#At least not very often. I think I get at least one comment every chapter and I'm so grateful for the interest <33< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[an-ruraiocht]

90% of the time when i see reviews and posts saying "this book needed editing" i don't think the reader have any idea what editing actually entails. usually this is actually code for one of several "problems" with the book:

it's too long, or it's slower paced than this reader's preference. they believe "editing" would mean making it shorter

it has a heavily descriptive style, which the reader doesn't like. they believe "editing" means paring every sentence down to hemingway-style prose with no adverbs

it doesn't follow the very rigid "save the cat" style 3-act story structure, disrupting the reader's sense of narrative tension. an editor, they believe, would've made sure it did

there were a few typos or formatting errors, and they believe it's the editor's job to catch these (it's not, it's typically the proofreader and the typesetter who have responsibility for that kind of thing)

and finally, most often:

the author had different narrative priorities than the reader, who thinks an editor would have made the author change their priorities.

the thing is, there are actually issues with editors in trad publishing being overworked to the point where things aren't getting the thorough, thoughtful editing that they need to be the best version of themselves. there are plenty of badly-structured, poorly-researched, and clumsily written books out there. moreover copyediting is typically freelance and perhaps because of that, this is the area where i see the largest number of issues: continuity issues, grammar issues, factual errors etc that someone should've spotted and didn't.

but this is not typically what people's "this needed an editor" reviews are focusing on. most often it just means they didn't like the book and they've decided editing is an all-powerful force that would have transformed it into a book they liked. but that's not how it works. and disproportionately what this comment means is that the book doesn't match what current fashions have decided is The Correct Style to write in

"this book needed an editor" if it's traditionally published, it had one. like. by definition. it was an editor who bought the book. that doesn't mean the editor did a great job but they definitely existed. there were probably at least two (acquiring editor who does the dev edits; copyeditor who does copyedits), and the proofreader, and a bunch of other people besides.

also i think people think editors are the ones who like. implement the changes. but they don't. they give comments and recommendations and ask questions and the author is the one to act on them. the editor will not rewrite the book. they will not fix the problems themselves, they will highlight the problem and the author will figure out a fix for it, or they will decide they don't agree that it's a problem and leave it as it. and a lot of the sentence-level style stuff is entirely on the author so if they don't have an ear for the rhythm then nobody's going to fix that for them. editors do a lot less than people seem to imagine they do, tbh

anyway

for reference—

structural/developmental edits: is this chapter in the right place and does the plot make sense and is the characterisation consistent and effective

line edits: is this sentence in the right place and is it as stylish as it could be

copy edits: is this sentence grammatically correct and consistent/factually correct within the story/its world and do the spellings follow the publisher's stylesheet

proofreading: are there any typos in this sentence and was the formatting preserved correctly when it was typeset

[mecachrome]

📊 LANDOSCAR AO3 STATS (may 2025)

notes

sorry this literally took 2 weeks to write... unfortunately the data was retrieved april 28 and it is now may 12.

other work: i previously wrote a stats overview that covered landoscar's fic growth and breakout in 2023 :) i've kept some of the formatting and graphs that i showed there, while other things have been removed or refined because i felt they'd become redundant or unnecessary (aka they were basically just a reflection of fandom growth in general, and not unique or interesting to landoscar as a ship specifically).

methodology: i simply scraped the metadata for every fic in the landoscar tag (until april 28, 2025) and then imported it into google sheets to clean, with most visualizations done in tableau. again, all temporal data is by date updated (not posted) unless noted otherwise. this is because the date that appears on the parent view of the ao3 archives is the updated one, so it's the only feasible datapoint to collect for 3000+ fics.

content: this post does not mention any individual authors or concern itself with kudos, hits, comments, etc. i purely describe archive growth and overall analysis of metadata like word count and tagging metrics.

cleaning: after importing my data, i standardized ship spelling, removed extra "814" or "landoscar" tags, and merged all versions of one-sided, background, implied, past, mentioned etc. into a single "(side)" modifier. i also removed one fic entirely from the dataset because the "loscar" tag was being mistakenly wrangled as landoscar, but otherwise was not actually tagged as landoscar. i also removed extra commentary tags in the ships sets that did not pertain to any ships.

overall stats

before we get into any detailed distributions, let's first look at an overview of the archive as of 2025! in their 2-and-change years as teammates, landoscar have had over 3,409 fics written for them, good enough for 3rd overall in the f1 archives (behind lestappen and maxiel).

most landoscar fics are completed one-shots (although note that a one-shot could easily be 80k words—in fact they have about 30 single-chapter fics that are at least 50k words long), and they also benefit from a lot of first-tagged fic, which is to say 82.3% of landoscar-tagged fics have them as the first ship, implying that they aren't often used as a fleeting side pairing and artificially skewing perception of their popularity. in fact, over half of landoscar fics are PURELY tagged as landoscar (aka otp: true), with no other side pairings tagged at all.

this percentage has actually gone down a bit since 2023 (65.5%), which makes sense since more lando and oscar ships have become established and grown in popularity over the years, but it's also not a very big difference yet...

ship growth

of course, landoscar have grown at a frankly terrifying rate since 2023. remember this annotated graph i posted comparing their growth during the 2023 season to that of carlando and loscar, respectively their other biggest ship at the time? THIS IS HER NOW:

yes... that tiny squished down little rectangle... (wipes away stray tear) they grow up so fast. i also tried to annotate this graph to show other "big" landoscar moments in the timeline since, but i honestly struggled with this because they've just grown SO exponentially and consistently that i don't even feel like i can point to anything as a proper catalyst of production anymore. that is to say, i think landoscar are popular enough now that they have a large amount of dedicated fans/writers who will continuously work on certain drafts and stories regardless of what happens irl, so it's hard to point at certain events as inspiring a meaningful amount of work.

note also that this is all going by date updated, so it's not a true reflection of ~growth~ as a ficdom. thankfully ao3 does have a date_created filter that you can manually enter into the search, but because of this limitation i can't create graphs with the granularity and complexity that scraping an entire archive allows me. nevertheless, i picked a few big ships that landoscar have overtaken over the last 2 years and created this graph using actual date created metrics!!!

this is pretty self-explanatory of course but i think it's fun to look at... :) it's especially satisfying to see how many ships they casually crossed over before the end of 2024.

distributions

some quick graphs this time. rating distribution remains extremely similar to the 2023 graph, with explicit fic coming out on top at 28%:

last time i noted a skew in ratings between the overall f1 rpf tag and the landoscar tag (i.e. landoscar had a higher prevalence of e fic), but looking at it a second time i honestly believe this is more of a cultural shift in (f1? sports rpf? who knows) fandom at large and not specific to landoscar as a ship — filtering the f1 rpf tag to works updated from 2023 onward shows that explicit has since become the most popular rating in general, even when excluding landoscar-tagged fics. is it because fandom is getting more horny in general, or because the etiquette surrounding what constitutes t / m / e has changed, or because people are less afraid to post e fic publicly and no longer quarantine it to locked livejournal posts? or something else altogether? Well i don't know and this is a landoscar stats post so it doesn't matter but that could be something for another thought experiment. regardless because of that i feel like further graphs aren't really necessary 🤷‍♀️

onto word distribution:

still similar to last time, although i will note that there's a higher representation of longfic now!!! it might not seem like much, but i noted last year that 85% of landoscar fics were under 10k & 97% under 25k — these numbers are now 78% and 92% respectively, which adds up in the grand scheme of a much larger archive. you'll also notice that the prevalence of <1k fic has gone down as well.

for the fun of it here's the wc distribution but with a further rating breakdown; as previously discussed you're more likely to get G ratings in flashfic because there's less wordspace to Make The Porn Happen. of course there are nuances to this but that's just a broad overview

side ships

what other ships are landoscar shippers shipping these days??? a lot of these ships are familiar from last time, but there are two new entries in ham/ros and pia/sai overtaking nor/ric and gas/lec to enter the top 10. ships that include at least one of lando or oscar are highlighted in orange:

of course, i pulled other 814-adjacent ships, but unfortunately i've realized that a lot of them simply aren't that popular/prevalent (context: within the 814 tag specifically) so they didn't make the top 10... because of that, here's a graph with only ships that include lando or oscar and have a minimum of 10 works within the landoscar tag:

eta: other primarily includes oscar & lily and maxf & lando. lando doesn't really have that many popular pairings within landoscar shippers otherwise...

i had wanted to explore these ships further and look at their growth/do some more in depth breakdowns of their popularity, but atm they're simply not popular enough for me to really do anything here. maybe next year?!

that being said, i did make a table comparing the prevalence of side ships within the 814 tag to the global f1 archives, so as to contextualize the popularity of each ship (see 2023). as usually, maxiel is very underrepresented in the landoscar tag, with galex actually receiving quite a boost compared to before!

additional tags

so last time i only had about 400 fics to work with and i did some analysis on additional tags / essentially au tagging. however, the problem is that there are now 3000 fics in my set, and the limitations of web scraping means that i'm not privy to the tag wrangling that happens in Da Backend of ao3. basically i'm being given all the raw versions of these au tags, whereas on ao3 "a/b/o" and "alpha/beta/omega dynamics" and "au - alpha/beta/omega" and "alternate universe - a/b/o" are all being wrangled together. because it would take way too long for me to do all of this manually and i frankly just don't want to clean that many fics after already going through all the ship tags, i've decided to not do any au analysis because i don't think it would be an accurate reflection of the data...

that being said, i had one new little experiment! as landoscar get more and more competitive, i wanted to chart how ~angsty~ they've gotten as a ship on ao3. i wanted to make a cumulative graph that shows how the overall fluff % - angst % difference has shifted over time, but ummmm... tableau and i had a disagreement. so instead here is a graph of the MoM change in angst % (so basically what percentage of the fics updated in that month specifically were tagged angst?):

the overall number is still not very drastic at all and fluff still prevails over angst in the landoscar archive. to be clear, there are 33.2% fics tagged some variation of fluff and 21.4% fics tagged some variation of angst overall, so there's a fluff surplus of 11.8%. but there has definitely been a slight growth in angst metrics over the past few months!

—

i will leave this here for now... if there's anything specific that you're interested in lmk and i can whip it up!!! hehe ty for reading 🧡

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 4

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: In a moment of quiet kindness, you cut The Winter Soldiers Hair.

Warnings: Captivity, angst, needles, and fear. Fake and very uneducated medicine :)

Authors Note: Please Comment and be kind!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

There was a revolting type of guilt that sank inside of you every time you pressed a needle through a rat's skin. You were condemning them, torturing them. But it was better than testing them on the one person you were tasked with keeping alive.

“I used to want to be a vet,” you blurted, pulling the needle out of the white rodent. “I’ve always loved animals. They’re so much more peaceful than humans.” You tossed the syringe and began scribbling in a notebook. “I have two cats, you know? Love them to death.”

You didn’t bother looking back to check if the Soldier was listening. You knew he was. Though he was much less likely to give you a reaction while they were under the watchful eye of Hydra. Four guards, in each corner of the room, stood silently.

“It’s a good thing I have a roommate. They’d have starved on their own, with me here.” You muttered to yourself as you pulled a chair up to the man. “Anyways…”

“I’ve started testing the effects of the serum I’ve been working on. I’ve been injecting the rats with a variety of degenerative muscular viruses- ones I think will closest match yours.” You spoke, still scribbling on your notebook. “I gave them a few days for it to take effect, so now I’m testing the effects of the antidote. Truthfully, there's a few antidotes- I’d like to see which one delays the side effects the longest.”

You’d taken to the habit of explaining your steps to him. You felt he deserved to know what you were doing to his body- or rather, what you would be doing to it. You had gathered that he had been so long deprived of basic autonomy, you wanted to allow him as much dignity as you could.

You glanced up at him. “I think I’m getting close.” You said quietly. “At least I hope I am…” 

“Your hair is getting long.” You observed, sitting at his feet as you used a small metal tool to clean beneath his bloody fingernails. Over the days, your duties of caring for him had grown. “I could cut it, you know.” you glanced up at him.

He stared down at you. “I’m trying to give you an opportunity to choose,” you said gently. His brows furrowed at you.

“You talk about choices a lot.”

You tried not to shiver at the sound of his voice. It was the second time hearing it to date. It was rough and throaty, like he rarely used it- evidently. He was quiet, like a mutter. “I gathered you don’t often get to make those.” You scraped under his ring fingernail.

He swallowed, his gaze growing distant. 

“I don’t have to cut it,” you whispered, setting his hand back down in his lap. “I just thought you might like it. I cut my own- used to. I used to cut my own. So I’m no stranger with a pair of scissors.”

A long bout of silence stretched between you, and you quickly started to regret ever suggesting the idea.

“Okay.”

You straightened. “Yeah?”

He nodded. 

You combed through the tangled strands with your fingers, pulling it back over his shoulders. You stood behind him, doing your best to not yank his hair out. “How long do you want it?”

You gave him the time to respond. It was almost awkward for him to admit something he wanted. “Short.”

“That’s not very detailed.” You held your hand out for the scissors. He slipped them in your hand. “When I first got here, they told me you’ve been around for a while. I gather that you’re kind of old,” you suppressed an ill timed smile. “I could try to go for something older fashioned.”

He stiffened, his palms curling up in his lap.

“Just below my ears is fine.”

You felt immediate regret, watching him close back up in real time. “Okay.”

You pinched locks of dark hair between your fingers and clipped them shorter. His hair was much longer than it had been when you first met him. It made you begin to question time. But then again, you surmised that his rapid hair growth could have been caused by his regenerative cells.

It was quiet for a long time. Not the usual quiet, the kind that stretched and ached and burned. But more like a solitude. Silence that exposed raw nerves. Silence that was shared and observed and respected.

“I used to keep my hair really short. I thought it was much easier to deal with, especially in the lab.” You snipped. “But I started growing it out after I graduated. It was freeing. I like to get pretty, dress up and do my makeup. Having more hair made that a lot more fun.”

Your chest ached for a brief moment as you recalled the current state of your hair. It was knotted and tied back into a braid, frizzy strands sticking out at all angles. You hadn’t seen much of yourself except for in passing windows and in the reflection of your monitor. You had showered a few times since they had taken you, but it was in a small closet built to fill mops. 

It felt more like hosing yourself down.

“Do they let you shower?” You blurted. 

You expected silence, but earned a short huff of breath. What a shocker. 

“Sometimes.”

You wouldn’t say he smelled bad. He just smelled like a man. Every time you saw him, it seemed to be after some big event. He was always a little dirty, maybe with a dash or two of blood. You could smell his sweat whenever you got too close, but it wasn’t foul. 

“Is it wrong to say I’m shocked?”

“It’s accurate. Not wrong.”

You snipped, combed with your fingers, then continued cutting. “Do they give you bubble baths?”

He turned to look over his shoulder at you, causing you to cut a lock of hair much too short. You cringed when your eyes met. “You can’t see the back of your head, so you don’t need to know what I just did.”

He huffed again, something you were starting to assume was a laugh. “What’s a bubble bath?”

“You’re kidding right?”

Silence.

“It’s really self explanatory. There's certain types of soap that make huge piles of bubbles, so it feels like you're bathing in a cloud. It’s usually something only kids or women use.”

“I was joking.”

You stared at the back of his head in shock. “Joking?” 

Silence. 

“We need to work on your sarcasm.”

You crawled around the base of his chair mechanism, sweeping stray shavings of hair into your palm. When you glanced up, the Soldier was pinching the ends of his hair, staring into the distance. “It’s not my best work, but you look nice.”

You shook the hair off into the bin.

“Thank you.” 

Your spine straightened. The shock quickly faded, followed by deep guilt. You felt like you had only added to the damage. You may have done something he wanted, but you had offered it to him, like a child. You had played into the game of taking from him, then acting like a hero when you gave something back.

“Don’t thank me, please.” You muttered.

You could feel the weight of his stare against your back. You could hear the creak of his metal arm as he lowered it to rest in his lap. You took a second to clean your hands, took a breath, then faced him.

“Do you-do you ever get phantom pain?” You blurted. “In your arm.”

He glanced at the metal. “Sometimes.”

“Is it bad? I’ve heard that it’s bad. I once had a classmate that lost her foot and she said it ached the worst in winter. I was such a prick in school because I used to ask to see the stump all the time. I’ve heard that's also a pretty intimate thing for amputees.” You rambled, organizing the tray of barber supplies. “Does it ever get weird when you take it off? I mean- you must be so used to seeing it- having an arm there, and then it can just be gone in a second.”

“I don’t take it off.”

“Really? Never? I mean- it doesn’t rust from the shower?”

“They care for it while I’m asleep.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you ever seen your stump?”

He nodded. “Not in a long time.” He paused. “And it’s not a stump.”

“It’s not?”

He drew his fingers across the shoulder of the false arm. “It starts up here. There's metal worked into my body to hold the arm in place.”

You didn’t mean to gape, but you did. He lifted a brow at you. “Have you-” you blinked. “Ever thought about what it would look like if  you lost some of your muscle mass? I mean, if you lost weight, you’d have one really buff arm and one skinny one. That would be pretty awkward.”

He blinked at you, like you had just said something so outlandish he couldn’t process it. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s really something I need to worry about.”

You pressed your knuckles to your lips, holding back a smile. “Right,” you didn’t want to laugh. “Right, yeah.”

There was something about the sound of his voice that made you feel just a little less alone. It made you want to keep rambling and prying and finding ways to make him respond. It made you feel just a little less insane.

A/N: Another kind of short one, but this is one of my favorite chapters.

@jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff

[mustyrosewater]

𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐊𝐘 - 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗

𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐱 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4,660

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: returning to the small wyoming town you were raised after a sharp fall from grace, your music career having turned into mindless pop you were forced to churn out by your manager and now ex, a return to home is just what you need, the perfect place to take a break from the life of a pop star, and also to meet some old faces.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing, tension, pullout couches being uncomfortable, arguments, vomiting.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hello my sweeties, the slightest bit shorter with this chapter, but I make for it by giving you all some delicious rhett content, as well as leading up to the next chapter. i really hope you guys enjoy it and I'm so glad you're all loving this series so much!

Silence for an almost fifteen minute drive was certainly a great way to soak in tension.

Not that there was really a whole lot you could have said in this situation to fix it anyway, every time you’d even spared a glance over at Rhett, his single hand on the steering wheel was gripping so tight his knuckles were almost white, his eye’s focused on the road ahead of him, but you could still see how clearly unhappy he was with the predicament.

Part of you felt bad, kicking yourself for being so stupid as to allow yourself to get stranded and now be stuck in a truck with a person who’d been nothing but horrible to you.

The other part of you, however, was whole heartedly of the opinion which consisted of ‘fuck him, why shouldn’t he help you out? Least he could do after being such a massive dick.’

That was the part of you that seemed to be the one getting you in trouble more often than not.

When you finally made it to his house, not a word was exchanged as you both got out of the truck. Only you helplessly trailing behind Rhett as he approached his front door, keys jingling in his hand for a few moments before he pushed the door open.

It was a small house, but it was my no means unlivable, a lamp turned on as he passed it revealing more detail, a small kitchen and bathroom, one bedroom seperated in a different room, all topped off a small living area, couch and tv set up.

It was clearly a bachelor pad of sorts built for one man and one man only.

“Can you shut my goddamn door, please?”

His comment made you snap out of your trance, jumping slightly as you realised you hadn’t even stepped inside completely yet, just stood there holding your jacket like an idiot.

Shutting the door behind you, you let out a huff as you took a few steps in, placing your purse and jacket on his small dining table, hearing the bedroom light turn on as he ventured in, shutting the door enough to shield the room from view, but open enough so that a thin stream of light was still poking out.

Turning your back, you pulled the stetson off of your head and put it on the table next to your other items, taking another moment to trace your eyes all over your surroundings.

A sink stacked up with dishes made your nose curl slightly, not bearing to think about how long they’d been neglected for; the couch very clearly being a bit aged, but once again, you were in position to be picky.

The bedroom door creaking behind you made your head turn, revealing a now much more comfortably dressed Rhett, slightly worn and oversized shirt now covering him, along with what you could only assume was the boxers he’d been wearing underneath his jeans. 

Once again speaking not a word to you, he moved across the room as if you didn’t exist, pulling at the couch cushions till they came apart to reveal a thin mattress laid a top of the pull out base.

“Lemme just get a blanket.” 

His voice reeked of indifference, like he was just thinking out loud, disappearing back into the bedroom and coming back out only within a few seconds carrying a single pillow and a thick blanket with a pair of wolves printed on it, not unlike something from your childhood.

Laying it out as neatly as he cared to manage, he ventured into his kitchen, opening the fridge and rummaging around, looking thoroughly disappointed in his options. 

He was silent as he clinked around in the kitchen, letting you take a moment to yourself to unbuckle the belt around your waist, realising you’d likely have to peel off your jeans for any hope of a semi comfortable sleep, making a note to yourself to not do that until Rhett had retired for the night. 

It was pretty obvious that your presence was making absolutely no difference to his nightly routine, barely a roadblock for Rhett Abbott the depressing end to his night.

Taking a seat on the pull out mattress, you took advantage of the phone charger than had been left plugged in next to the couch, placing your phone on charge and setting it next to you on the floor.

“You gonna need anything before i turn in?”

You hadn’t heard him walk up behind you, turning your head where from the awkward angle of you practically sprawled over the pull out couch putting your phone down on the other side.

Righting yourself, you shook your head, trying to remain as polite as possible, considering the fact that he’d been more than capable of letting you freeze in the parking lot.

With a bowel in his hand of you had no idea what, he stood there staring at you for a moment before nodding his head, turning to retire into his room for the night.

“Rhett.” you spoke, watching him freeze in place and turn to you with a quirked brow, seemingly confused as to why you just told him you didn’t need anything and had changed your mind in the span of seconds.

“You um, you were really good tonight.”

Why you said that, you had no clue, maybe you were just trying to be extra certain he wasn’t going to change his mind by throwing in a compliment.

All it did was seem to confuse him more, his brow furrowing as he pulled his gaze away from you for a moment before looking once more.

“Thanks.”

You had no clue if that was a genuine thank you or if he just had no idea how to respond; but either way, it was the last you saw of him, watching him retire into his room and shut the door behind him.

You could still see his lamp on through the crack in the bottom of the door, for some reason unable to tear your eyes away from it, your head swirling with images of what he was doing in there. 

As you stood, you were silently thankful that you’d opted for boy shorts as your underwear of choice, a tad bit more covering than other options, but barely so.

Getting under the blanket and laying your head on the pillow, you were unable to stop staring at that thin line of light at his door, waiting for what felt like hours before you heard some shuffling and was suddenly bathed in complete darkness. 

Shutting your eyes, you tried to relax and try to forget who’s house you were in, who’s couch you were on, maybe that would offset some of the awkwardness of this entire situation. 

You could only hope.

-

Somehow you’d managed to capture sleep in your clutches, seemingly having had a satisfying four or five hours at the very least.

The sun was shining through the curtains when you opened your eyes, half your face pressed against the pillow as you realised you’d rolled onto your stomach in your sleep.

For a few seconds, you’d completely forgotten where you were, taking a moment to observe your surroundings before the memories of last night came flooding back in. 

Reaching for your phone suddenly, you opened it to see about two or three missed calls from your father at about six in the morning, dread filling your stomach as you let out a small sigh and readied yourself to call him and explain where you were.

“I already called your dad.”

As if he was turning into a habit, Rhetts voice behind you made you turn suddenly with a gasp, spotting him leaned against his kitchen counter with a coffee in hand, already dressed. 

Trying not to think about how long he’d been moving up and about while you were still snoring away on his pull out couch, you sat up and let the blanket keep your lower half covered.

“He’s okay?”

You were more concerned about him being upset at you for disappearing once again, but to a certain degree, you didn’t really have a choice considering the circumstances.

“S’fine. Just worried about you, says he had a few too many at poker night and passed out on his friends couch.”

He took a sip of his coffee as he finished his sentence, eyes never leaving where you were sat, always watching over the brim of his mug.

Nodding your head, you shrugged softly, that wasn’t exactly out of character for him. At least he got to have a fun night with his friends.

“Thank you, for calling him.” 

Your thanks was only answered with another nod, Rhett taking the final sip of his coffee before he left the mug on his counter, crossing his arms and walking over to his bedroom door.

Stepping inside, you could hear him moving things around, soon emerging with that same duffel bag over his shoulder. 

“I gotta get out to my dad’s place, I can drop you off on the way.”

Now it was your turn to nod, looking back at him and sharing a long silence as you both stared at each other, your eyes narrowing as you waited for him to be polite and step out of the room so that you could get back into your jeans.

“Do you mind?” you asked, holding up the jeans that were waiting for you, watching as his eyes widened slightly, realising his mistake.

“Shit, sorry.” 

As you watched him disappear back into his bedroom and half shut the door, you stood from the pullout couch and tried to wriggle into your jeans as quickly as you could manage, almost tripping and eating shit only once. 

“You’re good.” you call out, reaching out for the belt you left on the table, hearing Rhett’s bedroom door open just as you’re weaving the belt through the loops in your jeans, doing the buckle up and turning to look at him.

For a split second you can have sworn he’d been staring while you put your belt on, but you brushed it aside to grab your stetson and jacket, holding both as you hung your bag over your shoulder, placing your phone inside.

With a nod, Rhett approached his front door, opening it and stepping to the side, holding it open for you so you exit, locking it behind him when you were both back outside.

Getting into his truck and taking off, the ride was just the same as it was the night before, silent.

The drive to your fathers house was slightly longer one, so there was only so long before one of you had to break the silence, it was just a toss up to see who would give in first.

“I don’t hate you.”

That one had obviously been bubbling for a while, cause when the words left Rhett’s lips, it sounded like he’d been desperately trying to force them out.

Your head turned, confusion clear on your features as you leaned forward in your seat slightly.

“Huh?”

“I don’t hate you.”

He repeated the words a bit slower and clearer as if you didn’t speak english, seemingly annoyed he had to force the sentence out.

“I don’t like you, doesn’t mean i hate you.”

You opened your mouth to say something, wanted to delve deeper into exactly why he’d come to gather this opinion of you, but just as you were about to question him, you felt an overwhelming wave of nausea come over you, your hand flying to your mouth.

“Fuck. Stop the truck.”

Your tone seemed to convey the seriousness of the situation, Rhett’s hand’s coming to the wheel and spinning it to a hard left, the sound of smooth road transitioning into rocky gravel, only able to hear him letting out a few curses.

The very second the truck came to a stop, you’d unbuckled your belt, pulling at the door handle so hard you were worried it could pop right off at any second.

Finally coming flying out of the door, you were only able to force yourself to take a few steps before your knees hit the dirt, bile rising out of your throat, your eyes watering.

You were too focused on throwing up to hear his door open and close, not paying any attention to the sound of his footsteps as he jogged around his truck to where you were.

Coughing up the last of it, you tried to steady your heaving breaths, focus on your surroundings so that you could get the fuck up and stop chuck your guts up in front of Rhett.

“Christ, are you okay?”

His voice broke you from your trance, head turning to see the slight of standing about a meter and a half away, brows furrowed in a mix of concern, and just overall unpleasantness at the sight before him.

“Yep.” you spoke, not surprised at all, already aware of the cause of your sudden vomiting “Gimme a minute.”  

Rising from your knee’s you spat onto the dirt ground, wiping your mouth of the saliva across your chin and turning to look back at him, gathering yourself and brushing the dirt off of your jeans before heading back for the truck, opening the door and sitting yourself back inside.

Seemingly confused, Rhett took a moment before walking back over to his own side, getting in and shutting his door, not doing anything else, just looking at you, his stare in the corner of your eye.

“What.” you questioned, turning to look at him.

“Mind telling me what that just was?” 

He phrased the question as if it was obvious, why you’d just made him nearly draw the both off of you veering off the road, only to promptly get out of his truck, spew, and get back in.

“It’s nothing, I just didn’t take my meds last night.”

Your response didn’t fix his expression, only shaking his head as he turned to turn the key in his ignition, the truck roaring to life.

“You didn’t think that was important information to tell me last night?”

By the sound of his words he was genuinely upset, whether for the inconvenience or for making him see that in the first place, you weren’t entirely sure.

You had no clue why he was so annoyed, you were the one that had just thrown up in the dirt, it was of no consequence to him whether or not you’d taken your medication.

“Didn’t think your pa would think im asshole for refusing to drive you back? When you’re on medication?” 

Furrowing your brows, you shook your head in disbelief, shrugging your shoulders. Once again, Rhett just seemed to love picking a fight with you, as if you couldn’t do anything right and he was just itching for an excuse to talk down to you.

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ die if i don’t take my meds, Abbott. If my dad was pissed at you, you’d know.”

Shaking his head, Rhett seemed to mutter something to himself that you couldn’t hear, only able to make out the soft “Fuckin’ ridiculous.” he spoke under his breath. 

Scoffing, you crossed your arms and looked out the window, choosing silence as the sound of choice for the remaining eight minutes of the drive to your fathers house.

Any small amount of civility you tapped into last night was gone all over again, the pair of you were back to seething silently, the occasional huff or annoyed sigh being the only words exchanged.

Finally arriving back at your home, you’d expected Rhett to drive off as soon as you’d exited, expected to hear the sound of him peeling off as you soon as you turned your back.

But just as you went to close the door, his voice rang out, leaning down to see you through the passenger side of the truck.

“You gonna be okay?”

The words felt like he had to force them out, like he was going against his nature, but he did it anyway, his brows furrowed in a way that expressed annoyance, yet his eyes had hints of concern.

Looking down at your phone, you checked the time, you knew your father wasn’t going to be back yet, at least not for another hour or so.

You really didn’t want to share any details, you hadn’t planned for him to know even the smallest amount about all of your medication, you hadn’t told a single person out and clear that you were even in rehab, not that you needed to, it was of the assumption that everybody knew.

“Technically i’m supposed to have someone supervise me.”

“What for?”

His question had you hesitant to respond, not actually realising how grim it sounded until you had to actually say it out loud.

“In case I go into shock.”

His face certainly made it clear that he was surprised at how casually you had said that.

“But i’m sure i’ll be ok, it’s fine, really.”

As his eye’s squinted, he looked back at the steering wheel for a brief second, seemingly contemplating once again, thoughts flowing in his mind that you were not privy to.

Without another word, he opened his truck door and stepped out, shutting the door behind him and walking around to where you were standing.

“If something happens and your dad finds out I left you here alone, he’ll kill me.” 

Opening your mouth to protest, you couldn’t manage to get any words out before he had already walked past you and began heading up the small set of stairs to your porch.

“Rhett, im serious, i’ll be perfectly fi-”

The look he gave you told you all you needed to know, he wasn’t going to leave any room for negotiation, he wasn’t going to budge, and it would be wise to try any further.

“I’m just gonna- you know what, fine. Whatever.”

Speeding up and passing him so you could swing open the door, you stomped to the kitchen, disappearing around the corner and opening up the cabinet where you kept all of your medication, a small sea of yellow bottles with white lids overtaking you.

Laying them on the counter, you could see Rhett in the corner of your eye, standing on the other side of the kitchen island watching you intently, saying nothing but watching everything.

Just as it was during the truck ride, silence was the only conversation held between the pair of you, only the occasional annoyed look you sent his way when you turned to grab a glass of water.

Taking each pill was something you’d gotten used to, roughly about five pills for the morning, depending on how you were feeling, and six at night. 

Taking into account what you’d missed last night, you adjusted the number and took them silently, keeping your eyes on the kitchen window, looking out into the field to avoid looking over at the stubborn cowboy who stared at you like you were going to combust.

Which of course was more than enough to piss you off within about five seconds.

“Do you even know what you’re looking for?” you snapped, turning to face him and resting your hands on the counter.

“Like, do you even know what the signs of shock are?”

Opening his mouth to say something, his face showing that you were clearly right, you continued to talk before he could say anything.

“Cause I can tell you right now, you staring me down like im a wild animal isn’t helping.” 

“Jesus christ, you really can’t accept any help at all, can you?”

His voice was slightly raised, his head shaking as he looked at you in wide-eyed disbelief.

“Just like always, god forbid I even breathe around you, and you’re jumping down my throat!”

The words he threw at you were only stirring you on further, a laugh leaving your throat as you shook your head and turned around where you were standing, hands landing on your hips as you spared a glance at the kitchen window once more before looking back at him.

“You’re inability to take any form of accountability continues to astonish me, even since we were in high school, everything is everybody else’s fault, never Rhett Abbott's. No. That’d just be crazy.”

You held a hand up as you spoke, your anger bubbling as you took a breath, trying to calm yourself, running a hand over your face and sighing.

“I don’t even know what the fuck I did to you, honestly.” you paused, turning over to look at him, a hint of softness having now taken over your features. “All i know is one day, out of nowhere, you just started hated my goddamn guts.” 

There was something on Rhetts face when you said that, some unreadable expression crawling it’s way over his features, like he knew exactly what you were talking about and didn’t want to admit it, didn’t wanna acknowledge the way he’d done you wrong.

“You ruined my graduation dance, Rhett.” 

The ache in your voice almost seemed like it had caused him physical pain, the way he stood there, panting from his yelling, just staring at you. 

As he opened his mouth to say something, nothing came out, like he couldn’t decide who he was angry with. Like he couldn’t tell where he was meant to direct it towards.

“Fuck this.” was all he uttered out, turning to walk towards the front door.

You didn’t say a single word as he walked out, some part of you preparing yourself to hear the door slam, memories of the fights with your ex coming to mind.

There were so many things you’d always used to argue about, money, contracts. Yet never about anything that actually pertained to your wellbeing, every argument you’d ever had with him had always been spurred by some sort of change you wanted to make career-wise.

Silence wasn’t what you expected, looking up to see that he’d simply walked, hadn’t slammed the door as a show of anger, simply left it swinging softly in the wind.

You could hear his truck start up, waiting till it grew quieter and quieter until it completely disappeared until you walked over to shut the door.

Left with more questions than answers, you decided that Rhett Abbott was simply a mindfield that you wanted to steer clear of, unpredictable and untempered, something you did not need. 

-

Over the course of the next few days, you’d managed to find yourself out and about with your father more often, helping him out when you went shopping, even occasionally venturing to town by yourself, buying things you needed, even just window shopping.

The very same boutique you’d found yourself in on the first day back in Wyoming had seemed to be your choice for today, finding that looking around, occasionally running your hand over a pair of jeans, was a small bit of therapy that helped detrimentally.

Even just chatting to Niki had been a way to feel normal again, even if your snapchat’s flirtiness had seemed to get a little bit lighter, there was still a comforting feeling whenever you received messages from him.

Getting lost in your own thoughts had always been something you did, so it made sense that you hadn’t noticed the presence behind you, not until you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Immediately, you were confused, turning to look at who had tapped you, the woman seeming to be a stranger at first, a grin plastered over her face.

“Hey, you!”

When she spoke as if she knew you, your brows furrowed, as far as you could recall, she didn’t seem familiar, at least not for the first few seconds that you stared at her face.

As you replaced the blonde head of hair on her head with a dark auburn in your mind, removed the glasses, your brows rose as you finally realised just who it was standing in front of you.

“Montana.” you breathed, suddenly feeling rude for not recognising her at first, though you couldn’t exactly be blamed for that.

Montana had been an interesting one in high school. Not a bully, at least not in the classic sense, but there were certain comments made, times you’d walk past her and her friends only to hear a chorus of giggles and whispers. Things that made you feel like you were going insane.

“The one and only.” she laughed, smiling at you so brightly you’d never in a million years think she was the same girl who used to give you judging looks when it was time to present in class, the same girl who’d give the occasional compliment that couldn’t feel anything but backhanded.

Realising that you’d only been staring across at her like an idiot, you gathered yourself, smiling hesitantly.

“Right. How- how are you?”

“Oh y’know, same old, same old. Lookin’ after the kids, workin’.” 

You nodded along as she spoke, drilling on about her kids, the school teacher she didn’t get along with, allowing her to fill you in on her life as you could do nothing but sit there and listen to her speak, seeming to find no break in the conversation to politely leave.

“But anyway, why i came over here.” she laughed, already revealing openly that there was already a motive in approaching you. “Me and a few girlfriends were gonna go have a bit of a girls night tomorrow? Dinner, some nice gossip. We were thinkin’ you should come!”

Questionable, you weren’t really sure how to respond. In high school, the chance to be invited into her little circle of friends would have been an opportunity you leaped at with open arms, a chance to be accepted as part of her group.

“I’m not sur,e Montana, I have-”

“Oh come on! Far as i’ve heard, you’ve just been cooped up in the house.”

There it was again, conversation that felt like an interrogation, words very purposefully chosen to beat you down ever so lightly, without being obvious.

“You gotta go and have some fun!”

It would have been so easy to just say no, to politely decline and tell her that you just didn’t want to hang out with her and her friends; Yet somewhere deep inside you, there was a sixteen-year-old girl that still desperately wanted to be accepted and liked.

“Alright.” you surrendered, watching her satisfactorily raise her hands, shimmying her shoulders excitedly.

“Amazing! We’ll be meeting at that steak place down the street, bout 8, that work for you?”

You could recall where she met, remembering that you’d passed it more than a few times during your time in town, nodding as you spoke.

“Okay, yeah. That sounds.. That sounds nice.”

She smiled at you once more, taking a hand in yours.

“Im so excited.”

With that final sentence, she turned and began to walk off, calling out a “See you there!” as she exited the clothing shop, the bell ringing behind her. 

You weren’t even sure yourself why you’d said yes, assuring yourself that it’d be good to hang out with someone other than your father, to be in the presence of some other women, and hopefully even have a nice time.

While you weren’t necessarily a fan of small town gossip, it would have been a lie if you’d said you weren’t even the littlest bit interested in the goings-on’s of everyone in this small town, to hear what had become of all of your old classmates.

There was definitely something about the idea of simply being a young woman out with friends that was drawing you in, the promise of normality.

As you exited the store with a smile on your face, beginning to mull over what you might wear, you allowed the anticipation to take over completely.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @foreverchangingmind . @tsukikyo . @marsupialnoises . @iknowrocknroll . @astromilku . @dragoste-lunes . @articel1967 . @jonnybernthalslover . @chili4prez . @cosm-0-nauts . @its-just-me-rin . @cultof-saints . @amazingishlivy .

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

a shopping mall. l Joel Miller

Summary: after the loss you tried to rebuild your life together

Warnings: fluff; Joel and Reader are anxious but keep trying; Ellie is embarrassed; childbirth; emotional concerns; remembering loss; some hope

A/N: you know what? I like this story. writing these chapters gives me a lot of comfort and pleasure. I know I've been mean to them lately, but I'm trying to fix that. I'm happy when I have the opportunity to read your opinions, it gives me strength and support. thank you for being here and reading.

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

It was like walking on thin ice together. Slowly, carefully taking steps to avoid cracks and get to the other side as quickly and safely as possible. The icy water could kill you, and if one of you fell in, it was certain that the other would do everything to save him, and then he would go down.

That's how it was with you and Joel for the next few days. Or at least that's how you both saw it and felt it.

Everything happened slowly - small gestures, conversation, allowing yourself to feel. You, in moments when darkness consumes your mind, prefer to withdraw, isolate yourself from others. Now you were overcoming your fears.

And Joel saw how you fought it every time you approached him and told him that this day was not one of your best. You also allowed him to do what he did best, take care of you, without irritation or saying "I'll manage on my own." Because you were no longer alone.

Joel tried too. He had never been familiar with emotions, and now they were overwhelming him from every side. And there was you, he wanted to be able to support you and help you, so he came out of his safe cocoon every time you sat next to him and talked. He also held back not to wrap you in the protective blanket of his concern. And that was really hard.

This time was really fruitful for you. Soon he heard your laughter, quiet and really sincere. He felt your embrace, even when in his sleep you were the one who was snuggling up to his back, kissing him lightly.

You both knew that what you were building this time was really strong, and you both wanted it.

"Damn, that's embarrassing."

Dina looked in the direction Ellie was pointing and giggled. "I think it's really cute."

Ellie frowned and looked at her friend. "Do you think Joel is cute?"

Dina rolled her eyes and shoved a few fries in her mouth. It wasn't until she swallowed that she decided to speak. "They're cute together." She explained, watching you and Joel dance across the room. "Think about it. We all have our own backgrounds, and they're just enjoying each other's company. Maybe they're a little embarrassing..." At that moment, Joel spun you around a few times, when he wanted to he could be a really good dancer. "But that's cute."

Ellie snorted and shook her head. She had a feeling Dina might have been right, and she was actually glad to see you at the Tipsy Bison dance. Things were going really well between you both, and Ellie breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment, a really short one, she was afraid that what happened would be the end of you, and she didn't want that. Joel could be grumpy, and you could be a bit bossy sometimes, but she knew that you both cared and truly loved her.

She often thought back to one night, when your eyes were so sad and glassy, you looked at her and said quietly "I really love you, Ellie... You're perfect just the way you are.", and Ellie really felt it.

"Naaah!" she sighed, taking a couple of fries from Dina and stuffing them into her mouth "I still think they're embarrassing."

Dina burst out laughing.

You plopped down on a chair at the bar, wishing you could just grab a cold drink. Joel had disappeared with Tommy for a moment, and you were trying to catch your breath. It was a warm and pleasant evening, and you were really glad that Joel had suggested you come here.

"We're bumping into each other again!" a nice male voice rang out to your left, and someone sat down in the empty chair.

"Oh! Hi, Elliot." You greeted the man, smiling, "I didn't know you'd be here."

"It's a nice evening, why would I be home alone." he replied, "Can I get you a drink? Don't make me beg."

You glanced toward the entrance, but Joel was still talking to Tommy, so you figured you could use Elliot's company. You'd met a few days earlier when he'd shown up in Jackson, and you'd bumped into each other at the store.

"Shane said you two went on patrol together."

"Mhm." you nodded, taking a sip of your cold drink "And you? Would you like to take part in this too?"

"And could I be your partner?" he asked, winking at you and chuckling "Just kidding!" he added, seeing that he had caught you off guard "But I'd gladly take some advice from you, to be honest. You've been in Jackson much longer than I have and people know you, respect you..."

"Thank you." you felt warmth creep up your neck "You'd have to talk to Tommy about it, I'm not the one making decisions."

"Sure! I'll talk to him. Or maybe you'd like to..."

You felt someone wrap their arms around your waist tightly, and then familiar lips brushed your temple. "Sorry it took so long."

"Don't worry. I ordered you a beer." you replied, smiling at Joel "And this is Elliot."

The man greeted Joel, who responded pleasantly, but you clearly felt his hand find yours and your fingers intertwined tightly. You all talked for a while longer, about patrols, about life in Jackson, until Elliot finally said goodbye and disappeared among the people.

"What?" you asked, feeling Joel's gaze on you.

He shrugged. "I don't know. You tell me."

You finished your drink and rested your chin on your hand. Brown eyes stared at you, slightly shining from the beer Joel had drunk. "I won't believe you if you say you're jealous." you said finally.

He shook his head, smiling broadly. "I'm not, darling. I know perfectly well that you're only mine, but..." he sighed deeply "I feel a little sorry for guys who think they have a chance."

You patted him on the shoulder, bursting into laughter. "Really? Where are you so sure of that, Miller?"

He leaned in as if to whisper something in your ear. His voice was low and made your body shiver pleasantly. "I just know it, darling." Warm lips brushed your ear, and then he pecked you on the lips. "Come on! Let's go home. Ellie told me we're embarrassing her. Our mission accomplished.”

As soon as she opened her eyes she could feel that something was wrong. But it wasn't until she got out of bed and took the first few steps that she felt it. Something strange unexpectedly ran down her legs and onto the floor.

"Shane!" Ann moaned loudly, looking at the wet spot beneath her. "Shane! Fuck, come here!"

The bathroom door opened and the man stepped out nonchalantly, still brushing his teeth. "Whaaa?" he asked.

"I think I'm in labor." Ann grabbed her stomach as if that would stop everything and looked at her husband with a mixture of fear and excitement.

"Yeah, right... Fuck!"

He wondered the whole way from the stables to the house how he should tell you about that. Should he even tell you? Sooner or later you'd find out anyway. The door creaked quietly as he entered the house. The sun was streaming into the kitchen where you were preparing breakfast.

Joel looked at you for a moment. He liked moments like this and wanted to record them in his memory for as long as possible. You read on the couch, you sleep in your bed, you laugh with Ellie, you cuddle up to him... Many moments with you were already recorded in his head, good and bad, happy and sad. He wanted to remember everything.

"You're staring again." You glanced at him over your shoulder, smiling.

Joel entered the kitchen and cleared his throat. "Shane took Ann to the clinic today. She went into labor this morning."

You turned around abruptly and looked at him with wide eyes. "And?" you whispered.

"She gave birth two hours ago. Tommy told me." Joel replied. "Shane won't be going on patrol for a while and..."

"Boy or girl?" you interrupted him quickly.

Joel frowned, surprised by the question. "A boy."

"I knew it!" you were excited, you pressed your hands to your lips, and your eyes sparkled like stars. Joel smiled at the sight, and then he hugged you when you suddenly threw your arms around his neck "Oh, I had a feeling it would happen soon! I'm so happy."

Joel stroked your back and smiled to himself. Only when you pulled away did he notice that you suddenly frowned.

"Is everything okay, honey?" he asked with concern. He noticed how you bit your lip, clearly worried about something.

Finally, you folded your arms over your chest. "I didn't have time to prepare anything for the baby..." you sighed "I wanted to give them something, but so much has been going on lately and.."

"No problem. I can go with you to that old mall. They should have a kids store there, maybe you can find something."

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want you to have to change your plans especially for me."

He walked over to you, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you closer to him. “And who would I change my plans for if not for you, huh? Besides, you lost your partner on patrol for a while. Let me join you.”

You chuckled. "Oh, I don't know what my boyfriend will think about this. He can be a little jealous."

"So we won't tell him anything." Before you knew it, he kissed your neck. "It'll be our secret and..."

"Ugh! Disgusting! Do you really have to do this here? Before breakfast?" Ellie groaned as she entered the kitchen and sat down at the table.

Joel rolled his eyes and looked at the girl. "We were alone before you came."

"And you're not anymore, so please keep your hands to yourself."

The mall had been abandoned for many years. Many things had been taken and used, both by the residents of Jackson and by other people trying to survive. Your footsteps echoed quietly as you and Joel headed towards the baby store. You passed under the half-lowered blinds and entered.

"Don't spend all your money, honey." Joel mumbled, looking around the interior, which still had a lot of assortment. He walked between the dusty shelves, still keeping an eye on you as you looked through the drawers.

You soon found some necessary things - a few pacifiers, a baby blanket, a few clothes. You put all of that in your bag. It was only then that you noticed something that caught your eye. The smallest onesies you had ever seen in your life. You hesitantly touched the material decorated with colorful dots.

"You okay?"

Joel stood right behind you, looking at you with a mixture of worry and confusion, he didn't know what to expect.

"Did you know that babies could be so small?" you asked, taking the onesies in your hands and looking at them closer.

He was silent for a moment, but finally spoke. "When Sarah was born, she practically fit in the palm of my hand. I'm sure Ellie was the same."

"I'm sorry... I didn't think that you... I'm sorry, Joel."

"You don't have to. I almost forgot about it." he replied, kissing your head. "Did you find everything?"

You looked around the inside and stuffed the onesies into your already full bag. "Yeah, I guess so. I think Ann prepared well enough anyway. I wouldn't want to come to her empty-handed though."

"She'll definitely be happy when you come anyway. Let's go back, honey."

He was a little scared about all of this, but he hoped you were in a different place now. You had only met up with Ann a few weeks after what had happened, and she had been really stressed out then. You were her friend, and she was afraid of hurting you or bringing up painful memories. Joel was sure she and Shane had talked about the both of you, but he didn't hold it against them. They were both your friends, and they cared about you.

It was surprising though that your loss had reached so many people around you.

Joel felt your hand in his and glanced at you as you fell into step with him.

"Thank you for bringing me here." You said, the corners of your lips turning up. "I've missed doing this with you."

"Me too, baby. Me too."

He leaned down and pecked your soft lips. You were on the right track.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name

[emoisthenewemu]

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

VIDEO GAMES

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

TOGE INUMAKI X F! READER SMAU

pt1, pt2, pt3, pt4, pt5, pt6, pt7, pt8, pt9, pt10, pt11, pt12, pt12.5, pt13, pt14, pt15, pt16, pt17, pt18, pt19, pt21

A/N THERE IS VERY IMPORTANT TEXT AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER. HEHE I WAS SO HAPPY WRITING THIS

Pt.20 “No Funny Business!"

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

Toge has no reason to be this nervous. It's his mom you're meeting after all. And you-well you are just an angel who was dropped from heaven above right into his lap. He likes to think you are his reward for being cursed, he may not be able to talk properly but at least he has you. You made his whole life change in a way he never thought possible. He is constantly reminded of how gracious he is to you for bothering to get close to him in the first place. Most do not. Most people cower away at the sight of a cursed speech user, sure to cover up his markings so it is not automatically noticeable. He likes that you always pull the collars of his sweater down, sometimes pull off his scarf completely so you can get a better look at him. You're the only person to ever study him so closely, it makes him feel seen. You appreciate him in the most innocent way possible.

The bombardment of thoughts are enough to put him at ease, his leg ends it shaking. He only grips your hand tight and takes a deep breath before stepping out to greet his mom. He hugs her and is immediately comforted, a warm feeling in his chest only his momma can ever bring. He missed her, he always does. Toge's a momma's boy through and through.

It makes you happy to see, you've never seen him smile so bright before. And his mom is sure to tug down his collar to get a look at her 'handsome boy'. Then, she averts her attention to you, standing there with your hands clasped together in front of you. "Hi! So nice to meet you!"

She hugs you tightly, wordlessly. Her hair and eyes are the same color as Toge, the same markings on her cheeks. She's a beautiful woman, striking purple eyes which now feel like home to you. "You know you raised such a good boy, Toge's the sweetest"

She pulls apart, a smirk on her face. 'You don't have to lie, sweetheart' She signs.

And you laugh, Toge rolls his eyes. His mother pops the trunk and gestures for him to grab the bags, both of your bags-she is very clear on that. She ushers you to the car, a comforting hand wrapped around your arm and the most kind-hearted smile you can ever imagine. For a moment you feel the same comfort your own mother gave you, you suppose it's in every mom's nature to feel this way. Most of them at least. Taking one last look at you she sighs contently, a hand going to pat your shoulder.

'You're so beautiful' She signs, a warmth fills your chest.

'So are you' You sign back.

Toge's mom always wanted a daughter. She loooves her boys but never ceased to remind them that she wants a girl. So if one of them would please hurry up and get a girlfriend so she can fill that void in her life. (Her words exactly). She excitedly shows you around the house, commenting every so often on how happy she is that you actually know sign language. Sometimes she gets a little too excited and signs her words a bit too fast-you have to ask her to slow down a bit but you understand. Most of the time at least. She promises to help you get better, not before thanking you again for actually working on sign language for her son. When you tell her all about it, how you crave another way to understand him it makes her tear up a bit.

'He's very lucky to have you' She signs.

You bake cookies your first night. From scratch, just like you wanted, the same way you use to for your family. She shows you Toge's baby pictures, you squeal excitedly as the two of you look through the photos, cooing at how cute he is.

'Look how much he use to love me' She signs, pulling up a rather adorable photo of him practically hanging off the side of his mom's head, both of his chubby arms wrapped around her-a big grin on his round little face.

'I still do!' He signs back and she signs something you can't quite understand.

Toge gasps. 'Language!'

It is clear who he gets his sense of humor from. When she bids the two of you goodnight she is sure to make it very clear that all bedroom doors are to stay open should the two of you decide to stay up together. 'No funny business!' She signs before heading up to her room. You promise you'll be on your best behavior and after a quick elbow to the side so does Toge.

You take a shower and get settled in, lucky enough to sleep in Toge's bedroom. He takes his brother's room although he doesn't plan on staying there most of the time. He has it all planned out, his mom's a heavy sleeper-he swears he'll set an alarm for early in the morning and sneak out with no problem. He does it in the dorms all the time!

You scold him, slapping his chest and trying to rack it into his brain that you will not break any of his mom's rules. "I don't want her to hate me!" You argue.

'She'd be mad at me! Not you!'

You grab his hands, stopping him from signing anything else stupid. "Go shower. Now!"

You hang with her one day, and you're already starting to sound like his mom. He groans. Shooing him away, you do your nightly routine. Followed by hooking up your PlayStation to the tv so the two of you can play some zombies later on. His room is cozy, exactly what you expected it to be. Scattered with video game and anime posters, a few figurines placed neatly on some shelves. Some of them look more valuable than others, you wonder how long he'd been collecting them for. You giggle when you see the cutest little photo of baby Toge, in middle school maybe. He had braces, how did you not know this before?

Pulling out your phone you snap a quick picture-for your eyes only. And he catches you in the act, clearing his throat. Water is still dripping from his head, in nothing but his pajama pants and his towel wrapped around his shoulders. He walks past you, the scent of his soap invading your nostrils. Your eyes follow as he reaches over into one of his drawers to grab a shirt. Your head cocks to the side as you watch the way his back muscles contort, hm. He's been working out lately.

Turning around to find you staring he laughs, pulling the t-shirt over his head. 'You like?'

You cross your arms, rolling your eyes although the smirk on your face betrays you completely. So does the burning of your cheeks. "I wasn't even looking!"

Toge takes a few steps closer, uncrossing your arms and pulling you close. His arms wrap around your waist, you can feel a trace of his breath on your lips. Your heartbeat speeds up in response. "I think you did it on purpose" You giggle, he guides your hands to wrap around his neck. "You love the attention don't you?"

Forgetting his shirt, yeah right. It's not the first time he did something like this. You said he had a nice body once and he ran with it ever since. Caught red-handed he decides not to argue any longer, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. He laughs, you love the sound of his laugh.

In the solace of each other's arms you remain, rocking side to side lightly as sometimes it still feels like it may never be enough. Even with his body pressed right against yours, he still craves you. He wants to be closer, if that was possible.

His next movements are automatic, hands going up to cup your face as you look up at him with wide eyes. That is one thing about Toge, you never know what his next move may be. You just have to wait and find out, it excites you in a way.

He pulls his hands down. 'I like you' He signs, pulling his hands apart as far as he can. 'So much' The space between his hands is supposed to represent how much he likes you, they extend out as much as he can possibly reach them.

You giggle and his hands find their way back to you. One rests comfortably on your back, the other brushes a piece of hair behind your ear. "That much?" You ask incredulously.

He nods, truth is he likes you way more than that. 'Like' may not be a strong enough word to explain it all.

"Well I like you more" You bring a hand to his chest, over his heart. It comforts you that his is beating as fast as yours is, you can practically feel it in your throat.

Toge is usually a nervous wreck, it took weeks for his first interaction with you. And when the two of you did eventually hang out more, it was you that initiated it. You are the one who asked for his phone number, who stalked his twitter, who sat next to him in class because you 'wanted someone to entertain you'. Had it not been for you chasing him back to his dorm that one night, forcing him to sit there and hear you out who knows what may have happened. The two of you might not be standing in his childhood bedroom, one he only dreamed of inviting a pretty girl like you into. As far as flirting goes, he's never been very good at it. He remembers the pit in his stomach every time he would send you a slightly risky text. The way he would screenshot his replies and send them to Panda or Yuuta first just to make sure he wasn't doing too much.

But in this moment he needs no convincing, everything is in his favor. Although he'd never kissed a girl before he feels confident in his abilities-it's you. Everything involving you has come so naturally.

His lips crash into yours, a bit sloppy and inexperienced but still good. You bunch up a bit of his shirt and pull him closer, his fingers brush across the expanse of your smooth back beneath the oversized shirt you have on. It makes you shiver.

The kiss deepens, a hand goes to your jaw, holding you in place because he has decided you are not going anywhere. Never again, he's completely content being stuck to your side for the rest of his life. And when you feel a little 'zap!' you gasp and jump back, a hand goes to your lip where you felt the spark.

Toge looks at you with wide eyes, hands running up and down your sides, touching your forehead and face worriedly. 'You okay?'

You nod, laughing at the unfamiliar feeling. "Just caught me off guard" You insist, closing the gap between your bodies once again.

'Did I hurt you?' The concern in his eyes is not lost on you.

You pout, poor Toge. He looks so scared. But your sweet smile puts him at ease. "I'm okay" You peck his lips softly, reassuringly. "I promise"

"Do it again please"

He does not need to be told again before attacking you in kisses. You kiss until both of your lips are swollen, hair disheveled, soft little laughs between each movement. You stay awake until the Sun comes up, going between playing games to stealing kisses from one another. The first thing Toge does upon entering his brother's room is open up his group chat.

Panda and Yuuta have been waiting for this day to come.

‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

TAGLIST: @toge1numak1 @love-me-satoru @strxwberrycandi @slutlight2ndver @walllflowerrrsss @restrictionsapply @lloversss @b1borian @geektastic84 @tenthmilo @entr4p3 @reblogwhoreowo @idexmids @uracutieraka @linaaeatsfamilies @tbfaptbfae @megumikeeptalkingimalmostthere @samisfunky @choso-loverrr @cloca-cola @vamppirez @syarc0re @angel04-01 @daizyysdumb @ventraia @2dmenfr @adrnmyknight @blueghostgirl1 @aphroditesworld15 @alisoncdariel @bumi-writes @aikojwhpa @swoozleee

LMK IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE TAGGED!

[p3sephone]

My baby. (Dark! Ex! Wanda Maximoff x reader)

Prologue

Summary: you are Wanda's ex and you broke up with her a long time ago. Then Wanda decides it's a good idea to become your neighbor and take her baby back, one way or another.

Warnings: this is a dark! Serie about Wanda Maximoff that will contain dark themes such as violence, breaking in, non-con and similar stuff in the future chapters. Every chapter will have its own warnings to be safe. This is pure fiction and this character does not belong to me. Minors are NOT allowed, only +18. Any kind of interactions such as reblogs, comments or likes are much welcome and appreciated. 🤎

Prologue warnings: breaking inside, little use of magic.

Masterlist serie.

"I'm home!" you exclaimed with a smile on your face, closing the door behind you. You were happy to be back, you had a wonderful surprise for your roommate. You were sure that she hadn't suspected anything, after all you hadn't mentioned anything in these weeks and you knew how difficult it was. You had lost count of how many gifts and surprises you had ruined because you often spoke before thinking out of excitement.

But this time you didn't think, as you walked briskly towards the living room. The lights were on, she was surely sitting there on the couch watching some movie. You were already anticipating the scene. Your smile quickly dropped as the gift bag slipped from your hand and fell to the floor. The personalized mug inside had surely broken into a thousand pieces, but that was now the least of your problems.

Your roommate was lying there, apparently asleep, but you knew that wasn't the case. Not when Wanda was sitting on the other side of the couch with her arms crossed, then looking straight into your eyes. She had a small smile on her face, sly and arrogant you would say, but you could see all the hatred hidden behind her eyes. You were together, as teenagers, a long time ago. Wanda had lost everything, you too: you had regained everything and left Wanda behind, and Wanda had lost what was left of her, left with total nothingness. Considering that you had left her too. Or at least, that was what Wanda thought; in reality, your version would have been very different from hers, but you weren't really sure she wanted to hear it and even less that she was interested. "What are you doing in my house?" your own cold tone surprised you. It was as if someone else was talking to you and you didn't know how your knees could still hold up. But Wanda wasn't stupid, she could feel how your heart was beating like crazy, this still allowed her to act arrogant. She stood up from your couch and walked over to your boyfriend’s sleeping form, approaching you and freely ignoring your question.

“Is this your house? Our apartment was better.” It was a suggestion, obviously. It wasn’t the first time Wanda had tried to make you change your mind and tell you that the two of you were meant to be together, and at first you believed it. The first, the second and even the third time. Then you finally realized that she would tell you anything and lie shamelessly just to have you back by her side and reduce you to an object again.

You had loved that woman, but it was over. And she had to understand that.

“No, this house is better, with my roommate who I sincerely hope will wake up soon.” You made a suggestion and she immediately took it, laughing in your face.

“She’ll be fine, I just put her to sleep... I wanted to be alone with you, I missed you.” she said playing with your hair, and you could almost see the sincerity in her now slightly sad face. But you couldn't fall for it again and you had certainly been through too much because of her.

"But I haven't missed you, Wanda. Get out of my house."

You had caught her attention now, her fingers slowly stopped playing with your hair finally letting it go. Now you saw the real Wanda. Her hateful gaze with a red aura was intensely scrutinizing you and you swore they could see much more than your eyes or your face. Her eyes immediately became clear again and Wanda gave you a sweet smile, waving her right hand and using her magic. You remembered what that magic had done to you, you still had the scars.

"I can also go out, after all we will see each other every day. It's a pleasure to meet you again, neighbor!" she teased you giggling, then walking out of your door without you even accompanying her. You stood there in shock, standing numb in the doorway to the living room, watching the front door close and then the couch, where your roommate was now starting to wake up.

The nightmare had begun again.

[daengtokki]

part eleven | litotes // serial killer!Kim Seungmin/afab reader

WC: 15k

RATING: mature/mdni—contains: family trauma (specifically mother/daughter), casual racism, self harm, suicide mention, miscarriage mention, blood play, cannibalism (just a little), things staring ominously from a distance (again), hallucinations

SYNOPSIS: Seungmin floats through life alone, haunted by his memories—keeping himself under control, and quieting his mind the only way he knows how…killing and watching the life leave his victims eyes. When you cross his path on a morning hunt, something new (something forgotten) starts to move inside of him, leading both of you on a path to confront the unspeakable past.

COMMENTS: The first chapter to be given a proper title at posting! And the meaning of this title is a hint for what’s to come in part twelve. Take your time reading...reread everything after this if you'd like (I know a few of you that like doing that, and it's amazing to think about—seriously). I will have part twelve up before I leave for my dominate concerts.

[ ML — DEITY MASTERLIST AND TAGLIST]

[ PLAYLIST PARTS 1—6 ]

The quiet in his head becomes unbearable, and he never imagined he would think that. Quiet. Beautiful, comfortable silence—that’s what he has with you when he gets into bed every night. This isn’t the same.

Seungmin didn’t always come home to his big empty bed at night, not before you came around. Sometimes he would close a bar, stumble to an empty park and will something to come out of the darkness for him in his drunken stupor. Some nights he would check into a hotel just to look at something different for a change. The monotonous torment of his existence became intolerable too often.

He came very close to telling you and Heecheol about his state of mind last spring—May 23rd, to be exact. Seungmin checked into a motel not unlike the Dalkkum in Hongcheon, and the only thing he brought along with him was every pill he could find. Before he went through with it, or almost did, he sat in a hot bath and watched the full moon move across the sky for an hour or so…however long it took the water to go cold—and instead of acting on his big plans, he drank the bottle of champagne he was going to wash everything down with, and a second bottle, and then he passed out on the balcony.

The next morning, he didn’t really want to die anymore. Not as much, at least. The anniversary of that day could have been bad. The anniversary of his mother’s death could have been worse. It wasn’t, because you were there with him.

“Stop…” he pushes until Heecheol releases him. “Please, I can’t.” Seungmin is far too gentle, but…he also kept going and kissed right back, so what right does he have to overreact now? The sting of his lips remains even after Heecheol turns away, but first he looks Seungmin up and down like he’s just realizing he’s in the room. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

It takes him a few beats before he can turn and force a smile. “It’s fine.”

The static hasn’t returned, at least. The room is still too quiet, too warm, too heavy. Seungmin isn’t quite sure what to do now aside from leave. “I should get back home. Tokki is all alone with the boys.”

“I was going to ask if I could take you two out for dinner, but I guess that wouldn’t work with two little ones.” It’s not the awkwardness of the kiss he’s concerned about, it’s the babies. “But ordering in is always an option. I’m sure getting a good dinner on the table is tough while taking care of them.”

No, Seungmin thinks. He isn’t sure how taxing things will become in the next few weeks and months, but he’s looking forward to finding out. “I’m not sure—“

“Look, I’m sorry I was kind of forward there. But you didn’t…forget it.”

“Today might not be the best for getting together.”

Heecheol turns away again and starts undressing. First his shirt, up and over his head and thrown to the floor. He pulls at his waistband, but the sweats remain on for now, to Seungmin’s relief. Now he remembers his phone going off, and he knows it’s you before he even looks at the screen.

my mother is here

He has to check the name again. Yeah, it’s you—maybe you mistyped, or spoke into your phone and it didn’t hear correctly. Maybe you were just talking to the boys. This day can’t get much more strange. “Huh?” A stupid response, but he feels stupid right now. Heecheol’s eyes are burning right through him as he waits for your reply.

are you almost home?

Thank god he is. The apartment is only a quick walk away. “Yeah, I’ll be there in ten”. “I have to go. I’ll text you.”

“Will you?”

Seungmin isn’t sure how to answer that, but he tries not to huff in frustration. “If I don’t…you text me.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

“I tell her everything.”

***

How does your mother know where you live? Well, because you told her. But you’ve never received so much as a letter from anyone. No gifts or care packages filled with comforts from home, hardly a phone call. Why travel so far when you can’t even text?

The elevator ride is excruciatingly slow, and he can’t even hold his hands still enough to slide the key in the deadbolt. Seungmin is nervous, but the day hasn’t been kind to him. He has reason to feel like he’s going to vomit at any moment.

“Seungmin…” You walk to him, arms folded over your chest, and he knows why. One of the babies is crying in his cot, the other is working his way to the same volume. “She’s in the nursery.”

“Why?”

“Checking it.”

“Checking…checking what?”

She pops out, and Seungmin is actually relieved. The image in his mind was much scarier than what just appeared in front of him, but still, her face is sour. She looks like you, but not so much that it’s an undeniable mother/daughter relationship. She could just as easily be your aunt, or an older sister.

“You must be…” she stops to think, and her accent is much more severe than yours. “Forgive me, I just learned it fifteen minutes ago.”

“Seungmin,” you repeat.

Her eyes move between the two of you. She’s saying it under her breath, as if she’s trying to get a feel for how to say it out loud. S-sungmin, is what comes out. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet the reason…reasons…my daughter never came home.”

She turns away and looks at them. They’re together in their cot, surrounded by the laundry you were folding. The tv is still playing, and Seungmin wants to laugh again when the Twilight Zone theme starts playing in the silent room. He holds it in, but he can’t hold in his smile when he sees them, slowly quieting and soothing each other. How does he respond to that, though? Seungmin looks to you, but your eyes are on the floor, arms still folded across your chest. “Uh, well, I take good care of her if that is a concern.”

The resemblance is a little stronger now. Her lips purse, and she folds her arms across herself just like you do. “Your English is very good.” She sucks her teeth like he tends to do.

“Thank you. Her Korean is getting very good.” Seungmin smiles in your direction, but you look like you’re going to vomit.

“Oh is that right?” Now her hands drop to her hips. “I’m surprised, you never were to good with your school work. And…”

You watch his face grow red, and the clench of his jaw is obvious, especially as she makes her way to the cot. He takes a step closer, and you do the same.

Seungmin jumps when she spins to face you. “And this. Twins! Didn’t think it was in the cards for you, considering…”

Considering what? Seungmin doesn’t say it, but you can tell he’s thinking it. Your mother is being purposely vague and her saccharine voice and smile are making you sick. If she thinks there’s some chance of pushing the two of you apart, she’ll go for it.

Considering what? You know what she’s thinking of course, and you’re surprised she didn’t come out and say the word. Seungmin doesn’t know, and it’s not because you purposely kept it from him—there is nothing to gain by keeping secrets in this house. Maybe it was your fear keeping you from saying the word and dwelling on the possibility even more, or perhaps putting the thought in Seungmin’s head scared you. He was already so worried.

Another smile for you, sweet, but with a question mark behind it. “Excuse us for a moment.” He says, eyes fixed on you, and his fingers gently grip your wrist. Reading him his easier now, but at the moment, your racing heart and swirling stomach aren’t quite sure what to think. Seungmin closes the door, leaving just enough space for him to peek out, and pulls you into his arms. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not.”

“Liar.” He laughs. “I can handle her attitude. I can handle it for both of us.”

“I’m sorry…there are things I should have told you—“

“We can talk about it later, if you want. First we handle this.” Seungmin looks through the crack in the door. Your mother hasn’t approached the boys, and they’re still quiet. “Fresh shirt?” He starts pulling it over your head before you answer. “She won’t get under my skin.”

***

The whole apartment feels off with someone new in it. It wasn’t quite like this with Heecheol…oh, Seungmin almost forgot. How could he forget? It wasn’t just the kiss that made things weird—everything, including Heecheol himself, was strange. This is more manageable, regardless of how uncomfortable everyone is going to be. She looks at the two of you briefly, then walks toward the cot again. The moment she reaches in, Seungmin reacts. “Have you washed up?”

“Excuse me?”

The moment of awkward silence is excruciating.

You chime in first. “We always wash up and change if we’ve been out…before we touch them. They’re, um, we can’t risk them getting sick.”

“How early were they?” She backs up and eyes the kitchen sink, and you can tell she wants to touch them, hold them. She can’t help it. It doesn’t matter how much she might not actually like Seungmin and your sons, she won’t pass up the opportunity to hold a baby.

“They were due September 4th, and born on June 1st.”

The urge to hold them is too strong, because she heads for the kitchen to wash her hands. But not before looking Seungmin in the eyes. “Lucky.”

They were lucky. Lucky that you kept them alive long enough, and lucky they were healthy when they arrived. Bad luck used followed you everywhere, but not anymore. Now Seungmin follows you everywhere.

“What are my grandson’s names?” Haneul is wrapped tight and scooped up first, and she looks him over with a weird curiosity. “My only grandbabies. Never thought I’d see the day, and that it would be you. Definitely never thought—“

“That is Haneul,” Seungmin interrupts. “Ha…neul.” He repeats it slowly and clearly, but you know she won’t appreciate his patience with this, or with her. “And Haesung. Haesung is his little brother.”

“Do they have middle names…nicknames?”

You jump in before Seungmin gets a chance. “No. Haneul and Haesung.” Letting her call them something else is out of the question.

“No cute nicknames yet.” Seungmin lies, but he sounds convincing. Haneul was Sky before he was born, and Haesung eventually became the new Puppy.

“Shame they look nothing like you.”

“Why are you here? Did you fly all this way just to…just to torment me?”

“You’ll never learn to respect your mother, will you, girl?” Haneul is placed back in his cot, and she takes a moment to touch Haesung’s cheek before turning her full attention to you. “Well, now that you are one, maybe you’ll appreciate how much work it takes. Hopefully your boyfriend…husband…doesn’t go dying on you like your father did.”

The air feels too heavy to breathe, and you’re not sure if it’s the mention of your father’s death, something she never talks about, or the intrusive thought of losing Seungmin. The sleep walk into the woods started it, and it’s been off and on since then. He seems unfazed by the comment, but he has to be—all of it has to be trying to dig in.

His mouth twitches. “Husband.” A week after leaving the hospital, you made your marriage official. “I don’t plan on it.” Seungmin moves between her and the cot so they can see him again. Both have quickly given in to their exhaustion.

“We never do.”

It didn’t take much convincing to get her to leave after the awkward first meeting. Seungmin booked her the only room he could find—the same hotel where Heecheol is currently staying—and sent her on her way. This won’t be the end of her, though. Your mother has never stepped foot in an airport before getting on a plane to Seoul, and she’s never wanted anything to do with you unless it was for her own benefit. She didn’t fly all this way for one brief encounter.

“When she asked for my address, I assumed she wanted to send something. This is not what I imagined. And no warning.”

As irritating as it was, Seungmin can’t help but find it amusing. “The no warning part doesn’t surprise me, for some reason.” He turns on his side and puts a hand on Haesung’s full stomach, and when he closes his eyes, the rest of his day comes rushing back to him. “Oh,” they pop open, but you don’t react. You’re sitting up, focused, drawing pad in your lap—the sound of the pencil moving back and forth on the paper seems to be as soothing to the boys as it is to Seungmin. “Today...earlier today, before I got home.”

“Oh, the guy? You said it was a bust.”

He glances up at you, and you’re staring hard. The pencil goes straight to your mouth as you wait, and he can see your teeth start to work on it. It’s only been a few weeks since you painted the mural in the nursery, and since then you’ve started reclaiming a small part of the former you he never knew. Seungmin can feel you becoming lighter and happier as you adjust to the new life with him and the babies…not just you and him. Neither of you had much time to find each other anywhere but on the surface, or at your very cores. Now you get to explore everything inbetween.

And now he has to tell you he kissed someone else.

The graphite hits the paper again, and the next move you make is ripping it from the pad and crushing it in your fist. “I had a miscarriage a few years ago. I almost died.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know I was pregnant, and it…well, it didn’t grow where it was supposed to. And I almost bled to death.”

“You…almost died?”

"I was relieved when I got that first ultrasound and saw that they were in the right place.” You take a long, hard look at him, and then your pencil is on the paper again. “Hold still for a second.”

Seungmin listens. He doesn’t blink, or let his mouth twitch into the frown he’s holding back. All he wants is to move closer, pull all three of you into his arms and hold on tight. Months ago, he truly thought he wouldn’t have enough of himself for all of you, and he was wrong.

Haesung isn’t happy about being moved from his warm spot on the bed, but you tuck him comfortably into his cot. Seungmin does the same with Haneul, and you remain back to back until they begin dozing off again. And then the bed moves, and you feel him getting close. A hand wraps gently around the back of your neck, but his fingertips only graze and fall away from you. Seungmin reaches for the crumpled piece of paper and smooths it out the best he can. A rough sketch stares back at him—his eyes, the slope of his nose, and the soft curves of his jaw. It’s a good depiction of him…like looking at a faded photograph, but seeing it through the eyes of whoever took it. It’s how you see him. He crumples it up again, and wonders why you were unsatisfied with it.

“Sometimes when I’m in bed with you, when I can’t sleep, I think about that night.” It comes from nowhere. You’re not sure why you mention it at all.

The memory is now tucked away where he has to reach for it to truly remember. He counts in his head, seven months…three weeks? Here the two of you are, two babies, and it’s barely been eight months since you’ve crossed paths. Seungmin prefers remembering that very first encounter on the street…walking you home. He likes thinking back to how it felt to fall for someone so quickly and (for him) recklessly; how it felt to want to touch you, to draw pain and pleasure from you. Break your neck, kiss you, find the fear that was already rising to the surface, and then protect you from it.

He looks at you now like he looked at you then, the strange, mysterious thing that you still are. “Why do you think about it?”

Seungmin seems surprised when you turn to your sketch pad again. “I try to remember everything, exactly how I felt and what was going through my head. It’s hard. Maybe I blocked some of it out.”

“What do you remember?”

“I still remember where I went when everything went dark. The pain of giving birth brought back memories from that first time. It went dark then, too. A different dark, but…”

He’s hypnotized by the measured movements of your hand, but he hears every word you say. You’ve died before, came back, died again.

Your attention turns to the walls around you, the half open curtain being moved by the warm breeze. “I remember being so afraid of dying in this room when you tucked me back into bed. The locked door, the knife. The pain I was in...”

“I was worried. I was afraid you’d get hurt if you tried running home in the dark. And that I’d never see you again. I actually thought I’d be able to explain myself and change your mind by morning.”

“The thoughts running through my head that night might surprise you.”

“Like?”

For no reason, you feel embarrassed to admit it. “I wanted you closer when you got back into bed, but I guess that could have been the tea taking hold.”

“I wanted you to feel safe. That’s all that mattered, but it was impossible.”

“Waking up the next morning was nice, until I remembered. Everything after that was adrenaline.”

Seungmin moves closer, “even the kiss?”

“We talked about the kiss.”

“We did," he whispers. “The way I saw that night in my mind was perfect. I was going to be different, finally…I don’t think I knew it then. I didn’t know how much I just wanted to fall asleep and wake up with you still there.” Even after all this time, saying every word that comes to him, no filter, feels like jumping. Fight or flight tries to kick in. Looking back and forth between the babies grounds him again. “I’m glad you kissed me, even if it was mostly to distract me.”

The nerves in his voice are more obvious than he thinks. “Mostly because I couldn’t resist your mouth.”

He laughs, and his entire body relaxes into his fluffed up pillows.

The sketchpad is back on your side table, and a quick peak into the cot lets you know Haesung is sound asleep. “I still can’t.” You wait for him to look at you, and eventually, he does.

Seungmin’s smile creeps slowly across his lips as he examines your face. He peeks into Haneul’s cot—sound asleep—and then back at you.

“She’ll try to pull us apart. I know she will.” That’s why you brought it up, but it didn’t occur to you until just this moment. “I’ve never been allowed to be happy or satisfied, not in peace. I thought I finally won by being seven thousand miles away.”

The smile fades quickly, and he struggles for a moment to find the right words. What is it you need to hear? Seungmin can tell you a million times how much he loves you… “nothing can pull us apart, just—“ He stops himself. The word still hanging on the tip of his tongue, he doesn’t know why he thinks it. Death. “She can try if she wants to, but she’s going up against me.”

You’ve missed his cocky attitude. He’s become so good and soft, and sometimes you forget who still lives deep down inside. Seungmin can still drive his knife into someone’s neck if he feels like it, or slam their face into a wall. He’ll break his knuckles sending a message. “C’mere.”

“Hm?”

“Get over here,” you purr, and pull your shirt over your head.

Seungmin’s eyes drop to your chest, and his tongue pokes out as they jump back to your eyes. His crawl to you is slow, and he cages you in with his arms as he comes down for a kiss. The heat is already radiating from him when his shirt comes off, but he pulls back.

The lamplight from your side of the bed illuminates the deep cuts across his chest. They look fresh, ready to bleed again. “What’s this?” You latch onto his arm and hold him there. “Minnie?” He flinches when your thumb grazes the length of the biggest, deepest one, but relaxes almost immediately. “Did you just do this?”

“Yes…”

“Why?” The look on his face as you touch it makes you think he just needed to feel something under his skin, and he still needs that. Or maybe it’s more penance. You push again, glide your finger across it, and his stomach tightens as he quietly moans. Fresh blood trickles out when your nail digs in, and Seungmin grips the pillow beneath your head to steady himself. Another release. The satisfaction in his face sends a pulse up your thighs, and he can feel it—your legs are forced open, and he’s easing his fingers into you before your mouth can close around the newly opened wound. His gentle touch, the sharp taste of his blood…your head swims and you ache for more of him. Your teeth sink into skin, and the warm metallic taste fills your mouth as his fingers are replaced with the impatient push of his cock.

“More,” he whines. Blood continues to trickle, but it slows. The pressure from your tongue seems to hit the right spot, but not for long. “More…please.” He’s careful, and you know he’s using all of his restraint to fuck you slowly. Seungmin pushes into you and against your mouth for more.

You close your lips around him and suck at the hot, salty skin; bite until you taste more blood. Every moan makes you bite down a little harder, and as his pace picks up and you feel an orgasm rising, your teeth sink in and break new skin. The sound he makes is beyond any climax you’ve given him—pain and relief mixed with ecstasy. He struggles to hold himself steady, but you pull him down against you, kiss up his chest and neck, and make even more of a mess. “Minnie…are you okay?”

Seungmin kisses you deeply and cleans the blood from your lips. “No, you’re being too gentle on me.”

“Gentle?” You look down at the open cuts and bite marks on his chest. He smiles when you touch him again. “Too gentle?” And he laughs when you lock your legs around his hips.

“Let me feel how much you love me.”

He doesn’t have to ask again. You grab his shoulders and sink your teeth in, and this time you don’t think about the pain you cause him, the mess you’ll make…the mark that’ll be left behind. Seungmin groans as you break the skin again, and he licks his lips as you pull away with a piece of him between your teeth. You keep your eyes on him—you can’t look at what you did yet, but…

His soft cry hits your ears. Haesung, little brother, who sometimes feels like Haneul’s big brother. What time is it? That cry forces you out of whatever trance you’re in, no matter how deep it is. You wipe at your mouth in your half-sleep, and then your eyes open to the pitch black of the bedroom. The smell of blood is still in your nose, and you jump up when you remember… “Min?” You reach and set your hand on his stomach, warm and damp with sweat, and you don’t move until you feel him take a breath.

Haesung cries again, just for a moment. He’s coming out of the same deep sleep you are.

“Seungmin?” Your eyes start to wake up, and your vision clears. The marks on his chest are red and angry and fresh, but not much worse than they were before you got your hands on them.

Seungmin stirs when you run a finger across them again. He mumbles and closes his hand around yours, and sighs when you kiss his chest. “Hey, you alright?”

“Had a weird dream.” You wipe at your mouth and bring blood back on the heel of your palm. “You should probably work on pulling out until I get back on birth control.”

“Oh, you think you’ll get pregnant again?”

“It’s possible. I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.”

“Yet?” He sits up and kisses your cheek. “Tell me about your dream.”

“I bit some…flesh off of you, and I think I ate it.”

“Oh?”

You weren’t sure what kind of reaction to expect, but the little grin on his face isn’t very surprising. “Yeah, while we were having sex.”

He notices you examining his chest, and looks down at it himself. “You ate a piece of me…” he whispers, and the grin doesn’t fade. “Would you consider this a dream…or a nightmare?” Seungmin wipes at your mouth and stares you down as he waits for an answer.

“Somewhere in between. Do you have a fetish you haven’t told me about?”

“No, but the thought of you doing it and enjoying yourself is a little hot. So…maybe, yes.” He looks around nervously, fidgets with the blanket. “It feels romantic.”

“Consuming your lover to have him be a part of you forever…romantic? Yes, but having you here with me is so much nicer.”

“Okay, I won’t ask you to...eat me. But thank you for confirming what I already knew.”

You slide your hand across his thigh and onto his growing cock. “What’s that?”

“Dangsineun isanghaeyo.”

***

Seungmin doesn’t resist when you clean and bandage the newly open cuts on his chest. He tossed and turned and scratched in his sleep, and the sheets were smeared with bright, fresh blood before you changed them. He looks up at you with tired eyes as you work—maybe something else. He looks sleepy and sad, like he’s still waiting on more forgiveness from you, but there’s nothing more to forgive right now. You bend down and kiss him, and he returns it with a smile.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

He shakes his head and sits up, “thank you.”

“They have to go outside today, I almost forgot. They have their first check-up in a few hours.”

“That’s right.” Seungmin crawls to the cot and scoops up a mostly awake Haneul. “We get to see how well you two are doing, and how much weight you’ve put on with us.” He holds him against his bandaged chest, and you can hear the soft noises coming from Haneul. “You feel a little heavier, buddy. Dongsaengeul hwaginhae bopssida.”

Haesung is asleep, and he’s still. The moment you lay your eyes on him, your body goes cold. “Haesung?” Something feels off about him.

Seungmin is up and on your side of the bed a moment later, Haneul still in his arms. Maybe you’re overreacting and he’s in a deeper sleep than usual, but he’s pale, and the only movement is the tiny flutter of his lashes. You grab his foot and rub the skin, and he gives a half-hearted kick, “something is wrong,” and a feeble cry. You take Haneul from him, but Seungmin is surprisingly calm as he sits at the edge of the bed.

“Mwo-ga jalmotdwaesneoyo? What is it, puppy? Jo wassoyo.” He sets his palm on Haesung’s forehead, tilts his chin up, and his eyes flutter open.

You’re too scared to say anything.

Seungmin looks back at you and forces a smile, but his attention returns to Haesung. He rolls him onto his side and rubs his back, and you start to wonder if he prepared himself for something like this. Why didn’t you? You got comfortable and felt safe too quickly—how could you be so careless?

After another two seconds of slow, excruciating silence, Haesung sucks in a lungful of air and starts to cry. It feels like the delivery room all over again; the horrible silence, holding your breath for the smallest cry. This one grows louder and louder, and you’ve never heard anything so wonderful. Haneul squirms a little in your arms, and he decides to match his brother’s screams.

“I’m sorry.” Your throat tightens up, and the tears that roll down your cheek fall onto Haneul’s messy hair. You watch as another follows, and from the corner of your eye, you see Seungmin reach for you.

“Sorry, why?” He wipes at your cheek, but it doesn’t make stopping any easier.

“I panicked. You didn’t.”

He shakes his head and smiles again, much easier this time. “Last month my therapist told me…reminded me…I have gangbak jangae, very strong intrusive thoughts. I think we talked about this before.”

You nod at him and wipe at the tears burning your eyes. “We have.”

His mind jumps back to the static in Heecheol’s hotel room. “Not just the voices, or the noises. Or the urges. I haven’t told you how scared I’ve been of something happening once we got them home.”

“No, you haven’t. You’ve been so confident, and perfect.”

“I’ve been staying up all night…watching them, talking to them, learning everything I can.“

“Learning?”

“How to care for them. What to do if something happens. I’m sure you’ve realized I shut off your alarm once or twice to let you sleep. I fed and changed them. Because I was already awake.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m sore, and you’re so tired.”

Seungmin is careful picking up Haesung, but he seems fine now. His cheeks are pink, and his cries don’t quiet until he’s safe against Seungmin’s chest. “Sore?”

“I have to feed them, or pump every time I get up or they get a little painful…but—" his face falls, “but it’s not that bad.”

“I’m sorry, I thought I was helping.”

The look in his eyes hurts. Seungmin hasn’t done much in the past few months except prepare, but he’ll beat himself up for this, you know that. “Five or six solid hours of sleep is a good exchange for some soreness. But promise me you’ll sleep.”

“Promise. I’ll sleep when we get back. We’re going to the hospital now so Haesung can get looked at.”

***

It looks like a smile, but it can’t be yet. It’s too early, but Seungmin is going to pretend that’s what he saw anyway. Haneul just yawns back at his dad’s excited laugh, and luckily, Haesung follows with a cry for attention. “I’m right here, pup.”

Haesung was sent home after a few hours with a clean bill of health, so you’re convinced you overreacted this morning, but still, both of you will be on high alert for the next few days—sleeping in shifts, mostly. One of you has to be awake with them 24/7, and you know Seungmin will insist on taking the brunt of it. He’s already doing it, sending you away for a nap when he told you he’d rest after their appointment.

“Minnie, you promised, just for a few hours…get into bed and close your eyes.” He’s still quietly singing when you walk up behind him and rub his back—for a minute there, I lost myself…I lost myself. Even as he sits hunched over on the living room floor, his hushed singing voice is pretty, but he’s still so shy about it. “Please, puppy.”

That grabs his attention, and he turns his head toward you. “Can we talk first?”

“Sure, what about?”

“About yesterday, when I was following that guy. Heecheol texted me, and I ended up losing track of him.” That doesn’t feel right. “Actually, I thought I heard him…his voice, I heard him calling out, but he wasn’t there. That distracted me.”

“That’s understandable. But he texted you, too?”

Seungmin is relieved he doesn’t have to explain the intricacies of his mind to you. “Yeah, he’s here in Seoul. I sent your mother to the same hotel he’s staying at. But I also visited him, and that’s where I was when you told me she was here.”

“Oh, how is he?”

“Uh, he kissed me.” His chest hurts from how erratic his breathing has become. He wasn’t expecting to just come out with it.

You keep quiet for a moment while you think. You admit this isn’t the biggest shock, but Seungmin’s uneasiness means there’s more to it.

“He asked me to visit, so I figured I’d stop before heading home, since it was on the way…”

“And you kissed him back?”

All he can manage is a nod while he nuzzles his face against Haesung. Tiny fingers clench around a lock of hair and tug, and Seungmin smiles despite the sick feeling in his stomach.

“Did you,” you stop and give yourself another moment. “H-how do you feel about it now?”

“Strange. I don’t know why I did it.”

He stares at you, waiting for something…anything. Are you angry? Maybe you should be, but you don’t feel anything boiling to the surface, or ripping at the seams right now. There’s a knot in your stomach bouncing around, giving you that weird homesick feeling you get when you think too much about the past, or the uncertain future.

His eyes move from Haesung to you. Seungmin usually has no problem with eye contact, but tonight that’s not the case. Every time the intensity gets to be too much for him, they find something else.

“What was going through your mind when it happened, before it happened?”

Most of it is just coming back to him. “I felt off when I got there, but I was already feeling that when I heard his voice in my head.”

“Off how?”

“Uhm, dizzy. Everything was loud, like how I feel when it gets really bad.”

You set a hand on him, move your fingers through his hair. “But you didn’t want to kill him, I assume.”

Seungmin still can’t wrap his head around how intense and uncomfortable everything was until the moment they made contact. “No. Everything calmed down when he kissed me.” Maybe he didn't have to mention that part. Seungmin looks at you when you don’t respond, and one Xanax later he finally goes to sleep.

*

A good first check-up has done wonders for some of your anxieties (now you have new ones), but you still find yourself glancing at both of them much more frequently as you get comfortable on the floor. It doesn’t last long. Your phone vibrates and you know who it is before checking.

So, are you two going to take me out for dinner?

She can’t be serious. Two preemies, barely settled at home, and she expects to be taken out to dinner. But you’re not surprised, because selfish comes naturally to your mother. Why didn’t your sister come along and entertain her? It may have been slightly more stressful, but it’s better than her being alone.

“We aren’t taking the babies out anywhere crowded yet, but I can order in and we can have dinner here in a few hours.”

hours?

“Seungmin just went to try and sleep. He’s been up all night.”

aren’t you supposed to be the one up all night?

Oh my god. "Don’t worry, mom, I was still up every 2.5 hours. I’ll send you a ride at 7. In the meantime, go outside and try some street food. It’s nice out today.”

You decide to ignore the next message, but nothing comes. They both stare up at you with sleepy eyes, and you watch as they get closer and closer to it. Now you sneak to the bedroom, quietly click the door open, and walk softly (and quickly) to the sketchpad in your drawer. Seungmin already seems to be out. He has to be, because there’s no hint of a scowl, no pinched eyebrows. But he definitely fell asleep anxious about his confession…as he should.

The second sketch you started last night feels better than the first, but not having him next to you for reference makes it difficult. You pull up your camera roll and open the album you made just for this—every angle of him you managed to capture in the last week; awake, sleeping, candid, and a few where he actually smiled sweetly for you. Looking at him like this makes him feel distant somehow, like you should be aching for him even though he in the next room. It almost makes you want to push away the bad creeping up inside of you and get into bed with him. Could that make things better? Would giving in and forgiving be easier?

After a solid two hours, your hand starts to cramp. Haesung starts to stir again, and this time he’s up fast and hungry. Seungmin will hear him, and you can’t have that yet. “Are you hungry, pup?” He doesn’t settle right away when you set him against your chest, but as soon as you get him into the right position, he knows he’s getting what he wants. “Maybe we can get you fed before your brother wakes up." But that’s unlikely, and you know it. Haneul will know his brother is up, so you might as well make a bottle now. Seungmin is awake, though, so your plans of working on the music box after they eat will have to wait. It will get fixed someday.

“Minnie?” The noise coming from the bedroom gets louder, and it’s odd. Haesung is back on his pillow while you check on him, and being put back down gets him crying again. “I’ll be ten seconds, sweetheart. I promise.” The look he gives you feels like understanding, but he only quiets for a moment. “Hana…” You keep your eyes on him as he looks around for you. “…dul…set…”

The doorknob clicks loudly despite your best efforts. “Net…daaasut…" The room is dark, as if it were already well passed sunset, but your eyes start to adjust and pick up the scene in front of you. “Yeo— Seungmin?”

The movement at the edge of the bed isn’t right. It feels off, and it’s not even because of the popping in your ears or the spots in your eyes. It’s the dark shape, much darker than the room around it; the shape of Seungmin still under the covers; both things existing in the same space. The shape isn’t him. Of course it isn’t him, you know that, because the thing at the edge of the bed is wrong. It doesn’t belong here. You can smell it. The feeling of dread you felt in the woods is here, in the house…in the bedroom, looming over him. The charm around your neck feels heavy as you sneak toward the light, but when your fingers touch it, the thing moves. “J-jeoli gayo.” Under your breath, because nothing else will come out.

Finally, the lamp is within reach, and when light fills the corner of the bedroom, it’s gone. There’s nothing except him—the steady breaths of Seungmin beneath the covers, and Daengmo peeking up from your side of the bed. You’re just tired. Even after your nap, you’re sleep deprived and anxious about the babies…

“Oh…boys.”

Both cry in unison right as you think it, and the shape is almost forgotten as you run back to them. The first thing you see is them tucked safely in their spots, both red in the face. The second thing you see is it…again. No, it’s them. Yours, white and soft with painfully blue eyes, and his, the inverted version—as black as the shape, but this isn’t what you saw a moment ago.

You kneel in front of the boys, set your hands on them, but your attention doesn’t leave the dogs. “What do you want?” It comes out like a whisper caught in your chest. As soon as one baby begins to settle, the white one stands on all fours and stretches like a cat before disappearing into the nursery. The other one doesn’t move yet. He’s staring you down with eyes like the ones you wake up to every morning, and as Haneul finally quiets, the dog looks to its left, then its right, and he bounces away. “It’s okay, boys, umma is here, and daddy will be up soon. Everything is okay.”

“Daddy is awake.”

When you look back, he’s mid-yawn and mid-stretch, and a tired smile is plastered across his face. “You barely slept.” And whatever was in there with him couldn’t have helped. He had to have felt something.

“I feel good, though. It was a good sleep.”

“Was it?” You have to tell him what you saw. “No bad dreams?”

He shakes his head and joins you on the floor. “No bad dreams, not that I remember.”

Maybe later would be better. It’s not the most ideal thing to be dwelling on over dinner, so for now you focus on remembering every detail for when the time does come. “Are you hungry?”

***

Even when he dresses up, it’s still casual—his closet is full of the most basic pieces, yet somehow, whatever he throws together looks like it was styled by a professional. He’s always effortlessly cool, and it’s not surprising how easily he seems to pick up the men and women he goes for. Tonight is no different, except that he looks…cute. When he walks out of the bedroom, he laughs at the look on your face.

The black denim shorts hit just above his knee, just tight enough around his slender thighs; socks pulled up tight; an overpriced white t-shirt under a short sleeve button-up. There’s a little embroidered bear on the chest pocket, and Seungmin runs his hand over it and makes sure you see. He has his black rim glasses on tonight to pull it all together.

You jump up and flatten the front of your outfit. “It’s just dinner, you didn’t have to go crazy.” The green linen dress you bought in December, the one that looked like the dress you lost along with the rest of your belongings, is just as casual. The most important part is that it still fits you the same way it did when you tried it on, so you’re back to your old self, physically. “That bear looks familiar.”

“I put the same one on the overalls they don’t fit into yet.”

“Oh, no bear for me?”

Seungmin doesn’t always catch your sarcasm. “There were only three, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, as long as you guys match.”

“What’s for dinner? And are we prepared for her?”

You tidied up and set the table, yes, but mentally preparing yourself is pointless. The amount of effort you put into yourself, the apartment, and the babies will not matter, but you try anyway. “I put rice on, and there’s plenty of banchan left. I was going to order bulgogi since she didn’t give us much time. That might be tame enough for her.”

“Order it now, and we can pretend we cooked everything. I’ll go pick her up, and I’ll take my time.”

Seungmin doesn’t have to take his time, because the traffic does all the work for him. The food will be delivered and ready to serve while he sits at this red light, he thinks. This is why he only drives when it’s truly necessary, and he guesses this is one of those times—whatever keeps your mother happy and off your back is worth the extra annoyance to him.

“You can tell her I’m here.” He's not keen on the idea of her having his phone number. And now is the perfect opportunity to close his eyes...

“Seungmin?”

It doesn’t get through to him the first time. He’s reclined in his seat, music playing softly.

“Mo!”

“Fuck, what? Oh…”

“Sorry buddy, didn’t realize you actually fell asleep. I don’t think you can park here long, though.” Heecheol leans in a little, hands gripping the car door. “I can show you where the parking lot is.”

He’s still not completely with it until he sits up and grabs the steering wheel. “No, no I’m not staying. I’m just picking Tokki’s mother up. She’s staying here, since we don’t have the extra room anymore.”

“Oh. Gotcha. I thought maybe I was getting a visitor. I wasn’t sure if you got my message yesterday.”

Blood rushes to his face, through his ears. Heecheol says something else, but he misses it completely. He wasn’t sure if he got the text? “Cheoli, I was here yesterday. In your room. Don’t you remember?” Another night of drinking too much, perhaps. Maybe Heecheol was drunk yesterday, but Seungmin would have tasted it on him. He looks at the brace on his wrist, and wonders if he’s on a particularly strong pain medication, or maybe he was just high from swiping pills from work. No, what the fuck am I thinking?

“Mo, I think I would remember you visiting me.”

So he doesn’t remember the kiss. Heecheol doesn’t remember him almost fainting on his room, pushing him away after they shoved their tongues down each other’s throats like they’ve been waiting years to do it. Meanwhile, Seungmin can’t get the feeling out of his mind. Now what. “I must have had a very strange, vivid dream them.” He opens the glove compartment and pulls out the pack of cigarettes stashed there, and he goes as far as striking a match before realizing what he’s doing. He shakes the flame away and throws the pack back where he got it. A cigarette is what he needs right now, and what he can’t have.

“Yeah, I guess so. And her mom is here?”

“She surprised us with a visit yesterday. And I see her coming right now.”

“Oh yeah, I can see the resemblance. I’ll leave you to it, and maybe I’ll see you soon. Cute shirt.”

Heecheol tugs at Seungmin’s collar before he walks off, and now he’s left alone while your mother approaches. Her scowl actually makes him nervous, but you told him she looks like that all the time…and he can’t remember what you called it. You said you do it, too, but Seungmin doesn’t think he’s seen a look like this on your face, not since the first time he told you to leave his apartment and never come back.

The door unlocks, and she jumps in without a word. He thinks that’s less remembering what he looks like, and more you telling her what kind of car to look for. Mom isn’t nearly as charmed by his looks as you are.

“Hello.” Seungmin adjusts his glasses and smiles as sweetly as he can. She may not find him irresistible, but he’ll be damned if she doesn’t think he’s cute. “I hope the hotel was comfortable.”

“It was alright. Better than the one by the airport. Who was the boy at your car a moment ago?” She looks around, expecting to find some clue as to why he was leaning in through the window.

“Oh, he’s a good friend of mine. He is also staying at this hotel while he’s in Seoul.”

“Is he coming to dinner?”

You might not appreciate a surprise guest. You definitely won’t appreciate a surprise guest if it’s Heecheol. Seungmin stifles a laugh as he thinks about it; your unbearable mother, and the guy he stupidly kissed behind your back. “No, not tonight. Just the three of us. Five of us.”

“It smells good in here.” He kicks off his shoes and waits for her to follow, which she eventually catches onto and does. “Do you want some tea, or coffee? Maybe something cold.” He decides to remain helpful, overly sweet, and charming no matter what she throws at him, if she does start throwing.

“Coffee is good.”

The three of you are not here to greet them, surprisingly. Even after pouring a mug and fixing it how your mother requests, you don’t emerge from the bedroom, and you don’t make a sound. He excuses himself. “She might be in the middle of feeding them. I’ll check.”

You are—cross legged in bed with one single lamp illuminating the dark room. Haesung is in your arms, and a mostly empty bottle sits next to Haneul.

“Hey, need some help?”

You shake your head. If your hair wasn’t pulled back, the ends would tickle Haesung’s pink cheeks. Seungmin can make out his shiny eyes staring up at you as he eats, and it’s a relief to see him so content after this morning. He can’t see you, though. You’re hunched over, head down and face hidden.

“Everything okay?” He barely hears your mhm as he approaches. Seungmin is stupidly mesmerized by your exposed skin—the curve of your shoulder and neck…your chest. When you finally look to him, he sees your wet cheeks, and your red eyes. “Oh, what’s wrong? Are you…are you alright?”

All you give him is a shaky nod, and his stomach turns when he kneels to grab your free hand. He can see how puffy your face is, and that you’ve been crying for a while. There’s a wet spot on Haesung’s blanket where you let your tears fall. “Did your mom say something?”

“No, it’s not her.”

It hits him, and for a moment, he wonders why you didn’t feel this way a few hours ago. Why didn’t you give him the response he deserved? You seemed almost dismissive of it, but the feeling has had time to sit—in your head, in your stomach, your heart. “Oh. I fucked up. I’m so sorry.” Your silence, a single sniffle and a wipe of your cheek confirms it. “I really fucked up.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“If we hadn’t met, and you found him, would he be as special to you?” Haesung unlatches when he senses his father, and he does his best to turn toward him. You adjust and cover yourself, and Seungmin notices how quickly you hide from him. “Like us?”

“Heecheol doesn’t know me the way you do. He likes what he sees on the surface, and the memories we have.” Lying to you isn’t going to help, so he just says exactly what comes to him. “I guess it’s possible. If we didn’t meet, I don’t know where I would be right now…but if you had left, I think I would have killed myself.”

You believe him, but being a reason for him to keep going while his mind wages war against him is a strange feeling. One of the reasons. He has two more, and one is comfortable in his arms right now. “Seungmin, please don’t fall in love with someone else.”

***

Your mother stares, tries to figure you out. She thinks she can, but you’re not the person you were before you left home a year ago. You’re not even the person you were the day after that night in December. Nothing has changed you quite like your babies have, but Seungmin comes very close.

Haesung is in her arms, calm for the moment, but his eventual fussing finally moves her attention away from you. “When you were a baby, you screamed constantly until you were three or four months old.” She brings him closer and runs a thumb across his brow. “Colic.”

“So did—“ you stop yourself. You refuse to help her start an argument. As far as your mother is concerned, you were the difficult child. “They’ve both been okay so far. They sleep well.”

Seungmin interjects. He senses your uncomfortable shift all the way in the kitchen. “Haemuljeon?”

“Yes, please.” It’s the first you’ve eaten since this morning, and shoving several pieces in your mouth is temping, but you wait.

“What is it?” She pokes at one with her fork before scooping it up and inspecting. “Oh, shrimp?”

“Seafood pancake, shrimp and green onions. I left the squid out.”

To your surprise, three little pancakes quickly disappear, and Seungmin is obviously pleased with himself. He spent a whole twenty minutes throwing them together.

The fourth one is held up and examined again, “These are very good.”

“Thank you.”

“You made these?”

He nods and puts on his cutest smile again. “I did. They don’t take much time.” But it falls when he sees the look she gives you—a mix of annoyance and impatience, he thinks. Seungmin still remembers that look very well, and he knows how it feels to be on the receiving end. “Uhm…”

“Your husband cooks for you?”

This may be the most uncomfortable silence the apartment has ever experienced, and that includes the murder. Both of them. Sometimes Seungmin forgets about the first one you witnessed—it feels like so long ago now. He knew you were the one after that night.

He remains silent a few moments longer. Your mother needs to hear you stand up for yourself.

“We don’t think much about who does what. And he was raised well…he knows how to take care of himself, and us. And I know how to care for them. So, yes.”

The look on her face is satisfying, but visions of her bloodshot eyes and blue lips take over his mind and he can’t push them away. Her throat crumpling under his grip. Begging for mercy, gasping for air, pleading forgiveness for how she treated you. No, he has to push it away. Seungmin can’t kill your mother—can he? No, not a very smart idea. For now, it lives in his head. “Tokki made everything else.”

Not a complete lie. You made the rice, and you made three different banchan…just not today.

“Tokki?”

He turns away to laugh at her harsh pronunciation, grabs the rice and sides, and nods as he sets everything down. “Tokki…” he repeats, soft and slow. “It means rabbit.”

“Cute.” She doesn’t seem amused, though. “Rabbit.”

Seungmin wants to take the baby from her, but doing it gracefully, and like he isn’t irritated by everything about her right now, is difficult. Luckily, Haesung starts to get upset and pulls away, as if he can sense his father’s need for him. It works perfectly. Your mother hands him off without a second thought, and Seungmin gets the cuddle that he wants.

“Does…Tokki…know your friend from the hotel?”

“Huh? Oh…yes.”

Heecheol? You can’t lift your eyes to look at him, but you can feel his on you. He was visiting Heecheol again. Seungmin left for thirty minutes and found time to visit him, and in front of your mother, no less.

You stand and keep your cheek pressed against Haneul as you head for the bedroom, and nobody says a word as you do.

“Sore spot?” She took a chance mentioning Heecheol. It could have gone either way, and it paid off in her favor. You were right. Even though the meeting was brief and accidental, you don’t know that, and Seungmin has to hope that you’ll trust and believe him when he goes in there to talk to you again. But he doesn’t go right away. “No, no we’re all friends.”

No more comments, she just gives him a nod.

“But maybe,” he holds Haesung up and looks him over, “you’re due for a change. We should check before we have dinner.” It’s a valid reason to disappear for a moment. “I’ll be right back.”

***

The room is still dark, but the curtain is pulled back enough to let the light from the setting sun spill across the floor. He’s nervous. In all of your time together, the only tense moment between the two of you was the morning you cut his hair, the nightmare you had about him…the day he found out about the pregnancy test. That was a silly thing to fight over, if you could even call it that. Seungmin knows this is different. He understands you’re feeling left out right now—betrayed, maybe. It seems like a strong word, but if you knew how deeply he kissed him, you’d be even angrier.

Haneul is cuddled up next to you. There’s enough light to see his tiny hands reach toward your face and successfully grab at strands of your hair. “Can I come in?”

“It’s your bedroom.”

He doesn’t correct you. It hasn’t been his bedroom in a long time, and he doesn’t want to be pushed back to a time when it was his…alone. “I know you don’t want to be out there with her, and maybe not with me either. I can entertain her if you’d rather have your dinner in here.”

“No. I’m not going to make you sit out there with her by yourself. That’s not fair.”

He’s relieved when you sit and look at him, and even more relieved to see your face dry. No tears this time. “He saw me sitting in the car waiting. I didn’t go looking for him. We talked for two minutes.” No, maybe this time it’s anger.

“She’s probably listening to us right now. I’m just making this easier for her.”

“Then she can hear me tell you how much I love you, and nothing she can do or say is going to change that.”

His phone buzzing in his pocket is deafening—one text, and then another. And a third. Heecheol has impeccable timing.

“What did he say?”

Seungmin pulls out his phone and reads. “Hope your dinner is going well. In-laws can be pretty scary…I’ve heard, at least. No personal experience. I hope her umma is as kind as yours was.”

You scoff.

“I was trying to remember everything I did yesterday, and I definitely didn’t see you. I hope your head is in a good place. Are you keeping up with your meds?” And the last one; “sorry, I’m already a few drinks in, and I hate drinking alone. I hope I can see you all sometime soon. Especially the twins.”

“He doesn’t remember yesterday?”

“No. I mentioned it when I saw him, and he didn’t know what I was talking about.”

Heecheol not remembering means nothing to you. “But you remember. It happened, right?”

Did it? Would it be unusual if the memory was entirely false? It’s not a thought he’s going humor. The last thing he should be doing right now is trivializing what ultimately comes down to cheating. However small it seems in the grand scheme of things, it’s as big as anything in your mind. “Yes. Even if I dreamed it, what I feel is very real, and I feel awful. I’ll do anything I can to fix things.”

You decide to leave it at that, mostly because you have no idea what to say. Forgiving and forgetting the whole thing would be easy, because you do believe his remorse is real, but you still think some part of him enjoyed the kiss. If he falls into that trap again, how could you forgive him? It might make him the charming, heartless killer you assumed he was before he convinced you otherwise. “Let’s try to get through dinner.”

***

It could have been worse. Your mother ate with almost no complaints, though she made sure to question whether you actually made dinner.

“You were always clumsy in the kitchen.”

You never let me cook with you, you thought. Seungmin lets me cook with him. He speaks to me like his mother probably spoke to him—patiently, sweetly. Defeat was working its way in all day, and you’re not surprised that it won. You took everything quietly. No disagreement, no back-talk, no arguing.

"You quit your job? One income household must be nice. I assume you have a job?" Seungmin wasn’t prepared for it. He was not prepared for her to question you as a house wife, but also question not supplying an income in the same breath...he’s settling uncomfortably into the realization of what you had to fight back against growing up. Nothing you did was good enough. Everything you did was (and still is) wrong. Watching you hunched over at the table made him think of his mother, who did her best raising him, and as far as he’s concerned, did a great job despite the obstacles she faced. Maybe she too sat at the kitchen table just like this after Seungmin went to bed; scared, heartbroken, helpless. Putting that smile on for you the next morning was only possible after a long night of sorrow.

You don’t even have him to turn to for comfort right now, or you don’t want him. All you have right now are the boys, and you’re watching the clock tick down to feeding time.

“You could always move back home, bring your husband and kids…”

“What?” Seungmin sits up and looks to you, but you’re still staring at your half empty plate of food, completely checked out, and he doesn’t blame you. “Uhm, I don’t think so. But…my mother grew up in the US, well, she lived there for six years when she was a kid.”

That grabs her attention more than anything else has. “She did? Why didn’t she stay?”

“She missed home. But it was a good time in her life, I know that. She spoke English well enough to teach me when I was little.” He hates these moments where they seem to be getting on like good friends, but he’s just trying to get you through the night. “Which was very lucky when I met you.” Finally, you look up at him, but he can sense your mother look somewhere else. She turns away, takes a drink—anything to get through the moments where Seungmin lays out his affection. Your mother doesn’t even want him loving you.

You say nothing in return, and at last, the alarm goes off.

He hopes when he returns, you’ll be better. If not, he needs to fix what he did. Seungmin has never had to do this, so he’s in the dark, and who can he turn to for advice? It can’t be Heecheol, not this time. He needs his mother…he needs— “Oh.”

It’s late, and his aunts will certainly be sleeping, but he pulls up her info and calls anyway. When he left five years ago, he told himself he wouldn’t burden his family anymore, but he’s been sending cards and checks to his aunts for four of those years. Phone calls are rare, and visits even moreso, mostly because he's still afraid his mask will come off without realizing, and they'll see the monster he turned into.

It rings a few times, and just when he expects the answering machine to chime in, he hears the sound of a landline receiver click.

“Yeoboseyo?” She sounds sleepy, and a little stern. Probably wondering who the hell would call her after 10pm.

“Gomo annyeonghaseyo!”

“Eh? Puppy?”

“Yes it’s me, I’m sorry for bothering you so late. I hope you weren’t asleep.”

Her laugh takes Seungmin back ten years. “No, I’m still a night owl unless I take something. Is everything alright? Haven’t heard from you in some time.”

“Everything is alright. I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch.”

“Don’t apologize! You have your own life to live, and we have your cards to let us know you’re still out there. But…you sound like you need something. That's a nice change.”

It’s no surprise that Eun-ji can hear something in his voice, both of his aunts could read him like a book unless he worked hard to hide it. “Just some advice.”

“My favorite thing to give! Ask away.”

“How many times can I apologize before she gets tired of hearing it? Does it even help?”

“Oh no, a fight?”

“I’m not sure I would call it that, but…”

“And a girlfriend. You’ve never mentioned having a girlfriend in any of your letters. Is this new?”

Are you still new? Maybe this would still feel new to most people. “Uhm…eight months.” Maybe Eun-ji will give him more insight. Despite never marrying, both of his aunts have had plenty of experience with relationships, and they never shied away from talking to him about it. They didn’t shelter him—Seungmin sheltered himself, until he didn’t. “Sort of, but it doesn’t feel new.”

“Do you know what made her so upset, was it something you said, or did?”

“It was something I did, but there may be some other things out of my control adding to it.”

“You don’t have to explain what you may have done, but give her some space, at least for tonight. Oh, do you two live together?”

“We do. And we got married last month.”

“Married! Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Married? Who?”

Seungmin hears another voice in the background getting closer.

“Who are you talking to at this hour?”

“It’s Minnie, Woo…say hi.”

“Seungmin, you got married and didn’t tell us?"

He’s feeling awful all over again. The distance he put between him and his remaining family was for their own safety, of course, and what little sanity he could hold onto. Mentioning you and the babies didn’t cross his mind, because you and the babies fill his mind completely. “I did, I’m sorry I didn’t call, or write.”

"We have missed your letters. You’re such a lovely and thoughtful writer."

“I will write, and I’ll visit.”

Eun-ji returns to the phone, “give her space, but stay close. Make sure she knows you’re there for her if she needs you, but no hovering.”

“Thank you, both of you. I should get back to the apartment.”

“Jal jayo, puppy.”

***

Just as he suspects, the apartment is silent. The table is cleared, the dishes are clean, and the only light is the one he put near the still flourishing moonflowers. A sick, empty feeling starts to rise in him—you didn’t wait up. Was he gone too long? The drive to the hotel was quick, and he didn’t linger; the drive back was even faster, and the conversation in the car only lasted…he checks his phone…six minutes.

The bedroom is dark and silent, too, but he can make out the lines of your body curled up beneath the thin blanket. Both cots are next to each other, pulled close. You fed them, cleaned up, and went right to bed.

Instead of stripping and climbing in with you like he so desperately wants, he grabs an extra blanket and decides the couch might be better tonight. But first he kisses each boy on the forehead. It’s necessary, but it’s also a chance to peek at your sleeping face. “Jal ja.”

***

The bedroom door is cracked, and he plans on listening for any hint of a cry all night. He’ll take his aunts advice and Seungmin will give you space, but if you both happen to each have a baby to sooth in the same room, well…he’s going to take that opportunity.

Puppy?

Seungmin leans back and takes a long drink of the beer he knows he shouldn’t be drinking. He’s stressed, and he’s tired. Of course he’s hearing things.

What’s bothering you, sweetheart?

The voice is there, but his meds make him question whether it’s there and real, or there and not real. She wasn’t there when he called for her before…so why now?

You’re hurting, I can feel it. I can’t stand to see you so sad.

“I’m going to be sad for a while, I’m sorry.”

Everything will be okay soon

“How do you know that? You can’t. I don’t know that.”

Silence.

"Why are you back now? Where were you before?" He tries to whisper. “That’s it…you’re gone? Umma?” But it comes out in choked stutter, and louder than he expects. Seungmin doesn’t want you to hear him talking to himself. “Umma?”

She’s gone.

The couch is cold and uncomfortable, but his pillow and blanket still smell like you. Daengmo does, too, because he almost always ends up clutched to your chest in the morning. It makes him wonder if there’s a small comfort of yours that was left behind—something soft that you clung to every night when you needed to forget the day. He feels a pang of guilt knowing you might wake up at some point and reach for him. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it, because he made himself tea and his brain is already starting to get fuzzy, and too tired to care about how much he doesn’t want to sleep here. The last thought that runs through him is a small hope for good dreams. Seungmin wants to dream, and he wants to dream about you.

*

he’s running. he hasn’t run like this since he was a kid running the bases. no…not since the incident with the bartender. the burn in his chest is unbearable and if he doesn’t stop to catch his breath, he’s going to collapse from the pain. a tiny bark in the distance is the only sound, and it’s not like he imagines his big black dog sounding. this is different. is this what daengmo sounds like? daengmo doesn’t bark, he thinks, daengmo is a telepath. and he can see his breath. why? it’s july…

“seungmo…”

he knows who that is. heecheol says it again in a teasy, sing-songy voice.

“mo, look at me…turn around”

“where are we, cheoli?”

“you don’t recognize this place?”

he doesn’t, and as he turns, what looks back at him is nothing…nobody. hecheol is not where his voice is.

“where did you go?”

“this is where we felt it for the first time" heecheol is laughing as he says it, as if he’s proud.

“yeah, I think I remember” how many memories of his are still shoved where he can't reach them? “where is that barking coming from?”

heecheol shrugs, “barking? you must be hearings things.

His eyes pop open to the dark living room. He hates it. Waking in the pitch dark alone can send him spiraling if he lets it, but this time he takes his deep breaths until his heartbeat begins to slow. Daengmo is clutched tight in the bend of his elbow, crushed under the weight of whatever he was dreaming about. Some of it sticks in his mind. “What a stupid fucking dream,” he sighs and fluffs his dog back to life. “Do you bark?”

It takes no time at all for him to drift back to sleep.

this time he’s home. not in uljin, but right here, in this apartment. it looks different, like maybe you finally redecorated (because you hate the couch, and the chopped up rug—you don’t like the minimalist style he went for and never changed)

“tokki?”

no answer. you have to be here, though. he heads for the bedroom, and it feels like he’ll never get to the door. every few steps, he resets, and he’s right back where he started.

“tokki!”

finally, he twists the doorknob. the bedroom is empty. the bed is neatly made, but a few of your drawers are partially open. no cots, no mess of nighttime feeding things on your bedside table. the only thing he sees is his silver medallion where your phone usually sits. he pulls open the drawer and finds it empty. the chest where you put all of your winter things is empty, too.

“what’s happening? where are you?” he says it to himself in a shaky voice. you wouldn’t leave and take his children without a word. would you?

This time, he can’t slow down his racing heart. Seungmin can barely catch his breath when he sits up, and as he does, Daengmo slips to the floor with a soft thud. A moment later he’s up on his trembling legs, headed for the bedroom. It was just a dream, you’ll be sound asleep when he opens the door, all three of you. You’re awake, and the sound of you humming to them makes it to his ears. Feeding them, talking to them, humming the same tune his music box used to play. The courage to open the door and go in is not in him, despite how relieved he feels after the dream. You didn’t pack up and leave him in the night—his brain did that, but Seungmin is just as afraid of losing you now as he was in December.

“Are you at least trying to keep the nightmares away?” Daengmo stares quietly until his soft neck gives out and his head falls to one side. “Can you try harder, please?” Seungmin’s eyes close, but open again immediately. “I didn’t mean that, I know you’re doing your best.”

The third attempt is dark and cold and wet.

he hasn’t dreamt about the shed in months, but he knew it would return eventually. the soil beneath his fingers is as real as it has ever been, and maybe it’s because he’s been away for so long—seungmin has been too comfortable and safe with you. the other hand clenches around something soft and damp. daengmo is clutched in his left hand, limp and dirty, two sad black eyes staring right at him.

"why are you here…you’re not supposed to be here"

the shk sound of the shovel hitting dirt makes his stomach turn. he’s next. as long as he’s finished off before being put in that hole.

"no…no, I don’t wanna die anymore” tears sting his eyes and roll down his cheeks “please don’t kill me”

he can’t move. the squeeze of his fingers and eyes, that’s it. he’s stuck, and every bit of energy he has left turns his head toward the sound

"tokki? help me, I can’t move." it’s only in his head. the only sound that leaves his mouth is a sigh

No, not again, he thinks, because he can’t move. There’s the smallest sensation of his finger twitching against the couch, but that might be his imagination. It definitely is. He thinks about moving his arm, but his brain can’t find where to send the signal, so he relaxes. Seungmin almost lets his eyes close, but the floor creaks. It’s not real. The sleep paralysis sounds are never real, and he knows that. It’s taken him years to train his mind to remember that.

what’s wrong…puppy?

Is that you? It sounds like you. No, it’s not real. But it’s never addressed him before.

I watched you yesterday. she saw me. she didn’t tell you, did she?

What did you see? Seungmin’s eyes are wide open and he sees nothing. Where is it? He can hear it, and now he can smell it—the smell of damp, rotten earth and a freshly lit cigarette burns his nose and throat. It’s not real.

I am very real

Something cold touches his bare shoulder and slowly moves toward his neck.

she hates you, do you feel it coming from her? how silly to think someone could ever love you

It’s right. Seungmin can feel it right now. The love you felt for him is slowly leaving you. Or maybe it was never truly there, because how could it be?

how silly to think you could love someone unconditionally, and that they could love you in return

Even if she hates me, I still love her. Seungmin thinks about you in there with his children, holding them close and singing, and he feels like he could cry. Unconditionally. He does. A tear slides across the bridge of his nose, and through blurry eyes, its bone white face comes into view.

The force of his body and mind waking simultaneously almost sends him to the floor, along with everything else. The blanket, Daengmo, his phone. The sun is starting to glow faintly in the window, and he hoped by morning he would feel better, but that’s not the case. Seungmin feels worse; empty, hopeless, stupid, broken, unlovable. He remembers everything It told him.

He stumbles into the bathroom and wonders if he should take his aunts advice and continue to give you space, because all he feels he can do is kneel in front of and beg for forgiveness again.

The reflection looking back at him, is that really what you love? Why? Seungmin runs his fingers through his hair and pulls. All the worst parts of him are showing, he can’t hide them and he never could, and you’re finally coming to your senses.

He drops to his knees and swings the cabinet door open, rifles through boxes of hair dye, extra toiletries and forgotten things thrown under here and out of the way. Finally, he finds what he’s looking for in the little black bag, and when he rips it out and plugs it in, he isn’t even sure it’s going to work. But it does, and the buzz of the clippers is louder than he expected. One more look at himself, and then he pulls at his bangs again, up and out of his face, and the clippers have little trouble going through. Again and again, over and over…erratically at first, but as he calms, the strokes become slow and careful. And he doesn’t know it, but the buzz wakes you from your deep sleep.

Seungmin doesn’t hear as you carefully make your way toward the sound, and if he would have closed the door, you might not have heard him at all.

The door creaks as you push it open, but he still hears nothing.

“Seungmin, what are you doing?”

He jumps and drops the clippers into the sink, sending the guard flying onto the floor, and finally quieting them.

“Seungmin…”

Why are you looking at him like that? Confused, disgusted, mad that he woke you… “I’m sorry.” The feeling rushing through him is familiar. It’s the itch, the one that makes him want to claw at his skin until there’s nothing left. The itch that It put into his brain, and in every nerve in his body. Seungmin looks at himself in the mirror, only for a moment, before bracing himself on the sink and sending his face straight into it.

The sound is unbelievable, and the crunch of glass is even worse the second time. All you see is red. It pours from the center of his forehead and onto every part of his pale face…it drips as he stumbles backward, and when he leans forward to keep from falling, you unstick yourself from your spot and put your arms around his neck. “Seungmin, look at me.” You reach for the hand towel and drape it over your shoulder, and he naturally falls into your embrace. Three small shards of glass stick to his wound, and he stares, bewildered as they’re carefully pulled away. “Why?”

He lets out of body shaking sob when your hands slide over his back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You sush him, run your fingers up his neck and into his much shorter hair. He feels as cold as the bathroom floor, and sitting here in nothing but shorts is not helping. “Why did you do that?”

Seungmin only groans and pushes his forehead against your shoulder. “I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't." It's a lie, but whatever gives him a small amount of comfort right now. "I'm gonna run you a bath, okay?"

There is no energy in him to tell you no. The throb in his head might be the worst physical pain he’s ever been in, but it’s somewhat soothed by the sight of you. Seungmin presses the towel against his wound and one sleepy eye watches as you kneel and turn the water on. Nothing would be better than crawling closer to touch the bare skin of your thighs, or the shoulder peeking out from the bed shirt you’ve worn down to almost nothing—the same shirt he gave you the night you came back with him. He won’t, though. Seungmin will keep his hands to himself until you invite him back in.

"Come over here."

His steps are still shaky and cautious, but your hand reaching back gives him more courage. You touch his leg, and goosebumps move all the way up to his neck…then your hands are on his hips, pulling gently at the waistband, sliding them down his thighs. Such a stupid moment to feel a jolt of pleasure in his dick. Not now. A drop of blood escapes and lands on your arm, and then another until you stand to face him.

“In.”

He listens and carefully steps into the water, and he’s relieved when you hold him steady on the way down. It’s not a good time to trust his coordination, considering the lightheadedness he’s keeping from you. But there’s an awful lot of blood on the sink, the floor, him…and now it’s in the water, bursting and spreading like rainclouds. He watches, transfixed, and he moves the towel in an attempt to make more. There’s a warm gush between his eyes, and then you’re back, pressing a clean white towel against it.

“Tilt your head back a little.”

“Are the boys okay?”

“They’re good…they’re asleep. I’m gonna clean this up and try to get a better look. It might sting.” The brand new first-aid kit came in handy. Ever since the garden shear incident, you decided to prepare in case something similar happened again. This wound doesn’t seem as deep, but there has to be pieces of glass still stuck in the two criss-cross gashes—one is at least two inches long, and the other isn’t much smaller. They’re jagged, very unlike the cut on his arm, and you know it needs stitched by a steady hand. “Close your eyes.”

The sting of the antiseptic brings a new pain. He lets himself cry out in release as the warmth of blood mixes with it, and a soft piece of gauze soaks it up. He thinks back to the shed, and the pounding, bleeding wound he woke up with on the back of his head. There must be a scar there, but he never looked for it. He might be able to see one now.

“I don’t see anymore glass. Nothing big enough to see, at least.”

“Feels like…” yours eyes meet, and he stops. He has no business complaining about the pain he caused himself. There may not be anymore glass, but it feels like there is. “Thank you.”

“That’s why I’m here.” Seungmin’s eyes close as you pour warm water over him, filling the tub with more blood, more clumps of his buzzed hair. “I’ll even this out in the morning.”

He wants to tell you cleaning up and taking care of his stupid, reckless behavior is not why you’re here, regardless of how you meant it. But he can’t get any words to come out. You could have left him feeling embarrassed and in pain on the floor…it would have been so easy just to go back to bed. But you’re here, another clean washcloth in hand, wiping away the blood on his lips and chin and down his neck. “Thank you,” he repeats, because he doesn’t think you want to hear another I’m sorry. “I love you.” It’s barely a whisper, and he knows you hear him, but you don’t say anything in return. He’s not very easy to love right now. “The first time we went to Uljin, I said...” Why is he even remembering this? “You asked about who took me in after umma died, and if they were good to me.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I was gonna say…I wasn’t easy to love. I don’t think I was a bad kid, I was just,“ Now you aren’t even looking at him, “I was sad all the time, always in a bad mood. I cried a lot, didn’t talk or leave my room for days at a time.”

“That didn’t make you hard to love, you were just hiding from it.”

He knows his aunts would agree, and he knows you’re probably right, but that’s not the case tonight. “I don’t wanna be hard for you to love.”

***

Morning comes while you finish cleaning and bandaging him, which you’re getting very good at, and he almost heads for the couch. Seungmin seems surprised when you stop him and take his hand in yours. He’s relieved, because all he can see by the couch is that white face staring down at him, the promise of more nightmares. None of that will mix well with the pain in his head.

“Go, I’ll get your things.”

The bedroom feels safe despite what his nightmare told him—I watched you sleep, and the sounds of the babies waking up distract him from everything going through his mind. It doesn’t matter right now. If the monster is here and watching him, there’s nothing he can do the fight back against it…is there? He never could before. Finding someone to kill…”it’s only been,” he picks up Haesung and holds him tight against his chest… “too long I guess. Not enough.” Killing has always been his only defense, and he hasn’t done it in weeks.

“Not enough what?” You return with Daengmo and a handful of painkillers.

The last attempt was a failure, at least so far, but the noises have yet to return. “Nothing, just…thinking. Maybe I’m overdue.”

“Overdue to…kill?”

Seungmin nods and switches babies. And as preoccupied as he is with them, he notices an unusual hesitancy in your reply. “No noise or voices, but it still feels close.”

“What feels close?”

“It does, the voice. Voices. But, something else, too.”

“Oh, right.”

“We don’t have to talk about it. I’m, uh…“ anything but sorry, stop saying that word. “I’m just tired.”

You crawl across the bed and adjust his pillows, add an extra one so his head stays elevated, but he doesn’t get in right away. Seungmin watches you return to your own spot first. “We should.”

“Talk?”

He’s relieved when you nod, and now it’s easier sliding in next to you, but his spot feels cold in more ways than one. You want to talk, though, and that’s good.

“Something is close.”

This isn’t how he expected things to start, but he’ll take it. The quiet of your voice sends a shiver over him, but it’s replaced by a more pleasant one when you run your palm over the mess he made of his hair. He felt like he was doing an okay job, but he quickly realized the state he was in did not allow for a steady hand. “What do you mean?” The monster’s words come back to him again. She saw me, she didn’t tell you.

“Yesterday, I thought I saw something at the foot of the bed while you were asleep. I heard something, thought you were awake, and I came in to check on you. But I think I was just seeing things because it was gone when I turned on the light.”

“What exactly did you see?”

“A shadow, a black figure…like a person covered in a cloak, I guess. Tall, hunched over. It felt weird.”

“Did you smell it.”

“Yeah.”

Seungmin can only assume it was the rot of the forest, and the decaying stench of the thing that haunts him. He doesn’t need to ask. That same sickening scent from his dream is still stuck in his nose.

“Did we bring it home with us, Min?”

***

Seungmin?

You already know you’re dreaming, but this is the most lucid you’ve been since you were pregnant.

Seungmin, you’re holding too tight

The grip on your waist is pushing the air from your lungs. A pinch doesn’t faze him, and neither does a squeeze of his forearm. You can feel the taut muscle move beneath his skin as he holds even tighter.

Minnie please

But you’re stuck in some half paralysis. Just like a dream, you’re moving through air twice as thick as it should be, and you feel like you’re drowning.

Seung—

Your eyes open, and the room is unbearably bright. The only thing squeezed around you is the sheet you tangled yourself into, but you are a little breathless from your dream. “Min? Are you…” He’s not here. It’s late, though, and you start to panic at the thought of sleeping through an alarm. But even if you did, sleeping through two crying babies would not be possible.

Both cots are back on your side, so Seungmin took the time to move them both close to you. And both are sleeping peacefully.

The kitchen and dining room are empty. The bathroom is empty, but you know he was in here, fixing his hair most likely, changing his bandage—the first-aid kit is still sitting on the sink.

“Where did you go, Seungmin?” A few more steps back toward the kitchen bring you some sort of answer—the folded note on the coffee bar would have gone unnoticed if you weren’t hoping to find something. Scribbled on the front is a cute attempt at a bunny, and on the inside is a single, messy line of Hangul..

이것도 고칠게요

TAGS: @kkamismom12/ @r0tt1n/ @heluvschibi / @feckinbecky / @missystay / @seungluvr / @babrieeee / @curiouscocoabean / @feelikecinderella / @carpioassists / @soulsbbg / @san-axa0 / @vixensss / @keiizzx / @xyliskz / @reignessance / @velvetmoonlght / @ghostedgameplays / @pochaccochacco / @lashaemorow / @eastjonowhere / @fackeraccount / @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna / @maddycline / @smilefordongil / @lolniall / @caughtinthemoment163

[flo-zoinks]

Plzplzplz i love ur headcannons sm!! Could u do some if they found a small cat wander into camp ??

Aw ty!!!!! (This is the first normal hc req I've had LMAO 💀)

HOW EACH RDR2 GANG MEMBER REACTS TO A CAT IN CAMP (MY OPINION)

Arthur - quite indifferent to it, probably jokes at least someone else'll be bringing in meat they hunt to camp, much to Dutch's distaste. He sketches it a couple times however

John - doesn't like cats too much, but grows a little close to it by them both sitting in silence in chapter 2 whilst John was still recovering

Javier - wants to keep the cat, often strokes kitty but isnt a huge cat fan, although perhaps he plays guitar whilst the cat listens. Calls it gordito

Pearson - rambles on sight that sailors and navy boys believe cats are good luck to anyone who hears as an excuse to bring up being in the navy. Offhandedly will feed it chunks that can't go into the main stew for whatever reason later on- (Arthur hates that)

Uncle - ignores the cat mostly but they are often found in the future lazing around together in camp. The people in camp say it's Uncle's protege

Bill - Worried on how Cain would interact with the kitty but if all goes well and they keep the cat he likes to keep the 2 animals together, insisting Cain could use some other friends

Hosea - Wants to keep the cat as long as its self reliant (eg hunts for itself), saying it'll boost a camp morale to have a pet. Reads the newspaper whilst it sits on the table together.

Dutch - immediately uses it as reason to have another speech praising cats for not following society's clutch and doing as they please with no care. Calls it Ruth (Ruthie by most)

Mary-Beth - falls in love with the cat, likes to write with them curled up on her lap and brushes it with a special hairbrush she (stole) got. Once also (stole) got a cute pendant and put it on the cat as a collar - though had to take it off knowing it would get stolen and put the kitty in danger

Tilly - also wants to keep it, and rants to the cat about Miss Grimshaw whilst the kitty listens. Probably a little protective of it and wants the cat to be a pet for the girls and keeps it away from select guys

Karen - "aw that's cute". Doesn't really care past that but perhaps makes a sarcastic comment to the cat every once in a while talking shit about someone

Grimshaw - at first didnt want an unhygienic animal here, but quickly grew to love it as a mini helper in removing vermin and mouse. Often is seen walking around camp with the kitty and tells camp members to take notes as it's a lot more clean then half the gang

Abigail - strokes the kitty and likes the cat, though is also quite indifferent to it. However shes one of the first to look for it if it goes missing for Jack's sake

Jack - ADORES THE CAT. Cried a little to Abigail saying he felt guilty for liking a cat which is a dogs enemy, therefore Cain's. But now often they play together and when he has naps the cat curls up close next to him

Trelawny - REALLY likes cats, surprisingly. Ensures Micah isn't near to the kitty and uses it as an assistant for his magic tricks. Says every wizard needs his cat. Probably when disappearing will reappear more often to check up on the cat

Strauss - a little avoiding to it at first thinking it's quite dirty, yet as he spends so much time in camp the cat grows to be his little helper whilst he does work, sitting in silence next to him. The only time Strauss ever shared his wealth was buying the cat a little bed next to his desk, partly to avoid it from sitting on his papers again.

Sean - quite superstitious on cats, so if it came around Christmas time hes very happy to see the cat. Believes it's good luck, but watches it closely in case it let's a mouse escape or purrs with it's back to the fire. Teaches all this to Jack, and likes to pat the cat periodically.

Lenny - doesn't care much for the cat, but if everyone else likes it then he supposes it's a good thing to have in camp. Worries to Hosea on having a cat whilst they move often the cat would struggle to adapt, but Hosea says not to worry as the cat is a lot smarter then half of camp, (he names Bill), and they manage.

Molly - also incredibly superstitious about cats, and at first doesn't want them to keep it saying its unhygienic. After time shes seen with the cat on her lap as she complains about her life to it brushing the kitty. However she says it's only to stop it being messy on her things. Insists it's a she and calls her Princess

Sadie - could not care less about the cat, probably ignores it if it comes close without realising

Charles - likes cats, pats the kitty often and gives it spare food he has. However he can't stand how the cat plays with live food, and had to put some animals out of its misery when the cat got bored with them, much to his disdain

Kieran - doesn't say anything but REALLY wants them to keep it. At first he's a little nervous around the cat but instantly warms up to it soon after and tries to spend all his time with the cat. Tries to get the cat and horses to bond

Micah - "Do we NEED another mangy lazy animal we've already got Swanson" really doesn't want a cat in camp, probably kicked it once without realising but didn't care much. Calls them weak animals for being always 'sneaky' rather than fighting everything head on on

Thanks for asking me!!!❤ what do you think?? HAVE A NICE DAY I LOVED THIS ASK XX

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

My friends we are finally here! In just a little while I’m posting the last chapter of the Firefighter AU!!

I have a lot of people to thank, so I figured I would put it all into a post before the chapter so that you guys can get right to the meat of it.

I don’t know what to say besides thank you. To the twelve thousand people who have read it, to the hundreds of comments and kudos, to the kind tags and asks here on Tumblr, thank you thank you thank you. The love being poured into me for my writing has sustained me over these ten months of writing.

This piece isn’t perfect. It very much resembles a first draft, and I might come back in the future and tweak some things, but all in all, I am so satisfied with this piece. I truly think this is my best writing.

I’ll be moving on to more Redacted fic, finishing other pieces that have been put to the wayside in favor of this one, and working on some original stuff now that I’m done. Expect at least some more one shots in this universe if not full pieces!

Lastly, I want to give some shoutouts to those who have helped me along the way with this piece. I truly wouldn’t have been able to write this without the community that rose up around me.

Thank you to my fiancé, whose love of schlocky romance novels is what inspired a piece about burly firefighters. He knows about my obsession with Redacted and, when he sees me listening he often goes “oh, you’re listening to your other boyfriends?” While he’s not into this world, he’s listened to me ramble about this piece and my plans for so long that he might as well be. Thank you, honey. Without you, I wouldn’t know how to write about love.

Thank you to Crab Anon, my mysterious analyzer who deepened and complexified how even I thought about these characters. You made me consider things in so much more detail than I intended to when I started what was meant to be a 10 chapter, 20k word fanfiction. Thank you for your constant presence and support. If you ever feel like revealing yourself (although I have a pretty good idea of who you are ;D) please send me a message. I’d love to thank you personally!

Thank you to @moonvalley94 and @nillabeanwrites for reaching out and starting some wonderful friendships over my silly fanfiction. You two have shown me the depth of community and how much talking with those passionate about art can make it that much more meaningful. Please know so many details about this piece are they way they are because of you two.

Thank you to @angelcakeeee who made so much of the details in this fic real and tangible. Your experience as a first responder helped to deepen this world and make it tangible. Beyond that, you’ve folded me into your friends, given me creative room to breathe, and made me feel so much more confident about the realism of my writing. Thank you, my friend!

And finally, the biggest thank you of all to @romirola. My friend, I don’t know what to say. You knew about this fic before anybody else and you nurtured the idea for a short and sweet piece into what is essentially a full length novel. In the almost year that you and I have talked every single day, I have grown as a writer and a person. When I believed that I wasn’t capable of something like this, you pushed back. You believed I could do it more than I did until I met you there in that belief. Thank you. I am the writer I am because of you. Steel sharpens steel, my friend, and we are very sharp indeed!

Thank you again to everyone who has read, liked, kudos’d, commented, and asked. Please know that I’ve read all of your messages, and if I haven’t responded yet, I will in the coming days. I hope you’ve had as much fun with this story as I have, and that this last chapter ties everything up for you. I love you all!

[justkending]

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt (Chapter 3/7)

Mini-Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader

Word Count: 2100+

A/N Note: I was typing away for the next chapter to come, so chapter 4 will be posted tomorrow (it will also be longer too)! Thank you again for all the support and love you've shown me for this series :) Love all you guys!

_________________

Bucky’s POV:

Why’d I think she’d be able to handle an adult conversation as soon as I started getting serious? When will I fucking learn?

I waited until Y/N shut her door before I went back out to the living room. She drove me insane, but I decided to keep up the habit of staying up late for her. 

During one of her drunken nights at one of Tony’s galas, she had revealed that she preferred sleeping when someone else was awake. In exposing her reason why, it made me sympathize with her trauma. 

“It’s like having a night watch. If someone else is aware, I can put my guard down. Not that that even happens often enough, but I'm sure you get it,” Y/N drunkenly swayed the skirt of her silk dress from left to right as she watched the people on the dancefloor.

I knew the feeling of never being able to fully settle into sleep or relaxation because you’d seen all the horrors in the world. We knew what lurked out there and the consequences of someone getting the jump on you.

So, from the first night here, I would stay up in the living room until midnight, sometimes later. Like clockwork, soon after 11 pm, she’d startle awake from a nightmare. I could hear her breathing and heart rate thanks to my enhancements, and I may or may not have channeled them into her room, given the nightmares she’d had in the past. 

So far, there were none so bad to the point I had to go in and check on her, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tuned in to her room and checking every night in case the tides turned. 

Even on the nights she frustrated me like tonight and made me reconsider why I was about to talk to her about… this. This chemistry that was starting to feel closer to real than fake. A feeling I can’t seem to shake, and now I’m wondering if I’m imagining it. Especially when she can’t seem to turn off her annoyance for me even when I think we finally have met in the middle to some extent.

Then again, I lead on that I don’t understand her when it’s quite the opposite. Her story is not far from most of the people who are recruited into our team. A form of a hostage situation where her choices were taken, and she was conditioned to serve some sadistic asshole until she was freed by her own doing. At least her own variation of that… Anyone coming from that kind of situation tends to bond easily over the trauma. 

Not Y/N though…

I never start by being rude to someone. I mean, I’ve been told I’m intimidating and can come off as a terrifying giant assassin, but people in the same field who have seen far worse don’t tend to take that personally, considering almost everyone I work with knows my backstory and the reason behind my resting-assassin-face. 

But Y/N, for some reason, was very standoffish with me from the get-go. For the first few months of us knowing each other, she ignored me, left the room when I came in, found an excuse for another partner on missions, and a list of other things that quickly made me believe she wanted nothing to do with me. 

I may have reciprocated her behavior here and there, growing her annoyance with me even though I didn’t know where the annoyance had begun. I couldn’t help it, given the nasty looks and pure irritation that steamed off her when she looked my way.

I think the sentiment behind her feelings towards me still stands. But then her comment tonight, “I don’t hate you,” got to me.

I threw the laptop I had tried to use to distract myself again to the side. The TV was on, but all I heard was the patterned thumping in my chest starting to grow. 

“No. I want to know fucking why,” I grumbled, standing up abruptly and stomping down the hall to the master bedroom.

The door was shut, and from how she looked, she may have already tucked into bed for the night, but oh well. We were going to talk this out. I couldn’t go another day trying to decipher these feelings and confusions. 

I heard a “Jesus!” from the other side after my metal arm rapped three strong knocks in the center of the light sage-colored door. I banged again when I didn’t hear movement to follow up with it. 

“Calm down, Paul Bunyan! No need to chop the damn door down. I was seconds from sleep,” she groaned before the door flung open, and she squinted up at me with the hall light bringing brightness to her near pitch-dark room. “What? What is it?” Before I could start my sentence, she tensed and looked around me vigilantly. “Shit. Did something happen?” 

I shook my head quickly and instantly saw her shoulders go back and the grogginess return. 

“I want to talk.” 

She screwed her eyebrows up at me. “Dude. Seriously?” 

“Seriously, dude,” I replied sarcastically, pushing past her into her room, turning on the light, and hearing a protest I was too annoyed to listen to.

“It can’t wait until fucking morning when my brain isn’t at 2%?” She crossed her arms, watching me from the doorway. 

“Be real. Your brain doesn’t go below 75% even when you’re sleeping,” I answered, knowing the reality of never being able to shut off fully. Being constantly aware and on the edge of your seat, ready to pounce. 

She eyed me since it wasn’t necessarily a diss, and I could see her debating whether or not it was a compliment. 

“What do you-” 

“You say you don’t hate me, but it sure as fuck doesn’t feel like it. From day one, it has felt the very opposite of that,” I cut her off with a harsh laugh at the end, getting right to the chase. 

I’m standing at the end of her bed, arms crossed, and keeping an intense stare on her. Her stance straightens, and she shuffles her weight on her feet, arms mimicking mine. 

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” she said in a guarded tone. “What changed?” 

“I can’t go on with this if I don’t know,” I answered honestly, motioning between us. 

“I argue you have to go on with this either way.” She popped a hip, leaning against the threshold of the door frame. 

“Y/N,” I level my eyes at her, and I can see her take in the seriousness in my features. “Just tell me why.” 

She looks at me with a tilt of her head as if considering her options in how she wants to approach this conversation. 

“We just don’t- mesh well…” she says slowly as if trying to sell it, but even she knew she was lying out of her ass. 

“Bullshit. Try again,” I shook my head once and kept my eyes trained on her. 

“Bullshit? You wanted to know-”

“I wanted to know the truth. You’re selling bullshit, and not very well, might I add. Be honest. Now.” 

She huffed a laugh before blinking at me. 

“We’re the same ranking if you’ve forgotten. Therefore, I won’t be taking commands from you, especially with that tone. But since you’re so hellbent on knowing my reasoning, maybe consider how you talk to me.” She took three slow steps closer to me as she spoke. “So ask me again without being a military servant, and maybe I’ll consider staying civil with you.” 

She is one of a very select few kinds of people actually able to intimidate me. Her story was one to compete against mine. Though not many knew all the details since she was adamant about people being in the dark about it, we all knew what she was capable of. Her enhancements, although similar to mine, were not nearly as strong in most aspects. However, that didn’t deter her from being able to take a man quadruple my size down and keep them there.

I knew enough about her brain to know that it was one of the sharpest ones I had come across in my time. Everyone on the team had enough experience in this life to be able to manipulate a lot of situations, but Y/N was the queen of manipulating a situation to work out better for her and her team. It was like she was five steps ahead constantly, and it could be fierce at times- not going to lie. A strategy someone in our field would think they had down until they saw her ridiculous efficiency at work. Hence, why she was her own kind of weapon for our team.

I give a single nod in acknowledgment, knowing my intensity would be matched and not work in my favor. 

“You say you don’t hate me, and after these few weeks, I’m starting to believe you somewhat. However, our history keeps me from following that hope,” I answer. 

She seems to take something from my confession and lock it in her mind for later use. 

“Our history is complicated,” she replies, looking me up and down subtly and then moving to the side of the bed where the sheets were disturbed. 

I now notice the detail that only one side of the bed was disrupted while the other stayed perfectly made. My own detail to lock away for later. 

“But why? Who said it had to start like that?” My hands go up. She gives me a look like I should know the answer to that and I raise my eyebrows. “You think I’m to blame for our bickering and aimless fights?”

She scoffs, “I wouldn’t say aimless. There are definitely targets to be hit.” 

“Cut the shit.” 

“No shit to cut,” she counters quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed with one leg under her and shrugging. 

“I’m trying to have an adult conversation, and you’re acting like an angsty teenager.” I deadpan, attempting to keep the twitch in my eye at bay.

“And you’re acting like a crotchety old man who demands my respect,” she shouts back. “Ever think maybe that could be the reasoning behind our never-ending feuds?” 

“How could I? You don’t talk to me unless you're dissing me, fighting me, or attempting to make me look bad,” I give a large fake smile. 

“Take a fucking hint then, Grandpa,” she enunciates her curse. 

So I do. I backtrack our conversation and come to a conclusion. Maybe it's not an accurate one, but it's an idea nonetheless. 

“You think I demand respect from you? When have I ever told you that you have to have respect for me?” I asked, more confused than angry now- but definitely not low in anger either.

She stares at me, contemplating her answer. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t get into this,” she waves between us faintly, diverting her eyes to the bathroom door on the wall to the left.

“I won’t be able to sleep tonight if-”

“Not much different than most nights. Welcome to the crew,” she huffed, shifting to adjust her blankets over her in an irritated mood. 

“Why are you so against talking this out?” I growl, forgetting all sense of mental clarity and stomping to her side of the bed, aggressively throwing her blankets off her. “Stop trying to go to bed and talk to me like an adult.”

“An adult?” She takes in a high-pitched breath and stands straight in front of me. “You’re the one who just threw my blankets off like a toddler throwing a tantrum because he didn’t get a cookie after dinner! Sorry to break it to you.” Her finger jabbed into my chest. “But I owe you nothing, Barnes! I owe no explanation. I owe no respect. I owe no reason for how I choose to act around you.” 

I was pissed. Royally pissed, and yet… I couldn’t seem to see past the pure sadness in her eyes. The actual pain that she tried so hard to hide, but in her state- the state I had put her in- she was losing the battle. She was losing it and yet not breaking her eyes from mine, knowing I could see it.

My intensity shriveled slowly as seconds passed, and she didn’t try to fight the tremble on her lip. 

“What did I do?” I asked softly, my hands instinctively coming to her arms, but the touch made her break the eye contact and turn fast, making my hands drop. “Y/N, what did I do?” 

And I meant it. What had I done, and how could I change it?

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @death-unbecomes-you @mythos-writes​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​  @srrymydood​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @xa-dia​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @redhairedfeistynerd​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @morganclaire4​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @connie326​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @captain-asguard​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @mollygetssherlockcoffee​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @livstilinski @basicallylool​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @starryeyeseunbyul​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

My Lovelies Forever:

@natura1phenomenon​ @lauravicente​ @kakakatey​ @traceyaudette​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @sandlee44​ @thorne93​ @thefaithfulwriter1​ @essie1876​ @greyeyedsmile14​ @capsiclehan​  @xostephanie​ @averyrogers83​ @awesomenursingstudent​ @gh0stgurl​ @cs-please​ @jjlevin​ @rainbowkisses31​ @deannotmoose​ @their-bibliophile​ @kitkatd7​ @willowbleedsonpaper​ @mariaenchanted​ @snffbeebee​ @couldabeenamermaid​ @rebekahdawkins​​ @alyispunk​​ @billyseye @hallecarey1​​

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker​ @charmedbysarge​ @jbarness​ @bellamy-barnes​ @katiaw2​ @aikeia​ @stopjustlovethemcu​ @enchantedbarnes

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt Series:

@jackiehollanderr @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @theroyalmanatee @wintrsoldrluvr @alexakeyloveloki @learisa @bxckybxrnes24 @lillianacristina @selella @heletsmelovehim

[snowfieldstories]

In Life and Death [Chapter 17]

Kim Dokja x Reader/Original female character

<< Series masterlist

Summary:

In which a reader finds herself tossed into the pages of her favorite web novel after her untimely death. A novel of a novel within reality. It's a reader's dream, right? Well, this reader vows to bring the right epilogue to her beloved character, Kim Dokja. She will give him the happiest of endings. Or she will die trying. ...Good thing death isn't always permanent in this new world.

⚠️MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ORV WEB NOVEL AND MANHWA!!!!⚠️

Episode VIII. Chapter 17 — Flood of Flames

Dokja was still asleep late into the morning due to his 'Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint' skill. It was easy to tell when he used it, because his eyes roved back and forth under his lids and the corners of his mouth twitched every so often.

"Let him sleep," I told Yoosung.

She retracted her hand. "Do you think ahjussi is sick?"

"He's just exhausted. You can sleep more too, you know. We have two whole days."

Yoosung shook her head. "I want to make ahjussi proud and get stronger."

"I'm going to amaze hyung with my skills."

At Gilyoung's words, Yoosung's face soured.

"Both of you are amazing." To prevent further squabbling (and a headache as a result), I brushed my hand in Gilyoung's tangled locks. "Should we cut your hair? It's getting long."

"I like it like this," said Gilyoung, his eyes drifting to Dokja.

I hid my knowing smile. "We can keep the same style, but trim it a little."

"Really? Okay then."

"Maybe...you can do mine too someday?" asked Yoosung before we went outside.

"Of course," I said, smiling easily. "Whenever you want."

I procured a pair of scissors, and soon a light snip! snip! sound surrounded us. It had been at least a month. Gilyoung's hair had grown down his neck and over his ears, soft between my fingers.

My hand was steady and confident as I styled his hair. It wasn't always so.

Han Sooyoung was incredibly particular about her looks. She liked her specific haircut and threw a fit one day in the last round upon realizing that her locks had grown out past her shoulder. I remembered her shoving scissors into my hand and asking me to fix it. When I'd suggested that Yoo Joonghyuk would be a better option, his skill with a blade undeniable, she'd scowled.

「 I don't trust a man to do it right. 」

Naturally, Kim Namwoon and Lee Hyunsung were out of the question. I must not have been too awful at it, because Sooyoung hadn't commented besides a quick, "Good enough."

Namwoon had come to me next. Then Hyunsung, sheepishly rubbing his neck. And one day, the first time his mind broke from countless regressions, Yoo Joonghyuk.

It sounded like a shitty manhwa title: I was forced to become a hair stylist after transmigrating into an apocalypse!

But I secretly enjoyed it. The relaxing atmosphere, the trust of my companions, the closeness to people that were once words on a page. I was glad to be cutting someone's hair again now.

"Noona," said Gilyoung, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"Yes?"

"What did you do before the scenarios?"

I cut the final pieces and then set the scissors on the ground. "I was an office worker."

"Like Dokja-hyung. Is that where you met?"

"Sort of. Here, take a look." I gave Gilyoung my phone so he could see himself in the black screen. He turned his head back and forth. "You look just like him."

Gilyoung jumped as he realized that I'd caught on. His expression filled with embarrassment.

"Very handsome," I added, grabbing his hand as I stood. "Come on. Let's gather some coins."

Yoosung wanted to continue watching over Dokja, so Sangah and I took Gilyoung in search of monsters. With sacred light, I pulled up various sword-types, a morning star, an axe, crossbow, and daggers and knives, and told Gilyoung to try whatever he wanted. He tested out most of them, carefully examining the weapon before whacking monsters with a hard swing; the crossbow he passed over.

"You don't want to shoot an arrow?" I asked.

"I like using my arms to hit the beasts more."

I could understand him, so the crossbow faded with a wave of my hand. Gilyoung had taken a shine to the axe, anyways. I was a bit disappointed that he didn't prefer the knives.

"Yeona-ssi, he's still a boy," said Sangah. We watched as Gilyoung tore through a line of monsters with the axe, a row of large insects at his side.

"One who now lives in the scenarios," I said, serious. "And that boy has had to mature far before this. Did you not see his bruises that day on the train?"

Sangah seemed taken aback at my words. "Still, we shouldn't encourage more killing than is necessary."

"If he hadn't killed, he would have died long ago."

Her brow pinched. "Gilyoung-ah is a child. He needs to be protected."

"I never said we shouldn't protect him." I sighed. "But it would do no good to shelter him at this point."

Sangah stared at me for a bit, until something dawned on her face. "Yeona-ssi, did you perhaps...grow up in a violent home?"

"What?"

It was hard to fight the astonishment. That was the conclusion she had drawn from our talk? The inaccurate near-accuracy was almost laughable—I suppose I had "grown up" in the violent scenarios of the previous round. Sangah was disturbed by my amusement.

"I find it easy to change to fit this world. That's all."

My evasive response was not lost on Sangah. She angled away, hand gripping the straps of her backpack.

"Sometimes I don't feel like I really know you. Before, you were more..." she trailed off, unable to release the words in front of me.

Before. Being unaware of what occurred in the month before I regressed was strongly backfiring in this round. I would have to ask Mother about it as soon as I could.

"I'm sorry," I said, uncomfortable and unsure what I was apologizing for.

"It's nothing. We should return, it's nearly lunch hour."

I nodded, not wanting to add to her frustration. On the outside my face was flat, but inside I felt a storm of nerves crash against my chest—I did not like having my companions upset with me.

Maybe it would pass with time.

The three of us walked back, Sangah and I silent as Gilyoung chatted about his bugs and the axe, of which I had cancelled the skill already.

Dokja was awake. The only evidence of our conversation last night was a shared look of acknowledgement, as he was occupied with the attention of Yoosung.

After lunch, I was still on edge. Namwoon was just outside the building, muttering under his breath as he practiced his knife with Blackening.

"What happened to your flames?"

Namwoon jerked around at my bluntness, and he brightened. "I've improved Blackening a lot, look."

"Your black flames," I said, agitated now. "I saw them the other day. Are they conditional?"

"They're hard to control," he spoke slowly, looking at me strangely.

"Control it, then."

Namwoon blinked at me. I pretended not to see the downcast tilt of his mouth. "Noona, you asked me to work on them but how did you know I could? Did you talk with my spons—"

"He's a dragon, so it wasn't a stretch to assume," I lied.

"Why is it so important?"

I took a step back, feeling significantly worse than before. "The final disaster is unlike any of the others. You need to bring out your best. Or it won't be enough."

"...Okay."

He went back to his practice, glancing at me with a pensive expression every so often. Seeing Namwoon in deep thought was, admittedly, a disconcerting sight.

I left very soon after.

Here were some truths—one, I had saved Kim Namwoon with the hope that he could change the flow of battle in the fifth scenario. It was a hope hinged on a small, unimportant line in the book, but it was one that didn't seem far-fetched now that I knew more about his capabilities. Two, I was desperate to prevent unnecessary Dokja-deaths, because I feared that these early revivals were letting him grow comfortable with sacrifice.

The third truth was that Kim Namwoon should already be dead. And he would likely die at the hands of this disaster if thrown into her path this early in his growth.

He trusts you as a companion.

He was never meant to make it this far anyway.

But you care about him. You don't want him to die.

In Dokja's story, he wanted Kim Namwoon dead.

Isn't your goal to change this story?

Only one story, one ending. Whatever it took.

Whatever? Is that really what you believe?

The voice in the back of my head continued to play devil's advocate. I buried my face in my hands, frustrated at my lack of resolve.

Before, it was easy to brush aside changes from my actions; there wasn't much that put Dokja's outcome in danger yet. As the divergence became more pronounced, I felt my gut-reaction to correct course grow stronger.

But did I really want to become a slave to the story?

Over the rest of our downtime, I remained unsettled. The two days passed quickly.

It was the day of the second sponsor selection. Dokja would fool the constellations with Bihyung. I would take Namwoon to the human-made island that housed the fifth disaster.

Before we left, I went to Dokja. He tugged on his coat, smoothing it down as if in preparation for being live-streamed to the constellations shortly.

"Good luck in choosing a sponsor," I said.

[You have activated Midday Tryst.]

Choi Yeona--Don't be lured in by Metatron. He is untrustworthy. Kim Dokja--In what way? Kim Dokja--Wait. Are you saying someone like Metatron has their eyes on me? Seriously?

"Thank you. It will be an exciting event," Dokja replied with a smile, eyes wide and curious.

Choi Yeona--Of course he is. The constellations love you. Choi Yeona--It isn't a big deal now. But later on, his stories will control him. He would do anything to safeguard the Oldest Good. Anything at all.

Metatron was not the saint he might appear to be. It was imperative that Dokja understand this now, ahead of the Great War of Saints and Demons.

"I'm sure things will go well," I said, bidding him farewell. "See you soon."

"Take care of yourself, Yeona."

"You, too."

I waved to the others, and even Gilyoung, his face scrunched up in protest at my departure, waved back. Sangah nodded with a faint smile. I wasn't sure how to feel.

Namwoon and I made our way to Nodeul Island. Aside from complaining about the lack of sea dragons, he didn't say much. The moment we touched land, there was a rustle through the trees.

"Unnie!"

Lee Jihye bounded towards us, her long ponytail and bangs swishing underneath a white ball cap. She grinned at me. "I didn't know you'd be here. Master never said..."

Namwoon glared at her and moved closer to my side. She lifted her nose up at him in return.

"Jihye, where is Joonghyuk now?"

She jabbed a thumb behind her. "At the giant red stone."

"Namwoon, let's go." He preened as Jihye grew sullen. Her Master must have ordered her to stay and patrol the shores. "Sorry, Jihye-ya. We can catch up later."

Through the forest, there was a small clearing. Yoo Joonghyuk stood in front of the disaster meteorite, where he had already stuck the small, yellow guide one inside to feed into its aura. Lee Seolhwa watched intently.

"You amaze me with your idiocy, Yoo Joonghyuk."

He glanced back briefly. "This disaster will be safe."

"...Truly an idiot."

Seolhwa gave a soft gasp as she recognized me. "It's you, from that time..."

"Lee Seolhwa," I said diplomatically. "Are you feeling better? It can't have been easy, being stuck with this block of wood. Ah, I shouldn't judge someone else's type."

She looked between me and Joonghyuk, baffled.

Joonghyuk now glowered at me. "Stop confusing her."

I ignored him and moved closer, scoffing, "Why would you do something without having all of the facts?"

"The Beast Lord is my colleague."

I laughed at him. "You think after thousands of years trapped in an egg, she'd still want to be colleagues with you?"

Joonghyuk narrowed his eyes at me.

"Shin Yoosung remembers how you treated her. And your other companions."

"How I...?" Joonghyuk shook his head. "I don't need your help."

If I had the strength, I would have knocked him unconscious (after punching him a few times for being so utterly stupid). Instead, I was stuck using my words.

I placed a hand on the meteorite and Joonghyuk tensed. "I'll help you wake up the disaster."

"What?"

"I want her to wake up. Now is the best time." My voice was icy. "But you need to treat her like a human being when she does. Or she will never believe in you."

Joonghyuk's stare bored into the side of my head as he allowed me to assist in feeding mana to the stone. Namwoon huffed as he waited, knife swinging impatiently.

It began to crack not long after.

...Some people were destined to never change.

"Don't say unnecessary things and give me the information."

I cringed yet again as Joonghyuk proved he truly was a sunfish bastard.

Joonghyuk had already insulted the suffering 41st Shin Yoosung in a dozen different ways, and I was two seconds away from gouging my own eyes out so I didn't have to witness his spectacular failure at human decency any longer. Luckily, Dokja emerged from the forest before I could.

"Your protagonist is a big fucking idiot, Dokja."

He looked at me, dismayed, but couldn't get a word in before I left to help Joonghyuk and Namwoon fend off Shin Yoosung's attacks.

Confusion entered her expression at me. It was wiped away as her wrath flared with a glow of ether, ready to shoot us with her power. I lassoed a rope of sacred light around her ankle and yanked. Shin Yoosung fell on her back.

Her arm whipped around to fire at us anyway.

I had already activated 'Fleet of Foot' and moved to shove Joonghyuk and myself out of the way in time, when someone pushed us from behind.

Someone faster. Someone with the Way of the Wind.

The blast cleared and Dokja remained—slumped over and heaving. I called out his name, thin with panic, and his face lifted.

Dokja smiled at me. It was a beautiful and terrible sight.

Your stomach... The words wouldn't form, leaving me with a sick feeling as I saw blood and too much of his organs from the charred hole in his center.

My arms trembled as I knelt to wrap around him, letting his head settle in the crook of my neck. He was already heavy with that familiar weight of a body on death's door.

"It—" His breathing was fast, his skin too hot against my own. "It hurts this time."

The words sent a chill down my spine.

"Why would you do that?" I cried out. "We had it—fuck, you didn't need to jump in! Definitely not for me! Not even for Joonghyuk!"

"For my reader." It slipped out in a whisper from his mouth, as if by accident.

My heart hammered against my chest. "Dokja..."

"Don't worry about it. You know I'll return."

That was the moment I felt true fear.

Not only had I failed to prevent his death this time, but I somehow encouraged it. My knowledge of this world was only giving him more security in the fact that he could sacrifice himself seemingly without consequence.

I was about to throw up all over his back.

"...Kim Dokja?"

Yoo Joonghyuk looked down at us in disbelief. I shifted Dokja so that he could see Joonghyuk, my hand gripping his shoulders stubbornly.

"It isn't too late," Joonghyuk said to him, urgent.

"It is. One of you should kill me now then you can gain coins."

At that, my grip became tight in warning. Joonghyuk made an unimaginable expression.

"Don't say things like that," I said harshly.

"It's fine, Yeona." Dokja's hand came up to weave his fingers with mine, like it was an everyday occurrence.

Joonghyuk was saying something, trying to stop the bleeding frantically. I looked down at Dokja in my lap. I watched as the crinkle in the corner of his eyes softened, as the eyes themselves dulled into nothing. As his fingers lost their strength in between my own. As his body went still. Horribly still.

My eyes burned.

Joonghyuk stopped moving. "He is..."

A huge lump in my throat prevented me from speaking. Joonghyuk didn't need my response as he flew into a rage, turning back towards the Disaster of Floods. I let him.

Yes, I knew that Kim Dokja would revive.

And yes, I knew that this was the next logical step to stimulate his skill to get into 41st Shin Yoosung's mind so we could succeed.

Knowing something and being forced to live through it are two violently different things.

Joonghyuk was furious as he hurled attack after attack against Shin Yoosung. Namwoon, whom I had forgotten about, was equally enraged and fought by his side. His black flames blazed high into the sky, dancing ominously. Not that it mattered any longer.

"Kim Namwoon," said Shin Yoosung. "You're following a cruel man. After you died, do you know what Yoo Joonghyuk said?" She laughed. "We can finally live with less delusion."

Namwoon glared at her. "Shut up. The only one dead is hyung, because you killed him."

Shin Yoosung's forehead wrinkled, before it smoothed into hardened anger. She attacked them with more vigor.

I pulled Dokja's hand up to my lips, trying to stifle any sound that might try to come out of me. It had gotten in my head that I could prevent this sort of thing, or at the very least, that because I knew to expect it, I wouldn't be so affected.

Fuck, was I wrong. There was no precedence for watching the life drain out of a person you love; I had been naïve to believe otherwise.

The worst part was knowing with complete certainty that I would have to go through this again.

...Actually, now that I thought about it, Dokja was probably watching with omniscience already. He would take such a scene, of their agitation, of my grief, and assume it was all an act to incite Shin Yoosung. That our feelings for him couldn't possibly be real. This was the sort of thinking that Kim Dokja believed.

I dropped his hand like it was contagious, shuffled over, and hunched down in my spot.

Shin Yoosung sent a fresh wave of beasts. Out of reflex, I grabbed my knives in preparation. Only these beasts went charging towards the water—towards the unsuspecting backs of our companions.

Namwoon raced after them, disappearing into the forest.

"I wanted to crush him where you could watch," muttered Shin Yoosung.

Joonghyuk cradled a shattered arm to his chest. He was winded, dripping blood, but his back was still straight. I saw him spare me and Dokja a brief glance before diving into the forest himself.

Shin Yoosung screamed and tore after him, conjuring mummies along the way.

I was left alone with Kim Dokja's cold body.

[The constellation 'Secretive Plotter' is watching your inaction shrewdly.]

His message, and those of a few other constellations questioning my judgement, went ignored as I drowned in my thoughts.

When Dokja revived some twenty minutes later, I continued to stare at the ground while he hastily pulled on his clothes.

[A constellation that likes to change sex is conflicted.]

"You didn't have to wait here."

I bit the inside of my cheek, holding in a frown. "I didn't want you to be alone when you woke up."

"Oh, that was nice of you," Dokja hummed, more focused on tightening his scabbard through his belt loops. "Alright, let's go."

Before I could stop myself, I halted him in place with by bunching his coat in my fist. Dokja looked down where he stood above me, a question on his face.

"Dokja, I—"

A rustle of leaves startled us from anything further. Namwoon emerged from the trees, scraped and bloody, covered in soot. The deranged expression on his face died as he took in the scene before him.

"Hyung? You—you're okay?"

"There isn't time to explain," Dokja said, turning back to me. "Um..."

I released his coat, letting my hand fall back to the ground. There was a painful ache in my chest.

"You're right, we should go."

Dokja studied me closely. "If you're not feeling well, then you should stay here. Let us take care of things."

There was an uncomfortable pause, or perhaps it was only uncomfortable to me. My fingers dug into the soft earth to stop my hands from shaking.

"...Joonghyuk is trapped by mummies somewhere. You should free him first," I said at last.

Dokja glanced at Namwoon with a nod, drew his sword, and strode off into the forest towards the flashing lights and spray of rocks in the distance.

It was pathetic, but I stayed. I let the others deal with Shin Yoosung elsewhere on the island while I stewed in my misery and emotional muck. For some reason, Namwoon decided to remain by my side.

"Angel-noona, does hyung do that a lot?"

"Do what?" I asked warily.

"Die." Namwoon's gaze was clear as he recalled what he had seen. "You didn't seem surprised. Upset, but not surprised."

I swallowed. "It's the 'King of No Killing' attribute. He uses it to return from death."

Namwoon was silent, before saying, "He left like it was nothing."

The truth of that hurt. It really, really hurt.

I had to give Namwoon props—he was more observant than I gave him credit for. It made me wonder if he recognized that I'd intended for him to die as well.

At the moment, I couldn't be bothered to dwell on it.

A few beasts came across us every so often, but Namwoon disposed of them quickly.

[A new sub-scenario has arrived!]

"Huh?" Namwoon's brow furrowed at the hefty bounty on Shin Yoosung's head.

It wasn't long before the subsequent message arrived.

[The intermediate dokkaebi has intervened in the scenario.]

[The personality of disaster 'Shin Yoosung' will be fixed to 'evil'.]

"We should go help," I told Namwoon, standing up finally.

He looked unconvinced. "Are you sure?"

[Many constellations are looking forward to this new development of the scenario.]

"They'll need all the power they can get." I ruffled his hair gently. "And you've got a shit-ton of it."

"Yeah, I do," he said. "Those losers would die without me."

I let out a short laugh. Then together, we ran towards the thick of battle, arriving just as Dokja finished giving orders to our party members and ran off himself.

"Unnie! Where were you?"

It was difficult to look at my companions right now. I focused on Dokja and Joonghyuk battling against the dokkaebi-crazed Shin Yoosung by the water. "Busy," I replied.

"We were sweeping up the flood of beasts on the other side of the island," I heard Namwoon lie to her.

Jihye ignored him as she took me in: white fabric drenched in darkened blood and a no doubt haggard face. I must have been quite the sight.

"It's not my blood, Jihye."

She sent me a disturbed look.

Namwoon and I went to 41st Shin Yoosung. Dokja and Joonghyuk were already reaching their limit, their blood spilling to the ground. We attacked at once.

While I launched spikes of light at her, twisting them into ropes that tangled around her limbs at the last second, Namwoon leapt in for a killing blow. It wouldn't be enough.

I ran through my list of skills. My precious luck bank was not something I was willing to use on this, and 'Taunt' was asking for death. There were others, but none so great as 'Sacred Light'. I would have to stick with that for now.

I really needed to level up. Perhaps I should have Joonghyuk help me (because he was, regrettably, excellent at raising his companions).

My limbs and torso collected small injuries as Shin Yoosung swiped with her claws and blasted us with her ether storm so that we were forced to dodge and roll on chunks of rubble.

Namwoon came at her side with a blazing knife. Shin Yoosung puffed up to breathe ether at him, when I dealt a blow to her other side. She moved quickly, and I felt my forearms singe from the storm as I was knocked back, tumbling, and tumbling, until I reached Dokja and Joonghyuk. I leapt back up.

"You've done plenty! Stop," said Dokja, he caught me by the shoulder.

"I haven't done anything," I gritted through clenched teeth. His brow furrowed.

When I tried to rejoin Namwoon, Dokja looped his arm around my waist. I couldn't help it—I sagged against him. The fight in my spirit extinguished rather quickly. Or maybe it was never there to begin with.

Dokja released me slowly once it was clear I wasn't going to bolt. I moved away from him.

Namwoon raged at Shin Yoosung, his aura growing darker by the second as adrenaline fueled his attacks. He held her off well. And soon, he wouldn't be alone.

[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' is watching proudly.]

[Many constellations are impressed by incarnation 'Kim Namwoon'.]

"Seoul is ours!" roared Namwoon.

And the world exploded in an inferno of inky black flames.

Heat licked at our cheeks, swirled above our heads in a whirlpool...no, not a whirlpool. This was a tornado of black fire.

[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' roars in support of his incarnation's power!]

"This is him without a manifestation of the Abyssal Black Flame Dragon?" I said, stunned. Dokja was agape beside me as I turned to him. "Was it like this in Ways of Survival?"

"...Not this advanced, this soon," he murmured. His eyes slid to me.

"Don't look at me. I can't raise people like that."

For some reason, I had experienced a slightly different Kim Namwoon in my last round. The powers of stigma and skills were the same, but the execution was shaping up to be something new.

Shin Yoosung screeched and exchanged blows with Namwoon. He was rapidly losing ground.

The main issue was that Namwoon and his sponsor possessed flames of Absolute Evil, and evil couldn't permanently burn out other evil. They would need something else, something good—

"Need any more flames?"

Jung Heewon stood strong in front of an army of wanderers behind us. She unsheathed her sword with a determined smile. "I hope I'm not too late."

[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' is showing open hostility towards 'Jung Heewon's' sponsor.]

[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' is gazing upon the battlefield with sadness.]

Heewon released Uriel's 'Hell Flames Ignition' and lunged for Shin Yoosung. Her blade collided with Shin Yoosung's fist swathed in ether. Namwoon rallied around them, shooting blasts of his own flames at Shin Yoosung's protective feathers, streaking it with soot and char. The black flames mixed with Heewon's holy ones as they burned Shin Yoosung together.

In several quick and precise hits, the disaster was down on her knees. Heewon pulled her sword out from Shin Yoosung's belly.

Dokja and Joonghyuk approached her. An unspoken conversation was held, words passing between them in ways that couldn't be understood by the rest of us watching. It was then that the once-disaster began to fracture into ashes.

41st Shin Yoosung finally faded like crumbled, white stardust.

Young Yoosung clutched on to Dokja as she sobbed furiously at the death. Gilyoung ran up to bury his tears in my side, and our other companions cried, Hyunsung rather loudly and Sangah, silent but sincere.

The fifth and final disaster had been dealt with. Seoul could rest for now after a great win in the main scenario.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that I had still lost.

Next part ->

[general-brain-rot]

The dog metaphor makes me ill in the best way-

Now that we’ve gotten two more chapters and are effectively at the halfway point of the game, I’ve gotta talk about the constant association between Kris and dogs. Ahead are spoilers so be forewarned children!

From the first chapters I believe the only real instance of any dog related associations was this sprite from the tasque manager fight in chapter 2, but since then we’ve gotten a few more mentions of it in chapters 3 and 4. If people want to go hunting for every instance, a lot of these happen when Kris and Susie are hanging out, off the top of my head I remember Kris “howling” like a dog in chapter 3 talking with Susie about how she’s doing after the second board. I know it happens in chapter 4 too, I just don’t remember exactly where because a lot of my playthroughs happened in the dead of night, and I didn’t take screenshots like a fool.

So how does this help us better understand Kris and their whole situation? Well in general, dogs often symbolize both loyalty and being controlled in equal measures, and after watching chapter 4 that even when Kris is free of the soul puppeteering them that they still answer the whims of someone over the phone, the control part is more relevant than ever. Even without the soul, Kris isn’t free, they are still kept on a tight leash that we can’t even see. We don’t yet know to what end Kris is “caging” the soul of the player, or to what lengths they have to go to for the person over the phone because they “promised” something, but we get the vibe that Kris is being forced to reach an outcome that is likely not wanted by their fellow party members. Something that even Carol is in on to some extent, which just makes this entire situation worse. This is the dang mayor of the very small town they live in, literal neighbors with the Dreemurrs, employs their dad and keeps his business going, and goes to church with their mom. There is no escaping for Kris, not even in the Darkworlds anymore now that the Roaring Knight is causing trouble. Also, any talk about other characters not having autonomy has a noticeable effect on Kris in these chapters. From chapter 3, when the cast change controllers around and let Ralsei play as Kris’s character, encouraging it to happen lets Ralsei muse about how fun it is just to have the autonomy to walk around and make decisions saying he’s “not used to being player 1”. In chapter 4, later dialogue where Ralsei questions if he should be becoming his own person outside of any desire to just be useful to Lightners has Kris in support of his growth, even if the player picks options that seem like they’ll dissuade Ralsei from becoming more independent are changed by Kris on delivery. Case in point, in Ralsei’s room if you pick the option “of course not”, then Kris will force a yawn to cover the “not” part and assure Ralsei by just nodding that he isn’t doing anything wrong. Another instance I’m going to count is near the end when Ralsei breaks down over how much he knows about the prophecy after Susie shattered it. He tries to stay smiling before we can let Kris lean down and hug him and tell him that “it’s okay not to smile”. Kris is doing everything they can in their limited scope of freedom to make sure that none of their friends are leashed by the supposed rules that have them already caught.

On the topic of the loyalty side of the metaphor though, boy do we have a lot. For starters, it was a joy to see just how expressive Kris is without the soul influencing them, blushing in embarrassment at least twice from comments about first how good they are at flirting and second about the knife they always carry with them. These are just a few moments that prove how endeared Kris is to their friends and, despite the tight leash they’re on from the soul and whatever Carol’s whole deal is, they care enough to defy that control in their friend’s favor when at all possible, or at least freely express it when they think no one can see them clearly. Whether it’s keeping Susie company and listening to her when they think something is wrong or if they’re encouraging Ralsei to start becoming his own person and freeing himself from this whole “darkner purpose” talk. It’s noteworthy to mention that dogs can also be pretty ferocious when either they are threatened or their companion(s) are threatened, and we see a bit of that too. Some examples of Kris going to great physical lengths to protect/help their friends:

+If we remember in chapter 1 when, outside of player control during the boss fight with the King, Kris gets up and shields Susie from an attack.

+Kris only goes against Susie’s plan to wait outside the church for the Knight because they think their mom is in there, which is an immediate way to jeopardize any semblance of a plan but that’s their freaking mom dude-

+Taking the lead in the path to the Knight with their soul lighting the way through in chapter 4, fully planning on walking until the swords dropped them to zero HP until Susie and Ralsei both help tank hits.

+To end the Titan fight, Susie has a plan but needs Kris to literally “put [their] life in [her] hands” and without question, Kris does in fact put their life in her hands.

+In the weird route for chapter 4, after the soul takes over and hurts Noelle again, Kris slinks off to the bathroom to rip the soul out, throws it in the trash, and absolutely pummels it until the can is beyond dented.

These are just the big ones I remember, but there are smaller acts of service and care performed by Kris when they can throughout all the chapters, never straying too far from their party members or if they do, becoming severely uncomfortable when harm befalls them in Kris’s absence. Such as in the arcade game from chapter 3 when you can slash at your companions for XP and Kris turns away from the screen and flinches. Or in chapter 4 listening to Susie talk about the piano she tried to play and Kris can encourage her to play again. There is so much loyalty from Kris to these other kids in unfortunate circumstances it kinda makes my heart hurt a bit, they’re such a good kid. Kris does what they can to keep their friends in good spirits, howling like a dog to make Susie laugh and encouraging Ralsei’s independence when they can and putting themselves in harms way even though they have to follow the prophecy, even though they are being controlled on multiple fronts, even though all they want to do is play the piano themselves when nobody else can watch or control them. Thinking really hard about how important the piano is to them, and how impacted they must’ve felt when both Susie and Ralsei complimented and encouraged them to play, not the player, Kris, to play.

[hebuiltfive]

Pandora's Box - Chapter I: The Truth Will Always Out

I began watching Smallville three weeks ago. Since then this AU hasn't left my mind. I'd originally planned it to be a one-and-done, but of course it wouldn't stay contained to 5,000 words. Hope you enjoy <3

AO3 link here!

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

Scott Tracy liked to daydream. At high school it landed him in heaps of trouble. Teachers often complained to his parents that he was “away with the fairies” far too much and that his school work would suffer if he couldn’t find a way to focus better. His parents never cared for his teachers’ observations; they knew why he found himself staring at the sky, as though it held some sort of life-changing answer for him, and they weren’t going to punish him for doing so. So long as his grades remained steady — which they did — and he wasn’t stuck waiting on an answer from the past — which he’d learned was pointless anyway — Jefferson and Lucille Tracy didn’t mind him being “away with the fairies”.

That phrase often amused Scott. The universe rarely ever proved itself to be a fairytale. Every day the world threatened to crack his carefully crafted opinion of it, but, by some miracle, Scott managed to keep the optimism that had blinded his youth. Nothing is ever bad forever. There was always a reason to hold onto hope.

“Earth to Scott Tracy?”

The clicking fingers in front of his face snapped him out of his current daydream. He blinked as the familiar scent of amber invaded his space. Kathleen Cavanaugh, the Tribune’s most intrepid reporter, was stood in front of his seat, her back to his desk, with her legs crossed over at the ankles. Her press pass was dangling from around her neck as she leaned over him, as inquisitive as ever.

Her lips curved into a beguiling smile. “Where were you this time, flyboy?”

Scott had never liked that nickname. He’d never disliked it so much as to ask Kat politely to cease using it — though that could have been to avoid the question of why, which often found itself leaving Kat’s lips — but it had always made him uncomfortable.

No-one in the big city, with the exception of a brother who was rarely home, were aware of Scott’s special gifts. It was a secret he’d been keeping for almost three decades with only his family and a few exceptions also sharing the burden. So, the first time Kat used the nickname, Scott had almost had a heart attack. He’d been so careful when he’d moved to the city, so much so that he rarely used his gifts in public spaces, at least not when he was playing the role of civilian. It was safer that way. But Kat Cavanaugh had always had the talent of picking up the scent of something unusual. If anyone in the city were to discover his secret, Kat was at the top of the bill.

Fortunately for him, however, she had not devised the nickname because she’d found out that Scott was the Man of Tomorrow, but rather in response to learning of his teenage dreams of becoming a real life Maverick and joining the Air Force. The relief he had felt when he’d realised it was not because she knew he could actually fly was immense. He had laughed so hard from that relief that Kat had believed her nickname was a great success and proceeded to use it as often as she could, entirely ignorant to Scott’s actual aversion to it.

“Hello?” She was clicking her fingers again. “I asked you a question, Tracy.”

“Sorry.” Scott mumbled, offering up an apologetic smile. He shuffled himself in his seat, sitting himself more upright and less slouched. “I was, uh, just thinking about my brother’s birthday. It’s next month and I’m still figuring out what to get him.”

Kat’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a terrible liar, Scott Tracy.”

Her comment hurt him far less than it should have done, purely down to the fact that Scott knew he was a very good liar actually. If Kat was unaware of that then it was only testament to how good he truly was.

… Though, on second thought, maybe being an expert liar wasn’t something he should have been overly proud about.

Her finger prodded his shoulder hard but he barely felt it. “What were you really thinking about?”

Scott shrugged his shoulders and tried to brush off her continued questioning by turning back to his desk. “Nothing.”

She remained in place for a moment longer, scrutinising his expression. Scott felt as though he was under a microscope and found himself pitying the poor souls who were ever interrogated by Cavanaugh during an interview. She was nothing if not thorough.

“Fine!” With a sigh, Kat leaned herself back into a standing position, her palms lay flat against his desk behind her. “Keep your secrets. I’ll find them out one day.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“Hm. Are you still going home this weekend?”

Scott glanced up from his computer screen with an arched brow. “… Yes? How did you know about that?”

“I’m an investigative reporter, Scott. It’s my job.” Kat paused, her shoes suddenly appearing more interesting than him, before further admitting: “I also saw the vacation calendar earlier, where your name is scribbled in for the next few days. You never go away anywhere special so I just assumed, clearly correctly, that you’ll be visiting Kansas again.”

If there was ever a time for Kat to give him reason to doubt her talents, now wasn’t it. Scott beamed at her, impressed by her deduction skills, and let out a laugh. “You’re on the money, Detective Cavanaugh.”

Kat swiped at his arm. “Shut up! I was just curious, that’s all.”

The silence that filled Scott’s cubicle was deafening and he knew that reason wasn’t the entirety of why Kat was snooping.

He sighed, letting his head loll backwards until the base of his head hit the top of his spine. “Kat. No.”

“I promise I won’t gatecrash the Tracy family reunion! I just want to investigate around your fields a little.”

“You know that there was no link between GaatCorp and that chemical leak. My dad was thorough in his investigation and the police—”

“—were bought off by the company, yes.”

From behind his glasses, that were completely unnecessary for his sight, Scott narrowed his eyes. “That isn’t what I was going to say, Kat, and you know it.”

Pushing herself up from his desk to stand straight on her feet again, Kat’s fingers fidgeted with each other. It wasn’t a nervous tick so much as it was an impatient one. Scott noticed the gesture within the first week of working with her; when Kathleen Cavanaugh set her mind on something, she’d see it through, no matter what. It was what made her such a formidable journalist, and it was what scared Scott the most.

“I know that they’re hiding something, Scott. I know it! All I need is to find proof. Just one scrap of evidence!”

Scott spun his seat around to face her. Leaning forward, so his elbows rested upon his knees, he glanced up at her. “Kat, there is no evidence. There is no proof. My dad searched those fields for weeks and came up short. The authorities couldn’t find anything either. GaatCorp, for all that they are, were not the guilty party this time.”

He could see how the questions surrounding the Tracy Farm incident were eating away at her. It was painful to witness, but Scott had watched Kat worry over far more pressing stories over the last couple of years and he’d learned how to tune himself out of it.

Or so he’d thought.

“I suppose… Superman didn’t find anything either.”

Scott’s spine straightened. Her statement had the hint of a question in it, and he noticed it instantly. “How would I know?” He almost stuttered, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.

“Because it was your family farm? Didn’t he tell you? Honestly, Tracy, maybe you just don’t trust the guy.”

The question over whether Scott trusted himself was an interesting one, though it wasn’t something he was going to answer in the present moment. He tried to laugh off his swift change of tune but he knew Kat would see through it. “It’s not that. I’m just, y’know, not privy to the mind of Superman.”

“That’s probably a good thing. I doubt any of us mere mortals would be able to cope with the burdens that guy carries around. Having the weight of the world on your shoulders like that? Jeez, being a reporter is hard enough.”

“Tracy, Cavanaugh! I didn’t realise I paid you both to stand around, chatting all day!” Ned Cook’s nasally voice was yelled as he crossed the bullpen to reach the pair.

Like a schoolchild caught out, Scott hastily span his chair around to face his computer again and began frantically typing. Unfortunately this left him with his back to his editor, who didn’t appreciate the sentiment one bit. His chair was soon whirled back around to face Cook who was looking at the pair more curious than he was cross.

“Sorry, Ned. I was just running a story past old Smallville over here.”

“Oh?” He glanced between the two of them. “And what might this story be?”

Scott could feel Kat go rigid at his side. If she told their editor the truth of what story she was still chasing he’d crush it before she even had the chance to prove to him it was worth following.

But Kat didn’t have a choice.

“The chemical spill at the Tracy Farm last month.”

Ned Cook sighed. His eyes rolled as he geared himself up to put her story to bed once and for all.

Kat, however, didn’t give him the chance. “Ned, I know the two are connected, alright? Give me time and I can prove it! It’ll be the exposé of the year!”

“No, what it would be is a heavy legal battle between GaatCorp and the Tribune, Cavanaugh, and we all know which one would be crushed by the financials. Do not chase this story, d’you hear me? It’s dead! Done! Over! Now, get back to work, preferably on stories that won’t bring the lawyers after us again, please!”

Their boss turned on his heels to leave but Kat wasn’t through with her fight. She jumped in front of him, blocking his path back to his office.

“So you’re censoring me? Is that it?”

The conversation was not a new one to Kat or Ned, nor to their fellow colleagues at the Tribune. They’d both played this game a thousand times. Sometimes Ned would pull rank and Kat would eventually heel to his demands. Sometimes it would be Ned who would relent and Kat would see the story through. It was a popular show, one that always had the attention of the office. Occasionally there was a betting pool. Scott rarely participated, but when he did, his money was always on Kat.

“This story is different to the others, Kat.” Ned Cook looked exhausted. Despite the regularity of the arguments, that wasn’t something Scott was used to seeing.

Ned slid past his reporter and proceeded on his way.

Kat continued to march after him, arms folding across her waistcoated torso. “How? How is it different? You let me run the exposé on the city mayor last year!”

“Yes, because you had the proof to go with it! You keep going after this story and Gaat will personally seek to take you down.”

“He can’t threaten the press!”

“He can if you’re trying to defame him!”

Kat opened her mouth to offer Ned’s claim a rebuttal but he cut her off before a word was said.

“Enough, Kat! Back to work! Find another story to write, one that is less controversial and won’t leave us with hefty legal fees, or I'll put you on the high school intern programme again.”

The argument was over.

Ned Cook, Editor in Chief of the Tribune, had won, and Kat Cavanaugh slunk back to her desk.

With the show over, everyone else in the office returned to their work but Scott watched as Kat took her seat across from him.

She may have added to the performance by appearing defeated but Scott knew his colleague.

And, just as he’d expected, Kat began to pull up her research on GaatCorp with a newfound sense of determination.

Scott knew it wasn’t his place to get involved and so he refrained from wheeling his chair over to her desk. When Kat Cavanaugh was on a mission, there was no deterring her from it. If the opportunity came for him to talk to her he might opt to take it.

didn’t need to be at her desk to hear her muttered words.

“The truth will always out, Ned. The truth will always out.”

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

The phrase lingered in Scott’s mind for the rest of his day.

The truth will always out.

It wasn’t Kat’s fault. She could hardly read his mind and see why it was such an uncomfortable phrase for him (and he was incredibly thankful that Kathleen Cavanaugh wasn’t a mind-reader for that very reason). The phrase was an unofficial motto for any journalist and Scott had heard it time and time again, but he couldn’t help but take it as a threat.

Not from Kat, by any means, but from the universe.

The truth will always out.

His secret sat on a ticking time bomb. Scott knew it was childish and naive to have hope in it staying that way forever. Secrets were only ever truly safe with dead men, and Scott Tracy planned on staying alive for as long as humanly possible… or alieny possible in his case. He also planned on his family living their lives to the full as well, thus the weight of that impossibly large skeleton in the closet remained looming over him.

One day the truth would come to light —Superman’s true identity would be revealed and Scott’s life would become even more chaotic than it currently was — and when that day inevitably arrived Scott hoped that he’d be the one able to control the story. It was part of the reason why he had accepted the job offer at the Tribune — becoming the news, in more ways than one, meant he had more control over what was being said about him, over how much of a story was being released. It hadn’t been easy as an intern but his way with words and his farm-boy charm had carried him a long way. He’d been lucky Ned Cook was just as susceptible to the blue eyes and dimples as everyone else seemed to be.

For once Scott finished on time. The clock struck five and he was grabbing his satchel and his jacket, waving his goodbyes to Gallagher and Coulby before heading straight for the elevator.

He’d had to run to catch it, outstretching his arm to stop the doors from closing. Luck seemed to be on his side this evening. The doors slid back open with a welcoming woosh. Scott kept his eyes on the ground as he entered, partly from the embarrassment of being the one halting the elevator, even if by a few seconds, though he shot an apologetic smile towards the occupant. His eyes lifted and that smile of his turned into one of amusement, dimples on full show.

“Stalking me now, Smallville?” Kat Cavanaugh, fully entertained by his arrival herself, had her own teasing grin playing on her lips.

“Who, me?” Scott clasped his hands tightly in front of his body once he’d pushed the button for the reception. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The gentle hum of the elevator descending filled the small space, making Scott acutely aware of how small the elevators were in the Tribune. His hands fidgeted, his feet shuffled; most of the time Scott’s awkwardness was a conscious effort but, after a lifetime of hiding his gifts, it meant his mask was sometimes less controllable. Gallagher once called Scott a liability, a “calamity on legs”. He’d said he had no balance, no grace and was “an accident waiting to happen”.

What were friends for if not to point out the flaws?

At least Gallagher would never be suspect Scott was Superman. Every loss had it’s own win.

Kat Cavanaugh was an entirely different story, however. It wasn’t that Scott disliked being in Kat’s company. On the contrary, he found her often infuriating need for answers about any given matter somewhat endearing, if a little reckless. In her own way she brightened up the Tribune offices with her sailor mouth and her impatient manner. Without Kat, the Tribune wouldn’t have been the Tribune, and whilst Scott was sure that some days passed where Ned regretted hiring her, those days were far and few between.

He chanced a glance at her. She, like him, stared straight ahead, mesmerised by the steel grey of the elevator doors. Scott lowered his gaze to the papers in her hands.

ENVIROMENTAL REPORT .

GAATCORP END OF YEAR BUDGET .

SMALLVILLE PEDOLOGY .

Inwardly he sighed. Though Scott hadn’t held much hope of her dropping the story, actively seeing her still going through with it surprised him.

It really shouldn’t have. This was Kathleen Cavanaugh.

Perhaps he was more frustrated than surprised. She could never know the reason why investigating his family’s farm annoyed him which only made it worse.

“Nothing is going to stop you, is it, Cavanaugh?” Scott almost laughed.

Kat’s head twirled sharply. “There is a story here, Scott. I’ve just got to dig deep enough to find it.”

He’d heard that tone before. Sharp, barbed, defensive. Kat liked to prove her disbelievers wrong and had done so on multiple occasions. Scott could recall the multitude of times Kat had enjoyed telling the naysayers, ‘I told you so’, but she had never liked having to deal with the tribulations she had to overcome before that stage: the nagging, the denial of intel, the lack of faith.

Scott might have been biased but he had always felt that Kat’s blunt remarks were more vicious when it was him expressing his worries. He was aware of her opinion of him and that she saw him as the rival she needed to constantly top in order to impress Ned (or so she believed), but it didn’t mean Scott appreciated the  prickly responses. He was only ever trying to look out for her.

“Just remember: you dig too deep and you’ll run into magma. No story is worth getting burned over.”

The elevator doors dinged open and Scott, without another word, marched out into the lobby and then out onto the Metropolis streets beyond, leaving Kat and her story behind him.

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

Metropolis was different to Smallville in so many ways. Scott wasn’t sure he’d ever truly get used to the city lights, the skyscrapers, the hustle and bustle, the cars and taxis, the clusters of people, the vibrancy of city life. It made him feel alive. In the midst of all the city noise, Scott could hide away. Growing up in the shadow of his gifts, for fear of being discovered, had meant Scott disliked being seen. He didn’t take too well to the spotlight. A small town was harder to hide in than the big city.

But he still found himself yearning for the simplicity that Smallville had given him. It was quieter in the country, not to mention that most of his family was still there. In Smallville there was no mass exodus of tourists every year, no large, blinding billboards, and far less crime. For want of a better phrase, it was a easier life, though Scott was sure his father would disagree.

21:40pm

Scott could have easily ordered the delivery to his apartment. Big Belly Burger only charged a few dollars extra for the convenience and Scott had used the service before, but with it being his last night in Metropolis for a few days, and after the stress of the working day, he had decided to walk the few blocks to pick up his order instead.

His mind kept replaying his memory of Kat in the elevator, so determined to prove to everyone that the story she was chasing was worth the risks the investigation posed. Scott wanted to admire her tenacity but the investigation wasn’t just dangerous for her to pursue; it was also dangerous for him.

The Tracy Farm held many secrets, Scott’s famed apple pie recipe being only one of them, but the biggest secret of all was literally embedded into the land. It had been a hard enough job for Jeff to keep the authorities from digging around too much when the chemical leak had occurred initially, but for Kat to start dredging up the past again? It was a risk far greater than she’d ever be able to know.

The heavens had opened up during Scott’s brief walk of two blocks. Puddles had begun to form on the pavement, reflecting back the bright street lamp lights. Huddled in his jacket, with his hair soggy and dripping, he picked up his pace. The sooner he could get to Big Belly Burger, the sooner he could make his way back to his warm, dry apartment…

CRASH—!!

“I swear to God, I didn’t… I didn’t mean nothing by it! Langley, honestly! I swear!”

With the help of his super hearing, Scott heard the pleas with ease. An alleyway a few strides ahead. He stopped in his tracks, expert ears listening in from the distance.

“I’ve had enough of your lies!”

“No! God, Langley, no!”

The wet crack of a punch. The heavy click of a gun. The slow and steady intake of a breath.

Scott moved through the rain at such a speed that he’d have been a blur to anyone who was passing by. But Scott was usually careful. There was no-one else on the street except for himself and the two men he was running toward. In the heat of the moment, he dove straight into the unfolding scene without changing out of his civilian clothing.

In a flash he arrived at the mouth of the alley and assessed the situation before him. Scott had less than five seconds. The attacker, a man almost the same height as Scott, with a slightly thinner build and clean shaven, was dressed in black. He blended into the darkness of the narrow passage as though he were just another shadow. Even for Scott’s eyes, he was hard to make out.

What wasn’t difficult for him to see was the glint of the glock that was aimed at the other man. Red blood oozed out from his temple, dripping down into his beard. He was barely standing, leaning awkwardly against the alley wall. From what Scott could make out, it appeared the man was being held up by an obscure railing that had been manipulated to keep him in place. He was unconscious now, as far as Scott could tell, and unmoving, completely unaware of the tragedy that was about to befall him.

Three seconds…

Scott hurried into action. He sped forward, the world around him moving in a haze. All he was focused on was the man, the gun and the trigger he’d just pulled.

Shit.

One second…

The sound of the bullet being shot sounded like a canon. In real time, to the human eye, the bullet wouldn’t have been seen until it was too late and was lodged in the unfortunate victim’s sternum. In Scott’s eyes he could see it fly through the air.

The attacker fired again.

Another bullet, then another, and another.

Scott jumped between the two men without a hesitation. He stood as still as a rock as the bullets tore through his shirt but recoiled as they hit his skin. He barely felt the impact. The bullets fell, clattering to the floor of the alley with a tinkle.

The attacker, with his gun now trained on Scott instead of the man who was behind him, faltered. To him, Scott had appeared out of nowhere, in the literal blink of an eye. His expression was one of pure confusion as he glanced down at the spent bullets, flattened and useless, before eyeing Scott wearily.

“What the hell are you?” He snarled, gripping his glock more tightly. It didn’t take him long to pluck up the courage to start shooting again.

Only Scott was faster.

With that same speed he’d utilised before, he reached out and caught the barrel in one hand with ease, twisting the attacker’s hand to point the weapon upwards. The bullets the man fired shoot off into the sky, far away from any other living person in that alley. Then, with his free hand, Scott’s palm forcefully pushed the attacker away.

The man went flying. He could have gone further had the dumpster not got in his path. With an almighty crash, the attacker careened into it and collapsed onto the floor, leaving a human-sized dent in the green metal. There he lay, as unmoving and unconscious as his victim had been moments ago.

Scott turned his attention to said victim who was groggily groaning and waking up from his impromptu nap. He lifted a hand to his aching temple, wincing as he felt the cut. In his effort to unhook himself from the manipulated fencing, the man slipped and fell to his knees.

“Don’t move too fast. You’re going to be alright.” Scott reassured him, quickly crouching down to the man’s eye-line. He assessed the man quickly for any further, visible injures but it appeared the man had been fortunate; from what Scott could see he had only suffered a knock to the head. “You’re safe now.”

“What happened?”

“It looks like you took quite a hit.”

Sirens squealed, crawling closer and closer — someone must have heard the gunshots and called the police. In a way, Scott was relieved. At least now he didn’t need to worry about cleaning up on his own.

Police cars swarmed the entrance to the alley in seconds, the blue lights illuminating the darkened space. Officers exited their vehicles with guns and torches raised, a precaution against any further dangers that remained.

Not wanting to be shot at again, Scott lifted his hands in the air slowly as he stood. Two officers moved forward to assess both the men on the floor.

Another officer, a deputy by the look of his badge, kept his gun trained on Scott.

“Keep your hands where I can see them and don’t move!”

Scott did as he was instructed.

“We’ve had reports of gunshots in the area. Can you tell me what happened here?”

“I don’t know, officer. I was walking by when I heard the gunshots. I came running as fast as I could to find that man barely conscious,” he gestured towards the man he had saved before pointing towards the attacker, still out cold by the dumpster, “and that man entirely unconscious. I was trying to help the wounded man when you arrived.”

After a lifetime of concealing the truth about his abilities and who he really was, lying was easy. It really should have worried Scott. He believed in the truth, fought tooth and nail everyday to present a clear reality to the readers of his articles, and yet he lied almost everyday to those closest to him with such practiced ease.

The deputy exchanged glances with a few other officers, all of them seeming to come to the same conclusion.

Superman.

He was usually the go-to answer when the ‘unexplained’ happened and Scott could hear a few of the officers whispering his name now. Little did they know they were pointing their guns straight at him.

“It was him!” The victim was now up on his feet, with the aid of the police officers, and was pointing directly towards Scott.

Scott blinked, a sudden panic rising inside. The deputy clutched his gun a little tighter, daring Scott to try something. It was madness, to be accused of injuring the man he had gone out of his way to help, but Scott wasn’t in a position to let the police know that. The only proof he had of being the saviour was the attacker who was still lying unconscious, and that would have create more questions than he’d like. If he had to, he supposed he could take down the officers as passively as possible and make his escape but the fallout from such an act wasn’t something he particularly favoured either…

It was to his relief, then, when the man continued with, “He’s the one who helped me. Stop pointing that weapon at him!”

Though the deputy was reluctant he lowered his gun and holstered it back into his belt. Then he turned back to converse with the officers of the vehicles behind his.

Scott smiled gratefully at the man. “Thank you for clearing that up.”

“Thank you for saving me.”

The panic set in again. “Oh! No… No, that wasn’t me! You were… You were already out cold when I arrived, and that guy was… pretty knocked about too. I didn’t, uh… What I mean to say is that I wasn’t the one who saved you.”

The man half-smiled. “Superman did.”

Scott nodded. He wasn’t entirely wrong. “Yeah, apparently.”

“Do you have any contact details?” One of the officers helping the injured man asked him. “In case we need to ask you any more questions about what you saw tonight?”

“Yeah, hold on.” Scott shuffled around in his pockets, retrieving his wallet. He flicked it open, fingers passing over out-of-date coupons and old photos of his family to find a crisp, white business card. “I’m out of town for the weekend but I should still be able to receive a call on my cell if you need to get in contact.”

The officer took the card from Scott with a curt ‘thanks’ before escorting the man to one of the cruisers. The victim waved a hand towards Scott, who obliged in returning the gesture.

With one last look at the attacker, who was finally coming back to the land of consciousness as the police handcuffed him, Scott slid past the police cars and continued on his journey to Big Belly Burger. His hunger hadn’t sated and, after the excitement of all that, he was looking forward to his meal.

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

As the police led the attacker passed his victim, the bearded man did not flinch away in fear as one might have suspected. He eyed him critically, examining the man who had held him at gunpoint. Their eyes met, the victim still holding his gaze as his attacker was led away. He only took his eyes off the arrested man when he had been put inside the back of the furthest police car and was subsequently driven away.

The officer who had helped him to his feet pocketed his notebook and gently gestured for him to enter the cruiser they were standing beside. “We’ll get you to the hospital now, Mister… Uh…”

“Janus.” The injured man claimed, his lips curving darkly. “Martin Janus.”

[noemienoe]

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 : ̗̀➛ 𝐂𝐇. 𝟏 - 𝐏𝐭. 𝟐

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ This is part two || part 1

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ In total, the chapter 3094 words, unedited

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ CW: Brief description of crime scene, nothing out of the ordinary for a criminal minds episode

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ General notes: MDNI, This will be relatively slow burn. Not agonizingly slow, but no love at first sight stuff. Apologies!

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

“So, you think you’ll call up that girl? What was her name… Lila?”

Son of a bitch. There it was. Spencer had been waiting for it the moment “UCLA” had been mentioned during the briefing.

“Honestly… This case is important.”

“Not even a text? You two had something going on there.” One would think that to be the case. No one just happens to share a very passionate kiss by the poolside just for the hell of it. At least, that’s what Spencer assumed. In the moment it meant something. It was his first kiss, and it was with a girl he thought was out of his league. She was out of his league. And yet, she liked him. And he liked her.

And then nothing came of it. Which, all things considered, Spencer was pretty okay with. Realistically, he wasn’t sure how a relationship between them would have panned out. Given his job, how often he had to be away, her blossoming career, the fact that she lived across the country— there was no way it would have worked out between them. The secrecy of his job juxtaposed the publicity that came with hers.

Of course, also, for a relationship to work out between anyone: all parties involved had to at least talk to one another. But Spencer never had the courage to reach out, and he’d rather die than admit that to Derek Morgan of all people.

“Can’t say I’m really interested in a relationship at the moment.” He commented, hoping to put the Lila conversation to rest for the foreseeable future. Or forever, preferably.

Hotch had been speaking to the chief of police in another room, getting their arrangements set up for the long, long investigation that was going to take place for God knows how long. JJ was and Prentiss had been tasked with speaking to families, Rossi was with Hotch, and Morgan and Reid were waiting for further instructions. Which meant, they were stuck in the main room of the police station, watching officers pass by, with only each other to chat with.

“Do you know where I can find SSA Aaron Hotchner?” Through the hustle and bustle of the station, Spencer’s ears tuned into an unfamiliar voice. It was light, a bit inquisitive, urgent sounding. It caught his attention, and he felt his eyes shift over to the front desk.

It was her brown eyes that stuck out to him first. Round, wide and lively. She was animated in the way she spoke, the defined curls of her hair bounding every time she moved her hands or her head. The corners of her full lips seemed to have a permanent pull upwards, accentuating her dimples as she spoke. Despite everything, the murders, the chaotic chatter of the officers in the building— she seemed pretty chipper. She seemed young. If Spencer had to guess, she was his age. Maybe a year or two younger, which meant she was likely a student. She had a college kid type of feel about her—not quite childish but not quite an adult. Her youthful expression came from her state of dress, baggy ripped jeans, platform sneakers, hooped earrings, an oversized band t-shirt that she likely cut herself, so it hung from off her shoulder. The cut of her shirt exposed well moisturized, brown skin that glistened even in the poor lighting of the station. Her bag hung from one shoulder, pins and charms clacking against one another as she moved around. Whoever she was, she was artsy from what he could tell.

“No way– is that little Lyn?” Derek called out from beside him, causing the girl to look up from the officer she was speaking to and over to where Spencer and Derek were standing. If it were possible, and Spencer didn’t think it could be, her smile grew even more. His colleague moved from beside him, approaching the girl with a smile.

“Ah, I should have known the shine from that bald head was you, Morgan.” The girl, Lyn, looked at Derek with a teasing smirk. “I’ll have you know that I’ve grown since the last time you’ve seen me. Can’t call me Little Lynette anymore. S’not accurate at all.”

“Until you grow to be 6’5’’ you’ll always be Little Lynette, Lyn. Don’t make the rules.”

“Every time you piss someone off, you lose a hair follicle, Morgan.”

“By the looks of it, he’s in the negatives.” He didn’t know what compelled him to speak up. Maybe it was the promise of making fun of his friend, or the fact that he wanted to be included in this moment of levity. But he spoke and braced himself for the social ostracization that might come along with it.

He was relieved when it never came.

“Ha–that’s funny. You’re funny, what’s your name?” Instead of being booted from the island, Lyn immediately included him. Thank God.

“Dr. Spencer Reid.” He extended his hand out for a shake, she stared at his hand for a moment.

“Lynette– uh oh. Sorry. I prefer fist bumps. Less germs that way.” She extended her fist, smiling awkwardly. “Swear I got nothing against your hand Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“I’ll choose to believe that for now.” He cracked a smile, tapping his fist against her.

“If you both join forces, I’ll never know peace.” Morgan speaks up, groaning at the thought of Lyn and Spencer becoming somewhat acquainted. If they were on good enough terms, he’d be double teamed for sure. It was already enough being teased by Spencer, but adding Lyn into it? A mess. Whenever he was attacked, it was self-inflicted… but that's beside the point.

“Oh relax, I’m always nice to you.” She rolled her eyes, leaning against the front desk. “And besides, as much as I would love to sit here and mock you, my brother is looking for me. Can’t waste any more time, he’s probably having a conniption.”

Brother. Brother…Brother?

Spencer looked over to Derek, who looked over to him. His colleague’s lips parted for a moment, making an “oh” shape. A sigh escaped Lyn’s lips

“Aaron didn’t tell you about me?”

As smart as Spencer believed he was, moments like this really made it hard to get that across. It’s not entirely his fault though. He knew his boss was a bit secretive about family details. It wasn’t until very recently that he learned Hotch had a younger brother. He had just expected the “hidden sibling counter” to stop at one. One was a surprise. Two was a pattern. Was there a third mystery sibling somewhere in the world?

“Can’t say he did.” Spencer pursed his lips.

“Lynette.” The sharp voice of none other than Aaron Hotchner broke out, cutting into what would have been very awkward and prolonged silence between all three of them. Aaron brushed past both Reid and Morgan, immediately wrapping his arms around her.

Derek placed a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, carefully leading him away from the two siblings. Occasionally, both would look at their shoulders—it was weird seeing Hotch smile so openly. Though, he supposed it’d be weird if he didn’t smile at someone who was supposed to be his family. Spencer’s world was a bit rocked, though.

“Don’t be too offended. I didn’t meet Lyn or know about her for a long while. You met her sooner than I did.” Morgan shrugged his shoulders.

“You knew on the jet and said nothing,” Spencer groaned.

“Hey, it’s not my business to tell, kid. Plus, I don’t think discussing the person Hotch is anxious about near him would be a good idea.”

Spencer raises a brow.

“Kid, she goes to UCLA.”

[taniahylian]

Marta and the three Fates

Spoiler warning for chapter 7! Last chance to get out of here and come back after you finish it.

Alright, so this time I want to talk about this mysterious person called Marta, who was residing on the Island of Aperion, had the same appearence and voice as Bessmert and, to top it all up, was also blind. To me, these all indicate they are the same person, so I was very intrigued, and honestly, with good reason.

First off, let's look at what Marta says just before the storm, after Vertin asks her what she'll do. Note that Marta was in the safe zone with everyone else before Vertin said anything, and only then did she ask 6 for advice.

What's even more puzzling however, is 6's answer.

At first glance one might think 6 is simply telling her to decide for herself, but honestly I think it's a lot more complicated than that and 6 knows something we don't. Why is she calling Marta "fate"? Does it have something to do with her soul number and its meaning? Does 6 have that information? But also... could these be an allegory to Greek folklore? This chapter is full of those anyways.

Then I remembered the myth of the Three Fates. Basically, in Greek Mythology, there's three women who decided the life, destiny and death of every living person, and I think each has a counterpart in the game.

The first Fate is called the "Spinner", often represented with a loom or spinning wheel, who is the one who waves the threads of ppl's lives, basically deciding who is blessed by destiny and who is doomed. This imo is Vertin. Not only does she have the spinning wheel with ppl's lives represented by threads, but she's basically deciding their fate when she invites them into the suitcase, therefore saving them from the storm.

The second Fate is the "Allotter", who measures ppl's lives and decides how long they'll live. I think, based on 6's comment, this is Marta. Also, in my interpretation at least, this seems to be the most neutral of the Fates; simply measuring the threads without actually interfering with their trials and tribulacions, or the way they'd die. This would fit in with Bessmert, if we assume she and Marta are the same person, as she is a historian that simply records past events without interfering one way or another.

The third Fate is the "Inevitable", aka death. She cuts the thread of life and choses the way ppl will die, regardless of their age, status or anything else. Imo this is Arcana, since by accelerating the storms, she's basically cutting ppl's lives short and deciding how they'll die.

Now, of course, in chapter 7 Arcana "died". I don't believe this for one second, and I also don't think Marta was disolved in the storm. The first point is obvious; Arcana wanted to die, meaning she probably had some ulterior motive/plan we're not yet aware of.

As for Marta... what 6 said is very suspicious, and given what happened, we are led to believe Marta chose to be reversed. However, if you have read my theory about Bessmert, I think she's likely immune to the Storm, much like Vertin. So... where did she go then? We saw her be reversed, didn't we? Not exactly. Let me explain.

During the prologue, Vertin finds Regulus in London and pushes her into the suitcase right before the storm. We then get a short animated scene from Regulus' POV when the storm happens, and it seems like everything around them disappears and they find themselves in Chicago, 1929.

But wait... Chicago? Weren't they in London? Yes. The storm transported them, not only through time, but also space, exactly to the epicenter of the next storm. Now, at first I thouht this was just a visual representation with some artistic license, but then when they finally get out of the suitcase, Sonetto mentions they're only two blocks away from their target and they can go there by bus, which would be impossible if they were still in London.

So yes, I think this is what happened with Marta; she got transported to the epicenter of the next storm, and we will probably see her as Bessmert/The friend from afar in the future, wether in the main story or another event.

And, just one last thing to conclude my speculations about Marta/Bessmert: I really think she's the Biographer Urd.

He adds he doesn't know much more cuz the memories of 1999 are blurred, like everyone else's. However, we know that the biographer Urd published her travel note about Aperion in 1999, and we also know "The Friend from Afar" traveled to the Balkan peninsula before the storm in 1996, which gives me yet another reason to think they're the same person, which would explain the "unique" soul number (She's vertin's mother).

However, we also know Marta hasn't been in Aperion for much longer than Vertin (probably since after the storm in 1966). I think she likely decided to go back to Aperion to reseach more about the cave, but no one remembered her because the last time she was there was in 1999.

But anyways, what do you think? Thanks for reading my crazy theory! I guess time will tell if I was correct or not XD.