on my knees

Dane was said to make an appearance in Moon Knight originally but they didnt know how to add him so Dane is now in this fic bc idk what to do with this info now.

Dane and her are friends and friends only. He helped her get a job bc she's out of one bc she was Snapped.

Oh right she was snapped, forgot to mention that lol.

Yes she knows Sersi is an alien wizard. No she doesn't want to turn into a giraffe Dane.

If Dane is doing his Black Knight activities, 9 times out of 10 she doesn't know. She thinks he's distance himself bc of what happened to Sersi, and decided not to push.

Takes place a bit before the start of the series. She's Steven's neighbor but they dont talk much, only wave and greet each other on the lift and when they head to the same bus stop before she left to step onto the subway.

Goodness does Steven thinks she's adorable. A little better at social cues than he is but still as awkward. She a goober really.

She thinks he's cute too. Like a puppy.

Somehow they go on a date (personal headcanon that it was Jake that set Steven with a date bc he has the most social out all of them, which will make things real awkward for them when everyone finds out yikes). Well they try too. You know what happens on Steven's end but surpise suprise. She actually arrived late to the restaurant bc she had another out of body experience bc of some spirits she had encountered (thankfully it was in her home) by the time she arrived Steven wasn't there. It was hours later, she assumed that he thought she stood him up and left.

She ate the steak anyways. She was hungry.

She didn't dare to call or text him, afraid of what he'll say, so color her surprise when he called her instead.

What??? They have a date??? But it's Sunday. Confused, she decide to tell him that she thought he thought she stood him up. Both are confused. They decided to reschedule the date then, both hoping that this one goes well (tbh both were ecstatic that the other was giving them another chance).

Ofc that doesn't happen bc Harrow and his cult with Ammit ensue hijinks.

So Marc and her are complicated bc they used to be friends as kids but then her family moved to NY. They kept contract and talk but it became very minimal. Like simple how are you type shit. So they have no idea what the other looks like over the years.

So Marc is in for a big twist when he finds out Steven's date is her. It doesn't help he had a tiny itsy bit of a crush on her as kids.

But he doesn't have feelings for her he loves Layla still, right? It's probs bc of the fond memories he held of her as a child that makes him soft for her. No not bc she's kinda of a cute goof.

They're grump and sunshine embodied really.

Also embodies slow burn and friends to lovers trope real hard. Marc's gotta to learn to move on and live a happy life. It's hard but he'll get there.

He is emotionally constipated and will deny any possible thought of him having feelings for oc or any form of happiness.

Oc does not approve and annoys him with affection.

What the fuck was that????

A hug.

Disgusting. Do it again....

Nicknames. Nicknames! NICKNAMES!

Sunshine - Marc, Twinkle Toes - oc

Hc that Marc was kinda clumsy as a child and oc called him that to tease him (was more reinforced after they watched atla).

Steven call her his little sunflower.

Jake calls her his bébé usually.

And Layla.

They're divorced. They'll try to work it out but really Layla realizes that she fell out of love for a while now. The lies and guilt put a strain on their marriage.

That doesn't mean she doesn't care for Marc. She does. As friends.

She won't admit it but deep down, she thinks Marc was conflicted about his feelings whether he knew it or not (whether it was his guilt about her father or not, no one truly knowz). So seeing how he gets along with oc is good for him.

Layla slowly pushed him towards her bc she wants Marc to be happy as well and move on.

Layla is a good friend and wants everyone's best interests.

Now onto Jake.

Keeping in mind of the hc that it's Jake that asked oc out on a date on Steven's behalf. Well then things are gonna be messy. Bc haha they've met before. Like way before Marc met Khonshu and became his fist of vengence.

They met when she was in college and hit it off from there. I don't want to give away too much of their relationship but long story short. Jake does break contact with her.

So when everyone finds out about Jake things get awkward real fast and real bad.

Small hint of their relationship is ???? To lovers trope.

Khonshu is a manipulative bird brain and Izanami commit Khonshu hate crimes on the reg as she should.

Speaking of Izanami.

Goddess of Death and Creation. The overseer of Yomi, the underworld.

Yeah she's cool. Kinda unhinged but cool.

A bit over the top, but aren't all gods are???

Kinda gives off Scaramouche vibes from Genshin Impact but not as arrogant you know. She's not very well liked within the Japanese pantheon due to her role and also from her ex-husband's influences.

She really does care for oc. Thinks of her as her kin. She was a mother once too.

Speaking of her ex-husband, also commits hate crimes against her ex-husband Izanagi too (iykyk) and tbh go off queen.

Only oc sees her and she takes an appearance of a normal woman but dresses expensively. Thinking of Manwol from Hotel de Luna, same vibes as well tbh bc when I write Nami I think of Manwol tbh.

Oh possession is a thing too, ig

Bc with how oc acts, Izanami needs to take over when push comes to shove. Though this happens rarely.

Mostly this happens when oc is unconscious and in peril danger. Or when provoked enough to encite her fury or vise versa (usually the later is towards other gods of different pantheon, yeah she's still bitter they did nothing to restore balance in life and death). Sometimes when oc's spirit/consciousness is forcefully pushed out of their body, Izanami takes control to make sure the body is breathing.

Overall that's it for this word vomit. It's still in the process but if you want to know more lmk bc I haven't seen this idea in Moon knight fics just yet.

Fic idea inspiration taken from: Hotel de Luna (kdrama), Goblin (kdrama), Tomorrow (kdrama), The Uncanny Encounter (kdrama), Tale of the Nine Tailed (kdrama), Death Mark (game), Spirit Hunter NG (game), Mieruko-chan (manga)

#moon knight #moon knight x reader #moon knight x oc #moon knight fanfic #moon knight headcanon #steven grant x reader #steven grant x oc #marc spector x oc #marc spector x reader #jake lockely x reader #jake lockley x oc #gonna call this au/fic idea nightmare eyes bc i can #yes i know its a nitw reference but it makes sense tbh #nightmare eyes au

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