#He totally taught her how to change the plumes to blue | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joonbird · 6 years ago

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Heartbeat | 7

➭ “You’ve always stayed far away from the Kingsnakes, the coldblooded gang that runs the dark heart of your city. That is until your life collides with the intriguing and dangerous Jung Hoseok.”

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: gang!au, smut, angst

wordcount: 12k

** warnings: Graphic descriptions of injuries and violence, dark themes, gang activity, explicit drug references, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of death. and bathtub sex **

Sleep feels impossible tonight.

Every muscle in Hoseok’s body is locked in place, his eyes stare listlessly into the darkness of his room. No matter what he does, no matter how many times he swears under his breath and rolls over onto one side, he can’t fall asleep.

His mind is swirling with thoughts, thoughts that are unwanted and painful, thoughts infused with the question mark of what could’ve been, thoughts that start and end with your name on the tip of his tongue.

Hoseok has never been the type of person to reminisce on the past, largely due to his belief that reflection is unnecessary. You can’t turn back time and change the past, so why bother dwelling on it? But now, when the evening is fading into dawn, and the sky is awash with the milky blue of breaking daylight, Hoseok silently confesses that he chooses to ignore the past because it’s easier than confronting it.

The past is painful. Hoseok knows this better than anybody. He’s trained his mind to not think back on particular turning points of his life, he’s sharpened the skill of actively not remembering darker times. But ever since you came into his world, he can’t ignore his past anymore. Everything that he tried so hard to bury deep is rising to the surface.

Hoseok clutches the sheets in his hands and lets out another soft, “Fuck”. It does little to ease his racing thoughts. He thinks about you, how your eyes flash with hurt when he says things to you that are particularly cold and cruel. He thinks about how your voice sound when it whispers his name, the nape of your neck and the curve of your waist, the look of shock that painted over your features when he pressed his lips to yours for the first time.

“Stop it,” Hoseok mutters into the darkness, his voice harsh. Stop thinking about her.

Hoseok curses himself for his total lack of foresight, for his inability to see when something is good before it’s too late. He thinks he’s so cunning, so clever, when in reality he can’t see anything at all. He didn’t see you coming into his life, he didn’t see you changing his life, and he didn’t see you walking out of his life- until of course, it was too late.

Am I a bad person? The thought creeps in, and Hoseok sighs. He doesn’t know anymore. For a long time, he had just accepted that he was a bad person. Hoseok can’t recall all the times he’s done fucked up things, hurt people, received a sick sense of numbing satisfaction from affirming that yes, He had never considered the possibility that he was redeemable, that he may not be an intrinsically bad person. Until you.

Hoseok leans back on his bedframe, slumping forward until his head is in his hands. This hurts. This really, really hurts. It hurts, the way you eased into his heart with killer precision. He doesn’t know how to get you out. He doesn’t want to get you out.

Hoseok lifts his head and absently fumbles on his nightstand table for the pack of cigarettes he keeps there, his fingers catching on the box. He hesitates, before he finally throws the box, hard, across the room. A dramatic gesture perhaps, but Hoseok couldn’t give less of a fuck right now. Cigarettes spill out onto his bedroom floor and he swears again.

He looks at the clock, it reads 5:03AM. It’s 5AM, and he’s here, head in his hands, thinking about a woman who makes him feel a heady kind of hopefulness, a woman who taught him that there may be more to life than living fast and dying young.

Hoseok squeezes his eyes shut and weakly tells himself to stop being such a weak motherfucking bitch, that you have left his life and it’s for the better, that you’re just another memory to lock away and forget about.

He lies awake in bed until daylight breaks over the horizon.

Twenty years ago, on a Friday evening in the middle of December, Jung Hoseok fell in love with dancing.

It was a Friday, because Friday was always the day that his Mum liked to go grocery shopping. Every Friday was like clockwork – Hoseok trailing his mother around the store while she slowly, carefully picked out boxes and cans. It was always Friday, because Hoseok’s father stayed out on Friday nights, stumbling in the house late into the evening with the sharp smell of alcohol plumed around him like smoke.

It was during October, because the air was brisk when Hoseok slipped away from his mother and walked out of the store. It had felt like a thin film of ice was going to settle over his skin if he stayed outside for too long.

Hoseok was certain he’d always be able to remember it. The cold that brushed over his skin, the quiet hum of the store doors closing behind him, and there – on the concrete in front of the store, a group of guys.

They had a battered portable radio that was perched on the hood of an equally battered car, the crackly weak bass of a hip hop song filtered into the air. The group of guys were joking around, pushing each other and filling the beats of the song with their light, cloying jabs and insults – and they were dancing.

Hoseok had stared at them with wide eyes. Each movement they made was strong and bold, and they were entirely in control of their bodies. One guy, the one in the middle with a cap jammed over his hair and trackpants about two sizes too big for him, had a smile that he was struggling to contain. He was a man who was in control of each of his movements, a firm grip on the rhythm that coursed through body, controlled over everything except the smile that teased at his features.

Hoseok’s breath was coming out in puffs of cold into the night air and he wondered, right then and there, if he could be like that one day.

It was one of those, right time, right place sort of situations. The kind of scenario where everything pieces together so exactly, that it can only be due to a stroke of luck, a twist of destiny. A red thread of fate.

Hoseok was a few days from turning sixteen when he met Z.

His father had passed away the month prior. Hoseok had stood at his father’s funeral just last weekend, dressed in a rented suit that smelled like sweat and felt starchy on his skin, watching as people he had never met before shuffled through with tears dotted on their cheeks. Hoseok had looked up at the framed photo of his father that people were crying over, and he wondered what exactly they were crying for.

You’re nothing. His father’s voice floated into his thoughts. Hoseok squeezed his eyes shut, thinking about all the times his father had called him a loser, a coward, a ‘fucking pussy’, until finally just landing on the words that Hoseok had grown accustomed to hearing – ‘You’re nothing, Hoseok.’

Hoseok thought back to all the times he had seen his mother crying in the kitchen early in the morning when she thought the house was asleep, her hands bent in front of her, praying. Hoseok had always felt so tiny and powerless every time he heard his mother cry, every time his father’s fist went crunching into his cheek, every time the words You’re nothing echoed through his thoughts.

Hoseok’s eyes had fluttered open and a few funeral-goers stared at him, eyes sympathetic and pitying. His mother, standing beside him, was crying – his baby sister in her arms. Hoseok’s father was gone, but the pressure he put on the family remained. He was gone, but all these people were still crying. Hoseok looked at the tears tracking down everyone’s faces, at the photo of his father perched high in the funeral hall.

He didn’t cry.

It was that memory that lingered in Hoseok’s mind when Sungmin approached him after school and asked him if he was free to talk. He was the same age as Hoseok, they were in the same Geometry class, yet Hoseok had never exchanged more than two words with him.

Sungmin was something of a mystery, no one knew much about him. What Hoseok did know, however, was that Sungmin was always wearing a leather jacket that was two sizes too big for him, Sungmin was part of some newly established gang, and that Sungmin, for some reason, was standing on front of him now wanting to ‘talk’.

Sungmin was the same age as Hoseok but he felt older. He had an air of confidence about him, and he dug into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it. He offered it to Hoseok, and even though Hoseok had never so much as touched a cigarette in his life- he took it.

He held it gingerly in his fingers and took a drag, coughing at the feeling of smoke in his lungs. Sungmin just watched on, an amused smile on his face.

“Will you teach me how to breakdance?”

Hoseok had been momentarily surprised. Of all the questions he had been anticipating, it hadn’t been that one. What surprised him the most though, was how quickly he answered back, his response.

“Okay.”

Sungmin was a slow learner. He was a clumsy dancer. He also, surprisingly enough, evolved from classmate to friend.

Hoseok learned a lot about Sungmin when they met up after school. He learned that Sungmin wanted to learn how to dance because his girlfriend, Lorna, had mentioned she liked breakdancers. He learned that Sungmin had a short fuse and a tendency to spew filthy swear words when he couldn’t get a move right.

He learned that Sungmin’s chest puffed out in pride whenever he talked about his friends, the gang that he was currently being initiated into. ‘The Kingsnakes,’ Sungmin would say, struggling to keep a cool expression on his face, ‘That’s our name, by the way.’

Hoseok had learned that Sungmin, when he found something unbearably funny, slapped his hand over his mouth and laughed silently, shoulders shaking up and down.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but it did – somewhere along the way he had become friends with the other boy. It was a realization he had when he was leaning against the wall of the warehouse one school night with Sungmin, smoking cigarettes and discussing whether it was worth staying in school, or dropping out.

“You never smoke them properly.” Sungmin had complained, pointing his cigarette butt at Hoseok accusingly. “You’ve gotta inhale. Yoongi taught me that.”

Hoseok wrinkled his nose, watching as the other boy took a deep drag, exhaling a mouthful of smoke with exaggerated confidence.

“Yoongi?”

Sungmin hummed in response. “Yep. He’s the leader of the Kingsnakes.”

Hoseok’s mouth opened into a small ‘o’. He stared at the cigarette in his hands, the glowing embers falling to the ground.

“Sungmin, will you introduce me to him? Yoongi, I mean.”

“Z,” Sungmin corrected. Hoseok looked up questioningly and Sungmin shrugged.

“Call me Z. It’s a new nickname I’m trying.”

“Loser.” Hoseok rolled his eyes and Sungmin grinned, staring at his friend thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I’ll introduce you. You’ll owe me, though.”

Hoseok nodded, feeling a thrill start in his spine. He didn’t know why he was asking to meet Yoongi, he didn’t know why he was here with Sungmin, all he did know was that he felt good. He felt like he belonged, like he wasn’t a kid anymore, like he was taking charge of his life.

He picked up the cigarette and inhaled properly. It burned in his lungs and it made his head spin, he fought the urge to cough as he exhaled all the smoke. It cloaked his vision and somewhere through the haze, he heard the almost silent strains of Sungmin’s laughter.

Min Yoongi was not what Hoseok had expected. He had hair that was dyed an unnatural shade of ice blue, and eyes that gazed him up and down suspiciously upon first glance.

“Who’s this?”

Yoongi didn’t direct the question to him, glancing over instead at Z who was standing by Hoseok’s side.

“My friend. Wanted to meet you.”

And just like that, Yoongi’s eyes were back on him. Hoseok squirmed uncomfortably.

“Why did you want to meet me?”

Hoseok’s voice was pitchy, it gave away his nerves as he spoke.

“I was wondering if I could hang around with you guys.”

Yoongi just raised an eyebrow.

“…You guys?”

Hoseok’s face flushed and he nodded. “The… the Kingsnakes.”

For a long moment, Yoongi just stared at Hoseok, a perplexed expression on his face before he sighed.

“Yeah, whatever. You can hang round with us if you want.” Yoongi’s voice was bored, and Hoseok nodded eagerly.

“But if you’re going to do that, you need to understand that there’s nothing more important to me than loyalty. Whether you’re going to hang round for a little bit or longer, at the end of the day, all I ask for, and all I expect, is loyalty. Whatever you see, whatever goes down – it’s between us and us only. Understood?” He spoke slowly, still with that bored tone- but Hoseok didn’t miss the steeliness in his words.

“Yeah, I… I understand.”

He must have passed whatever test Yoongi was giving because the older boy relaxed, but kept eyeing him curiously.

“So, why do you want in with the Kingsnakes, kid? You want money, drugs, friends? What is it?”

Hoseok sensed Sungmin’s eyes on him too, and he shrugged.

“I just don’t want to feel like I’m nothing.” He said honestly, to which Yoongi just let out a soft hum in response.

After that, Hoseok’s life became something like a whirlwind of firsts.

The first kiss, exchanged at a Kingsnake party with some girl from another school who had crawled into his lap and kissed him.

The first time he had done drugs, a tiny bump of cocaine that he snorted while wedged between Yoongi and a few of the other members at a party.

The first time he skipped class, spending the day hanging around with some of the guys and getting high, enjoying it so much that he eventually stopped going to class altogether.

The first time he fucked a girl, thrusting into her, his body using hers, feeling invincible.

The first time Yoongi asked him to help out, to keep watch for a drug deal. That had also been the first time Yoongi had slapped his shoulder and grinned at him, telling him he was alright.

The first time Hoseok was handed an envelope stuffed with bills, feeling a rush of excitement because that money was his, he had earned it. It was the first time Hoseok felt secure, powerful, like maybe he had someplace where he belonged.

The first time a needle touched his skin, inking a snake onto his wrist. The first time his mother saw the tattoo and teared up, asking Hoseok if he was safe.

The first time he and a few of the guys beat up another guy for ratting on them. The first time he punched someone’s jaw. The first time he saw Z’s eyes flash with simmering lust, punching until Yoongi told him in a sharp tone, Enough.

The first time Hoseok felt uncertainty about his decision to join the Kingsnakes. The first time he questioned whether he had made the right choices, whether his past was doomed to repeat itself.

“Yoongi likes you.” Z muttered to him on the night of his eighteenth birthday. “He’s always picking you to be his backup him in deals and shit.”

The two had slipped outside for a cigarette, standing shoulder by shoulder in the brisk air. Lorna, Z’s girlfriend, had joined them at first before she too slipped back inside, complaining about the cold weather.

“Yoongi?” Hoseok echoed. Z just grunted. Hoseok cocked his head to the side, considered those words.

“You’re probably next in line to run the group, at this point.” Z added.

Hoseok had turned to his friend, whose face was lit only by the red embers. Ash fell to the ground and Hoseok shrugged in response. He felt good, his body was buzzed, he felt like something, like he was something. He thought back on the tiny, frightened kid he used to be and a wry smile tugged on his lips.

“Nah. That’s all you, Sungmin.”

Z let out a loud scoff, reaching over and giving Hoseok a feeble punch. “You loser.” He laughed. “Come on, let’s go inside. It’s fucking freezing.”

A few weeks later, Hoseok stood outside Yoongi’s house, shivering and muttering complaints under his breath.

“Stupid motherfucking Min Yoongi asks me to drop something off and then doesn’t even answer the door,” Hoseok mumbled, walking down the driveway. “Fuck, it’s cold.” He paused once he got to his bike, sighing in annoyance as he turned around, walking directly past the front door and weaving his way through the gate.

He had been to Yoongi’s house several times, and when he got to the back door, it was, as expected, unlocked. He stepped into the house, holding the package under his arms. The house was quiet, his footsteps heavy on the floor.

“Hoseok?”

Yoongi padded out, dressed just in a pair of black jocks. “What are you- just, get out of here, I’m busy today.”

His voice was harsh and Hoseok cringed, throwing the package down on the kitchen table. “Yeah sorry, it’s all there, the delivery, the guy-”

“Yoongi?” A female voice cut faintly through Hoseok’s words. Hoseok froze.

He recognized that voice.

He glanced over at Yoongi questioningly and the stricken look on the other man’s face said it all.

“Yoongi…. Is that…” Hoseok breathed.

“Fuck,” Yoongi swore.

Hoseok closed and opened his mouth.

“Don’t say anything,” Yoongi asked in a low voice, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You won’t say anything, Hoseok?” He looked up and for the first time Hoseok saw Yoongi not as the strong, invincible leader of the group but as he was – vulnerable and broken.

“Okay.” Hoseok muttered dumbly. Yoongi nodded and the two men stared at each other tensely before Hoseok turned and walked out of the back door.

He half expected Yoongi to come barreling behind him, but he was met with nothing but silence. He got to his motorcycle, still perched by the driveway.

Hoseok recognized that voice, husky and distinctive. Hoseok saw it in the panic that crossed over Yoongi’s face, the pleading tone of his voice.

It was Lorna. Z’s girlfriend.

“Fuck,” Hoseok muttered. “Fuck!”

Anger, fear, hot and uncomfortable emotion swelled in his chest as Hoseok kicked his bike.

The resounding pain that went through his leg just intensified the frustration, but there was nothing he could do about the pain. It was too late, and what had been done, was done.

Months later, it was summer. The days were long and hot, and the air felt still. It was the calm before the storm.

Hoseok spent the majority of his days in a sticky, clouded haze. He was stretched out on the couch, his mind comfortably blurry when he heard his front door slam open.

He didn’t bother locking it half the time, today was one of those days, and he glanced up blearily. It was Z, and Hoseok sat up, yawning.

“What’s up dude? Haven’t seen you round last few days.”

Z was agitated, Hoseok could sense it from the moment that he walked in the room. Z didn’t respond immediately, pacing back and forth before he finally flopped down on the chair opposite Hoseok.

“Found out that Min fucking Yoongi was screwing my girlfriend behind my back.”

Hoseok’s blood turned to ice.

Z let out an emphatic, “Fuck” before he sighed, leaning back on the chair.

“I… how?” Hoseok asked, his voice sounding faint to his own ears.

Z didn’t answer, his eyes closed. “Does it matter?”

“Where…. Where is Yoongi now? Have you talked to him?”

Z opened one eye. A smile spread across his face, and he shrugged.

“That’s just the thing. I was going to talk to him about it, but you’ll never believe it. Turns out there was an oxygen bubble in his bloodstream. He’s dead.”

Dead?

Hoseok could hear the blood in his ears. Z closed his eyes again and shrugged.

“Freak accident. Crazy, right?”

Hoseok’s throat was dry. He sunk back down onto the couch, his head spinning.

And there it was. The sound of Z’s silent, dry laughter. Hoseok could recognize it anywhere. Hoseok felt dread start to pool in the pit of his stomach as Z spoke, his words low and dangerous like the rattle of a snake.

“There’s nothing more important than loyalty, right?”

Hoseok didn’t answer, pushing off of the couch.

“Need a cigarette.” He mumbled. He knew it was a stupid excuse, for God’s sake he smoked in his house, but he needed fresh air. He needed to clear his stupid, clouded, jumbled thoughts, because Yoongi was dead. Yoongi was dead. Hoseok’s mind was racing with thoughts as he pushed open his front door and walked down the driveway.

An oxygen bubble? In his bloodstream?

Hoseok’s hands were trembling as he walked down his street, he furtively glanced behind his shoulder to ensure no one was tailing him. He pulled out his phone, holding it to his ear. The moment it clicked, he spoke.

“Lorna, Yoongi’s dead.”

There was a shocked silence on the end of the line. Hoseok didn’t let it linger, speaking rapidly.

“Get out of here, okay?”

He heard a choked sound on the other line, an almost animal like cry. He didn’t dwell on it, he squeezed the phone tighter, feeling his heart thump in his chest.

“Lorna, do you understand me? Get the fuck out of here, alright?”

She was crying, and Hoseok hung up, his hands trembling.

He had no idea why he had done that, he didn’t owe Lorna anything. He didn’t owe anyone anything. Except Z.

Z. Hoseok stood, frozen, as he looked behind his shoulder again. The street was empty, but he felt a hum of paranoia and fear race through his veins as he turned off his phone, trying to settle his shaking hands as he turned and walked back into the house.

He walked back inside his living room, feeling his muscles tense up. Z was still sitting in that same chair, he didn’t look up as Hoseok returned to the couch.

“So, we’ve got the Deckard deal next week. You’ll help?” Z began, and Hoseok glanced up. Their eyes met and Hoseok swallowed.

You can still run, Hoseok.

He nodded.

I can’t run.

“Good.” Z glanced back at the TV and Hoseok stared at him. He and Z were friends. He owed Z, it was Z who had pulled him into the web of the Kingsnakes, it was that web that had given him power, money, helped him pull himself and his family out of debt.

Hoseok negotiated in his head that really, nothing had changed. The Kingsnakes would remain the same, even with Z at the helm. That Yoongi’s death really was a freak accident. Things wouldn’t worsen, they couldn’t.

I won’t run.

“Hoseok, you didn’t know about Yoongi and Lorna, did you?”

Hoseok felt his heart stutter. His stomach twisted, as he looked up, meeting Z’s gaze.

“No, I didn’t.”

I can’t run.

Z smiled, satisfied, and nodded. “Good.”

I can’t fucking run.

Hoseok sat still, feeling utterly paralyzed. For the first time in years, he felt that insidious, horrible feeling inside of his chest, that voice, telling him that he was nothing. And the red thread of fate that tied him as a ten year old kid to dancing had been cut.

It was replaced by the black threads of the Kingsnakes, woven tightly around him until he could no longer breathe.

The moment you enter Taehyung’s hospital room, you gasp.

A sharp, involuntary intake of breath that draws everyone’s attention on you. Your eyes scan over the room – at Ara, who gazes at you with an expression that is saturated with disappointment and hurt, at the police officers who eye you with suspicion, at a nurse who hones in on you as soon as you enter.

“I’m sorry, but you’re outside of visiting hours.” Her clipboard is tucked under her arm, her hair slicked back into a low bun. “Only direct family are permitted here, you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“She is family.”

The voice interrupts before you can respond. It’s Taehyung. Your eyes meet his and he smiles tiredly at you.

Your heart gives out in your chest when you see him, at the faded bruised rings that mar his face, at the way his chest heaves delicately with each breath.

“She’s not-” Ara begins, but Taehyung just continues to speak.

“She’s family. Nurse,” Taehyung glances away to smile politely at the nurse. “Could I have five minutes with her?”

The nurse grumbles, you hear the soft strains of her voice and Ara’s but eventually, she nods. The police officers stand up and leave first, their eyes beady and intent on you as they shuffle out of the room, before the others follow. You try to meet Ara’s gaze but she stares away from you pointedly, and you feel a twist in your chest.

Finally, the room is empty. You glance at Taehyung, he smiles at you and nods to the chair that is perched beside his bed. “Sit down.”

Your legs feel wooden as you walk over, lowering yourself into the plastic chair.

The room elapses into silence, a silence that is broken only by the quiet electronic beat of Taehyung’s heart monitor.

“Tae-”

“Are you-”

You both start speaking at once, faltering when your voices overlap. Taehyung chuckles, shifts in bed. “You go first.”

You glance up, meeting Taehyung’s eyes. He looks so frail like this, mottled splashes of purple fading beneath his skin, pale lips, a smile on his face. Your eyes linger on the IV drip that threads into his skin and you swallow.

“I’m sorry.”

You whisper the words like they’re a secret.

Taehyung clicks his tongue softly. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I… what happened to you, I-”

“What happened is just a case of wrong time, wrong place. Nothing more than that. Just some thugs who were high on drugs and wanted some quick cash.”

Taehyung speaks quickly, his voice low and calm and you shake your head, tears beginning to strain at the back of your throat. Taehyung’s voice rises a little, speeds up a touch, “Really, it was just bad luck. Thank God for insurance, right? The doctors said I’ll heal up in no time too so-“

”Tae.” You say his name and Taehyung falls silent. “It was the Kingsnakes. They-”

“I know it was them.”

A silence settles between the two of you and Taehyung’s fingers, trembling, run over the IV drip in the centre of his hand. For the first time since it was just the two of you in this room, Taehyung looks away. You keep your eyes on him, seeing the rapid blink of his eyes, the way his lips move as if he’s talking silently. He’s trying not to cry, trying to hold himself together even now when his body is on the brink of falling apart. Your chest aches and the raw ache at the back of your throat intensifies.

“I’m not going to tell the police anything about them. I haven’t. And I won’t.”

“Taehyung, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung’s voice is hoarse. “I did. I’m not saying a word. I’m not putting you in danger. There’s no evidence. It’s better to not say anything.”

“Taehyung this is serious.” The words come out harsher than intended and Taehyung finally looks up again, his eyes uncharacteristically steely.

“I know it’s not a game. It’s your life, and…” His eyes are wet with tears and he looks so young that your heart twists and tears finally start threatening to spill in your eyes, because this is Taehyung, the Taehyung you have known since you were a kid, the Taehyung who was always older and cooler and never afraid of anything, “…the thought of your life being at risk... I can’t, I just can’t.”

He swallows hard and stares determinedly at the grey hospital blanket draped over his lap. You feel a twist right in your gut, a pain like a knife slicing through butter.

Taehyung, staring down at the ground, his eyes wavering with tears that he is fighting to hold back, the steady beep of his heart-rate monitor, the sterile smell of the hospital filling your nostrils and locking around you hard and fast.

It feels like your mind is going a million miles a minute, different emotions tugging you into different places. You think about Taehyung, who is protecting you even now, who is doing the wrong thing for you. Guilt in the sharpest sense needles at you.

You think about the fists that crunched with a ferocity you’ll never know right into the small of Taehyung’s face, of the half burned down gallery that now sits in your city, of X’s flat eyes staring into you. It’s a world you don’t understand, that you don’t belong in, a world that has grasped onto you and no matter how hard you want to, you can’t seem to shake off yourself. You feel fear, a rendering of fear so awful and deep-settled that you can’t shake it away.

The sound of Taehyung shifting in place has you breaking out of your reverie.

Taehyung sighs. He reaches up and then stops, he is unable to run his fingers through his shaggy fringe. He stares at the thick, alabaster plaster wrapped around his hand.

“I just...” His voice is raspy, he swallows hard. “Do you love him?”

You gaze at Taehyung and you can see it etched right there in the slightest quiver of his lips. All of the ways a soul can hurt, scatterd there like kisses or bruises.

Taehyung is composed of light and clarity. Hoseok is the utter opposite - he is the tiniest of moans that escapes your lips when he presses his mouth to the shell of your ear, he is a heady and wickedly uncontrollable tempo, he is a dark place where you can unravel new threads, pieces of you that you had alwys been too afraid to confront in the past.

While everyone else is safety, Hoseok is freedom.

Taehyung smiles at you. Barely - the slightest twinge of his lips, a crease of his eyes. You are sure it hurts, that reassuring smile painted on a face as sore and bruised as his. But he smiles anyway, because he is Taehyung. And for a moment your heart aches, because it occurs to you how easy it would be to love somebody as safe and sweet as Kim Taehyung.

“Yes.” You keep your eyes steady on Taehyung. You feel your heart constrict, because is it a cop out, to rattle out the words ‘you can’t choose who you love?’ if you could choose to love Hoseok, would you? You think about him, Hoseok and his dark, desperate eyes when you had turned away from him just hours ago. If you could choose who you love, would you still choose him?

Your chest is tight, and you think to yourself that if someone could crack open your body, they would likely find a kingsnake coiled in between your ribs, its body wrapped firmly around your heart.

"Yes,” You murmur. “I love him.”

You glance up to see Taehyung’s reaction. He looks up, stares at you. His face is carefully passive, his eyes searching yours for a split second before he speaks.

“Does he love you?”

It’s a question that catches you offguard. You stay still for a moment, your mouth closes and opens.

“I… I don’t know,” You answer honestly. A corner of your heart peels backwards, sings out silently that he does, I hope he does.

“Do you trust him?”

Taehyung keeps his eyes on yours and you nod.

“I do.” Your voice breaks off into a small, sad laugh. “I don’t know if I can trust myself, though.”

Taehyung doesn’t speak immediately, the beep of his monitor feels the space.

“Trust your instincts,” He says finally. You think to yourself that you can’t, that you can’t trust yourself, your heart, even your mind.

“I’m scared to.” The words come out as the barest of whispers as tears prick your eyes. Taehyung leans forward and his bandaged hand brushes against your wrist.

“Don’t be scared of trusting yourself.” He says softly. “I know a lot of people in my position wouldn’t tell you this. Usually, when a guy loves a girl, the last thing they want is to see her with somebody else.” His eyes flicker, he glances at you and you understand what he’s trying to tell you. His eyes search yours for a split second, looking for something, before his face breaks into a small, sad smile.

“Look… if there’s something there, a spark, a feeling, a flame… don’t throw it away because of fear. The only person who truly knows your heart is you. The only person who truly owns your heart is you. So… trust yourself, okay?”

Tears drip down your cheeks. You nod, your bottom lip wobbles, you tell yourself not to cry but the tears only drip faster and fatter down your cheeks.

“Okay.”

Your voice is strained and thick with tears, and you glance up at Taehyung. His eyes are wet too, and you stand up, leaning forward to wrap your arms around your friend.

Taehyung’s hair brushes your cheek and you can tell he’s crying from the wet tears that drip onto your shoulder. You can feel it when you are standing this close to him, how much pain he’s holding inside, how much fear and loss.

You are full of blame, guilt and confusion, but you stay close to Tae, holding him in a hug. Telling him, in a way that only you can with somebody you’ve known as long as you’ve known Kim Taehyung, that you’re sorry.

You pull away and Taehyung’s tears have subsided, as have your own.

“I just... This s a whole other league, and I… just be careful. Of them. Of all of it. Be careful. You know that, right?“

You don’t miss the worry that infuses Taehyung’s tone. You reach out and hold his hand. The plaster is rough under your palm and you nod, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“I know.”

Once you are outside of the hospital, you cradle your phone in your hands.

Logically, you know that the smart thing to do is to put your phone back in your pocket and to go home. The right thing to do on paper is to write off Hoseok as just a fleeting mistake, to turn away from him for good.

But you can’t. You don’t want to.

You think about Taehyung’s words, about the spark, and the flame, and you think about Jung Hoseok. You don’t know what is it about him, but you don’t want to let go of it. You don’t want to let go of him. And it is that thought that you have in mind as you press dial and lift the phone to your ear.

The phone rings out and you feel your mouth go slack with nerves.

“Hey.” Hoseok’s voice is cautious as he answers, you swallow.

“Can I see you?”

There’s a silence across the line and then Hoseok clears his throat.

“Uh… okay. I’m at my place, do you want to come over? Or I can meet you-”

“Your place is fine. Can you text me the address?”

You hear Hoseok swallow, mumble out a soft “Sure”. You tell him you’ll see him soon, as you hang up and hail a taxi, wondering if the decision you’re making is the right one.

The drive isn’t long, you are wrapped up in your thoughts about Hoseok and the gravity of the situation. You pull up to Hoseok’s house, and see him sitting on his front step. He’s dressed casually, a black tee and black jeans, and he stands up when you approach.

“Why are you here?”

His question is careful and you stop in front of him.

“You said you don’t lose me.” You say quietly, and Hoseok nods. “I don’t want to lose you either. I just… feel scared when I think about what exactly I’m losing. Is it the real you, or the you I want you to be?”

Hoseok stares at you and then glances away, his eyes downcast.

“The real me isn’t great.” He says in a short voice. “But with you I was… I was always the real me. If that’s what you’re asking.”

The two of you just stare at one another and Hoseok sighs.

“Is your friend okay?”

“He’s not going to say anything to the police if that’s what-”

“Hey. I wasn’t going to ask that. I was asking because I actually want to know.”

Hoseok has one eyebrow raised and you falter.

“You actually care about him?”

You can’t help but sound bitter.

“I care about you, so, yeah. I guess I do care about him.”

Hoseok’s words has your resolve crumpling, and the composed expression slips from Hoseok’s face as he steps forward.

“Hey, I…” Hoseok bites his lip. “Fuck, I’m the worst with this kind of thing. I…” His voice raises with each word and then he pulls you into his arms in an uncertain hug. You inhale him, feel his arms encircle you, crying into the crook of his shoulder. Hoseok just runs a hand along the centre of your back in circles, until finally, the tears subside.

You pull away from him and Hoseok peers down at you. “You look exhausted.” Hoseok says brusquely, “Have you slept? Showered?”

You shake your head, and Hoseok nods. “Look. Come in, do all of that stuff, and then we can talk about whatever… okay?”

“Okay.”

Hoseok whirls around and walks up the stairs to his house, and you follow.

“Bathroom’s down that way, kitchen’s through the hall if you want something to eat. Alright?” Hoseok looks uncertain for a moment and you nod, heading to the bathroom.

You close the door behind you and stare at your reflection, feeling your frayed nerves start to settle. You turn the tap on for the bathtub, letting the small bathroom fill up with steam, your thoughts slowing and your breathing evening out as you pull off your clothes and turn off the tap, lowering yourself into the tub. The water is hot, soothing, and it pulls away at the tension gathered inside of your chest.

“You alright?” Hoseok’s voice calls out from the hallway, and you glance at the closed door.

“Can you come in for a second?” You call out, and the door opens. You hug your legs to your chest, covering yourself as Hoseok walks in.

“What did you think when I walked up to you the first time we met?”

“Honest answer?”

You nod. Hoseok tilts his head to one side, staring at you before he lets out a sigh.

“I thought you were trying really hard to prove something to yourself.” He murmurs. “I thought you were hot too.” He adds, smiling faintly for a second.

“But you didn’t care about me then, right? At the start?”

Hoseok bites his lip. You rush to fill in the spaces.

“Honest answer again, please.”

Hoseok gazes at you and nods slowly. “At the start, yeah. I didn’t.”

“So what changed from then to now? What makes how you felt about me then, different to how you felt about me now?”

Hoseok leans against the bathroom wall, swallows. “I don’t really know what it is.” He says eventually. “But the more I got to know you, the more things changed. I like how being with you makes me feel. I care about you and I want you to be safe and happy. I miss you when you’re not with me. I don’t want to just fuck you, I… dunno, wanna spend time with you.”

You don’t answer, staring at Hoseok.

“I’m scared.” You whisper. You don’t explain what you are scared of. You don’t put into words that you’re scared of loving him, that you’re scared of trusting him, of being vulnerable. That even though you’re scared, you still want him.

“I’m scared too.” Hoseok responds. “Of a lot of things, actually. But I feel less scared when I’m with you.”

His voice breaks and he shakes his head. “Sorry, that was cheesy as fuck.” He mutters, but a smile slips across his face.

The honesty in his words takes you by surprise and you hug your knees to your chest. He tilts his head back, and you stare at him and try to remember how to breathe. Because like this, when he’s standing in front of you, eyes creased in the corners, a smile soaked in an effortless, easy kind of happiness, arms folded and those clavicles peeking out from the neck of his black tee… you haven’t taken a breath, you can’t take a breath.

“I…” Your voice speaks of its own accord, his eyes hone in on yours and you let out a shaky mouthful of air, the words tumble out before you can quite stop them, “Join me.”

Hoseok pauses and his eyes flicker over to the tub that you are perched in. You have slept with him what feels like countless of times, you have the imprint of Hoseok’s bare body stamped in your mind, but there is something about this moment right now that has the breath seeping out of you and a tremble deep in your bones.

Hoseok doesn’t speak, he just clears his voice.

“Really?”

You nod, draw your knees in to your chest. Hoseok gazes at you for a prolonged moment, and then reaches behind his body, his fingers grasping at the back of his tee to pull it off of his head in one clean motion.

You see it- the flex of his torso, his taut, lean stomach, the dip of his collarbones and his fingers as they tug off his black jeans. You’ve seen it, you know it, but still your heart hammers hard and fast in your chest.

Hoseok pulls off his pants, revealing his thighs, strong and muscled. His hips, they twist as he throws his clothes carelessly in the corner of the bathroom, he steps towards the bathtub and steps in until he is seated opposite you.

You immediately close the space, inch closer to him until your knees are touching, and he lets out a soft sigh. You watch as he reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, the water keeps his hair slicked back and off his forehead.

He cocks his head down at you.

“You’re an idiot.” He murmurs, but there is no malice in his words. Instead, he sounds oddly breathless, his voice so husky and soft that you can only just make out the words.

“I’m an idiot?” You repeat, your features wrinkling into a delicately affronted expression.

Hoseok nods, his face is a mixture of emotions that you place for split seconds, like rolling waves, one replacing the other – intensity, vulnerability, tenderness, affection.

He cards his fingers through his hair, shakes his fringe out of his eyes, the snake on his wrist disappears under the water’s surface.

You feel your breath catch in your throat, a tremble working its way up your thighs and locking tight around your stomach like a band. He hovers in front of you, oozing a dark and dangerous charisma. Your eyes linger over his shoulders, the curve of his collarbones, his taut stomach.

Neither of you speak. You just stare at one another. Here, seated opposite one other in an old, cracked bathtub, it feels as if time is still.

He reaches out and presses his palms gently, carefully, around your face. His fingers skim over your jaw, until he is holding you in his hands and his eyes are searching yours. He is looking for protest that you don’t give, before he finally leans in.

Hoseok kisses you slowly. It’s something you aren’t used to with him – you are accustomed to hurried, hungered kisses. This is slow, languid almost- his lips careful and a bit clumsy against yours, his palms still cupping your face. Right there into the curve of your lips he lets out a sigh and his body relaxes.

At the sound of it- the throaty sigh of release deep from within his belly, you lean in closer, chasing into the feel of his lips. Hoseok responds, his hands sliding from your cheeks to rake into your hair.

It occurs to you in a fleeting thought just how well he can read you now, how your body responds almost instinctively to his.

The water splashes quietly against the side of the tub as his hands comb through your hair down to the centre of your back. He tugs you closer to him so that your body folds on top of his, he stretches his legs out along the expanse of the tub.

His skin glides against yours underneath the water, you begin to feel a slow knock between your legs as his hands massage intently against the small of your back. You let out a tiny groan and pull away for a moment to glance at him – Hoseok, his hair wet and slicked off of his face, droplets of water on his skin.

His hands are still tight against the slip of your waist, he kneads his fingers harder into the curve right above your ass and you let out a tiny, stuttered moan. Your face is only inches away from Hoseok’s and he keeps his eyes locked on yours, his breath ghosting over your lips.

“Do you want me?”

It’s a simple question, his voice low and tilting, but for once there is no teasing note at the end of his words, the smirk gone from his lips. Your breath shudders out, you can feel your lust knocking between your legs as you stare into his dark eyes. His face is utterly serious, his eyes dark with desire and intensity.

“Yes,” You breathe out, and Hoseok’s eyes flicker, his tongue licks over his lips.

“Yes,” You repeat, watching as a muscle in his jaw twitches. He lets out a tiny groan and captures your lips in another kiss.

You kiss him back hungrily, letting out moans in between kisses as Hoseok pulls your body even closer to his, growls against your lips as his hands curve around to cup your ass.

Hoseok breaks away from your mouth, he doesn’t stop, his mouth trailing down and stamping hot kisses along the curve of your jaw, down the slope of your neck. You are trembling, the thud between your legs dangerous and familiar as you adjust your hips.

Letting out a soft whine, you rock your hips, feeling the smooth friction of his thigh against your cunt.

A loud moan spills out of your mouth at the feeling of contact against your sensitive core, at the barest thread of pleasure and relief it offers. You grind against him harder, it only makes the ache worsen, and Hoseok lets out a growl right into the base of your ear.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” He says in a low voice. “Hmm? Rubbing that pretty cunt all over me?”

You breathe in sharp and quick at the sound of his voice, raspy in your ear, the grip of his fingers on your ass. He smirks when he hears the ragged whine that escapes your lips as you swallow hard.

He reaches between your bodies and his hand slides over your inner thigh. You let out a begging sound, the ache growing more intense between your legs.

“I want you, Hoseok,” You choke out and Hoseok lets out a low hum, pressing his body closer to yours.

The water laps at the sides of the tub as he nears closer to you, his mouth inches from yours, his palm still flat on the inside of your thigh.

The sides of his knuckles graze at your sensitive core and your breath pitches in, lust pooling in your body. You tilt your hips upwards, desperate to feel more of his touch against you.

Hoseok’s dark eyes stare into yours, his hair wet, drops of water slowly sliding down his face. Your heart is hammering your chest, your thighs tensed, your core aching and throbbing for him. Hoseok leans in and presses his lips to yours carefully, as his fingers inch closer.

The tip of his pinky carefully caresses over your slit and you fall apart into his kiss.

“Sit up.”

He murmurs it into your lips and you hesitate, pausing before he says it again, more forcefully.

“Sit up would you?”

“W-why?”

“Just… just sit on the edge of the tub. That end, princess.” His voice is impatient, but softens as he uses the nickname. You push yourself off of him reluctantly and stand, sitting down on the edge of the tub with your back against the wall.

As your back touches the cold tile, Hoseok heads towards you.

His hands brush over your ankles in the water, his palms smoothing over your calves. Your breath rushes in as he slowly moves up your legs, until his palms are canvassing your inner thighs, his fingertips grazing carefully over your pussy.

Your back is stiff, desperately arched, as Hoseok glides his hands back down your legs. It feels as if your entire body is on edge, wanting him to touch you, the gnawing ache between your legs wicked and intense.

His fingers journey up over your inner calves, your thighs, resting by your knees before he pushes.

You glance down, taking in the visual of your legs spread, Hoseok between your thighs.

You swallow hard, a new punch of lust searing through your body.

“H-Hoseok,” You stammer out his name and Hoseok gazes right at you, his lips quirked into that same slow smirk, his eyes intent on yours.

“Yes?” He murmurs, leaning down and pressing his lips teasingly to your knee.

“I…” Your voice thins as he inches forward, presses his lips against the soft skin of your hip. You tremble as Hoseok places his hands on the inside of both of your thighs, spreading your legs apart wider.

You can’t think of words, your thoughts fading out into an incorrigible mess of emotions as Hoseok leans in, his words come out softly against your spread cunt.

“Is there something you’re trying to say?” He gazes up at you from between your legs.

Your breath comes out in ragged gasps, the knock between your legs intense and all consuming. Hoseok gazes right at you, dark eyes tracked on your face, his mouth only centimetres away from your pussy. Fuck.

You press your head against the back of the wall, clench your thighs, let out a shaky breath. The word breezes out between your lips.

“Please…”

Hoseok lets out a moan and glances down, staring at your core.

“God,” He mutters softly, “I love hearing you beg.” He swallows before he leans in even closer.

His tongue wetly traces up your slit. The sensation of his tongue against you has you twitching your hips, your hands grip the edge of the porcelain tub. Hoseok’s tongue, tasting all up of your wetness, ends by your clit, you cry out as he hums, pulling himself away.

“Feel good?”

His voice barely registers as his tongue finds your pussy yet again. He presses the flat of his tongue against your clit, tracing down your inner thigh. His tongue is coaxing, flicking slow patterns around your clit. You throb from how good it feels, his mouth on you, Hoseok between your legs letting out soft moans, his shoulders flexing as he reaches up and slides his finger into your walls.

You feel your belly start to coil tightly as Hoseok pushes the entirety of his finger slick into you. His tongue continues to work needy circles around your pussy as he pushes his finger in and out of you.

The rhythm is slow at first, teasing, the rock of his finger fucking you out and the lapping of his tongue against your folds. The sensation of him pushing his finger inside of you has you gasping, your legs stiffening, while the softness of his tongue has your deep-seated urgency unravelling at the seams.

You tip your head back hard against the wall as Hoseok slips another finger inside of you. His thumb darts in to massage teasingly around your clit, his touch is hard and punishing, almost making you cry at the sensitivity before his tongue is there to gloss over the ache.

“I’m going to cum,” You pant out, turning your head to the side so that your cheek is pressed flat against the cool ceramic tile of the bathroom wall.

Hoseok doesn’t stop, he rubs his thumb against your clit harder, works his tongue deeper into you.

The back and forth has your back stiffening desperately, the throb causing your mouth to fall open as the high rides over your body, breaking in euphoric waves as you moan out his name.

“Fuck!” Your voice shakes as Hoseok tilts his head back, his eyes on yours as he sits up, still between your legs.

You let out a strangled, wanton moan, your orgasm washing over your skin as Hoseok chases into you, his lips close to yours when he whispers, “You look so hot when you cum…” He lets out a possessive moan as he kisses you, deep and long before he groans out, “I want to fuck you.”

His words make you moan. Your eyes flutter open as you gaze at him. The glow of your orgasm, and him, hair wet, mouth glossy with your wetness, the lust hungry in his eyes, has something snapping inside of you.

“Fuck me,” You breathe out, “I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk.”

Hoseok’s hands grip around your thighs at your words as he tugs you down until you are back in the tub, the water splashing as he kisses you deep and rough, his tongue domineering as his hands squeeze your hips so hard that you can’t help but gasp breathlessly into the kiss.

He breaks away and kisses down your jaw hard, peppering his mouth against your neck and against your pulsepoint. You whine as his lips clamp down at your neck, sucking at the skin there before he jerks his head up, his lips by your ear.

“Turn around.” His demand is spoken lowly and you feel a shaky spin of lust and excitement grip you as you turn around, no longer facing him.

Hoseok immediately crooks his body behind yours, his hands roaming your front, grabbing at your breasts and squeezing hard. His fingers find your nipple and he skims over your hard nipple with his fingertips, teasing out a choked moan for you as he pinches down, his lips at your ear again.

“You missed me fucking you like this?”

He reaches up between your breasts, one hand on your neck, the other shifting to your left breast, stroking your nipple as you nod desperately, breathing out a shaky, fevered yes.

He pulls away, his palm is on your back and you move, shifting until you are bent forward. The tile is hard against your knees and Hoseok lets out a growl, moving so that he is directly behind you.

You feel as if you are unraveling, your body tensed and desperate for him to fuck you. The tip of his cock is right at your slit, and you shake.

“Please,” You moan out, your lean forward, propping your ass up higher in the air, wanting, needing him to fuck you.

“Fuck, I love hearing you beg for it,” Hoseok murmurs in a throaty voice and the words spill out desperate and heavy as you arch your back even more.

“Please fuck me, God, I’ll do anything, please-”

He pushes himself inside of you mid-sentence and you break off into a loud moan, feeling his cock stretch you out, his hips snapping into you hard and fast.

You can hear him groaning in your ear at the feeling of your walls around him, and the fullness of him inside of you as you mewling out in pleasure.

Hoseok doesn’t give you time to fully settle into the feeling of his cock as he slams his hips against yours, snapping his hips upward so that you feel all of him inside of you, you whine at the pain of it, the satisfying hum of pleasure as he groans, right into the shell of your ear.

“You feel so fucking good, God.” He thrusts harder, deeper, and you feel your breath hitch in.

“And you tasted so fucking good.” His voice is rough, hoarse as he keeps fucking into you. He thrusts hard, making your body sway, and the sensation of it has your walls clenching. The waves of pleasure are still faintly ebbing through your body from your earlier orgasm, but the pleasure builds in a new, duller, deeper anticipation at each punishing snap of his hips.

“Hoseok, harder,” You moan out his name, each heavy breath seems louder in the bathroom, the water splashes as he stutters out a moan, thrusting inside of you even deeper.

It feels so good, him crooked around your body, fucking you so hard and so deep that it feels like all you can think about is him. You pant out his name, your voice husky and breathless from the intensity of his cock slamming into you so deep and filling you whole.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make-”

“Cum inside of me, please.” Your breath rushes over his, the feeling tightening in your stomach as Hoseok lets out a groan at your words. He leans forward, tilts his hips and fucks into you harder, ruthlessly, before his body staggers forward as he cums inside of you.

You feel a wave of satisfaction wash over you as Hoseok’s body shakes from the force of his orgasm, his thrusts slowing.

It feels as if the space between the two of you is electric, everything is magnified – the water against your skin, the sounds of Hoseok’s ragged pants, the soft, pleased hum that is fighting it’s way from the back of your throat.

You feel light, like you’re floating, as Hoseok’s body starts forward, his muscles relaxing as he moans into your hair.

“Fuck,” He mutters, he presses his lips against the back of your head. “Wow. I thought I was gonna black out for a second there.”

He pushes himself backwards and you turn until you’re sitting and facing him. Hoseok has a blissed out, relaxed smile on his face as he leans forward.

“Your knees,” He tuts, the porcelain of the tub has left your kneecaps pink and his fingers brush over them in a surprisingly tender gesture.

You both sit like that for a moment, facing one another, your ragged breathing slowing and evening out. You feel thoroughly fucked out and so satisfied that it crackles over your skin.

Hoseok is the first to move, he stirs, pushing off of the tub until he is standing. He reaches above his head and stretches, before he steps out of the tub.

“C’mere,” He glances over at you and outstretches a hand.

You gaze at him, the softness that has settled properly into his face. You feel it bubbling up in your throat, thumping through your veins. You gaze at Hoseok’s outstretched hand, at the snake’s tail that curls around his wrist, and you think about everything that you have tried so hard to fight, to run away from.

You grasp Hoseok’s hand and stand up.

“Remember the time you tried to run away from my place by escaping through the bathroom?” You ask suddenly as you step out of the tub. Hoseok just lets out a wry laugh in response, as you step over until you are facing him.

“Shh,” He mumbles, reaching up and pulling you in until you are in his arms. A tiny gasp escapes your lips and Hoseok leans in closer, an amused smile playing on his lips.

“Do I really have that effect on you?” He asks, a hint of a laugh in his voice as he mimics your gasp. He dips his head closer, and you feel the jackhammer drum beat of your heart from being so close to him, from the intensity of his gaze.

“No,” You lie, and Hoseok’s face opens into a proper smile, as bright and golden and warm as the sun.

“Uh huh,” He responds in a dry tone, as he opens the cabinet behind your head. He pulls out a fluffy white towel and wraps it tightly around your shoulders.

He runs a hand through his wet hair as he stands in front of you, his eyes crinkling in the corner as his smile fades.

He stares at you, his face serious, his eyes locked on yours like he is memorizing every single inch of your face, travelling it like a map.

He reaches forward, his hands loop around the small of your back as he pulls you into his arms.

His lips find yours with that same rushed assurance that you’ve come to recognize as Hoseok’s signature. He rushes into it, his mouth chasing into yours hungrily, and you let out an involuntary sigh into his lips. His palms press flat against the curve of your waist, you can feel the heat of his body, the towel still wrapped tightly around your body.

You reach up and cup his face with one palm. You slow the kiss down, right down, until you are kissing him at a pace that is languid and slow. You feel your heart beat louder and faster in your chest, relinquishing in it – the feel of his strong body holding onto you, his lips, the way he matches your rhythm.

His hands flutter up to gently, carefully cup your face in his hands. The kiss deepens, enough to have you sighing and feeling as if your entire world is spinning.

You aren’t thinking anything, you aren’t feeling anything, all you are aware of his him, the boy kissing you sweetly and tenderly, drops of water form his hand sliding down your shoulders, the soft towel wrapped around your skin.

Finally, Hoseok steps away, but he keeps his hands on your cheeks. He gazes down at you, and you feel it - a flutter in your chest that is more akin to a knock than a flutter, a swoon so deep and intense that you can feel it not only weakening your knees, but your shoulders, every muscle in your body.

You expect Hoseok to break away, to run, because that’s what he always has done in the past. Your lips part but Hoseok doesn’t move away this time, instead, he stays close. You can hear it, his breathing, heavy, before he speaks.

“I think I’m…” He swallows, fingers relaxing. “…I....” His voice trails off uncertainly and you lean into him closer, press your lips against his in the softest, lightest of kisses.

Hoseok makes a small sound right at the back of his throat and when you pull away, he keeps you close, his face inches from yours.

“I’ll leave the Kingsnakes.”

For a moment, you don’t speak. Your eyes widen and you open your mouth but Hoseok hurries to speak.

“I… I’ve been thinking about it for a while and it’s time to move on. I don’t want that to be my life anymore.”

You breathe in, lean back on your heels. Hoseok’s face is serious, more serious than you’ve seen it before. You fight to keep your face calm, composed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok responds softly. “I’m sure. I want to be with you.”

Something leaps vibrant and bold in your chest, a glimmer of hope. Hoseok is still staring at you intently, a flash of worry crosses over his face.

“That’s um, that’s not the only reason by the way, there’s a lot of reasons why I want to leave. Just so you know.”

It feels like there is an egg being cracked in your chest, the golden yolk sliding down your belly and seeping into your bones.

“There’s a lot of reasons?”

“Not a lot but a few reasons, yeah.”

“And I’m one of the reasons?”

You are pushing it now, just because you want to hear it one more time, make sure you weren’t imagining it, imagining this-

“Yeah, maybe.”

You smile. Purse your lips teasingly. Step closer, tilting your head up to his.

“Maybe?”

Hoseok’s eyes soften, he softens, his shoulders sink and he reaches up so his fingers grasp the towel draped around your shoulders.

“Uh-huh.”

A burst of butterflies right there in your ribcage where your heart is.

“You’re one of my reasons too.” You whisper. Your lips curve into a smile and Hoseok lets out a tiny sigh, like he’d been holding his breath.

“Cool,” He mumbles, and feel your heart rate start to pick up. You are so close to him that you could lean forward and your lips would brush against his. Words and sentences race through your mind, things that you want to say to him, things you have been holding in.

“Hoseok, I-”

A loud, sharp ring slices through your words. Involuntarily you start a little, jolted out of your stream of thought.

Hoseok glances over at the corner of his bathroom, at his jeans which are crumpled in a small pile.

“One sec.” He murmurs, he steps away from you and picks up his phone. The ring seems even louder in the echo of the bathroom, and you watch as Hoseok glances at the screen. His face crumples a touch, the barest amount before he covers over it neatly.

“I’ve gotta take this.” He murmurs, before he opens the door and is out.

You wrap the towel tighter around your shoulders as you stand in the bathroom and wait. Just when you are about to walk outside, see if he’s okay, the door opens again and Hoseok is standing there. He has a pair of jeans on and a black sweater, his hair damp. You swallow, standing up.

“Is everything okay?”

“I…” His voice trails off and he shakes his head, a disoriented look on his face before his features frost over. The softness from before has dissipated.

“I’ve…” He clears his throat. “I’ve gotta go. Z wants to see me.”

“Z?” You repeat, Hoseok just nods tersely.

“What does he want?”

“I owe him a favour from a long time ago.” Hoseok stares at his hands. “He’s calling in the favour now, apparently.”

“Will-will you be okay?”

Hoseok nods briskly, he seems distracted as he steps towards you.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, no one knows Z better than me. I’ll just go help him and then when that’s done, I’ll tell him that I’m out of the Kingsnakes.”

The worry doesn’t ease and he steps towards you, his voice lowering. “I promise it’ll be okay. Stay here, alright? I’ll be back soon.”

He sweeps you up and presses his lips to the corner of your mouth in an absentminded kiss.

“See you soon.” He murmurs into your hair before he turns and strides away, leaving you alone in his bathroom.

You shiver and draw the towel around you closer, trying to ignore the growing sense of dread unfurling in the pit of your stomach.

Hoseok’s house is silent after he leaves. What felt so cosy before, now feels empty.

You stay up for three hours, perched on his old tattered couch, trying to distract yourself. When the clock strikes two AM, you pull yourself upwards and go to Hoseok’s bedroom. It smells like him – a bed with messy, unmade sheets, sneakers with the laces tangled on the ground. There, in the bin, are several unlit cigarettes. You feel a funny ache in your chest as you crawl into his bed, under the sheets, and will yourself to fall asleep.

You tell yourself to sleep and that when you wake up, Hoseok will be there beside you. But as time passes, you can’t fall asleep, and Hoseok doesn’t return.

Sleep feels impossible tonight.

amynote: ahhh it’s nearly the end...! thank you for reading ♡

#hoseok smut #hoseok angst #bts smut #bts angst #hoseok gang au #bts gang au

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snbazanina · 7 years ago

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Azanina (later alternative ending) (The demon Azazel went of somewhere) 2years later Charioce dies because of the lifeforce draining magic the process on his body was slower Azazel comes back to the capital to find Nina because he found a way to restore her voice(something like went off to find sirens (they could be demonic creatures in hiding taught him how to restore a voice) and returns it via a kiss plus help her move forward from Chris's death

Mod Neko here with liquid feelings leaking out of her looking holes. Send help.

This one technically isn’t Azanina but there’s a kiss and Nina feels regret so...it counts? Enjoy!!

Word had travelled quickly that the king of man had died.

It seemed that the crystal used to power dromos didn’t stopafter taking his eyesight and in the end, it took his life.

Surprisingly the first thing that had crossed Azazel’s mindwasn’t that the demons could finally be free once and for all. In fact, thatwas his second thought.

‘What of Nina?’

It was almost absurd that he was more concerned about thehalf dragon girl that didn’t care for him than he was for his race that he hadalmost lost his life countless times trying to save. And yet, it constantly satat the back of his mind, nagging him until he was sure that he would go insane.

“That’s not something that I can answer.”

Azazel had come across Jeanne D’Arc while he was visitingMugaro’s grave and hesitantly asked if she knew what had become of Nina afterCharioce’s passing.

“It’snot like you to care so much about someone other than your lord, Azazel.”

The demon just sighed. “I still owe her my life. And I don’tlike owing favours.”

Jeanne snorted softly, but didn’t say anymore. Azazel mayhave fallen more than once, but his pride still remained intact even aftereverything that had happened. His pride didn’t show outwardly as much anymore,but it was definitely still there. “The last I heard, she was living insolitude on the outskirts of Anatae. I imagine that living within the capitalitself would be difficult, considering she’s still considered a fugitive and Idoubt that being mute would be able to clear anything up-“

“What?”

The ex-saint blinked a few times, surprised that Azazel knewso little of what had become of the girl that he appeared to care for so much.Then again, he couldn’t be blamed given his position in hell. “Ah, that’sright. You left with your lord after the battle against Bahamut. Nina activatedDromos to spare Charioce’s life and lost her voice as consequence.” She couldsee that Azazel was clearly upset. At least it was clear to her. He still looked as stoic as ever,but she had learnt to read the subtle signs that Azazel gave off. He was like abook at times. “Your sages won’t be able to fix something like that, if that’swhat you’re thinking. The damage was done by holy magic. Demons can’t fix itand the gods aren’t in a position to put that much of their already dwindlingpower into a single girl.” Azazel turned on his heel, ready to leave, beforeJeanne spoke up again, “why don’t you ask the Sirens? They would know how torestore a lost voice, would they not?”

The demon didn’t reply, just unfurled his midnight blackwings and shot into the air leaving behind only soft plumes behind as evidenceof his presence. Jeanne sighed, and glanced toward the gravestone of her child.“Even now…he hasn’t changed at all, has he?” Maybe he hadn’t changed, or maybehe had in ways so drastic that she couldn’t help but accept this version ofAzazel as his true self. He was impossible to understand sometimes.

Usually it was dangerous to be within earshot of a siren.Demons, humans and gods alike had fallen to their temptation countless times,but surprisingly not Azazel. In fact, he had been a regular visitor to hell’soceans once. They all knew him by name, and he by most of theirs.

“Restorea lost voice? I wonder how~” Mhira was certainly a creature to behold, even byAzazel’s standards. Her blue hair always seemed to fall perfectly over hershoulders despite being saturated most of the time (it looked even morebeautiful beneath the water, but Azazel wasn’t foolish enough to dive in for abetter look), and amber eyes shone mysteriously beneath the pale moonlight.Between that and he bared chest, many had questioned how the hell Azazel hadn’tfallen to he looks yet. She certainly enjoyed trying to seduce him close enoughto the water’s edge enough times.

“I’mnot here to play your games, Mhira. I know for a fact that you have enoughvoices down there to supply the whole of Mistarcia with a second voice.”

The siren just smiled and rested her chin upon entwinedfingers. “You’re certainly right, Lord Azazel~ But where do you suppose thosevoices came from?”

She did have a point. They all came from the victims theymanaged to drag into the water. Azazel himself had requested the voices of themen that had been tempted into a siren’s grip to mess with a grieving family.It provided some quality entertainment, actually.

“Noteven the gods can create something out of nothing, Lord Azazel. It’s simply nothow things work, I thought you would know that.”

“Ifthere’s nothing you can do then I’ll not waste my time-“

“If youcare so much for this person, why not give her your voice?” Azazel had been midstride when Mhira’s words stopped him dead in his tracks. He didn’t even needto ask how she knew what he needed a now non-existent voice for before sheanswered the unspoken question. “One’s voice tells all, Lord Azazel.”

“Tellme how.”

The days after Bahamut’s defeat had grown quiet andlonesome. Nina didn’t usually mind silence as she was content to talk toherself or any small animals she happened across that wouldn’t flee at thesight of her. Nowadays that was impossible with absence of her voice. She hadno regrets in what she had done for Chris�� sake. He had done wrong, and hadcaused so much despair to a race that probably didn’t deserve it. He had neversaid it publicly, but he had once told her his regrets and burdens on the lastnight they had spent together. There was little he could do for the demons,though, as much of the human populous still despised the demons and now theirmain source of labour was gone, they were already up in arms about himabolishing slavery and having the demons paid in compensation, the last thingAnatae needed was a rebellion because their king now expressed sympathy for thehellspawns. Especially after he had imprisoned so many for doing the same. Ninaat least understood that, and it was all she needed. Yet she couldn’t help feelsorrow, especially after her beloved’s passing. She had no one left in theworld. She couldn’t find the heart to return to her village and she hadbetrayed her friends by keeping her love for Chris—no, Charioce XVII, their enemy, from them. She was sure that theywanted to simply forget her existence altogether. And she couldn’t blame themif they did. It still hurt, though. Especially when she thought of Azazel, andall that he had suffered.

Which was why she had thought that she had beenhallucinating when she caught sight of a winged figure close to the shack thatshe now called her home. She just stared for a while, unsure if her mind wasjust desperate to see Azazel once more or if he was actually there.

Her question was answered when she dared to venture outsideto check.

The saint’s words had been correct, after all.

Nina stood just outside a lone cabin atop a hill overlookingthe royal capital. She didn’t make any signs of moving anytime soon, so Azazeldecided to approach instead. Hs brisk movements must have made her nervousbecause he could see her small frame tense when he drew close enough.

“I’mnot here to kill you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

No answer, just a sorrowful stare. Azazel would have beenirritated if his entire purpose of being here hadn’t involved her lack of avoice.

Why was he here?

The question repeated itself over and over in Nina’s mind asif she would come up with an answer if she asked herself enough.

“I’mnot here to force you into some elaborate plan, either.”

That didn’t answer her question.

Azazel slowly approached her, and she had to push down herinstincts telling her to run and hide in her small cabin. It wasn’t as if shedidn’t want to see Azazel again. She did. It was what she had wanted most sinceChris’ passing, as stupid as that sounded even to her. And though she no longerpossessed any romantic feelings towards the demon, she still considered him agood friend and someone that she could trust no matter what. She just didn’tknow if he felt the same about her anymore.

“Despite…everything,”

Oh boy…

“I wantyou to have your voice back.”

What? Was thateven possible? She supposed that he was ademon, the ruler of hell’s second in command at that, so the extent of his powerwas totally unknown to her…but wasn’t there that rule of equivalent exchange?That something can’t be created out of nothing? Had he stolen someone else’s voice?

She was briefly pulled away from her thoughts when shenoticed how close Azazel had suddenly become. Was he…blushing?

“Forgivethe intrusion.” Azazel softly took her chin between his fingers and quicklypressed his lips to hers, pulling away after a few short moments.

Nina could only stare at him in pure confusion, before shetook notice of the tightening in her throat. It didn’t hurt, and it didn’thinder her breathing, but it did feel mildly uncomfortable for a few seconds.The sensation faded and she felt something returning to her.

“Aza…zel?”Her eyes widened in realisation and she looked up and the demon who justwatched her…not saying anything. “Your…yourvoice.” She spoke quietly, her voice raspy from being absent for so long.Azazel didn’t – couldn’t – answer, and just turned to leave, but was stoppedwhen the dragon girl’s fingers wrapped around the fabric of his shirt, stoppinghim from leaving. “Azazel...I’m sorry. For everything.”

Azazel turns to meet her gaze, and he can only offer areassuring look. It was almost like without his voice he was much moreexpressive. Had she just not noticed it before? Of course she wouldn’t havenoticed any not blaringly obvious emotions that he gave off. She had been moreinterested in her romantic interests than anything else. Remembering it onlymade her feel terrible again.

“Uhm…ifyou can...I want to tell Jeanne that I’m sorry. Can…can you tell her that-“ shecut herself off, remembering why she had her voice back again. “I-I mean…”

The demon gently removed her grip on his clothes and gave asmall nod.

“And ifyou have the time, I want to see you again. Please?” Was she being toodemanding now?

Another nod from Azazel.

She decided against running her mouth more and let him go,watching him as he took flight and disappeared behind the clouds. Tears welledin her eyes, and teeth found her lip to keep them back. She didn’t deserveforgiveness. She didn’t deserve anything, especially from Azazel of all people.She couldn’t understand why he would return her voice to her at the cost of hisown after all the she had done, but she felt as if something other than hervoice had returned to her, and she let the tears spill free.

#shingeki no bahamut #azanina #Azazel #Nina Drango #Jeanne D'Arc #fanwork #starsandthunderstorms

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thesteveyates · 6 years ago

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A curious cabinet post.

Once a month now i intend to post an update on the ‘cabinet of curiosities’ which is both a visual set of artefacts/prompts for my writing and a kind of pun filled memory box. Right now , as i finish and edit the post, i have cleared my locker out at work, thrown my scrubs on the floor of the changing room…..someone else can clear up for a change…..and quietly walked out of the hospital, i hope for the last time. I guess then that inevitably there will be parts of this post that relate back to the nearly 40 years that i spent as a nurse and all the changes that have happened : many of those not for the better.

And so..”.a long time ago in a distant galaxy”….

It was a tradition of one boat that i sailed a lot of ocean miles on, to run a ships newspaper. It was written in as spoof shock-horror outrage style as whoever was editing it could muster up, sort of ‘The Sun/News of the World‘ meets your worst parochial local newspaper after a collision with ‘VIZ ‘ magazine from the same era. ‘Man found in bilge‘ was an early headline if i remember it right.

It’s all so long ago that i can’t remember actual articles but suffice to say that the skipper and mate usually got some scurrilous leg-pull and anything that anyone did that was remarkably stupid usually warranted a leader. Crossing the line once or twice i think gave us a couple of sessions of ‘court appearances’ and i do remember speeding fines being handed out at one time….it being rumoured that the boat’s insurance only went up to 15 knots…..i hit about 28 during a monster surf one time !. I think that one cost me several tins of beer as that’s how we gave out fines for most misdemeanours.

There was a slightly serious side, i used to add medical content when it was necasary : the treatment for ‘gunnel-bum‘ being one of mine and i think once a close to the bone(R) reminder about Brazil, Willy’s, STD’s and condom useage !. I do remember writing those in a consciously ‘Sister Plume‘ style. I guess that most if not everyone will now not have the slightest clue what or whom i am talking about : well, Sister Plume was a made up chraracter from the Nurses comic : ‘Nursing times’. Sister Plume being an old-time old-fashioned ward sister who believed in ‘high, hot and a hell of a lot‘ enemas’s and a tidy linen cupboard……oh how times have changed !. Just before i scheduled the post for publishing, my mother messaged me to ask if the curio cabinet would contain some of those tacky little ‘a gift from’ pieces of tat that appear in ‘gift’ shops around the coast….well not unless they are in extremely bad taste….perhaps a dildo in the shape of the Blackpool tower or similar !. There is a genuine vintage enema kit on display so….

Anyway, enough smutty talk and back to Sister Plume for a moment.

One ‘for real’ version of the excellent Sister Plume whom i actually knew got so cross at the phone ringing during morning report time that she whipped her nursing scissors out of her belt and snipped through the handset cable !

Sister Plume….possibly.

Lost at sea ?, well you should be by now.

You see, i’m working on displays for the ‘curious cabinet’ , i really need to something based on my own nursing career but have a bit of fun with the whole thing at the same time. At first i just thought about hanging my statement of entry (nursing register) but it’s a poor thing and i don’t even have an old SRN badge as they were scrapped just before i qualified and i was unfeasibly pissed about that. I had a training badge and hospital badge somewhere but have no idea where either are now. I did think about photographs of course and i might be able to track down a picture of the old infirmary where i did a placement…..the hospital where i did most of it is as brutal and soul-less a public building as you can imagine. Where i work now (used to work until yesterday) is immeasurably worse…..like one of the scenes from Huxley’s ‘brave new world’.

I’ll probably have my own custom stethoscope in there and i’d like to find a really old, bell style one and maybe some of the other, older stuff that was still kicking around when i started my career. What i am working on for this first part is a display of glass….medical glass, specifically medicines, poisons and pharmacy glass as most of it is really attractive. There needs to be lots of visual puns as well : an Arsenic bottle will be there because Arsenic is an important local product. Just across the hill from here are the remnants of arsenic tunnels in the old mine workings : the principle being that the arsenic and tin bearing mineral (cassiterite) was burnt in a chamber that led into a tunnel….the arsenic tunnel. The arsenic would condense out on the granite walls and it was someone’s job to crawl through there and scrape the arsenic salt off the wall !.

Nice work if you can get it !…..one small visual artefact i have here is an all-steel miners compass and clinometer for the underground surveying of tunnels and so forth. In the garden we have a few larger bits and pieces of old mining hardware that i unearthed while i was working on the gardens here.

Tin mining and it’s highly toxic by-product arsenic were a big deal in the area of east Cornwall where i now live. To buy a property here it’s essential to do a mining search and even then the mines records only go back so far , not every tunnel, adit and gallery were mapped . There is one place in a nearby village where the garden of one council house just disappeared into a big hole one day, the house had to be taken down and the hole plugged. A regular occurrence in that village is that a company is still tasked with taking soundings of underground water levels via long bore-hole pipes under manhole covers. Apparently the water level is slowly dropping although there is said to be an entire underground lake under the village.

Did you know that one of the most polluted rivers in the world is a few miles down the road in Cornwall ?…..no i guess not, well that’s the Red river down in west Cornwall and the river bed bears no life whatsoever…..loaded with arsenic. An arsenic compound (arsphenamine) by the way was once a treatment for syphillis and once also a tonic, dispensed, carefully i hope by pharmacists. Dredging my memory a bit i think that Napoleon Bonaparte’s body showed signs of medical arsenical poisoning most-mortem.

Last week i found a completely engaging bloke in the local indoor market when i had to pass through the tin mining town of Tavistock which was once central to the tin and arsenic industry locally. He had maybe a hundred mixed glass bottles on display going back into the 18th century and everything from pharmacist’s ‘flats’ to genuine medicines and poisons bottles. We had a quick flick through his picture files on his phone and i was able to recognise and name some of the labels….an early form of digoxin (digitalis) was one that i must find as it’s closely linked to my own career in cardiothoracics, another one was ‘oil ficus which has to be oil of figs….a laxative. ‘The one that caught my eye at first was, of course, way outside my budget but i have the beginnings of a nice medical/chemical display….the second display link being that my first job after leaving school was as a very junior laboratory assistant.

The ‘pharmacia’ as i am thinking of it, needs some other visual puns so i’m on the lookout for some ‘dried frog pills’ and a ‘red pill’ or two although maybe the display should only have the blue one just to show that the red one has already been taken. One of the poisons display bottles will be cleaned out and filled with the remnants from a bottle of Mount Gay rum that came out of the bottom of my sailing bag….it must be 20 years old at least and is still potent : that ones going in either ‘poison’ or ‘not to be taken’.

I already have a title in mind for this one below….. i really do wonder what they are just about to shoot-up on. Very few will know that Heroin addiction was very common among medical professionals at one time….one consultant that i used to sail with claimed that he spent long weekends on call , totally wired with amphetamines. To be honest this one below is almost certainly a staged photograph from a teaching exercise : the kit is nice though, glass syringes, enamel kidney dishes and swabs in a dish of spirits all neatly laid out as i was taught to do it. I did make an Ebay bid on a ferocious looking glass syringe and an old enamel kidney dish but didn’t win either of them.

Party time at the nurses home !

So yes….my display is going to have some memorabilia from my own career but skewed back a few years in time. I have found , but can’t afford, an early anaesthetic device designed for using ether as the volatile agent, several cased glass syringes which i can afford one of and so on. Disturbingly i also managed to find a machine designed to deliver electro-convulsive therapy on Ebay…..ECT was still being performed at the psychiatric hospital where i did my student stint when i was there.

At it’s peak Whittingham psychiatric hospital or asylum as it was once known was the largest psychiatric hospital in the whole of Europe, possibly in the world. There weren’t many patients or inmates left when i was there and the ones that were had been there for nearly their entire lives…..totally institutionalised. Whittingham was so large that it had it’s own infirmary, church and burial ground, let alone a full bakery, butchery and huge kitchen where some of the inmates worked.

I did a quick search just to see what happened to the old psychiatric hospital at Whittingham where i spent 8 weeks of my training……and not as a patient i hasten to add. A few years back when i took a brief look at ‘urbex-ing’ while i lived in Sheffield i found a whole load of photographs of Whittingham hospital after it was closed and abandonned…..several of those pictures i have added to the slide show of Preston Royal Infirmary below as they are linked by my own nurse training…..i think several of my friends worked on one of the old infirmary wards in those pictures.

Just for a bit of nostalgia here are some mixed images of the old Preston Royal Infirmary where i did one ward placement and some from Whittingham psychiatric hospital where i did another.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

The medical display should also link to my longer voyages as well because i did the first ones of those as ‘medic’ in a Whitbread race and then a cruising circumnavigation. I used to have, can’t find it today, a crew hat from that Whitbread race on which i had kept a kind of record of the odd ailments and real injuries that i treated during that race. From memory there were a couple of ‘I and D’s…(incision and drainage of abcess) a bit of suturing here and there, at least one case of hypothermia,and one badly shattered ankle which is the worst actual injury that i have ever had to deal without assistance and advice.

Many of the actual injuries and illnesses that i dealt with have found their way into the blog at some time or other, principally in the first aid series although there a couple of medical posts still awaiting completion and an edit.

Finding sister Susie though.

From my later years as mate and then briefly skipper , when we ran a ships newspaper, i always thought that it was me writing as the stern and rather old fashioned ‘Sister Plume ‘. I recently contacted my opposite number on the boat, also a nurse and she assures me that it was her writing as the strait-laced traditionalist (sister Sophie) and me writing as the modern sister Susie…..a ‘non directive, non hierarchial area management/ lead nursing facilitator’….or some such totally BS job description. Frighteningly today there is probably such a job title out there although it’s more likely to have wimmins health , LGBT rights and inclusion in the job description. Just as a side note here, when i was given the new job description for my last career job it was some 17 pages long…..i think i actually lost the will to live by page 3 !.

Today, as i edit the post prior to scheduling i note that one acute NHS trust has just fired their female and non-white ‘inclusion and diversity’ manager (£100, 000 per annum salary) for her clearly racist remarks about a while, male department manager who might be a complete knob-end , iv’e no idea…..but that he is actually a person doing a real hospital job …….oh how times have changed when we seem to need ‘diversity‘ managers rather than starched-apron ward sisters of the Sister Plume variety.*

I first met the archetype Sister Plume in the rather matronly shape of my first ward sister, i honestly can’t remember the ladies name today. She was as strict and severe as you would have expected but of course had a heart of gold had you been able to find it under the layers of starched apron, uniform and i dare say some industrial strength corsetry.

One time, about a month into that first ward placement i was working in a bay on the ward while sister was doing the medicines round from an old style wooden drugs trolley. One of the auxiliaries , today called health-care assistants, came out from behind a curtain and said something to discretely to sister. The sister locked the drugs cupboard and briefly disappeared behind the same set of curtains. A moment later she beckoned me over with a steady ‘come with me Mr Yates…always called me mister’ . It was the kind of no nonsense voice and command that would bring a stroppy registrar to heel or have a student nurse in tears. We stepped behind the curtains, sister was standing close enough that she was able to whisper very quietly that the patient had just passed away and that i was at about the right point in my career to experience that. It wasn’t a great shock, the old boy was slumped against his pillows, mouth open, eyes shut, clearly grey and very dead. If i remember it properly sister used my strength to support the body while she got the backrest down and pillows out such that we could lay the body flat.

The ward sister then ‘invited’ me into the office and what i met then was a completely different side of her…basically kind and caring enough to explain that it’s a good start to see your first dead one with someone steady. I think i was steady enough myself to ask a couple of sensible questions : what we needed to do next and such like.

I remember thinking then , or shortly after, that it was a very ‘English’ kind of death : the old boy having passed away just after his morning tea and without any sense of distress or even the slightest complaint.

Years later i was to end my then career as a cardiac intensive care nurse one night shift in the most visceral way possible in a modern hospital…..with my hands actually inside a patient’s chest, doing internal cardiac massage….in simple terms squeezing the heart , while me and the surgical registrar tried to contain the blood hosing out of the patient’s aorta….very messy, very distressing and ultimately futile.

Iv’e been thinking a lot recently about image and uniform as it relates to nursing, and after having written a short piece as a response to another youtuber : quickly written and as quickly taken down again as it didn’t think i’d put across what i was trying to say. In one section i was trying to say that the overall respect for nurses and nursing has gone down and down over the last 10 years or so and very much at the hands of the MSM (mainstream media). At one time nurses were always portrayed as angels, now it’s more likely that they are shown turning up in court for anything from drink and drugs charges to fraud , neglect and manslaughter.

Sadly it’s true that some nurse managers , modern matrons to name one variety, chose to focus on the petty and quotidean minor points of detail, who’s hair isn’t up ‘enough’ who is wearing too many body piercings and who is wearing the ‘wrong’ shoes….rather than dealing with the serious stuff such as thinking about why we can’t retain staff. I don’t want to come across as a uniform bore and, like Herreshoff, always hark back to a time that was somehow ‘better’ but in nursing it might just be true.

I remember the first day of ‘PTS’ (preliminary training school) which was the first day that the girls got their uniforms. In my white smock and with a mess of scruffy red hair i looked like a manic dentist crossed with a carrot. Of course most of their uniforms didn’t fit as the standard shape that they were made in, in different sizes, weren’t designed for the long/tall/ narrow/wide and smaller or larger busted among them. There was much hilarity and some degree of embarrassment as the class first donned the uniform and got used to the totally silly paper caps with their one blue stripe to indicate that we were first year students. When they/we all qualified they all moved into fetching light grey as staff nurses, many bought linen caps and silver belt buckles so although ‘uniform’ there were subtle individual differences.

At around the same time there were those, usually the so called nursing leaders of the time that considered the uniform old fashioned and nothing more than a parody of a Victorian parlour maid. Just after that the traditional belt and cap were removed and the new uniform may well have been the corporate dress of somewhere like MacDonalds or Tesco. I won’t say that the old style uniform was always totally functional but it was often elegant and presented the nurse in a way that the public liked and respected…generally speaking. Today, in our department we wear what look like baggy pyjamas , like surgical scrubs but not quite as functional and patients usually have to ask what individuals do…..most days i get called ‘Doctor’ unless i have specifically introduced myself as a staff nurse.

I am of course wrong, but i feel something has been lost, whatever…i look terrible in stockings !

*Just for your reference.

youtube

Finding Sister Susie. A curious cabinet post. Once a month now i intend to post an update on the '

#cabinet of curiosities #Preston Royal Infirmary #Whittingham hospital

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snowleopard59 · 5 years ago

Text

follow that car

It’s a coverup, the whole thing is one big coverup and almost everyone knows it but almost no one wants to admit it. At eight years old he heard on the news that the files related to the JFK assassination would be sealed for 75 years. Why? At eight years old he answered his own question and promptly covered it up within himself as deep and sealed as the files themselves.

Still walking, he ascended a rise in the road which revealed a large sprawling cemetery. The first tombstone had his name on it- the epitaph read – he died unhappy because he didn’t try hard enough. He went to the next- it read - he died unhappy because he tried too hard. And then the next – he was to blame for everything. And then the next - he was not to blame for anything. Rows upon rows of tombstones, all with his name on them.

I couldn’t read anymore. I looked away, and saw not two vultures, but now two crows perched on an iron railing. Wait, this is the cemetery of past lives, that’s the only possible explanation. He came to a section marked- suicides. The first stone read – he thought he was going to get away from it all. He was wrong.

And then the next – he thought this would help him figure it all out once and for all. He was wrong again. And then the next – if you’re reading this, you’re still alive, so don’t do what I did. Or do, I don’t really care. What? No karma, no suffering depression as penance for committing suicide so many times in his past lives? He walked on, saw more epitaphs – he led an undistinguished life. But he was happy. He was kind. He helped people when he could, but he did nothing to write about in any history book.

And then he was aware a Cadillac El Dorado had slowly pulled up beside him on the narrow asphalt between the tombstones, it’s engine silent as the cemetery grass itself. The car had stopped that day in Dealey Plaza, too, although that part of the film was taken out. You hear what might be a shot and you put the brakes on? Or did he mean to do it? El Dorado; the golden one.

The driver, a dark-haired woman, asked him if he could drive her to Las Vegas. She said she wasn’t feeling well, she tried calling 911 but her cell phone battery was dead. She sat there briefly like a great blue heron perched on a favorite branch above a favorite fishing spot; silent and surmising the variables.

He said he would be happy to drive her, adding how familiar she looked, and that the last time he’d seen her she’d looked so sad. She just slid into the passenger seat leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She loves me, he thought. He knew it, he felt it, that she loved him, that she really did even though she might not outwardly show it. So many things didn’t show, didn’t seem to make sense, any sense at all apparently.

Like Catholic confession and the JFK files just to name two. Moreover, as he stole glances at her from watching the apparently interminable road stretched out ahead of them to the dusky desert horizon, he knew he loved her he really did. Scott really loved Zelda, Zelda really loved Scott, but they burnt out on their lifestyle.

She loved him he loved her but they were driving this Cadillac down a dangerous road. Never one to not fall prey to the most outlandish mental meanderings he considered that he had been surreptitiously programmed by the CIA rogues, all still alive and well, grandchildren and great grandchildren of the infamous assassins and usurpers of governments in the 50s and 60s and 70s, that when he heard a loud pop he would stop the car.

And when he stopped the car that would allow the shooter a clean shot. That’s what they did to Greer. Like Sirhan, like Ruby, a hypnotic trigger to behave a particular, demonic way. Child’s play for the LSD scientists and behavioral modification experts. But it went deeper than that. Much deeper. He loved her she loved him and what they were doing, despite the outward appearance of apparent suffering, had a point.

All suffering then must have a point. Holocaust suffering had a point Hemingway’s suicide had a point, Zelda insanity and Scott alcoholism had a point. It was to achieve a better result. For me and the woman it was to live out our years without having to work or if we wanted to work to work at something we enjoyed and which made much more money than what we used to work at that we didn’t enjoy.

It was the holy grail, the alchemists stone – you don’t get that at Wal-Mart. It takes suffering apparently. Maybe there’s another way but so far humans have only been able to come up with suffering. Because direct knowing is too much of a shock- well some people can do it but most are fried- and then he remembered waking up from naps and contemplations with the startling energy of an electrical shock.

He would flee from that consciousness; it was too much he was not strong enough how do you get strong enough to withstand the full energy of God to put it a certain way- you suffer- a little or a lot – you can build strength other ways but you have to be able to withstand the energy. And then she told him telepathically that she was the lady of life’s lake.

That the nature of yin and yang, the truth of duality was as the sages of the east and many others knew for eons, was that there is a yielding and a forward motion. Souls incarnate as forward motion male energy and life is yielding feminine energy but they mix and they change and the truth and wisdom of it is to make a dance, a loving dance.

Rumi and the Sufis tuned in to this most poetically of course; to love all life to seek to please it as a seeking to please a lover so that then it seeks to please you back. Eyes still closed, she just smiled. They both knew the, they both knew when they got in the car together that afternoon.

Don’t put the brakes on! Speed up, speed up dammit! He heard himself say, in a dream. And he was in the car, and he felt the pain of the bullet and knew the driver had slowed down, to a stop even, so as to assure the shooter the kill shot. But there were still a few seconds left. But nobody’s going to save us now he thought.

May as well start carving that tombstone now. Checkmate is checkmate, that’s just how it is. For now. She woke up, she knew he wouldn’t stop the car until they got there. Well, maybe to pee. It would be ok to pee in the desert. The desert would appreciate it probably.

But she wouldn’t have to try to jump out of the car this time. Better to run away and live to fight another day. Demosthenes, 338 B.C. Oh well those Greek philosophers had an answer for everything didn’t they? No, they didn’t, they were stumbling around like we all have been forever, only occasionally tripping across a jewel. A particularly luminous seashell on our stoned walks on the beach.

We pick it up, feel it, look at it, sense it, maybe smell it, but mostly, know it. This is it, our shell, our special shell. We put it in our pocket and walk on, walk home, to our studio apartment maybe, put it on a shelf or in a drawer and forget about it. But now, he remembered the seashell in the drawer. It was shaped somewhat like a classic 1955 El Dorado Cadillac.

He knew who he was, he knew who she was, he knew why they were in the Cadillac and where they were going. He didn’t know how he knew only that he knew. This was going to take some getting used to, because most people could not be told these things he knew now. Socrates, remember? It wasn’t that he thought that highly of himself, just that he wanted to stay alive awhile longer, especially if it might be with her.

Yes, she’s married but she might not be later. Or maybe they could just be friends he thought. He knew she was well-read; literature, history, philosophy. She probably could change the oil in the Caddy as well if she had to, which she never would. Because of course, she was also rich.

But since that day she had been skeptical about letting other people drive her. Ok maybe they won’t shoot you but they stop the car at the worst moment. They’d both seen the original, unaltered film. The car comes to a complete and total stop. The car and the country.

The fact that she let him drive her was an awesome display of trust in his ability to protect her. If she needed protecting, which she didn’t now, but it was a good feeling, a warm gesture after so many disappointments. The sun was coming up, they were approaching Las Vegas. Of all places. They should have just called it El Dorado, the lost city of gold, or city of lost gold.

It all depended on your definition of gold, and lost, and found. Are we really locked into pay as you go spiritual growth or lack thereof as he, and so many others had been taught? You’re sworn to secrecy, because, again, Socrates, Galileo, JFK, well you know the list.

But you go ahead, shout it from the rooftops if you want, and then, after they drag you down and William Wallace you, or Joan of Arc, or, well you know the list. Then you can come back and not get in the car if you don’t want to, but sooner or later, something will get you, if only your own reliance on prescription meds.

Sir Henry Neville could write Othello and all the rest today without fear or trembling of being imprisoned in the tower of London. He would have to contend with the tower of Babel still. No need to waste money on a ghost nom de plume pseudonym Shakespeare that would go on through centuries to come as the imprimatur of great literature.

No matter, Sir Henry knows who wrote what. They crossed the city limits, and then were in town. He pulled the car up to a decrepit dilapidating motel called the Blue Angel. They parked, got out, went into room five. A 20-year-old man was there crying on the bed.

The room glowed with warm, soothing Himalayan salt lamp light. How could such a room, in such a place and time, for such a sad young man, glow? Sufis again – when the heart weeps for what it has lost the spirit laughs for what it has found.

She took out her phone and showed him the most recent text from her husband. It simply said all is well. When did she charge the battery he wondered? And then he knew. And then she went into the bathroom and came out with a warm washcloth which she placed on the young man’s forehead.

He breathed deeply, relaxed, and fell asleep. Their work here was done. They went back out to the parking lot and got in the car again. The young man was the young him, of course, broke and depressed in Las Vegas without a fake i.d.

Creating one had been a waste of time. No one asked him for his i.d. They were happy to take his meager earnings at 20 years old as they would be at 21 and beyond. Days later, bleary eyed from exhaustion and weeping in some end of the world place like Tonopah or Winnemucca, however…

Playing nickel slots in the bus station, an ancient security guard asked him for i.d. Heart still weeping, spirit at that point couldn’t help but laugh. But now, he was with her and they were at Caesar’s. She had reluctantly agreed but insisted on choosing the game.

Fine. Roulette. A little illusion of European elegance in this corporate rodeo borne of mobster roots and rootless mobs. Here, no clocks, ultra-oxygenated air, and a wildly changing assortment of other psychotropic influences, they would put it all on one roulette number.

Lose. Of course. 38 to 1 odds, c’mon! Except of course right now in this cosmic non-duality state of mind and being they couldn’t pick the wrong number, just couldn’t. They picked 17. 17 came up. She gave it all to the roulette dealer.

A middle-aged woman whose credit card debt was almost the exact amount of the payoff and who needed to see a doctor about her bipolar condition but had no medical coverage. Back to the Cadillac. And the winding road out of town to a place called the Mt. Charleston lodge.

They were late; no, they were right on time, for a wedding. The crowd was already gathering. He didn’t really like crowds but this one was different, this one would help not hurt. He hoped Elvis would be officiating; real Elvis not some faux Vegas Elvis impersonator.

Real Elvis had a spiritual side that got lost rather quickly. And then found. There he was. Real? Real enough to officiate this wedding. They stood in the back, and then were called to the front as the witnesses. They knew the couple being married and they knew how much in love they were. And they knew, like Elvis, there would be some rough edges to smooth out.

But if Elvis could do it, and, obviously, he had. He stood there, young, slender, strong, vibrant, the sound simply surging from him even as all in the crowd and wedding party were silent, sensing the ceremony soon to begin. Best wedding I’ve ever been to, he thought.

I ought to know, she thought. And then he saw the man from the all the films and photographs walk up to her, and they were together again. Resplendent as usual in his blue suit, a man not just for all seasons and all countries but all times.

That’s why he was there. He was her bodyguard for the short trip. He helped her drive, she helped him know. Helped him know about the coverup, about why he knew there was one, and why, once he knew just how absolute it was, he knew what to do, and what not to do about it. He stayed behind now with the rest of the wedding party, including preacher Elvis, and watched them walk away together.

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