#quick doodle cause i need to cope

[yenyenyen19]

a family im so emo

[taeescript]

29+1 (Part One)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰: In which Seokjin is the Devil from The Devil Wears Prada, Taehyung is your work Jesus and Jimin is your handsome successful brother. 

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: seokjin x reader (taehyung x reader if you squint real hard) 

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: slice of life; ceo!seokjin (diva!seokjin)

𝔴𝔠: 3.6k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: heavy use of alcohol as a coping mechanism, a plethora of sarcasm (please don’t be offended) and a sprinkle of softness (is that a warning?). 

𝔞/𝔫: this sat in my unwritten folder since 2017 no lie. I wrote the premise and a singular paragraph at that time, then just gave up. I opened it a few days ago, got inspired again and this word vomit came out (heavily influenced by a midnight Zoom call with my friends). Ngl this was so much fun to write, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. This will probably be in three parts.  𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯: I did not know that DailyHive is an actual online news source when writing. This work is purely fictional and has absolutely nothing to do with the real DailyHive. 

part two

Your friends have a saying: After 29, nobody shares their age until they’ve accomplished something. 

In the past, you didn’t understand it. What’s so bad about saying you’re 30 or you’re 32? That’s still a young age! Sure, you’re not exactly in your prime anymore but you’re not old, right?

So, you continue in your own wondrous world of naïveté until that fateful day at your class reunion. You had simply been walking around, minding your own business when you had been stopped by an old colleague.

“Hey, Y/N, right?” she waves you down. 

You smile kindly, not even bothering to try and remember her name (you sucked at names, what could you say). 

“Hey…you!” you chuckle lightly, “How have you been doing?” 

An everyday question leading to catastrophic effects. 

“Oh you know,” she says and rolls her eyes as if you truly did know, “I’ve just been out and about. Did I tell you though? I got married last year!” She holds out her hand in which a giant diamond adorns her finger. “Wow!” you gasp, feigning interest. It’s not that you aren’t happy for her, but you are reminded of just how single you are currently. When was the last time you felt another human’s touch? Does kissing come back as easily as riding a bicycle? “Hey!” she says suddenly, “I’m actually meeting with a couple of friends from our class. You should come join! I’m sure they’d be happy to see you again!” You want to wave her off, but against your better judgment, you find yourself following in her footsteps and listening to her speak about wedding venues and honeymoon destinations.

“Oh my god!” another female voice filters in.

The “couple of friends” this old classmate had mentioned is in fact a fairly impressive size of twenty. This is also the third time the wedding announcement has been made. 

“Last year?” the female continues, “Weren’t you young?”

Yes, you want to respond. Yes she was young. A full 365 days younger than she is now.

Your classmate, Sooyoung (or Kiko as she insists going by now) titters in front of you. “I mean, you can sort of say I’m a late bloomer. I got married when I was 31.”

Her words unintentionally cut into you. Here you are at 29 without a beau in sight. You take a fast swig of your beer and end up hitting the empty glass with a clink to your teeth. Nobody notices.

“Enough about me, however, how about you?”

“I started my own business actually. It’s been doing really well and it’s been a crazy mind. Imagine me, my own boss at only 33!”

You nervously join them when they suddenly laugh together.  

“Hi, can I get another pint please? Actually add a tequila shot to that,” you whisper the last part to the waitress you had just stopped.

And that was how the rest of the night went. People asking one another what they had accomplished. Any moment in time after 30 would not be mentioned until somebody travelled to Uganda to build houses at 31 or another gave birth at the same age. Below 30, anything would be attributed to luck or in your case…

“What are you doing currently?” somebody asks you, “The little baby of our class.”

Swallowing your third tequila shot of the night, you wonder for the umpteenth time how you had become a part of this giant sharing circle. You wonder if it’s a blessing or a curse that you had graduated a little early and thus was younger than most of your peers.

“Well,” you start, “I’m currently working at DailyHive.”

“Ohh!” a man gushes. You recognize him as the once-upon-a-time science partner you used to cheat notes off of. “I use DailyHive nearly as much as Instagram these days. You guys cover everything from news to sports to fashion.”

You shrug. “Yeah. It’s, uh… it’s a pretty big company!”

“What are you doing there?”

Kiko-ex-Sooyoung hits the man teasingly on the shoulder. “Y/N is probably the Director of Marketing or something. Remember how she used to spend all class doodling in her notebook?”

“Or sleeping!” someone quips.

You don’t join in when they all laugh.

“I’m…an intern,” you say with as much pride as you can in a group of established professionals ranging from dermatologists to that one guy who had flown around the world as a TedTalk guest speaker.

A hushed silence befalls everyone.

“That’s…cool!” the same man encourages you, “Interns are totally rad! Everyone wants an intern spot these days.”

His girlfriend pats your arm, almost empathetically. “Yeah. I know a bunch of people who first start off as interns and then they shoot up the ladder quick enough. As long as you’re no longer an intern at 30, you’re golden!”

Once again, the entire group laughs as if she has said the most hilarious of jokes.

She composes herself and says to you, “Because after that, you should have accomplished something.”

Her words still ring in your ears as you sit at your desk this morning.

Yeah…something. All you need to do is accomplish something in the next three months before you are officially, 29 + 1.

Your fingers tap against your thighs silently while you observe the current debate that is occurring in the conference room. You barely have time to sweep the falling hair back behind your ear as your fingers ferociously fly across the keyboard to keep in track with the meeting.

Fei is arguing that the implement of a new search word system would boost users while Daniel says that it is a waste of resources. Instead, everything should be put into updating the entire system as a whole. You have long since lost track of their words as neither pertain to what you do as an intern.

“Enough,” the CEO of DailyHive holds up a hand. His one word causes the entire room to hush over – truly, the words of a god.

And that might as well be what he is. With his hair swept back and a lone tendril curling perfectly above his brow, Kim Seokjin is legitimately a walking god. Off his broad shoulders hang an expensive white linen suit bought with his pocket change and your yearly salary. A pair of sunglasses hangs in the V of the collared shirt dipping low enough to blur the lines between being fashionably professional and just downright sexy.

The snap of his fingers brings you back to the present.

He dramatically rolls his eyes and accepts that you are an incompetent minute-taker.  

“I have to remember that the world just doesn’t move as fast as I do.”  

                                                            - Quote: Rolling Stones 2019 Kim Seokjin.

Now if only he’d remember he had once said that.

He points at each of them with one finger, then swipes to the left. “Both of you, solve this outside. I don’t want to hear your voices any longer. You two from the marketing team, Ungroomed Stache and Acne Chin, create me a report if we are to implement Ms. Song’s idea. The two of you from…” he takes a pause here clearly having forgotten who his employees are, “The two of you do the same thing but for Mr. Hwang.”

The pair from accounting open their mouth to protest that they are in charge of only numbers, but they are ignored.

“All of you out now. Except you,” he points his finger directly at you, “Stay.”

Nobody utters a single word until they have all left and you are left alone with him. Standing before him with your hands folded nicely in front of you, you blink and wait.

He stares right back at you, picks up his coffee mug and drops it. The clatter of ceramic smashing against the ground causes a pause in the loud buzz outside the room. You know everybody’s focus has been shifted into the room.

“Do you want to kill me?” he drawls.

You take a long inhale. “No,” you say.

“No?” he repeats the word, “Well I think you do. Did you check this coffee before you brought it to me? I tasted cinnamon in it. You know how I’m allergic to cinnamon. Get me a new cup. And this mess, get somebody to clean it. I don’t want the smell of coffee in this room when I have my next meeting here in twenty. I’m taking a smoke a break.”

He stands up and brushes past you without saying anything else.

Nobody can be allergic to cinnamon. Besides if he had actually tasted cinnamon and was that sensitive, he would be dead. And good riddance to that.

Of course, you say none of this and wordlessly begin to pick up the broken ceramic pieces of the dead mug. The bustling outside the meeting room has returned back to its normal state of chaos. Seeing the ugly stain of coffee on the once pristine carpet causes you to swear beneath your breath.

“Who the fuck is allergic to cinnamon?” a new voice says, sliding up beside you.  

The second god in DailyHive; the much nicer and evidently preferred Kim; Taehyung takes the mug pieces from you and drops it into the garbage bin.

Blessed with not only intelligence but devilishly model-like features, he is your desk buddy in the small space allotted for interns and your sole friend in the company.

“Tae,” you sigh with exasperation upon seeing your lifesaver, “What am I going to do about this stain? He’s going to return in fifteen and there’s no way I can get a coffee stain out of this expensive-ass carpet.”

Taehyung taps a long finger to his lips, leaves the room briefly, and returns with a roll of Bounty sheets and a can of Febreze. He promptly blots as much of the coffee off from the carpet then proceeds to pull the meeting table.

“C’mon, Y/N, don’t just stand there. Help me! Time is of the essence!”

You laugh and join him in moving the table so that one of the legs cover the stain 80% of the way. Once he is satisfied, he takes the Febreze and sprays until the whole room smells like “Hawaiian Aloha”.

“You’re welcome.” He gives an extravagant bow, the motion popping open the top button of his shirt to expose a surprisingly chiseled chest.

Fei returns back into the room holding a phone to her ear and a clipboard in her left hand. “What the hell? It smells like a Bath & Body Works in here. Intern, aren’t you supposed to be filing or something? Stop standing around and be useful.” She grips Taehyung’s arm and drags him out of the room. “Button up. This is a professional workplace.”

You give him a tiny wave as Taehyung is steered away by his girlfriend and back to the cubicles.

Taehyung may be your saviour at work, but outside, it cannot be denied that your brother is the true Fountain of Life.

A week has passed since the coffee incident (you suspect a cleaning personnel had found the stain and cleaned up after your improv as aforementioned stain can no longer be found), but Jimin still brings it up.

“I still can’t believe that he said he was allergic to cinnamon. I’ve never heard of such bullshit before,” your brother says over the phone. You can practically hear his eyeroll from across the world.

As a renowned ophthalmologist, you have not seen Jimin for close to a year as he has been initiating his new clinic, a flying eye hospital.

“You should hear his Starbucks order. I always feel like I’m ready to launch my next EP whenever I’m at the counter,” you say.

Jimin laughs. There is the muffled sounds of voices as his never-ending flow of patients have arrived for the day.

“I shouldn’t keep you,” you say upon hearing that, “You’re probably really busy.”

“No,” he says, “I’ve got a few minutes if you’ve got a few. I miss talking to my baby sister.”

“I’m not a baby anymore, Jiminie,” you say using the nickname he hated.

“Oh that’s right. Your birthday’s in a little under three months, right? My baby sister is turning the big three-oh.”

“God, don’t remind me.”

“Want me to come visit you?”

You contemplate the idea once, having not seen Jimin in quite a while.

“Only if you have time. But I feel like Mom and Dad would probably want to see you more. Speaking of which, um… How are Mom and Dad?”

“They’re good. I hear Dad is finally going to retire this year. He’s giving his practice to Kibum, you remember him? Mom will probably start pestering us about what to do for his retirement party.”

There is a pause.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to say hi to them once in a while.”

You sigh. “And say what? Hey, it’s me. The child that ran away from home at 18? Yeah, I’m not a doctor like everybody else in the family but a 29 year old intern at a popular app company. Whassuuup?”

“Y/N, that’s not what I – ”

“It’s okay, Jimin. I’ve come to accept that not everybody is cut out to be a doctor. I just wish Mom and Dad could realize that.”

Jimin sighs on your behalf. There is the sound of a crying child coming through the earphone. “Well, your contract expires a few weeks after your birthday, right? Who knows, you might be the next Mark Zuckerberg.”

He has never explicitly inquired about your life plan and you know this is as much as he is willing to push without asking, “What’s next after this intern hiccup?” At least he had the decency to compare you to a controversial Internet entrepreneur.

The child is crying much louder now.

“Again with my birthday. But I’ll let you know,” is the only reply you can come up with at the moment. “Okay, brother, go forth and heal the blind. I bless thee in the name of the Holy Spirit, Son and Ghost.”

There is true laughter that rings from Jimin as he ends the call. “It’s Father, Son and Holy Ghost you dweeb. I love you sis.”

“You too.” You hang up first before he can add anything else.

With that, you enter into the 7am Starbucks queue and prepare yourself in running the first single of your long overdue EP.

Seokjin leans back in his chair, watching you from inside his office. Today he has chosen a black turtleneck and a brazen maroon-nearly purple suit jacket to complete the outfit. For once, there is an empty mug of coffee beside him and his morning headache has been appeased.

He knew he had given you an impossible task.

“Compile all the troubleshooting errors we have received since the launch of DailyHive. Organize it in a manner that allows me to identify the most prominent problem. Run it through whomever you please before giving it to me. I don’t need to waste my time correcting your mistakes.”

There is an amused smile that bubbles beneath his otherwise stoic features. He cannot deny that there is, might he dare say, a cute quality about you as you manually scan through the received concerns on your laptop dating back to the initial beta tests – the ones that were lost in a data crash and only backed up with unintelligible scribblings of previous interns.

The moment you had been introduced as the new intern, you had caught his eye. You are exquisitely mundane, and perhaps the reason you had even caught him the first time was due to solely to the fact that you were older than most interns – himself even. Nevertheless, you continue to present him small surprises in your tenacity and capability to tackle challenges.

“Mr. Kim.”

His intercom comes alive with the voice of his secretary.

Seokjin’s eyes do not leave you as he answers.

“Mr. Hwang is on line two. Would you like me to defer him to a later time if you are currently busy?”

Seokjin cannot help but sigh. Hwang Junho, his co-founder, while a genius in international business is also a notorious chatterbox and gossip. There is seldom a reason for Junho to call him except to relay the cover titles of E!Magazine.

“Did he mention a reason for calling?” Seokjin inquires.

His secretary seems to be reading from a note. “He says it’s to do with the company. Something he read from Cosmopolitan this morning.”

So not E! but another sister celebrity gossip blog. He checks his watch and duly notes that he certainly has no meetings scheduled until later in the afternoon where your report would be needed to run a preliminary analysis.

“Sir?”

“Yes, put him through. But tell him I’ve got only five minutes, so he’s better give me the Cliffnotes version,” Seokjin sighs again.

Before he can be connected, Seokjin quickly says, “What’s the name of that intern again?”

“Who?” his secretary asks, “We’ve hired four since the beginning of the year.”

“The one who keeps wanting to poison me.”

“I’m sorry, Sir?” she sounds concerned.

“The one who keeps forgetting that I despise cinnamon.”

There is no response.

“The older one. Spilled coffee a while ago but still has enough coordination to pull together a decent report.”

“Ah,” she says.

He waits patiently as she searches through the database, eventually giving him your name. He gives a slight pause and then says, “Good. Now patch me with Junho.”

There is a momentary buzz as the call becomes connected in which Seokjin turns over the syllables of your name wordlessly.

“Mr. Kim. The man of the hour. How are you, my brother?” Junho’s baritone fills the office in a manner of seconds.

Despite the little annoying quirks, Seokjin cannot help but smile when hearing the voice of his best friend.

“You’ve got three minutes, Junho.”

Junho grumbles. “That’s not my fault. You were the one still on the line with your secretary. Is it still Yerin? ‘Cuz I won’t blame you if that’s the case. Did I catch you doing some naughty phone sex during office hours?”

“Two.”

“Holy hell. Fine. It’s always business with you. That’s why the tabloids are always writing you as an uptight asshole.”

This shifts Seokjin’s attention to the phone. His name is seldomly mentioned except for the features in business columns. He prefers to stay out of the limelight.

“What?”

“Put your name on Google.”

Seokjin does as he is told.

There are millions of results, but the first few pages share the same headline. He clicks on the first one with a grimace.

“Kim Seokjin. Mr. Worldwide Handsome as noted by his fans, has recently sparked Internet outrage.”

A quick skim of the otherwise trashy article brought to the surface a summary: his last dating scandal had ended badly and the repercussions of blowing off a famous celebrity’s daughter had finally caught up with him. The Internet was calling him arrogant, narrow-minded, and even greedy. “The young Chief Executive Officer of booming social media app DailyHive has been accused of using his relationship with actress XYZ to further his own business. Once he gained recognition from aforementioned relationship, he has cold-heartedly cast her away to pursue his next.” “You’re calling me for this bullshit?” Seokjin scoffs. Junho tuts his tongue loudly. “This is not bullshit. It’s affecting the image of your company. Do you think people want to download and support an app that is run by somebody who is being called cruel and dishonest? You’ve got to address this soon before it gets out of control. You’re lucky I have alerts set for these type of things. I caught it for you just in the nick of time.” Seokjin inhales deeply. “You’re also lucky that I’ve got the perfect solution in mind.” “That is?” “The Silver Gala,” Junho references the prestigious event. The Silver Gala is hosted annually and attended by the largest celebrities as well as other wealthy investors and guests. Those in the social circle shared between Seokjin and Junho often yearned for tickets to attend events such as this, as they serve as excellent networking opportunities. Besides the above, such events are circled by reporters and writers of gossip columns to get the exclusive scoop on any eyebrow-raising rumours. “The solution lies in such an event,” Junho continues, “You know how many people will be there. All you’ve got to do is show up with your average girl-next-door type and it’ll show how you’re actually really humble and down to earth. Kim Seokjin is perfectly capable of dating like any regular human being. He doesn’t use “love” or whatever to further his business. Love is the connection between two souls; two individuals who – ” “Beep. Your time has run out Junho. I’ve got another meeting scheduled right this moment,” Seokjin interrupts. “Dude, seriously. Think about it. You could bring Yerin. Everbody loves a good CEO and his secretary affair. And if that’s too juicy for you, I can introduce you to some girls. Or maybe we could go back to our university days and hit a bar, y’know?” Junho tries his best to persuade. “Fuck!” you swear beneath your breath right as you walk into Kim Seokjin’s office. His door had been open and, in your excitement to show your completed report, you had dropped all the loose papers on the ground. Four hours of organization gone, just like that. You hope that at least Seokjin hasn’t heard or noticed you as he had been engrossed in his phone call. Seokjin had in fact noticed you. He can’t help himself but follow the curvature of your bare shoulder as your bangs escape the hold of your scrunchie and sweep across your skin. “Don’t worry, Junho, I’ve just thought about it,” he says with a smile.

[antique-traveler]

ok ok but literally imagine an AU where matt is a professor and foggy is a student (not a problematic age gap i swear. matt’s a young professor) where karen is kinda like matt’s assistant teacher (she teaches some lessons from a journalism standpoint and she’s always hanging around with him)

anyways, theyre like the ‘cool teachers’ (like the teachers that everyone’s comfortable making a dirty joke with and they do prank wars every now and then, that type beat)

foggy’s a student along with marci, and let’s just say on day one of that class he’s already absolutely head over heels for this hot professor that has an absolutely adorable smile and laugh. but as time goes on, foggy sees how karen and matt interact and is mortified when marci makes a comment about them making a cute couple. his fantasy ends pretty fast after that. of course, matt and karen aren’t dating (lesbian karen rights) but they’re that type of besties where they’re always platonically touching (maybe a goodbye kiss but they’re both touch starved and single and i believe in kissing ur homies

so foggy has to just COPE until one day (maybe in june for pride) matt mentions that he’s gay and foggy just GAPES

okay so i tweaked this a little bit and made matt and karen both be ta's, just cause you usually need a lot of experience to be an actual professor and i didn't want this to be a problematic age gap thing lol. thank you so much for the request!!

1.6k, T, no warnings

Foggy felt like such a cliche. From the second he stepped into his Contracts Law class for the first time, he immediately had the most embarrassing, juvenile, heart-stuttering, cheek-reddening crush on one of the teacher’s assistants. Don’t get him wrong, both of the TA’s were smoking hot, and Karen had a certain naive charm to her, but something about that boy, Matt, just wormed its way into Foggy’s brain, and he couldn’t get him off his mind. His shy smile, the well-built frame that hid beneath his loose sweatshirts, his quick wit and biting sense of humor, everything about him made Foggy’s heart go into overdrive. 

Marci had noticed, of course she had, and made it her personal duty to make Foggy’s life a living hell. Every single time they walked into the lecture hall together, every single time, Marci would start quietly humming Hot for Teacher, only loud enough for Foggy to hear. She made jokes about the doe eyes that Foggy very much did not make at Matt, thank you very much, she sighed wistfully every time Foggy even mentioned his name, she even went as far as to cover a sheet of paper in doodles of “Mr. Foggy Murdock” and “Foggy + Matt = 2Gether 4Ever” and hide it in one of his notebooks. She was insufferable.

Even worse than that, though, was the fact that Matt was obviously straight, and obviously dating Karen. When Professor Hale went on one of his long, arduous lectures, the two of them would sit pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, snickering to each other all the while. They walked to and from class together, sometimes Karen would even come in wearing one of Matt’s hoodies. Between the embarrassment of having a crush on his TA, Marci’s constant joking, and Matt and Karen’s obvious relationship, Foggy was, to put it simply, living in hell.

Even if Professor Hale was boring as sin, Foggy still tended to like his class, if only because of the twenty to thirty minutes there always was left at the end of the lecture. Foggy had a chance to get a head start on his homework, sometimes even finish it, and Matt and Karen would go out into the class to mingle with students. It was, of course, under the guise of helping anyone with any questions they had, but for the most part they tended to just hang out and joke around. The downside though, was that they clearly preferred to hand out and joke around with Foggy and Marci. Foggy was sure this was some sort of karmic punishment for a horrible sin he’d committed in a past life. 

It was mid-October when the four of them first really clicked. Professor Hale finished his lesson about twenty minutes early and forgotten to give anyone homework, so Foggy got to spend the whole time just hanging out with Marci, Karen, and Matt, all the while putting in a very conscious effort to not act as stupid and lovesick as he was.

Foggy couldn’t take his eyes off of Matt. He spoke with such an ease and confidence, it was nearly impossible to not hang onto his every word. His jokes were perfectly timed, and expertly walked the line between bitingly sarcastic and sincerely good-natured. Foggy could listen to him talk about anything, from the weather to the Supreme Court. The tone of his voice, the way he gestured with his hands as he spoke, the subtle bob of his Adam’s apple, all of it was magnetic. 

Eventually the lecture hall was empty, except for their little ragtag group of four, and Foggy was starting to actually relax. He was feeling all warm and light at the way Matt laughed at one of his jokes, when he was interrupted by an alarm going off on Marci’s phone.

“Oh, shit,” she said, staring at the screen scornfully. “I have a study group at the library I’m gonna be late for, I gotta go.”

Karen perked up. “Oh, I was gonna head to the Law Library today, too. Let’s walk together.” She stood and handed Marci her bag from where it was resting on the chair next to her.

“For sure,” Marci said brightly. She turned back and smiled sharply at Foggy and Matt. “You boys have fun.” Foggy was gonna kill her.

Karen paused by the door for Marci to catch up, and raised her voice slightly. “Movie night at my place tonight, right, Matt?”

Matt turned toward her. “Yeah, uh, Roman Holiday, right?”

“Yeah! See you then!” Karen held the door open for Marci, and the next thing he knew, Foggy and Matt were alone.

A thick silence hung between them, and Foggy felt like he had to break it or else he’d molt out of his skin like a spider. “You, uh, watching the classics or something?”

“Yeah,” Matt smiled, “Karen says I need to pay more attention to pop culture.”

Foggy snickered. “Does she know that Roman Holiday came out in, like, the 50’s? I don’t know if it’s really pop culture anymore at this point.”

“That’s what I told her,” Matt said with a laugh, “but she thinks I need to spend less time studying, so she’s just making me watch as many movies as possible. I actually almost agree with her.”

“Do you not have any, like, hobbies?” Foggy asked, letting himself ease into the conversation a little more.

“Probably not as many as I should. I mean, I work out, but I don’t know if that counts as a hobby, per se. Karen’s been trying to get me to relax more, though, so I’ve started hanging out with her and her girlfriend recently. It was actually her girlfriend that suggested we do a movie night.” 

Foggy blinked dumbly and tried to process that information. “Oh, I thought– I thought you and Karen were, like, together.”

Matt scrunched up his nose and laughed. “Oh, no. We both… play for different teams.”

“Oh,” Foggy said before realizing what Matt meant. “Oh! So, you’re…”

“Gay,” Matt finished with a smile. “So’s Karen.”

“C–Cool! Yeah, I’m bisexual, so, you know, go– good for you. For us. Cause we’re both– well, all three of us are. Like that. Gay. Or– or bi, in my case.” Foggy was about to sprint out of the room and into oncoming traffic.

Matt, thank God, just laughed and changed the subject, letting Foggy blush like a middle schooler in peace until they eventually headed back to their respective dorms.

Foggy shut the door to his thankfully empty dorm with a sigh and immediately pulled out his phone. He paced nervously around the room as he waited for Marci to pick up, probably wearing a hole into the carpet.

“What’s up, Foggy Bear?” Marci said through the phone once she picked up.

Foggy’s head snapped up and he stopped pacing. “Did you know that Matt and Karen aren’t together?”

“Well, yeah. They’re both gay,” she answered matter-of-factly.

“And you just, what, let me keep believing they were dating to fuck with me?”

“Yep,” Marci said, her voice cool and even. “I’m glad you finally figured it out, it was starting to get a little boring.”

“Marci, what the genuine, actual fuck?” Foggy started pacing again, anxiously running a hand through his hair. “You’ve been teasing me for months about liking a straight guy who is literally the exact opposite of straight.”

“Uh-huh. I like watching you squirm.” With that, she hung up and left Foggy pacing in his room in silence. Maybe he could get Matt to be his lawyer when he went to trial for killing Marci in cold blood.

A week later and Foggy was back in his Contracts Law class, still giving Marci the stink eye and still having heart palpitations every time Matt smiled at him. This time, as the four of them chatted at the end of class, Matt seemed stiffer, quieter than he usually did, his leg bounced anxiously and his cheeks had a slight pink flush that didn’t seem to fade. 

Eventually, class came to a close, and the four of them stood up to go their separate ways. Well, the four of them except for Matt, who stayed in his seat and bit his lip. “Hey, Foggy, hold on a second,” he called out once Foggy was a few yards away.

Foggy felt his heart jump into his throat and he stepped back towards Matt. “What’s up?”

Matt seemed to straighten out, that confident smile made its way back onto his face, and his voice regained the same self-assured clarity it always had. “Do you wanna get some coffee sometime? Just the two of us? There’s a great place just across the street from the Law Library that I think you’ll like.”

Foggy didn’t know if his heart was still in his throat, because he was pretty sure it stopped beating entirely. Did insanely hot Matt Murdock just ask him out? Like, on a date?

Matt blushed a fantastic shade of red and laughed. “Yeah, I did.”

“Wha- fuck, did I actually say that out loud?” Foggy asked, praying for the building to get nuked so he wouldn’t have to deal with the embarrassment that was crawling its way through his chest.

“Yeah. Glad to know you think I’m hot, though. Definitely makes me a little more confident that you’ll say yes.” Matt’s blush receded slightly and his smile turned cocky.

“Uh, y– yeah, yes! I’d love to get coffee with you!” 

“Great, does tomorrow work for you? Around ten?”

“Yes! Perfect! Tomorrow at ten!”

Matt stood up and grabbed his shoulder bag, giving Foggy’s arm a squeeze before unfolding his cane and heading towards the door. “Cool. I’ll see you then, Foggy.”

Foggy didn’t even respond, just felt his insides turn into a sort of warm, mushy goo that made him feel floaty all over.

Ten minutes later, he slammed his door and pulled out his phone. “Fuck you, Marci, turns out teacher’s hot for me, too.”

[dindjarindiaries]

Mandoctober - October 29: Gloves

summary: The Mandalorian, filled with a longing and passion for you, desires to finally remove his gloves and let his skin meet yours.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x gn!reader

warnings: so much yearning/tenderness, shy!din, fluff, mentions of death/violence

rating: T

word count: 1.493k

mandoctober masterlist

october 29: gloves

He needs to touch you.

The Mandalorian has been sure of this for a long time, now, but the quick brush with death on his latest job has finally pushed him over the edge. He feels no hesitation anymore. He knew when he was pinned to the ground with a blade above his neck and all he could think of was your voice, commanding so sweetly that he “stay safe” and “return soon.” He knew when he began to fear what might happen to you if he should die, how you and the child would possibly cope with that and stay safe. He knew when all it took was that much for him to fight back harder than ever, easily overcoming it all with a fire burning in his very bones.

The least he can do, now, is at least hold one of your hands in his—without the barrier of his gloves.

When the Razor Crest comes into sight, the Mandalorian heaves a sigh of relief. He quickens his steps, tapping his vambrace until the hatch opens up for him. Thankfully, he already returned the quarry on this same planet, so the only thing the Mandalorian needs to concern himself with is maintaining his motivation to ask for your hand as he ascends his way up into the hull.

Of course, you’re already waiting there for him. “You’re back,” you breathe with the same relief the Mandalorian feels, smiling as you set the sleeping baby in your arms into his pram. “I was beginning to get worried.”

The Mandalorian closes the hatch, making sure the rest of the hull is secure as he speaks. “Don’t,” he urges you softly. He then faces you, tilting his helmet with sympathy. “But, I’m… sorry for worrying you.”

You shake your head with a fond smile. “I should know better than to worry about you returning, Mando. You can always handle yourself.”

The Mandalorian nearly chuckles at that, continuing past you to head up to the cockpit. You follow close beside him, as always. The Mandalorian can feel his chest warm up at the thought. He wills himself to keep up the strength he’s just boasted about, refusing to go another trip through hyperspace without knowing the feeling of your hand in his. His thoughts are full of nothing but you as he sits in his chair, his hands flying over the controls skilfully nonetheless. The Crest soon gets back into the air and off the planet, headed to your next unknown location on the run as the Mandalorian leans back in his chair with a gentle breath.

“You seem tired.” Your soothing voice causes the Mandalorian to spin around in his chair, facing where you sit just behind him. Your gaze is full of genuine care and concern and the Mandalorian is certain he could absolutely melt just at the sight of it. “Would you like me to watch the controls so you can sleep?”

The Mandalorian sets his fidgeting hands on his lap. “No, thank you.” He hesitates, catching a breath in his throat as he struggles to find the right words. You tilt your head at him, patient as you wait for him to piece his thoughts together. It only makes the Mandalorian feel even more flustered. “I… I would like to stay here. With you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah?” Your voice is so soft that the Mandalorian’s surprised the rumbling draft of the Crest’s cockpit doesn’t keep him from hearing it.

“Yeah.” The Mandalorian swallows hard, summoning the strength of his warrior ancestors as he keeps going. “Cyar’ika, I have something to confess.”

Your brow furrows in the right amount of concern. You lean further on the edge of your seat, coming closer to the Mandalorian in a way that nearly makes his heart stop. “I’m listening.”

The Mandalorian nods, his gaze falling to his gloved hands for a moment before he looks back at you through his visor. “I would like to… hold your hand.”

Your gaze softens even more at his words. The ghost of a smile appears on your lips as you shuffle even closer to him. “Of course, Mando.” You pause as you look away from his gaze for a moment. “I would like that, too.”

The Mandalorian begins to smile to himself beneath the helmet. He starts to reach his left hand towards yours, watching yours come close to meeting his. Just before they touch, the Mandalorian hesitates, causing your gaze to meet his through the visor as he makes his last request known. “Can you take my glove off?” His rasp is so soft and gentle that it barely makes its way through his modulator.

You just smile more. “Sure.” You keep your voice just as soft, gingerly reaching forward as both your hands reach for the edge of his glove. Slowly and ever so tenderly, you start to pull at the leather material, one hand beginning to work at his fingertips while the other stays firm on the seam. The Mandalorian’s breath is held in his chest, his heart feeling as if it’s about to fly through his chest already. He nearly weeps at the way your fingertips start to brush over the back of his hand as you finish sliding the material off, handing it out for him to take. He grabs it in his right hand, holding it tight in a fist as his left hand hangs in the air, a symbol of trust as he waits for you to take it.

When you do, the Mandalorian can’t suppress the short gasp that falls from his lips, overwhelmed somehow by even this small touch. Your skin is so warm, your fingers soft as they caress the scarred skin that’s so in need of an innocent touch. Your thumb brushes over his knuckles in a way that’d have his knees weak if he wasn’t already sitting, your gaze studying his hand as if you’re trying to memorize its every feature. Your thumb then moves to the small mark of ink in the place between his forefinger and thumb, the circles representing a bullseye in a memory that makes the Mandalorian chuckle to himself.

“You have a tattoo,” you say fondly, meeting the Mandalorian’s gaze with a smile you’re trying to bite back.

The Mandalorian chuckles again. “I was young. I… didn’t think much of it.”

Your gaze falls to it again. “I like it.” The Mandalorian remains silent, unsure if he’d even be able to get the words out if he tried to speak. Your fingers come to meet the end of his, your gaze meeting his visor again as you start to bring his hand closer to you. “Is it okay if I…?” You lift his hand higher, moving towards your lips.

The Mandalorian can’t do anything other than nod. He watches with awe as you lift his knuckles to your lips, leaving a gentle kiss there. Your lips are even softer than your fingers, your breath even warmer as you hover above the place and smile at him. The Mandalorian returns it and—for the first time since bringing you aboard the Crest—wishes you could truly see it.

You bring your hands back to where they were, slowly threading your fingers through his until your palms meet. The Mandalorian stares at your connection with fondness, unable to believe he’s truly getting to experience this. There’s a spark he can feel that’s setting his whole being on fire, making him crave even more contact, even more of you. But this satisfies him for now. The Mandalorian’s not sure he could handle much more.

“You… have beautiful hands, cyar’ika,” the Mandalorian murmurs, allowing his thumb to run over one of your knuckles in a way that noticeably makes goosebumps rise on your skin.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, now almost just as shy as the Mandalorian as he watches your eyes sparkle warmly at him. “So do you, Mando.”

The Mandalorian holds your hand tighter, closing his eyes and absorbing the feeling as he lets his next words slip before he can catch them. “Din, cyar’ika. My name is… Din.”

The Mandalorian can sense your smile even before he reopens his eyes and sees it staring back at him. “Din,” you repeat in a voice just above the whisper, causing a pleasant chill to run down Din’s spine. “It’s perfect.”

He smiles to himself once again, holding your hand tighter as he speaks. “Shi as gar.” Just like you.

The Mandalorian, for the first time since he swore the Creed, decides he may not need to wear his gloves as much anymore.

mandoctober tag list: @the-navistar-carol

permanent tag list: @mikahid @bestintheparsec @stilllivindue2spite @givemethatgold @xbrujita @mandalorianspace @blushingwueen @sevvysaurus @myakai13 @thisis-theway @beskars @rachelloveseveryone @theindiealto @hiscyarika @wickedfrsgrl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @bookwafflefangirl @charliepeaceout @cable-kenobi @ezraslittleblondestreak @hdlynn @your-pixels-are-showing @b0n-chann @javier-djarin @nettyklecan @mistermiraclee @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @smellssharpies @catfishingmorales @wille-zarr @kaetastic @saltywintersoldat @agentpike @mrsparknuts @readsalot73 @yespolkadotkitty @mandhoelorian @lilangeldevil006 @roxypeanut @hail-doodles @randomness501 @this-cat-is-dea @hopplessdreamer @paintballkid711 @dracos-jedi-marvel @whataenginerd @katlikeme @petertingless @propertyofdindjarin @theocatkov @bisexual-space-slut @cyaredindjarin @arkofblake @cryptkeepersoul @motleymoose @mrschiltoncat @f0rever15elf @lady-of-nightmares-and-heartache @rogueonestan @goldafterglow @thedevilwearsbeskar @badassbaker @pancakepike @alwritey-aphrodite @mymindisawhirpool @antmnwasp @capbrie @freak-of-nature2002 @arabellathorne @mandilflorian @phoenixhalliwell @beiroviski @darthadeline @cheriedjarin @edencherries @mstgsmy @seasonschange-butpeopledont @buckysbeloved @poesflygirl @weirdowithnobeardo @dee-rosemary @ceebeetheartdork @kiwi-the-first @mitchi-c @arcaeperditaeinimicus @thatgirlselectryc @littlevodika​

mandalorian tag list: @lola-wolf​ @hoodedbirdie​ @chibi-liz05​ @nerd-without-a-cause​ @hdlynn​ @thepjofanqueen​ @bwemph​ @starwarsslytherin​ @iellarenuodolorian​ @littlevodika​ @jjemcarstairs​ @promiscuoussatan​ @fahrenheit-not​ @vernon-dursley​

[prompt-master]

Bear Trap (Part 2/3)

Art done by @doodles-by-noodles

Kyoko was hunched over Makoto, her eyes were darting from place to place over his body. Taking in every gash and tear before acting. Time was critical. She needed to know exactly how to treat him, or Makoto could die right there in front of her. Judging by the sound of his breathing, stressed and heavy, she could tell he’d already lost a lot of blood. Well, not that you needed her expertise to determine that. You could just look at the splattered pink around them. 

“It doesn’t look good,” She had said to Byakuya. It doesn’t look good. Seriously?

“No shit it doesn’t look good,” he spat out, sounding as intolerable as he did the first day they’d met in the killing game “I do have eyes, you know.“ 

Her right eye twitched. The logical side of her said this was just how Byakuya handled stress, by disconnecting himself and becoming irritable instead. The emotional side of her wanted him to shut the hell up. She opted to spare him little more than a glare before placing a hand on Makoto’s neck to check his pulse. It was beating rather hard and fast. It was strange really. She felt as though he was already dead. But that didn’t make any sort of logical sense. He was warm, he was still bleeding, he was shaking, and panting. All of this was right in her hands to be directly experienced. But he still felt like he was dead, putting her fingers to his limp neck. 

She had a morbid thought just then. About how her talents were used to help after a death, never really before one.

"You need bandages,” Byakuya said, ever so helpfully, “how else will you stop the bleeding? Or did the panic render you useless?" 

Kyoko took a deep breath. 

Makoto wouldn’t fight right now, not during an emergency, and neither would she. It’s just how he copes. It’s just how he copes…

"Tear up your jacket then.” She stated, “I’m not certain mine will be enough." 

She had to spark herself into action. She couldn’t let herself fall to something as simple as shock. She had been given mortician training as a part of the Kirigiri Family teachings so that she would have complete expertise on how different injuries came to be. She could glance at the wound on his back and see that it was given to him by the claws of a Mono Unit at a rather awkward angle. As she tied torn pieces of her blazer around his wounds so that they’d hold pressure - she only had two hands after all - she was able to get the entire story of all the brutal suffering Makoto just went through. 

She had seen bodies fresh from the morgue slapped down onto a table in front of her. She had witnessed the aftermath of horrors such as slit throats and dismemberment. She had once solved a case in which she found the victim’s severed head hidden underneath the floorboards in a safe. But Makoto’s disfigured leg, mangled to the point where she wondered how it was hanging on, bone sticking out after tearing through the skin, sharp from where metal teeth caused a clean break: THIS out of everything that she had witnessed in her life was what made her want to throw up. 

His arm was also rather damaged. It was hard to make out under torn fabric and blood, but it seemed more salvageable than his leg…she just needed…

"Togami. Your jacket.” Her tone was unforgiving. 

“I’m working on it.” Byakuya retorted back, a hint of offence in his voice.

It’s just how he copes. She felt like her patience for Byakuya was a rubber band in her hands, slowly getting pulled in either direction.

“Work harder." 

"You should be concerned with yourself.”

Deep breaths. The band was taut, shaking from force.

“Is this the best of your abilities?" 

The band snapped. 

"At least I’m actually doing something to help him!" 

Byakuya paused midway through tearing his blazer. Byakuya thought of himself as a capable man, but all his capable talents extended only towards self preservation. The one time he wished he had the skills to help someone else he could only stand and watch. There was nothing that Byakuya hated more  than being helpless. Kyoko’s words reminded him of the time Aoi slapped him back in the killing game. One of the many wake up calls Byakuya had received over the past few years. 

He could remember as clear as day, the wake up call that Kyoko herself had given him back when they hated each other. His fury at being incorrect over Sakura’s death, at not understanding the case, had all been snuffed out when Kyoko told him he simply lacked any emotional capacity to understand. Kirigiri Kyoko of all people. 

Hearing her remind him of his uselessness now with such a harsh tone. Well, it felt like she hated him all over again. 

He was still angry. Angry that he cared, angry that he wasn’t prepared, angry that he was faltering.

"What do you expect me to do?” He demanded. He spat out the words, but his heart was desperate to be given a task. 

“Make sure our emergency call earlier went through. Update the Foundation on the situation.” Right, that all made sense. How had he not seen that before? It almost made the emergency feel like a quick business move. He could handle that. Kyoko looked up from tending a wound on Makoto’s stomach, the worry in her eyes made him feel sick. “…and when you’re done, try to keep him awake." 

"Keep him-? He’s awake?” The boy had been so still and silent since they’d discovered his mangled body Byakuya hadn’t even considered that possibility. Upon further inspection Byakuya realized Makoto was never still or quiet. The distance he’d kept away from the scene prevented him from hearing the panting or noticing the trembling racking his body. 

A simple “yes” was all he’d gotten in response. He didn’t push or question any further though, it was clear Kyoko had a lot to focus on right now. Makoto’s life was in her hands, and neither wanted him to die like this. Kyoko could only estimate the ETA on help arriving, and she was fearing they would be too late. Memories flashed through her mind of running stitches through the skin of a banana peel during training. But she had nothing to work with, and certainly nothing sterile. Kyoko didn’t believe in God, but she prayed that an infection wouldn’t strike later. 

It was looking hopeless. 

“They said they’ll be here with a helicopter in half an hour." 

Right. She forgot Byakuya was even there. She tied another knot over a wound. Despite her heartbeat moving her entire body with its pounding, her hands remained steady. Just like when stitching banana skin shut. Another deep breath, her hands will stay steady. Any mistake could cause an issue. Mistakes could cause browning fruit to gush between the stitches. Nothing more than an insignificant rotting pile of ruined fruit splattered and smothered against the street like-

"Don’t just stand there, ” she took another deep breath, her hands will stay steady, “keep him awake." 

When Byakuya came over to take place near Makoto’s head she waited for him to pass her the tattered cloths she’d been waiting for. She ended up discovering he’d already thrown them to her side. She needed to focus more. She was by Makoto’s lower body, only half a mind paying attention to what Byakuya was doing. 

Makoto had never looked so disgustingly pale before, and he was the kind of person to lose all color when frightened. His mouth was slightly parted as his breathing continued to take a toll on him. A cold sweat had begun to break out on his clammy face, with a fever glowing across his skin from the blood loss and pain. What made Byakuya the most concerned though were his eyes, half lidded and staring at nothing in particular. His eyes fluttered, but his pupils were lazily taking in the world around him as if he was trying to understand what was going on but couldn’t take hold of anything tangible.

Byakuya held a hand up and froze. He was unsure what to do, all of this was out of his element. He wanted to push it all an arm’s length away. It was a simple task. Just keep him awake. But did he know what to do? In movies he’d seen people slap others awake. But Makoto was hurt, so shouldn’t he be gentle? Why was he even fussing over the method? There was no need to hesitate. He’d touched a corpse before, he could push through any nerves to handle this.

Byakuya put a hand to his face. After an unsure pause his thumb slowly caressed the skin of his cheek in an act of comfort that Makoto probably didn’t even register.

"Naegi, can you hear me?" 

There was a delay in his response, eyes heavily rolling side to side before settling on Byakuya. After the first small victory he prepared to speak, licking his lips and swallowing thickly. The delay felt like hours.

"T'gami…..kun?” Makoto’s lips felt heavy as he spoke.

There was an ache in Byakuya’s chest that he wasn’t used to, “The one and only." 

Makoto let out a breathy laugh. His face turned into this familiar dopey, trusting smile that he hated and loved all at the same time. His eyes seemed to lose track of Byakuya for a moment, he tried to match where they went. 

"Hey, eyes on me.” Makoto’s expression seemed to sink a little.

“W-….where's….” He sounded completely breathless and confused, “where’s Kiri…?”

“She’s right here.”

His head barely moved as he tried to see past Byakuya. Through his blurred vision he could make out that familiar lavender hue. Even with the trembling caused from blood loss he relaxed at the sight, letting out a breath when he processed. He closed his eyes, he didn’t see any reason to be scared anymore. 

“Hey, don’t you dare. Open your damn eyes.” Byakuya sounded angry with him, but he was too busy basking in relief.  

“You're….both ok?” His voice was barely above a whisper, if it wasn’t so quiet around them Byakuya would have to strain to hear it. 

“Of course we are.” It was that rare reassuring tone from Byakuya. Short lived before the anger came back, “I believe I gave you an order did I not? Open your eyes." 

To stress his point, Byakuya patted the side of Makoto’s face repeatedly and rather annoyingly. Both of them felt like they should be worried at how hard it was for him to simply open his eyes. It was like prying something off of hardened glue. Byakuya grit his teeth, he had a dreadful feeling that if Makoto closed his eyes again they wouldn’t be opening any time soon. 

"ETA?” Kyoko asked bluntly.

Byakuya didn’t take his eyes off of Makoto, “five minutes haven’t even passed yet.” So, they’re both impatient then. Makoto seemed to grin a small bit hearing Kyoko’s voice. 

He’s conscious, Byakuya reminded himself, which means that he can keep him awake by talking. But what the hell could he say? His mind felt blank, desperately pulling at drawers to find a single conversation topic locked away in his mind. But Makoto’s eyes were still on him. Perhaps the contact was grounding enough? But for how long? Makoto’s breathing felt heavier than before. 

“Why is he breathing so hard?” He opted to talk to Kyoko instead. 

“He’s lost a lot of blood." 

"He’s warm.”

“He’s lost a lot of blood." 

"Shouldn’t that make him cold?" 

"I’d rather it not get that bad. I’m sure his hands are cold if you check.”

She was right, his hands were icy cold. Makoto’s hands always felt a little chilly compared to his. Byakuya always ran hot like a furnace while Makoto was always chilly enough to wear multiple layers (I mean, a hoodie under a blazer? Really Makoto?). But this sensation felt like there was no blood in his hands. Wasn’t that a symptom of shock? His body was prioritizing vital functions just to keep him alive. Byakuya wished he could roll Makoto onto his back and elevate his legs like he’d been taught. But he’d seen the gashes on his back. It was the only injury he really took in. 

“You idiot” the words came through grit teeth, “getting yourself into a mess like this for us to clean up. Typical." 

Guilt could be read on Makoto’s face for a moment. “…yeah.” Byakuya once again felt a pang in his chest. Was that really all Makoto had to say? 

Kyoko managed to do something while working that made Makoto wince. Byakuya didn’t think for once, he just continued to rub slow circles across Makoto’s face.

"Hang in there.” Makoto’s face hadn’t relaxed much, still strained with all the pain he was feeling, “I do not permit you to die like this. Understood?" 

Makoto groaned in response, leaning into the hand that was cupping his face. Once again his eyes lost track, doing a big loop around before snagging back onto Byakuya. 

"Hurts…” he said, breath hitching as more pain shot through his body. 

“You can handle this much. You’ll be fine.”

Earlier Makoto felt relaxed when Kyoko and Byakuya had arrived. Their very presence gave Makoto a hope that he’d survive this. But Byakuya’s expression had gone from angry to worried. His eyebrows were furrowed, creasing lines across his forehead. If even Byakuya was openly worried…how bad was it? 

Makoto felt another harsh shiver run through his body. His face felt hot but everything else was like sharp winter air kept blowing over his skin. As the shiver travelled up his spine it caused pain to flare again. He was met with a harsh reminder to open his eyes from Byakuya. His breathing felt even heavier than before, each breath taking more effort than the last. Byakuya’s face was shifting again, but Makoto could hardly make it out through the greying swirls of dots across his vision. Ah, Byakuya looked scared. So Makoto was going to die then? The only sound he could hear was his own rabbit quick heartbeat threatening to break free from his tattered ribcage. Byakuya’s mouth was moving, but none of it made sense to Makoto. He couldn’t even read his lips. One second it was quick, then slow, like time itself was blending together into something incomprehensible. 

Makoto blinked slowly. 

“Naegi?” Byakuya had gone from tapping his face to shaking his shoulder.  He didn’t get much else besides a distracted groan from Makoto. “Naegi, can you hear me?”

“Don’t shake him like that!” Kirigiri scolded, frustrated as she tried her best not to let the movement interfere with her work. 

Byakuya felt like a life was slipping through his finger tips. His own breathing felt tight in his chest from the pure anxiety that Makoto’s unresponsiveness gave him. 

“Naegi if you don’t answer me right now…” his nails dug into the boy’s shoulders.

Makoto’s eyes rolled up, dropped down, fell to the left, all as if there was a weight to it. Another slow blink. More odd drifting. Not a single response from him. 

“Makoto, say something…” Byakuya ordered, pausing to watch the boy’s face; his voice was quieter than he wanted to admit. “Makoto!" 

Makoto sharply inhaled at the sound. Byakuya sounded scared. Byakuya was never scared. "Nn….” Makoto frowned a little bit in worry. He felt like he was drowning, being pushed beneath thick murky water and whenever he got close enough to the surface to even understand a little bit of what was going on he was shoved back down again. He could see Byakuya look towards Kyoko for a moment and watched his expression fall. 

Focus…focus. If he could just make out the words they were saying. His vision left him for a moment, greying out as his body felt weirdly numb and tingly. It wasn’t a bad feeling. If Makoto were to die here and now…he’d be happy to die next to the people he loved with this strange not-bad feeling. It was much better than bleeding out alone and in pain surrounded by the mascot that caused all this suffering in the first place. He could just drift away, and be able to die peacefully, a luxury most people didn’t get any more. If he could see his own face he was sure a weak smile played on it. 

“What do you mean?!” Byakuya snapped, he glared at her out of habit.

“I mean… just look…” Kyoko’s busy hands paused momentarily to grab more fabric from the dwindling pile. Byakuya looked away from Makoto’s face and his breath caught in his throat. The limb Kyoko was working on barely resembled a leg anymore. She had done a decent job at cleaning up the wounds but it only made it more apparent how… disfigured it was. Nothing about it seemed right.

“He can’t-” the words welled up in Byakuya’s throat. He couldn’t speak the words into existence. If he did, then it would become an undeniable reality. 

But Kyoko didn’t have that same hesitation, “There’s no way his leg can recover from this, and that’s without factoring in the high risk of infection.”

Byakuya’s eyes were glued to the horrific sight. Despite the sight of death becoming background noise to them all, it put a pit in his stomach. He felt disgusting. Like any second now his lunch would come back up. Look closer…it was a miracle the leg was even hanging on at all. Kyoko was right. He would lose his leg. 

Makoto, just barely through the swirls of gray blurs and black spots, could see the desperation and worry on Byakuya and Kyoko’s faces. It was only a small thought  in the back of his mind at first. Just a little whisper. But eventually it became bright and loud. A scream next to his ears. A new hope. 

He didn’t want to die. Not like this. 

He couldn’t leave Byakuya and Kyoko heartbroken. They’d drown in the despair.  Letting their trusted friend, their partner in survival, die after doing everything they could to try and save him? It would be heartbreaking. But Makoto couldn’t even make out the color of sky anymore. He couldn’t move his fingers. He didn’t know if it was possible for him to get out of this one alive, but he wouldn’t spend his last moments watching people he loves suffer. 

“ ‘s… ok…y …gami” Makoto’s tongue felt like lead and moved sluggishly in his mouth. Byakuya wished he could take any form of comfort from the broken sentence. 

The fever from Makoto’s face had gone cold, leaving him with all his blood washed pale skin on full display. Byakuya had to pause to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“Don’t talk like that, you moron. I know what you’re trying to do.” and he did. Byakuya knew that Makoto was trying to make himself and Kyoko more at ease. Even while walking on a tightrope between life and death the bot still wanted to make sure his friends were okay. Byakuya felt rigid in a mixture of irritation and worry.

“It… d’sn’t hur.. nymore…’s okay." 

The words made cold fear run down Byakuya’s spine. He clenched his fists, glaring down at Makoto like he’d insulted him. But his voice was weak, "I told you to stop…" 

"Really…I pr…mise…’s not going to be bad…" 

Byakuya grinded down on his teeth with enough force to hurt his jaw. He exhaled harshly, ignoring Makoto’s words and turning to Kyoko, "Will you hurry up and save him already?!" 

"I’m doing my best! There’s not much I can do!" 

”’re both… really strong… you c’n overcome …‘nything…” Makoto felt a lump in his throat, he wanted to make it seem like everything was gonna be fine, but he knew that no matter what he said… Byakuya and Kyoko were smart. They were smart enough to know he was lying through his teeth. Maybe it was more for him than for them at this point.

“Dammit Makoto if you don’t stop fucking talking that-!“ 

"Tha…’s why I know….you’ll be okay…” He struggled to speak, tongue heavy as lead, and still he tried to make the words clear as possible. He was afraid, he didn’t want to go, not now. There were so many things left that he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to do. He wanted to tell the two people in front of him how much he cared about them but all he could do was watch as their distress increased. His vision started to fade and he wanted to scream for it to come back. He struggled to breath.

“Makoto!" 

Byakuya took Makoto’s face in his hands again. The light in Makoto’s eyes were completely gone, unable to properly process the world around him. Despite Byakuya’s pleas steadily becoming more and more desperate for Makoto to stay awake, he slipped through his fingers like sand. With his eyes drifting to the right, Makoto fell away from the world. 

And both of them felt it with their own hands. They felt the exact moment Makoto lost consciousness for what could very well be the last time. They both stood there frozen in shock. Byakuya still had his hands on Makoto’s face, just watching as if any second he’d open up his eyes again and apologize for scaring them. Kyoko had her hands up, mid-wrapping wounds. She just stared blankly, unable to grapple with the idea that all her work may have been for nothing. 

They sat in silence. No one moved.

It felt like gravity had increased, time had slowed down to a crawl and even the gentle whistling of the wind felt subdued and gentle, as if even it didn’t want to disturb them. Neither wanted to be the first to move. If they were to move, what were they even supposed to do? Both of their minds seemed to cloud. Was it even worth it to move? Was there even a point? There was too much to process, too many unanswered questions. Too many calls to feelings that would be left unanswered. And yet the world kept spinning sluggishly as if nothing had happened at all. 

"Check…” Kyoko felt some clarity dig into her skull, sharp like a breath of cold air, “check his pulse." 

"Huh?" 

"Check his pulse…! Now!" 

They both jumped into action. Kyoko grabbed Makoto’s wrist, pressing two fingers into the pulseline with enough force to bruise. It was manic and ineffective. She didn’t even think about how she had her gloves on, she just needed to know now. Byakuya was pressing his fingers into Makoto’s cold neck again and again. He kept missing the pulse point and getting impatient when he felt nothing.

When they found it, they both sunk back with relief. They could have passed out from the rush of realization. It was weak, and way way too fast, but it was something dammit. He wasn’t gone yet. With a shaky yet confident breath, Kyoko got back to work, hands trembling ever so slightly. Enough for Byakuya to notice, but not enough to comment on. 

Byakuya slowly let go of Makoto’s neck. He dragged himself back to give Kyoko space. The pick up would be here soon. In an effort to keep contact with Makoto and stay out of Kyoko’s way, Byakuya positioned himself so that he could rest the boy’s head in his lap. He wouldn’t be caught dead in this position on any other day but in the moment that didn’t matter. He occasionally glanced up at Kyoko to watch her work, but stayed focused on Makoto. If Makoto woke up he was going to be right there and this time he wouldn’t let him slip away again. 

The pick up was almost there.

[dimorphodon-x]

I still haven't reblogged the previous one 'cuz I wanted to make a doodle first and there's already a new oc react ask game aaaa ;w;

This time how about dealer's choice for TerrorRain?

Terry is a con manufactured with a BM-21 Grad alt mode. His outlier ability is literally raining terror on enemies as he can just create more ammo in his guns out of nowhere. Also, he's agressive. As long as he fights emough it's ok but if the days are slow he has to somehow tire himself with workouts but that doesn't work for long. He becomes frustrated and picks up fights with whoever's at hand. Doesn't matter the topic, he will argue about anything just to provoke a fight. Fighting is all that matters for him and having his whole team wiped out during one of the battles is a good reason for him to keep fighting.

Eventually the war nears the end and the two sides have to cooperate. It sucks but as long as there's fighing Terry's fine. Even if one of his teammates is his arch enemy. But hey, that guy is too depresesed to be an actual threat so it's a free chew toy! Their relationship is... complicated but they do grow a bit close to each other. Enemies with benefits one could say. Benefits on both ends, he acc makes they guy want to stay alive.

But once there's peace and fighting becomes a bad thing playing with his chewtoy of a partner only every now and then is not enough and Terry starts being a menace to society. Causes problems on purpose, starts fights, gets in trouble, all that jazz. He doesn't even care about winning, someone just kick his ass pls so he can have an excuse to rest.

Eventually turns out that it's a special programming that causes this. One that he was created with to make him a better fighter. And it worked perfectly making him happy when fighting and then praized for it but once that urge to fight makes him an outcast, once it becomes more of a tedious need to feed the monster within to get some rest, then he starts thinking if getting that invasive programming turned off is a necessity. But it's still a long way till he stops fearing it will change his personality. I mean... if he's not fighting anymore, then who will he be? He doesn't know any better. What if his personality changes completely after flipping that switch off?

Little does he know ('cuz he's an idiot) that there's much more to him than just his fighting skills. He cares about others even if they don't see it and he's capable of love and being gentle even if he doesn't see it. Certainly does have emotions but he has problems with recoginizing any other than anger and frustration. Not to mention comunicating them. He does want the world to become a better place because those he cares about want it. So he will try and find working coping mechanisms to not make it harder for them to stabilize and keep the peace.

Eventually something in his life happens that makes the decison about having that programming stopped easier. It feels weirdly freeing but he'd lie if said he's not feeling lost, even if he still feels like his bratty self. But what other way than go forward and see what life brings?

Bet if our blorbos met it'd be somewhere before the decison but feel free to choose uwu

Gonna go with Beatshock lmao

Beat is a much less impressive outlier, able to use sound as a weapon. Sure people can make weapons to do the same thing, but if it works it works, y’know? Terror’s ability to somehow create ammo is a pretty neat trick though.

He’s got a short temper so he’s quick to build up and release anger (usually in the form of a deafening boom from his shoulders), but he enjoys a good fist fight. It feels good, and he’d be more than happy to help Terror release some of that tension with a good ol punch to the face. All he needs to do it ask. Or punch him first, that works just as well. They could probably be fist fighting buddies or something like that. Beatshock at least wouldn’t plan on becoming friends, content on both knowing very little about TerrorRain and sharing almost nothing about himself.

While Beatshock doesn’t have the programming burden that Terror does, he will continue to get into fights for as long as he’s alive. As a bartender he can always say a drunk customer was starting to act up.

That aside, he’d give his condolences once Terror were to learn of the programming. Sounds like it kinda sucks, but to him it’s an “oh well” kind of situation. Nothing all that serious and he can’t really help in any emotional or physical way. Aside from another fistfight. Also Terror’s relationship with his partner/chewtoy kind of rubs him the wrong way, but again he just kinda shrugs and keeps his nose out of their business. He’s not much better as a person, who is he to judge?

Beatshock doesn’t have the same ‘goodie’ dreams and wants as Terror, but he’d still casually support him on his journey to better himself and all that.

It’s not a strong friendly relationship, at least in Beat’s perspective, but he thinks TerrorRain is cool enough to deserve a free drink.

[dreamsclock]

Dream coping by drawing, (I'm going with immortal dream)

But pretty much since he doesn't talk, and we'll, watching lava is boring (I tried it myself, only lasted 10 minutes) I'd think he'd start using his books and ink to draw, at first it's the things he misses, community house, sapnap, george, ECT.

But then it gets just gets more and more disturbing until he just starts drawing from whatever time period, (he doesn't care anymore)

A lot of them are suspiciously Robin and Corpse...Anyway! So he keeps drawing which helps him stop destroying his arm muscles but Sam and Quackity are quick to use them against him, it gets to the point where he's frustrated with drawing since he can't do it without them getting held over his head causing him to spiral...he simply just draws, for the last time. He draws of what he calls home, a picture book about the bad green man who destroyed everyone's home, and how to use the resurrection book. And then dissapears, he can't die, he can't remove the one place all the good people call home (admin) so he leaves.

AND WE GET TO COTTAGE CORE DREAM BECAUSE PLEAse WE NEED MORE OF THAT CONTENT PLs

THIS IS SO GOOD ANON YES

cottagecore dream is so superior...... just months of him getting better and healing from the past..... putting aside the smp and focusing just on his little cottage.....

maybe he writes and doodles in his own books! stories from his past, stories from his childhood, stories about his friends...... they help him process things and he begins to trust in his art again and find enjoyment in it now it’s not being held over his head.....

[neverending-space]

Jim Moriarty x reader

A/n: So whenever I’m procrastinating, I write stories and I thought, why not share them, you know, cause I’ve been putting off writing ‘Get away’ and I was watching Reichenbach Fall

Note: there’s no real conclusion, it’s just for fun.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

“There’s been another one! Pentonville!!” Donovan threw her phone down as Greg swerved past other cars in desperation. “Greg you’re gonna kill us!!” You shouted, holding onto the seat in front of you. The minute the car stopped, you, Donovan and Greg ran out the car and into the building, putting on Kevlar vests (just in case) on your way to the vault. The vault opened and there, sitting on the throne in all his Irish glory, decked out in the Crown Jewels, was James Moriarty. “No rush.” He said in a carefree manner, waving his hand for theatrics. ‘God I love that man...’ You thought, snapping a picture of him before SWAT cuffed him. “What are you doing!?” Donovan asked you, venom laced in her voice. “What do you thing I’m doing Donovan? This is literally the coolest thing ever.” You sigh, putting your phone in your back pocket. As SWAT marched James past you, he stopped and leaned in. “Send that to me, will you darling?” He winked as they pulled him away. You struggled hard to keep the blush off of your face. Ever since the bombing case two years ago (which John dubbed ‘The Great Game’) you had had an incredibly annoying infatuation with the criminal. You would often get little notes signed with a simple ‘JM’. You knew it was a terrible idea to get emotionally invested, but oh well right? Greg gave you a strange look as you two were walking out to wait for John and Sherlock. “What?” You ask, turning you head slightly to get a better look at him. “Nothin” He brushed you off. “Greg...” You sighed, shaking your head. “It’s just- you act... weird around him.” He jerked his head in the direction of Moriarty’s departing police car. “I act weird around everyone.” You roll your eyes, but you can feel the heat returning to your face. “I know, it’s just- different. Did he do something to you?” He asked, fatherly concern showing on his face. “No. This line of questioning is over.” You cross your arms and take a defensive stance as the boys arrive. “Garry, what did you say to my sister?” Sherlock sauntered up as Greg threw his hands in the air. “C’mon you two, I’ll show you the footage.” You beckon them as you started walking. Unfortunately Sherlock is a million times taller than you, so he caught up easily. “Are you okay?” He asked, his curls blowing in his face. “I’m fine Sherl, it’s my thing, Greg was just concerned that’s all.” He looked at you, confusion now etched in his features, as if he was silently asking ‘who?’. You let out a snort of laughter and his face relaxed.

“Remember, he’s a psychopath, he’s insane!!” Greg yelled after you as you make your way to the interrogation room that Jim currently inhabited. You opened the door, looking back at Greg you yelled, “I’m a big girl dad, I can take care of myself.” You hear Jim chuckle as you close the door and sit down. “Hey man, how’s prison?” You ask, taking out a notepad and pen. He looked at you skeptically. “You’re going to take notes..?” He asked, annoyance evident in his voice. “Pff no! I’m not an idiot! I tend to doodle when I get bored.” You said, spinning the pen between your fingers. Slowly, he put his hands widespread on the table and stood up, leaning forward. “Is that a challenge...?” He asked, his tone dangerous. You mirrored him and held eye contact. “Damn straight.”

You were hanging out with Sherlock in his flat when the phone rang. After a few moments he hung up. “Not guilty?” You asked, following him to the kitchen. He hummed a response before putting the kettle on. You jumped to reach a high shelf and grabbed a box of biscuits. Sherlock snorted when he saw you. “Aw shut up long legs.” You grumbled, pulling a few biscuits onto a plate. You set them on the small table beside John’s chair as Sherlock picked up his violin. You picked up your copy of ‘IT’ and flopped onto the couch as you heard the stairs creak. “Most people knock.” You said, not looking up. “...But then again, you’re not most people... are you?” Sherlock asked, turning around. “Kettles just boiled.” Putting your book down at the mention of tea, you took in Moriarty’s appearance. He was wearing a nice white button up with matching grey pants and a blazer. He was also wearing a cool looking tie pin. “Johann Sebastian would be appalled” He said, picking up an apple out of the bowl that you had placed, his Irish drawl as prominent as ever. “May I?” He asked, tossing the apple up in the air and catching it again. “Please.” Sherlock said, using his violin bow to gesture towards John’s seat. Being the devil he was, Jim chose to sit in Sherlock’s seat instead, shooting a smirk in your direction. “You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his... pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end-“ Sherlock interrupted him. “The dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it.” He said, pouring tea. “Couldn’t cope with an unfinished melody.” You and Jim said at the same time. He, once again looked over at you, a sparkle in his eye before Sherlock’s voice snapped him back to reality. “Neither can you, that’s why you’ve come.” Sherlock walked over to you and handed you a cup, which you took with a smile. “But be honest, you’re just a tiny bit pleased...” You hid your face with the teacup, silently hoping the boys wouldn’t pay much attention to you. “What with the verdict?” Sherlock asked, now handing Jim his tea. “With me-“ He said, a sly smile on his face. ‘Fuck... Stop being so hot!’ You thought. “Back on the streets.” Sometimes you wondered how he managed to sound so much like a snake. “Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain.” He said, staring up at Sherlock who had yet to sit down. “You need me,” He stated in a matter of fact tone. “Or you’re nothing... because we’re just alike; you and I. Except you’re boring... you’re on the side of the angels.” Sherlock ignored this and instead changed the subject. “Got to the jury of course.” Silently sipping your tea, you observed the two. It was like a scene from a TV show or something. “I got into the Tower of London, you think I can’t worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?” He asked as Sherlock finally sat down. “Cable network.” You said, just realizing it. Their attention was now turned on you as Jim began to explain. “Every hotel room has a personalized screen, and every person had their pressure point.” It felt like he was staring into your soul now. What he said had vaguely reminded you of Charles Magnussen, a blackmail extraordinaire that Mycroft had told you to stay away from. Naturally you learned everything you could about him. Real creep he was.

“Someone that they want to protect from harm...” At this, he turned to stare right at Sherlock, there was no doubt in your mind about what he was insinuating. “Easy peasy.” He said, taking a sip from his tea, your eyes automatically drifting over to his pink lips. “So how’re you gonna do it?” Sherlock asked, finally speaking, “Burn me?” He too brought his cup to his lips. “Eh that’s the problem...the final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet?” He asked, his voice light and detached. “What’s the final problem? I did tell you, but did you listen?” He taunted, ending his question in a sing song voice. Putting down his cup, he began to tap his fingers on his leg. You focused your attention on that. ‘Seems very familiar...’ You thought, storing the pattern away in your mind palace for further inspection at a later date. “How hard do you find it- having to say ‘I don’t know’?” Sherlock responded immediately with, “I don’t know.” You smirked, knowing that you would’ve said the same. “Oh that’s clever, very clever, awfully clever-“ Jim mumbled as Sherlock shot you a quick smile. “Speaking of clever, have you told your little friends yet?” Jim asked, peaking your attention. “Told them what?” Sherlock asked, steapling his fingers. “Why I broke into all those places and never took anything.” Of course you already knew as well. “No.” He responded. “But you understand.” It was more of a statement than anything. “Obviously.” Sherlock responded. Jim turned his body to face you. “Do you?” He made eye contact. “Of course.” You said, trying to take the emotion out of your words. “Off you go then.” He took a bite of a piece of apple he had carved out. “You want me to tell you what you already know.” You said, putting down your tea. “No, I want you to prove that you know it.” He briefly gestured at you. “You didn’t take anything because you don’t need to.” You said, matter of factly. “Good...” He encouraged you to continue. “You’ll never need to take anything ever again.” Feeling more confident, you let yourself relax. “Very good... because..?” Jim went back to carving his apple. “Because nothing. Nothing in the Bank of England, the Tower of London, or Pentonville prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three.” Sherlock looked over with what could have been interpreted as a proud look, before Jim started talking again. “I can open any door, anywhere, with a few tiny lines of computer code... No such thing as a private bank account now, they’re all mine. No such thing as secrecy, I own secrecy. Nuclear codes? I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king- and honey, you should see me in a crown...” He shot a quick wink at you before putting on a relaxed smile. “Twenty quid and I’ll get that tattooed.” You spoke up, breaking the tension Jim caused. He let out a little frown, knowing he lost Sherlock’s undivided attention. “Deal.” Sherlock said, tossing you his wallet. “Coolcoolcool, I’ll book the appointment.” You said, grabbing your laptop. “You were advertising throughout the trial, showing all the things you can do...” Sherlock observed, brining the tension back. “And you were helping. Big client list, rouge governments, intelligence communities, terror cells... they all want me... suddenly, I’m Mister Sex...” You stopped tyiping. “Ugh, amen!” You thought, but apparently you had said that out loud and they boys were giving you extremely opposite looks. Jim was smirking at you, his eyes wandering to who knows where and Sherlock was glaring at you. You cleared your throat, your face flushing bright red. “I’ll just- yea I’ll just leave- um, okay, bye. Don’t-“ You pointed at Jim, “Don’t kill anyone.” You slowly picked your laptop up and ran out the door.

[laughing-with-god]

Pen Pal 1.5

Summary- As a lonely person, the idea of exchanging letters with someone apart from society was actually quite appealing to you.  In a random act of charity and desperation, you sign up for a pen pal and get paired up with an inmate named Jungkook.  The letters were meant to help him cope with prison life, but little did anyone know it was actually driving him more mad.

Warnings- Yandere/Prisoner Jungkook x Reader.  Mature themes.  Mention of mental disorder.

Words; 5.4k

“Have you ever felt so connected to someone that you didn’t understand why they were inside another skin and inhabiting a different body than you?”

He supposed that he should’ve been more displeased with where he landed himself.  

A cage of a jail cell that was six by eight feet and enclosed with brick walls that were so old, the paint was chipping off more and more each day.  The only entrance and exit being the harsh bars of the metal doors where a police officer could always be seen patrolling the passage ways, eyeing inmates with a judgmental glare as if he knew each and every one of their stories and how they were menaces to society.  

But if Jungkook was being true to himself, he couldn’t find any need to relate to his fellow prisoners fantasies of being in the outside world once again.

He had no desire to integrate back into society.  

He hated the world for a long time.

He hated how obnoxious and fake people were in the modern era.  He hated how capitalistic and money hungry the economy was. He hated how surface level and crude the general community was.  

From the time he was born, his peers would only approach him because they had hopes of being friends with the son of a rich power-broker.  

They would smile to his face and claimed to like him, but behind his back they would complain about how ‘boring and weird’ he was.  

Indeed, as a youngster Jungkook had been very introverted.  

He loved drawing, and this caused looks of confusion as most boys his age would enjoy a game of football or soccer more than doodling.  The only reason he got invites to playdates or birthday parties was due to his family’s social status. He was quick to catch on when his ‘friends’ would always push to go to his house, to play with his toys and to drop the Jeon name when bragging to other people about the ‘friendship’.  

However as Jungkook got older, the less he cared about such trivial matters.  As an insecure little boy, it bruised him quite a bit. But as an older teen, he accepted it as a harsh reality.  No one liked him for him, yet it wasn’t as tragic as it sounded. Because, he didn’t accept them for who they were either.  The world and Jungkook had a mutual understanding for each other. He despised them for it used him.

So when he went and got himself locked up, he really didn’t have that much remorse for what he would miss of the outside world.  The criminal psychologist said he had a problem with feelings in general; having a low emotional capacity for settings or situations but a heightened one for certain people in his life.  But Jungkook paid this analysis no mind. After all, how many different settings, situations or people can he encounter while serving a life-time sentence at one of the most highly guarded prisons in the country?

He did what he had done, and he was at peace with everything concerning the matter.  

When other inmates would rant about how they missed very basic things of life; non-cafeteria food, going to parks, having your own home and schedule, Jungkook didn’t care for the sentiment at all.  In fact, he thought they were weak to not even be able to handle prison. Really, how bad was it? You got a bed to sleep on, a toilet to shit in and was fed three time a day. With the way these fuckers ranted, you would’ve thought they were world war soldiers talking about home life whilst serving in the trenches.  Pathetic, really.

One day, Jungkook walked into his cell after a decent work out only to spot a pristine and angelic white envelope on his bed (more like a slab of metal with a cheap blanket on top but what did you expect of a cell?). This caused Jungkook to quirk a brow at the odd sight, he was pretty particular with boundaries and it annoyed him to see his roommate not respect his space.  

“Joon, I told you not to leave shit in my area.”  Jungkook motonously commented to his cell mate that was currently on the top bunk, book in hand.  This caused the older to peek from his spot above and glance down at the lower bunk.  

“Uh...that’s not mine.  Plus it has your name on it and everything, bro.”  

Jungkook sighed and pressed his tongue against his cheek in an angry tick that he had adopted years ago.  He really just wanted to head to the showers and he couldn’t imagine who would be writing to him. His family having disowned him for his crimes and everyone else having forgotten him or shunning his existence like he had the plague.  Not that he was too disappointed with these developments, he could spend the rest of his days without a word from anyone from the outside and he would still die content.

With a huff, he snatched the envelope and opened it with very little grace.  

‘Dear Mr. or Miss. Prisoner…..’

Jungkook’s doe eyes skimmed passed the delicate but noticeably rushed handwriting, soaking in the words with hesitance at such unexpected vulnerability from an utter stranger.  It wasn’t a long letter (Jungkook was finished reading it after 30 seconds or so) but he plopped himself on his bed to re-read the letter when he was done, showers somehow forgotten.

Said person who wrote to him managed to sound very weak and tired through diction alone.  However, this moment of weakness from the stranger was somehow not at all judged by Jungkook.  This revelation startled the prisoner himself, given that he had always made it a habit to look down on those whom lacked the mental strength that he did.  A fucked up social darwinism philosophy that was only heightened by being around meager sheep while he was a full on ruthless psycho. But why? Why did he feel pity this time instead of the usual disgust whenever someone was so bare and raw to him?  

The answer was simple.  

He related to you.

He felt as though you had put it best into words exactly what he felt when he was living out there in the public.  The world was scary and he didn’t blame you for being paranoid or locking yourself up. He could practically feel your fear from where he was; locked in a tiny cell and miles upon miles away from civilization.  He got the sense that you were different, like him. Most people he had encountered in his lifetime have always been okay with how the world was, not acknowledging the sinister characteristics that came along with it.  Authenticity was oozing from your writing as you did way more than just acknowledge the bad; you did your best to stay away from it all together. In a weird way, Jungkook found this cute. You were like a frightened child that hid under your bed to avoid the evil babysitter, escaping was your pure and innocent plan of action.  Which was different from Jungkook’s more violent actions….but he concluded he liked the contrast between you two. While you decided to take it out on yourself and starve yourself from stimulation just to keep away from the barbaric world, Jungkook took it upon himself to make everyone else pay.

“It it that stupid Pen Pal program?”  

Jungkook glanced up from the paper to see his cellmate hang his head from the bed above, watching Jungkook with questioning orbs.  Jungkook just scoffed at the upside down face and nodded.

“I just threw my letter away.  I heard they put all of us in that program because it’s a tax-write off for them.  It’s bullshit.” Namjoon told the younger.

Jungkook didn’t supply the other with an answer.  Instead he carefully folded the letter and placed it smoothly under his pillow. Then, he headed out to the showers while thoughts of what to write back to you filled his mind.  

--

‘Dear Y/n,

Well I would feel rather….accepting.  

I think you must be a very wise person to keep yourself far from the wretched claws of society…..’  

Jungkook tapped the capped pen against his chin, looking over his writing for any errors or mishaps before he signed off entirely.  

His letter was more in response to yours, after all you hadn’t given him that much to reply back to.  But still, some communication was better than none at all. Jungkook wanted to let you know that he understood your fears.  Hell, he even shared them with you. He hoped that you believed him when he told you that he also harbored disdain for your enemy.  And he also wanted to learn more about such a like-minded individual. Surely, you both had to have other similarities too, right?

He added the request for an image of you toward the end of his letter, just out of sheer curiosity for his long-lost twin. He didn’t care what you looked like but he wanted to scratch the itch of placing a face with the writing, knowing the urge to know would never go away until he saw your face.  

Other prisoners watched shocked as they witnessed Jungkook make his way to the mail room to drop off a letter to be sent off, knowing that he never made contact with the outside world.  

--

Jungkook found himself pacing his cell in an anxious manner, arms crossed and brows furrowed.  His stomach was tied into knots and his palms were clammy, hinting at one of the first times that he’s ever been nervous.  

He really was hoping for a response from you.  

He knew that it was very childish and sad to be so giddy for a letter, but he couldn’t help but get excited at the prospect of another note.  It was refreshing to be able to talk to someone who wasn’t a felon. Someone who wasn’t there in person yet still reached out to connect with a corrupt scanderal such as himself.  

Which is why when the usual mail carrier came down the cells, cart in hand with envelopes, pictures, money and presents for inmates, Jungkook found himself holding his breath and wishing for the first time ever that the carrier would stop at his cell.  

He had never been on the receiving end of such transactions, he had no one on the outside to look out for him.  But the faceless recluse that had reached out to him in a cry for companionship had fogged his mind, leaving hims restless and jittery.  

Could it be that he found a genuine friend?  

One that didn’t use him for his reputation (unlike his former childhood friends) and accepted him as the fuck up he was.  

“Letter for a Jeon Jungkook?”  The middle-aged man paused in front of the barren cell, sticking a pristine white envelope through the metal bars.  It was almost comical the joy that bursted through his chest and the way he leaped to attrive the holy piece of material.  As if it glowed bright in the grim and grey limbo that he was stuck in.

Not being able to withhold the anticipation, Jungkook quickly took the letter to his bunk and carefully slit it open.  

‘Dear Jungkook,

Words cannot express how thankful I am that you answered my pathetic call for help…’

The writing was noticeably neater than the first letter.  Jungkook noted with a smile how much longer this one was prior to the last.  The inmate forced himself to pore over every detail at a slower pace, not wanting to accidently skim past any vital information yet also wishing to savor the ritual.  

You seemed very blindly kind to someone who was a wretched crook.  In fact, you claimed to be very grateful to hear from little old him.  The feeling was utterly foreign, the idea that someone was out there that genuinely wanted his friendship, someone who genuinely wanted to know his most bland personal preferences, who was practically pleading for his written company.  It made him feel wanted. After some thought he decided that he quite liked the new feeling. Even at his worst; locked up for a lifetime sentence, you went out of your way to kill his loneliness. He almost giggled when you told him of the disorder that the world had labelled you with, it was awfully funny to him that you both were called mentally unstable.  You two now had that in common as well. He felt a sudden stab in the gut when you mentioned your sister. He guessed if he had to identify the emotion it would be closest to sympathy or guilt. He supposed he felt...bad for your loss. Jungkook smiled widely.

Yes!  That’s it!  He felt bad for you!  

God if the psychologist who said he had no emotions could see him now...

Towards the end of your writing, you mentioned not being a ‘looker’.  As if the paper itself burned him, Jungkook dropped the object with great haste to dig through the envelope.  You had sent the picture! He almost forgot that he even asked for such thing.

And there it was, a small 4x6 printed image of a lovely face smiling shyly at the camera.  

Your face was small and round, skin serene and creamy with its (porcelain/olive/honey/amber/cinnamon) hued pores that was the canvas for your darling features.  Your nose was benevolent and perched regally as well as perfectly centered amidst the sculpture that was your appearance. The bridge of the blessed feature dipped discreetly and softly, complimenting the luminous orbs that were vividly painted with a the crispest shade of (color) that he’s ever had the pleasure of witnessing.  The enchanting irises were artistically framed by magnetizing dark eyelashes that were as long as they were seductive. Somehow he just knew that the colors supplied by whatever commercial printer didn’t do the color-pads of your eyes justice, imagining the shiver that will go down his spine when he could be bare to them in their full and unfiltered glory.  They held a humane gentleness but still….a simmering witt was also bubbling under the surface. Overhead the eyes were carefully groomed eyebrows that were neat and shapely, one was elegantly arched in a expression of somber joy.

Underneath your nose was a pair of nectarous ruby red (or flowery pink) lips that looked perfectly cushioning to any lucky man who would have the chance to collide theirs with yours. Your pristine and snow-white teeth were barely poking out, show casting your shyness even when plastering on a friendly smile.  It’s as if you were unable to let yourself be one-hundred percent bare even in something as basic as a grin. He wondered what kind of mellifluous sound would erupt from such a devine cavern. Your (color) hair was sadly put up, unable to flow freely in the still-frame image. Even though he had very little to study, he still knew that he would want to (straight hair; run his hands through your silken strands) (curly hair; bounce the fluid swirls of your playful mane).  An odd urge to inhale the scent of your shampoo was what Jungkook felt next.

Lost in his own self-induced trance, he didn’t realize that he had been staring for so long until he felt a shadow loom over his figure.  

It was his cellmate and suddenly the infatuated man became all too aware of his slightly ajar mouth and his widened eyes that were stuck on the flimsy printed picture that was tightly held in his grasp (as if terrified that someone would steal the chef d'oeuvre...in an abode of criminals, this fear was somewhat relevant).  Quickly, he masked his expression to that of usual indifference.

“You’ve been sitting there staring for like eleven minutes.  You good?”

He just nodded, not a fan of frivolous speech or furthering conversation with people he cared none for.  Still, the fucker persisted.

“You sure?  Your girl didn’t send you something naughty or something, right?”  This was said in a matter of humor, an attempt to relieve the dark aura that Jungkook seemed to exude in every social interaction.  However, the serious face that Jungkook had on gave the other the impression that he had hit the mark precisely. Joon’s jaw dropped and an eager grin formed at the corners of his lips.  

“Really?!  No way! Can I see?”  The over-sized goon attempted to stride forward, hands already out-reached to grasp at the first smut he would’ve seen in a long time.  Out of primal instinct to keep what was his away from the snubby hands of others, Jungkook pulled back. But the fool had enlarged limbs and this meant his lengthy arms were very capable of plucking the picture off of Jungkook’s safe grip.  

Greedy, Namjoon ran his eyes over the photo.  His grin slowly slid off as he realised that it was indeed nothing sexual.  Nonetheless, his eyes lingered far longer than Jungkook cared for….before promptly returning the image to it’s rightful owner, whose jaw was clenched and teeth now grinding at the recent events.   

“Who is she?”  

“My pen-pal.”  Jungkook promptly answered whilst hiding both the letter and photo under his pillow before placing his head on it, staring up at the bunk above him.  

“Damn, if I’d know that I could’ve gotten someone like that….”  A brief pause as Joon climbed up his bed as well. “I definitely wouldn’t have thrown mine away.”  

Jungkook felt the familiar agitation hit him, tongue pressing against his cheek and he wondered if it was too late to request a cell change.  

The lights went out and ponderings of what to write back filled Jungkook’s mind along with the bewitching photo that was just directly under his head…

--

Opting not to go to breakfast, Jungkook stayed within his cell.

He elaborately printed his response back to you.

‘Dear Y/n,

I thought you were a very smart person but obviously not…’  

The inmate was sure to make you aware of how breathtaking you were, but also very careful in tip-toeing around just how gorgeous you were to him.  He could have written a dozen novels about your exquisite appearance alone, but obviously he was unable to do such thing. He didn’t want you to think he was a creep and halt all communication with him.  In an effort to get closer to you, Jungkook added some sentiment in regards to your loss, adding an anecdote about his mother for dramatic effect.

Now, it was time to fulfill your wish to see him as he had seen you.  

He had no problem with such request.  Not that he ever paid attention to such pointless gossip, but he had always heard whispers of how handsome he was.  Jungkook didn’t consider himself to be a little Fabio on any scale, but he knew he wasn’t hard on the eyes of the opposite sex.  The trouble was, how exactly would he be able to send a photo?

After a year in prison, you get to learn that there are two ways you can survive in such element.  You either adapt or you crumble.

The fittest of the inmates learned real quick how to make prison into their home.  Some men have been here so long that they grew connections and were able to bring some things from the outside world in.  

Jungkook made plans to visit one the older inmates, knowing that he could trade a candybar for a favor of sneaking a photo out to you.  For now, he folded his letter and placed it in the envelope, awaiting his picture before being shipped off to the mailroom.

--

‘Dear Jungkook,

…..I guess you’re not the worst face I’ve seen….’

Jungkook smiled as he fondly traced the words that you have written onto the paper only days prior.  He imagined your endearing face scrunching up into a thoughtful expression as you scribbled your response back to him.  You were funny and he couldn’t deny the sense of pride he felt when you admitted to his attractiveness. In the past, he never gave a fuck if people thought he was the next Ryan Gosling or the ugliest mug they’ve ever seen.  But he felt a weird sense of relief behold him when you said that you indeed thought he was good-looking. He didn’t want to imagine what he might’ve felt if you called him ugly or stopped talking to him after seeing his face.  

But that was not the best aspect to be seen within your writing.  

The best thing that caused his chest to erupt in a warm and fuzzy feeling was when you agreed that you also felt a connection between you two.  That you found him to be ‘marvelous company’ and you enjoyed his letters. This just confirmed his suspicion that you were somehow tied together.  That you two were meant to stumble upon each other in the most unconventional way. Jungkook was sure of it, that you two have defied the odds that cruel reality set against you ‘mentally unstable’ pair and found peace along with understanding within each other.  

Jungkook didn’t know how to describe you.  Surely a ‘pal’ wasn’t it.

You were like another half of him.  

Like you both have fallen from the same star and were unfortunate to fall on this damned earth. Surrounded by the bizzare ‘humans’ and called odd for not being one of their species.  Jungkook decided then and there that you two were mates.

And yes, Jungkook meant it in the primal and borderline barbaric ways that animals did. He would prove his worthiness as a male specimen, he would shelter and feed you, he would breed and produce offspring with you.  Regular people would look at this plan and consider it cave-man like, but he thought it was considerably more romantic this way. Animals mated for life and were not afraid to get murderous when someone threatened this sacred bond.  What was so wrong with such animalistic viewpoint? Humans were the worst type of creature and he was not at all interested in their fake way of obtaining a lover. And he got the sense that you weren’t either. Dates, chocolates, flowers?  How is it that those things were put on a pedestal as a grand show of affection but having a genuine connection with a person was not? Jungkook couldn’t strain his brain to understand such mindset.

This all left the forefront of his mind when he read to the last parts of your letter.  Eyebrows going up in surprise at the ‘P.S’ adage that was never before seen from you. His smile slipped off his face when he saw what you wished.

You wanted to know how he landed himself in prison.  

Now….that was a touchy subject.  

He really didn’t want to scare you away.  

You were too understanding, too alike to him for Jungkook to ever want you to run away.  He knew that no matter how much he could try, his crimes were inexcusable. Even the holiest of saints would hinder their forgiveness.  

Jungkook came to the conclusion that it would be best to tell a white lie until he had more of a connection with you to reveal the truth.  

Sure, he was utterly enthralled by you but he didn’t know how deep your affections lied with him.  He just needed more time to spin a perspective to fill your ear with, he needed to get his claws deep within you, he needed you to be as dependent on him as he was with you.  Jungkook decided to create a fake story to keep you close to him.

Jungkook smirked and grabbed a pen and paper for the next letter.  

--

‘Dear Jk,

My day to day is also lifeless, I’m afraid…’

It was lunch time and Jungkook sat alone in his usual corner of the table, mystery meat forgotten in favor of absorbing the new letter that you had produced for his addiction.  

The first paragraph had the psycho inmate smiling as he pictured you in your tiny apartment, dressed in comfy clothes doing the most mundane things.  He liked to spend his free time just imagining what your comfy ‘nest’ was like, picturing your tiny frame skipping around it. You sitting on a sofa, bundled up in blankets and one of his oversized sweaters, book in hand and steaming hot cup of hot chocolate in the other.  You in the kitchen, humming some tune in your dulcet voice as you attempted to make him a home cooked meal, frowning when you realized that you had not followed a certain step correctly like the cook book said. You laughing at the movie that played on the television screen while you both reach into the popcorn bowl at the same time.  What Jungkook wouldn’t give to live in the little nest with you.  To occupy the same cocoon that you created.

He often found himself fantasizing about being the brave one for you.  

The one who would go to the outside world on your behalf.  He would get you groceries, get a 9 to 5 to pay the bills, go out at 3 am to get you lady products or any random craving.  Wouldn’t that be nice? It would be similar to a caregiver role. Him taking care of you so you just had to stay your pretty self at home, keeping it warm and pillowy for his return.  You would be so thankful for his willingness to go out into your worst fear for the sake of your happiness.

But then, as the letter continued, Jungkook’s mood soured.  

Your mother had violated your space and made you feel awful.  

Jungkook felt rage in that moment.  

He never held so much hatred for someone he had never met before.  

He instantly knew that he didn’t like your mother.  

A piercing sensation thundered upon his chest.  The cursed image of your sweet face covered in tears fogged his mind’s eye.  

God helped anyone who fucked with you.  

Jungkook folded the letter and put it in his pocket, shoveling some tasteless cafeteria food to distract him the familiar hellish itch that screamed at him from underneath his skin.  

Later that day, Jungkook responded with a letter of his own.  

He attached the drawings that he had mentioned to you, somewhat bashful that for the past weeks all he had been able to draw was you.  But he brushed the feelings off and focused on another task; getting you to start calling.

He would often see inmates taking up phone booths, talking and laughing with loved ones from the outside for a couple minutes at a time.  Jungkook wanted that for you two. He wanted to hear the blessed voice that he knew you had, and he wanted you to become familiar with his as well.  After all, you would be hearing it a lot in your lifetime.

--

‘My Dearest Y/n,

I’m sure you must’ve gotten busy, why else haven’t you written in a week?’

Jungkook was slowly becoming irritated at the lack of mail he has been receiving.  It had been five days since you had responded and Jungkook felt anxious at your sudden silence.  You were a sweetheart and would never abandon him. You weren’t like those other wretched people, right?  No! You couldn’t be.

Jungkook shook his head and mentally cursed himself for even thinking that for a moment.  

You must have gotten busy.  

Maybe your mom didn’t give up on pestering you.  

--

‘My Dearest Y/n,

Where have you gone?  You haven’t forgotten about me have you?’

Jungkook couldn’t bear the silence.  He was slowly growing restless. He needed the stimulation that was your communication.  Without it, he had no new material to fill his mind. No new scenarios to daydream about.  NOTHING to get him through the day in the colorless cell that began to taunt him. He attempted to distract himself with the picture of you as well as your 

former letters that now had tear stains because of his new habit of crying over them, knowing they might be the last he ever gets from you.

--

‘Y/n,

This isn’t funny anymore….’

Jungkook was not only uneased, but now he was worried.  Thoughts of what could’ve possibly caused your silence now haunted his mind at night when he attempted to get what little rest he could.  Time was only worsening his growing paranoia each day that he didn’t receive a letter.

He knew you lived alone and had very little outside communication with anyone.  The main ones being him and your mother. Jungkook could only assume that your mother and you would be taking a break due to your mother’s mental breakdown.  And that left him. Stuck in a penitentiary with no way to reach you. He nearly punched the brick wall of his cell when he came to the realization that something could’ve happened to you and no one would’ve known.  If you didn’t answer this letter, he didn’t know what he’d do.

--

‘Dear Jungkook (or should I say Easter Bunny?)

I know what you did.

I know that you lied to me.

I know you’re a murderer.  

Friends don’t lie to each other, Jungkook.

I think it’s best if we find different Pen Pals.

All my best wishes, Y/n.

The letter fell to the ground as Jungkook stared in shock at the absurdly short and cold answer he got from you.  

He underestimated you.

You found out.  

Jungkook felt his temper flare as well as his breathing.  

He’d be damned to let you go.  

You were soulmates….couldn’t you see that?  

Jungkook never thought he’d have to rely on this but he had no choice.  

In the cell block, there were some people whom have been there for 30 years, and other for 30 days.  Prison 101 is to not fuck with the guys who had time under their belts. It was best to respect them and acknowledge that they have connections.  But respect was the last thing on his mind as he stormed into the tiny cell room of an old geezer whose been committing crimes since before Jungkook was even born.  

The older man was used to people coming to his cell, usually asking about how to get hands on a cell phone or how to get the precious kitchen duty to sneak food.  Over time, the man humored many childish inmates with some insider tricks. Almost everyone had talked to him at some point, but Jungkook was one of the very few whom did not approach him seeking an easier ride.  Thus, he was shocked to see the young and deadly figure swoop into the area, eyes dead and jaw clenched.

“You’re going to do something for me.”  Jungkook said this monotonously while maintaining eye contact.  The older man couldn’t ignore the shivers that went down his spine but he still acted calm, knowing you couldn’t show weaknesses to the younger and violent inmates.  

“Is that so?”  The older quirked a brow at Jungkook though the rusty mirror and went back to shaving his face.  The younger was behind him and just tilted his head and stepped forward, still staring at the man through the reflection of the glass.  

“You are going to sneak me out of this joint.”  

This caused the older to laugh, not believing his ears at such a ludicrous request.  

Jungkook came up behind the older, mouth close to his ear and eyes lifeless and inky as they held the older’s through the mirror.  

“Listen here you senile fuck, I know that you know who I am and what I did.  It’s your best interest to listen to what I tell you. Would you like to hear a secret?”  The petrified and frozen man nodded, not having the balls to disobey or look away. “I never told the jury that I didn’t murder those people on my own….I had a partner.  A partner who is still out there and would surely take care of your pretty little daughter I hear you talking on the phone to.”

Jungkook smiled as the man grimly agreed to do whatever he wished.  

Now, he just had to inform you of his upcoming arrival.

--

‘My Dearest Y/n,

I see you found out about the nickname the hideous press gave me.

Well….this type of revelation is best talked over in person.  

I’ll see you soon.’

Author’s note; so....both JK and Y/n have mental problems, just to clarify.  Also, this wasn’t part two bc I think of this as just the other half of part one.  There will still be a part two and three.  Please let me know what you thought bc a full inbox makes for a happy writer.  It’s challenging to write for a Y/n character bc the point is for you guys to identify with her in the story and I wanted you guys to feel like you truly are her so when I did the part where Jk becomes very obsessed with the pic, I wanted to add details but obvi not everyone has the same characteristics so I added diff options...pls let me know what you thought of this.

[fatedfuturist]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑻𝑹𝑼𝑻𝑯𝑺.

bold –   always  ⁄  often   ( throughout his history ) italic   –   sometimes  ( throughout his history )

001.   smoking:  the  action  or  habit  of  inhaling  &  exhaling  the  smoke  of  tobacco  or  a  drug.

𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬.  found it as a means of stress relief and to ‘fit in’ and ‘be cool.’  has since stopped, though when under extreme stress, he may be seen resorting to sporting a cigarette ;  the occasion is rare and practically non-existent, though not impossible.

002.   binge drinking:  the  consumption  of  an  excessive  amount  of  alcohol  in  a  short  period  of  time.

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞.  had his first drink at five, a child under pressure by his own father.  years later, he would begin to suffer under the grips of alcohol for decades, the addiction debilitating as a means of a crutch.  consumed excessive amounts when stressed, depressed, or for the sake of the party.  has since learned to loosen up and even go sober, though he has relapsed quite a few times in the process.

003.   drug abuse:  the  habitual  taking  of  illegal  drugs.

𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬.  primarily throughout his time during MIT and after the death of his parents.  it was a crutch.  he let go of drugs easier than he did alcohol.

004.   nail-biting:  a  common  body  language  sign  of  anxiety / tension. 005.  lip-biting:  a  common  body  language  sign  of  anxiety / tension. 006.   night owl: a  person  who  is  habitually  active  or  wakeful  at  night.

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐧𝐢𝐚 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝.  he can’t sleep most nights, not unless he’s exhausted himself physically, or is coaxed to head on up to bed by his significant other.

007.   early bird:  a  person  who  rises ,  arrives ,  or  acts  before  the  usual  or  expected  time. 008.   negative attitudes: a  philosophy  of  approaching  life  with  criticism  &  pessimism.

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲.  typically pessimistic in regards to his own life, rather than the general universe or others.  the signs of a man who have been worn down by the world and has been carrying the weight of said world on his shoulders for too long.

009.   positive attitudes:  a  philosophy  of  approaching  life  with  optimism  &  confidence.

𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞.  he is, by every sense of he word, a futurist.  he builds and he looks toward the future as something bigger and better than the current time.  will optimistically look toward saving as many people as possible before feeling the burden of pessimism chime in.

010.  swearing:  the  use  of  offensive  language. 011.   superstitious:  an  irrational  belief  that  an  object ,  action ,  or  circumstance  not  logically  related  to  a  course  of  events  influences  its  outcome. 012.   inspecting fingernails:  a  common  body  language  sign  of  boredom. 013.  scratching your neck:  a  common  body  language  sign  of  uncertainty. 014.   foot  & finger  tapping:  a  common  body  language  sign  of  stress / impatience. 015.   nose touch:  a  subtle  body  language  sign  of  deceit. 016.   flipping  hair:  a  common  body  language  sign  of  craving  attention. 017.   twirling  hair:  a  common  body  language  sign  of  flirtation. 018.   cracking  knuckles:  a  common  body  language  sign  of  readiness. 019.   hands behind back:  a  common  body  language  sign  of  confidence. 020.   finger-pointing:  a  common  body  language  sign  of  authority. 021.   hands on hips:  a  common  body  language  sign  of  readiness. 022.  hands in pockets:  a  common  body  language  sign  of  mistrust  /  reluctance. 023.  frequent touch:  a  common  body  language  sign  of  warmth / familiarity.

𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭.  those that do not know him or are strangers, however, are less of the receiving end of touch.  touch is a matter of trust for tony, and he doesn’t trust easily.

024.   throat  –  clearing:  a  common  body  language  sign  of  rejection / doubt. 025.   jaw  –  clenching:  a  common  body  language  sign  of  hostility. 026.   eye  –  rolling: a  common  body  language  sign  of  irritation. 027.  head  –  tilt: a  common  body  language  sign  of  interest. 028.   whistling: to  emit  high  –  pitched  sound  by  forcing  breakthrough  a  small  hole  between  one’s  lips  or  teeth;  usually  to  a  tune. 029.   humming:  make  a  low,  steady  continuous  sound  like  that  of  a  bee;  usually  to  a  tune. 030.   perfectionism:  refusal  to  accept  any  standard  short  of  perfection. 031.   photographic memory:  the  ability  to  remember  information  or  visual  images  in  great  detail. 032.   paranoia:  a  mental  condition  characterized  by  delusions  of  persecution,  unwarranted  jealousy,  or  exaggerated  self - importance,  typically  worked  into  an  organized  system.  

𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚.  from the abuse of his father during his childhood and youth to the betrayal of people he believed would never turn their hand on him, and the death and rebirth of the universe at his hands, he has become increasingly paranoid of what comes next.

033.   exaggeration:  a  statement  that  represents  something  as  better  or  worse  than  it  really  is.

𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜.  has a tendency to speak loud and with hyperboles when he feels the need to be melodramatic.

034.   intuitive:  using  or  based  on  what  one  feels  to  be  true  even  without  conscious  reasoning;  instinctive. 035.  quick-witted:  showing  or  characterized  by  an  ability  to  think  or  respond  quickly  &  effectively.   036.   interrupting:  breaking  the  continuity  of  a  conversation  with  one’s  own  statements.

𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲.  having shown symptoms of ADHD, his train of thought jumps from one cart to another, connecting thoughts in a disjointed manner, and interrupting his own original train of thought to begin with. 

037.   doodling:  to  scribble  or  make  rough  drawings,  absentmindedly. 038.   irritable:  having  or  showing  a  tendency  to  be  easily  annoyed. 039.   gambling:  to  play  games  of  chance  for  money;  bet.

𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤, he enjoyed gambling as it was fun and unpredictable.  he had the money to spend.  he still does, but he finds that gambling is just as bad of an addiction as anything else.  now, he sticks to playful bets and challenges that do not have much danger associated to them.

040.   travel – sick:  suffering  from  nausea  caused  by  the  motion  of  a  moving  vehicle ,  boat ,  or  aircraft. 041.   sensitive:  having  or  displaying  a  quick  &  delicate  appreciation  of  others’  feelings.

𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲.  having experienced many painful and traumatic events in his lifetime, he finds it easy to relate and both sympathize and empathize with others’ and their feelings.

042.  melancholy:  a  feeling  of  pensive  sadness,  typically  with  no  obvious  cause.

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐜.  not for any particular reason.  often has depressive episodes and occasional mood swings that drive him toward this category of feeling sadness and emptiness.

043.   chewing gum:  the  exercise  of  chewing  flavored  gum  which  is  not  intended  for  swallowing. 044.   fidgeting:  to  make  small  movements,  especially  of  the  hands  &  feet,  through  nervousness  or  impatience.

𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧; it is not non-existent.  tony has had a lifetime of experience in front of cameras and lights where he finds himself usually as the most uncomfortable.  although he copes and performs well under the spotlight, small nervous ticks such as fidgeting in certain scenarios will still shine through when enough attention is paid on his body language.

045.  skeptical:  not  easily  convinced;  having  doubts  or  reservations. 046.   neat–freak:  compulsively  obsessed  with  cleanliness. 047.   gossiping:  divulging  personal  information  about  others. 048.   prim:  feeling  or  showing  disapproval  of  anything  regarded  as  improper;  stiffly  correct. 049.   abbreviating:  giving  others  nicknames / shortening  names / giving  pet  names.

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐲, he finds creative monikers for others’, or shortens peoples’ names where he sees fit.  some are of good taste, some are cheesy.

050.   having a catchphrase: having  a  sentence  or  phrase  typically  associated  with  a  specific  person.

“ 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐧. ”

tagged by :  @fallencomrade​ a while ago bc i lose track as u tag me in so many good things SDHKJFSDJFDJ tagging :   @stormweathered  /  @shlded   @thawedpatriot  @genotypiic  @sensesdialed​

[thewhumpstuff]

You and I, Me and You [6]

@badthingshappenbingo [Original characters and content for category - Flashbacks] [Warning: NSFW implications] [Teaser and Master List] [Archives of our Own] (You and I, Me and you: Chapter 7)

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Dark pillow talk. 

The freedom of her upper limbs came at the price. A few more crimson scratches against the raw, twine-irritated skin. The torment of rolling around on her knees as her back contorted awkwardly to accomplish the task within the given limitations. But success felt heavenly. Her arms snapped away from one another when the twine finally came undone. With a manic urgency, she plucked off the blindfold. The cloth wrapped around her eyes had never curtailed her breathing, but getting rid of it left her panting with relief.

The only source of illumination was soft and painfully consistent, it crawled in from under the metal door to shatter against the broken glass and to lick at her feet. That felt like a gift for now. For some time, her freed arms and restored vision tasted like a small victory. For some time, she remained still and poised, clinging to the piece of glass with a fervent hope. Then, the seconds and minutes began chafing at her resolve. Slowly but surely. The fluidity of time was not assessable. Staring at a piece of wall was not conducive to keeping track of the hours.

There was not so much as a scuffle outside. She felt forgotten. First, she dropped the glass, then she got fidgety. Two ritualistic, alternating motions. She craned her neck to flatten her cheek against the wall, right side… then left, her vision oscillating between the corner… and the dark despair of the room. And the painstaking transfer of her weight, from her knees to her haunches. This went on long enough to leave her neck and shoulder muscles begging for mercy and her leg muscles twitching with the strain.

As her resolve slowly melted, fear eagerly took its place. The exchanges with Jared had left her mind steeping in the past. It felt like a deliberate concoction. And now he had left her alone to brew. She could not fight the thoughts as they gathered and strategically battered against the flimsy walls of her brain. She followed the string of memories, brought to the surface by a slightly broken voice echoing in the room… It was her own, it sounded angelic somehow. She closed her eyes in surrender. “♩“…Am I out of my head Am I out of my mind...”♩ ~~~ ♩"…If you only knew the bad things I like…"♩ She grinned up at him as she sang along with the song he played. It was the one from the party, before they were interrupted. It sure felt appropriate. They’d consummated their relationship already, on multiple occasions, but the air today, felt differently charged. She used her elbows to slide backwards onto his bed, till her head found his pillow. He crawled over her on his elbows and knees, watching her protectively. She loved that he was concerned, but she felt the pressing need to prove that she was stronger than he thought.

His lips found the scar he had left on her neck, his tongue flicked across it, tenderly. “Bite me.” ♫…Don't think that I can explain it… ♫ He obliged, sucking her skin into his mouth, he teased it with his teeth. “Harder.” ♫…What can I say, it's complicated…♫ Curiosity and hesitance danced in his mind as his jaw tightened. A soft gasp morphed into a softer mewl. He let go. The scar had a perfect row of teeth-marks above and below it. He stared at it, it left him disconcerted. He looked at her. She looked incandescent, excited… ecstatic and bold. All the good things. As he tentatively nipped at her arm, sedulous about the force. She suddenly let out a cry of mock anguish. He snapped away from her. “Did I hur-” Her snicker, interrupted him. Something about her soft cackle sent a chill down his spine. “Of course, you did! But I liked it.” The cuffs dug into her as she stretched her arms instinctively, she felt like pulling him into an embrace. Aki made do with her legs instead, wrapping them around his hips to draw him back to her. “Fuck, Shira.” He chastised through grit teeth. It only made her laugh some more. “What? I like scaring people a little.” She beamed up at him with faux innocence. He shook his head and half-smiled, nervously stifling his unease, as he lowered himself against her again.

♫…Nothing's that bad If it feels good So you come back Like I knew you would… ♫ She nuzzled into his neck, leaving a small bite-mark of her own. She could feel his eyelashes against her shoulders, he did not even wince. Something about that left her feeling challenged. She picked another spot and bit a little harder. He closed his eyes and tensed but did not flinch. He let her finish, he even let her scan her handiwork as he propped himself on his elbows, his face looming over hers. The disquietude found words. “You like… hurting people too?” She tensed. His question sounded impassive, but she felt judged, nonetheless. “Sorry.” “No… It is ok. I’m fine.” That was not a very convincing reassurance. She gnawed at her lower lip. Feeling a certain surge of insecurities, she sought to assuage them by hoping this was a shared trait.

Her voice carried with it a note of dread, and of anticipation. “Too? Do you?” “No, not really… I mean… Do you like scaring and hurting too?” “I…” Her face was like a play. Emotions battling desires, battling her morals.

He placed his fingers on her lips and wore a brighter smile. Jared had no intentions of creating turmoil within her, not today… not after everything. They needed each other. “Shh…” She kissed his fingers, her tongue now flicking across the scar she had left. “Am I a bad person?” Depends, he thought. But ardently shook his head. He reached over to his bedside drawer. With a press of a button the collar and the cuffs clicked open. He whisked them off the bed. They found amusement in the way the fell, symbolic of their own inhibitions. They laughed. The moment her wrists were free, her hands worked on the buttons of his shirt. His hands made quick work of her little black dress with the classic ripping sound. Her motion, inspired by his urgency, left buttons scattered around them as she held the collar and tugged it apart. Fabric rustled, bared passion and bared bodies followed. - Later that night, the empty cups of tea sat huddled on the bedside drawer. The silence between them embraced a very different song. ♫…Love of mine, someday you will die… ♫ It crooned the spooning couple; she sang along in a low octave. He joined in. They could feel the vibrations through the contact between his chest and her back. ♩…“But I'll be close behind and I'll follow you into the dark”… ♩ “Will you?” Her fingers were entwined with his, she gave a little squeeze to emphasize her question, which followed the song. Will you, follow me into the dark?. “I’ll be there before you, so you’ll be the one following!” He chided, pulling her closer. They breathed in sync and inhaled deeply. Satisfied sighs mingled. She elbowed him gently, with a small click of her tongue. “Always the hero.”

Jared wasn’t the insecure sort, but revelations today had left him perturbed and he knew she would eventually have to go away. So, today he too, wanted to ask. “Will you?” She pulled her hair to the side as she twisted to look at him. She didn't think of darkness as death. She saw it something to explore and something to challenge. And something that Jared had already encountered and won against. “I kinda am, already… Aren’t I? But my darkness, my turn!” He much rather wished that she could follow him into the light. Not that he had luck finding light. He did find it in her, and now she was insistently trying to test it. Test her own light, till that darkness won out. She was still basking in her chance at glory. There was nothing that could keep her mind away from that future for too long. He wanted nothing more than to bury it. Jared’s fingers idle shapes on her back, doodling his way out of the instinct to ask her to not take up the offer, again. She turned to face him completely, his hand lay across her, with a heavy laziness.

Akira’s curious eyes pinned him with an odd question. “How the hell do you have such a high tolerance, by the way?” She had always secretly admired his endurance; it’d seem they weren’t exaggerating when there was talk of it among the BioHackers. It was thrown around as an analogy: ‘It is very difficult to endure this procedure… Unless you’re Jared or something.’ ♫…Catholic school as vicious as Roman rule I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black… ♫ He was amused by the lyrics that underpinned her question. “Practice.” There was some pride in his monosyllabic response, but it was wrapped in resigned discomfort.

He believed it to be among the biggest distinguishing factors between them… Their cumulative experiences. “Like… in The System and stuff?’’ Her macabre fascination with suffering, even his, left him a little speechless. He could tell from the falter in her whisper, that she was terrified of broaching the territories he avoided with a vehemence. And yet she did it anyway. He swallowed and stayed patient. “Yes.” ♫…And I held my tongue as she told me, Son, fear is the heart of love…♫ “Was that it?” She was sheepish in her ask and knew it wasn’t and he wasn’t ready to elaborate. It did lead him to a realization. His compromise with pain and darkness, started young and it happened circumstantially. Then things spiralled and he was forced to befriend suffering as it became a blanket for his cause. It was a relationship that bore the test of time and in some way, became his one sole companion. Life happened and he survived. Until now. That was the other pressing distinction between them. She… sought this darkness. One way or another. She was jumping into an inferno, having never played with the flicker of a candle flame. That would mean she’d have no coping mechanisms in place to deal with the monster in front of her. There was no leashing that suffering once it found her, and it inevitably would if she kept looking for it. It would wrest all the control and snatch away the ground she stood on. That is what he believed anyway. Should he then provide the flickering flame and the hearth? Is that what she wanted, is that what drew her to him? Could he teach her what she needed to learn if she were so set on this path?

“Never mind…” Akira whispered when her question was met with a pressing silence. She turned away again and closed her eyes. “What?” He asked absently, his thoughts had consumed him so entirely, he forgot the question they were borne out of. He recalled the conversation quickly enough, without needing another prompt. “You know there is more… Shira” He sounded stilted.

♫…Soles of your shoes are Are all worn down… ♫ She half-sung and half-hummed along with the song as it tapered to its end. She stretched and curled her toes, twisting to fit in the mould he made… Stolen covers, shared skin. She let her better judgement win and did not push the issue, unless he felt like divulging more himself. He did not. ♫…The time for sleep is now…♫ “But it’s all in the past now. You should get some rest, ‘Jared didn’t let me sleep’ won’t be an acceptable excuse to slip at training.”

~~~

♩…But it's n-nothing to cry about…♩” With the memories, her songs followed too. Holding notes while holding herself up was hard, but it was worth the effort as the trill hung poignantly in the room. The words only drew the tears that clung to her lashes, she ensured they didn’t fall and streak the grime her cheeks had collected off the walls.

There was a constant tug of impatience as he paced and waited for it to be long enough. A part of Jared was eager to get back. He couldn’t put a finger on why. What was he expecting to really resolve now? Time needed to soften her, so he could get on with business. This wasn’t something he’d struggled with before; this was the easiest part of interrogations he’d conducted in the past. But then, she wasn’t just any captive. Maybe it was time he came to terms with that. Objectivity would be harder to use as an anchor. But perhaps, that was his edge.

So, he fell prey to his impatience. Shuffling back to her holding cell. He heard her voice and it made him stop in his track. It was not just any song either… It had a firm spot in their playlist. His hand teetered over the latch as he waited. ♩“….'Cause we'll hold each other s-soon”…♩ It was sung slower than the original, giving it a beautifully eerie tone. Something rattled behind her. She fell silent and snatched the piece of glass off the floor. The door creaked open, he blocked most of the the light that pooled in, the bit that leaked past acted like an ambient spotlight on Akira. He remained by the threshold. “You know that song is special, by all means do finish…” She held the piece tightly enough to peel the scab and freshen the cut. Her breath hitched as she quickly blinked away the tears. No, I can’t show weakness. The lyric was too perfect, it longed to grace the moment. Who was she to stop them… “♩…I-in the blackest of rooms... ♩” [Category 2] [I’ve used ‘Bad things’ and ‘I’ll follow you into the dark’ as anchors for the post, I do not own the songs.]

[stormhawksplanb]

Alphabet Headcannon With Nova and Stork!

(I know I said I wasn’t gonna turn this blog into a romance between Nova and Stork but people are requesting me to do Alphabet challenges so here- List created by @houndofjustice-imagines​ <3 )

A for Arguments - How often do you two argue? Who apologies first? How do they make up? etc

They rarely Argue unless it’s over something that was miscommunication. Who ever misunderstood is usually the one to apologize first. But Stork has a bad habit of avoiding, and giving Nova the silent treatment when he’s mad, or thinks she’s done something that hurts him. This usually ends in her having a break down, and him feeling guilty. The after effect of this can continue for a couple days, and it makes everyone on the ship concerned.

B for Bedtime Routine - Do they prefer to be the big spoon or little spoon? Favorite sleeping position? etc

Nova likes to curl up and cuddle his side, usually with one leg over his waist. This is usually what happens when stork wants to have a personal furnace since she gives off a lot of heat. He will sometimes pull her closer onto him and surround them in blankets. If it’s too hot stork will get on top of her with his arms tucked under her back.

C for Cook - Do they cook? Can they cook? What type of food do they like to cook for their partner?

Nova is trying to teach him to cook, and it’s not going well. She winds up doing most of the cooking, and he’s doing the cleaning up part. Stork will also try and eat the food in the process. Even if it’s something like cookie dough. Nova tried to stop him by pointing out how he could get sick from eating raw eggs and he’ll shrug it off. “At least I’ll die happy” or a “It’s slightly romantic and twisted if I die from you’re cooking.” is usually his retort. Stork can’t cook. But he can kind of bake, or make french toast.

D for DIY - Do they like to make gifts for their partner? Are they good at general DIY around the house? Do they enjoy doing it?

100% They both do it, but not all the time. Usually if one or the other is upset or depressed they’ll make something silly, or charming to cheer the other up. Stork tries to teach Nova about mechanical stuff, but it usually doesn’t stick, word wise. She can do the thing, but can not explain it nor keep the technical terms. They both enjoy it and stork likes the sensation of being proud whenever she randomly pulls his little tricks out of her hat and shows off. They both have a habit of buying random junk to try and fix anything broken. It’s ‘quality’ time for them, but it’s really just an excuse for them to be together without drawing too much teasing from the others.

E for Effort - How much effort do they put into their relationship?

It’s 100% give and take. They’ve both been in pretty rough relationships with other people, friends and/or potential lovers, and they both have trust issues. Even though they seemingly get along like their already married, they made a rule to be honest with each other. The only one who struggles with it is Nova. She likes to keep things bottled up because she thinks her high energy will scare him off. Stork on the other hand is sensitive to this and thinks it’s because she doesn’t want to put in the effort. They eventually clear this up and things start to go smoother than before. Every now and then one of the other storm hawks will catch them sobbing or consoling each other, and will let the others know to give the couple some space for a bit.

F for First Date - Where do you go on your first date? How does it go etc?

They didn’t have an official date until they became official, which was a really weird, slow, conversion of just silently accepting each other. It just kind of happened, but once it was agreed they’d be official, and tell everyone, Stork woke Nova up in the middle of the night to show her the migration of the shimmering locus (a locus that’s wings are covered in colorful crystal dust) that was feeding on the flowers on Terra Fauna. He also brought with him a late night snack. Nova declared it, be accident, as “The best date I’ve ever been on” while slowly falling asleep again. Stork silently agreed and that’s what they considered their very first date. It was a quiet, and soft date.

G for Gifts - What kind of gifts do they gift their partner? What kind of gifts do they receive? etc

Stork recently build a glass case for her gifts, and has sacrificed space on his wall for her drawings. He’s even got a few of her doodles he’s stolen from her sticky note pads and stuck them to the fridge. Nova has a jewelry box contained of the little gadgets and chokers stork makes her. Jewelry is her biggest weakness, and he 100% knows if it’s got little moving parts or shiny things she can fiddle with, she’ll be over the moon about it. There is the occasional buying of the gifts, but that’s usually books, or something they other really wants, or needs. Examples are: Nova hunting down and buying stork that Brain worm helmet, or stork catching glimpses of dud crystals or crafty related things he finds at a cheap price since Nova already has enough time making profit off of commissions.

H for Honeymoon - Where do they go on Honeymoon? Details on the honeymoon etc.

They spent their Honey moon during one of Terra Merbia’s Blackout Festivals. Once a year the Terra’s storms stop completely and the sky becomes engulfed in colorful rays from the crystal energies, and it covered everything in saturated blended colors. Stork never got to see it due to the damage caused by war, and him running off into the waste lands. Both Stork and Nova cried that night, but it was happy tears. The rest of the week they spent just being together. One day they almost forgot to eat breakfast because they were both physically, and emotionally tired, but in a good way. They were just in a lazy mindset.

I for Intimacy - What do like they like? Where do they like to be intimate? Are they experienced etc?

Both virgins, and when it comes down to where and when, it’s in privacy and with no one around, and as little chance of getting caught. On the rare occasion they can’t get ‘alone time’ on the ship they will go camping, or out to a Bed and breakfast to get away. They will also take the opportunity as soon as the others fly off for training or a mission. When they do have intimate moments it’s usually planned, and sometimes it has nothing to do with sex/making love. Most of the time it’s them just being in the same room reading, or being goofy. Stork and Nova have the most fun when they act out old fashion plays.

J for Jealously - How jealous are they? How often do they get jealous? How they react? etc

Stork is a long distance jealousy guy. Nova becomes unwanted pray. He’ll observe his dark beloved from afar. If he sees anything he doesn’t like, or if Nova seems uncomfortable he’ll swoop by and come up with some bizarre excuse to take Nova away from the situation. Nova is the type of jealous that will wait to be alone and breakdown and cry if she thinks she’s endanger of losing stork. This usually ends when stork realizes she’s been avoiding her. She gets better about expressing it after a while.

K for Kink - Do they have any particular kinks?

Yes. Funny thing is it’s constantly changing. Neither of them like lewd kinks, it’s usually just small things that make it more sensual. It could be the way one of them moans, or wiggles. Nova, however, enjoys sensitive play after her climax, and it’s especially a turn on when Stork holds her wrists above her head. He does it so firm, but loose enough to where she knows she can stop him if needed. Storks kink is the aftermath of their passion. He likes it when she twirls his piercings or lightly scratches behind his neck, and ears. He has one kink he’ll never admit to her about, but it flips a switch in him when she snorts, so yes, he tries to get her to laugh during sex, and knows exactly how to do it. And if he times it just right with her release it’s his favorite sound in the world.

L for Long Distance - How do they cope with Long Distance? How they prefer to keep in contact? etc

They don’t keep in contact when they’re apart. They are both really good when it comes to being on time when leaving, and coming back. They love each other dearly, but they aren't dependent on one another. They can still live their lives so long they know they’re ok and safe. They might send a carrier pigeon to be like “I made it, but there’s a chicken and it wants to eat my noodles” Usually light hearted letters. Stork keeps those in a box under his bed to read when he does miss her. Nova is usually so busy when she leaves the condor she usually forgets, but she makes sure to carry something to cuddle when she gets lonely. When they return, it’s over the top and dramatic. Mostly to annoy anyone within ear shot. A few attempts of foreplay, or reunion sex is attempted, but it’s rather quick, and they try to be as silent as possible about it. The others, of course, don’t know where they went for those handful of minutes.

M for Marriage - Do they want to get married? Their wedding etc.

They never really thought of getting married until one day a letter from Terra Merbia came saying stork was to marry someone else. It was just a miscommunication, stork never told Nova, and then proceeded to give her a heart attack after proposing to her once he realized he ‘Didn’t want to give any other person the chance to taker her away. Even if that makes him selfish- he’s only selfish for her’. It was a traditional Merbian marriage. Yet with Nova around there was a few tweaks. Stork was grateful of the whole ‘The groom’s outfit is practically a dress, and that ain’t happening’ edit Nova made. The ceremony usually starts out with announcements of the soon to be married lives, written by their family or friends. There’s also, a rather potent, drink they both take a sip from, to signify their willingness to sacrifice and share in hard times. Nova cringed at the taste and it made everyone giggle. The thing that ties the knot is the drawn lines painted on their wrists, to signify their unity as one and their effects on each other. No two symbols are the same since it’s a one time, improvised moment. Stork gave Nova a heart with a sideways infinity symbol, and Nova drew a tight swirl that had A large dot leading to a smaller dot going out towards the end. Merbs are not an outwardly intimate species, all that stuff is saved for in the bedroom just because Merbs are the type to be quiet and keep to themselves to avoid conflict. So any kissing or anything too ‘show offy’ is out of the ceremony, but not unwelcomed. Merbs are also pretty understanding and relaxed about their won rules, given it won’t get anyone hurt, or killed.

N for Night’s Out - Where do they take their partner on nights out? How often do nights out happen?

Night outs happen whenever they get the chance. The others leave for a week to screw around- I mean train with the Absolute Zeros? Let’s take a much needed nap, and drink coffee out on the deck. Stork will have something planned for them as soon as he catches whiff of a vacation. they travel off during vacations and the others just know better to not go looking for them.

O for Often - How often do you see each other? How many times a week? etc

Well they live on the condor together, but know full well not to be too clingy or else they get bored and wind up doing whatever. It’s actually pretty simple the way they function. Eventually it just all becomes a comfy habit to do what they want when they want, and if either wants attention they are more than allowed to seek each other out.

P for Public Displays of Affection - Do they like PDA? Do they have boundaries etc.

Stork surprisingly shows more PDA than Nova. Mostly due to the fact he enjoys embarrassing her when ever he gets the chance. Much play fighting btw. Nova is more spontaneous, and usually only shows her PDA if he’s been close to death, Stork gifts her with something neat, or get excited, and uses him as an outlet. Other than that it’s a game of who can sneak more kisses with out anyone seeing. This makes for some interesting teasing when caught. Stork is currently winning, 32 to 12. The count starts over when wolf whistles are heard, or the “aawwwww” comment is made. Stork has a high score of 456 kisses.

Q for Quiet - Why do they get quiet? How does their partner solve it?

Nova gets quiet when she get depressed or over stressed. Stork kind of just, suddenly realizes it and doesn’t care how long it’s been, he just wants his overly excited, bouncy nova back. This will probably end in a sob session if it’s something close to heart, and if not a cuddle session or a mini nap. When stork get’s quiet it’s usually because of frustration, or if he decides to overwork himself. He will also go quiet all day if he has flashbacks, or night terrors from the war. No one else realizes this, but Nova suffers from those things as well, but get’s over it as soon as it comes. Stork likes to beat himself up. And these always end in sob sessions because he’s so sensitive. Thankfully all it takes is a few minutes of back rubs, and ear kisses to get him back to where he needs to be. Nova’s narcissistic, pessimistic, oddball self.

R for Reunion - How they like to reunite with their partner?

Dramatic. Very dramatic. They do it to annoy the others, and Nova gets the most kicks out of it. But later on there will be lots of cuddling, and kissing. Sometimes they go further than that, but keep it on the down low. Stork will 100% try and break Nova at least once in the more intimate moments. He’ll only stop once he gets at least, one sound from her.

S for Surprise - Do they like surprises? What kind of surprises do they like to get etc?

Nova loves it, and stork only likes it in the form of food. Fried Merb cabbage and mushrooms is his favorite. Nova likes it when stork comes from behind her and hugs her, those are the best surprises. It’s even better with a light bite of her upper cartilage ear piercing. so long there’s no earring. Stork choked on one of her backings once so he’s more careful about it.

T for Texts - How often do they text? How do they react when they receive texts from their partner?

Changing this to messages, but Nova likes to paper air plane drawings and little “You did an awesome job! Show the enemy no mercy!” notes for stork to chuckle at. Stork, on the other hand, loves leaving her poetry. Dark, sexual, playful, romantic or ironic poems. Stork has her wrapped around his finger in whatever mood he wants to see from her with his writing and takes 100% pride in it. If he wants something specific from her he knows how to get it. But doesn’t care if she says no.

U for Unity - How well do they work with their partner? Do they make a good team?

Deadly team. Don’t be at the wrong side of the dagger if you piss off , or hurt, either of them. They have that stupid, unspoken understanding with each other. It’s more of a “do you have an idea” look, followed by who ever nods first is the leader, while the other is the back up to make sure the ‘leader’ stays unharmed. There was one time Dark ace fucked stork up pretty badly and if it wasn’t for The others showing up, and accidentally giving him an escape route, Nova would have killed him.

V for Vacation - Favorite vacation spot to take their partner?

Nova likes being taken to Terra Neon, but mostly for the games and plays at the theater , which they both enjoy. Stork also showed off his skill on the bull ride to Nova, and it was one looong night after that. Stork likes going to Terra Fauna for a vacation. Simply because it’s a nice refreshing place to just be lazy with Nova. They have a wicked nice hiding spot when ever they wanna ‘get it on’. It’s a little cave that has glowing water that shimmers when the moon hits it, and they try and go there when ever they pass by the Terra. Needless to say the spot was picked out because Nova really likes the reflection of the colors, and will get distracted, giving stork the opportunity to give her little nibbles and surprises.

W for When - At what point do they move into together? What kind of place? etc

Welp- Nova was originally just bumming a ride from the storm hawks but due to wanting to learn to be a sky knight ‘from the best squad ever’ she got stuck with them. It started to become more and more permanent when Nova learned that her home Terra was slowly becoming inhabitable. She was then slowly taken on as a storm hawks because no one wanted to say goodbye. Nova even saved Aerrow a few times and got major points for it. Stork was happy, and it showed, when she was written down in the books at Terra Atmosia. He even cried a bit, and then she started up.

X for X-ray - What is their favorite body part on their partner?

Stork loves Nova’s hands, and feet. Not like as in a fetish, it’s just she’s so small, and her hands and feet are just as tiny. also he sometimes does this weird ‘foot holding’ with his feet and hers when they play footsie. It’s not ever really discussed, and it just happens. It mostly happens because her feet are her tickle spot, and he loves her silly snorting. Nova is over the moon about storks ears. If his ears twitch, or droop, chances are you will get a verbal response from her. Stork doesn’t get the obsession about it, but enjoys the foreplay, and piercing twirls.

Y for you - A random head canon about your relationship.

They can’t take a bath alone. Stork started this habit waaay before they got married, and it was really relaxing, and now they can’t relax without each other. Same thing with sleeping, but Nova got stork into the habit of sleeping naked. Not for sexual reasons but because she has silk bedding and they both really like the feeling of sleeping in pure silk.

Z for Zoom - Zoom into the future, what does your future look like?

Nova eventually is taught everything she needs, and these two become makeshift monster hunters. Nova is stork’s damage control, and they’re a force to mess with. Nova even knows how to navigate all of storks traps on the condor. They eventually move into one room together. They never have kids, but they do wind up adopting a ‘guard dog’ for the condor.Nova cries when the other storm hawks hit the ‘official’ minimum age to be a squadron. Stork has no problem leaving the condor, and eventually actually sells it for scrap, and nova and him make the ultimate Ship they dub the Vulture. Stork says it’s his proudest work and makes Nova his first mate. Slowly but surely they separate from the rest of the storm hawks as Aerrow, Piper, Finn, and Junko return to live on their home Terra that Cyclonis took at the start of it all. Stork and Nova stayed for the ceremony of the newly Raised flag, and they rename their Home Terra, Terra Argonia, after Nova’s destroyed Terra. Stork and Nova don’t leave the team, it’s just now that everything is where it should be, and everyone is learning how to fully defend themselves, and rebuild their lives, there’s no major need for the storm hawks. Terra Argonia is now the home base of the team, but Nova and Stork still have a whole world to explore, and they do so. Piper and Raddar eventually get a second ship in case Stork and Nova are gone, and the others want to head out on an adventure. Every now and then the team fully assembles to fight against retaliation, but in the end the world of Atmos is left in capable hands. Especially now that Piper is the head leader of teaching the future fighters, along with the skills taught by the others. Nothing could have prepared them for the end as life is given a steady pace.

(FUCK- THE LAST ONE MADE ME CRY A BIT FUUUUUUCK- Please! ASK ME MORE QUESTIONS LIKE THIS, I’M HAVING FUN WITH THISIIIISISISIS~~~)

[floral-hex]

To be ignored

Decent day. Cried myself to sleep last night, but still, it was a mostly decent day. Went and read at Starbucks for awhile. It’s becoming a habit. I’ve found I need to make up reasons to get myself out of the house, and coffee & books seems like a good excuse. I’m sure there are more productive ways I could be utilizing my newly single alone time, but for now this will do. So I went and sat for a couple of hours and finished my book, which I was happy with. I am mildly embarrassed to admit that I don’t read nearly enough, so any time I actually manage to finish a book is some small cause for celebration.

I bought an ex box. A box for my ex. Not FOR her, but her reminders. Pictures of us, ticket stubs, scraps of paper she’s doodled on, things she’s made or given to me that I can’t quite disassociate her memory from. I don’t think she’d want to keep any of them. I don’t know why I want to keep them. I miss her. It hurts. I guess this is my way of reconciling my need to move on and my desire not to let her go. So I’ll put our memories in a small box and hide it in the back of my closet and try not to open it again. I don’t want to lose her. I mean... I already have. She left. It’s over. But I’m sentimental. I want to keep what I can of her. I don’t know if it’s healthy. It’s always played as a joke in tv shows, the ex gf/bf box. When we started dating, she went out of her way to tear up photos of my previous ex that I still had. I understand that. My previous ex cheated on me, something I still don’t completely blame her for. It was a tumultuous and incredibly strained, unhealthy relationship. I was okay with her photos being destroyed. But with... you know, I hate called her my ex, my current ex, this latest heartbreak, this one, THE ONE... with her, I don’t want to lose these memories, these mementos. We’ll see how I feel in 6 months, or a year, or who knows how long before I “move on.”

So I picked out a box and some sad love song started playing in the store and I spent my time trying to pick out what chips I wanted while trying not to cry. It’s funny. So grumpy and sad and red eyed carrying around a small box and a big bag of funyuns. I can get over it quick enough these days. Distractions. I get in the car and I want to listen to sad music, but I don’t feed that part of my heart. This isn’t a fucking indie movie where I’ll put on a slow song and cry on the way home and it’s cathartic. No, I put on the noisiest album I have on my phone and spend the drive listening to screaming and static (thank you, Prurient). You don’t have to honor your pain. It doesn’t deserve your time. I’m not going to give my heartache a soundtrack or ambiance just so I can feel like shit all night. Thank you therapy for coping mechanisms.

But sometimes I still cry before falling asleep.

Because I miss her. And, impersonally, I miss having someone to talk to. I don’t know how to talk to new people. I tried talking to a girl the other day. Cute, but it was hard to get a conversation going. With a lot of people, it feels like pulling teeth to have a decent conversation. I worry I’m not interesting and I’m more than okay with the other party mainly talking about themselves, people seem to love talking about themselves, but god, so often it feels like I’m running the conversation. I have to move everything along. I’m the only one asking questions. People don’t want to know about my life, which is... it’s fine, but they also never seem to want to move along the conversation or actually develop a rapport. Every statement is closed at the end. There’s no discussion. There’s nothing open ended to build on or interest on their part. So I ask her if she just wants to just meet and get coffee instead. No, she would rather keep talking for awhile, to be safe, which is great, smart, a good plan, but she doesn’t talk except when I ask questions and it feels more like I’m asking questions about a job I want. “Hi, yes, tell me about yourself, what are you looking for, what kind of pets do you have?” Whatever. It happens all the time. Tinder is scary. I see I get a new match and I freak out, see who it is, and a couple of times already I’ve unmatched right away just because... I don’t know. I want something, some closeness, but I’m scared. Opening up is scary. So I invite it and then I deny it, and in the off chance I try to be brave and open up to someone, they disappoint. I don’t know. It’s hard. I miss the easiness of my ex. How easy it was to connect. We talked a lot in the beginning before even meeting. I’m worried about trying to find something like that again. I can’t rush it, I suppose. I just want to be happy. And I can’t deny, I miss being close with someone. Ok, so I’m lonely and gross. Whatever.

This is a lot. Wow. I didn’t mean to write even a quarter of this much. Sorry.

[queenofcats17]

Three Old Men Hunt Ghosts

So, @aceofintuition posted some doodles of various AU’s they have involving their and @pipesflowforeverandever ‘s Joey’s. So I decided to write the Buzzfeed Unsolved one. 

The man colloquially known as ‘Snowy’ Drew did not believe in ghosts. Not in the slightest. He liked things he could touch, things he could see. He liked things that were tangible. Ghosts didn’t really fall into that category. Unfortunately for him, the man who had dubbed himself his ‘best friend’ very much believed in ghosts. And a lot of other things that Snowy didn’t really put any stock in. ‘Gingie’ Drew was almost the polar opposite of Snowy. He was fair skinned where Snowy was dark, short where Snowy was tall, whimsical and fanciful where Snowy was practical and rational. Technically speaking, they shouldn’t have been friends. And, at first, they hadn’t been. They’d met at an animation conference. Both of them were in the animation industry and had that in common at the very least, as well as the fact that they were both named Joey Drew. At first, their opposing personalities had caused them to hate each other. Until, that is, they’d discovered one other thing they had in common. Their love for their children. As soon as they both found out the other had a child and would do anything for them, their hatred toward each other cooled, and they’d quickly become quite close friends. 

But that was in the past. Now it was the middle of the night and Snowy was at the wheel of his car, Gingie in the passenger seat, headed to some random location that Gingie was convinced was haunted. In the backseat was Norman Polk, who was along to record the whole experience. See, Gingie had gotten the idea that it would be fun to start a web series. His daughter, adopted daughter really, liked watching videos on YouTube and had come across a web series where two men discussed supernatural occurrences and true crime. Gingie had thought this would be a marvelous idea. Snowy didn’t mind the idea. He found true crime to be rather interesting, and it was pretty entertaining to watch Gingie get excited about the supernatural. 

“You just enjoy all the compliments you get in the comments.” Ana had said. She wasn’t wrong. Snowy didn’t mind all the comments about his attractiveness, as well as the ones about how cute Joy was. She’d been on a few episodes, but only the ones where he thought the content was appropriate. Gingie had brought on his granddaughter, Linda, a few times as well. Again, only when the content was appropriate, because Marvin had given Gingie a thorough talking to about what exactly Linda would be exposed to. 

“Gingersnap, remind me why we have to do this in the middle of the night,” Snowy said as they drove down the dirt path to the cave. Because of course it was a cave. 

“Well, you wouldn’t expect a ghost to just appear in the middle of the day, would you?” Gingie replied. How on Earth did he have this much energy?! It was almost midnight and they’d both gotten up at 6 that morning!

“It’s a cave. It’s always dark in a cave. They can’t tell the difference.” 

“Well, yes...” Gingie hesitated a bit. “But the time is important. The supernatural is stronger during the witching hour.” Snowy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Yeah, sure, that checks out.” He muttered. 

A few minutes later they pulled up outside of the cave. They’d gotten permission to film in the cave, but there was still a guide from the park service waiting for them. The cave was, for the most part, undeveloped and thus rather dangerous. 

“Hello.” The park service employee waved wearily. They were a tired dark skinned 20-something dressed in a park uniform. Judging from the circles under their eyes, they were probably a pretty new hire. 

“Ah! You must be Ramirez!” Gingie scrambled out of the car, bounding up to shake the guide’s hand. They couldn’t help but smile a little at Gingie’s enthusiasm. 

“Um, yeah. That’s me.” They replied. “Are you guys the two Drew’s?” 

“Indeed we are!” Gingie grinned, shaking their hand excitedly. “I must say, it’s a pleasure to be here! Thank you so much for letting us film in the cavern!”

“Sorry we had to drag you out here so late,” Snowy said, walking up behind Gingie.

“It’s fine,” Ramirez assured him. “I’m used to being up this late anyway.”

“You in college?” Snowy asked as Gingie peered past their guide. 

“Yeah. I’m in my last year.” Ramirez nodded. “I’m working here part-time right now, but eventually I want this to be my permanent job.”

“That’s a rather noble ambition.” Gingie turned his attention back to Ramirez. “It’s very important to take care of the beauty that Mother Nature has given to us.”

“You really think so?” Ramirez smiled shyly. “My aunt told me it was stupid. But...my family doesn’t really talk to her anymore anyway.”

“Well, that was rude of her.” Gingie’s smile quickly turned to a frown. He soon launched into a motivational speech for the young park employee. Snowy went back to the car to check on Norman. The projectionist was unloading the camera and sound equipment from the trunk, doing quick tests to make sure everything was working the way it should. 

“Everything working?” Snowy asked, leaning down. 

“So far.” Norman nodded, picking up the main camera and hefting it onto his shoulder. 

“Thanks for sticking with us for this long,” Snowy said after a moment of silence. “We both really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” Norman replied. “If you both die horrific deaths, someone needs to record it.” 

“Ha ha. Very funny.” Snowy rolled his eyes. But Norman didn’t laugh. Snowy turned back to look at him. Norman just smiled at him. Snowy knew Norman was, in all likelihood, joking. But you could never quite tell with him.  

“Let’s, uh, let’s just go.” Snowy walked quickly towards the mouth of the cave. Norman hummed to himself, following. Gingie was still talking with Ramirez when Snowy and Norman got to them, both looking rather excited. 

“C’mon, Gingersnap.” Snowy grabbed Gingie by his collar. “Henry’ll have a heart attack if you suddenly adopt another kid.”

“I-I’m not trying to adopt them!” Gingie sputtered, his cheeks turning red. “We were simply talking!”

“Sure you were,” Snowy said. “That’s what you said with Francine too, and now you’re practically her dad.”

“You do have a tendency to adopt young people you like.” Norman agreed. 

“Not you too, Mr. Polk!” Gingie wailed. After a moment or two of bickering, they separated and got ready to do their intro. 

“Hello everyone!” Gingie waved at the camera. “This week, we’re investigating Echo Cave in our continuing quest to answer the question, are ghosts real? I must say, I’m rather excited!” 

“I’m just hoping I don’t get shit on by a bat.” Snowy shrugged. 

“In any case, let’s go!” Gingie beamed and started into the cave, followed by Snowy and Norman. Ramirez snorted a little as they followed the trio of men. They hadn’t been sure what to expect when their boss had told them they’d be escorting the hosts of a web series through the cave but it certainly hadn’t been this. Still, they were certainly interesting men.

As they got deeper, the light began to fade, prompting them to pull out their flashlights. Norman had a head mounted one, while the other three just had flashlights they were carrying. 

“So, what can you tell us about this place?” Snowy asked, looking back at them. Norman had begun recording by this point. 

“Well, it’s a naturally formed cave,” Ramirez said, shifting into tour guide mode. “For the most part, it’s just home to animals. Black bears, raccoons, squirrels. Things like that. Humans didn’t usually come here. But...” They paused for dramatic effect, shining their flashlight under their face. “There was one significant incident where humans visited this cave. It happened in the winter of 1856. Two men, explorers, were driven into this cave by a blizzard. They were ill prepared for the harsh conditions, and their supplies soon ran out.” Gingie was walking alongside them, watching with an eager look. Ramirez started to grin, but quickly cleared their throat and put on a serious expression. 

“They were in this cave for months, by themselves, trapped by the snow. Eventually, tensions began to rise. The two men began to turn on each other, convinced the other was out to get them. In the end, their hostilities boiled over, and they fought. Only one came out alive.” They lowered their voice. “And in the darkness of the cave, standing over the body of his friend, the victor’s hunger made itself known once more. It had been so long since he’d eaten. When other explorers found the cave, they found both men dead. The first from the fight, with great chunks of him ripped away. The second...from suicide. It appeared he was unable to cope with what he’d done. But no one was ever sure. They say his ghost haunts these caves, begging for forgiveness. Or maybe...Maybe he’s taken a liking to the taste of humans.” They leaned back, letting the words settle. 

“Oh, bravo!” Gingie tucked his flashlight under his arm so that he could applaud them. “That was wonderful!”

“You sure know how to tell a story, kid.” Snowy chuckled. 

“I didn’t go too far?” Ramirez smiled nervously. 

“No no! Not at all!” Gingie said. “It was very engaging!”

“Ghost stories aren’t really my thing, but you seemed like you were enjoying yourself, so I liked it.” Snowy agreed. Ramirez felt a bit of color rising to their cheeks at this praise.

“In all seriousness,” they cleared their throat. “Two explorers did get trapped in here by a blizzard, one killed the other, probably ate some of the other to survive, and then died. And people do say they see a man in 19th-century clothing wandering around here.”

“Which is why you wanted to come here.” Snowy looked pointedly at Gingie, who smiled sheepishly.

“I was hoping I could help but his soul to rest.” He admitted. “I brought supplies as well!” He began digging around in the bag he’d brought.

“We better not get possessed,” Snowy muttered. “Ana would kill me if I let myself be possessed.”

“My dear Snowy!” Gingie let out a horrified gasp. “I would never let something like that happen to you!”

“Do they get in situations where they might be possessed often?” Ramirez whispered to Norman, who snorted quietly. 

“More than you’d think.”

It didn’t take long before they’d reached the furthest point they could safely go. Ramirez told them when that was, gently tugging them back. 

“Alright!” Gingie brightened. “Well, now that we’re here, would you mind terribly if I brought out the spirit box?”

“I hate the spirit box.” Snowy wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“I know you do.” Gingie smiled apologetically as he pulled out the device. “So I won’t run it for too long.” Ramirez was about to ask why Snowy hated the spirit box. Then Gingie turned it on. And after a moment or two, they understood. The spirit box was loud and the constant switching of channels produced an irritating static. 

“Is there anyone here with us?” Gingie asked, his expression suddenly becoming serious. They all sat there in silence as the box kept switching channels. 

“If there is anyone here with us, could you tell me your name?”

Still nothing, but Ramirez could have sworn the air around them had gotten colder. They could see their breath in front of their face.

“Our guide has informed us that you were trapped here with your friend.” Gingie continued, his gaze firmly on the spirit box. “And that you killed your friend. Do you have anything to say about that?”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then a voice came out of the spirit box. 

“...erved it...”

“Could you repeat that?” Gingie said calmly. 

“He...deserved it...” A chill ran down Ramirez’s spine at the voice coming from the box. It was low, raspy, and full of rage. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be!

“That’s hardly a fair thing to say.” Gingie shook his head, a disappointed look on his face. 

"Pretty sure his only mistake was getting stuck here with you,” Snowy said with a snide smile. The air around them was only growing colder. Ramirez was beginning to shiver now, rubbing their hands on their arms. 

“You know...nothing...” The voice from the box growled. Ramirez could almost make out the figure of a man over the box. A haggard looking man dressed in 19-century clothing.

“Oh, I think I know quite a bit.” Gingie smiled sweetly. “Such as how to get rid of you.” The figure of the man solidified and went for Gingie’s throat. Ramirez shrieked and stumbled back, dropping their flashlight. All the lights in the cave went out, leaving Ramirez in darkness. They could hear the sounds of a struggle, as well as Snowy cursing. When the lights came back on, Norman was standing over them, holding out a hand to the park employee. 

“You alright?” He rumbled.

“I...There was a ghost.” They stammered as Norman pulled them to their feet. “There was a man! And he talked to Mr. Drew and- and-” 

“A ghost?” Gingie looked around wildly. “Where?” He was still in the same position he’d been before the lights had gone out. Snowy was in the same place as well, yawning and stretching. 

“I...I thought...” Ramirez stared at the space where they’d seen the ghost. They had seen a ghost, hadn’t they? It had to have been there. 

“You alright, kid?” Snowy asked. “You took a bit of a tumble there when the lights went out.” 

“I...I’m okay.” Ramirez nodded slowly. Maybe...Maybe they were just working too hard. 

Gingie and Snowy messed around in the cave for a little longer before they had all the footage they needed and Ramirez led them back out of the cavern. The men thanked them for their time and left in Snowy’s car. When the video eventually went up, Ramirez watched it and found no evidence of the ghost they thought they’d seen. Maybe they’d been imagining things. But something about Gingie’s smile as he and Snowy had left made them wonder. Oh well. They had other things to worry about. 

[cleverbroadwayurl]

The Lady of Shalott (Connor Murphy x SlightlyFem!Reader)

Word Count: 2692

A/N: Me??? Writing Connor Murphy like Chloe Price from Before the Storm??? Yes. Also! I implied a little bit of fem!reader, and I did ask if anyone was against that, and no one said no, so uhhh here it is! I tried to make it not so tough to read but it’s hard to do that when you’re talking about the Victorians who were kinda snooty. Also! This is a real poem! I have a love of it, and the paintings are absolutely stunning! Just do a quick Google search to find them! And uhh if you want to be tagged in all of my work, you need to let me know bc I don’t know about that right now. 

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of marital assault, mentions of assault, mentions of Victorian era laws (which are horribly sexist), some dickwad, bad ending, language IF I MISSED ANY PLEASE LET ME KNOW

Connor rubbed his eye with his hand before checking the analog clock once again. 7:28. Fuck first period. With a glance at the board, he was met with the empty white surface. A hint of dread rose within him. Ever since his British Literature teacher said that everyone from the Romantic Era had died by the time the Victorian Era came around, except of course, for Connor’s least favorite poet, he’d been preparing for the worst ever since.

He hadn’t done his homework from the night before. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t normally do it—he typically liked English. His dad on the other hand, he did not like. Connor scoffed at last night’s fading memory, the image of Zoe’s cookie dough ice cream wrapped into his arm, a spoon in the other, while Larry went batshit about “stealing your perfect sister’s ice cream” for the fifth time that month. It wasn’t like he was taking it. He just wanted something sweet at 2 AM instead of sleeping. It wasn’t like he could sleep anyways. He was out of weed anyways. Fuck sleep. Fuck Larry. Fuck Perfect Zoe’s ice cream.

“Alright let’s get started,” Mr. Rand called out, picking up his anthology and flipped through the pages. “The Lady of Shalott. What do we think?”

Wait a minute. Connor had read that poem. Well, not read. No, Connor had enjoyed that poem, which was a first, especially ever since the bastard Wordsworth came into his life. He was silently thanking whoever he could—fate maybe—that it wasn’t that pretentious dick who loved nature so much he thought that “God himself has created Heaven on Earth” or some dumb shit. No, this was a fairytale poem about a badass lady who looked out her window, saw an attractive man, and then was banished to death by a curse that was placed on her years ago. It was like a really dark fairytale. And Connor had a soft spot for the original Brother’s Grimm stories.

And, on the bright side, he wouldn’t have to lock himself in the bathroom for getting so fed up with Wordsworth’s outlook on life (well, that and his classmate’s discussion) and how everything would be perfect if we all just loved nature. Yeah, Connor tried that. It didn’t work even a little bit. If anything, it made things worse for him. Being alone with his thoughts was not a good phenomenon, to say the absolute very least. So a break from the nature-loving freak himself was like walking under a waterfall into a right of passage.

“I think it’s like a fairytale!”

It was going to be one of those discussions. Alright. Fine. Connor took a deep breath and hoped that the conversation would get a little bit more exciting before he would leave and chill in the silence of the bathroom while everything around him remained still. It was the one thing he could control; that he could keep calm. He decided he’d give it another 20 minutes before leaving.

He chose to zone out a little bit, his pencil doodling a little boat, scarves and rags coming out of it. He’d draw the actual Lady of Shalott later. It was now that Connor wished he’d gotten a coffee from literally anywhere to help him stay awake and fight off his usual headache of not sleeping. When he’d been open about his head hurting before, kids started to laugh at him; mock him for being “too hungover to even talk about poetry”. The truth was that he was never actually hung over—extremely hungry, yeah, but that was kind of a given. And that was another thing that the coffee he so desperately craved helped with. He knew it was too late to get it right now, though. His drawing was just only getting started, guidelines still very prominent.

His black nail polish hit the paper, and he stopped for a second, assessing the damage that had been done. He liked it. Yeah, it was a new wave of hurt, it could symbolize the violent calmness of the Lady’s death. Connor made a few more marks, giving the image a real feeling of rage and empathy. He liked it. It was more than pretty. It was telling of what he assumed deaths of this caliber were like.

“Let’s talk about some Victorian history, okay?” The teacher queued up his PowerPoint before walking back to the front of the class, adjusting his blazer just slightly. Why was this teacher so pretentious? He was always way too chipper for this time of day; it was like he’d just swallowed a spoonful of straight caffeine. Connor rolled his eyes before pulling out a pen for the accents of his drawing.

“Now, in the Victorian era, women were typically referred to Angels of the Household. They did practically everything in their power to make the home perfect and ‘just so’ for her husband.

“Another term came along with the Angel of the Household, however. That term was Fallen Angel; or a woman who did not do the chores she was expected to and would also often commit adultery. Now, adultery was a pretty common thing among men, especially since divorce was so unheard of and frankly only for the exceedingly rich. And if the woman committed adultery, the husband and the rest of society would shun her, causing her death or causing her to be exiled. The deaths were a lot more frequent and usually were water based. Women would jump off bridges or purposely drown themselves in some way or another. Given this new information, what can we say about the Lady of Shalott?”

“She got what was coming to her.”

Connor rolled his eyes. He had to restrain throwing his pen at that one kid. He didn’t know names, but knew that that kid was more annoying and ruder than Jared Kleinman. Connor watched as the kid smiled smugly as the teacher tried to continue the conversation with the class, leaving that comment out. While the comment was a joke to the kid, Connor knew that there was truth behind it. He refocused on his drawing.

“I think we should also talk about some laws women had to follow.”

For some reason, Connor thought of his sister. Maybe it was the events from the night before or something. It dawned upon him after a minute or so: Zoe would totally raise her hand like the dumb overachiever she is and state something completely true and wonderful about women today before giving harsh criticism to anyone else who still believed in it. He had to chuckle a little bit. While he was still definitely upset at his sister and often fought with her, sometimes fighting to purposely get a rise out of her, he kind of missed the bond they’d had before. It was weird. Connor dismissed the feeling.

“Women weren’t allowed to file any kind of lawsuit without her husband’s or father’s consent. That includes divorce. And, if they somehow got the money and consent, women couldn’t divorce based on adultery alone like men could.”

Connor turned back to his work once more before he could hear the discussion around that. He didn’t want to hear the discussion around that. If he did, he’d have to leave for the bathroom, and he still had 5 minutes to stick it out before making his final decision to skip or not. So, instead of listening to the cringeworthy conversation, he chose to add medallions to his boat and begin the figure of the Lady of Shalott.

“Good question, Ellie! Women were legally obligated to submit to their husbands. As in, martial assault was completely legal and encouraged. It wouldn’t be many years until that law was changed.”

“Wait! So like assault was legal?”

“No! Not at all, actually! Let me give an example of this.” Connor hoped he wouldn’t be picked. If Mr. Rand used him in an example where he was the bad person, the class would break out into laughter and his entire day would be ruined. He’d have to leave, he’d have to find a new way to cope with this bullshit because his fucking dealer wasn’t getting back to him. Everyone called him a freak now, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like if the teacher called him something like a predator to an entire sex.

“Let’s say Jenna and Erik were married, and Erik assaults Jenna. That’s legal in this time period. But now let’s say Connor and (Y/N) were married—(Y/N) being the feminine figure in this situation” FUCK “They live a very happy marriage, love each other very much, and neither have done anything wrong. But let’s say one day someone forces (Y/N) into a situation they don’t want to be in. That would be illegal because (Y/N) and their assaulter aren’t married. Does that make sense?”

Connor suddenly met your gaze, each of you embarrassed as the other. You quietly eyed your pencil quickly after, a blush ever prominent on your features. You looked up after a solid thirty seconds, refocusing on taking notes on the class’s discussion. Someone else spoke up about you as your eyes met your notebook again, not shifting up this time.

“So if (Y/N) wanted to file a lawsuit, they’d need Connor’s consent?”

This was just getting worse and worse by the minute. Connor counted. He’d been here past the 20 minute mark a while ago. He had 10 minutes left before he could escape. Connor wasn’t going to the bathroom, though. No, he was going home. This was too much for him and his lack of sleep.

“Yes, that’s correct! And I’m sure Connor would gladly give it, as two people in this time period generally love and care for their spouse, even if this time period’s art don’t depict that.”

Connor didn’t need to see your face to know you were beet red. He kept staring at you until he made eye contact again. He shot you a look of sadness. Connor knew what was coming. The kids around you would start calling you a freak, would start making fun of you for this teacher’s dumb move. He had never talked to you, but knew from various things he’d heard around the school that you just kind of kept to yourself and were generally a nice person. You didn’t deserve to be harassed for something that was out of your control. You didn’t—fuck was Connor turning into Zoe?

“Would Connor even do it? Because how does he know that (Y/N) isn’t lying about their acts of adultery?”

Now Connor couldn’t hold it in as he watched  your face meet the light and contort into utter horror. You scooted your chair away from this kid, eyes fixated on your desk as you did so. Even from his seat across the room, he could sense your discomfort and your attempts at distracting yourself from the thoughts that oh-so-obviously clouded your mind. He could see how you held your breath. The tighter that your inhale became, the tighter that Connor’s fist and jaw clenched.

“Because unlike you, I actually believe in the people who come forward about a very personal and traumatizing experience, asswipe.”

“Language, Mr. Murphy.”

Connor’s face turned red and slumped into his seat. Although, he had been victorious. You were staring now, pencil not moving as he could see your heavy breaths take over. He relaxed a little bit at that, but not enough to stop crumpling the drawing he’d created at the beginning of class. His eyes shifted from you to that one kid, fight blazing in his heart.

“Connor is right, though,” Mr. Rand continued, “He would believe them because why would you lie about that kind of thing, especially when that’s your spouse? You wouldn’t. Studies have shown that even in today’s society, you can’t even pay people a million dollars to lie about being assaulted. So, why lie? No one does, Mr. Bernstein. You’re just trying to justify your own actions.”

But the kid—Bernstein apparently—smirked at Connor, happy he’d gotten a rise out of him. Bernstein didn’t even listen to the speech that Mr. Rand gave so eloquently and wonderfully, but to be fair, Connor didn’t either. No, instead each of them were staring at each other, one in victory and the other in pure plotting. He knew that he couldn’t get revenge on this dick now, but soon. Yeah, Connor would beat the shit out of him soon.

“Hey, Connor, right?”

Connor didn’t even notice that you’d stepped up to his desk, he had been so involved in making that one kid fucking pay for his actions. His eyes were now meeting your nervous ones, and Connor tried his hardest to seem less intimidating. It probably didn’t help that he’d chosen to wear all black and was staring at Bernstein like he was going to kill him. And a part of him knew that he couldn’t help being intimidating—rumors spread around this school almost better than cholera had in the Victorian age. To you, and everyone else, he was scary and unstable, ready to strike at any moment. He wished it wasn’t like that, especially with someone who was as needlessly as nice as you. And now, he had proof that the rumors were true.

You were making an effort to at least be nice to the poor kid who sometimes can’t keep his feelings in check. Yeah, he has outbursts, he just wished they weren’t as often as they were. And you knew that—or at least, he assumed you knew that. And yet, you were still talking to him, like he were a real person and like everybody else in the entire school didn’t treat him like some zoo animal that they didn’t even pay to see.

“I just wanted to say thank you for like…defending me back there. That kid deserved it.” You smiled nervously, shifting your feet as you stood in front of his desk.

“Yeah. No problem.” He stated, trying to be as not scary as he could be, “Human beings need to be treated with respect, you know? Plus, that one kid calls me a—”

“Hey freak!”

Connor’s hands balled up and his breathing became staggered. He quickly packed up his stuff before walking off, giving you a small nod as he continued on with his day. It was almost like for a moment he’d forgotten he was in this shit school with people who commit fuckery at all hours of the day. He stepped into the bathroom; choosing to at least try to go to second period. But he’d have to be late. Yeah, he needed to calm down from that encounter and he just…he couldn’t take anyone with that shitty sense of humor at the moment.

^^^

Connor rubbed his eye with his hand as he walked into the classroom. 7:28. Fuck first period. With a glance at the board, he was met with the empty white surface. A hint of dread rose within him. Ever since his British Literature teacher said that everyone from the Romantic Era had died by the time the Victorian Era came around, except of course, for Connor’s least favorite poet, he’d been preparing for the worst ever since.

He hadn’t done his homework from the night before. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t normally do it—he typically liked English. But he’d lost the motivation to the night before for some reason. Maybe it was because he could hear Zoe playing guitar and humming along through the wall until about midnight. And by then, he decided he wasn’t going to do it.

Connor looked up and started for his usual spot, but it was oddly surprised to find you in the seat next to his, pulling out your notebook and offering a soft smile to him. He offered one back before sitting in his spot, careful not to accidently bump you or something. He settled, class started, and for some reason, Connor felt like first period British Literature might just be okay.

[puppypadrepatton]

When Things Get Rough Chapter 2

Warning: Suicide mention, panic attack mention, and some bullying and low key hints at abuse to Virgil, i.e. my headcannons. Overall could be triggering. mild ly bad language

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated

Word count: 2050

Headcannons/ Prologue / <Previous / Next>

Sometimes, the darkest night can get darker.

It took Virgil a while to process. By the end of the day, it still seemed surreal to him. To Virgil, Patton would be there on Tumblr awaiting new jokes and memes or fan theories he loved, but Virgil knew better than to believe it. As he was walking from the school to the busses, a teacher walked over and pulled him aside.

“Are you Virgil Williams?” she said, a pained look in her eyes.

“Am I in trouble?” he asked. She shook her head and began to explain.

She talked about the letters specifically. She mentioned how there was one was for him, one for Roman, one for Logan, and one for his family and everyone else. She talked about how Patton had said that he hated how Roman and Virgil fought, splitting him onto two separate teams both run by his closest friends. Patton had even stated how close he and Virgil actually were and how he “had to keep it from his best friend, Roman".

Virgil's thoughts wandered to his own letter as the teacher rambled on about the public one. His letter was still sealed and barely touched. Virgil couldn't open it until his brain caught up with what was happening.

“So please, come with me Virgil.” She wrapped her arm around his and pulled his arm.

Virgil winced from the pain. Underneath his dark sleeves was a fresh bruise from the night before. “Okay,” he said, following after her to try not cause more pain. At least this would give him an excuse to get home later. On their way to her final destination, they stopped and grabbed Roman Prince. She pulled Roman as Virgil silently followed after.

She forced the two into a classroom and blocked the doorway. “Okay, you boys get along. I'll be right next door so if you need anything I’m right here. You have to leave around 7 because students aren't allowed on grounds after 7. Stay as long as you need to finish this!” she smiled, her voice dripping with false enthusiasm. She dropped a small collection of colored pens and pencils atop an even smaller set of note cards on a nearby desk and stepped back and closed the door.

Why the fuck did it have to be the classroom with no windows. Virgil’s mind raced with memories and thoughts too fast for him to keep up. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck…” Virgil trailed, feeling his body starting to shake. He looked around and found a cleared corner that he ran to. He tried grounding himself, using his legs to push him further into the corner as he closed his eyes. Memories flooded through and making him tear up and in front of his nemesis nonetheless.

“Hey, are you okay? Any more of a chemically imbalanced romance than normal?” Roman gave a small laugh at his own joke and smiled, then got on his knees to meet Virgil’s shining, dark eyes. Roman reached for Virgil's knees and sighed.

Virgil tilted his head back, looking at the ceiling and took several quick shaky breaths. Virgil trembled as his eyes opened and he closed them again, desperate for this horrible nightmare to end.

Roman spoke again, this time calm and collected to the point where it was almost peaceful. “Breathe in four seconds.”

Virgil took a shaky breath and counted to four.

“Hold for six.”

Virgil complied.

“Out for seven.”

Virgil's breath was smoother than it had been.

“Repeat. It’ll be okay.”

Virgil continued, his breathing gradually moving back to normal.

“Can you tell me what's wrong?” Roman asked.

“I hate being locked in a room, especially with no second way out,” Virgil mumbled, concealing a stutter.

“Okay, what about,” Roman pause, thinking of ways to help, “you close your eyes and imagine Patton's room.”

“What if while my eyes are closed you punch me or ditch me?” Virgil asked, a slight joke-like tone to his voice, though a shocking sense of honesty filled majority of it.

“I'd never!” Roman acting out fake shock with his hand on his chest and a gasp, though his lips were turned up in a smile as his lips moved back together.

“Okay, okay,” Virgil conceded. He closed his eyes. “I've never been in his room… and I guess I'll never be.” He sighed.

“What do you mean Mr. Darkest Knight?” Roman cocked his head and made a face of confusion.

“Did nobody tell you?” Virgil opened his eyes, brows furrowed.

“Tell me what? What's happened to Patton?” Roman spoke, an edge of insecurity and of fear in his voice.

“Patton's dead. He died last night,” Virgil stated, looking down to Roman's white, grass and paint stained pants. Roman always ate outside in the grass with his large group of friends.

Tears threatened to fall down Roman’s face. He had just seen Patton the day before. He was acting like he normally did on every other day. He was smiled and joked around with his stupid puns that everyone pretended to hate but secretly loved. Roman wasn’t ready to lose that. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to the endless sun that Patton gave away. The support of his best friends. A friend who he hadn’t even noticed was struggling. This couldn’t be real. This had to be a joke or something! Patton would never do this.

“You’ve got to be playing some mean-ass prank, right?” Roman asked, desperation and tears welling up in his sparkling blue eyes. His unnaturally perfect hair fell unceremoniously in front of his eyes.

“I wouldn’t. Not with Patton and definitely not with his death...” Virgil kept his eyes on Roman’s knees, studying every color and stain that challenged the once perfect white.

“Sure you wouldn’t, not even to hurt me. To use my emotions against me.” Roman couldn’t accept this. It wasn’t true.

“No,” Virgil breathed. Virgil thought how he was the one that should’ve died, it’s what they were all expecting from him one day anyways. Why had Patton, a bubbly boy who was born with a smile on his face died but not Virgil, a stone cold jerk who had walls built strong and tall enough to lock even himself out. Virgil wanted it to be over. He didn’t want to say it any more. He didn’t want to think it anymore. He just wanted to be left alone to grieve.

Roman responded with silence. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the situation and could only do one thing. He pulled a book from his red and gold satchel. The book itself had a sharpied on treble clef on the front and small doodles of vines on the spine. The back had floods of color from Patton’s daily doodles, ranging from a dragon witch to a platalopeconda (mix of a platypus, jackalope and anaconda). He pulled a pen from his pocket and began to scribble words down, letting his emotions pour through his calloused hands.

“So, if he texted me, were those his last words?” Roman muttered through his writing.

Virgil gave a sardonic laugh, and shrugged. “It depends, he texted me too.” Virgil knew it was bad, laughing at a time like this, laughing when he felt his worst, laughing when nothing was funny. Virgil was the kind of person to find some way to cope, even if someone were to take the first away.

His family never helped with this. His aunt beat him because he laughed when nothing was funny nor should it if he was in trouble or if someone was in pain. Being locked in the shed or a closet were usually the worst. She'd forget about him or even pass out for long enough that he was nearly starved to death but she saw it a beautiful thing. She thought she was teaching him to be normal and good. To her, a person’s figure was the most important thing in the world. She always ended up complaining how much he eats, making him weary of food all together.

“Do you have any idea why we’re here?” asked Roman after an extended silence.

Virgil shrugged. “Likely to write something for or about Patton since we were close to him.”

“You were close to him?” Roman asked as Virgil retreated, sinking further into the calming depths of his dark hood.

“Kinda, I sent him Tumblr memes and pets…” Virgil spoke softly, nearly muffled by his hoodie.

“Patton loves- er, loved them!” Roman caught himself.

“Yeah, I made sure to do it daily.” Virgil paused and sighed. “Maybe I didn't do it enough… I did, after all, get the hint pretty early on. I should've done something…” Virgil trailed into deep thought.

“It's okay. Nobody could've done anything more,” Roman comforted, thinking about those blaring signs he extenuated time and time again, and how he could've, should've done much better.

“Lets stop reflecting and finish this fucking thing so we don't have to get stuck in here again,” Virgil said gaining his voice back.

“Truce then? For Patton?” Roman said, holding out his hand.

“For Patton.” Virgil nodded, shaking Roman's reluctantly and quickly before pulling his hand back and into his sleeve.

“Now let's finish this,” Roman paused before continuing his sentence, “shit.” Roman smiled, earning a laugh from the dark boy seated in a corner in front of him.

¤~•○•~¤

After another hour of coming up with some stories and a speech for them to share, the two were finally let out. It was nice, Virgil may have set aside all resentment towards the pop star Roman and had finally made himself a friend. His night was great, at least until he reached the inevitable fall of any positivity, going home. Logan still had a ride offer up since there weren't any more busses running from the school.

“Where were you Virgil?” He was greeted, stepping out the school's double doors.

“Locked in a fucking room and I left my phone in my locker Just got your stupid-ass spam.” Virgil groaned, the aftermath of his panic attack finally reaching him through all his efforts.

“Well at least you said something. I came back for you after you sent the text. Do you need to stay the night?” Logan's face softened. Virgil took a quick glance at his messages, finding many angered texts and unread voicemails.

“I think that would be a great idea.” Virgil shrugged, a numbness slowly overwhelming him as the after-storm gliding began to take control.

“We will be having a potluck at our house though, so many of our neighbors will be there,” Logan said, hinting at how Virgil was looking worse than ever and how he could likely eat anything and everything he wanted.

Logan had been friends with Virgil since Virgil first moved to the district. After their much unfortunate meeting, Logan kept an eye on the boy. Once Virgil had become fed up with being watched from afar, he forced himself to befriend such an odd boy. Somehow, he had Roman to thank for it all.

¤~•○•~¤

It had been a long night and Virgil took all of the food he wanted and more so he could keep some leftovers for lunch the next day. It was always shocking to Virgil just what a normal family would have in standards, baths more often than once every ten days, piles and piles of food, and gentle sibling rivalries. With Logan, fights were conducted by word association games and alliteration games, sometimes the calm average family games and once, a game of Exploding Kittens to spice things up. Logan always won and Virgil took second place whenever he stayed. Virgil always enjoyed himself, loving the light competitions and games. The hardest truth to him was he had to be faced that they weren’t his family and had to go back to his bitterly dark reality.

His school life had gotten dramatically worse. Students talked in small whispers to one another down the halls as he entered them. Nobody dared to talk to him, and when they did it was all the same low, dull whisper, ringing time after time in his ear, “It should've been you.” only showing how they expected it from him rather than the happy social kid. Virgil, his voice, forever left unheard.

@fearfilledvirgil @isaysolanumlycopersicum @keeshy-ekho