#CPS after school

[sangfielle]

i hate my fucking father so much it is unreal annd i hate my mother and i hate my family and i hate every fucking person i grew up around for letting any of them fucking touch me. i know that shit was obvious and no one gave a fuck at all if they weren't actively encouraging it.

[bisexualbuckl-y]

I find it weird that for a show that has 3 children included in their stories, the 911 kids just never get sick??? like aside from that bit where jee-yun was sick while madney were separated we've never seen denny or chris sick? and like kids get sick A LOT, I feel like they should include that more in plots, specially if it means eddie and/or buck taking care of a sick Chris or taking turns to look after him

[roguerebel]

When I start getting stuff for my 10 year high school reunion.

Me @ 95% of my graduating class.

[softwaluigi]

ok. looking thru some of the notes on that last one hit a lil too hard

[jj-pines]

Has anyone else ever had dreams that last years? Then you just wake up in tears because what just happened??

[swagging-back-to]

update on those netlectful parents

the baby is now a teenager and the parents are effectively dead (full on deleted from the save file because i dont want their genes to pass on ever again) and shes been adopted by her lesbian older 'sister' and her girlfriend

[cimeriansparrow]

Sister's therapist called child protective services on my mother!!

[mochapanda]

so im 2 whiskey highballs in right and suddenly im ranting about how negligent the kageyama brothers' parents are in mob psycho 100

[ew-selfish-art]

DpxDc AU: Justice League requires all of its youngest members to list at least one adult emergency contact in case something happens out in the field- And Lancer did tell Danny to put his number down if he needed help!

Lancer wanted to call CPS, wanted to call them for years, but something was wrong with his beloved town and the government agents that came were always… ill mannered. To say the least. So with the young Mr.Fenton appearing wounded in his class on multiple occasions, sleeping through lectures even more often, Lancer felt himself gradually accept that no other adult was going to step up to protect this child.

He figures out his Identity as Phantom and it makes his rage boil hotter than Dante’s sixth layer of hell. Danny refuses to abandon his parents (who continue to hunt him unknowingly), and he refuses to let any of his ghostly responsibilities fall wayside (this CW fellow is a real piece of work!).

But for all the things he expected when he told Danny that he could be trusted and could help- Ms. Manson and Mr.Foley coming to him for help, patching wounds, offering snacks and covering for Danny when attacks occurred in class- he hadn’t expected the Justice League to be knocking on his door.

Lancer blinked at the appearance of Batman in his classroom after the final bell, but then his stomach dropped.

TELLTALE HEART THATS THE BATMAN!!

“Phantom listed you as his emergency contact. Have you had any recent communication with him?” The deep, gravel voice startled Lancer.

Lancer checks his phone, Danny had skipped class today; and while Lancer was working with Danny to get him after school lessons and tutoring for all of the hours he missed, it was uncommon for him not to respond at Lancer’s text asking for a confirmation of his safety.

“Not in 24 hours, but I can message him again.” Lancer is shaking as he types on his phone to team phantom-Who wouldn’t be nervous at both the implications of Danny’s safety and the Batman??

Superman flies into the room from the open doorway, “No luck, without a heartbeat I can’t find him. Where ever they have him it’s lead lined or he’s keeping himself invisible.”

SCARLET LETTER ITS SUPERMAN!?!

Danny doesn’t reply to Lancer, and neither do Danny’s friends.

“He has two team members with whom he is inseparable, if none of them are responding then all three have been accosted. I’m coming with you until we find them.” Lancer declares and while he’s sure that Batman is unimpressed, Superman gives him a sad smile and nods.

Thus Lancer joins the Justice League for a day, Helps to save Team Phantom and Informs the takedown of an illegal government agency.

Batman also slides him some adoption papers and a card for a lawyer if Lancer decides to formally adopt Danny. Lancer also wins a Wayne Excellence Award for Teaching that year but he’s pretty sure the money is unrelated to Danny’s alter ego- after all, Lancer is a fantastic teacher.

[helps-the-writing-brain-go]

Dad-Coded Billy

Consider, if Billy had been dad-coded even before he'd gotten his powers.

He's the eldest (he's 12) of the street kids.

He ends up gathering the Shazamily over time, either abandoned, lost or having run from home and he keeps them safe and out of CPS hands.

Eldest child syndrome (i.e. parentification) except he's done it to himself.

He tries so hard to keep them fed and clothed and with some semblance of a roof over their heads.

He buys clothes from the thrift store in bulk, gets coats sized for adults so they can bundle up more, steals leftovers and has them take turns at the local fridge to get them canned foods, fights off bullies and other people for the right to live in condemned buildings for them all.

The older kids had a couple years of school and he teaches them to read. They frequent the library a lot and use public toilets to wash up.

It isn't perfect, but they've survived this long.

The one that nearly broke the camel's back was Darla, a toddler (about 2ish?) who got really sick. Billy debating so hard on whether to willingly bring them to CPS if only to get her help because winter is closing in and he's SO scared she'll die.

But he PROMISED.

He ends up getting his powers when he ran into the subway after stealing from the local pharmacy.

Honestly he nearly refused because this kid has been in survival mode for so long and his entire focus is on keeping his family alive and possibly giving them a better life.

And then the Wizard promises him magic and spells to help them if he accepts the duty and like a man signing up for the army Billy agrees for their sake.

He's a little more closed off to the JL maybe? He has more regular hours compared to his Canon counterpart bc his focus is still on his family.

They call him big brother, but after he'd gotten even bigger, they accept the truth they'd always had subconsciously, that they actually consider Billy their dad.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC x DP fic: Farm Hand

The Kents lived on their family farm for the past three generations. Ma and Pa had two perfectly able sons and a grandson who could help around the farm without trouble.

But with Clark living in the big city, caring for his job, family, and superhero, it was brutal to find time to fly home and help with the harvest. The same could be said about Jon, who struggled to keep up in school, and his training. Kon, who used to live at home, made things easier until the boy moved out with his long-time boyfriend, Tim Drake.

They could never deny him the chance of love, and Tim was a delight- despite his unwillingness to move out of Gotham. Kon had been so bestowed he was fine living in the old Drake Manor with Tim, even if he also wrinkled his nose at the crime city like a true metropolitan.

Now, the three could fly over when their superhero or civilian lives were not getting in the way, but Ma and Pa felt bad calling them back when all three had outgrown the farm. Maybe Clark would return when he retired to take it over, or Kon.

The thing was, the couple was getting up there in age. They couldn't handle everything on their own anymore. So Pa put out an ad for a farm hand in the local newspaper. They wanted someone who would be willing to live on the farm year-round and could help around with the animals and harvests.

They refrained from telling their sons until they had someone hired. It would be easier for the two to understand a farm hand needed to be hired after it happened so they couldn't try to stop them. The ad ran for a month without a single applicant. Likely due to few reading the newspaper, until one stormy night, a young man came to their door. Clutching the ad to his chest, dressed in oversized clothes, and carrying two large bags. Obviously homeless.

Ma looked at the boy, with the dark circle under his eyes, the thin frame, and the hopeless eyes, before she deemed him a perfect fit. Pa knew she only wanted to help the young man instead of his abilities on the farm, but he didn't call her out on it.

He seemed to be around Kon's age, and a part of his heartache to see someone who looked so young seemed just as lost as a recently made clone. They had him settled in an old guest room, fed him a warm dinner, and had the boy off to bed after a shower.

The following day Pa walked him around the farm, explaining his duties. The boy remained in an eerie silence through it all, but he seemed to pay as much attention as possible to the explanation. By the third day, he could handle his work like he was raised alongside Clark.

The farm helped fit in, getting all his duties done so Pa and Ma had a little more free time. Ma filled that time with crocheting more projects, and Pa took wood sculpting. They quickly became attached to the boy, as over time, he slowly regained weight, and more light returned to his eyes.

Before they knew it seven weeks had passed since he was hired. Now the Kents knew that their farm hand was running from something. He seemed jumpy and unsure about himself often, and Pa noticed the boy shrink in on himself whenever someone got too close. He was an obvious runaway.

The Kents didn't mind, though, seeing as they forged adoption papers for Clark, and while Pa had a lovely family growing up, Ma had been raised in the system. She knew how terrible of a place it really was. She would always try everything else before calling the dogs of CPS.

The couple honestly felt like they had been given a new son, and so they may have forgotten to tell their real sons about him when Clark arrived for a visit with Lois, Jon, and Kon. Thankfully, the boy had been out in the corn field so he did not see the three men flying with Lois in Clark's arms.

"Who is that?" Jon asks, peeking out the back window, watching a stranger fires up the tractor.

"That's Danny Fenton," Ma says with a smile "A sweet thing, that's going to be living with us as a farm hand."

"Is that safe?" Kon questions. "What do you two know about him?"

"I know he's a hard worker who needs a place to rest," Pa answers with a frown. He gives his youngest a stern stare. "We are very grateful he's here."

"Ma, Pa....are you two aware this Danny doesn't have a heartbeat?" Clark asks slowly.

Ma raises a brow "Why, of course. You aren't the only investigator in the family. We looked into his background when we hired him. Danny Fenton has been declared dead for about two years now. He shouldn't have a heartbeat."

"You hired a zombie," Jon whispered in awe.

Pa smiles without any joy, alarming everyone but Ma. "No, we hired a ghost. Want to know his case of death? His parents were in the middle vivisecting him when his sister had the police break down the door. His godfather paid the parents' bond, and he attempted to gain Danny's custody in the same hour. Thankfully Danny died on the hospital table, so he wasn't turned over to them."

There is dead silence in the house before Lois clears her throat. "Well, it's a good thing Danny Fenton is no longer suffering. Now, Ma, Pa, It's come to my understanding you found another son? I am overjoyed to meet my new in-law. What's his name again?"

"Why, dear, it's Danny Kent," Ma responds with a blinding smile." "He's out back. I was just about to bring him something to drink."

"I'll call Bruce while you meet him," Clark says, tapping away on his phone. "We need to have Danny Kent's paper trail ready before Christmas. I hate to see my brother have a hard time at the holidays"

"I'll call Damian too! He likes to hurt people and the Fentons deserve to be hurt!" Jon chirps, floating off the ground a bit before Kon places his hand on his head and yanks him back down.

Unknown to the family of supers, there is a fourth person with super hearing. Danny blinks away the tears as he turns the tractor down the smooth straight lines Pa showed him to make. Maybe answering the ad that he had been using to keep warm at night was the best thing he's ever done.

He wonders what Jazz is up to and if the Kents would be alright with asking his sister to visit for the holidays.

[f1ghtsoftly]

Upon reflection, it was so damaging in childhood to be expected to preform at the same level as everyone else while being abused. I had so many embarrassing conversations with adults in my life about why I did this, why I was messy, why I was late all the time, why I didn’t get work done. Telling the truth would mean a CPS call that would yield nothing but a brutal beating the next day. Sorry, I was shaking when I woke up and could barely get out of the house because there was screaming so loud it shook the walls to my bedroom. Sorry, my sister was locked outside like a dog last night, I had to wait late to sneak her out a snack. Sorry, I’m afraid to ask my parents because of how they will react.

I really can’t overstate how much I dislike stories about magical poor kids, disabled or otherwise marginalized kids somehow preforming exceptionally under very difficult circumstances, because even though sometimes that does happen, it is a vanishingly small amount of kids that can even make something of that talent or skill after they display it. It is simply too much to ask a human being to continue steady work while caring for addicts, while getting sexually abused, while repeatedly not being accommodated for disability, in the aftermath of severe bullying and assault.

It is so brutally, brutally unfair that our society sees working hard through abuse, homelessness, unaccommodated disability, illness and poverty as some kind of badge of honor and not what it really is, a blistering indictment of how our society expects someone living in a shelter to work just as hard as someone in a stable home and have the same resources and blames those who fail to meet expectations with less opportunity, lower wages and social scorn. I can’t express how inhumane it is.

I remember a friend of my sister’s who was r*ped by an older boy in my grade. She was taking some advanced classes and the school was “unable” to separate them and keep her in advanced classes. I remember how anyone expected her to learn in that class but she would also be blamed if she didn’t preform well. No college would get a note explaining a poor grade or a poor semester due to retraumatization from abuse. Her failure to work through humiliating and traumatizing circumstances would mean a loss of educational attainment and potentially a worse transcript.

A lot of words are thrown around about victim blaming and there are very real cases, like Amber Heard, where women are attacked for coming forward or defending themselves against abuse-but another pernicious form of victim blaming comes from expecting someone to trudge through the unthinkable and label them as sick, as failures, as mentally challenged or just not good enough when they inevitably fail.

[andavs]

sorry what do you mean by eddie & shannon being a classic military couple?

Sorry it's been a minute, but this got away from me.

So military couples are notorious for getting married very young and very quickly for the benefits, and they’re also notorious for their relationships failing and getting divorced.

They skip the time usually spent building a solid foundation and partnership, and jump straight into marriage. Then if deployment comes up, one of them leaves for an extended period of time. This leads to a lot of relationships where sex is the only area where they’re compatible, because they’re both growing as people completely separate from each other. They’re handling different stresses, different schedules, sometimes completely different realities, until they’re finally reunited and a lot of the common ground they built their early relationship on isn’t there anymore. So they focus on the good things to keep things going because it’s easier, which is often sex.

Sound familiar?

Eddie and Shannon both said that they were always good at sex, but that’s about it. They never learned how to work as partners before they got married and became parents, and with Eddie deployed almost straight out of basic and overseas for half of their marriage, they never got the chance. Even just communicating was a struggle; anytime they tried to broach a difficult subject, it devolved into a yelling.

Like the fight about Eddie reenlisting:

Readjusting to civilian life is always rough, even with a really solid support system and no PTSD. Not just coming back to safety from danger, but while you're deployed, everything is relatively "simple". Even if you’re in a warzone and seeing combat, everything else is handled for you—food, clothing, medical, housing, etc. Coming back to suddenly having to worry about rent and paying for the dentist and grocery shopping and feeding the kids and getting them to school is a big adjustment and it can be overwhelming.  

So is coming back after a year and really realizing how much of your family's life you missed. They handled things without you, your kids grew and changed without you—you don't even know what you missed but you know you're out of sync, and it can be incredibly isolating. Reenlisting to get back to the familiar and "simple" life of the military isn’t uncommon.

Eddie didn't even know how to hold his son, let alone process the CP diagnosis, and all the bills and headaches of everyday life on top of that. Shannon was used to the bills and headaches and wanted him back so she wouldn’t have to handle it all alone, but he was so incredibly overwhelmed and disconnected that reenlisting was, in his mind, the way to solve a lot of those problems. (It’s also possible he got a pretty good bonus for reenlisting, which it sounds like they really needed, and Eddie was raised to do whatever it takes to provide.)

Then the welcome home party:

This comes with all the same problems as the reenlisting argument, but this time with more trauma and no exit strategy because Eddie was shot multiple times and discharged. The only way he's been able to "be a man and provide" for his family is unavailable, and he's clearly struggling with feeling useless and out of his depth.

Each member of his family in that scene puts pressure on common points of stress of returning from deployment:

Helena's on him for not knowing how to care for Christopher, and everything he’s missed while he was away.

Ramon's proudly holding up the symbol of his trauma and reciting the certificate, lauding the job Eddie can't do anymore.

Shannon's clearly been living for the day he gets back so she wouldn’t have to do it all alone anymore and they could get out of Texas. It was her light at the end of the tunnel, and she wants to get out of there as soon as possible.

None of them were being intentionally malicious, but Eddie constantly downplays everything about his military service ("I was just doing my job" / "I just did what anyone else would do") so none of his family really knew what he went through or how much it affected him. He came home pretending he was fine, so they expected him to be fine. Maybe they wanted him to be fine so they didn’t see how much he wasn’t. 

This is a really common problem for combat veterans and their families. They don’t want to think about what they’ve been through so they shove their medals in a box in the closet. They don't want to talk about it because their family won't understand or they don't want to go into the gory details, maybe they feel ashamed, or maybe they just aren’t ready to revisit it yet. But by not talking about it at all, the disconnect grows and they feel more alienated from their family, who has no idea how much they're struggling so they don’t know how to help, or even that they need help.

And Eddie’s clearly struggling in that scene, literally backed into a corner, snapping that he needs time because he doesn't know how to say that he can't handle up and moving to another state on top of everything else he's still not adjusting to. He probably can't even admit that he's not adjusting because this stuff should be easy and everyone else can get his son a drink, but he can’t even do that right. He was an incredibly competent and capable soldier and medic, and now he doesn’t even know where the juice boxes are.

But to Shannon, who doesn't know what he's feeling, he's being stubborn and dismissive of what she needs and everything she's been dealing with alone. And again, they never learned how to tackle these kinds of issues without fighting each other.

They were both at the end of their rope, and had similar responses that were incompatible with each other. Eddie dug in where it felt familiar and safe to him, in El Paso with his family nearby. Shannon retreated to where she could feel safe: LA, with her mom, where she wouldn't have someone correcting everything she did and constantly breaking her down further. It's possible she had her own support system there that she'd been largely cut off from while in Texas.

It's also not uncommon for a returning soldier to get boxed out of childcare and family decisions; their partner has gotten so used to handling it on their own that it can feel like they aren’t needed anymore. But sometimes the opposite happens: their partner has gotten so overwhelmed handling it all on their own that they end up dumping it on the returning soldier, like what happened when Shannon left. She was able to get away and breathe without everything on her shoulders, but then it all fell on Eddie who was already struggling with the basics.

Combine all of that with the stigma of PTSD within the military and so many soldiers willfully ignoring the symptoms, the way Eddie was raised to “brush it off, keep moving forward”, and Eddie’s very internal, freeze response PTSD symptoms where he just kind of shuts down and tries to stay where it’s safe, and you’ve got a dude silently drowning in Texas until he’s forced to make a move because his parents want custody of his son.

Most of this came from the book I Always Sit with My Back to the Wall, which again, seems like the instructions Eddie was built from.

[ladykailitha]

Eddie and Nancy

Just giving my brain a break from the Secret Tunnel (aka the game show) story. I still have two chapters to get through and my brain needs a cool down.

I've seen a lot of headcanons that Eddie is the Wheeler children's older half brother because of how much they look like each other.

But may I propose instead: cousins.

Hear me out.

You have first born, Elizabeth. Absolute hippie child. All about that free love, sex, drugs, and rock and roll. She learns how to play guitar, falls in with the charming and cool, Al Munson. They plan to tour the country his beat up old truck. But before that can happen, Elizabeth gets pregnant with Eddie. So she marries Al.

Then you have Karen, the younger sister. Bright, demure, absolute golden child. She dyes her hair and blows out the curls to more like waves so she doesn't look like Elizabeth anymore.

She does what she was raised her whole life to do. Get married to a good boy so they can have good children and pay taxes and never do anything fun.

When Elizabeth dies, Karen refuses to go to the funeral, hates that her name is even in the obituary at all. Then three years later when Al is sent to prison, CPS calls her first.

She's the boy's aunt. She has a comfortable home, and bringing him in would barely dent their finances. But Karen refuses. She won't have that delinquent anywhere near her children.

So they go to Wayne. Wayne who really doesn't have the space or the money to take care a little boy almost teenager. But he looks into those big brown eyes and can't say no.

They keep apart until the murders in town start in Wayne's own god damn trailer. He keeps his mouth shut when Nancy comes up to him asking about Eddie. He would like to throw it in her face that he knows who she is and that he knows full well that Karen would throw a fucking fit if she found out where her daughter was. But he won't. It's not the girl's fault her mother is a bitch.

After Vecna (and Eddie NOT dying) Nancy is sent to the attic to see if she can find some of Mike's old things to donate as a lot of Nancy's went to Holly. She finds an old trunk and though locked it comes apart in her hands. In it she finds dozens of pictures of her mom with beautiful girl with flying dark brown curls and sparkling eyes.

She smiles as she reminds her of Eddie.

Her mother calls out for her to hurry and slips one of the pictures in her back jeans pocket. Nancy closes the trunk and hurries back to her mother.

Then because Nancy can't leave a mystery well enough alone, she goes digging. All while Eddie and Max are in a coma, Nancy works on her mystery.

She finds her answer in the most unlikely of places. Joyce Byers's year book. She had it out showing her boys the outrageous hair styles they had in her day.

There two rows down from Lawrence Byers is an Elizabeth Childress. She's got ribbons in her hair and smiling brightly at camera. So full of life.

Childress.

She closes her eyes. There is no doubt this is her mother's sister. A sister Nancy never knew anything about.

She points her out to Joyce. "Oh, I remember her. Such a sweet girl. It's really too bad she fell in with that Munson boy. Or rather the wrong Munson boy."

She flips the pages and on the same row as her, is Wayne Munson staring up at her. So happy and free. The Vietnam would too soon take that from him. "That's Wayne. Such a good boy. Elizabeth would have thrived with him. But Wayne was shy and more interested in getting good grades than girls."

Joyce flips back to the seniors with Jim and Lonnie and began searching for the M's. "There." She pointed at another boy. Alan Munson. "He was trouble from the moment he was born. But he had a motorcycle and a leather jacket. Lizzy fell hard. They got married right out of high school, I heard."

Jonathan and Nancy share a look of shock.

"What happened to her?" Jonathan asks.

"Cancer," Joyce says sadly, "poor thing."

Armed with her knowledge and a borrowed yearbook, Nancy marches right up to her mother and slams the yearbook in front of her. The picture Nancy took from the attic serves as bookmark and she shoves both at her mother.

There is no denying it now. All the proof is right there in black and white.

"This is why you didn't want to join the D&D club my freshman year, isn't it? Because it was Eddie's club?"

Karen buries her head in her hands. And the truth just starts spilling out.

"And that boy is just like his father!" Karen cries. "He might have not have killed those kids but he was a drug dealer."

"To keep the lights on his trailer!" Nancy yells back. "If you and Dad had taken him in maybe he wouldn't have turned out the way he did. Maybe he be a better person."

"Or maybe he would have dragged you other children with him!"

"If you really thought that Mike wouldn't have been allow in Hellfire either!"

It's at this point Mike walks in and suddenly Karen is caught.

She breaks down and explains that Eddie had helped her with her car right before Mike started high school. So as a way to return the favor she let Mike join.

Nancy heads to the hospital and manages to get into see Eddie.

Wayne tells her only family is allowed to see him and Nancy smiles.

She knows.

Then Eddie wakes up, falls for Steve, the whole party teases Steve about keeping it in the family and Karen gets her head out of her ass and everyone lives happily ever after.

The end.

[cupidscrule]

DAD GOJO HEADCANONS W/ BABY MEGUMI:3

Arts not mine idk the original sorry :(

Dad!Gojo would 100% try to be the 'cool dad' you wanna get ice cream after school even if you failed a test? SURE! But he is strict with some things like this man does NOT let his kid watch any movie rated 13+.

Dad!gojo would show up to the parent teacher conference after exercising a curse, he'd be all gross and then try to explain 'NO NO MRS, DON'T CALL CPS. I'M NOT A CRIMINAL THIS BLOOD ISNT MINE BUT-"

Dad!Gojo spoiled little Megumi so much it's not even funny, growing up after getting 'adopted' (basically kidnapped by a mentally unstable teenager who killed his bio father) if he even pointed at a toy he wanted Gojo just threw it in the cart no questions asked.

Dad!Gojo whenever he's asked 'wheres his Mom?' by random people, he totally makes up an entire tragic story on how he's a single dad after his girlfriend left him with a child.

Dad!Gojo squaring up at the other parents after saying he isn't Megumi's real Dad

Dad!Gojo bought 'how to raise a child ' book after getting Megumi, and still has them buried deep in a box

[hoseoksluna]

THE BALL OF LIGHT, i. | myg, jjk

pairing: friend!jeongguk x fem!oc (ft. brother!yoongi)

genre: fluff

word count: 2.9k

summary: life of other people never mirrored yours and jeon jeongguk will never be yours, either.

pin: ball of light / taglist: join / discord: join / masterlist: run

cp: ao3 / wp

warnings: smoking, suggestive but not described thoughts of nudity, pessimism, orphancy / the members in this series are fictional.

note: everybody, welcome the new series. it is a multiple member-centered fanfic, so the names you see in the title don't necessarily mean the pairing is endgame or anything like that. who the main love interest is will be a surprise that the fic will slowly reveal. trust the process with the first chapter. it's short on purpose and i will reveal the information and quicken the plot along the way. let me know what you think. reblogs and esp comments are mandatory unfortunately in the hoseoksluna house:/ ...... sfjsldfjsldfj ENJOY. i love u guys! should i crosspost it on wattpad? (im scared of wattpad)

… Or was his destiny from the start To be just one moment  Near your heart? 

(Ivan Turgenev)

— an epigraph from the book White Nights by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Your brother Yoongi was always the pair of hands that would tug your legs down whenever you would fly in your books for too long. He did it out of tender care and fatherly kindness, calling your name in order for you to come join him in the kitchen for a meal. To be some semblance of a family after the tragedy had sunk its teeth into your bloodline. And what you had never imagined was that one day, you’d have to leave him behind to step inside a dream of this very reality. 

Throughout the trajectory of your girlhood, you had lived inside the worlds of your books. Classical literature that carried more depth, more leniency, despite its hardships that the characters went through, than this world. The idea of love clung to you like a second skin, one you wouldn’t really receive from the two important roles in your life because you weren’t made out of love, but would find within flowery and difficult words of another time. Digging deep and understanding made you fall in love with it, seek it in school, in the streets and inside your own home, only to look and walk past those people still empty-handed. 

In spite of it all, your palms were, somehow, still heavy. As if they carried something invisible for worldly eyes. 

You would see it come to life whenever you would close yourself up in your room, with your folded legs, your short hair wild and with a book on your lap. Dostoyevsky taught you that love could be found upon a fateful coincidence and it marred you in a beautiful way that was pitifully disastrous. It forced your eyes to look for it everywhere, even through the reappearing pain of disappointment, and it especially forced you to look for it at home. 

The hope remained even after both of your parents went to the other side of this love, beyond this world. They passed away due to an unfair illness. And because they went at the same time, you often found yourself thinking if they loved each other in the realm of eternity, when they very seldom loved each other in this temporary realm. 

Your firm, ingrained dreaminess helped you cope with the sudden silence, the aftermath of your state of orphancy. You no longer had to reread a sentence in your book a thousand times, the once screeching voices beyond the door of your bedroom shunned out, dead, but still pulsing. The walls carried the ghosts of those parental fights and Yoongi… he, in his secret sensitivity to the paranormal, braided for you a bracelet of black thread. To keep you safe from those spirits, to help you heal. 

He didn’t have one of his own, and that fact faultlessly described the new role he clothed himself in within this abrupt change. He would stare at the walls with a cold gaze, threatening them with power if they ever made a sound. He sat more at the kitchen table now than he did at his music station in his room, spine hunched over a myriad of bills that would make him pull on his hair until a bald spot formed. On the left side of his head, just above his ear, where his amygdala bloomed with black flowers. 

You would come home from school, glide your eyes over his bare wrist pressed to his cheek,  and touch the tense muscles over his protruded shoulder blades. You saw, vividly, the way his new role tore him apart and you wanted to help him. Physically and emotionally. But Yoongi rejected your help, rejected the emotions you were so willing to smooth out and caress with the lines of your palm that knew love from the way you caressed the pages of your books. He would get up from the table, tell you to shower, and he would walk to the kitchen to prepare you a meal, a meatless one because meat was expensive. He would wash his hands in the sink, let the cold water hide the strands of hair he plucked out of stress. 

He would pretend that everything was fine when in reality, nothing was fine. 

Your parents didn’t leave you a dime, but they let you keep the house you and Yoongi grew up in. Left an unpaid mortgage in your hands instead of happy memories, instead of love. 

But Yoongi, he showed you love. He would show it to you by the way he would boil the water for you in the beginning of yours and his orphancy because he had no money to pay for the water bill and because all the money he had saved in his boyhood was used for funeral expenses. He would show it to you by the way your plate would have meat and his wouldn’t. And he showed it to you by the way he wouldn’t allow you to find a job and financially help him, but instead told you to focus on your degree. To focus on your dream. No matter how many times you pestered him that you could find a part-time job. 

No, your dreams require your full attention, he had said once, that Yoongi-coded frown shadowing his features. Go study. 

And so you bowed your head and silently left, retreating into your room while contemplating in your heart that Yoongi never knew what your dreams looked like. And neither did you. Not until they showed up right in front of you. 

It is a time perfumed by the upcoming winter, the November time of the present. Frost has been kissing each corner of glass one would stumble across in the city of Seoul, decorating it with its affection using its snowflakes. It’s what you’re looking at, perched with your shivering form on the bus stop with the only friend you ever had in your lifetime. 

Or a so-called friend. You don’t think you would use the term friendship with a guy like Jeongguk. 

He represented the unattainable aspect in the books you’ve read. The goal that hasn’t yet been reached. The agonized yearning that hangs by a thread around the character’s life. He embodied the aspect of pain itself—because if life had been a little kinder to you, he would be yours. 

Life, however, isn’t kind. 

Life is realistic.

You met the boy at a wrong time in his life. Passing by him on the stairway of your high school, you caught him in a tense, yet volatile situation of an emotional kind. Spring, still reminiscent of winter, had wrapped itself around your nineteen years of age, and you, dreaming a strange dream that you couldn’t wake up from, ran late for your class. You hadn’t spoken to him prior this fateful day, though you knew of his existence. He was just a background character that you didn’t pay any attention to until he blazed up with life and the sparks of sensitivity on that empty staircase. And you couldn’t take the other way; you couldn’t turn around and miss the class. You had to walk by him and his girlfriend at the time while they were in the middle of an argument that shook through the echo of the space. 

You walked by them, but the encounter changed your life. It changed your life because Jeongguk’s cheeks were tearstained, glistening in the uncanny white of the staircase. His eyes were fixed on yours, his eyelashes wet and long—prettily, so terribly prettily. You quietly apologized, running up the stairs as rapidly as you could, and his eyes did not leave yours until you were out of his view. And then you heard the shuffling of feet and where there was an absolute turmoil, silence replaced it. 

Jeongguk found you that very day. 

Alarm was eclipsed over those puffy eyes, his eyelashes no longer wet, but still long, so terribly pretty. You were on your way out, exiting the building, when he grabbed a hold of your backpack, stopping you from disappearing. And when you gazed back with absolute horror, your short bob swishing around you, Jeongguk smiled a soft half-smile, which thinned out that negative emotion—as if he did it on purpose, not wanting to scare you. 

What’s your name? he started with a question, his shoulders slouched and drooping, an evident tiredness misting him in a drowsy aura. His voice was strained, bubbling in his throat as if he either screamed his vocal cords raw or didn’t speak for a while, choosing silence. Both options turned your heart upside down, painfully. You felt a greater pity for him than you ever have for someone in your lifetime—and that was the beginning of all your firsts with him. 

When you said your name, Jeongguk averted his gaze and nodded his head. You expected him to ask you which year you were born, but he kept his eyes low as he uttered the words, which made your pity for him grow into a bare tree  with just one twig, a seemingly singular wing, within you. 

I don’t know how much you heard, but Ka-eun didn’t do anything wrong. It was a misunderstanding and I would appreciate it if you kept it to yourself. 

You had heard a female screaming, seething voice, but due to your sleepy state, you hadn’t made out what those words actually were. But remembering the tears dripping off of his lashes, you realized how hurtful those words thrown at his must had been. And while you thought about this all, Jeongguk took your hand, pried open your fingers and fished out of his pocket a small banana milk. 

Ka-eun, the it-girl of the high school. Jeongguk protected her reputation, in spite of the fact that she didn’t deserve it at all. 

That was the kind of person Jeongguk was. 

It wasn’t the only encounter you had with him. He would smile at you and greet you while passing you in the halls. Would put banana milks sometimes on your desk early in the morning. Would sit beside you at lunch when he wasn’t on speaking terms with her. And he would confide in you while knowing nothing about you. 

That’s the reason why you can’t call your intertwinement with Jeongguk a friendship. Certainly not, after the person he became when uni life spread its roots in yours and his and he chose the one opposite of yours. 

The faculty of medicine stood facing your faculty of philosophy and literature, and Jeongguk, wearing his green scrubs and his oversized hoodie, would meet you during lunch breaks, insisting that you spend it together because he didn’t know anyone else and he was too anxious to meet new people because of what Ka-eun put him through. 

But Jeongguk didn’t eat. Not so much like he used to. 

The trauma and the difficulty of his field forced him to turn to cigarettes. And him blowing out the smoke the other way so you don’t inhale it while eating your lunch made another twig, another wing begin to grow on your tree within your chest for him. 

You didn’t love him, but he was kind to you and he meant something to you. You never loved a man, besides Yoongi and Dostoyevsky. And Jungkook puffing out the smoke like that, he reflected Yoongi and his brotherly love for you in a way that made you dream. Dream about a romantic love that everyone else seems to have so easily, except for you. About that romantic love you read about in your favorite Dostoyevsky book White Nights. 

But perhaps the affinity you had for Jeongguk was some kind of love that the books haven’t written about, at least later on. A kind of non-romantic love that you, yourself, came up with. A love that meant nothing in this world, but everything to you. A love that blazed up like the tip of Jeongguk’s cigarette that he lit up for you at the beginning of autumn of this year, letting you try it out just because he felt like it. 

Another first that has become a habit. 

You didn’t have money of your own to spend it on packs of cigarettes, but Jeongguk did. And he’s never been the kind of person who was stingy. He would give himself if he could, and it completes him—the act of giving and the other person’s response of receiving. 

His eyes burst with light at this very moment, a few months later, just like they did the first time when he lit up a cigarette for you. Though this time, you don’t need his help. You feel their heat, in the middle of this frosty bus stop, as he watches you place the cigarette he pulled up from his pack for you, his own hanging from his lips, unlit. He always waits for you to light up your own first like the gentleman he is, but something about his gaze is different. You sense their intensity, their foreign, foreign intensity that you don’t think is meant for you. And when you take that first puff, you expect it to leave you—like you’ve learned that it always does—but for some reason it doesn’t. 

There’s depth to the eye contact once you reciprocate it. Murkiness descends upon the pair of you, the sun parting ways with the day in a much quicker way that you still haven’t gotten used to. And along with it, a light layer of snow begins to fall. 

Something is meaningful about it—like it should be written down. Jeongguk’s eyes of lingering seriousness, pensive. The snowflakes that settle upon his ebony hair. How silky they must be to the touch. Always so poofy and voluminous. 

Your hands itch to write and Jeongguk doesn’t ask for his pink lighter back. He merely keeps staring, and you start to think that maybe something is weighing his heart heavily. Something personal that he will soon pour out. Like he always does. 

You’re the listener, never the talker, but something inside you urges you, strangely, to make the first move. Get him talking, get him smoking, so he can go home, go to bed and awake with a fresh consciousness, ready to be filled with anatomy, sicknesses and all the other stuff he needs to cram. 

The hand that longs to write lifts, and it feels natural. It feels natural to flick your thumb on the lighter and call fire to life. It feels natural when Jeongguk purses his lips, lifting the cigarette in the process, and holds it up for you while his hands remain warm in the pockets of his oversized black jacket. It feels natural to watch him suck in, the cheeks that carry too many memories of his tears hollowing out. 

And for a second that is too brief, you let your soul imagine what it would be like… to have Jeongguk as your boyfriend. 

To have the full, ceaseless measure of his love. The one that is meant for the better people, but not for you. 

To have his hands touch your skin in a way that would convey what he feels for you— 

“Have you told your brother yet?” 

Too, too brief, that second. Internally, you take your imagination and sew it shut with a pink thread. Pastel pink, like his lighter. 

The question aches as if you pricked your heart with the needle. You haven’t told Yoongi that you smoke one cigarette a day with a boy after school. You haven’t even told your journal. All in fear that the only life you ever managed to experience out of the realm of your books would simply disperse, never to be found again. 

In fear that Yoongi would be mad and you’d add another layer of stress on top of his already high pile. In fear that he would yell at you like your father did over meaningless things. 

“No,” you respond, softly, dropping your gaze to the ashy tip of your cigarette, flicking it off. The prickling sensation deepens as the iciness of the weather grows. You shiver, sighing. The tree in you does as well. “I’ll never tell him. Never—”

“Never in a million years,” he finishes for you, and your mouth parts in the overwhelming realization that you were wrong. 

Jeongguk does know something about you. He remembers that this is a sentence that repeats in your vocabulary multiple times a day. And there’s such intimacy to it, him knowing this, him finishing the sentence for you, him being educated in the matter that bears your name. 

Or perhaps not. Perhaps you’re too starved of any male attention, love and touch. 

Your imagination in you fights against the seam. 

“What happens if he sees you?” Jeongguk asks, and you pause before replying. Take a puff of your cigarette, watch as a miniscule star of mischief begins to live within the macadamia chocolate of his eyes—as if the principle of him secretly corrupting you utterly enthralls him. You picture that’s what he smells like underneath all those clothes of his, your imagination poking a finger through the seam. And you let it—you let it grasp you because it’s stronger than you. 

Macadamia, musk, cedarwood. 

The kind of lustful smell that is dark to the sight, but innocent in its core. 

Behind him, the blue murkiness fully evens out, no hint of the sun’s coloring painting its corners with positivity. Pessimism abides, and you feel it burying itself into your literature-woven bones. 

You’ve been waiting twenty minutes for the bus, Jeongguk even longer for his. The roads are long and empty, darkening the longer you stand here. The snow forms a firm layer on the ground, and you already anticipate Yoongi’s anger-infused worry, crawling all over you. 

You turn to look at Jeongguk, your blood flow at full halt. 

“War happens, Jeongguk,” you say, swallowing thickly. “If Yoongi and I see each other outside of the walls of our house.”

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