#(and is also the reason M!Home has gained a bit of weight since he was last seen. he has habits)

[ministry-of-dark-magic]

*wally is staring out the window of the bedroom at the snow falling*

*home sat down next to him, setting his head on their shoulder* [You alright?]

Yeah. Just watching the snow.

*home looked out the window as well* [Its gonna be a bit before it stops]

Heh. Right in time for the winter festival aint it?

[That it is.]

I wonder what Poppy's going to bake this time.

[whiskey-bumblebee]

shake it out

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Word Count: 1510

A/N: Part of the touch tank ‘verse, established relationship, all that good stuff <3 (seeing this gif made me want to do CRIMES to this man’s body jesus christ...)

also! thank you to @ssamorganhotchner​ for hearing me out when i first had the idea! <3 hope you like the fleshed out version :))

Warnings: nude photography, female reader, pet names (honey, good girl), facials (in the sex sense), oral sex (M receiving), brief mention of guns

Hotch is a pretty private person, especially when it comes to work, so he doesn't love the idea of having/taking/storing digital nudes. Film would be cute, but someone has to process it. That's when he remembers... From his youth... Polaroids.

So now he has one that he keeps in a concealed section of his wallet, where it can sit neatly tucked away, hidden from even the most prying eyes. It's his favorite- one of your face, your jaw slack, eyes screwed shut. He's fucked his fist raw to it so many times that he thinks it's just about time for you two to take some new ones.

Hotch knows exactly what he’s getting into when he walks through the front door and sees your coat on the ground. He doesn’t bother taking his shoes off, knowing the combination of the freshly polished leather and his suit and tie will turn you on. He’s right, of course, as you hear his shoes clicking on the wood, making their way to the bedroom, where you’re laid out on the bed, flicking through a magazine. You’re lying on your stomach, dressed in your favorite matching set, and his favorite pair of heels, kicking your legs playfully behind you.

You hear him clear his throat from behind you, and you hook your finger under your bra strap, teasing him by slipping it off your shoulder and pretending you hadn’t heard him enter the room. He said your name lowly, and you glanced over your shoulder, back at him. He filled the doorway, and you smiled at the imposing figure he cut. To anyone else, they’d tense up when he walked into a room, but for you, it was the opposite. 

You knew you’d be safe, taken care of. Knew you were surrounded by love and care. He took his guns out of the holsters on his hip and ankle, locking them in the safe in the closet. You sighed and rolled your eyes slightly, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see your reaction. You’d asked him to leave them at the office, and he’d told you that wasn’t an option, since he never knew when he’d have to leave for the airport from home. Still, you didn’t love the idea of having guns in the house.

Pushing the thought from your mind, you glanced over at him, watching him undoing his tie and shrugging off his suit jacket in the ensuite. He made eye contact with you in the mirror, and his lips pulled into a slight smile. 

“You look pretty. Any particular reason you left a trail of clothing from the front door?”

“You know,” You smirked, tugging his hair as he leaned down for a kiss.

“Tell me anyway,” He mumbled against your lips before closing the gap.

You were impatient, and ran your tongue over his lips, trying to gain access to his mouth. He let you, for a moment, then pushed your shoulder, rolling you onto your back. In a moment, his body was between your legs, supporting his weight on one arm as he cradled your head with his other hand.

“Tell me what you’re planning. I want to hear you say it,” He said, searching your eyes. You twisted a strand of his hair around your finger, smiling up at him as you felt his body heat radiate from his still-clothed body. 

“I want you to fuck my mouth, and I want you to take pictures of me.”

He groaned softly, letting his face drop into your neck, where he bit down gently. 

“You okay with wearing a scarf tomorrow?”

“Yes,” You breathed, your eyes fluttering shut as your mind flooded with pleasure. Heat rushed through you, and you stroked your hand up and down his back, enjoying the smooth texture of his button-up beneath your splayed palm.

He bit down suddenly, and your body jerked, your back arching and pressing your barely-covered chest into his. 

“Fuck, Aaron,” You moaned, digging your nails into his shoulder. “More.”

“Say it again.”

“Aaron,” You breathed, grinding your core against his dress pants. “Aaron,” You moaned again, louder this time. He changed the angle of his knee so you had better leverage.

“Need me?”

You didn’t reply, lost in the sensation of his pants against your clit. The mesh of your panties didn’t leave much resistance.

“C’mon honey, I thought you wanted my cock in your mouth?”

He was satisfied with the array of bruises he’d left over your neck, running his fingers over them affectionately as he pulled back, moving to the other side of the bed and standing up. 

Goosebumps raised on your skin, suddenly cold now that you were without your human comforter. You moved to where Aaron was standing and knelt in front of him, looking up at him and batting your eyelashes playfully. 

He reached into his bedside drawer, and pulled out the polaroid camera you’d left there for him. He raised the camera to his face and looked through the viewfinder, framing the shot. It looked good, so he put the camera aside for a moment, undoing his zipper. 

“I’m not gonna last,” He said under his breath. “Not when you look like this.”

You nodded in understanding. “Where do you want to come?”

He stroked your cheek with the back of his hand. “Anywhere you want, baby. You’re the director.”

“On my face?” You grinned devilishly. “Should make for good photos.”

He swallowed thickly and nodded. You felt your skin grow warm from the attention. You’d never tire of having him wrapped around your finger.

“And Aaron? I want it rough. Want you to use my mouth how you want. And later...” You trailed off, and suddenly tugged his pants and briefs to his ankles. “You’re gonna fuck me how I want it.”

“Jesus,” He said softly. “Yes. Please...”

You took his cock in your hands, teasing the tip at first, letting it get messy, your spit running down his cock. You pumped him a few times while he readied the camera. He snapped one of you smiling up at him. It was a sweet smile, filled with genuine affection for the man behind the lens. That affection contrasted with the fact that you had both of your hands working on his cock, and the difference drove him wild.

His head dropped back as you took him into your mouth properly, letting one hand drop to your thigh, keeping the other in place while you warmed up, letting your mouth and throat get accustomed to his size. When you dropped your other hand to your thigh, he knew you were ready.

“Are you gonna take it?” He asked, adjusting his grip on your head. “You want this?”

You nodded enthusiastically. He nodded back. “Good. If you want me to stop, just push, okay?” You nodded again.

He was right about not lasting long. Within a few minutes, and 2 or 3 polaroids, he’d started groaning loudly, guiding you up and down his length at a quicker pace, feeling the tightness of your throat around him. From this vantage point, and with the lingerie you were wearing, he could see almost all of you, and he loved all of it, from the crown of your head, where his hand gripped your hair, to the soles of your feet, still in heels. 

“I’m close,” He groaned, voice higher than normal, his breaths coming quicker. “Close your eyes, honey.”

You did as he asked, and closed your eyes and opened your mouth. He gave a final shout of your name, sounding almost like anger, but you knew it was desperation, plain and simple. Within seconds, you felt his hot come coating your face, and you blinked your eyes open. He ran his thumb over your cheek, to your bottom lip, and you accepted it into your mouth, making eye contact with him all the while.

He breathed heavily, his breath still coming back to him, and let out a soft noise that sounded almost like a whine. The camera clicked, and he withdrew his thumb from your mouth. He put the camera aside, going to the bathroom to fetch a face cloth. He dampened it slightly and pumped some of your cleanser into the cloth. 

When he came back into the room, you were sitting on the bed cross-legged, having kicked off the heels. You held a picture in each hand, shaking them back and forth, a look of complete concentration on your face.

Aaron smiled and started laughing at the image. His come was drying on your cheeks and forehead, and here you were, making sure the film developed properly. 

“I love you.”

You blinked in surprise and looked up at him, having been so focused on your task that you hadn’t heard him come into the room. You smiled back at him.

“I love you too.”

He took a seat across from you on the bed, having kicked off his shoes too.

“C’mon. Let’s wipe you off and then we can take a look, hmm?”

[folderolsfollies]

sangyao arranged marriage fic (arranged by Nie Huaisang)

summary: Before Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli’s marriage and after Wei Wuxian’s flight to the burial mounds, Jin Guangyao is rapidly gaining power, which a strong marriage alliance would cement. Jin Guangyao likes taking care of people. Nie Huaisang wants to be a trophy husband. If you ignore literally everyone else in their lives, they’re a perfect couple. (Basically I saw this post and then this post and then I blacked out thinking about playing games with power dynamics.)

word count: 2.5k rating: t

Part 1

“San-ge! San-ge!” Nie Huaisang shouts, skidding through the halls of the Unclean Realm. He has to go farther than he thought before he sees the ridiculous black official’s hat bobbing along, one of the disciples had only informed him that Jin Guangyao was there when he was practically out of the door, since for some bizarre reason, Jin Guangyao has made the trek all the way over to Qinghe and didn’t even bother telling him.

When he reaches the other man, he flings his arms around his neck.

“Second Young M-ah, Nie Huaisang...”, says Jin Guangyao warningly, but his eyes are bright and laughing, and he doesn’t step away until Nie Huaisang releases him. His eyes are darting around the halls, but the halls are deserted. Nie Huaisang had made sure to intercept him in a quiet spot.

“Why don’t you just call me A-Sang,” Nie Huaisang says mischievously, “After all, we’re brothers now!”

Jin Guangyao gaze dims and he looks down. “I wouldn’t dare take the liberty, not in your brother’s home,” he murmurs, chin tucked in, eyes firmly planted on the floor. And now that won’t do one bit.

Nie Huaisang points at him with his fan, playfully. “Oh, Da-ge, he just shouts. If he gives you any trouble, just come to me! I’ll protect you,” he says, and grins, remembering the way that Meng Yao would scold him for missing practice and then say, well Young Master, I’ll protect you this time, but don’t do it again!, the both of them knowing that he would never listen unless it suited him.

Jin Guangyao is looking up again and grinning now, and he says, “And how does Nie Huaisang propose to protect me? With his saber?” He’s openly laughing at Nie Huaisang, and it fills Huaisang with a helpless, giddy fondness. Little Meng Yao, who flinches like a kicked dog at every low-level disciple, always with that polite strained smile, gets so vicious when he’s around Nie Huaisang. He’s like a bird with a broken wing. Nie Huaisang wants to tape him up and let him fly.

But the trick with trapping a wild animal is that you can’t let them know that you see them, or it gives the game away. “I was thinking I’d cry until he forgave us, actually” he says, and does a massively fake pout for emphasis. “Now that I’m your little brother, you’ll have to get wise to all my tricks.”

Jin Guangyao smiles, a quick little glimmer like a fish gleaming brightly from deep within murky water. Jin Guangyao has a whole repertoire of smiles, smiles of appeasement and anger and reproach, but this to gain this one is a particular treasure, and Nie Huaisang will say a staggering amount of nonsense if he can see it again. “Not much of a trick, if you announce that it’s one when you’re doing it.”

Nie Huaisang looks at him, and pitches his voice as serious as Lan Qiren 2,000 rules deep into a lecture at the Cloud Recesses, “Ah, you see, my devoted pupil, the real trick is to lull your target into a false sense of security. Then they’ll never see your real schemes coming.” He taps his finger on the side of his nose, like his friend Wei Wuxian constantly does, and hopes that it reads the same on his delicate features as it does on Wei Wuxian’s handsome ones.

It must work well enough, because Jin Guangyao’s quick-fish smile is back, and his posture is relaxed enough for Nie Huaisang to drag him through the halls with only cursory protests about how he really must be going back to Lanling, he has important work to do, his father would never-

“Ugh, your father,” Nie Huaisang says, carelessly, and feels Jin Guangyao stiffen under his arms.

Before Jin Guangyao can say anything to ruin the pleasantness of the moment, Nie Huaisang says quickly, “Ugh, sorry, I’m stupid! You know I wasn’t old enough to really know my father until his last days, and by then he was, well, unwell,” he finishes delicately. Nie Mingjue probably wouldn’t like him using his father’s last moments like this, as a bait, but Nie Huaisang kicks the brief stab of guilt merrily to the side. Frankly, this is the least that his father could do for him, he feels. The last three months of his life really were not ideal. (Hiding in his locked room, Mingjue’s hand briefly clasping his before he leaves the room to face him, the noise of someone screaming - well. All in the past now.)

As he suspected, Jin Guangyao has softened at the mention of Nie Huaisang’s Tragic Past, which is exactly as he had wanted it to go. “You’re not stupid, young master, family is sometimes difficult,” he says politely. There’s an opening there, if he wants to push it- with the way that Madam Jin and Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao all deliberately look past each other when they’re trapped in a room together, it’s truly stupid how the larger cultivator world can’t seem to see that there’s something fishy going on there - Nie Huaisang thinks, and then lets it go.

“Ah,” he says, and schools his features to look carefully brave for a second, “but let’s talk about happier things! I’ve done some remodelling on the aviary, you should come and see the new birds.” It’s also usually deserted and with clear sight-lines in all directions, which are two things which automatically relax Jin Guangyao.

The truly nice thing about Jin Guangyao is that Nie Huaisang can manhandle him all that he likes, because if Jin Guangyao truly has better things to do, he’ll be all Yes, Nie-er-gongzi, and, you’re very wise, Nie-er-gongzi, and melt away the moment Nie Huaisang isn’t looking, so Nie Huaisang feels no compunction regarding linking their arms together and tugging him towards the aviary.

Nie Huaisang makes the trip up and down the aviary’s spiral staircase all the time, but if he still takes the opportunity to lean against Meng Yao when they reach the top, to place one hand on his forearm, huffing a little to show how laborious of a trip it was, well, who’s hurt by it? It’s good to make a show of uselessness sometimes. Meng Yao certainly doesn’t say anything. He’s wearing golden silk robes with squares of bright, shining gold inlaid in the fabric, and the smooth portions are an interesting textural contrast to the rougher raw silk. Nie Huaisang pets it gently, to feel the texture shift under his palms, smooth, rough, rough, smooth. His mind feels pleasantly empty, narrowed down to just the sensation of cloth and the harsh rustle of fabric.

Meng Yao’s mouth is smiling, which doesn’t mean anything, but his eyes are wide and confused. His gaze is fixed on Nie Huaisang’s hands, where their two sleeves are twined together like grafted tree roots. A long moment passes before Meng Yao pulls away, and carefully smooths out the creases that Nie Huaisang has made in the fabric. He doesn’t say anything at all.

For no reason, Nie Huaisang feels his cheeks heating up, feels like blurting out an apology, and he rushes into the aviary ahead of him, speaking a little too fast and loud.

He darts among his birds, showing him which ones have laid new eggs and which ones he’s bought recently, and all the new plants that he’s brought in to simulate Gusu’s mountainous environment for his new black bulbul. Nie Huaisang doubts that Jin Guangyao spends more than a quarter shichen thinking about birds when he’s away from the Unclean Realm, and that probably on what to serve at a feast, but he still remembers exactly how it was the last time he came, and comments cleverly on the new arrangements. Sometimes Nie Huaisang misses Meng Yao so abruptly he can’t breathe, misses that serious, attentive face, the way that he took him not too seriously, but just seriously enough.

He has a fantasy where Meng Yao just told him about the guard that had treated him so badly that it had led to his banishment. Would have Huaisang killed the man for him? Well, probably not. But there are ways to disgrace a man, banish him without lifting a finger. Huaisang lies in bed at night and thinks about all those ways. Although it doesn’t matter anyway, clever Meng Yao has landed on his feet, hasn’t he?

When he thinks that, he’s filled with a sense of disquiet. Meng Yao was Nie first - well, Nie before Jin, at least, and he hopes that he hasn’t forgotten that.  “Come, braid my hair,” he says suddenly, plopping down on a chair, and Meng Yao doesn’t raise an eye at the sudden change of topic. “I can’t reach the back properly and nobody does it as well as you.” By nobody, he’s means Da-ge, and they both know it, but he won’t breach their fragile bubble of happiness by mentioning him if Meng Yao won’t.

“Nie Huaisang, you’re too hard on yourself,” Meng Yao says, smiling and patient, “you braid beautifully,” but he’s already reaching for the comb that Huaisang is handing to him, lining behind Nie Huaisang. The gesture is familiar, the room is familiar, the murmurations of the birds through the trees are familiar. Nie Huaisang’s skin tingles in anticipation. He can feel the phantom weight of fingertips scratching along his scalp, teasing into straightness every errant whorl of hair. The way that his unbound hair would hang along his waist, the looseness and lightness of it.

Meng Yao, standing behind him, drags a thumb around the circlet holding his hair up, in between the heavy loops of braids and the hair underneath. The sensation is too dull, fleeting. “Your hair looks fine, Huaisang,” Meng Yao says quietly, his cool breath tickling Huaisang’s ear.

Huaisang twists around quickly so they’re facing each other, and it’s ungraceful. Nie Huaisang remembers - in the past - when he’d turn to talk to Meng Yao, it was like Meng Yao had somehow created a Huaisang shaped bubble that he could just slot into. Something has changed, in the last two years, and the shape of space between them is all wrong. Jin Guangyao’s eyes are pointed in the wrong direction, and Nie Huaisang’s face is too close.

He shuffles backwards a little, angles his face a little, and it’s still not the same, but now he can breathe. His usual tricks won’t work. Jin Guangyao won’t believe that he’s bad at it, and he can no longer threaten him with Da-ge. Well, there’s another tactic he hasn’t tried.

“Please, Jin-er-gongzi?” He says, looking down. It feels strange to address him so formally, to someone who’s worn the Nie family braids and who wears Huaisang’s hairpiece in his hair, but it also feels right. Smart, elegant, deadly - Mingjue may have always seen him as a delicate servant boy, but Nie Huaisang always saw him as a prince.

Eyes still focused on the floor, he chances a quick glance upwards. Jin Guangyao’s smile has frozen. He doesn’t know what game they’re playing.

He straightens. “I’ll start calling you that more,” he says decisively, scheme forgotten, “It’ll be helpful to you. I’ll get Da-ge on board too.”

Meng Yao gapes at him for a moment before he smooths it over, glint of a fish in the river before its lost again to the murky depths, and Nie Huaisang hadn’t known he could make that expression at all. “Jin-er-gongzi,” he says experimentally, to see if he can draw it out again, but Jin Guangyao has his smiling face firmly in place again.

“It’ll take more than that to earn my place,” Jin Guangyao says, and underneath his pleasant tone it sounds bitter, like the taste of ink under Nie Huaisang’s tongue. It sounds real.

Nie Huaisang drops his closed fan, and when he catches it by the head, it’s open in his hand. He flutters it, and opens his mouth to see what would come out. “A marriage would help with that, surely,” he says.

“I will have faith in what the elders decide, when that time comes, which of course would be after my elder brother weds,” Jin Guangyao says demurely, which they both know is a crock of shit; the elders all defer to Jin Guangshan, and what that man knows about marriage or women - and it would have to be a woman, with Jin Guangshan - in general could fit on the back of a talisman paper, if the paper was very small and the handwriting very large.

“Hm, yes, Da-ge is never interested in marriage, which is great! Because then nobody ever bothers me about it,” Huaisang says instead, and doesn’t add that it’s likely because the prospect of him creating more little Nie Huaisang’s is most likely terrifying to all involved.

Nie Huaisang has always seen the workings of his mind like a vast and subtle river, which overflows its banks and deposits thoughts to him, not fully under his own control. So he’s not fully sure what motivates him to continue, “And you know Da-ge’s so protective, I’d need someone who would protect me, just like you used to do.”

“You have to learn to stand up for yourself, Nie Huaisang,” Meng Yao says, and his large eyes are softly distant, like he’s listening to a thought, “there won’t always be someone to rescue you.”

I miss you- Come home, Nie Huaisang thinks, and the thought is sharp enough to feel like pain. “I’ll try, Jin-gongzi,” he says instead politely, “although you know about my weak cultivation.”

Another nice thing about Meng Yao is, when Nie Huaisang complains about his weakness, Meng Yao never argues against him or says that he would magically get better if he tried a little harder, worked a little more, he points out Nie Huaisang’s skill at art and astrology and Taoist magic. His tone is indulgent, parental. “In that sort of conflict, it’s not always your cultivation skill that counts,” he says, low and warm, like he’s imparting a lesson.

“I know, I know” says Nie Huaisang, who does know, who has been watching Meng Yao stammer and apologize and look deeply horrified at small misdeeds since before he realized what that sort of coquettishness implied. Whenever Nie Huaisang tries to imitate it, it comes out a child’s whine. Not a princess in need of rescuing, but a small dog that can be indulged or kicked aside.

“I must be going,” Meng Yao says, finally. “I am needed back at Lanling.” There’s a tone of finality in his voice.

Nie Huaisang is filled with a sudden, ridiculous desire, but he’s found that the consequences of indulging them have never been terrible. Not for him. He leans forward into the space between the two of them.

When he thumbs off Jin Guangyao’s ridiculous hat, there’s a circlet of Nie braids coiled like a serpent on the top of his head.

Nie Huaisang smiles. “I’ll see you soon.” he says.

[spooky-ghost-boi]

Vacation

Words: 1892

Tom Nook x Reader

Warnings: Feederism, feeder/feedee dynamic, mentions of smut, fatass Tanuki, bad writing because I’m tired and too annoyed to edit this properly.

Description: Tom thinks he has to lose weight but his job doesn’t really do him well so he chooses to take a vacation but ends up coming back fatter and you love it.

A/N: what this shit, tumblr could you possibly be any slower? Mentally I am beyond Spain without an S, so if any Twitter bitches see this. Fight me.

_

Tom sighed as he sat at his desk at the resident services.

He had been trying out various diets that Isabelle had recommended to him, after trying low-carb and Keto he was trying intermittent fasting and he lost about 5 pounds so far but it was making him extremely hangry most of the time. Considering that Isabelle snacked and ate lunch while being in the same room as him.

It was all alright until that damned Kitsune had the guts to appear at the Island and try to sell some faux painting to the Resident Representative, aka you.

Tom was furious and of course, kicked Redd off the Island but in the heat of his fury he tried to calm himself down but it didn’t work especially since the fucking kitsune teased Tom for his weight, which would’ve been fine, if they were alone but you had to witness that.

As soon as Tom came home he.. Well, let his anger out by binging until he couldn’t move.

He actually liked the feeling of being stuffed but he choose to ignore it although it was quite hard and he realized it was better if he took a break from work to focus on his weight loss.

The reason for his weight loss idea was quite simple; he wanted to impress you, the resident representative, he had a crush on you and told Isabelle who suggested that losing weight could help him in winning your heart.

She couldn’t have been more wrong, but it wasn’t like they both knew your kinks.. Although it was obvious. Haha idiots.

Of course Tom had told Isabelle about his plan and she agreed to do the resident services stuff.

Tom had two months of, well, vacation.

He stayed at his house and the first two days it all went great before he started binging. Constantly. To his dismay he actually enjoyed it. He didn’t know w h y or h o w but he actually disliked that he liked feeling stuffed to the brim.

So the thicc Tanuki visited another island in hopes that it would motivate him to lose weight.

(Spoiler: it didn’t HAHAHA FAT TANUKI)

During his stay at another Island he ended up discovering lots of different foods that made him feel better about the whole Redd situation and since his coping mechanism had always been stress eating he piled on a lot of weight. He was in denial, but that didn’t stop him from trying to rationalize as to why he needed bigger clothes.

Of course you were part of his racing thoughts most of the time and he liked to fantasize about you in several different ways.

So he soon returned home.

His vacation seemed to have ended too fast for him but he also wanted to get back to work so he could see you.

He stepped on the scale the evening before he had to return to work again and was surprised when it had said that he gained 30 pounds in two months, including the 5 pounds he had lost. But that couldn’t be, could it? After pondering about as to why or how he could have gained that much weight over mindlessly eating a box of half a dozen doughnuts and two cheeseburgers. He had come to the conclusion that he was too tired and that the scale must be broken.

After dumping the wrappers into the trash, he held his stuffed gut and walked to his bedroom and got onto his bed which creaked under the weight of the tubby Tanuki. Tom eyed tge stash of mini cakes that he had beside his bed, despite feeling full and heavy he decided to have a few since ‘they couldn’t do much damage, hm?’

He didn’t notice that he dozed off and woke up in the morning, surrounded by wrappers.

Tom sat up and grunted, rubbing his still rather bloated belly that sat in his lap whenever he attempted sitting up. It wasn’t really like he noticed or minded, he didn’t even notice how snug his work shirt was. He noticed the bit of rain and put on his jacket and zipped it up, completely obvious to the belly poking out from under the rain coat.

He just sighed softly, before walking downstairs into the kitchen and having some pancakes with lots of syrup for breakfast. For some reason he felt like this wasn’t exactly enough for him and looked at the clock just to see that it was still early as shit and he had t i m e.

As you can imagine the phat Tanuki had binged to the point of being exhausted by breathing but he did have places to be at so he got up anyway and walked to the resident services.

You were there with the Nooklings and Isabelle, you were excited to see Tom again after the two of you didn’t talk for so long. However nobody told you why he was gone.

Eventually Tom entered the Resident Services and Isabelle was quite surprised.

Timmy and Tommy also were surprised.

You were surprised and horny.

Tom could see the surprise in the faces of everyone. But it also made him horny. Not to mention he was a little surprised and shy to see you there and he was blushing a little.

“Ehm, good morning.” Tom responded, he needed a cigarette or some cake.

Isabelle stayed quiet and you smiled at the Tanuki.

You decided to break the awkward moment and walked towards Tom to give him a hug, because yiu had missed him and you wanted to feel all that chonk pressed against you.

Tom hugged you back instinctively, his big belly did push the two of you a bit apart but it was hot regardless.

“I made you some cake! I thought you would like it.” You said shyly as Tom nodded.

“The thing is, I forgot it at home so if you’d like to come by after work.. You could take it home? I mean.. We could have dinner at my place.” You blurted out the last part, keeping your voice so low you weren’t sure whether he had heard you.

“That’d be splendid, hm.” Tom said, then gently let go of you.

You nodded and the two of you returned to both your respective j o b s.

Tom tried to ignore Isabelle’s comments about his weight, he was sure he lost weight. Which probably was due to his lack of physical awareness.

He had spent his time snacking during work and he comfortably filed out papers and drank his coffee. Some Animals teased him but Tom didn’t really mind, in fact it was almost kinda arousing to him and he didn’t understand why.

Eventually he closed off the shop and got into his car and made his way to your house, he was a little tired and actually quite hungry.

He knocked on your door and you opened it, smiling softly at him as he was a little out of breath.

“Come in! I already made dinner.” You said, then led him to your kitchen.

“You have an eye for interior design, hm?” Tom remarked as he sat on a chair which creaked a little under his weight. He blushed, “oh- uh.”

You noted this and smiled sheepishly at him. “It’s fine! Make yourself comfortable, it’s just you and I afterall..” You said. Maybe it wasn’t the most reassuring thing to say, if you took it out of context it could have been maybe a little weird to say that. Almost sounded like you were trying to fatten up the Tanuki and eat him.. Maybe you were but more like in a sexual way.

(A/N: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°))

However Tom looked a little more relaxed after you said that.

“Well, how was your day, hm?” Tom asked, as you put some food on his plate.

“It was fine, just the usual things.. I went fishing and helped out some villagers. How about you?” You asked, you had put quite a lot of food onto his plate.

“I’ve had some annoying customers, but that’s just normal.” Tom said, as he ate some of the food you had prepared, “this is really good.” He said.

_

After a few hours of talking the two of you warmed up to each other and you eventually told him how you felt about him and as a surprise, he felt the same way.

At that point Tom had packed away quite a few plates and snacks, the two of you sat on the couch and you straddled his lap.

He cupped your face and kissed you gently, before you fed him a tray of cupcakes. He obediently ate.

A couple snacks ago his shirt button seemed to have popped off and his sweater vest had exposed around half of his pretty chubby belly.

“You’re fat, I mean this in the most loving way possible.” You said and pinched his love handles.

“I’m just bloated-“ he said, jokingly.

“Sure.” You laughed.

“Alright, maybe I am. Happy? Hm?” Tom said as he unbuttoned his too tight pants and pinned you underneath him.

“You’re definitely fatter than before.” You remarked as you patted his overstuffed belly.

“Mhm.. You like it as much as I like it. Am I right?” He smirked.

_

Anyways it was a very delightful evening for the both of you and I ain’t gonna write smut because that’d be awkward as shit so just imagine it, aight?

_

Two ‘fucking’ months later.

You woke up next to Tom, who was still asleep and snoring quite loudly.

He had been eating quite well the past two months making him look pretty chubby, he was waddling now most of the time and his belly was s o f t^2.

You walked downstairs and made him some breakfast.

It didn’t take long for him to wake up because he smelled delicious food, he sighed and waddled his way downstairs and sat on a chair. “Good morning.” He said, smiling a little despite looking still pretty tired.

“Good morning! How’d you sleep?” You asked.

“Pretty well.. Well, until I woke up because I’m starving. I wouldn’t know what I’d do without you, dear.” He said.

“Starve.” You said jokingly. “You have quite the big appetite, I give you that.” You said as you placed a stack of waffles.

“Mhm..” He yawned and ate his breakfast, “I’m still.. So tired, feed it to me? Hm?”

You couldn’t tell whether this was a suggestion or order from him, but you wouldn’t be Y/N if you turned down feeding the lazy Tanuki.

You nodded and fed him, you would straddle his lap.. If you could. Tom’s belly was taking up most of it and he didn’t mind.

He ate all of it and sighed when he felt your hands rub his bloated big belly.

Eventually the two of you got ready for work and he waddled to his car, tried to wiggle into the drivers seat which didn’t work out as his tummy was in the way of the wheel.

“Need help?” You asked.

“I would appreciate it, yes yes!” He blushed as he moved to the passenger seat and you drove the car to the Resident Services.

You had gone to work for the day.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #405

“today i went to therapy, told him the embarrassing issues that i’m having with my life  /  he told me that i need to change; life is not a video game, so stop playing & open up your eyes”

What was your favourite sweet as a child? Things like Baby Bottle Pops, Ring Pops, Airheads, etc. Do you like to wear socks to bed? NOOOOOOO. I don't wear socks unless I have to. What’s your favourite berry? Strawberries. If you have a job, how long is your shift? I don't. Do you like sunflowers? Well yeah. Are you counting down for anything? No. Are you watching TV? What’s on? No. Do you have make-up on? No. I haven't worn makeup since last October. Are you any good with kids? People have told me I am, but I beg to differ. What if you had a baby with the last person you kissed? We're both cisgender women, we physically couldn't. Do you think you’ll be married in 5 years time? It'd be nice honestly, but I kinda doubt I will be. What is your favorite card game? Magic: The Gathering. What is the weirdest thing you’ve done in public? Ha, probably the times I've gotten down on the ground beside the road to photograph roadkill... More than once has someone stopped and asked if I was okay, haha. Favorite sleeping position? Twisted half on my side and stomach with my legs just sorta splayed out. What is your dad’s name? Ken. Have you ever been on a diet? Multiple times. Do you own any jersey shirts? No. Are you proud to be of the nationality you are? There are two moods I have on this: I'm either neutral or embarrassed. Can you remember what you last clapped for? Omg the woman who facilitates my TMS treatment was telling Mom and me about this one time a tiny snake got in the lobby and I did a lil squeal and clapped a bit because I was just excited to hear about a little snake, haha. What is the geekiest part of your music collection? *shrug* Maybe game soundtrack music. What do you eat when you raid the fridge late at night? Well, not really the fridge, but w/e. I'll usually get a granola bar or something of the sort. What is the little physical habit that gives away you're insecure moment? Kneading/wringing my hands together is a dead giveaway. Do you have too many love interests? No. How much money would it take to get you to give up the Internet for one year? If you want honesty... probably no amount would lmao. I rely way too heavily on the Internet for so many things. Do you talk a lot? It depends on my mood and who I'm around. Do transient, homeless, or starving people sometimes annoy you? What a fucking awful question. They don't annoy me. It can be awkward driving past them, but they're in no way annoying. Do you consider yourself to be a nice person? I definitely try to be. What is your ideal marriage location? Either a gothic-looking mansion or something of the sort or a wooded area in the fall. Do you tell your friends about your sex life? I don't have one to talk about. Would you ever admit to having done plastic surgery of any kind if confronted? Yeah? No shame. What kind of watch(es) do you wear? I don't wear watches. What do you cook the best? My family likes my scrambled cheesy eggs... basic as that is, haha. When my sisters would go to Taco Bell all the time and save the hot sauces for later use, I would use some packets in the eggs I cooked. Honestly amazing. What's one car you will never buy? "Anything that is two door, or low to the ground." <<<< This right here. On the other end of the spectrum, I also won't ever buy a car that's high up. I need a good medium so I can actually get in with ease. What's one thing you're a sore loser at? Hm, I dunno. What kind of first impression do you think you give to people? "Wow, she's awkward." What's one thing you like to do alone? Draw. When's the last time you cried? Not long ago at all because I was just so exasperated over my weight gain. Do you think you're cute? God no. Do you have problems changing clothes in front of friends? I don't change in front of anyone if I can avoid it. Did you like kissing the last person you kissed or the one before that more? The last person. I gotta say I was not a fan of kissing Girt because for whatever reason his lips were ALWAYS wetter than lips naturally should be and I just didn't dig it, man. That and every kiss with him was awkward. Whose bed other than yours did you last lay on? My mom's. What turns you off immediately? Acting sexist, to name one. Which city do you particularly enjoy visiting and for what reasons? I don't like going into cities. Do you often take pictures with the camera on your phone? No. I don't like the camera on my phone. In the past year, have you lost weight or gained weight? How much? Gained. You don't need to know. What year was the last car you rode in/drove? I have zero clue. What’s your worst/funniest experience with one of your neighbors? "Worst" and "funniest" are very different... but I can tell you the worst easily. At my childhood home, our next-door neighbors had a pair of Rottweilers in their back yard within a chain-link fence, and we had a LOT of outdoor cats at the time. (I will emphasize every time I bring it up to NOT keep cats outside.) Somehow the dogs got loose and went on a rampage trying to kill our cats; one young one was killed, while our fearless mother cat, Chance, literally fought them off to defend her new kittens. More were maybe killed, I honestly can't remember. My mom was hysterical and threatened to call animal control if it ever happened again. I was absolutely, utterly heartbroken. The last time you burned your tongue or mouth, what were you eating? Ummm I want to say it was some sort of pasta that I didn't let cool long enough. Honestly, are you shallow? Far from it, honestly. Can/could your parents tell when you were lying? Not always. Besides clothes, shoes, and accessories, what’s your favorite thing to shop for? I love window-shopping at Morph Market, haha. AAAAAAAAAALL those ball python morphs, man... *drools* Does/did your parents ever go through your computer or cell phone? When I was younger, Mom was very intent on figuring out why I was always so secretive about what I did on the computer (mostly RP-related things) that ohhhh yeah, she'd do some digging. The night she finally snapped, demanding I tell her my passwords to everything, and she ultimately found out about me being a forum RPer, was literally almost traumatic to me, I think. I know, that sounds INCREDIBLY overdramatic, but I'm not fucking joking. I was in my room SOBBING on my best friend's shoulder, who was spending the night. I was just so embarrassed, and I *still* am when I share that fact with people I know, even though I have no reason to be. Like I don't do any weird or kinky RP shit, it's just genuine, artistic writing with actual, well thought-out plots, but I still feel like people would think it dumb, childish, and just weird. What song reminds you the most of a particular day in your life? Why is that? "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin. I've talked about it a few times before and really don't feel like doing it again. Do you have any close friends that were adopted? I don't think so. Who, in your opinion, is the best thriller writer? I don't know. Does your mom eat meat? Yeah. Was your dad ever on a sports team? Lots in high school, I believe. Do you prefer thick or thin crusted pizza? Thick, by a long shot. What do you have in your fruit salads? Not a fan of fruit salads. Have you ever spent more than two weeks in a wheelchair? I've only needed a wheelchair once in my life, and that was just to get inside and maneuver around the doctor's office when I tore a ligament in my foot. So no. What are your favorite word? Serendipity, tranquility, lucid, etc.; pretty, peaceful words like those. Is there a lot of drama in your life? Nope. I don't do enough or have enough people in my life for there to be. What are you listening to? An extended version of "Nightsong" from WoW. Do you hear any animals right now? No. I'm sure I'd hear birds if I didn't have my earplugs in, though. Have you ever played fetch with a dog? Yes. Have you ever pet a stingray? No. Who is the last baby you held? Emerson, my youngest niece. Do you have any scars from an animal? Yeah; I've got looooots from my cat playing too rough. Have you ever seen an Igloo? I don't believe so. Do you like Korn? They're high on my list of faves. Are you more afraid of tornadoes or hurricanes? Absolutely tornadoes. Do you like mushrooms? Ugh, NO. Have you ever been on Omegle? No. So do you have a favorite M&M? Just the regular ones. Have you ever snuck out? No. Do you currently feel like you have pretty stable career goals/a pretty stable life plan? Have you ever felt this way? I don't know, man. I know what I WANT to do, I just don't know if I'm ever going to get there. Or if what I want will be financially supportive enough, now that I'm really losing interest in photographing people. I might just have to if I want to be financially stable with photography, which would be okay, but bleh. I'd much rather just work with nature. If you could buy an android that was was convincingly human and could be tailored to be your perfect partner, would you want one? No. I don't want to build my own partner, nor do I want my romantic partner to be an android. I want life to just introduce me to a person who is uniquely themselves, who have built themselves from their own life experiences, and not just have a perfect spouse tailored to everything I like. If you do not identify as being “straight,” can you remember back to your childhood some things you did that were, in hindsight, possible indicators of your future sexuality? Yes, especially in middle school. I thought women were prettier than probably a straight kid would, and looking back, I definitely found the natural curves of the female figure to be attractive. When you consume media (movies, books, etc.) with a romantic element, what sort of romance scenarios interest you most? Hm. I know I prefer serious ones over silly; like I'm a sucker for Nicholas Sparks' style, if that says anything. If you are female, do you feel connected to other women as a class? What sort of things make you feel a strong sense of sisterhood or female empowerment? This is too big of a question for me to feel like delving into right now, haha. But I can say it more so depends on the individual than the gender when it comes to feeling connection over anything.

[joonsmagicstudio]

Meet Me Where The Waves Touches The Sky: funny things happen i guess? (V)

Note: I put a keep reading break but I am unsure if it is working, if there is no keep reading link then please let me know! I do not wish to bother anyone with long posts.

Story Description: We all have our issues, but some of us are sub-consciously pushing it away without realizing how deep under water we are. You don't realize the things around you aren't what used to be until you meet a celebrity struggling to live. Like the hypocrite you are, you help others without helping yourself first. But no one told you about helping others gives you this exhilarating feeling of being a saint. So for how long are you going to keep being a saint in a doctor's coat?

Genre: Angst, fluff (if you squint) and smut.

Pairing: You x Namjoon

Trigger Warning: It revolves heavily around suicide, depression and death. Please don’t read it if it is a sensitive topic for you. Also keep in mind it isn’t like ‘13 reasons why’. It takes place in more of an adult setting hence mature. It also has mature (+18) scene, alcohol consumption and occasional use of foul language hehe.

I am writing about suicide, death and depression not because I romanticize it or engage in it for others to partake. It is strictly for the purpose of writing a story to convey a message beyond these three words.

Story masterlist is here: MMWTWTTS

Ever since you clocked in for a night shift, working didn't help. Not even the recent news of Jungha's death was able to get your head out of the thoughts of your brothers. You ended up zoning out a lot, your co-workers had to keep snapping you out of your daze every time they found you staring at the hospital beds. They all brushed it off as you being slightly disturbed by Jungha's case, but that wasn't it. You just kept seeing faint and wispy images of your brother lying in a hospital bed weakly, but never failing to shoot you a bright white smile.

That infectious smile that was forever ingrained in your memories. You felt sick to your stomach that despite the fact that death was always near him, he still had it in him to smile. To be happy.

"Doctor Y/N." Wooyoung tapped your shoulder, pulling your attention to him.

"Huh-yeah? Something wrong?" You stitched your eyebrows together in concern at him.

"You are distracted today huh, I guess Jungha must have hit close to home. After all you disappeared after they were cleaning up her body." Wooyoung rested his hands on your shoulder in a comforting manner.

"Ah yes, I-I just feel that I failed to do my job." That wasn't a lie. Failure was something you didn't handle well and your failure was in the form of actual living beings rather than numbers on paper, rather than the number on the ranking for accomplishing something, rather than the finished products for presentation or others.

"I get that Y/N, but it's unlike you. In the past few years of knowing you, this is the most emotion I have ever seen from you," He breaks into a small fit of chuckles and a wide smile, "it's unusual, we are all used to seeing you have a stone-faced expression Y/N and I honestly feel that despite the situation being a grim one, it's a small improvement."

You knew Wooyoung meant well, but your expression of pain wasn't a means of improvement, it meant that you were going to reinforce the wall a bit more now. To you, there was no need for other people to read into you and know you, especially the traits that you particularly disliked to show.

"Why not just stay at home though? Take some time off? Plus my shift is ending soon." Wooyoung asked as he retracted his hands from your shoulder.

"Didn't feel like it, I don't mind working a bit more though. It keeps my mind off things I don't want to dwell in." You shrugged your shoulders. "I'll be in my office then. See you." You hurriedly turned around leaving him stranded in the hallway, you didn't feel like talking to him anymore and you felt guilty over that. You pushed the doors open to your office widely to step in, letting the door swing shut behind you and welcomed the lavender scented air that you had purposely placed there for it's soothing properties and to ensure your patients could ease a bit in the room.

Without hesitation, you strode over to your desk and stood in front of the desk, your palms pressed flat against your desk to support your upper body weight that was hunched over it. Your eyes were shut tight and lips were pressed against each other tightly as loose wisp of your hair hung over your forehead lightly. The only sound that was heard in the room was the soft humming of the ventilators fixed overhead in the ceiling. You really wished you could go back into time to change a few things, maybe notice some more things and maybe just implemented action then and there only. Maybe not realize things too late, or maybe just-just be a better person.

It all started with him, your eldest brother after all.

〰️ 💠 〰️

A few days had passed by, you managed to curb the thoughts of your brothers by throwing yourself into work and Namjoon had come by your place once again and the two of you were sitting on the couch in your living room in silence. Audible clicking sounds of the keyboard from your laptop and occasional sipping sounds from Namjoon's steaming hot cup of tea resonated in the room. Nothing much changed except that Namjoon kept asking you questions, questions about yourself and every single time you managed to dodge them or monotonously answer it, until he struck a chord with one particular question.

"Are you in touch with your family?"

It was a seemingly innocent question, but it bothered you.

"Can you stop fucking asking questions about myself?" You stilled for a second, before continuing to type away at your laptop, updating the information on the recent patients you interacted with recently in your office.

Namjoon was a bit taken aback by your reply, you had cursed at him. He knew instantly that family was a touchy topic for you and backed off knowing that it was probably the best if he stopped asking questions for now. This made him gain a small understanding of why there were no pictures in the house, it was because you weren't on good terms with them, well that's what he had assumed.

The guilt started eating you away the moment when you swore at him for asking a simple question and you couldn't take it any longer considering you were a person who cared so much about what other people thought since it was literally your job to do so.

"I am sorry, I didn't mean to swear at you Namjoon", you closed your laptop and pushed it to the side of your lap to give him your undivided attention. "It's just that I don't like being questioned nor do I like talking about myself."

Namjoon silently nodded, eyes trained on you as he sipped slowly on his cup of tea.

"As for my family, yes, I am in touch with them. I've got 2 brothers, I just don't live with them. They live in a house on the outskirts of Busan. I visit them when I have the time." You felt that at least giving an answer to the last question would compensate for your inappropriate outburst at Namjoon.

"Oh, that's nice." That new information almost immediately squashed the idea in Namjoon's of you being on bad terms with your family members. Namjoon didn't know what else to say because he was a little too scared to proceed with the conversation with you. You sensed that, so you decided to ask him.

"What about your family?"

"M-my family?" He sputtered on his tea, he hadn't expected you to keep the conversation going on, "Well they are good, I've got a younger sister. I just haven't been in much contact with them because I'm busy lately and I-"

"You are a celebrity, it's understandable. I'm sure they will understand why you couldn't visit them." You interrupted him, every celebrity you've encountered had a more or less similar issue, family. At least they had a family waiting for them.

"Yeah, you are right. I hope they do." Namjoon looked down in his cup of tea, his shoulders sinking in. You made a mental note to yourself that his family was also playing a role in his stress lately.

"Is there any issue other than distance and lack of time with your family?" You asked, tilting your head slightly at him.

"Well, not really, I just feel guilty for not spending time with them." Namjoon mumbled his reply.

"You should go to them, kind of obvious but what you are missing is the actual confirmation from their mouth that they understand you that you can't visit them." Namjoon looked up at you at last, setting his tea in his lap, "Correct me if I am wrong but you haven't spoken about this with your family, you haven't told them that you were really busy nor have you heard from them that it's okay and they understand it?"

Namjoon couldn't help but let out a painful chuckle, you had hit a dead spot-on the cause of his troubles. He hadn't realized that he never heard it for himself from his family that it was okay and you had made him realize that right now. You took his painful chuckles as a yes.

"Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to pay them a small visit today Namjoon." You stood up and grabbed his mug after glancing to see if it was empty and took it to the kitchen, leaving him to dwell in his own thoughts and on your words.

"Would you come with me?"

You whipped around. You were surprised to hear him ask for your accompaniment but didn't show it on your face, "Me to come to visit your parents?" You repeated what he had said to double-check if he asked correctly.

"I mean you don't have to but it would give me some kind of support I guess."

You pondered over it, torn between going so you could give him some support or that you should stay behind and let him do it independently. The latter is what a therapist would have done and you decided to go against that. But then you already violated the rules since the beginning and no one noticed. By now you didn't know how many rules had you bent and broken.

"Sure, if it helps you." You shrugged your shoulders.

〰️ 💠 〰️

You had offered to drive the two of you to his home in Seoul, it wasn't too far and plus going by train would be difficult since he's the celebrity. Your car wasn't too bad considering you earned a lot as a psychiatrist in the hospital and of course you worked over time with intentions of earning more so you weren't too embarrassed or affected by taking a celebrity in your car.

The ride to his place was fairly quiet except for soft music playing over the radio and the constant hum of the engine and roadway noise. You glanced occasionally at Namjoon, he simply was fixated on staring outside the window, watching everything pass by him fast. He was busy in his own thoughts and you didn't want to disturb him so you let him be until the two of you pulled up by his house.

"Ready?" You unbuckled your seat after switching off the engine. There wasn't any audible response except for a small nod. It wasn't a confident nod. You were quick to react upon that.

"Namjoon, if you aren't ready, no worries we can go home. You can always do this next time when you are more confident."

"No it's fine, I'd much rather get it done now than to keep pushing it. It'll give me proper relief as you had said." Namjoon replied back meekly, as if he was trying to gather the courage for himself.

"Alright, that's good, listen, it'll be difficult but I'm here alright? Do you want me to come inside or wait here?" You rested your hands on his shoulder in a reassuring manner, you didn't want to make him feel pressured nor forced. That generally never worked out well.

"Well, just walk me to the door, you don't need to come inside." He opened the car door and stood outside in the cold, fresh air of Seoul, taking in a huge breath and exhaled sharply. You followed his actions too and locked the car before shoving your hands along with the key in the pockets of your coat.

"That I can do." You gave him a small smile and walked towards the wooden door of his parent's place, the front yard of the house was decorated with bunches of small flowers such as petunias and some unknown generic colourful plants you saw everywhere but never knew what it was called and the small patches of grasses were well trimmed. When you stood in front of the door, you didn't press the doorbell but instead you urged Namjoon to take the initiative. After all he was the one that needed to talk to them, not you.

Few seconds upon ringing the doorbell, an older woman with an apron tied around opened the door, this was unmistakably Namjoon's mother as you saw her. Her eyes sparkled, her mouth stretched into a motherly smile in a fraction of seconds she set her eyes on her son, Namjoon. Anyone could see that she loved her son dearly. All mothers would for their child, with of course some exceptions.

"Namjoon-ah, what brings you here my son?" She lets go of the door handle and takes a step towards Namjoon to bring his face in her hands, she didn't notice you nor greet you but that didn't bother you since it meant that she hadn't seen her son in ages. Namjoon didn't respond but kept looking at his mother, he was slowly losing his courage to actually have the talk with his mother, so you decided to leave him with no choice but to just do it.

"Mrs. Kim, it's a pleasure meeting you." You bowed slightly and pulled out your hand from your coat pocket to greet her, "I'm Namjoon's psychiatrist and I came with him today so that he could talk to you about some things that have been bothering him lately. I thought it would be good for him and I'm sure you would also agree with me." You glanced at Namjoon briefly and he looked like a child who was uncomfortable stuck in a conversation between his parents and teacher as if he had done something bad. "I'll take my leave now and let the two of you discuss it out." You bowed again to his mother and gave Namjoon one pat on his shoulder, "I'll be in the car when you are done." You whispered before heading back to the car, leaving the mother and the son to enter the house. You hoped that Namjoon would talk about it and get it sorted out soon, it would at least mean that one issue is gone and he has got one less problem to worry about.

〰️ 💠 〰️

3 sharp knocks against the car window was good enough to snap you out of your little nap session, the sun had already set and the lamplights were glowing brightly as if they were trying to banish the darkness within the area. Just how long had it been since Namjoon entered his house?

You looked out the passenger window to find Namjoon smiling in a more carefree manner, the talk must have gone well. You couldn't help but smile back too and unlock the car door for him to enter.

"I take it that it went well with your parents?" You watched him buckle up and set a white plastic bag comfortably on his lap.

"It did, thank you Y/N. I really needed that and you made me realize it. They understood my situation and said it themselves that it was okay." He spoke happily like a 6 year old telling their mom what happened at school today.

"That's good to hear. What's with the bag though?" You asked as you pulled out onto the streets leading back to the highway.

"Ah, this? Well, my mom was just a little bit concerned about me not eating properly so she made me take some packed home-made food for the dorm and our members. That's why it took so long because she prepared everything from scratch. I hope it didn't cause you any inconvenience." He patted the bag softly.

"Nonsense, getting home-made food from your mother is hardly an issue." You replied back monotonously. Things like this didn't bother you much since at the end of the day you knew that Namjoon would go back home feeling better, that's all that really mattered.

"My mother also made you something small, I didn't know what you liked so she packed a small box of Kimchi for you. Kimchi is her specialty so I hope you'll like it."

"That's-that's really sweet of your mother. Please do tell her thanks from me then." You were rendered silent for a second, you never really had home-made food since your parents passed away, all you ever ate was crappy ramen that Seonghwa made or just some convenience store packed meal. The two of you fell into a comfortable silence for the rest of the car-ride.

Later in the night, Namjoon bid you goodbye and headed off to his dorm, the small box of Kimchi laid on the seat where he sat moments ago looking cold and almost sad.

You didn't feel like eating it and that felt like being the biggest asshole on earth.

Back at the flat, you contemplated what you were going to with a small box of Kimchi. The food couldn't go to waste so you put the kimchi in a disposable box at the apartment and left Namjoon's box by the sink to wash and return. What were you doing to do with the disposable box of kimchi? You were going to give to someone you thought was more deserving of it than you were. The homeless, the ones who were struggling to get some food to eat..

The disposable box with the kimchi with a heapful serving of rice from your flat was later on given to one of the homeless person living in a poverty ridden area of Seoul. You normally would feel a small sense of gratitude for giving a homeless person a small side-dish to eat but you felt even worse, maybe because you were essentially giving away a home-made food made by a mother with care and love for you only, to someone else.

You definitely didn't deserve any home-made food.

〰️ 💠 〰️

Despite seeing Namjoon a few days ago regarding the parent issues, your mind was still occupied by what more problems you could find within Namjoon. You wanted to fix him as much as you could even though he wasn't officially your patient. You were unintentionally giving him more priority over the severely ill patients but that was because you saw something familiar but new in him. Familiar as if he reminded you of someone from the past and new because it was a different person, different face, different status in the society.

You knew for sure he had a camera issue, splitting his celebrity persona from the real persona. He had issues with his fans in terms of just wanting to go out and not getting bombarded by flocks of fans, but that one was something you couldn't do much about, it was inevitable, it was something that came with the package of being a celebrity.

You were distractedly looking through your schedule for the following patients in the next few days on your laptop. Your chin rested in your left palm as you hunched over the table and mindlessly kept scrolling through until a soft vibration pulled you out of your thoughts about Namjoon, a notification popped up on the screen, it was from your brother, Hongjoong.

'Wanna come over for a night? I know you have work tomorrow, but let's spend some time tonight!'

You rolled your eyes at the message, he knew that you still had work tomorrow and even going by a high-speed train, it would take approximately 3 hours, however your first patient tomorrow doesn't come until 11 AM...It seems possible to go. It's been a while since you had dinner with him anyways. It was 4:30 PM right now, so you grabbed your coat off the coat hanger and bags in a haste, the soonest train you could catch was at 4:50 PM.

'Alright Joongie, but I leave at 7 AM sharp.'

You sent a quick message before boarding the train, you managed to buy the tickets in a nick of time so you were a little out of breath. It didn't take you too long to find a seat by the window and sit down before the train started. Few seconds later, your phone vibrated, that must Hongjoong you thought.

'Yes! I'm so happy my lil sis is coming for dinner at last! Shall I make your favourite ramen?'

You chuckled softly, the two of you had a small ongoing joke over instant ramen, more specifically Seonghwa's ramen.

'Haha very funny, I still want Seonghwa's ramen.'

'Eyy how could you like that ramen? He keeps forgetting to put the flavour while the water is boiling, not when everything is done!'

'Crappy Seonghwa's ramen still is the best!'

'Alright alright, I guess we will be eating some take-out tonight.'

'Huh? Seonghwa isn't home yet?"

'Nope, this idiot is working overtime.'

'Again...?'

You sighed disappointedly, and sent back another text confirming the plans the two of you had made.

'Alright, I'll be home at 8 PM!'

With that note you tucked your phone away and laid back in the train seat, the headphones over your ear playing music loud enough to drown the soft chattering of other passengers and the rumble of the engine working at high speed. Staring outside the window as the scenery blended into one constantly changing motion picture that made you feel that you were breezing through life without ever having some sort of control over it.

〰️ 💠 〰️

The salty aroma of soy sauce along with familiar grease in the chinese take-out and the sounds of soft creaky wooden floorboards welcomed you home in Busan.

"Y/N! Is that you?" Hongjoong head stuck out from the living room door.

"No, it's me, God." You dropped your bag and coat to the side of the entrance hallway.

"That is so overused and not funny anymore." Hongjoong warmly smiled and walked up to you to engulf you in a warm bear hug. You sighed contentedly, closing your eyes and snuggled your head into the crook of his neck, "How have you been Y/N?" Hongjoong asked, softly caressing the back of your head before pulling away.

"Just so-so Joongie." You wrapped your arms around his arm as the two of you headed towards the living room where a considerably large-sized plastic bag laid atop of the table, containing all sorts of Chinese take-out Hongjoong chose.

"Well, I'm sure it will get better, whatever is bothering you, it'll go away eventually." Hongjoong handed you a pair of chopsticks as he pulled out few boxes of noodles.

"I guess so, like you for example, you are recovering now." You fell back into the couch in the living room and took the first bite out of the noodles. Hongjoong too sat down and opened up his take-out box, "Yeah I guess, I am recovering, the cancer is gone now." He swirled his chopstick in the box of the noodles, not taking a bite yet. That went unnoticed by you as you were too busy inhaling the noodles, after all travelling made you incredibly famished sometimes or maybe just eating with the family was better than eating alone.

"But, aside from that. Something else is bothering me." You stated, mouthful of noodles which made you look like a chipmunk for a moment.

"What is?" Hongjoong rose one of his eyebrows at you, urging you to proceed with what was bothering you.

"It's Seonghwa, Joongie."

"Not this again, you know Seong-" Hongjoong sighed sharply as his mouth opened slightly, tilting his head in a full circle before he took a good look at you.

"No, I mean like I am working now, I am earning well. I am able to support all of you aren't I? So why won't he just stop working?" You set down the empty box of the noodles and set the chopstick next to it on the table.

"Y/N, Seonghwa wants to work, let him-"

"Why? There is absolutely no sense in him working his ass off when he could have gone to University ages ago! It's been several years and he keeps working part-time, even when you got better and I started working." You interrupted your brother, you rarely interrupted your brother but this time it was getting ridiculous to hear Hongjoong constantly defend your elder brother over this matter. You guys have had arguments this many times and it always was Hongjoong defending Seonghwa. You couldn't quite grasp the idea of your eldest brother constantly over-working despite things being financially fine now.

"He should have gone and completed his university, it was his dream to become a nine-to-five office worker. He had that chance and now it's too late, you too, I finished university and the two of you could still apply for late admission." You were borderline spitting words at your brother, watching him become uneasy at your anger, it wasn't like you to get angry anyways.

"What is done is done Y/N. Just let it be. Maybe he likes working these kinds of jobs more than doing office work." He sighed, shoulders slumping down. You had nothing to say anymore, he still kept defending him for continuously working and you gave up. At least you respected his determination and tenacity to constantly defend Seonghwa.

The two of you sat in an uncomfortable silence that had steeped in after your small burst out. You glanced at his uneaten, now cold box of noodles, "Aren't you going to eat? You still need to eat Hongjoong."

Hongjoong simply closed the take-out box and pushed it further away from him on the table, "Look Y/N, I just wanted to have one simple dinner with you. No arguments or anything, but that seems too difficult for you I guess. I'm not that hungry anyways, the chemo messed up my appetite these days." Hongjoong stood up, clenching his teeth slightly in disappointment at you as his eyes bore tiredly into your head.

"I understand Joongie," You tried using his nickname to coax him a bit, to soften the atmosphere you had ruined, "Please at least eat something, I get it the chemo messed you up, but you are getting skinnier even though the chemo is over now. You are much more skinnier than I saw you last time. You need a bit of food in your system."

"You see, the way you are supporting and helping me, why don't you do the same for Seonghwa huh? Why not go visit his workplace and check on him, or see if he is eating well instead of coming here and ruining some time together by ranting about the past?" This time it was Hongjoong's turn to get angry. You were rendered silent by his words, you didn't say anything back because deep down, you knew he was right. As a sister, you should have at least been supportive of what Seonghwa is doing and at least check up on him whenever you were in the area.

"I'm off to bed. Sleep or go home, I don't care. Do whatever you want." With that, Hongjoong turn on his heels and walked back to his room in a solemn manner. The sounds of the creaky wooden floorboards got farther and farther away until you heard the door close, effectively ending the noise from the floorboards.

Guilt and regret coursed through your body as you gingerly cleared the food and chopsticks away to avoid disturbing Hongjoong from whatever he may be doing in his room. Then a small, but clear sound of light clicking off told you that he went to bed, without wishing you a goodnight. That hurt deeply even though it wasn't anything major.

〰️ 💠 〰️

You laid in your bed of your old bedroom in that house in the darkness, constantly shifting due to restlessness and uneasiness of today's conversation between Hongjoong plaguing your mind. If you had kept your mouth shut and enjoyed the meal, chattered about useless and miniscule stuff, maybe then the two of you could have been watching a movie together late in the night to wait for Seonghwa to come back home so it would haven't ended everything so abruptly. Your throat had gone dry from being awake for hours and a pounding headache came like an unwanted guest, so you went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

"Y/N?" A familiar husky voice called out your name, it was undeniably Seonghwa. Why was he back home at 4 or 5 am? Well, when is he not back at that time.

"Seonghwa, you came? Why so late though?" You turned around, gulping down the glass of cold water which quenched your dry throat.

"The convenience store, my shift was till 4 am." He walked up the sink and stood by your side to fill up a glass of water for himself.

The need to ask him why was he still continuously working so late built up again, you didn't want to upset him, especially when he came late and is definitely dead tired.

"You want to ask me something Y/N. Go ahead, I can feel it whenever you want to ask, there's no point keeping it to yourself." Seonghwa braced himself mentally, he had a gist of what you were planning to ask him, it was pretty much the elephant in the room, one way or the other, someone was going to have to address it. It would be more surprising to Seonghwa if you didn't ask about it.

"Why do you still keep working, that too ridiculously late when I can do this for all of you?" You blurted out, eyeing Seonghwa cautiously for any signs of irritation. Only thing you picked up was a deep and long sigh.

"I've told you before, I want to keep doing this. I want to keep earning for all of us."

"But I am earning now, you could have gone back to university and have gotten that job you have always wanted." You mused, you still hadn't grasped why he kept doing this, it seemed completely inconvenient to you.

"I get that, it's logical to you, but I don't mind doing this. I like doing this Y/N. I like working various activities till I am exhausted."

"So, you like this better than the office job?" You asked hesitantly, you weren't so keen on accepting his reply as an answer to his actions.

"Yes, I do Y/N. Funny things happen I guess. Just leave it for now, will you?" Seonghwa patted your head, much more half-heartedly than he used to a few years ago and more out of habit, initially that bothered you but then you eventually accepted it. It seemed like this was the best you were going to get for a long time now that the relationship between the two of you had soured beyond repair. It wasn't just the issue of him working late that got in the way of the two of you, there was so much more that had yet to be resolved.

With that, you were left alone in the kitchen, in the darkness. Sounds of the creaky floorboard faded away just like Hongjoong and the door closing ended it all.

Well that family reunion went well.

[akirakurusuimagines]

de[F]ect

@p5auweek​ day six: Future/Android AU (NieR: Automata)

For reference: 10B (Joker), 15O (Oracle), G18 (Reader), Pod 451 (Mona)

The Bunker was a cold, emotionless place. The grey-scale and monotonous design only furthered that depressing analysis. YoRHa unit 10B despised staying in the Bunker unless it was absolutely necessary, much preferring the endlessly blooming life that he found while on missions on Earth. His heart, though he did not have one, yearned for the color, for the animals, for the history humanity had left behind. He pressed his forehead against the glass, his body reading the drastically cold temperature and attempting to get him to move, but he didn’t mind. He held his visor loosely in one hand, letting his grey eyes absorb the beauty of the Earth from Space. 

From what 10B knew of humanity, they didn’t appreciate the beauty of their world enough⁠— one of the very reasons why there were only a scarce number of humans remaining, residing in their comfortable homes on the Moon, waiting for the day where battle units such as himself would completely eviscerate the machines, and subsequently, aliens, in order for them to return to Earth. 10B scoffed, a sarcastic smile twitching on his face as he stared at his own reflection, messy black hair and fair skin, a complete reflection of the same dull tones he hated. He doubted there would ever be an end to this war, but alas, such comments would never fly if the Commander got a hold of it. He would surely have his memory wiped and body reconstructed. 

“Helloooo!” A light voice sprung to life in his head, surprising him for a moment before realizing who it was, and sighing as she began to whine, “Bunker to 10B! Pay attention to your operator!!”

Upon realizing it was her, he quickly put his visor on, once again covering his eyes in a veil of black. “I read you, 15O. What is it?” 10B responded in a monotonous tone, betraying the thoughts he pondered over. 

“The Commander wants to talk to you. Don’t worry! It’s nothing bad,” 15O explained, a smile on her face, “I’m sure it’s just the new mission she wants to put you on! I know you want to go back to Earth as soon as possible, sooo… I may have mentioned that you wanted to run errands.” He watched her brightly colored hair bounce as she talked, sitting improperly on her chair, looking as happy as ever, talking to him. Though he was jealous of her unique defect that helped her stand out amongst the swarm of YoRHa units, he also pitied her, knowing she would never experience Earth firsthand. She didn’t mind, naturally, finding herself much more comfortable in her little cubicle, talking solely to him and to their Commander. 

10B stared silently at 15O for a moment before breaking his composure, offering her a smile and a soft chuckle. “Read my mind, huh?” 

“Of course! I know you like the back of my hand. So come on, get going already!” 

“Thank you,” he gave her one last smile before she ended the call, turning back to the large window and glancing at his reflection one last time. “It’s showtime.” 

10B exited the Flight Unit as hastily as possible, landing on the grass, his trusty pod immediately hovering over his shoulder, ready to provide assistance, though he paid it no mind. His mission was rather simple in theory, but he knew the Commander didn’t mind if he took some extra time on Earth, especially if he were to make use of that time by strengthening YoRHa’s bond with the Resistance Camp. 

He decided to make his way there first, having long since memorized the way, in order to grab some intel on this supposed obsolete YoRHa unit that was spotted by a scanner. If he remembered the Commander correctly, his target is a gunner⁠— one of the prototype models that became the baseline for battle units like himself. Frankly, he was curious to observe this unit, even though he was aware his mission was to neutralize them as defected androids were always considered a threat to the existence of YoRHa and to the 12th Machine War overall.

Regardless, he needed information to even find them, so 10B made his way inside the lively camp, feeling much more at home in this area than he ever did in the Bunker. Many androids, some deformed, others in perfect shape, greeted him, once again grateful to see his return, as it usually meant they would gain some traction in their businesses. 10B did like to keep his weaponry (and pod) as updated as possible, considering his frequent encounters with machine lifeforms that, more often than not, required dispatchment.

“It’s been a while,” the calm and collected voice of the resistance leader, Anemone, called out to him, “the Commander updated me on the situation. You want to know where that YoRHa soldier is, right? I did you a favor and rounded up as much information as I could. Here, I’ll send it to you.” 

10B wasn’t exactly surprised⁠— Anemone was incredibly reliable, so it figures that she would’ve prepared as much intel as possible for him already. “Thanks,” he shifted his weight between his legs and twisted his dark bangs in front of his visor, “is there anything you need me to do in return?” 

Anemone chuckled, but waved it off. “No need,” she said, “you helped us out more than enough last time. We still have plenty of supplies.” 

Though a bit disappointed, 10B gave the leader a curt nod before racing out of the resistance camp, aimlessly wandering near the rivers while his pod processed the information he was given. 

“Report: The wanted unit was last spotted near the abandoned amusement park,” the pod’s unusually high-pitched voice announced. “Analysis: YoRHa unit 10B should examine the amusement park for further clues on the whereabouts of unit G18.” 

 “Thank you, Pod 451.” 10B raised his gloved hand and gently rested it on top of the pod, petting the assistant and smiling at the content rumble it made.

10B didn’t often visit the abandoned amusement park, preferring the bright greens of the forest, though he did appreciate the grandiose use of lighting and what his pod referred to as “fireworks”. He walked slowly inside of the amusement park, his fingers twitching, holding himself back from pulling out his weapons and attacking⁠, noticing how peaceful the machines themselves were. It was strange, but considering the number, it was better that he didn’t instigate war here. Even as a specialized combat unit, he didn’t need to return to the bunker this early to repair damages caused by a swarm. 

“Hypothesis: unit G18 is hidden somewhere in the area,” the pod abruptly spoke as he wandered deeper into the heart of the amusement park, the music blaring from the speakerphones dying down as he approached the empty area, popped balloons and scattered confetti littered the floor like corpses. “Proposal: unit 10B should proceed with caution.”

No sooner than the pod spoke did 10B just barely dodge an incoming flurry of quick bullets⁠— undoubtedly YoRHa. Machines weren’t capable of such things. “Pod!” 10B commanded, “Activate M Shield!” 

“Understood.” 

The pod’s voice was barely loud enough to hear compared to the incoming bullets, hitting every possible target in sight. 10B was stuck on the defensive, as irritating as it was. He continued to look around, paying particularly close attention to the shadows that the android was certainly hiding themselves in. 

“I knew it was only a matter of time before YoRHa sent one of their pretty and shiny new androids to kill me!” you yelled from your perch, aiming the gun you were equipped with with great precision and skill, watching as the walls behind 10B crumbled, trapping him in there with you. 

“Since when was I going to kill you?!” 10B snapped back, “I want to talk!” 

“A battling unit has no need for talking!”

10B grit his teeth, locking onto you with his pod before racing towards your shadowed figure, gripping his knife tightly, hoping to subdue you enough so you wouldn’t try to blow his face off.

You effortlessly dodged, hundreds of years of experience surviving on one life compared to a normal YoRHa unit’s ability to upload their memories to the server coming to your advantage. However, you did underestimate 10B’s abilities, not realizing the reason that he didn’t have a partner despite being considered a serious threat by the Commander was because of his incredibly versatile abilities and quick adaptation to situations. 

In the end, you two were left at a standstill, no matter what one did, the other effortlessly countered or dodged, the entire situation becoming increasingly frustrating to 10B. He really did only want to talk, for now at least. 

“Pod,” he spoke in a soft voice as to not attract your attention, “activate gravity.” 

“Commencing program.” 

10B watched as you tried to dodge the force of gravity that the pod unleashed where you were, only to be sucked right back into the center of the dome and pinned to the ground under the crushing weight, trying to move but failing. He rushed over and securely pinned you down, keeping you stuck there, defenseless. 

“Just kill me already!” You seethed, passing off your fear as rage as best as you could. You didn’t want to die⁠— of course you didn’t. No one would remember you, nor your comrades if you did. You had to live, somehow. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” 10B promised.

His pod, however, immediately interjected. “Inadvisable⁠—” 

“This is an order, pod, stay quiet.” 

“....”

“Good,” he sighed a breath of relief, looking sternly at your time-worn features. “I’ll let you go if you promise not to shoot. I was serious when I said I wanted to talk.” 

Nodding, you could only watch in amazement as he sat up, keeping his promise. You were tempted to run, every circuit in your body telling you to, yet you felt it would do him a disservice, considering how he was going against direct orders to spare your life. The least you could do is heed his request. 

“I… I want to know what it’s like,” 10B began, speaking slowly and carefully, putting thoughts to words in a way he’s never done before. 

“...What’s like?” 

“Being here on Earth without any obligation to YoRHa or the resistance.” 

“Are you thinking of defecting⁠—?” you stared at him with wide eyes, sitting up slowly. When he didn’t answer, you pressed your lips together, trying to figure out how to best explain it as he shed his visor and discarded it, staring at you with such wide, interested eyes. “It’s peaceful. Of course you have to fight and scavenge to survive, but I’ve done it for over a hundred years, so it’s not impossible, but… it’s good. Machines are rather friendly when you meet the right ones, you’re free to go wherever, do whatever, it’s freeing.” 

“I see…” 10B’s gaze caught on the black visor and he frowned, not wanting to leave his Operator behind, but at the same time, intensely desiring to break free from the suffocating chains of YoRHa. Perhaps he would grow to regret it, in which case, he would return to the resistance camp to be executed. However… “Pod,” he spoke it to life, watching as it whirred with uncertainty, “remove me from the Bunker’s server.” 

“Invalid command.” 

“Overridden. Do as I say, pod.” 

“…” the pod flickered, clearly hesitant. “Initiating sequence.” 

“What are you doing?!” you exclaimed, exasperated. “You’re insane!” 

“No, I’m not,” 10B replied coolly. “Pod, while you’re doing that, get me on the line with Operator 15O.” 

A few moments passed before 15O’s voice buzzed in his ear. “Aww, I never thought you’d be the one to call me!” 

“Listen to me, okay?” 

“Why? What’s wrong?” 15O’s voice quivered slightly.

“I’m not coming back,” 10B said.

“What?”

“I’m defecting. You have nothing to do with this. Commander won’t punish you. …I’ll miss you.” 

“Wait, you can’t⁠—!” 

10B hung up abruptly on her, sighing, his eyebrows pinching together. He was worried about her, but he figured Commander would simply wipe her memory anyways, saving her pain.

“You’re just going to leave everything behind?” you asked, completely astonished. Every YoRHa unit you’ve come across was always completely devoted to their service, and yet, this strange unit, who was supposed to kill you, immediately chose to run? 

10B laughed softly and rubbed the back of his neck as the pod announced the minute it had left to completely cut his ties to YoRHa’s server, making him appear dead. “I suppose so. I… I want to live⁠— I’m tired of fighting a useless war.” 

“I see… in that case… will you come with me?” 

“If you promise not to shoot me again,” 10B stood up and offered his hand to you, which you gladly took, smiling for the first time in who knows how long. 

“Command completed,” the pod spoke, interrupting the moment of strange tenderness between the two of you. “Pod 451 will remain at unit 10B’s aid.”

“...Thank you,” 10B was relieved to hear it. 

Shifting topics, you glanced up towards the night sky, where the fireworks continued to go off, one after another. “Let’s go, they’ll come searching for your body quickly.” 

“Understood⁠— woah⁠—!” 10B exclaimed, not expecting you to dash off while still holding his hand, causing him to lose his footing for a moment, and yet, he couldn’t be happier. Who said androids didn’t have emotions? 

[xellandria]

tw: death

My father died sometime last night.  My mom woke me up at around 4:20 (blaze it?), after she found him, ran around in a panic for a bit (her words), and called 911.  I’d only gone to sleep a couple hours earlier, and neither of us had checked on him until then (he went to bed much earlier than the two of us ever do) so it’s hard to say when it would have happened; we might learn more later, or we might not.  I’m not actually sure how much more information we’ll get—or want, really—when whatever examination happens happens, or if there will be an examination/autopsy/whatever.  All I know about that kind of thing comes from media, and it’s always convenient for media to have an autopsy.

About nine months ago, he was out on a hike and slid down some scree and hurt his back in some way.  Prior to the whole pandemic, he’d been going through all sorts of various treatments and tests to figure out what was wrong and how to fix it, but he’d been in pain for a while.  Supposedly it was at least getting a little better with time—mom says he hadn’t taken his pain meds for the last fifteen days or so—but it was definitely there, and he hadn’t been exercising much (if at all) as a result, and gained a lot of weight from the inactivity.

About a week ago, he started coughing and having trouble breathing, and apparently was having issues sleeping as well.  He called his doctor about it yesterday, and they had him go get tested for Covid.  The results for that won’t be back til Mondayish, but it’s sort of a moot point now, I suppose.  Well, partly moot—if he tested positive, mom and I definitely have to be a lot more nitpicky about our own health.  We’ve not been going out except as absolutely necessary, but I can’t help thinking that we did go to Walmart and Costco on the 16th and while he was wearing a mask of some sort on that trip, his mask procedure was not the best and that was about a week ago.  That’d be a little fast for Covid symptoms I think, but maybe?

I don’t know.  I wasn’t hearing much about it (we’ve been on different tracks for the past week so I haven’t seen much of him) but when we were talking to various relatives about an hour ago, mom seemed to imply that it was a lot of trouble breathing—which makes me ask why he didn’t do something about it if it was really that bad, but that’s not something I can or should ask at this point; I can’t ask him and giving her more to agonize about or regret is absolutely pointless (I still beat myself up on bad days for not being sterner about getting Emmett to a vet when I knew he wasn’t fully right, and he died like five or six years ago at this point; I absolutely do not want to inflict that kind of thing on my mother about her husband, for god’s sake, and I didn’t push harder for my own health and safety when I was having heart issues last year until I finally caved and went to the ER; I could have made that trip a lot sooner too instead of fucking around with my doctor half-ignoring me and limply running tests for six months).

Because it’s just me and mom out here on this coast, we’re probably not going to have a funeral.  Things would probably be different if we weren’t in the middle of a pandemic (his sisters might want something, I don’t think we thought to ask), but they can’t come out here and we can’t go over there and neither of us really want to deal with it.  She knew his preferences (at least for disposal—he wanted to be cremated) so we’ve got that under control, at least.

I’m sure it’s partly shock, but I definitely feel guilty as hell that I’m glad that the pandemic is giving us a good excuse to not have a funeral.  Maybe he would have wanted one?  I don’t know.  I know my own preferences (only if my survivors need it for themselves; I don’t believe in ghosts or anything like that, but the idea of death and corpses and such spooks me something awful and funerals and burials and such are obviously the worst for that) and mom was the one who said no when I asked her if she wanted one (though maybe I should ask again when we’re both less shocky).  If the dead do exist beyond death in some capacity, I hope he understands that it’s not that we don’t love him... but that’s a lot of money and time and mental energy for a lot of pomp and circumstance that doesn’t make... well, I was going to say “doesn’t make anybody feel better” but someone must get comfort from that kind of thing, even if I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone who has.

There’s a lot of unknowns right now.  Dad was the one who handled all the household finances and I know he never went over it all with me, and I got the impression that he and mom never got around to it either (though we both mentioned that it was something we’d been thinking about, it’s obviously too late now).  Mom’s worried about the taxes, and what bills are on auto-pay and all that, and it’s going to be a nightmare to go through his computer and phone and make sure all that stuff is handled... but that’s not today’s worry.  I mean, I almost wish it was—it’d give me something to do now that we’re done talking to the EMTs and the police and the people from the funeral home and calling the relatives (and before I work up the nerve to call his old work friend, who is the only other person I can think of that deserves to know), but it’s also not something to walk into with two hours of sleep and a broad-but-vague understanding of how to access the data, but not what to do with it.

I haven’t cried yet, and I feel guilty about that too (though again, I’m putting it down to shock).  Cat death/injury is so triggering to me that I burst into tears nearly at the mention/thought of it, but my own father is gone and I’m just sitting at my computer, typing out a lengthy essay about how I want to consider myself a piece of shit for it, but I know it’s all part of the process, etc. etc.  I remember when my parents woke me up to tell me my maternal grandmother had died, I definitely cried then (and was angry) so I know it’s possible for me to feel things, or was at one point.  I’m sure the depression isn’t helping (and the fact that I think my med dosage may not be good enough anymore).

I’m sort of glad for the pandemic too, for the social distancing and masks that all the strangers that came to our home at 4-6am were wearing because I haven’t taken a shower in a couple days and I am disgusting and unshaved, but hopefully they didn’t notice.  At least they didn’t comment on it in my hearing, so I can maybe hopefully pretend.

Anyway.  I’m currently distracting myself by writing this out, but there’s not much more I want to say at this point.  I’ve posted out of my guild’s raids indefinitely for the moment (it was the first thing I did after I got out of bed while we were waiting for the EMT, and the second was tweet about it; my priorities are so fucked, y’all).  I don’t really know whether I’ll be able to stay on top of D&D—it’s only once a week, it’s a much smaller group of people who are much less likely to make some sort of unthinking or triggering remark (frankly, the idea of listening to my guild leader and some of the non-raiders talk about their jobs as doctors/upcoming medical practitioners is absolutely not what I need in my life right now, and I can’t tell 19+ other people to watch every word that comes out of their mouths or from their fingers above and beyond the guild rules because it might make the baby cry (or tilt her off the face of the earth)... but I can probably get away with asking only four other people to do that) and it’s not like we’re doing much where there might be schedule conflicts.  I’m gonna have to tell them for sure (well, Naha knows cos he follows me on twitter, and Kattii might cos she also follows me but I’m not sure if she keeps up with her timeline, but I don’t think the others do).  I should definitely not isolate myself entirely—I don’t know a lot right now, but I know that’s a real bad idea no matter how depressed I was before this happened—so I may keep the D&D up.

I’m not sure if I should go to the Sunday Jaina runs or not, since I won’t really be part of the prog team and shouldn’t take mounts out of the mouths of people who will actually be around.  I already felt kinda guilty about going to last week’s when I’d posted out of raid for mental health reasons (and had missed the week before’s entirely for same).  I dunno.  I’ve got a day and change to think about that one, and what I want to do with myself.

Oh, and M+ is a thing too isn’t it, fuck me.  I dunno.  If I do Jaina and I do D&D, I should probably at least do the M+ too; it’s only one or two runs a week even if it has been stressful because we’ve been scrambling for a filler every week for a few months now (Intol’s been wrapped up in the whole pandemic thing on his side of life, and none of us have had the time or energy to find a consistent/reliable filler until he’s ready to come back).  At least I have a good excuse to not be the one scrambling for that weekly filler anymore, eh? lol :T  That’s also a small group size so that should be all right.  Jaina will be touchy for the larger group size reason too actually, now that I think about it (although I can probably get away with not being on discord for most of the run).

I dunno.  I’m rambling now, and now I’m also rambling at Naha in DMs so maybe I should stop rambling in at least one location.

[fapangel]

Hey Planefag, I've been considering getting a gun for a while now, and one I keep coming back to is the CZ Scorpion EVO 3 S1 Carbine. I've always found myself more comfortable with rifles over handguns, though that might just be because I've actually shot rifles before and never handled a handgun that wasn't a dinky .22 single action revolver my dad found in my grandparents basement. What's your thoughts on this gun? Is it too much for a first time gun owner? Thanks.

NICE CHOICE MY BROTHER! 

Among the under-appreciated and unsung heroes of firearms engineering and manufacture, CZ firearms and their fantastic Czechnology™ are king. CZ has a long lineage (they’re responsible for the famous CZ.61 Skorpion submachine gun/machine pistol, which the EVO 3 carbine is named after,) and they make a wide variety of firearms, from their immensely popular CZ 75 double-stack 9mm pistols to hunting rifles that are beloved by hunters across Europe. 

As for the CZ Scorpion EVO 3 itself, you’re best served by watching some youtube reviews on the gun; as always Hickock 45 is a good place to start. He always has good feedback on how the gun actually handles and feels when you shoot it; as evidenced by his videos always featuring him having a blast knocking down steel in his backyard. But as far as this general kind of firearm as a first-time buy goes? I can say this is an EXCELLENT firearm for a first-time owner!

Carbines chambered in pistol calibers, such as 9mm, .45 ACP, etc. are commonly known (unsurprisingly) as “pistol caliber carbines.” Debates have raged over their “tactical usefulness” or home-defense utility versus other options, but what is hands-down incontestable is that they are tremendously fun guns. Handguns make a lot of trade-offs to get their small, portable size; both in accuracy and stability (due to lacking a stock) and in power (since they use significantly smaller, weaker cartridges than a rifle.) When you take a handgun cartridge designed to have manageable recoil in a handgun, and put it in a lightweight rifle, you get a firearm with almost no notable recoil, much greater accuracy (since you’ve got a much better platform that’s more stable due to the shoulder brace) and even generates more power (the longer barrel lets the gas from the gunpowder accelerate the bullet for a longer period of time and achieve higher velocities.) Carbines also have the benefits of dirt-cheap ammo (pistol ammo is cheaper than rifle ammo by a decent margin since it’s just smaller; compare and contrast over at ammoseek.com,) and they’re lightweight and handy compared to most normal-sized rifles. They have other applications too; they’re gaining popularity as a home-defense firearm (though people argue incessantly about other options being better, the simple fact is that these guns will work great for home defense if its the only one you own,) and then there’s hunting applications - I’ve actually been eyeballing a .45 ACP carbine for years because I’d like a “coyote gun;” something that can reach out and pop a coyote slinking around the property, but with a pistol cartridge that won’t ricochet off frozen ground or a rock and hit a neighbor’s house a mile distant. 

Ergo, a pistol-caliber carbine is a really, really fun gun, and is very forgiving for a first-time shooter. The only gun that could possibly be more forgiving is a .22 carbine, like a 10/22, which is also a fun target rifle with cheap ammo, but isn’t a reliable threat against anything bigger than a woodchuck and is hard to use past 50 yards or so due to the “rainbow” trajectory: 

5 inches of drop isn’t hard to compensate for; it’s more the rate of drop that makes things iffy. If your coyote pops up at 90 yards or 110 yards, your point-of-impact changes drastically. There’s also wind-drift; even a gentle breeze plays merry hell with that lightweight 40 grain bullet. 

9mm from a carbine shoots significantly flatter and further: (link or click the image to fullsize it and get rid of the damn blur:) 

So a 9mm carbine has most of the advantages a .22 plinker has, but with far greater practical utility as well. As the most common handgun round on Earth, 9mm is easy to buy and you can get plinking ammo dirt cheap. 

You’ll note that there’s competitors to the Scorpion EVO on the market in the 9mm blowback-operated carbine market; from the Sig MPX to the ugly, but perfectly functional and very affordable Hi-Point carbine. All these companies have legendary reputations (even Hi-Point, which has phenomenal customer service and after-sale support) so its hard to go wrong with any of them. 

My only complaints vis a vis pistol-caliber carbines is price. Yet another (theoretical) advantage of a pistol-caliber carbine is the ability to use a “simple blowback” method of operation; wherein the chamber is kept sealed until the gas pressure from the gunpowder drops to safe levels by nothing more than the intertial mass (i.e. weight) of the slide itself, after which the cartridge case itself being blown back by the equal and opposite reaction move the slide rearward and cycle the action (thus the name.) Most medium-caliber handguns above .380 ACP power or so use a fancier - and more expensive - locking-lug system to seal the breech because simple blowback would require too much weight in the slide and make the gun bulky. Hi-Point’s (in)famous pistols are so cheap because they use simple blowback even for normal-power pistol cartridges, which is why their guns look like a damn brick and have weight to match.

You know where that weight doesn’t matter, though? In a carbine! Simple blowback also has no moving barrel like the short recoil system most handguns use to cycle, so it’s also surprisingly accurate. But above all, simple blowback should be cheaper. 

And they ain’t. 

The Scopion Evo 3 is simple blowback and costs about a thousand bucks, retail. There’s multiple “entry-level” AR-15s on the market right now, chambered for an actual rifle cartridge, using a much more complex and expensive gas-operated recoil system... for about 600 dollars USD. That has never, ever not pissed me off, and has kept me from buying a PCC myself. The Hi-Point carbines are only 300 bucks or so, but they also look like a 300 dollar rifle - there’s no properly-priced “mid market” option for PCC’s and that just frosts my ass no end. 

But there’s good news! After years of bullshit, you can finally find 9mm AR-15 complete uppers for something approaching sane fucking prices. Check out the price drops over at Palmetto State Armory. (They mark ALL their stuff as “on sale” but typically not with $100+ price drops.) Everyone is lowering their prices because nobody’s fucking buying these at their previous rip-off bullshit pricing. And even better, the corona catastrophe hasn’t driven these prices up yet, and probably won’t for a while because, as you can see, these are for unassembled guns, not straight-off-the-shelf ones. 

Best of all, as far as AR-15s are concerned, “unassembled” basically means “you have to put the bottom part on the top part and pop two pins in with your thumb.” And that’s it. That’s quite literally it. It’s so damn easy I have no problem recommending it to a total newbie. What you do is, you buy a complete upper assembly (which means the factory guys screwed together the barrel and upper receiver for you and attached the wee flippy door and other stuff which is fiddly for you - they usually come with a bolt, too, but if they don’t that’s not hard to find separate and they just slide right in.) Then you go and find yourself a 9mm lower receiver; a complete one will look something like this. The lower receiver decides what kind of magazines you’ll use, and depending on compatibility with the upper may or may not have a working bolt hold-open interaction; you’ll have to do a little research to see if the combo you’re eyeballing works together. Fortunately there’s more than a few guides out there for this sort of thing, and you can also ask on forums like ar15.com to quickly get feedback from people with way too much disposable income who have actually built guns with the parts you’re looking at. This is all made a lot easier if you buy the upper and lower from the same company (they typically make sure their shit all works together, natch,) but even then research is prudent.

Or you could say “fuck it, I’ve got money” and buy the EVO 3, which wouldn’t be a bad choice either. Yes, you’ll be overpaying a bit, but at least the EVO 3 is nice, and has bells and whistles and things. And the other big advantage of an AR PCC build is also with the EVO 3 - a fairly strong aftermarket. For instance, if you think the EVO 3′s trigger is stiff, there’s already aftermarket options for it. There’s also handling to consider; find a Friendly Local Gun Store with the Scorpion in stock and pay them a visit and ask to hold the thing; then you can compare to pretty much any shorter-barreled AR-15 rifle on the wall and you’ll have a pretty good comparison. You can look up youtube reviews comparing the two all day, but nothing tells you what you’ll like better than actually holding it. The advantage the Scorpion EVO has is, unlike people making Le Generic AR-15 Pattern Parts, is the freedom to customize the weight, balance and overall useability ergonomics while still retaining modular features like the standard picatinny rails (the carbine you’re looking at even has integrated M-LOK attachment points in the handguard!) There’s a fucking reason this carbine is getting so much attention despite 9mm PCC’s being a Thing these days. The prices on 9mm AR uppers finally dropping is relatively new, but even with that, CZ is typically considered to be of a quality comparable to the upper end of those AR manufacturers, which also narrows the price difference.

I know that’s a lot of ~words~ to fling at a newbie who’s highly unlikely to dive into the pain-in-the-ass journey of researching 9mm PCC parts, but I wanted you to know what your options were, and to start early in demystifying the ~building a GUN~ process; as with a completed upper it’s mostly about popping together a few simple parts, screwing this thingajigger onto that, and then pressing some of those fucking roll pins in with a c-clamp from your workshop. Yes, skip the 20 dollar roll pin punch from Brownells (and the six dollars and two weeks shipping) and let The Internet show you all the dirty tricks to make shit even easier. The AR market is so inflated and AR’s so popular now that there’s people selling fifty dollar tools to help install one part in the lower, and exasperated guys on youtube showing you how to do it with a fucking banana. 

So. the TL:DR:

* A pistol-caliber carbine is a REALLY nice choice for a first time shooter; it’s handy and easy to use, wonderfully affordable and fun for target shooting, and can be used for real practical uses like small-game hunting or even home defense if you want. 

You have multiple options on the market right now for these, and if you want to save some money or want access to the most insanely populated aftermarket parts market, you can build a 9mm AR-15 pretty easily now, if you do your research first. 

With that said, the CZ Scorpion Evo 3 is selling well and is quite popular despite how crowded the market is right now, and there’s a reason for that - everyone says its a well put together gun, its from a company with a legendary reputation for quality and design, it has all the bells and whistles you’re going to want (ambidextrous features, picatinny rails and M-LOK forward handguard,) and it has a sizeable aftermarket of its own, allowing you significant customization options to build on a known solid core firearm. IT EVEN HAS AFFORDABLE MAGAZINES. Seriously their magazines are the same price as you know, normal magazines from normal companies; you’re not being forced to pay out the ass for proprietary mags, it’s just

You know what, nevermind what I said, buy the Evo 3. YOU’RE GONNA LOVE IT BRO 

[anchoredtether]

Title: The Ghost in the Machine

Chapter: 1/13  

Series: Another Way to Die

Author: AnchoredTether

Rating: M [graphic depictions of violence, dark themes, slight horror]

Pairings: Pidge | Katie Holt / Lance [Plance]

Tags: Danny Phantom AU, Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters (kinda), ghost!Lance, Pidge is slightly goth, Keith is also half-ghost, angst, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, disturbing themes, slight horror elements, dark, claustrophobia, implied/referenced torture, double life, angst and humor, body horror, graphic description

Summary: “So this is how I die. In some Holt laboratory device when ALL I WANTED WAS STRING CHEESE!"

Artwork: The lovely @numbah34 made several arts for this work and they are fantastic! Check out her art here! She also has more concept art which I will link once it’s posted~

A/N: Here is my contribution for the @planceminibang​! A special thank you to @amicuscordis​ for beta-ing! Vague summary is vague.

Read below the cut or over here at Ao3 >>

001 || THE GHOST IN THE MACHINE

---

“We should probably get back to studying,” Pidge announced after both their characters died on the retro gaming system and the eight-bit funeral dirge played. “Since, you know, you came over here to study.”

“Yeah yeah, I know…” Lance sighed. He currently had a D in his physics class and Pidge happened to be a genius at anything related to science, so they started study sessions at her place a few weeks ago. “I needed a break though! All this talk of kinetics and energy was putting my head for a spin.”

“Killbot has killed us seven times in a row so I think that’s as good a time as any to quit while we’re ahead.”

“Seven times the charm?” Lance put down the controller and pulled his textbook back onto his lap, stretching his legs out onto the coffee table. “Maaaan, who studies on a Friday night??”

“Smart people who want all day Saturday and Sunday to themselves.”

He snapped his book shut again and stood up. “You know what? I’m starving. I’ll be right back with some snacks.”

She sighed. “You have the attention span of a magpie, Lance.” After five good minutes of studying he’d go on some tangent and she had to redirect his attention, or he’d want to do a video game break or a snack break or a bathroom break and she swore that boy drank water like an alcoholic downs free shots because he was constantly needing to relieve himself. When she called him out on ‘faking’ bathroom breaks to get out of studying he simply lifted up his massive water bottle and told her he drank six of them a day. He progressed on a long spiel about how great water was and she couldn’t decide whether she was impressed by how much science he had to back up his arguments or annoyed by the fact that he couldn’t shut up about water.

She called out to him as he started down the hallway. “Can you bring me some peanut butter cookies? They’re on the top shelf of the fridge.” He held up a hand to indicate he heard and she pulled out homework from one of her advanced placement classes to work on while she waited for his return.

The Holt house was confusing. The whole family was geniuses - Sam was a revered engineer and Colleen a brilliant chemist and botanist. Half the rooms in the house were labs or conservatories (or a combination) and so many parts of the house were added on or obscure extensions that made it a strange maze of plants and machinery. Lance usually had to ask Pidge to remind him which way was to the bathroom or kitchen but he didn’t want to bother her this time. It shouldn’t have been too hard to figure out, right? He had an innate sense of direction.

The other issue was the fact that Sam upgraded all their normal appliances. Their washer and dryer did not look like the standard because he invented ones that worked better. Lance found a room that might possibly be a kitchen but just as easily a lab. There were a few black knives left on one of the counters and some strange looking vegetables. Knives and vegetables were found together in kitchens, right? Then again, half the rooms had vegetables, but he figured a kitchen utensil and an edible looking plant had to be a good indicator.

He walked up to what looked like could be a fridge and tried pulling the giant red lever that could have been the door handle. When nothing opened for him, Lance let out a dissatisfied hum and walked over to some double doors that might have been a pantry or fridge and pulled them open. They were heavy and made a hissing and whirring sound as they slowly opened. The area inside was well lit and the walls looked like they were lined with drawers, but when he walked up and tried pulling on one of the panels it wouldn’t budge.

“Pidge distinctly said ‘shelf.’ So obviously whatever this is, it’s not the refrigerator.” He took one last look before turning to leave, but the doors just barely finished closing on their own without a sound. He let out a short yelp before rushing over and pushing on the thick metal doors but there were no handles and they weren’t budging against his weight. Suddenly the lights in the room snapped into an electric green and he could hear an ominous whirring of something powering up gradually increase in volume.

He pounded on the door, yelling Pidge and her parents’ names in a vain attempt to grab someone’s attention. He started to panic, looking around frantically for some escape latch or emergency button within the walls of the room. When he exhausted all his options he backed up into a corner and braced himself for whatever was about to happen, his limbs plastered against the walls.

“So this is how I die.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “In some Holt laboratory device when ALL I WANTED WAS STRING CHEESE!”

The lights turned off and he screamed, but his scream slowly died out as he realized he wasn’t being evaporated. Nothing happened except for a sudden nausea that overcame him and then his senses quickly faded into blackness.

---

When Lance came to, he was lying on the ground of the fridge-not-fridge, the hospital-white lights were back on, and the double doors were left open. He looked over his body and patted himself in random spots and let out a sigh of relief. He seemed to be alright and figured he simply passed out from fear and adrenaline. He stood up and quickly left the room, finding his way back to Pidge.

“You can’t find the fridge, can you?” she asked in a dour tone.

She didn’t seem concerned that he was gone for a long time, so Lance figured he was only passed out for a minute or so. It would have been logical to tell her what had just happened but a part of him hesitated. Nothing happened and he didn’t want to get in trouble with her parents. He didn’t want her to get in trouble with her parents when he was being an idiot. He’d seen the way Colleen and Pidge interacted and Mrs. Holt was a scary woman when she wanted to be. He let out a nervous laugh before answering. “No, it appears I’m helpless at your house.”

Pidge stood up as she finished typing something on her phone, her green-painted nails clacking against the touch screen as she led the way without having to look up. “Follow me, goofball.”

They acquired the snacks from the strangely designed fridge - which he could have sworn it did not look like that two weeks ago - and returned to the living room (and he tried to make a mental note of the directions they took through the hallways to get there). They resumed their study of kinetic motion but the only motion Lance could focus on was the swaying of the room.

“I think I need to go home,” he said in the middle of Pidge’s explanation.

“Really, Lance? We haven’t studied five min-” She frowned a moment as she looked him over. “You’re… actually really pale. Are you alright?”

“Um… I think… yeah. I think so.” His voice was starting to slur ever so slightly and he had a feeling it would only get worse. “I just need to… to lie down, or something.”

“You can lie down on the couch or I’ll get you a bed! I don’t think you should be walking home in the state you’re in.”

“No really, I’ll… I should go home.” He stood up and swayed, but Pidge quickly stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“At least let me walk you there,” she insisted.

His house was just a few blocks down from hers so the walk wasn’t long, but they still had to take a few rest stops for Lance to catch his breath and steady his nausea. Mrs. Villanueva kindly greeted them and took Lance in, thanking Pidge for her help (and referring to her as ‘Katie’). Pidge walked back home and wondered what could have overcome her friend. His constitution had gone from perfectly fine to on his deathbed within minutes. She made it a note to check in on him tomorrow if she didn’t hear from him.

---

Mama Villanueva put Lance immediately to bed, completely tucking the blankets around him and leaving him with bottles of water, a sleeve of saltines, and a throw-up bowl. He had a feeling that whatever was wrong with him wasn’t some kind of flu or virus, and a dread gained weight in his chest that he’d have to tell the Holts what happened to him in their lab if he ever wanted to get better.

What if he never got better?

What if he was dying?

After several runs of overthinking, Lance eventually passed out from mere exhaustion. Not even his worried, rambling brain could keep him from the fatigue that soon overtook his body. He had stressful dreams of things chasing him, as if the mysterious sickness was something he could not run from or escape. When he awoke in the middle of the night, he was fairly sure it was a false awakening and he was still in a dream.

Because he was floating above his bed.

It wasn’t the weirdest thing that had happened in his dreams but it started to get freaky when he saw his whole body was slightly translucent. And for whatever reason, instead of his sleepwear he was dressed in what he wore yesterday and his clothes were inverted in color. His jacket was now a pale frosted gray, the orange bands around his sleeves now a vibrant blue. His jeans became a light tan while his shirt and shoes darkened into a charcoal gray.

“Of course I’d dream myself as a ghost after worrying about dying,” he muttered to himself as he looked at his hands with a calm fascination. He also knew he was dreaming because the sickness that consumed his body before was magically gone. He knew if he had woken for real, he would have felt like death.

He tried moving to the ground and floated on down with ease, his feet touching the floor without a sound. He started to walk out of his room but then decided to try floating instead because if he was a ghost why bother using the energy to walk? He discovered he could do it without much thought, his feet hovering a few inches from the ground with knees relaxed as if he were making his way through zero gravity.

Lance was about to open his door but his hand phased through it, causing him to let out a startled yelp. He covered his mouth with his hand that wasn't halfway through the door and waited, listening to hear if he woke anyone up. He shook his head, realizing this was a dream and it didn't matter if he woke up his parents or siblings. Although for all he knew, in this dream world there might have been monsters or something equally as terrifying he did not want to awaken.

He returned his focus to his hand in the door. It didn't hurt but he could feel where the doorknob began through his wrist and where the door ended halfway through his fingers like a precise singeing upon his skin. It didn’t burn, exactly, but Lance didn’t want to linger through a solid object for too long.

"This is the weirdest thing…" He experimented by moving his hand in and out through the door through various parts, testing how it felt at different angles. He slowly made his way phasing his whole body through the door, pausing here and there with curiosity. It wasn't long after he passed through the door that a chilling sensation passed up his spine and caused him to let out a squeaky wheeze. Some strange feeling overcame him, urging him to go outside.

Now knowing he could phase through solid objects, he passed through the bathroom in the hall and straight to the outside of his house. He turned towards the street, completely silent and serene in the middle of the night, and saw a figure in the distance. Normally a stranger out in the street at three in the morning was a major red flag but Lance could afford to follow his dangerously unhealthy curiosity when it was only a dream. He might get chased and murdered by a serial killer with an axe, but he could phase through walls now so it might not be nearly as scary (at least that's how he justified it).

Upon hovering closer, he saw that the figure was semi-translucent as well, although the stranger had his feet planted on the ground like a normal person. Perhaps everyone in this particular alternate universe were ghostly. Lance must have spent way too long staring at the stranger because when he spoke it completely startled him.

"What are you doing out here?"

Lance struggled for a moment as his mouth worked but only sputtering came out. "B-bold of you to say that when you're out in the middle of the street in the middle of the night… in the middle of my dream," he added for emphasis, as if that mattered. "So what are you doing out here?"

"It's not safe out here, you should go back to your home," the stranger said in a kind but cautious tone. He was interesting looking and perhaps that's why Lance was staring so intensely before. The stranger had purple skin with darker stripes curving up his cheeks, his eyes an electric yellow with bright purple irises. Lance had to wonder if he looked just as strange but the color of his skin was its usual warm tone.

"My home is right there," he jabbed a thumb behind him. "So I might as well see what's going on."

"No, really." The stranger almost looked nervous. "You should go."

"Aww come on, do I really look that pathetic?" Lance scoffed, confident that he could handle whatever this dream verse would throw at him. He had played enough video games to improvise and figure out how to survive.

"Considering you no longer have legs, yes."

He stared at him in confusion for a moment, then dared to look down to see his legs were gone, a translucent ghostly tail curling down from his waist instead. "Oh! Wha… what does that mean?" This dream is turning out weirder by the minute.

"Either you're an emotional wreck or you have no control over your ghost powers. Or both," he answered flatly. "Don't you know you don't need your tail unless you're traveling at high speeds or maneuvering quickly through solid objects?"

Lance lowered his brows. "I- wh?- No. I have no idea how to be a ghost."

The stranger looked a hundred percent done. "You are a ghost."

"Yeah, just for right now in this weird dream. I always have weird dreams when I'm sick."

"This is real life. It's not a dream."

"See? That's exactly what someone in my dream would say!"

The stranger rolled his bright eyes. "Fine. Whatever. Die for all I care."

"Aren't we already dead? We're ghosts."

His eyes narrowed, his expression intense. "You… you aren't normally human, are you?"

"Of course I'm 'normally' human," he answered with air quotes. "What kind of a question is that?"

The stranger suddenly looked apprehensive. "You really need to go home. And stay there."

Lance placed his hands on his hips, his face turning into a frustrated pout. "You're not the boss of me."

He turned on him, his face only inches away as his voice tugged an urgency from Lance's chest. "Your kind are rare and there is a hunter out on the loose looking for ghosts like you. Believe me when I say you do not want to be caught. If you care at all about your own self-preservation you will run and hide. I can mislead him from your home but only if you promise to stay there."

Lance was silent a moment, his eyes wide as he tried to process the severity of his words, but something stuck out to him more than the imminent danger or the implication that he was no longer human. "Why would you want to help me?"

The other ghost hesitated but his answer felt sincere. "Because we're more similar than you think." His golden eyes moved to the house and back to Lance to indicate he should go back, and with that, he gave him one last look and flew away, out of the streetlight and into the darkness.

"… I guess that's one way for my dream to wake me up." He shrugged and hovered back towards his house, phased through the walls and went back to his room. As soon as he approached the bed, the same chill from earlier traveled up his spine except this time he felt it worse.

He had a feeling that whatever the stranger was running from had arrived.

And whatever it was, it felt like a horribly bad omen.

[possiblypeachy]

tea & schemes. (4)

―; summary: Jacob visits Florence for the first time. Florence is left with far too many emotions.

―; pairing: jacob frye x ofc

―; word count: 4.9k (its a big boy, babey)

―; warnings: light swearing. anxiety-esque feelings towards the end (Florence gets overwhelmed ): )

―; A/N: i love Florence muchly at this point and, trust me, i already want to write cute little fluffy smoochy things but there’s a bit of time before that still. society has a lot to say about how a woman should be at this time and it really has begun to wear on Florrie, as demonstrated at the end of this chapter.

don’t worry though!!! she’s just babie and will work past it soon. the heart wants what the heart wants, after all.

―; part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

― ❊ ―

Freddy and Florence had spent the next few days having tense conversations between their self-isolation to their own bedrooms. There was a sense of regret that hung in the air but neither siblings seemed to want to speak of it. Florence, nerves too high to even stay in the same room as him for a while and worried that he would further draw attention to her mortal flaws, kept herself to reading. Freddy busied himself with paperwork and patrols until the late evening. That is until Lissie, fed up with their pride, sat them both down and commanded that they talk to one another, lest the cook quit and leave them to fend for themselves.

Oh, if she had a shilling for every time she’d had to do this since working for the Abberline’s, she’d have enough money to finally buy that necklace she’d always ogled on the way to the market. It was the way of siblings, she supposed: they always had to prove they were superior to the other in one way or another.

They had reconciled after a few moments of silence then them both leaning forward and mumbling an “I’m sorry” at the same time. Frederick admitted that perhaps his leash on her was too tight. Florence said that she understood that he was just trying to protect her. Her brother sighed tiredly, thankful that this was all over, and joked that at least she didn’t have to write about their bickering now in her letter to their parents. When she laughed, everyone could feel a weight lift off of the household.

All was well with the Abberline’s once again.

That afternoon, after Freddy had left for work with a smile on his face for the first time in days, Florence had retired to her room, finally content enough with life that she could write a sufficient letter to her parents. Edward and Hannah Abberline were kind parents and especially lenient with their children, much to the dismay of other mothers and fathers of their rank. Their only condition for Florence to move into Freddie’s house in London was that she wrote regularly and that she at least try to find a nice man to marry. She was more than happy to uphold those terms.

The brunette was lucky that, when three knocks came to her bedroom window, her dip pen was away from the paper; with the way that she jolted in her seat, it surely would’ve ruined the page she had been writing on. A string of meowing began from her bed, her cat obviously peeved at the disruption to his sleep. When her gaze finally dragged to the window, half-expecting to see an insistent bird, she met eyes with Jacob, who’s grin told her that he found her surprise amusing.

Florence stood and slid the window up, letting Jacob haul himself inside. “The window is usually open; you didn’t have to knock.”

He dusted himself off, readjusting his coat. Before he could speak, the tabby cat to his left honked at him. Shocked, Jacob looked about before meeting the stare of perhaps the most tired-looking (and sounding) feline he’d ever seen. The cat yelled at him again and he gave Florence a look.

Florence scooped the cat up into her arms, much to its displeasure. “Don’t worry about Duncan. He likes to tell people off for disturbing him.”

Jacob chuckled. “He’s called Duncan?” He reached a hand out and Duncan sniffed it cautiously.

“An urchin gave him to me a year or so ago. The poor child said that she wanted him to live a nice life with a nice lady. She said his name was Duncan.” Florence looked fondly down at the cat, who seemed to have now forgiven Jacob and was gently purring. When Jacob drew away, Duncan meowed and clawed his way up to balance on his owner’s shoulder, sniffing the air. Florence looked inconvenienced but decided to allow it, continuing to speak with Jacob. “What brings you here?”

“Adventure, dear Flor.” He had begun to peruse through her belongings, eyes scanning the letter she had been writing and the cat figurine on her desk. “You, me, the great city of London: are you up for it?”

Florence tutted, leaning to let Duncan hop down onto the bed from her shoulder, and shuffled Jacob away from her desk. “That’s not particularly specific. You could be planning on taking me somewhere nefarious like a…” She paused to think, during which Jacob was practically challenging her to say something terrible, “... brothel in Whitechapel.”

Jacob grimaced but huffed out a laugh. “Nothing of the sort. I don’t even know what that is, Miss Abberline.”

Florence nodded mockingly. “Of course, Jacob.”

“Anyway, before I let you poison my mind with thoughts of brothels,” He gave her a pointed look, reaching down to scratch behind Duncan’s ear, and Florence grinned, “I thought that I could introduce you to a slice of my world.”

Florence cooed, clapping her hands together, though her movements dripped of sarcasm. “Ooh! Are we going to derail a train together?”

His smile said ‘you cheeky mare’ but he continued before she had the chance to berate him further. “No, I was going to take you to a newly liberated stronghold. Evie and I run a gang, you know? Well, it’s more me than Evie but--”

“Where?”

Jacob thought for a moment, like he’d forgotten its location entirely, before breaking out into a terrible smile. “Whitechapel.”

Florence sighed but couldn’t hide the glint of excitement burning in her eyes. Gangs? A stronghold? Goodness, it sounded like a piece from a gritty book or perhaps a play. How delightful!

“I’ll come along but if I get pickpocketed you’re getting my money back, Jacob.”

“Certainly, dear lady.” He made a sweeping gesture to her bedroom door. “Shall we?”

--

Florence hadn’t been expecting to venture into Whitechapel again for a good few months. Catching her brother and meeting the twins there a few days prior had been enough for her. Now, she never looked down upon the poorer; before her father had opened that little shop of his and gained a seat on the town’s council, their family of seven all squished into two rooms and lived off of scrimping. Rather, she felt terribly bad for wandering around perhaps the most impoverished area of London in full health with a warm meal being cooked for her at home. Of course, she didn’t feel sorry for the thugs on the streets that ruffed up those who already had nothing and simply saw them as even more of a reason to visit as little as possible.

When Jacob began to lead her down a dingy alleyway, he seemed unfazed by the drunk man passed out on the floor and… was that his vomit beside him? Florence unconsciously began to walk closer to Jacob, a hand coming up to adjust her hat-- almost hoping that, if she moved it in a certain way, the shadow cast over her fast would hide it. “Are you certain we’re going the right way? Or, are you just leading me down here to test my resolve?”

He chuckled, giving a brief nod to a tall, bald man in a green jacket. “Why can’t it be both?” He stopped walking to let her go in front of him, gesturing for her to do exactly that with a sweep of his hand.

Florence hummed, dissatisfied, but walked ahead of him anyway. She could feel that he was close behind, almost like he was making it painfully obvious that the well-dressed, middle-class lady was with him and not available to be robbed today. It brought her a small degree of comfort, though she couldn’t help but think of her brother’s disapproving glare.

“Oh.” He muttered from behind her. She would’ve turned to look but she decided against it, not wanting to risk accidentally bumping into anyone strung about the narrow pathway. “I almost forgot. Here.” Jacob’s arm appeared at her side, palm upturned and holding the bird figurine from the market. Much to his delight, Florence made what sounded like a pleased little coo and took the sculpture from him, inspecting it with a collector’s eyes. “I went back to the market the other day and bought it; I thought you deserved a gift after the work you did.”

It was a sweet gesture and Florence couldn’t deny the happiness felt in her chest or the smile that immediately cracked her anxious demeanour. “That’s… quite kind of you, Jacob.” She ran a thumb over the intricately carved feathers then, in an effort to keep her newfound treasure safe, she pulled it closer to her body without much thought.

Jacob, however, grinned at this, seeing the amusing resemblance between her and a creature that hoards-- like a magpie or a squirrel. “You collect them, don’t you?”

Florence huffed out a laugh, allowing herself a brief glance over her shoulder to meet his eyes. “Yes, I do. They’re always beautifully crafted and they make a lovely addition to a mantlepiece or desk.” She paused for a moment, pondering. Then, she sighed. “I also collect coins, though they are a lot harder to come by and… I have a book in my desk drawer filled with stamps.”

“Stamps?” He repeated, intrigued. Florence could hear amusement in his tone.

“Stamps.” She confirmed. Wanting anything but having to assess whether or not Jacob thought less of her for this, her sight stayed firmly on the path ahead.

With a simple “I’ll keep an eye out, then” Florence felt altogether better about the situation. It wasn’t often that people simply left her be with her ridiculous collecting habits. She simply enjoyed the… satisfaction that came with the task; she was not a madwoman.

Jacob was becoming more likeable by the minute.

More and more people clad in green began to appear, all regarding Jacob with considerable amounts of respect and admiration. A few made comments about her, telling him that this was “no place to bring a bird like that”, to which, from the corner of her eyes, she could see him throw up two fingers at them. A half-smile tugged at her lips, though she made no audible observations.

They finally got to a small square behind four buildings. A few urchins ran about the place but most were men and women, dressed in green and chatting with one another or having what seemed to be playful brawls. A curious gaze dragged across the surroundings, slowly piecing the puzzle together. Flags of the same shade of green flew and, if she looked closely enough, she noticed that a symbol had been painted onto them: a bird holding a chess piece.

A rook holding a knight.

“You and Miss Frye are the ones that rallied the Clinkers?” She spun around to look at him, face etched with awe. Florence gestured wildly to their surroundings. “I expected a little gathering of rogues and crooks not… this. From what I’ve heard, your new Rooks have been taking down Blighter territory left and right.” Jacob’s eyes were wide but he said nothing, unsure if she was excited to be here or more frightened. A few seconds passed, then Florence broke out into a grin, pointing a finger at him. “I’m impressed.”

The tightness in his shoulders left and he visibly relaxed, mirroring her expression. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. Not compared to what I usually do.”

A nearby gang member-- a rook-- booed at him, though it was through a laugh. The man to her side shook his head, breathing out a chuckle through his nose. It was nice to see that there was such a strong sense of camaraderie between them all, despite them being up against huge and (until now) unbeaten opposition. Florence supposed that being united under two people so outwardly courageous and rallying for change that it would make any group be reinstilled with a sense of hope.

She tutted at him, chiding him for trying to take all the glory, but the smile that twisted at her lips told that she didn’t take him too seriously. “Don’t be a prick, Jacob; I didn’t venture here for you to take all the fame from your men.” He feigned offence, holding a hand to his chest. Clearly having just arrived at a stop on her train of thought, Florence tilted her head slightly, “Speaking of which, why did you bring me here? If you hope to enlist me, I’m afraid my days are all taken up with reading and looking for a husband-- you know, the usual.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile and a sarcastic dip of her head.

Jacob kissed his teeth. “A shame, really. Could’ve used a woman with your skill in…” he searched for something to fill the gap. Florence stared at him, a challenging light dancing in her eyes, “... making men feel small.”

She threw her head back, a glimpse of her signature, ridiculous laugh gracing the world. One of her fingers pointed at him and she nodded, “Not bad, Frye. Not bad. But,” Her giggling quietened down and she threw her arms up, as if to gesture to the square and its people, “besides making me feel all-powerful, why exactly have you decided to bring me here?”

“Well,” he began, moving toward a small alcove. There were a few sacks held up on sticks, littered with holes and slices. A crate beside them had a few practice weapons, though she was almost certain that, if she were to be hit over the head with that… wooden stick it would hurt. A lot. “I thought that, what with the mishap--” His eyes flickered to the fading bruise on her cheek, now a sickly yellow colour, and she grimaced, “-- the last time we were together, I might introduce you to extra forms of protection.” Jacob pulled a throwing knife so swiftly from his person that Florence had no idea where it actually came from. He turned it in his hand, fingers carefully holding the bladed end while the grip pointed toward her. “Protection besides a good kick to the bollocks, that is.”

Florence huffed out a laugh and took the knife from him, weighing it cautiously in her hand. “Freddy would go insane if he saw me holding this.”

“Through fear or anger?”

“I’d take a stab at both.” There was a twinkle in her eyes, begging him to pick up on her pun.

He had indeed and gave a “ha, ha, ha” in response, to which Florence shot him an over-exaggerated frown.

Jacob moved to stand beside her, his position forcing her to turn and face the mounted sacks. He pulled another knife out and her gaze flickered towards it. Florence seemed appropriately wary of the weapon and, without knowing, had begun to lean away from Jacob while he held it. His lips curled into a discreet smile upon noticing this but he said nothing; it’s better that she feels in control and comfortable when trying things like this.

“The key to throwing one of this is the power in the wrist.” He rotated the knife around, letting the bladed end almost rest near his wrist. His thumb and first two fingers were at the grip, supporting it, though she could see how loose the hold was-- presumably to make it easier to throw the knife. Jacob looked to her and gestured with his head for her to copy his position. Florence pursed her lips, unsure if she was willing to risk accidentally cutting herself and facing her brother’s wrath, but, after a few moments of quiet deliberation, she did it anyway; she didn’t come all this way just to waste her and Jacob’s time.

He gave her a smile so reassuring and kind that something skipped or bloomed or… something in Florence’s chest and she had to look away.

No. We won’t be having any of that, Florence Abberline.

“Then, once you’ve got a good hold on it, you use the flick of your wrist to--” Jacob threw the knife and, to her amazement, it landed in the centre of the sack, “-- throw it. It can be difficult to get the power right but, once you’re as good as me, you won’t have to think much.”

Florence gave him a harsh side glance. “You continue to gloat even when I’m holding a knife? You’re a foolish, foolish man, Jacob Frye.”

He gave her a sly grin. “It appears you just make me lose all sense, dear Flor.”

Their eyes stayed locked for just a second too long and, in an attempt to distract them both, she threw the knife. Its trajectory was wobbly and the side hit the sack rather than the sharp end but, all in all, he had to admit that it wasn’t too bad; he’d seen some of the Rook initiates throw them worse than that.

Jacob’s lips curled into one of those ‘not bad’ frowns, brows darting skywards. Florence glowered at the fallen knife, never one to enjoy a loss. “Trying to make sense of one of these is ridiculous.” She sighed, pointing to the weapon in the dirt. “Can I not just use one of those as a… normal weapon?”

“It is a normal weapon.”

“Shut up-- you know what I mean.”

As he went to collect the knife, he gave a chuckle. “I suppose you can but only as a last resort; it’s not made for close-range combat.”

Florence huffed. “Well,” A light grew in her eyes, gaze flickering to Jacob. When he turned to face her again, he could tell that a thought was brewing; she had that same look when they first met, “if I were to ever fight someone further away from me, I would much prefer to use a gun.” She glanced down to his hips-- at the straps and holster that held his pistol.

Jacob shook his head, clicking his fingers to draw her attention. “My eyes are up here.”

She grinned, the dimple a deep crease in her cheek. There came a playful wink and a “What can I say? I like a man with who can handle his pistol well”. Innuendo dripped from her tone and he threw his head back to laugh.

“Are you only using me for my gun, dear Flor?” Despite his words, he still pulled the weapon from its holster, checking the cylinder to see how many bullets were inside. He removed all but one.

“If I am, you’re making it terribly easy.” A hand was on her hip when he handed the gun over to her, an impish smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “No resistance, Jacob? You seem like the type to treasure his weaponry.” Florence raised a brow, eyes raking over the pistol in her hand.

He shrugged as she held it up toward the sacks, moving to lean beside a nearby wall to stay clear of… whatever might happen when she shot it. “When a pretty lady offers to play with your gun,” Jacob scrunched his face up, pitch heightening, “you don’t tend to turn her down.”

Florence cackled, leaning over herself to allow her shoulders to shake for a few moments. “You’re terrible.”

“I do try.” He grinned. Then, one of his hands came out to gesture to the training area. “Right. Are you gonna shoot that or n-- pass it back to me.”

“What? Why--”

Jacob took a few urgent steps forward, leaning toward her with his palm open, “Pass it back--” She heard him quietly curse under his breath and stand up straight-- almost too abruptly. He was facing the opposite direction to her now and, as she turned to see who was there, he uttered a devastating: “Hello, Evie.”

Impending doom had appeared in the form of Evie Frye.

Florence could tell that Jacob was caught in between a rock and a hard place with how his brain appeared to have dripped out of both of his ears and he was stood beside her, completely absent. Evie looked between the both of them. Florence hoped that her hat obscured some measure of her face but she also knew that Evie wasn’t an idiot.

“Miss Abberline,” Fuck, “I didn’t expect to see you here of all places. Don’t tell me that my brother dragged you here.” Evie already knew what was happening and that made it triply worse when Florence decided that the best thing to do in the situation was to lie.

Pure desperation coursing through her veins, she grabbed the rook closest to her-- a skinny man in his mid-twenties-- and hooked her arm around his, shuffling herself so they looked like a couple. He didn’t look particularly convincing. “I was actually here to visit…” Florence looked into the bloke’s eyes, her lips drawn into a thin line and her expression panicked. He said nothing and she quietly kissed her teeth, “... Paul. He’s enchanting and I can barely keep myself away--”

“My name is Terrence.”

Beside her, Jacob’s hand flew up to his forehead and he turned away from the pair of them, breathing out a heavy sigh. Evie still stared at Florence, who had frozen in the face of her badly made lie falling apart.

In one last attempt to redeem herself, Florence slapped Paul’s-- Terrence’s-- arm in the same way a wife would when she has to laugh at her husband’s joke. “Don’t be so silly, my love.” She gave Evie a smile, to which the assassin returned but it seemed impatient and altogether unconvinced-- like she was simply trying to speed up her breaking point.

“Good old Paul likes to mess about to try to get Miss Abberline all flustered. He says that her blush is beautiful, isn’t that right Paul?” Jacob joined the fight again, though there was a dimness to his hazel eyes that told Florence that he already knew his sister had won.

Paul frowned. “I just said my name is Terrence. And, why is this woman holding onto my arm?” Florence and Jacob cursed in unison. A smile twisted at the gangly man’s lips, however, when he finally gave Florence a proper look over. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind having a go on a posh bird. You got any plans for tonight, love?”

Disgusted, Florence yanked herself away from him and crossed her arms below her chest. Jacob grimaced beside her and, with a flick of his hand, gestured for Terrence to leave. The man in question went into a sulk and began to kick dirt up as he disappeared around the corner.

“Are you finished?” Evie glanced between them. The pair said and did nothing, which Evie took as a ‘yes’. She pointed a finger to Jacob. “I need to speak with you about something important so you should--”

“Is it about the gang war, Miss Evie?” One of the rooks piped up from a few feet away, having just strolled into the middle of the chaos-filled alcove.

Jacob perked up at Florence’s side. “The what?”

Before Evie could ask the rook to be quiet, they had already started to speak again, “Kaylock has agreed to a fight over Whitechapel. Whoever wins owns the borough.”

He grinned, practically vibrating with excitement. “That sounds perfect.” Hazel eyes flickered between Florence and his sister. Both women seemed to anticipate his departure before it even began. “Sorry ladies but I have a borough to become king of.” He looked to the rook, who gestured loosely in the fight’s direction. Jacob nodded and was off on his way, musing “King Jacob: sounds good, doesn’t it?” as he passed the girls by, pinching the gun back from Florence.

Florence, finding the whole thing quite amusing, began to laugh quietly, while Evie at her left simply gave a sigh. Blue eyes dragged over to the smaller woman and she raised a brow, gesturing to the direction he left in. “One of the many reasons why anyone should just stay at home if Jacob invites them out.”

“I think his passion is inspiring.”

“Not when you’ve lived with it your whole life.” Evie gave her a solemn look.

Florence breathed out a chuckle, shaking her head. “You and Freddy would get along well.”

Evie, all things considered, didn’t regard Miss Abberline in a negative light; her apparent desire for adventure and little escapades through London didn’t work to destabilise something greater-- like the reckless decisions Jacob had the tendency to make. She only worried that having her brother form some kind of hopeless attachment to Florence would hinder any progress that he might make and keep him perpetually senseless.

A softer look gracing her features now, Evie gestured for Florence to walk with her. “I think, now that my brother has abandoned you, we should get you home, Miss Abberline. Will Sergeant Abberline be back by the time you arrive?”

Florence pondered then her answer came by way of an inconvenienced frown. “If he’s on his break, maybe. Knowing my luck, he will be.”

They finally reached the main street and Evie seemed to search for a carriage. Briefly, she turned to regard Florence, an eyebrow raised. “I heard that Sergeant Abberline didn’t seem particularly happy when you returned home last Tuesday. Has it passed?”

“This morning, actually.” Florence confirmed. “Lissie made us reconcile; she threatened to leave if not.”

“Your sister?” Evie asked, nodding her head toward a carriage parked on the other side of the road.

Florence followed after her, allowing a light laugh. “No. If anything, she’s more like an over-enthusiastic aunt. Lissie is our live-in cook. She tends to help me like a handmaid, though.”

For the first time, Florence heard Evie’s genuine laugh. Her grin formed in the same way that Jacob’s did but wasn’t given out as freely as he tended to. Reaching the carriage, she gave Florence a hand to help her up onto it before clambering into the driver’s seat herself. “Well, this Lissie sounds like a good woman.”

“Ah,” Florence smiled, huffing out a giggle, “only sometimes. I think she enjoyed when I moved in with Freddy; it gave her someone more lively to gossip with.”

Evie hummed, amused, then silence fell over them both for a small while, leaving Florence to gaze out at the changing boroughs of London and let her thoughts run loose. No matter what her mind tried to focus on-- the book she had been reading, the play her and Freddy were due to attend at the end of the week, the dress she so desperately wanted to buy-- all lines seemed to lead back to Jacob and the (albeit limited) actions they’d had throughout the past few days. It was ridiculous to have suddenly become fixated on this one man. He knew nothing about her and she knew just as little about him. Yet, the thought of him persisted.

Was it him? Or the adventure that came from him?

She began to chew on the inside of her lip, thumbs playing with one another in her lap.

Liking and love were not for Florence. She had tried love once and declared that that would be her last time. A life without that burden was liberating, she’d always told herself. It’s why she despises the idea of getting married and having someone always able to hold onto her reins. It was a useless endeavour and would not serve her in any way that she would like. It would suffocate and surround her. That’s what she’ll always tell herself.

She liked the adventure he caused.

“Miss Abberline?” Evie called over her shoulder and Florence straightened up again but her head was still spinning. The hum she gave would’ve been a voice break. “I think…” Evie gave a sigh, “I think it would be in everyone’s best interests if you don’t indulge my brother. He’s-- he needs to focus on our plans in London. We are working for the better of the people and being close to him-- us-- could put you in a delicate position.”

Of course.

"It's obvious that he enjoys the time spent with you and already counts you among one of his friends but I just..." Evie sucked a breath in through her teeth, leading the horses neatly around a corner, "He hasn't yet realised the gravity of our situation. He just needs to focus."

Of course. Of course. Of course.

It was really beginning to grate on Florence: the fact that everyone wanted her to leave something or another alone. Freddy wants her to stop her business in helping him. Her parents want her to stop messing around and find a husband. Now, Miss Frye wants her to stop interfering with herself and Jacob’s plans. It was only ever ‘stop’ and never a push-- an encouragement to ‘go’.

Frustration rioted in her blood. Her hands were shaking. They held each other tighter.

Maybe they were right. Perhaps it would be easier for everyone if she stopped doing and simply let herself be. Freddy only wanted her to be safe and sane. Evie was saying this to protect her and keep London’s best future on the cards. It wasn’t selfish of them to ask; it was selfish of her to disregard.

It was considerate, the part of her mind that wasn’t fire and brimstone thought-- soothed.

“That sounds fine, Miss Frye.”

It’s for the best, the growing calm of her thoughts said in an effort to pacify.

“You have a fair reason for asking.”

All will be well and fine, her mind-- now having ceased its chattering-- assured.

“I’ll let him down gently.”

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Hold the door (BC x Reader)

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Bangchan x Reader

Warning: Spoilers for GoT S4 & S6 E5

Summary: Fantasy can be brutal yet be addicting after a long day of work. Fortunately, a dearly loved kangaroo knows how to lessen the pain of the politics of Westeros.

Author’s Note: Top o’ the morning!

This is my first piece for Stray Kids since they are slowly taking over my life and especially Chris (Bangchan). Hopefully, despite this being not BTS-related for once, it is still an enjoyable read.

For any Stays reading this and who are not acquainted with my works as of yet: I hope I do not disappoint.

Masterlist

A good story evokes emotions with its imagery and plot line, even more so when actors play out the scenes which are craftily adapted to a visual new format despite being written first in ink. The series ‘’Game of Thrones’’ is a splendid example of what might happen in a scenario in which the story hits harder than expected, beloved characters dying left and right while the audience can merely look on in horror.

Or cheer in delight in Joffrey’s case.

The day at work at the café in the centre of town had been hazardous, the arrival of spring break ensuring lots of tourists to come in to taste and photograph the seasonal specials while enjoying the gradually becoming warmer sunny weather. The entire shift literally consisted of creating soft sweet sakura custard buns and sweet lush green mochis decorated with a rice dough cherry blossom and petals, slicing up the slightly floral cheesecake with a pink inside that had to be remade perhaps four to five times due to the high demand. Not to speak of the effort to deliver with making the time-consuming coffees and hot or cold cocoas befitting the abundant fall of sakura around the village. However, such are the duties of being part of the already small team: each person has to be able to work all-round when this time of the year comes despite there not being too much patronage otherwise since the city is not that big nor well-known.

But every exhausting shift makes a mini-marathon in the evening of the new season of ‘’Game of Thrones’’ all the more deserved, simply sitting back on the comfortable creme-coloured love seat with a cup of freshly prepared ice coffee and either a tub of cookies and cream ice cream or a protein bar in the same flavour. Fortunately, it is not minded by the boyfriend of one and a half years since the blonde athletic boy can mostly be found at the gym in the evenings when not hanging out with friends.

Nonetheless, Chris’s absence is more of a curse since the first episode of the night has a grander impact on the psyche than expected, making a firm hug that is mostly tried to be escaped from under normal circumstances now dearly desired. Too many impactful emotional events follow each other up at the end of the sixth season’s fifth episode, triggering the rare reaction of tears in eyes that can merely watch and a palm wrapped over a speechless mouth.

The response is even powerful enough to miss the click of the front door of the shared apartment and the dull thump of the ashen buffalo bag filled with sports gear in the tiny entryway leading to the studio, much less so the giggle following the habitual greeting of “I’m home, babygirl”, which is still awkward despite the many times it has been uttered.

‘Hey, Y/N, are you, wait, are you crying?’ As soon as the credits roll over the screen and the DVD is paused, fingers unclasp from paralyzed lips to wipe away the watery traces of the damage done by mere yet gripping fantasy which stirs the youth to rush over to the couch and rapidly take place on the empty spot formerly occupied by bare feet, making a sorrowful being bounce slightly with the impact of the sudden additional weight. Firm veiny arms are immediately clung onto when they initiate an unbreakable embrace, one slender hand placed protectively on the top of the head, cradling it against the shoulder. ‘What happened?’

No answer comes per direct, first throwing out every bit of frustration thanks to fantastical explicit cruelty while holding on to an oversized sweat-soaked onyx shirt but not minding the hint of sourness to the characteristic scent of minty soap. The golden-haired lad resembling a kangaroo when fired up with energy has taken on the tranquil appearance of a koala, its counterpart, and simply waits patiently until the incoherent blabbering attempts at voicing a reason for the silly behaviour gain a sense of logic. Simultaneously, the left upper arm is being rubbed in uncomprehending close solace, chin resting on the crown of the head when not giving soft caring forehead kisses and whispering soothing nothings.

At last, after a good while of crying, it is dared to look Chris in the eye to tell what forms the reason for the curious distress. Nevertheless, it is an obvious fact the thumb caressing the cheek while explaining forms one of the support pillars which keeps speech steadier than it would be without. ‘Geo- George R.R. Martin is a bastard. He- He let Bran’s wolf be killed by Whitewalkers and- and... Hodor...’ A heavy sob. ‘M- mea- means “ho- hold the door”...’

The very vivid thought about the death of the kind giant at the door arises, initiating a continuation of the lament created by a splendid bastard of an author’s writing. The hug tightens, a rumble in the trained chest beneath the slick flowy fabric resulting in an adorable chuckle as tears stream down a pale neck. ‘You take it way too seriously, Y/N. It’s just a story. Nobody’s actually dead, everything is fine.’

‘Shut up, Chris, you do- don’t know what power George has.’ It is incredible how ‘’Game of Thrones’’ has escaped the attention of the Australian platinum youth, but at the same time places him in a disposition of ignorance about how sensitive talk about the show can be. Certainly for long-time viewers who have likely seen their favourites be brutally murdered in favour of plot progression.

‘No, I don’t, but how about you show me and I’ll try to protect you from it?’ Hazel irises light up at the prospect at one of the most loved things aside from the steady relationship with a girl who gets carried away into fantasy too often and, judging by the broad smirk that begins to form, the continuation of the proposal is nothing surprising yet deliciously loving. ‘With food?’

‘Tha- That’s your solution to ev- everything, isn’t it?’ A careful curl of the corners of the mouth forms out of the sorrowful expression at seeing the genuine giddiness at a second dinner or, rather, late night snack together. Although, it also arises out of the vivid images quickly flashing by of the personified koala’s silly movements whenever something tastes incredible, the funny habit always a cause for affectionate laughter and a source of confidence in the at times doubtful personal cooking skill.

‘It always makes you smile,’ a stray strand is tucked behind the ear, plush roseate lips placing a sweet kiss on the forehead, ‘I’ll first take a shower and then prepare some tteokbokki. How about that?’

Unconsciously, a consenting eager nod is already given before the reaction can be even thought about, the stomach having overtaken demeanour out of anticipation of the small rice cakes. ‘Extra spicy?’

A slight nervousness slips into attitude, eyes holding a silent plead for toning down on the spice levels because the last time they were too high for most to handle, Cris’s friends who came over for the monthly movie night all frantically reaching for cucumber and milk to nullify the impact while trying to save the fellow Australian of the group at the same time. Withal, howbeit while clearly contemplating to adjust the amount of gochujang regardless of the request, the proposal is agreed to. ‘Sure, extra spicy it is. Now, don’t you dare continue in the meanwhile or I won’t cuddle you for the rest of the week.’

A sceptic roll of the eyes, finding no credibility in the statement considering the personality of the speaker. ‘Oh, come on, we both know that’s an empty threat.’

The slightly loosened embrace tightens to a literally breathtaking degree once more, but now it is tried to be escaped as is normally the case when the blonde youth tends to get cheesily clinging. ‘Or I hug you to death, your choice.’

‘Let me go!’ Any type of resistance results in the opposite, becoming more and more the prisoner of secure loving arms instead of a free woman. Notwithstanding, it cannot be said it is minded, though the rumbling in the stomach betrays the recently realized craving for food that can only be had when giving in.

‘Not before you answer.’ The heavy weight suddenly tipping the scales cannot be prevented from being the oppressor of the strength that is unable to lift it, head hitting the soft pillows of the sofa on the other end as the sporty lad with dewy skin maintains the firm hug. A delighted playful chuckle sounds at the realization of having the held figure exactly where she is apparently wanted, unable to be freed before having made a decision. ‘Well, what’s it gonna be?’

‘Either way, you’ll suffer. Option one leaves me alive but you’ll get cuddle withdrawal symptoms. Option two leaves you without your favourite squishy.’ An eyebrow rises in challenging mockery which will only worsen the circumstances though the sarcasm cannot be helped. Just as in the brutal series, if you play smart, you shall survive. And this preferred victim of affection, this most beloved fighter of clinging hugs, has plans to survive the night.

‘Aren’t you clever, turning my own words against me?’ A lopsided smirk forms on the koala boy’s face, eyes illuminated by playful lights.

‘In the Game of Thrones, you live or you die and I intend to do the former.’ Henceforth, a cute sweetness slips into speech as lips irresistibly pout, manipulating Chris even further into hurrying up in fulfilling the promise of tteokbokki and stop stalling the rest of the well-deserved marathon. ‘I’m hungry.’

Blonde locks bow in amused defeat, shaking briefly with acknowledged surrender before gazes lock again. ‘I have no idea what that reference means, but you win this time, Y/N. Can’t let my babygirl starve.’

The characteristic awkward laughter accompanying the nickname by default ends the topic of debate, the kangaroo boyfriend lifting himself off a half-crushed no longer entirely torn by fantasy figure to finally shower. In the absence filled with the lingering traces of songs sung with an angelic voice, more pillows and a thin ornately decorated blanket are gathered for properly snuggling up with delicious food and an amazing but heartbreaking brutal show.

Sweater paws clad in a soapy mint oversized sweater wrap around the platinum youth’s waist to give him a taste of his own medicine, trying to show how inconvenient it can be when a person is basically glued to you during household tasks, which lets them become increasingly more complicated due to the loving gesture. Withal, it does not have the intended effect as the young man manages to get along with making the rice cakes coated in a fierce red sauce just fine although it does pose a bit of a risk when a small hand reaches out for the gochujang tub to add more to the sauce and the chef obviously not consenting to this idea, the dispute resulting in play fighting that almost turns the fire pit open too far without further notice.

The tickling almost results in burns and burned clothing, the just as touchy retribution barely short of ending in a trail of sauce stains leading from the kitchen floor to the fake black leather loveseat thanks to fingertips poking sides. Regardless, it is managed to be reached without further ado, the cruelly incredible series resuming with one strong arm wrapped around the shoulders, a warm meal split in two put into two laps sitting side by side. Occasionally, a chewy tteok is fed with a content smile from the bigger portion of the athlete eating like a starved man, who is evidently as happy with the result of the obstructed cooking as the appreciating look in the eyes of the accepting mouth, going by the happy wiggles accompanied by tuneful hums.

And thus the imaginary intriguing political game synonymous to crimson onslaught continues, because the questioning, at times shocked, comments made out of ignorance brighten the mood due to their silent request for an explanation, delighting the nerdy fangirl within to no end.

Keeping the worst of silly emotions at bay.

Holding the door.

[thehermitsaltar]

Jellybean

Requested by Anon:  “Could you do a x Male reader where the reader is the teenage son of Steve and Tony and dating Peter Parker and wants to ask peter to marry him but is scared to ask Steve Tony and May if its ok to marry him”

Peter Parker x Male Reader

Word Count: 3000

A/N: I love this, thanks a ton anon

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. In, out. In, out. It’ll be fine, I mean what’s the worst thing he could say? No? Ha ha, oh god he’s gonna say no. What will happen if he says no?? Crap, then he’s gonna tell papa, then papa’s gonna be mad and say no. Shit.

Y/N’s head raced with thoughts as he made his way down to his dad’s workshop, which was rare that he was even down there. For as long as he could remember, Tony had never wanted to spend time in his lab and would only go down there if he absolutely needed too. But it worked in Y/N’s favor today because now he knew his dad wasn’t gonna have to run out on some urgent Avengers mission. Or to ya know, help uncle Bucky with his computer.

But here he was, in front of the glass door that had the STARK logo on it. He took a deep breath and knocked twice, waiting for a reply.

“I swear to god Barnes, if you broke another door with that vibranium arm i’m gonna-” Tony’s voice got closer until he opened the door and saw his strapping young son standing before him. He immediately smiled and went to hug him, Y/N accepted the hug happily, it actually calmed him down a little bit, especially since he was a little bit taller than his dad. Not quite as tall as papa or uncle Bucky but taller than his dad which was enough. “Hey kid, what’s up?”

“H-hey dad” he gulped the stutter down “I need to talk to you for a minute.” That was more confident and he felt good about it.

Tony looked at him with worried eyes, thinking the worst. He was sick, someone’s hurt, Steve did something stupid. Oh god Steve did something stupid and now he’s dead. Tony’s a widower and Bucky’s gonna kill him. Tony snapped out of his thoughts when his son waved his hand in front of his face. “Dad?”

“Sorry peanut” He cleared his throat and shook his head a bit, he should hear Y/N out then freak. “Is everything okay?”

Y/N looked anywhere but Tony’s eye’s. “Yeah dad, everything’s fine. I just have been thinking about some things lately…” he trailed off and scratched the back of his neck.

Tony gave him the look. The confused dad look, like Y/N was explaining the premise of Undertale to him, that was also awkward and frustrating. But he felt stupid for not just saying it or having his dad read his mind. Which is crazy Tony couldn’t because it’s not like he’s the smartest guy who has also been exposed to too much radiation. But still, he couldn’t read Y/N’s mind so he would just have to say it, get it over with, quick and painful.

“Dad, I love Peter Parker”

Tony looked a little shocked then he laughed a lot and looked at his son expectantly. “I hope so, you guy’s have been dating for two years.” His laughter died down when he saw Y/N was still serious and nervous. “Peanut?” His voice was calm and smooth, well it’s always calm and smooth but now it was more comforting to the teen.

“Dad, I wanna propose to Peter” He was being genuine so Tony would know he wasn’t joking. Tony did know too, he could tell he was being completely sincere and it scared the hell out of him. His son was 18 years old and he wanted to get married? When Tony was 18 that was the last thing he wanted to do, but his kid hadn’t graduated MIT like he did and he couldn’t build an engine like Tony could. But that’s because he was a normal kid.

Tony was always proud of his son; from the doodles he did when he was 4, to the essay he wrote in English class in the 9th grade. All the way to when he first drove, to when he got his first job, to when he graduated. Tony was always proud of his son. He never had to try either, his son was just a wonderful being to him, a ray of light in his sometimes dark world. The biggest thing about all this was how Tony tried to never be like his father.

When him and Steve got the news that a little boy needed a new home after being rescued from his birth place he dropped everything. He stopped spending time in his lab, only going down there to fix Bucky’s arm or Rhody’s legs but that’s it, if anyone needed anything fixed they could figure it out or Tony would help Y/N with his homework and fix stuff.  He also stopped drinking. A father of a three year old shouldn’t be drinking anyway. He stopped completely until his son turned about 17, now he just drinks alcohol for a nice beverage.

His son changed his life in an amazing way.

Now he wanted to get married. His little boy was growing up and wanted to get married and to the nicest boy. He did like that Peter Parker, he was a good, smart kid.

“Peanut.” He looked his son right in the eye’s and grabbed his shoulders tight. “Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve never more sure of anything dad. I love him.” His voice was steady and his eyes were hard.

Tony broke out into the biggest grin and pulled his son into a bone crushing hug. “My baby’s getting married!”

His son laughed and hugged Tony tight. His dad being supportive was amazing and felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders, so much so that tears started to spill onto Tony’s Black Sabbath T-shirt. “Thank you dad.” his voice cracked and it made Tony cry too. His son was happy, healthy and in love, what more could he ask for?

The two sat and talked and hadn’t realized it had been hours until Steve came down to look for them. Y/N had told him not to say anything to his papa, he had to ask for his permission on his own.

-A Few Days Later-

Next on his list of terrors was Peter’s aunt May.

Now don’t get Y/N wrong, May was the sweetest person ever and she is like a mom to him but she has shown that she can be scary when it comes to Peter. She is completely valid of course, and honestly it’s comforting that Peter has an adult who loves and guards him so much. Y/N has also never had the scary May directed at him but what if today was the day that happened? What if she feels like he is gonna take Peter away from her, or maybe she doesn’t even like him and was just being polite all these years. What if she kills him?

Okay, he’s overreacting just a tad.

But if May doesn’t approve that’s it, it’s over. They can’t get married.

Before Y/N knew it he was face-to-face with yet another door, scared beyond anything. This one not as fancy as the last but that didn’t matter. If anything he liked seeing this one more because it meant he was gonna see Peter’s big beautiful brown eyes and his cute floppy hair, and if he was lucky, he’d get to see him wearing Y/N’s oversized sweater when he opened the door.

Man, he loved Peter.

With that comforting thought he knocked on the door and waited for the small brunette to answer. Y/N’s mind was racing and his blood was pumping into his ears so bad that he didn’t even hear May open the door. But he did jump about four feet in the air when she grabbed his shoulder.

“Butterscotch, are you okay?” she questioned with concern. The teenage boy held up his hand in a “one minute” motions while he caught his breath. Once he was fine he straightened up and smiled nervously.

“H-hey May, I just came over to talk” he laughed weakly. This made May cross her arms and raise a brow.

“To talk? Do you mean to come steal Peter’s Legos?” she had a small smirk on her face because that had indeed happened before. Many times actually.

But Y/N shook his head timidly. “N-No” he avoided her eyes and fidgeted with his hands. May began to worry.

“I was only kidding Butterscotch” she put a comforting hand on his shoulder and rubbed soothing circles.

“I know, ‘m sorry May. Can I come in?”

“Of course” she smiled a little and ushered the boy inside. May had made tea for them and they began talking about school, recent events and then the topic got on Peter. By the time he got brought up Y/N was cool and collected, so calm the reason he came here slipped his mind a little.

“-Then he put his hand right in the pudding” they spilled into a fit of laughter. But May stared intently at him, almost like she was reading his mind. “Is something wrong with Peter?” her voice was steady and deadly. Almost like she was waiting to attack.

The blood drained from Y/N’s face and he went ghost white. “N-n-not at all m-ma’m” his voice trembled and he was almost in shock. All his fears are just about to come true.

She continued to stare and waited for an answer.

“I-i came here to ask your permission Ms. Parker” Y/N never called May ma’m or Ms, but the kid was scared shitless and he also wanted to make this a formal request because Peter and May deserve the right treatment in this situation.

“Permission?” her glare turned into a confused head tilt within seconds. Y/N let out a small sigh of relief and gained some confidence.

“Yes. I would like permission to ask for Peter’s hand in marriage.” that sounded dorkier then intended but still.

May’s jaw dropped and she looked stunned. She started to come too and maybe say something but before she could Peter walked in.

“Hey guy’s”

He went straight to his room to drop off his bag and when he came back Y/N muttered something about Bucky needing help and bolted out of the small Queens apartment.

Y/N was so shaken up when he left May’s that he didn’t even go home, he went to the one person he told everything too. The person he trusted most. The guy that let him shoot his first gun. The man with the most beautiful brown locks he had ever seen.

Uncle Bucky.

Bucky was the coolest guy Y/N knew, I mean he loved his dad’s of course but come on, Bucky could speak like 20 different languages, throw ninja stars and had a baby goat. There wasn’t anything in the world cooler then that.

So he made his way through Brooklyn to his house and walked right in like he lived there. Not that Buck minded. He actually liked having someone to hang out with that treated him normal, well, everyone treats him “normal” but Y/N grew up knowing him so he never asked about Bucky’s arm or why his uncle had weapons hidden all around the apartment. He never asked, Bucky didn’t even think that those questions ever occurred to him. All Y/N ever asked about was if he could mess with Bucky’s hair or if he still had pizza rolls. Those questions only made him love the teen more.

But as Y/N sat down on his couch with a huff, Bucky knew something was wrong.

“Who did you ask today” Bucky asked as he sat down next to the teen.

“May” Y/N mumbled as he turned over and shoved his face in the pillow next to him.

Bucky feared the worst, “She said no?”

“Peter walked in before she could tell me” He mumbled out.

Bucky frowned and pat his nephew on the back, “Come on dots, it’ll be okay. This is huge, maybe she just needs time”

Y/N sat up, “Ya’ think so?”

“Yes dots, I really do” Bucky smiled and stood up, “Now let’s go get some sandwiches”  This made Y/N smile a little too.

They spent the rest of the evening talking, eating and playing video games, Bucky was surprisingly good at video games. By the end of the night Y/N’s worries had slipped away and he had finally calmed down. That is until he got a phone call at midnight while he was petting Bucky’s goat, Potato. When he looked at the caller ID his chest filled with nerves.

He answered it. “H-hey May”

“Peter means so much to me and if he gets hurt it won’t end well for anyone, understand me?”

“Y-yes ma’m” Y/N muttered out.

“I give you permission”

Y/N’s heart stopped and he jumped up outta his seat and almost knocked the TV over. “You won’t regret this” he squealed and jumped around a bit more.

May’s voice was heard again, “I love you kid”

“I love you too May”

-One month later-

“Are you ever gonna go back home?” Bucky asked with worry. “It’s been weeks kid.” He was currently talking to his nephew who was laying face down on the couch looking absolutely wrecked. Y/N hadn’t showered in days and his face was tear stained.

“I’ll go back when papa stops yelling” he grumbled, Bucky nodded in understanding.

“What about eating something?” he questioned gingerly. He was met with Y/N shoving his covers over his face more and curling up closer to Potato. Bucky sighed in defeat. He didn’t blame Y/N for feeling like this, I mean he asked to marry Peter and was met with yelling about how stupid that is.

Bucky was surprised when Y/N came into his house crying about what had happened, it was so bad that Tony called him to make sure his son was okay. Y/N hadn’t seen Steve or Peter in weeks and Bucky didn’t know what to do, all he could do though was hug and comfort him and hope that might help a little.

A few more weeks past before a knock came on Bucky’s door. He opened it to see Steve there with his hands in his pocket and his face riddled with shame.

“Hey Buck”

“Hey”

Steve shuffled his feet around a bit and didn’t look Bucky in the eyes. “Can I come in?”

Bucky was conflicted, Steve had made his best friend cry his eyes out for weeks but if Steve was here maybe that means he realized what he did was wrong and he’s here to dish out an overdue apology. But what took the guy so long?

Bucky took a giant deep breath and looked Steve in the eye.

“Your son has been crying on my couch for a month and a half and now you wanna see him? You better have a damn good excuse or so help me-”

“Buck.”

A weak voice came from the couch and cut Bucky off. Bucky kept his gaze on Steve but Steve’s had drifted over to the couch where he saw his son was a disheveled mess and had even gotten thinner. His mouth dropped a little at the site and his eyes welled up because he knew this was his fault, everyone knew it was his fault.

“What do you want papa?” the weak voice had said.

Steve gave Bucky a look, silently asking to come in once again. This time he saw something in Steve’s eyes that made his heart break a little so he moved to let him in, once he was inside he ran over to his son and engulfed him in a bone crushing hug. Of course Y/N hugged him back, he loved his dad, even if he had broken his heart.

Before they knew it they were both crying in each others arms.

Steve finally pulled back, grabbed Y/N’s cheeks and looked him in the eyes. “I am so sorry”

More tears spilled onto Y/N’s cheeks, he opened his mouth to say something but all that came out was choked words.

“What changed?” this voice was Bucky’s.

Steve took a deep breath in and out, then spoke. “Peter came by” Y/N and Bucky raised their eyebrows in confusion. Peter has come to the Rogers house numerous times, why would another time matter? Steve continued as he saw their faces contort in confusion, “He came by the house and brought you flowers”

Y/N blushed at this. He had told Peter he was sick and couldn’t hang out for a while, whenever either of them get sick they have movie marathons and make soup. But since Y/N didn’t want to see him he kept his respectable space and brought him flowers to help. It meant a lot to him.

“I realized that you love each other a lot and I couldn’t live with myself if I was the reason you couldn’t have that love forever.” Steve’s voice had dropped, he sounded like he was gonna start crying again. “Marry Peter”

The trio had gone to the Rogers house to have a nice family dinner with Tony, Steve, Bucky and Y/N’s other uncle, Rhodey. It was probably the best family dinner they have had in awhile.

Once the night settled down and people went home or to bed Y/N went to his room to make a phone call. He smiled to himself as it rang, finally someone answered.

“Hey jellybean”

[bucklesomeswashswan]

Once Upon a December (4/10)

Summary: Emma doesn’t remember much of her past, all she knows is she needs to get out of Misthaven. The mysterious group called the Industrialists continues to gain power and control since they overthrew the royal family over a decade ago. Out of options, Emma joins forces with a conman Killian and his partner Ruby in their plot to pass her off as the lost princess of Misthaven. But as they travel together and Killian and Ruby try to teach her how to be a princess, Emma begins to uncover hidden pieces of her past. When threats start closing in around them will she choose to escape to safety or risk everything to find her family and reveal a dangerous secret that could change history forever?

Rating:  M

Story content warning: some descriptions of violence, slow burn

Part of @captainswanbigbang 2018. Updates every Saturday!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 also read it on AO3

Check out the artwork for this fic by the amazing and talented @prongsie! Thank you to my beta reader @csobsessed-21!

Thanks to everyone for reading and liking and reblogging! And thank you so much to everyone who has reached out to tell me what you think! All the love is amazing and appreciated!

Chapter 4:  Things I Almost Remember

Killian’s shoulder throbbed as he slumped back against the train car door. He slid down against cold steel walls to the floor. The wheels bumped rhythmically along the tracks sending shudders up through the car into his bones. He grit his teeth. Gods above. It felt like something was stabbing him in his shoulder again and again with each vibration. He reached back with his good hand and felt blood, warm and slick, soaking into his jacket. Damn.

He glanced at the others, Ruby was chattering nervously, fussing over Emma. He could see that she was shaken up but unharmed. He tried not to overanalyze the relief that brought him, just as he wasn’t going to think about how his first thought when he’d heard the gunshots had been of Emma. Not Ruby, not Robin and the others, not even himself.

“Well, we don’t have to worry about the bags we left behind,” Ruby was saying. “We ought to be able to find whatever we need here.”

Killian took in the crates and stacks of trunks packed around them. They had ended up in the baggage car. His first choice probably would have been the dining car, but this was admittedly more inconspicuous.

“Do you think Robin and the Merry Men are okay?” Emma asked. Ruby frowned glancing at him briefly before answering.

“They’ll be okay, they’ve dealt with that kind of thing before,” she said but Killian could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

They had known those men for years. The Merry Men were likely the single largest resistance group in Misthaven. Without the goods they smuggled in many of the people would never have survived the harsh winters. If they were taken down…. Killian didn’t want to think about what it would mean for those left behind.

So much of his country was broken and suffering. It made it difficult to sit back and let it fade away behind him lost down miles of track. They had made it out and now Misthaven was barricaded behind heavily guarded borders. He would probably never see it again. Despite all the misery it had brought him, in a way it would always be his home.

He rolled his shoulder, the pull on the muscles made his wound come to life with a burning rage. He sucked in a small breath trying not to cry out, trying not to alarm the other two.

“Killian?” a voice said. “Are you alright?”

He looked up to see Emma kneeling down in front of him. It startled him. He had been expecting to see Ruby.

“It’s my shoulder,” he said gesturing vaguely. Emma frowned.

All the gunshots, it would have been a miracle if they had all gotten out unscathed. He leaned forward a little, turning just enough for her to see the stain spreading over his back.

“It just needs to be cleaned and dressed,” he said but he was looking over Emma to where Ruby standing. They had been patching each other up since they were kids. Ruby’s brows pulled down as her eyes flicked between his face and his shoulder.

“I’ll find something we can use as bandages,” Ruby said already turning and moving off to disappear among the crates to dig through the suitcases and trunks.

“Let me help you,” Emma said quietly, pulling his attention back to her.

He hesitated, searching her wide green eyes for any reason not to trust her, but he was met with nothing but reassurance. For years he had prided himself on his ability to read people, to know when a deal or job was going to go south. Just a look and he would know what someone was planning, what they were hiding. But Emma was different, there was an openness to her that he had never encountered. It wasn’t a naivety or innocence, it was a truth, and it shone from within her, unable to be contained. It drew him in like gravity.

Slowly he eased his jacket off his shoulders. It was difficult to maneuver without jostling the torn tissue in his shoulder. His elbow caught in his sleeve and he hissed as pain shot up his arm. Emma lurched forward, her hands gently replacing his.

“Let me,” she murmured helping him remove his jacket. With the weight of the thick leather gone it was easier to breathe and he took a moment to draw in a few careful deep breaths.

“We need to remove your shirt too,” Emma said her tone a little thin, and he glanced up in time to see a blush bloom across her cheeks.

“Should have known you’d try to get me naked,” he teased raising an eyebrow but it only made her blush turn a shade darker.

“I- I’m just trying to assess the wound,” she said, the words tripping over each other. Nervous, he was making her nervous. He bit back a smile.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed but he started to work the buttons on his waistcoat open.

His mechanical hand clicked with each small movement of the metal fingers and he saw her watching it. Feeling suddenly embarrassed and alien he switched to using only his right hand even if it was slower.

“It’s okay,” she said gently placing a reassuring hand on his arm. He met her gaze for a moment.

Emma reached out tentatively and helped him pull his shirt over his head. He turned his back to her bearing his wound for her inspection. For a long moment she was silent behind him, a change from her reassuring words a moment ago. He suddenly worried the damage to his shoulder might have been worse than he originally thought.

And then she touched him.

Her fingers brushed feather light against him but it was like an electric shock through him. He jerked in surprise and her fingers disappeared.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed from behind him.

He shook his head not turning around. “I just wasn’t expecting it,” he said.

He shut his eyes as he steeled himself for the contact to return. He braced himself for that same thrilling jolt.

She started at the crest of his shoulder her gentle touch tracing down toward the wound making the muscles there tense. He concentrated on breathing: in and out. Warmth radiated over his skin where her touch lingered. Every one of his nerves seemed to spark and stutter. The feeling wasn’t pain exactly, it was like sunshine on a summer day, the brush of a cool breeze, the flare of ecstasy, her touch was intoxicating. It was burning away all his ability to form a thought. She skirted the frayed edges of skin and he flinched.

“It’s not too deep,” Emma said. It was meant to be comforting but her voice was strained. He wondered if this was affecting her too.

He didn’t trust himself to speak so he merely nodded, his eyes still closed tightly. Her hand drifted again, moving down lower on his back, each inch she traced making his stomach clench. He wondered if dying might be easier than this torture.

“I couldn’t find much,” Ruby’s voice said making them both jump. Emma’s hand pulled away leaving his skin suddenly cold. “But I’ve got a sewing kit and a cotton shirt we can tear up.”

Killian swallowed thickly and cleared his throat. “This ought to be fun,” he muttered.

Emma reached out to Ruby. “I can do it,” she said softly.

Ruby blinked in surprise, her eyes shifting to him. He could read the question in them, but he was as surprised as she was. Just a couple days ago Emma had been a stranger, just another face in the city, and now she was asking them to trust her. It wasn’t something either of them were used to. But he gave Ruby a small nod.

She fixed Emma with a warning stare that could have withered more fragile souls, and slowly she passed the supplies she had found to her. Killian glanced away, he wasn’t used to Ruby getting territorial over him. She must have been more shaken up by the ambush at the border more than he had thought.

“Are you ready?” Emma asked him and he looked from her to the threaded needle in her hand.

He swore under his breath. “Any chance you found rum?” he asked Ruby but she just chuckled and walked away.

“Just try thinking of something else, something nice,” Emma suggested. “It helps.”

His brows raised in question. “Have you done this before?”

She shrugged, a gesture more nonchalant than Killian thought this situation warranted. “There weren’t many healers where I lived. You find ways to treat and mend people, to keep going”

He took a deep breath, if he over thought this he’d never go through with it. “Okay, let’s go.”

Emma moved toward him again and he turned around to give her access to his shoulder. “I’m sorry in advance,” she said as she laid a hand on him to steady herself.

The needle made its first pass through his skin and he cringed letting out a groan. The thread pulled at his torn skin. His wound burned, stinging pain slicing through him. He clenched his fist in the fabric of his pants gripping it until his knuckles turned white.

Emma grip on him tightened in response and he felt her falter pausing for a moment. He took a few quick shallow breaths hoping she finished quickly, hoping he didn’t pass out.

“I- I used to have these dreams,” she said softly, the words quiet at first but finding their confidence. “Dreams of gilded carriages pulled by horses with gleaming coats and shining harnesses, snow storms and cold wind against a window, the taste of raspberry tarts, and cherry blossoms in the spring.”

Killian knew she was just talking to keep them both calm, but he appreciated the gesture. He tried to concentrate on her voice. The gentle tone, the soft memories.

“And then I would wake up and it would all fade. I used to wonder where the dreams came from. They were like something from someone else’s life. I’ve never even had a raspberry tart. When I was young I wondered if they were some of the memories I had lost, and I used to think it meant I might be remembering some of what happened. But after a few years I still didn’t have any real memories from my childhood, and I know now I probably never will.”

Killian grit his teeth as the needle made another stitch. Perhaps some pain was not meant to be remembered. Maybe she was better off not knowing what happened to her, how she had lost her family, how she had ended up alone.

But they were counting on her being the princess, or at least pretending to be. Maybe these dreams were as good a place as any to start. Cracks in the wall hiding her memories. If there were cracks then maybe they could break through and help her remember.

“I used to imagine my family,” Emma continued. “My parents, caring and loving. In my mind they would laugh a lot and they would be in love. I always wondered if they might be looking for me.”

He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination but a numbness started to spread over his skin from the place her hand was resting against his back holding him. As if her touch was somehow easing a little of the pain, and it was a blessed small relief. He tried to relax his tightly coiled muscles a little.

“All lost children wonder about their parents, why they left them, where they are,” Killian said gruffly the words coming in groups between his ragged breaths.

Emma absorbed his words, as if she could sense a little of his own grim childhood that gave the weight of truth to his tone. “I suppose.”

He looked over his shoulder at her. She was staring off, remembering something he couldn’t see. But then she caught his glance and cleared her throat before returning to her work.

It only took a few more stitches before Emma breathed a sigh and leaned away from him. “It’s done.”

He stayed still, afraid to disrupt the wound. The stitches were only mending thread, and Emma was hardly a surgeon.

“It’s okay, Killian,” she said noticing his stiff posture, “You can move.”

He turned to her slowly carefully shifting his weight. He was very aware of the way her eyes flicked down to his bare chest, a little warmth flaring in his stomach. Another blush tinted her cheeks.

“Thank you, Emma,” he said. His voice seemed to startle her and she glanced up at him before looking away.

“It was nothing,” she said dismissively fiddling with the thread.

He reached out gathering her hand in his own. “It wasn’t nothing,” he told her. “Thank you.”

She nodded, looking down at their hands where they lay against her knee. It was the first time he had been so close to her. His eyes traced her delicate features. The long thick eyelashes nearly brushing her rounded cheeks. The flare of her cheekbones, the curve of her lips. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to lean forward and kiss her. To feel the soft brush of her lips against his.

He leaned just little closer to her and her eyes flashed between his before falling to his lips. Maybe she wanted to kiss him too. It felt like time slowed and he could see it his mind: the brush of his nose against her cheek as he closed the distance between them. She would tense at first, a little surprised perhaps, but then she would let out a small breath and she’d move closer to him. The gentle of press of her against him as he gathered her closer, his hand lifting to her cheek, the tips of his fingers in her golden hair. With a tilt of her head she’d open her lips and he’d deepen the kiss. The only thing that would exist would be Emma, and-

She pulled her hand gently away and stood up shocking him out of his thoughts like cold water poured over him. Killian watched her from the floor. She didn’t meet his gaze as she gathered up the sewing kit and turned, leaving him alone.

He pressed his fingers into the corner of his eyes. “Get it together,” he muttered under his breath. Two days with a pretty girl and he was daydreaming up fantasies like a schoolgirl.

~*~

Emma took her time winding the extra thread around the spool and carefully repacking the sewing kit. She needed something occupy her hands, something to concentrate on. Otherwise her mind would wander back to the feel of Killian’s warm skin and the firm muscles underneath. The sight of him sitting tensely shirtless in front of her. If she stopped moving her hands she would wonder what would have happened if she hadn’t walked away. That burning look in his eyes, the way his gaze had lingered on her lips.

“Thank you,” Ruby said appearing beside her startling her. “I know he won’t say it, so I’m going to.”

Emma looked at her. It was the first time she had seen Ruby soften, a little of her hard exterior slipping away. 

“You don’t have to worry,” Emma said closing the sewing kit. “He actually already thanked me. And besides, it was nothing.”

Ruby blinked, a look of surprise settling over her features. “He thanked you?” she asked in disbelief.

“Well yeah, I had just stitched him up.” 

Ruby shook her head with a chuckle. “He never thanks anyone, usually just plays it off with a witty comment and a sly grin. He doesn’t like to admit he needs help.”

“Oh,” Emma joked, “I wouldn’t have let him get away with that.”

Ruby raised an eyebrow, an expression Emma would have bet every last silver in her purse she had picked up from Killian. “Well it’s good we found you. He needs someone who will put him in his place.”

“I thought that was you,” Emma said.

Ruby just laughed. “Come on,” she said waving for Emma to follow her. “I’ve set up a place for us to sleep for a few hours. And in the morning we get to work on you.”

“Me?”

“Princesses aren’t born they’re made,” Ruby said looking her up and down. “And we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Emma glanced down at herself. Sure, she might not look the part of a princess yet, but she wasn’t a disaster. “Actually,” she muttered, “princesses are born.”

Ruby grinned her sly grin. “Well you better hope, just this once, it’s possible to make one. Get some sleep, Your Highness.”

Emma shuffled off in the direction she was pointing. At the far end of the train car Ruby had laid out some blankets for them to sleep on. Killian was already asleep on his stomach. Emma could see the stain from his blood still on the shoulder of his shirt, again the thought of her hands on him made her stomach flutter. 

She settled down as far away from him as possible and tried to let the rhythm of the train rock her to sleep.

For hours she tossed and turned, sitting up to punch the bundle of cloth into a more comfortable pillow. She closed her eyes and counted her breaths, she tried to remember the sound of the gentle waves on the shore by the fishing village where she had lived. She tried to imagine the stars on a cloudless night. The sound of wind through a field of wildflowers. Nothing seemed to work, the slightest jerk of the train, a slight movement of the others beside her, and she was jolted awake.

She was sure she hadn’t slept at all before Ruby was shaking her. “Good morning, Princess. Time to get to work.”

Emma groaned and tried to burrow back into the blankets. Ruby snatched them off giving her a pat on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

With a huff she eased up into a sitting position, rubbing at her eyes. “The only reason I’m doing this is because I’m pretty sure once I’m a princess you can’t force me to wake up before I want to,” she muttered.

Ruby smiled. “Yeah, yeah, come on, breakfast is waiting.”

It turned out breakfast was not something to get excited over either. Just more of the bread and cheese they had been eaten the night before, although now a little tougher and stale. Another reminder she definitely wasn’t a princess yet. Emma chewed on a crust of bread until her cheek muscles hurt. “So, what are we going to be learning?”

Ruby eyed the way she had spoken with food still in her mouth. “Well, we certainly have plenty to do with your table manners.”

Emma playfully shoved her and swallowed. “My manners are fine.”

“Sure, for a black bear,” Ruby snickered.

Emma rolled her eyes. “What makes you such an expert on royal etiquette?”

Ruby swallowed and took her time before she met Emma’s eyes. “I spent some time in court,” she said. Emma thought she might elaborate more but she simply grabbed up the rest of the bread and took a bite. 

“Let’s skip table manners for a moment. What else do I have to know?” Emma asked.

Killian appeared and sat down beside them pulling a large book from Ruby’s bag. He glanced at Emma before passing the book to Ruby. She opened the engraved cover and flipped through the thick pages.

“This book documents all the noble families of Misthaven as well as surrounding lands. The Princess would have been taught geography, important cities and important people from all the neighboring countries. She would have been a diplomat, a public figure, and future leader.”

Emma blew out a breath as she sized up the thick spine of the book. “I need to learn all of this?” she asked feeling a little sick.

“Oh no,” Ruby said and Emma relaxed until she continued. “You will need to know much more than just this book.”

Emma laughed bitterly. “What did I agree to?”

Ruby gave an understanding smile. “It’s alright, Emma. We’ll start slow. We have plenty of time, you’ll get it.”

She appreciated that, and she rolled her shoulders shaking off the exhaustion from a poor night of sleep and all her doubts. “Okay, let’s get started.”

Ruby beamed and Emma glanced at Killian to see a small smile pulling at his lips. 

They spent the morning working through the geography of Misthaven. And then moved on to prominent families that the princess would have known. The Nolan family, related to royal family by the marriage of King David Nolan to the Queen. The Nolans had held an Earldom in DunBroch. There was the French family who were stewards in the south, a province of farmland that fed most of the country. The Phrygia family that included the Duke of Gordium, they were extremely rich and powerful. They had aligned with the Industrialists early on and had weathered the revolt mostly untouched and still remained influential to that day. There were rumors that without investment by the Phrygia family the Industrialists would have never gotten off the ground. And of course, the Blanchard family, the Royal Family. They had ruled Misthaven for over six centuries.

Emma stared at the branching family trees. Generations and generations, children and parents, different marriages that sometimes tied families together blurring all the family trees until it was a jumble in her mind. Blanchard, Nolan, French, Phrygia, Boyd, Dantes, Tremaine, Morgan. She chanted the names over and over trying to commit them to memory.

At sunset Ruby opened the train car door a little, enough to let in a little fresh air and let them see a little of the scenery as it flashed by. The forest was already thinning a little from what it had been in Misthaven. 

“Feeling overwhelmed yet?” Killian asked sitting down beside her.

Emma smiled down at her hands in lap. “Would you pitch me off the train if I said yes?” 

She saw Killian shake his head beside her. “It would be completely normal to be.”

Overwhelmed didn’t seem nearly a strong enough word to describe the slightly nauseous feeling settling in her stomach. 

“Sometimes it helps to concentrate on the reasons you’re doing this,” Killian suggested.

Emma glanced at him before looking out at the trees moving past. “When it seemed my lost family wasn’t coming to find me my only goal became leaving. There has always been this part me that believed if I could just get on an airship and leave Misthaven then everything would be alright. Well, it hasn’t worked out exactly as I had imagined, and I’m not any closer to finding out who I am, in fact, now I’m giving everything I have to try to become someone else.”

Killian was quiet for a moment, the two of them watching the world steadily roll by them. She appreciated that about him, he actually listened, and never rushed his response, never settling for easy platitudes.

“As someone who has pretended to be many things,” he said finally, “you can learn quite a lot about yourself by being someone else.” 

“What I am learning is that I am definitely not a princess,” Emma muttered. 

“Maybe not yet,” he said. “But you’ll get there.”

Emma shot him a disbelieving look. 

He smiled. “I mean it, Emma. Focus on the things you have common. Start there, that is the foundation, and then build the details from there.”

“And what do we have in common?” Emma asked sarcastically. “Blonde hair?”

Killian shifted, facing her more fully. His gaze floated over her as he considered her carefully. Emma felt her heart speed up a little under his scrutiny. “You are determined, you don’t let anything control you- not your past, not your fears. You care about others. And you are a leader, not an overbearing or tyrannical one, but still you have gotten Ruby and I to do everything you’ve asked since we met. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Emma was taken aback by his assessment and the utter sincerity with which he said it. She sorted through each of his comments. Determined, well, she had to be or she would have died in some ditch beside a country road long ago. She cared about others, but didn’t everyone? The one she had the most trouble accepting was that she was a leader. When she thought of leaders she thought of military generals, or conquerors, or queens. And she had never been one of those. No one had ever listened to her, or followed her, or paid her any attention. She was tempted to not believe him, but so far he had seemed to have annoyingly accurate sense of her. Maybe he had somehow managed to see a part of her she hadn’t even known existed.

“I don’t know about you,” he said gently, “but I think someone with those qualities would make a fine princess, regardless of how well she can recite the names and members of the noble families.”

She felt the corner of her lips pull up into a small smile. “Thank you,” she said and he nodded in response.

“Although I’m afraid Ruby may not be satisfied with just the basics. She is going to insist on making sure you are perfect down to the last detail,” he warned glancing over his shoulder at where Ruby was thoughtfully flipping through the pages of a new book. 

The next day they dove into history. Misthaven, they told her, had been a prosperous country for generations, known for its trade and textiles. It had one of the few kingdoms to take steps to institute programs to help the less fortunate. The Queen herself had been known to go out and visit hospitals and had worked closely with organizations to help provide education for a variety of vocations. She had raised the university to one of international renown. She also had a special love of animals, from the horses in the royal stables to the wild animals and birds in the woods. The royal family had been well liked, but none more than the Princess. She had been a kind girl with a sharp sense of humor and sense of mischief. There were even reports she had possessed powerful light magic. The people had hoped she would grow into a leader who might even surpass her parents. Many had had high hopes for the future of Misthaven.  It had been a place of opportunity and promise. But where opportunities existed there was also the potential for exploitation. 

“And that was when Gold appeared,” Killian said. “He had been an unknown inventor when he started sharing his inventions and ideas. In no time he was hailed as an innovator. Everyone jumped at the chance to integrate his ideas. To use steam power to change the way goods were made and how people traveled. He took the idea behind a horse and cart and mechanized it and made it self-propelled. He proposed using gas to create lights that were more efficient than candles. Soon there wasn’t an industry that wasn’t begging him for his ideas.”

Emma furrowed her brow trying to remember what they were describing. Had she been in the city as it had rapidly undergone massive change? Had she watched as the gas conduits had been installed until every night the windows filled with the brighter glow from the gas lamps. The whir and clack of machines taking the place of smiths and cobblers. But no matter how much she wracked her mind she couldn’t remember a world before the revolt.

“And then the next step was for Gold to start inviting others striving for innovation to join him. Together the leaders of every industry formed the Industrialist Guild. They gained influence quickly. But in secret, unknown to anyone, Gold had other plans. Behind everyone’s backs he had created an army, the blackguards, to carry out his will. He equipped them with his mostly deadly inventions and when the time was right he struck”

“He killed the Royal Family,” Emma said softly.

“So we were told. Mutilated bodies washed ashore in the harbor that were identified as the King and Queen, but there was never any trace of Princess Emma,” Ruby said. Killian looked away running a hand over his face before resting his chin on his palm.

“At first it seemed like everything might go back to normal,” Ruby said her gaze a hundred miles away as she remembered it. “Those first few weeks everything had changed and everyone was scared but it seemed the raids and riots had passed. I think everyone wanted to believe it was over. People threw themselves back into their work and their jobs, clinging to normalcy. But it wasn’t long before the Industrialists came for the nobles, anyone who might have sympathy for the royals. They sent them away, or made them disappear. Dukes and Lords who had watched out for their people and tenants were gone. When there was no one with the authority to challenge them the Industrialists began to push their ideas onto everyone: the way of science over old world magic. 

“There was a small push back but even that died out because at that time it seemed the Industrialists might have been right. Just after the revolt Gold started introducing the most amazing inventions, feats of engineering, things no one thought were possible. It seemed like there wasn’t a problem that wouldn’t have an answer within a few years. People were quick to join in the condemnation of magic. They began to blame magic for holding them back all along. And soon we were rounding up anyone who practiced magic. They were taken for questioning, for ‘re-education’, or conversion and reintegration into society. Whatever it was they said they were doing to help or rehab those with magic, the truth was they were never seen again. And when everyone stopped questioning that, stopped questioning their authority, the Industrialists completely seized power and instituted their own self-serving laws.”

“It started small,” Killian said. “Curfews, a census, new taxes. Then the regulations: all merchants needed to be registered to do business, no craftsman could operate without the express permission of the Industrialist Guild, only those within the Guild could pursue education at the University. Then the borders were closed and they took control of the newspapers and mail.”

“Systemized oppression,” Emma said. “That I do remember. It wasn’t quite as bad in the country but people were always fearful.”

“The cities were crawling with spies and informants for the Industrialists. For most people it was the only way to make money or gain favor of the Guild. It turned people against their friends and drove deep divisions between people. What was once a place known for its compassion and opportunity became a pit of deceit and corruption.”

“If it was so bad, why didn’t you leave? You had the means.” Emma asked them.

Ruby glanced at Killian who was watching Emma with an unreadable expression. Ruby seemed to decide she would have to speak for both of them. “It was still home.”

Emma acknowledged that sentiment but she didn’t accept it. “What changed? Why leave now?”

“You appeared,” Killian said his piercing gaze still pinning her in place. She could tell it wasn’t a lie.

“And just like that it wasn’t home anymore?” Emma pressed. She had spent all her life looking for someplace to call home. What would she offer that would make them leave their home? 

“Well, it’s a little more complicated than that,” Ruby said. “We’ve been skirting regulations for years, bending the laws, drawing a bit outside the lines. Eventually it was going to catch up with us. And with Killian’s history with Gold-”

“Ruby,” he cut her off. “That’s enough.”

Both Emma and Ruby turned to him in surprise. Emma snatched at that little fragment of information. So Killian had history with Gold, the head of the Industrialists, and yet he seemed to have no love for him or the Guild. So something bad had happened between them. It now seemed doubly impressive that he and Ruby had slipped through their fingers all this time.

“It was time to leave,” Ruby said in conclusion. It was clearly only a part of the story, but apparently it was all she was going to get.

A shudder ran through the train, the cars jolting, and then there was a grinding screech as the brakes engaged.

“We’re stopping,” Emma said looking around. “We can’t be in Glowerhaven already.”

“We’re not,” Killian said pulling the pistol out from his belt.

Ruby snapped the book shut and set it aside looking at Killian. They shared a loaded look.

“You think they’re stopping because of us?” Ruby asked him.

“I think that’s a fair assumption,” he said looking around at the bags and trunks in the car. “Did you find any weapons in all of this?” he asked.

Ruby grinned and walked over to a wooden crate. She kicked the lid off revealing a shotgun and a case of shells packed carefully within it. “Like this?” she asked him.

Killian looked from the shotgun in the crate to Emma. “Do you know how to use this?” he asked grabbing it and holding it out to her.

She shrugged. “I’ve done a lot of hunting.”

He smirked. “Country girl,” he muttered passing the gun to her.

“City boy,” she replied as she took it weighing it her hand and loading shells into it with a practiced hand.

“If you two are done flirting,” Ruby said from the front of the car, “we have a major problem.”

“What is it?” Killian asked moving to join her but not before Emma saw him nervously rub behind his ear at Ruby’s comment.

“They’ve uncoupled the cars,” Ruby said pointing out the door where Emma could see the rest of the train steaming ahead down the track leaving them behind.

“They knew we were in here,” Killian said. 

Ruby clenched her jaw. A caged wolf. “What the hell do we do?”

“Your little adventure is at an end,” A voice said from behind making them all jump. “There’s no point fighting.”

Four blackguards materialized from the shadows moving in unison as they circled around them.

“Like hell,” Emma growled as she raised the shotgun and shot straight at the leader’s heart. The shot disintegrated into dust when it hit the blackguard’s vest. She fired again watching that shot fail as well before she hesitated.

“I told you there was no point in fighting,” the leader snarled. “Drop your weapons.”

Killian took a step forward moving in front of her and Ruby protectively. He made a show of placing the pistol on the floor. “What is it you want?” he asked. “We have committed no crimes here.”

The leader laughed, a dark steely sound. “You’re stowaways on this train.”

Emma tightened her grip on her gun.

Killian seemed to hesitate for a moment before switching tactics. “You have no authority here. We aren’t in Misthaven anymore.”

The blackguard just shook his head in something close to pity. “This train is property of the Industrialist Guild. We are enforcing the policy of no unauthorized travel over the Misthaven border using Guild property. And we’re not even taking any of your other crimes into consideration.”

“How kind of you,” Killian said pleasantly, but as he spoke his hand drifted to his belt and he slid out a small dagger. 

With a quick flick of his wrist the dagger flew and sank into the blackguard’s throat, a rush of blood pouring from the wound.

The other three blackguards watched in shock for a moment as their leader crumpled to the ground.

Killian spun, turning to her and Ruby. “Go!” he shouted pointing past Emma to the open door.

Emma barely had a second to react before the three remaining blackguards surged forward to stop them escaping. One of them tackled her to the floor knocking the gun from her hands. She heard a gunshot echo loudly in the train car and she hoped Killian and Ruby were okay. Killian fighting with his wounded shoulder.

Emma grunted as the blackguard pinned her down, his knee pressing into her thigh. She writhed trying squirm free. 

“That’s right,” he murmured lewdly, “just like that, girl.”

Emma’s blood curdled. She pulled back and slammed her fist into his side with everything she had. He grunted, distracted for a split second and she cracked her forehead against his temple. His grip loosened a fraction and she pushed him off rolling to her knees. She grabbed the shotgun off the floor and pressed it into the side of his neck, unprotected by his armor, the same spot Killian’s knife had struck the leader.

“You’re nothing more than a puppet of a madman,” she said her finger tightening on the trigger.

“You have no idea who you are, do you?” he sneered. She didn’t wait to hear more and instead pulled the trigger turning away from the splatter of blood. She leapt up to help the others. Ruby was trading blows with one of the blackguards, each of them with a knife drawn. She seemed to be holding her own. 

Killian on the other hand was losing ground.  His wound had opened again and she could see the fresh blood staining his shirt. He was trying to compensate with his other arm but it wasn’t his dominant hand and he was sloppy, not landing hits and taking too many.

She reloaded the gun and aimed but she couldn’t get a clear shot. There was a thud as Ruby kicked over her opponent her knife dripping with his blood. That was all the distraction the blackguard needed to strike Killian across the jaw knocking him off balance. He raised his gun pointing it directly at Killian.

“Go!” Killian shouted to them again meeting her eyes instead of protecting himself. He was sacrificing himself to give them time to escape.

Emma could already see it. The shot would strike him between his ribs, it was unlikely to hit his heart but it would tear through his chest. It wouldn’t kill him instantly, but it would be lethal, flooding his lungs. If they ran the blackguard would follow Ruby and her off the train, and Killian would be left behind to die alone.

The image eclipsed everything else in her mind. She knew she should be running but her feet refused to move, the dread and fear immobilizing her. Everything seemed to slow, time stretching. She saw Killian notice her hesitation, she saw the blackguard take his aim, his finger squeezing at the trigger. Killian had less than a second. 

Something woke from deep within her. It spread quickly from the center of her chest. A warmth flooding through her, twisting down her veins like lightning. All at once she was fire and the deadly sea, the strange energy limitless. The feeling pounded through her, a spark flaring to an explosion until with a crack that felt like all her bones splintering, the feeling rushed from her, set free from its cage, igniting the air around her and crackling through the train car. She concentrated on the blackguard as another wave of power rushed through her. She heard his yell as the force snapped his spine. 

And then the feeling faded and Emma felt all her energy draining away. Her muscles shaking and failing, she collapsed to the floor as she gasped for breath. She stared at her hands, they seemed to be glowing, or it could have been stars behind her eyes as her vision blurred, everything going dark at the edges. She was going to pass out. What the hell was happening to her?

And then the train car disappeared from her vision and instead different images flashed before her eyes. Snow drifting against the sides of buildings. Dark windows lining a dimly lit street. The flicker of flames in the distance. The slick stones beneath her slippered feet. She saw two blurred figures bent together. The sound of screaming echoing around her. A black shadow. The smell of phosphor, and the feel of electricity in the air. Hands grabbing her. A sensation like hooks under her skin. Blue eyes. Someone calling her name. Emma. Coldness creeping over her. Emma. Footsteps in the woods.  Woods like the ones she had ridden through on her way to the border. Emma.

“Emma!” a voice called, hands shaking her shoulders. 

She blinked, wanting to hold on to those flashes a little longer. Trying to find the meaning of them. Why did they seem so familiar?

“Emma!” she recognized Killian’s voice now. “Come on, stay with me.”

She lifted her hand to grip his arm weakly. “I’m okay. I’m fine,” she said but the words were muddled. It felt like she was speaking with cotton in her mouth. She tried to open her eyes but it just made her head pound and she swayed.

“Whoa, whoa,” Killian said holding her steady. “I’ve got you.”

It took a moment in the sturdy hold of Killian’s hands for her to feel even a little grounded. The flashes she had seen were fading from her mind leaving only a vague blur, everything fading together but now she was pretty sure his voice and the feel of him was reality.

She looked up at him, noting the worry in his expression. “I thought you were going to die,” she breathed.

He smiled weakly, lifting a hand to brush back a lock of her hair. “I’m okay now,” he paused before adding, “Thanks to you.”

“What happened?” she asked remembering that strange force all around her, the way it had crashed over her. “I felt it.”

He frowned, his brows pulling down.

“It was like…” she struggled to describe it. Magic. But she had never heard of magic that powerful.

“Holy shit, Emma,” Ruby said coming to kneel beside them. Her hand rubbed over Emma’s arm. “Why didn’t you tell us you could do that?”

Emma looked between them. Killian’s apprehensive expression to Ruby’s look of wonder. “I did that?” she asked softly.

Killian nodded. Emma felt lightheaded, it wasn’t possible. It simply wasn’t. “I think I’m going to pass out,” she told them weakly.

Her vision swam and the last thing she felt was Killian pulling her into his chest before everything went black.

[chanzicoup]

A/N: Since Seungkwan is of legal age it’s not weird to request this for him. Also, I had to double check with google, he is the same age my parents were when they had me so it’s totally possible and understandable for a young twenty-something to have a child. I got this template from tenseoyong and I could not find the original creator to give proper credit to.

A = Announcement.- How do you tell him and the world that you’re expecting?

You and he had gone against the company’s wishes before and gotten into a relationship, made it public, etc. etc. but this would be one of the things you two would clear with the company. The pregnancy most likely would not be planned since I think Seungkwan would want to be a bit older for children so he and you would see what the company recommended to do and then make your choices.

B = Books.- Did he read the books?

No, but he hadn’t thought about it until you were already pregnant. He’d be so confused about the process that he couldn’t help but do some online research.

C = Cuddles.- Who cuddles the baby more?

He would like to do tummy time with the baby. He’d lay them on their stomach and then he’d lay on his own stomach and play with them in that position. He’d turn the baby stretches into a fun time for the baby so they can gain more muscle while playing with their dad.

D = Daddy.- His reaction to being called Daddy and it setting in.)

“Oh my gosh! What are you doing now?!”

E = Empty.- Who goes to the store when you guys run out of supplies?

It’s rare that you guys run out of stuff for the house since you guys are always picking things up while you are already outside running errands but when let’s say, the baby spills a gallon of milk one of you would stay home to clean and wipe up the mess while the other would run to the store really fast to grab a new gallon.

F = Feeding time- Who does feeding time?

Since you breastfed feeding time just became your thing even when the baby got off of breast milk. Seungkwan would have a difficult time feeding the baby because they’d only want to play with them.

G = Grumpy baby. - Who is better at dealing with a grumpy baby?

Him 100%. He’s the ultimate playtime mastermind

H = How?- how many kids does he want?

After the first one being a surprise, a wonderful one at that, he’d like to wait for a few years until the next one comes into play. I think he’d want at most three but at least two since he has siblings of his own and wants the same for his son/daughter.

J = Jokes.- best dad joke?

I have a really good fashion sense but I'm just too poor to prove it.

K = Kisses.- His favorite place to kiss the baby.

On their hands when it’s tummy time.

L = Little.- How he feels when he holds the baby for the first time.

He feels so soft and like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulder. He was so worried about the baby’s arrival that he didn’t think to enjoy it in its entirety.

M = Mommy.- what does he call you?

He’d call you “princess” but if you guys have a daughter then she’ll just be his princess while you’re his queen.

N = Nappies.- who deals with the really bad diapers?

I feel like since you two are new and young parents it’d be a game of tag regarding changing diapers.

O = Onesies- Who likes to dress the baby in ridiculous outfits?

Diva Boo would come out as he grabs the pink boa to out on the baby.

P = Pet names- names he calls the baby.

“Princess” or “king”

Q = Questions.- How many questions does he ask the nurse?

He asks every question under the sun for the two of you since you guys genuinely are lost.

R = Rely- what is the biggest thing you rely on each other for?

Tbh you two rely on each other for reassurance that you aren’t bad parents due to your lack of experiences

S = Sleep duty. - who gets up when it’s really late at night?

This is another thing you guys would take turns to do since you both are tired neither of you should get up more than the other in your opinions

T = Trepidation.- fears as a new parent.

He’s petrified of not doing the right thing or making a mistake like we all are.

U = Ultra sounds.- His reactions to the ultrasounds.

He’d actually cry because of the reality of the situation. They aren’t sad tears but more like “I’m so happy but so terrified” tears

V = Values.- what is the most important value he wants to teach your child.

Seungkwan wouldn’t want his child to quit anything without a proper reason to. Essentially he wants his child to have a good sense of self-discipline

W = Water.- Who gives the babe the baths?

I don’t think Seungkwan would since bath time could get too messy and he wouldn’t want to get wet so you do bath time and he’ll happily clean up the bathroom afterward.

X = X-mas- what do you guys plan for the holidays?

I’m unsure of his beliefs but if he’s really religious you guys would dress up and go to the ceremonies but even if he isn’t religious you guys are going to visit your side of the family and his, possibly staying with them for a while if they live far away from you two.

Y = Yelling.- How many fights do the two of you get in?

Possibly a few about little things since you guys are still learning but because you guys understand how the other feels the fights don’t last very long.

Z = Zoo- How crazy is the house after the birth?

Who are you kidding it’s a madhouse in there, literally.

~Blake

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

Who’s Crushing on the New Manager? [6]

Monsta X

Lee Jooheon/Reader [F]

Words: 3.7k

Genre: Fluff

Others: Intro / Shownu / Wonho / Minhyuk / Kihyun / Hyungwon / Jooheon / IM

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

“I’m Y/N, I’ll be in your care.”

Her voice was just as soft and warm as her smile.  It didn’t take much, but those few seconds.  He already knew that that soft fluttering in his stomach was none other than a small crush, ready to blossom into so much more.

Jooheon just smiled down at you, his dimples deep and clear as day as he watched you exchange a few words with the official next to you. You spoke a moment longer before the man left you in Jooheon’s care and you turned to face him.  A smile spreading on your face when you saw his own.

“Hello.”  You greeted him.

“Hello, back.”  You rolled your eyes playfully as you introduced yourself once again, along with Jooheon introducing himself, even if he didn’t have to.  “So, wanna head back to the guys?” He lightly gestured over his shoulder, turning just slightly as he motioned back to the studio with his body.  You pretended to look up at the ceiling and think on if you wanted to go or not, something Jooheon found appealing.

“Hmm, do I wanna go back to the boys I’m in charge of?  Mm, not sure.”  He rolled his eyes at you this time.

“Ah, so she’s got humor.” You looked at him, slightly crossing your arms.

“She does.”  You two stood in a fit of small giggles for a moment before he turned fully and gestured you to follow him.  You trailed after him, just a slight step behind him as he lead the way.  There was little conversation, just small chit-chat here and there.  When he approached the room, he stopped you for a moment, gently grabbing your arm and pulling you back.  

“Now, uh, things might be strange in there.”  You tilted your head a bit, not getting what he was saying.  “I mean, they might be doing normal things, but chance is, I highly doubt they’re acting like humans in there.”  

“So, what would they be acting like?” He scratched at his cheek before sighing and grabbing the door knob.

“Well,” he twisted it and opened the door, revealing the inside circus, “I think the term I would use is ‘aliens’.” Alien was right, was all you though as you looking inside the room with the 6 other men, or rather children.

Chankyun was in a corner, just screaming?  For no reason? Hyungwon was sitting on the couch, seemingly normal, until you notice the lump that is under his rear was most definitely not the couch, but Wonho’s back.  The younger boy pushing the older into the cushions. Minhyuk perched himself on Shownu’s lap, talking much louder than necessary into the oldest’s ear about something completely random.  Shownu himself looked glum as he just blanked out Minhyuk’s loud words; seemingly done with his team of children he had no control over at the moment.  And Kihyun had emerged dramatically with his iPad in his hand, belting a note that was stable, but, coming from him, was rusty in sound.

Jooheon just sighed as he looked at you, staring in awe, but not in a really good way, at the boys.  Yup, this was his team, and they were suppose to be his role models. The only acceptance was Changkyun, since he was younger than Jooheon.  

“See, what’d I tell yah?”  You cleared your throat as you looked up to him.  

“Well, at least you were truthful.  Now, how to get there attention.”  You scanned the room and wracked your brain to think of a way, anyway, to gain the attention of the boisterous room. None of the boys had really noticed you, not even Shownu who was too busy trying to save his hearing.  You pulled your phone from your pocket and opened an app, Jooheon peeking over your shoulder.

“What’s that?  An app?”  You moved to the side of the doorway, having your hand hover over the light-switch. You silently nodded to him as you quickly slid your hand down the switches and all the lights in the room effectively shut off.  The boys, who were now startled, started to silently panic, but their panic grew as they started hearing the sound of an alarm.

The alarm mimicked one of a fire alarm.  Loud, repetitive and high-pitched.  Jooheon was even frightened for a moment, before you lightly grasped his hand to calm him down.  You looked at him, the dim light from your phone showing a reassuring smile.  You then showed him your phone screen.  

It was an alarm imitation app.  The alarm wasn’t real.  He took a breath of relief as he unconsciously held your hand back, his previous fear now gone.  After the sounds of scurrying feet began and small yells you heard someone knock into the table followed by a silence.  That’s when you decided to then flip the lights back on again. The new sight before you made you chuckle.

Minhyuk was on the ground now, instead of Shownu’s lap, cradling his foot.  You had assumed that thud of someone hitting the table of his toe hitting the leg of it.  Shownu had just risen from his chair, not getting very far.  Hyungwon was now on the ground, more than likely the result of him being thrown off a panicked Wonho’s back as he pushed off of the couch to run to safety.  Changkyun just stood in his corner as before, silent now, and a confused look on his face.  And Kihyun had instinctively moved towards his leader in hopes of protection from any threat.

All in all, it was a sight to be seen.

Jooheon watched his team of panicked men, then looked at you as you pocketed your phone and cleared your throat, earning the attention of all finally.  

“No need to panic, there’s not actually a fire.  I was just getting you attention.”  You smile was innocent, almost too innocent.  As if you didn’t send them into a frenzy, thinking they were about to be roasted into the next century.  The sigh of relief from all of them was another thing you found to chuckle at.  They really were terrified.

You stepped forwards, to check on Minhyuk who was still laying on the ground, but stopped when you felt Jooheon still holding your hand.  You turned to look at him and smiled a bit, gesturing to your hands with your eyes.  He quickly let you go as he pulled his hand away.

“Sorry!”  You shook your head at him with a smile as you knelt down to Minhyuk, poking at his shoulder as he lay on his side.  

“You can get up now.  I don’t think your toe suffered any permanent damage and I’m also sure that the pain is already gone.  You’re just being dramatic.”  He sprung off the floor to sit up and pout at you.

“I’m being dramatic?  You just set up a fire alarm prank towards us!”  You nodded.

“I did.  But, I only did it because you all were so noisy and I couldn’t get your attention otherwise.  You all should really learn to listen when your manager wants to talk to you.”  There was another silence.

“M-manager?” You nodded happily at Minhyuk’s shaken voice.

“Yes, hi, hello, that’d be me.  I’m your new manager.  My name is Y/N.  Now how you about you get up,” you looked up at the other members, “and everyone come over here to introduce themselves without shouting.  Okay?”

You lifted yourself up, Minhyuk following you as everyone peeled themselves from their previous spots, couches, floors and walls alike, to walk over to you.  Jooheon slid over with the others too, shooting them all an amused look, which was met back with glares. The introductions went though, without much of an issue and from there, you steadily learned what to do at what time and why.

Now, it has been nearly a year since you had started working with the boys.  It was like a big family, a family you couldn’t even imagine life without now.  They brought so much into your life, whether it be their contrasting personalities, their ticks and pet peeves, quirks, energy and wit, it all left an imprint impossible to get rid of.

For the moment, the boys were on a small break before promotions are to begin. You sat at your apartment, typing away on your computer as you sat at your desk, papers and notebook at your side.  You were looking over the schedules and emailing event managers for confirmations as well as answering questions with your own boss and making sure everything was smooth for the boys.  

Admittingly, you hadn’t been feeling 100% up to speed, but the sooner you finish the work, the sooner you can burrow into your blankets and sleep your stress away, or at least you hoped so.

You were nearly dozing at your desk when you were jolted awake by the sudden noise of a phone call.  You groaned as you cleared your throat and answered it, not bothering to check the ID.

“Yes?”

“Woah, your voice sounds rough.  You getting sick or something?”  You leaned your forehead in your palm as you put your elbow on the desktop.  

“I’m not sick Hyunwoo, I’m just tired.”  He heard you clear your throat before he pulled away from the phone and shouted out to someone about something before talking to you once again.

“You don’t sound very convincing.”

“Why did you call?” Trying to get out of the topic of your health, you shifted the conversation as to why this particular phone call was happening.  

“Oh, the boys wanted to invite you over for a movie, but I don’t think that’d be the smartest right now.”  You rolled your eyes.  

“I’m not sick.  If they really want me to come over, I will.”

“No no, just- ah, hey!”  The phone was pulled from Shownu’s hands as another new voice spoke into the phone.

“Just stay home Noona!”  Was all you heard from Changkyun, as he shouted into the line before directly cutting the call.  You pulled the phone from your ear, watching the dial pad disappear and your home screen replace it.  

“Well fine, not like I wanted to talk anyways.”  You tossed your phone back on your desk as you leaned back in your chair with a huff.  Your throat hurt, and your glass was nearly empty, but you didn’t want to take the effort to go and fill it back up.  You huffed as you just decided to work more, that is until you fell asleep.  

You groaned as you kept feeling weight being put on your forehead.  You turned your head, to try and make the feeling go away, but you felt your head being turned back to the way it was before.  You tried swatting at the air, as if you would actually hit something.  You didn’t expect to, but when your hand came into contact with someone that was definitely touching you, your eyes flew open and you nearly jumped out of your chair.  

“AiSH!” As you stood up in such a hurry, your wooden desk chair toppled backwards as Jooheon jumped away from you, hands up to his chest as his mouth hung open in fright from your sudden movement.  You’re widened eyes relaxed as you let out a huff, now knowing it wasn’t some criminal.  

“Lee Jooheon!  What are you doing in my apartment?!”

“That’s no way to treat a guest.”

“How did you get in here?”

“You told you the passcode to unlock your door?  Duh?” You sighed as you ran your hand over your face.  You did recall that now.  One day you were so busy with work that you didn’t have time to go to the dorm, so the boys came to you.  You had texted Jooheon your passcode so he can get in and you wouldn’t have to answer the door. He must have remembered it.  

“Just.. why are you here Jooheon?”

“Shownu told us you were sick.  I came to check on you.”  You moved your hand from your face and looked at him.  He looked like he was ready to crawl into bed and sleep for the night.  Hair a mess, sweats, a loose u-neck t-shirt, and no makeup on.  He didn’t even have a cap or mask on, let alone socks.

“What, did you just run out of the house?”  

“Yup.”  You nearly fell at his blunt, rapid response.  

“Did you really?” He nodded.

“I really did.  I was worried about you.  This is suppose to be a break, and your here working yourself sick.”  You shook your head, denying his accusation.

“I’m not sick.”

“You have a fever.”  You glared at him.  It must’ve been him touching your forehead.  He was checking your temperature.

“It’ll go away.  It’s just a cold, and I can just sweat it off.”  He shook his head, taking a step closer to you.  He was just an arms length away now, not far but not too close either.  

“That’s not how you treat sickness Y/N!  You need proper rest and medicine.” You just shook your head with a frustrated sigh, and moved to go around him, but your foot caught on the carpet and you felt yourself nearly tumble down.  Your scrambled head already made you feel like you were unstable, but falling felt like an LSD trip.  

Not knowing when you’d hit the ground, not knowing how you feel or what it felt like to stand without swaying.  You didn’t even comprehend the fact that Jooheon had caught you and was now sitting on the ground, you leaning on his chest as he looked worriedly at the back of your head.  

Your head rested on his shoulder, face away from him, one arm slung around his shoulder lazily and the other hung at your side.  Your legs were buckled and bent beneath you as Jooheon’s legs were on either side of you.  

He could feel the heat radiating off your body from your fever.  He was always worried about your health, just as you worried about the teams health.  If anyone of them had a cold, or were to go to the hospital for a check up because they were sick, you’d be with them the entire time.  Working and making sure everything was okay and they weren’t alone.  It wasn’t fair that you were trying to deny his help when you’re the one who’s sick now.

“You see, you can’t just sweat this one out.”  He put his hand on the back of your neck, wincing at your high fever. “You need rest, and you’re going to rest, like it or not.”  He moved to sling your other arm over his other shoulder as he locked his fingers together under your rear to lift you off the ground, supporting you on his chest as he walked you to your room.  

He lay you on your bed, and sighed a small breath of relief, seeing you already in a pair of comfortable shorts and a t-shirt, so he wouldn’t have to fight with you to change clothes. While you were still in your daze, he ran and grabbed a glass of water for you, along with medicine that he somehow convinced you to take.  

He went back through the apartment, locking the door with the barlock, shutting everything off, turning off the lights and even grabbing your phone to bring back into the room and plug in so it would be charged in the morning. Jooheon tucked you underneath your blankets as he tied your hair up, knowing it would be warm to you as you slept.  He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing his fingers through your bangs, clearly worried.

He didn’t want to leave, for a couple reasons.  One being he really didn’t want to leave you when you were sick. You could very well wake up and go straight back to work, which would accomplish nothing, but further illness.  Another being he always found it hard to leave you, whether it be for work, or for non-work related scenarios.  He just wanted to be around you all the time.

I mean, that’s normal for someone to feel when they like someone, right? He sighed as he took his own phone and stepped out of the bedroom, just outside the door and dialed Shownu.

“Jooheon?  How is she?”

“She’s got a pretty high fever, and she’s really dizzy.  I got her to take medicine and she’s in bed now, but I don’t feel comfortable leaving her like this.”  

“Knowing her, she’d just go back to work if she was on her own.”  

“That’s what I was thinking!”

“Jooheon, just stay there with her tonight.”

“Wha-really?  Are you sure?”

“I don’t see why not.  It’s not like she can be on her own, and I know you won’t pull anything indecent on her.  Crush or no crush.”  Jooheon felt his face burn.  “You’re better than that.  You’ll take care of her.”  Shownu trusted Jooheon, just like he trusted all his teammates.  

“I.. alright.  I’ll stay here then.”

“Good.  Keep an eye on her.  The boys and I will stop by tomorrow to come and check up on you two.”  Jooheon nodded.

“Alright.”  There was little conversation left to be had before the call ended and Jooheon slipped back into the room.  When he entered, he noticed you sitting up in bed, hand on your head as you seemed to wince.

He watched your sling your legs over the beds edge, like you didn’t know he was in the room with you.  He rushed towards you, putting your legs back on the mattress and covered them, tucking you to seemingly trap you under the covers.  You whined as you tried to fight back to get out.  

“Jooheonn!”

“No!  You need to stay in bed!”  You kicked under the blankets as you gave up after Jooheon basically laid his body over yours, his body pushing you down into the mattress.  You huffed at him as he looked down at you.

“You’re a bully,” you huffed at him, as he just smiled back at you.  He nuzzled your nose against his as you sighed.  He rolled off you, onto the empty space next to you and kept one of his arms around your waist, the other folded under his head as he looked at the side of your head as you lay on your back.  

The two of you lay in silence for quite some time, to the point Jooheon felt himself grow tired, ready to sleep himself.  He felt you turn as you moved the blankets, and he soon felt them over himself, as opposed to how they were previously under him.  He cracked his eyes open to look at you, your eyes closed, but you scooted closer to him.  

“Cover up… you’ll catch a cold.”  He rolled his eyes at the irony and was touched that even while sick and half asleep, you were still caring for him.  He hesitantly began running his hands through your tied up hair that was trailing behind you before rubbing comforting circles on your shoulder.  

Maybe it was because you weren’t in your right mind, or maybe it was just because it seemed right, but Jooheon stiffened as you pushed your head to rest under his chin, grabbing the side of his shirt and resting against him.

“Uh-um, Y/N?”  His small voice whispered into your ear as you hummed back.  “What are you doing?”

“I know I’m sick, but you’re warm and soft and you smell really nice.”  He felt his own face grow hotter by the second as you moved closer still.  “I really like you, and I’m happy you’re with me. Sorry I’m so stubborn.”  He nearly choked.  

“Wait- what?  You.. you like me?” You nodded against his neck.  “You still have a fever, you might be delirious.”  He was talking more to himself than to you, but you shook your head.  

“No.  I’ve always liked you, ever since you held my hand.”  He remembered a year ago, on the first day you two met, and how when the light shut off and you turned on the mimic siren, he clung to your hand for safety.  Were you serious?  

“Y/N?”

“I promise.”  Jooheon wanted to believe you, thinking that your sickened state is the most honest state you could possibly be in, if not drunk.  If you really didn’t want him here, you’d make him leave, but you didn’t.  He decided that he’d throw all rational thoughts aside and take the chance he may or may not have again and hold you.  

He moved his hand to loop around you and rub your sore back as you fell asleep and he soon followed.  The two of you felt soundly all night, even through the majority of the next morning.  Jooheon didn’t wake up until he heard the sound of whispering and held back snickers as he cracked open his eyes to see the room bright with sunlight through the window and the remaining 6 members in the room. 

He noticed you still clinging to him, and how some, if not all, of the member had their phones out.  Most definitely taking pictures of the two of you all cuddled up in bed.  But, Jooheon wasn’t embarrassed, nor was he mad.  Instead, as he held you, careful to not wake you up, he just smiled and asked all the members with pictures to send them to his phone later.  

When you did wake up eventually, Jooheon explained that you fell asleep with a fever, that is still there, and that the boys were here to take care of you today.  He also mentioned how cute you were when you were clingy and told him you liked him, in which you turned into an embarrassed, even more flushed mess as you tried to explain yourself.  

Jooheon just gushed at how cute you could be as he attacked you with hugs and of course his high pitched voice to make you feel better, all before he told you he liked to you too.  It was the one and only time you decided that maybe getting sick wasn’t all that bad thing, with an outcome like this one.