#Life on Crow Avenue

[edupunkn00b]

Previous ( @mimssides ) is right, Life on Crow Avenue is amazing and it’s one of my favorites of theirs, too 😀

Why don’t we do something about making the kudos and hits match its brilliance? Go check it out.

Fic writers!!!

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[mimssides]

Life on Crow Avenue: Part 35

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___

Remus fiddled with the cup of coffee in his hands. As of now he was sitting at the living room table in Logan’s apartment and didn’t really know what to do now. Logan and he had gone upstairs half an hour ago, maybe a little more.

Before that, they just had sat in the hallway and Remus wasn’t sure what he was supposed to make of all of it. They hadn’t started talking and Logan didn’t seem ready to strike up a conversation quite yet, but still, he felt like he wasn’t being of much help. That didn’t change when Logan asked him to escort him upstairs, made him a cup of coffee and then said he needed to freshen up.

That had been around fifteen minutes ago. Remus couldn’t fault him for taking his time in the bathroom. After today he would want to take a long bath as well.

He was tapping his foot repeatedly on the floor and glimpsed around the living room. It was a rather minimalist environment, but it seemed lived in. Weirdly comfortable despite the lack of the knickknacks Remus appreciated so much in Patton’s place. What also seemed a little bit out of place were the pieces of furniture after Remus took a second glance at them. Everything, except for the dark navy couch and the maroon armchair looked like it was rather old. In very good condition still, but the table he was sitting at, had old sat-in glass imprints on it, as an example. Things that could have come from an antique store or something along those lines.

It was weirdly charming and stirred up his creativity. There was story after story hidden in each creak and this liveliness and mismatched nature came so unexpected from a man like Logan. But then again, what did Remus know about him really? Was it fair that he thought this furniture was unusual for Logan when he hadn’t even known for certain that he was trans? Had one anything to do with the other?

Remus needed to be honest with himself. He needed to take a long breath and stared down his cup of lukewarm coffee. Nothing about this had to do with him. He hadn’t invited Logan’s sister to come here and wreck everything. He hadn’t done anything to cause this. This was not about him. This was about Logan who had been caught off guard and deserved better. Who was not angry or bitter about Remus knowing and also knew that it wasn’t his fault. No need to panic.

Light fell into his view. He turned to see how a shadow fell down the hallway and approached the entrance to the living room. Remus watched closely and forced his shoulders to relax. And then the small figure of Logan peeked around the edge of the doorframe. His tired expression was mellow, and the hint of a grin sat on his lips as he looked at Remus.

Remus’ shoulders were decidedly not relaxed anymore. All restraint in his body was used to keep himself from gaping as he looked at the freshly showered man in front of him in an oversized grey t-shirt, black leggings, and navy blue slippers. The glasses were cleaned and shiny, and the dark brown hair stuck in every direction in small curls.

Remus didn’t remember if his mouth had ever felt so dry before. He scrambled for a tiny smile too and then got up quickly as he saw him getting closer to the table. Before Logan got to ask what he was about to do, Remus pulled out the chair at the top of the table and motioned for him to take a seat.

Perplexed Logan stared at him but sat down. His confusion morphed into amusement, and he chuckled when Remus kept standing like an awkward high schooler who just met their partner’s parents for the first time.

“Who would have thought that you would be so well-mannered?” Logan joked lightly and broke Remus free from his awkwardness.

Easily Remus sat down again and said while lazily gesturing with his right: “I have to keep ya on your toes, right? If I’d always be so crude and deliciously naughty it loses its effect after a while, and no one would want that.”

Logan laughed once more before they fell into silence. Remus kept his eyes trained on the table as everything in Remus shouted to look up and watch Logan some more. He needed to see those tiny curls again. He needed to see him in this oversized shirt which made him look so comedically small and cute. But he couldn’t. Or he shouldn’t. This was the worst possible moment for his mind to fuck with him. It was far more important to support Logan in, well in any way really that didn’t involve him being too close to him so he couldn’t touch him.

“You know,” Logan’s voice cut off Remus’ thoughts and he looked up from the tabletop, “I had planned for a while now to come out. I never expected this to be the way it would happen.”

Remus nodded easily as he watched Logan’s expression close off some more.

“I mean, who would expect that?”

“Well, for an overthinker like me, it seems a bit uncharacteristic to not expect it. But then again, I haven’t seen her in years. She simply hasn’t been on my mind for a long time.”

Remus gave a small huff of agreement and shifted a bit more on his chair. He still had coffee. Slowly he drank some more of it and then stared straight forward. How could a sibling do something like this? Of course, over the years he had met a lot of people who had shitty siblings, who wouldn’t talk or see them anymore, and yet to see someone do something cruel and unfair to their own brother seemed so outlandish to him.

“Which book caught your attention?”

Remus blinked. He looked to Logan who wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were directed to the spot where Remus had stared at before and Remus followed them. Apparently, in his quiet drifting off in thoughts, his stare had landed on the bookshelf and Logan understandably must have assumed that he was looking at the book collection he displayed for all to see.

Not knowing why, more in the spirit of saying something to say something, Remus said: “I didn’t really look at the books. Mind drifted and all. But the shelf is nice. It looks pretty old.”

The chair at the head of the table was moved back. Remus watched Logan stand up and walk to the shelf. He laid his hand on the wood, let his fingers run over the side and smiled for a second before he turned back to Remus.

“It is quite old, in fact,” Logan said emphatically but not overtly so. “It was made in the Victorian era for an upper-middle-class spice trader from London. The man moved it with him when he immigrated to New York, which must have been a logistical nightmare and a thorn in the eyes of everybody boarding the same ship this man was on. He got a house, married and one of his daughters took over the house when her parents both had passed. She lived there for about twenty years before she couldn’t maintain the house anymore as she grew older and decided to sell everything since she had no children or other family members who needed or wanted anything. Over a few sellers, this shelf eventually landed up in an antique store.”

This sounded like Roman going through a monologue he had practised 27 times already but was still eager to repeat another 20 times, which wasn’t something he had expected to hear from Logan talking about a piece of old furniture.

“Hello there, Mr Antiquarian! Where did you hide that secret passion of yours until now?” Remus asked playfully.

Logan’s look softened and he lowered his head for a moment with a gentle grin. With a light air around him, he walked back to the table and explained: “It’s not solely a passion.”

“Oh?” Remus probed eager to get away from the bleak atmosphere from before.

“Well, it was job-related. I was able to get a position in an antique store. The man who employed me was happy enough to have a student, who was able to do some proper research for the pieces he gathered and sold. I got to learn quite a bit about the history and sometimes was roped into helping him restore a few little things. It was a good time. Helped me finance my top surgery and the testosterone.”

Neither man looked at the other for a moment. Logan smiled down at his table as Remus tried and failed to scratch off some loose skin around his thumb. Mildly he cursed under his breath and stuck his thumb in his mouth as it started to bleed. Logan saw it immediately and scolded him with a weak huff and told him that he would get him some disinfectant spray. A few minutes were spent disinfecting Remus’ abused thumb and Logan then went on to make both of them a new warm drink. Remus couldn’t take a second coffee so Logan made them black tea. Remus watched him walk back and forth between the dining table and the kitchen, the previously wet curls now dried down and whipping up and down wildly with Logan’s forceful steps.

Remus hadn’t noticed it before, but Logan had the habit of walking around pretty loudly. But now that there was no other background noise, he could focus on that. It was weird how much louder Logan was in comparison to Roman. Roman was much harder to hear if he wasn’t talking or carrying something around which made him become short of breath. And even so, Remus usually was well aware when Roman was around or not. He had some kind of aura going that made everybody realize that he was there. In a way Logan was very much the same; he simply amplified it by walking around like an elephant.

A steaming cup of tea pulled him back to reality. He took it, murmured thanks and blew the steam away to take a tiny sip. It was scalding hot, but he didn’t mind. It was a good burn. Slowly he put it back down and casually looked up again only for Logan to be watching him intently. Immediately he looked away again and he could almost feel Logan furrowing his brows at his odd behaviour.

“You keep looking away from me and I don’t understand why. Has this revelation led to you figuratively seeing me in a different light? Is there a problem with me being trans?” Logan asked matter-of-factly.

Remus whipped his head around and shook it forcefully. He looked into Logan’s eyes and opened his mouth only to get distracted by a little curl which stuck out wildly. His cheeks began to burn, and he wanted to sink into the floor. To be swallowed by the earth and burn in lava or be crushed by the drifting plate of the continents.

Weakly he gaped for another breath of air but didn’t manage to get anything out. Logan simply tilted his head to the side in curiosity. It made him look about fifty times cuter and Remus wanted to die. Why was he looking at him like this? Why did he not seem upset but curious? Why on earth did he have to have curly hair and look absolutely stunning when they were starting to dry?

“I don’t know what to say,” Remus settled on eventually. “I mean, I-”

“You knew.”

Remus gulped. How was there no anger or judgment in Logan’s voice? How was he keeping a level head despite all of this?

Remus nodded and met Logan’s eyes. Weakly he admitted: “I did. Well, I assumed. Because I did google your therapist, and she works with trans people mostly. So, it made sense.”

“Well assumed.”

“Thanks.”

Remus took another breath and asked: “Why are you not upset with me?”

Laughing. Logan was laughing. It was a delightfully clear sound at first before a few snorts interrupted the bell-like sound and pulled Remus in even deeper.

“I see no reason to be upset with you,” Logan began and lifted his hands to stop Remus before he could disagree. “You were kind and cordial with me even though this whole situation clearly distresses you. You are being an excellent friend and are trying to figure out how to navigate the confirmation of sensitive information. Nothing about that would be upsetting.”

He could just stare at Logan. The smile on his lips turned into a playful smirk and Remus felt the need to kiss him stronger than ever. How would it feel to touch those pretty curls, his hands running over his soft cheeks, Logan’s hands dug deep into his back, leaving marks, showing the world that Remus belonged to him-

The feeling of Remus’ phone vibrating pulled him out of his thoughts. With a gulp, he fished it out of his pocket and read the message Roman had sent him.

___

“I do not think that all of us should go,” Janus insisted anew.

This time it wasn’t Roman who turned around to tell Janus otherwise but Rémy. The man rolled his eyes as he pressed a cardboard box into Virgil’s hand and stemmed his hands in his hips.

“Listen closely,” Rémy said, “when the man says that you four are invited to go up, and don’t have something more important going on, you go up. It’s the least you can do after what the poor thing’s been through.”

Janus pouted and looked for Roman to support but his boyfriend unhelpfully lifted his eyebrows as to say ‘See? I was right.’ Before Janus could speak up once more Roman took his hand and pointed to the box Rémy had handed to Virgil.

“And what’s that?”

“Sandwiches. I have some left from the morning, which I would have had to give away in an hour anyway. Thought some nutrition might do y’all some good,” Rémy said easily.

Roman looked touched at the motion and Rémy told him to knock it off, they were supposed to go up to the flat as Logan had requested it and spend some time with the bookstore owner. Roman didn’t protest after that. Instead, he took Janus' hand and squeezed it. It was about time to get going up, Roman decided and bid Rémy a good night. The café owner just bowed his head and turned. They walked up to the edge of the sidewalk, waited and, crossed as no car came. His gait was leisurely and relaxed and yet Roman could see the heaviness of today sitting in his bones as he disappeared in his shop. He himself was still holding Janus' hand and guided the two of them towards Logan and Patton’s apartment complex.

Patton was walking in front, Roman and Janus behind him and Virgil was the tail lights of their little group. They were quiet and tense. Roman tried to keep the memories which were slowly acting up in his mind at bay but felt tidbits slipping through. Every time someone had clocked him against his will, the words his father threw at the last time they ever stood face to face.

They were in front of the door. This wasn’t about him. Patton knocked. This was about Logan. Rustling from inside. He could keep it all in, for Logan, for Patton, for Janus, for Remus and for Virgil. He could keep himself in check.

The door opened and he saw his twin open the door for them. They locked eyes for a second before he caught Patton’s look and quietly went: “Come in. He’s put some drinks up in the kitchen.”

Quickly all of them filed inside, Patton slipping out of his shoes and asking Remus something, that Roman couldn’t quite make out as he looked around the flat. The room layout was the same as Patton’s but it looked much neater. Only a white clothing rack and a black shoe stand next to the door and no knickknacks lying around. It was a good fit for Logan’s personality and-

“Ah, good. You’ve arrived,” Logan said and stepped into the hallway coming from the living room.

Surprised Roman’s eyes were glued on the curls standing up from Logan’s head but couldn’t process it quickly enough before Patton gave a surprised squeal: “You’ve got curly hair!”

Logan just furrowed his brows in response before realisation dawned on him and his cheeks flushed dark red. His hands shot up to his hair and he pushed some of the curls down as if it would stop the rest of them from sticking out wildly between his fingers.

“Yes, that will make us unsee those unruly locks,” Janus dryly stated and gave a nudge to Roman from behind.

Roman stepped further into the living room, Janus getting to his side and grinning as Logan sneered at him and let his hands drop in angry fists.

“Oh, don’t you dare to comment on my hair when I have yet to see you without a hat on!”

“Rude,” Janus murmured and leaned against Roman.

Before either could continue and escalate it into a fight, Patton got between them and looked down at Logan.

“Nothing of that matters right now. I mean it looks amazing-” Roman could see a soft blush on both Patton and Logan’s faces appear - “but that’s not what you wanted to call us up about. Right? Or do you just want some company? Oh, we also brought food! Rémy gave us sandwiches from the store so that will be really helpful I think and-”

Logan took Patton’s wrist. The rambling stopped abruptly with a gulp of Patton.

“I’d like to come out to you on my terms now.”

For a moment Logan paused. His eyes fell on the box in Virgil’s arms.

“And also eat the sandwiches,” he added hastily and waved Virgil in to get closer.

The smallest man turned, still holding Patton’s wrist and led them to his dining room table. Roman’s eyes flickered over the old furniture, antiques in great condition he quickly realized, and then went back to Logan who had Patton sit down at the chair next to the top, hushed at Remus to settle back in his seat and took the box from Virgil. He glimpsed inside, mumbled something to himself and then quickly turned towards the kitchen.

“Settle. I’m right back with napkins,” Logan said and disappeared into the kitchen.

Roman shot Remus a look. His brother returned his gaze with shivering lips. Yes, Remus hadn’t dealt well with this either, Roman realised and sat down in the chair vis-à-vis from him as Janus took the seat to his side. Somewhat uncomfortable Virgil chose to sit down at the head of the table, between Janus and Patton. Unknowing glances between all of them were exchanged. Remus was just about to open his mouth when Logan returned and handed out some blue paper napkins. He also carried a laptop with him, sat it down at the end of the table and opened the sandwich boxes.

“Alright. Please grab a sandwich as I start up my laptop for the presentation.”

Roman had already reached for a sandwich, the nerves were making him hungry, but he stopped mid-movement and blurted out in confusion: “Presentation?”

Meanwhile, Logan had already opened his laptop and was typing in the password. He shot him a quick look and said nonchalantly: “My coming out presentation. I had worked on this for a while but never found an opportunity to presen-”

“And you think now is a good moment to-” Janus started but stopped himself with a sigh before he rubbed his eyes and continued - “Logan, I don’t know why you think that now is the time to do this. To even make a presentation to begin with-”

“Would you have preferred a flip chart?” Logan hissed.

That made Janus shut up. He had known it was a bad idea for him to come here. He had known that he would better have stayed away from Logan and let the others handle this. He could never do anything right by Logan and-

Gentle with a smoky-sounding voice Patton interfered: “Lo, I don’t think that Janus is trying to attack you-” He held up his hand to stop him from interrupting him - “This is about you suddenly deciding out of nowhere that you want to come out to us, after a very, very bad day. It is a surprise, you never opened up about this, not to me, not to anybody and it seems so fast for you to go all out after everything. We are just worried and want to make sure that you feel okay and not obligated to do this.”

Patton paused and looked into the round. They all nodded sheepishly and he added with a bashful smile: “And coming out with a presentation is also a little unexpected but not unwelcome. I’m sure we’d all love to listen but we just wanna be certain you’re truly okay with this. Okay?”

Logan readjusted himself on his chair. He sniffed his nose and scratched his cheek before he met Patton’s gaze.

He cleared his throat and opened his mouth. He closed it again and took a deep breath.

“I see. I- I do not think that I’m okay. Far from it, most likely. But there is very little I can do to make myself feel better, except to distract myself. And well-” he looked at his screen and then back to Patton- “I had been looking for an opportunity to share this with you for a long time now. With all of you, in fact.”

He paused and waited for anybody to say anything. No one did and his look stuck onto Remus. Wide-eyed he stared at him. As if he was something so mysterious, that he never dared to imagine to learn more about him. Alas, that would be an illusion he’d disprove quickly enough.

He turned his laptop around, stood up and grabbed a sandwich. He stood a little to the side so he could glance at the slide he was presenting at the moment(just the trans flag), took a bite, swallowed and decided to begin.

“I was born on the 4th of January 1991 to Aron and Aisha Fojtík. The woman, you were lucky enough to meet today, was my sister Delilah. She is three years my senior.”

He stopped and clicked, and a very stereotypical family portrait appeared. A darker-skinned woman, elegantly dressed, slim, very put together, stood beside a fair-skinned man, heavy-set, sitting straight on a stool. In front of the woman stood a maybe ten-year-old girl in a dress. Next to her, to the side of the man, stood a smaller girl, possibly seven, who was wearing glasses. The woman had one hand on the man’s shoulder and one on the taller girl’s shoulder. The smaller girl had her hand loosely on the man’s knee. None of them were smiling. They all looked serious.

Logan looked at it for a moment and had the next slide come up. It was a picture of the girl with the glasses, a few years later. She was speaking into a microphone at a spelling competition. Her hair was put into two long braids, she wore a white blouse and a blue neckpiece, as well as a light grey skirt.

“My father came from a wealthy background and was a smart businessman. My mother married him mostly because of these very reasons, and he took her because she was willing to stay with him and provide him with a family. All in all, their relationship was boring, listless and transactional. I rarely saw my father and thus was objected to my mother’s upbringing. Once she grasped that I had, metaphorically, a solid head on my shoulders, she had me sign up for all different clubs and courses. I profited from this and soon became class president and won in different literary competitions and I ranked decently in my academic endeavours.”

He paused and looked at the others. None of them moved.

“In 5th grade I asked my mother to enrol me in a local public school. She was sceptical until she saw how well the school was ranked and I was able to improve some of my social skills as I finally was able to mix and mingle with peers from different social backgrounds. I was thirteen when I realized that I most certainly was no girl. I-”

He shot Patton a look and suddenly began to grin. The tattoo artist had listened closely as the others had and frowned at the sudden mischievous glint in his friend’s eyes.

“Yes?” he asked confused leading Logan to chuckle.

Logan’s grin spread wider and he answered: “The next picture is from high school. The group picture from the cookie sale.”

The confusion stayed for another moment but was soon overtaken by a furious blush. Logan began to chuckle as his expression turned more smug by every passing second. And yet it soon turned softer and he reached over the table and laid his hand on Patton’s arm. The man immediately looked up with wide eyes.

“I won’t expose your old style if you tell me not to. Though personally, I find it to be quite charming,” Logan said gently.

With a pout, Patton countered: “You’d rather see me in the old clothes then?”

“Dear heavens, no,” Logan chuckled, “but just meant that it used to suit you quite well back then.”

“Okay, sorry, you’re being adorable together,” Remus interrupted not noticing both of their blushes as he stood up and tapped on the laptop screen, “but what fucking outfit did Patton wear that he’s more embarrassed about it than Lo about his body pre-transition?”

Patton sighed loudly and hid his face behind his hands. Right-out giggling Logan patted Patton’s back and shooed the flusteredness of his friend away.

“Are we denying Remus your spectacular ou-”

“You’re so mean Loooo,” Patton whined and pressed his head against the tabletop, “just get on with it. Otherwise, Remus will stand in front of my door in the middle of the night to question me about it anyway.”

Amused Logan simply pressed the button on his laptop and a group picture appeared. It was six teenagers, two taller students at the sides holding a blue banner with the words “Planning Committee Bake Sale 2007” written on it. They all smiled quite proudly, as a girl in the middle held up a red cash box. The twins and uncle and nephew duo stared at the picture for a long moment. Neither Patton nor Logan was obviously on it at first glance. Only after a few seconds Remus released a surprised gasp and connected the dots between the deep brown eyes behind the glasses of the girl with the cash box and those of Logan. He took the image in slowly; two carefully braided braids falling on his shoulders as he stood straight in a dark blue blouse and a black skirt. None of the clothing had a wrinkle in it, perfect in every way. And yet this seeming perfection didn’t fool Remus, though it made him smile. There was defiance and smugness in those eyes, maybe forced to conform to society’s perfection but eventually breaking free and writing his own rules.

He glimpsed at Logan for a moment. Yes, this man had made his own rules.

Attention back on the picture Remus looked through the students again. He still hadn’t seen Patton and wrinkled his brow in confusion. Had Logan mistaken the picture with another-

“Are you telling me you wore a cardigan in High School?”

The disdain in Janus' words and the following groan from Patton let Remus look at the taller teen holding the banner on the right side. He was the one who had a grey cardigan slung over his shoulders and was wearing a light blue polo shirt and knee-long khakis.

And he had Patton’s face now that Remus looked at him a little closer.

“Oh god,” Virgil and Roman exclaimed at the same time, while Logan started chuckling.

Remus' heart meanwhile did a flip. How odd. He truly thought that Patton would look amazing in anything.

“Good dad outfit,” Remus croaked through his confused feelings and reached over the table to hit Patton playfully in the side.

The tension was broken. Logan laughed and set the presentation aside after that. Instead, he proposed to finish eating and prepared them all another round to drink. No one objected.

They deserved a small breather.

@vexelore

@exhaustedfander

@alexisrealgay

@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

@winter-jay-official

@a-ghostlight-for-roman

@mychemically-imbalanced-romance

@whattheremus

@regalredrose

@spellingwillbethedeathofme

@sarenicide

@warcats-cat

LoCA

@arodynamic-enby

@espepspes

@bullet-tothefeels

@fukindork

@shadeofadye

@magic-but-its-green

@simonekkt

@tlhrfanfic

[imagineinside]

Star-Like Encounters (Hugh Jackman x Fem!Reader) Chapter 2

Previous Chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/imagineinside/760282819875471360/star-like-encounters-hugh-jackman-x-femreader?source=share

A/N: First of all, thank you guys for the love on the first chapter! Sorry it took me longer to get this second one out, life has gotten hectic (I study Aerospace Engineering in real life and my semester just started lol) but this is a great escape for me. I think Chapter 3 will be even more fun to write than this one. ;)

Description: You begin your first semester at a prestigious university with a mix of excitement and chaos. After a frantic start involving a late arrival due to your roommate’s Hollywood-related detour, your day takes an unexpected turn when you meet Hugh Jackman, your roommate’s boss, at a movie studio.

Hugh, intrigued by your expertise in physics, invites you to consult on a film project aiming for scientific accuracy. Balancing your new academic responsibilities with a potential Hollywood cameo, you must navigate your dual interests. As you face your own feelings, you discover that the lines between your professional and personal worlds are more intertwined than you imagined.

Currently Applicable Tags: (Future) 18+, Fluff, cocky Hugh Jackman, flirty Hugh Jackman, age gap (55 and 27), so much pining, mutual pining, more to come.

The next week and a half went by without any real hassle. In fact, Hugh and your roommate had to go overseas for some press release on the upcoming debut of the “Deadpool and Wolverine” film, which you were definitely going to see on opening day. You could hardly believe Hugh Jackman was already working on a new movie, but perhaps he needed to be busy with work right now to keep his mind off other things. You understood the feeling.

You hadn’t sent Hugh another text yet, despite the fact that your roommate had already given you the green light to do so. You had just secured your first semester at Stanford, and while there was nothing in your contract stating you couldn’t pursue other career opportunities, being a professor to over 100 students still took a lot of time. And being the newest, and youngest, faculty member you knew you were under heavy scrutiny from the headmaster.

It was rather unheard of for a young professional at the age of 27 to become a professor. But throughout your university career you had pursued your Masters and Bachelors at the same time, which had just left a three-year long Phd to complete in which you focused on laser technology and nuclear propulsion systems. Hugh Jackman had been right about at least one thing, you were very dedicated and passionate about your craft.

After your class Wednesday morning you were set on grading papers for the rest of the day, the assignment had been “What shape is our universe?” a relatively simple question but with a lot of avenues to discuss. Well, you were set on grading papers until you opened up your YouTube account to turn on background music and a new interview featuring Hugh Jackman popped up on your feed. This one was from The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, so they must have just taken a while to post it.

It was as if your hand had a mind of its own as you clicked on the video. A wild round of applause started as Hugh Jackman took his seat and seemed to readjust his sweater, hips popping in the air. God, he was so effortlessly attractive. The interview went through the normal questions, yet you still soaked up every minute of it. It wasn't until the last couple minutes that Fallon had asked him, “So can you tell us anything about the new movie that is still in pre-production? I mean, I have no idea what it’s even about!”

Hugh laughed, crows feet growing appearing to his eyes. You absolutely adored the smile lines around his eyes and mouth, you wish you could trace every single one. “I can’t say too much, sorry, Jimmy. What I can say is that we’ve recruited some expertise for the physics of the movie… y’know like the stuff that us movie producers aren’t very well versed in.” He said with another laugh, “And I gotta say, she is just amazing, and very passionate about her work.”

“Is she the hottie of her department too, Hugh?” Fallon had asked with a laugh, obviously making a joke.

Hugh seemed to pause, a smile forming on his lips, “If she isn’t, then I would be very surprised, Jimmy.”

“Does the Hugh Jackman have a crush?”

Hugh laughed, “Even if I did, I highly doubt it would be reciprocated–”

You slammed your laptop shut, heart pounding in your ears. You whipped out your phone to text Ashley but paused when the keyboard popped up, what exactly were you going to say to her? Hey! So your boss inadvertently flirted with me and it’s making me feel some very specific type of way. What do I do???

Instead, you opted to open up the email from Ashley which included an agenda for the pre-production discussions. Attached to her email, she had written, “I also let them know your work schedule and when you have your mid-term breaks, so we tried to work around them.” You smiled at your friend's generosity, she truly was so encouraging of your work and had so much admiration for you, as you did her.

As you reviewed the dates and times alongside your class schedule, you realized there was really no reason to say no. They had aligned the dates perfectly so that you wouldn’t have to worry about missing or being late to any lectures. Sure, you may have to take your grading work on the go, but that shouldn’t be too much of a problem. You were a professor for an introductory graduate course, you weren’t meant to be too hard on these kids.

You reopened your phone, hesitating over Hugh Jackman’s icon before clicking on your messages. Before you could really think about it, you hurriedly typed out a text and clicked send.

Putting your phone on do not disturb, you shoved it to the side and got back to grading papers. It took nearly a full three hours before you were done with the stack of 100 essays, and you had merely skimmed them. It probably would’ve taken you far longer to thoroughly read through them.

It wasn’t until you had your bag packed up to return home that you dared another look at your phone. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous, the worst thing he could say was that they found someone else, or if he didn’t respond at all. You still weren’t sure this was all real, so having it come to an end may be for the best anyway.

Upon seeing that he had messaged you only minutes after you sent him your initial text, you hurriedly sent an apology.

The photo had you laughing in the middle of the hallway on your way out of the building, getting a few glares from fellow professors and students. You mumbled a quick apology and hurriedly went through the exit, simultaneously typing a response back to him.

* * *

It wasn’t until Sunday night that your roommate returned home and immediately beelined to her room. You couldn’t blame her, being gone and traveling that whole time would have made you really miss your bed too.

You decided to be a good friend and greet her with a cup of coffee and a plate of eggs the next morning, to which she had immediately devoured both. Then you were off to class, with a promise to pick Ashley up on your way to the first of the pre-production meetings. 

During your lecture, it felt like it was impossible to focus on the task at hand. Instead, your mind seemed to want to focus on your nerves about seeing Hugh Jackman again, in person. Sure, you two had been exchanging a bit since last Monday, but it wasn’t about anything personal. You tried to keep your conversations strictly professional so as not to give yourself a heart attack.

“Finally, God, what took you so long?” Ashley grumbled as she clambered into the Volvo.

You rolled your eyes, shifting it out of park and merging onto the road. “Someone is still jet lagged.” “Ugh, don’t even get me started. I still want to be in a ball on my bed right now, not going to this meeting. Plus!” Ashley exclaimed, throwing a finger in the air, “I won’t even know what you’ll be babbling on about! I don’t know rocket physics or whatever.”

“Astrophysics,” you quietly remind her.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to undermine your interest. I’m just tired and grumpy.”

You laughed, “It’s fine, Ash, let’s just make it there without you jumping out of this car in an attempt to escape.

“Don’t tempt me.” She said, and you both burst out into laughter.

* * *

When you arrived at the older looking building closer to downtown Los Angeles, Ashley showed you where to park in the back to keep your license plate hidden. “Paparazzi like to take pictures of the cars here and try to track them down,” she had explained.

Then you were knocking on the back door, your heart in your throat. You heard footsteps approaching from behind the door before the door swung open to reveal an older gentleman with curly, graying hair.

He gave you two a bright smile, “Ashley, good to see you again.” He greeted Ashley to which she gave him a half-hearted grunt back. “And you must be the professor I’ve heard so much about. I’m Shawn, the director for the film.”

You smiled and shook his hand before he stepped aside to let you guys in. The building wasn’t at all what you had expected, you thought the meeting would be at a cold, fluorescent-lit office building, not this quaint, rustic old home near downtown.

You followed Ashley into what you thought would be the dining room of the household, where you were greeted with six other individuals–including Hugh Jackman himself, sitting around an oak table with a whiteboard at the very end. The whiteboard was full of different scribbled imagery and what you thought was an attempt at Newton’s Laws… you couldn’t be quite sure.

“Ah, there she is!” Hugh exclaimed as he tossed his reading glasses–which you tried not to think about how hot he looked with them on, key word: tried–and began walking over to you.

You opened your mouth to greet him, right before you were enveloped in a warm hug by his giant body. He was so much bigger than you, standing side-by-side you hadn't noticed. But right then you felt safe… protected.

You tried not to revel in the hug too much, allowing yourself one long draw of his clean, pinewood scent before pulling away. “Good to see you also made it back alive. Though the jet-lag isn’t affecting you as much as Grumpy over there from Snow White.”

Ashley flipped you off as she settled in a chair and pulled a stack of papers into her lap.

“Thank you for coming,” Hugh said as you drifted your eyes up to his face. His hands clasped around your shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze before he turned to go back to his spot at the table.

Clearing your throat, you settled into the last remaining seat at the head of the room. “I have already signed the NDA for the film and faxed it to Ashley while she was away. So, if I’m able to ask, what exactly did I need to be asked about?”

All eyes turned to Shawn, the man that had greeted you at the door. “There is a part of the film where the main characters are sending their ship through a wormhole to travel a big distance. Can you describe how that would look?”

Oh, boy… “Well, how scientifically accurate are you hoping this movie to be? Like Interstellar level, or Star Wars?”

“We were hoping for more Interstellar.” A bald man across from Hugh answered.

“In that case, it’s important to note that scientifically speaking, we don’t know if wormholes even exist or not. In theoretical physics, they can be described as ‘tunnel-like’ structures.” You paused to survey the faces of those around you, your eyes falling on one face in particular. Hugh had his head resting on his open hand, a twinkle of something in his eye as he nodded in encouragement for you to continue. “Basically, wormholes are a wrinkle in whatever fabric space is made of,” you said and picked up a piece of loose paper that was on the table. You brought the two edges together to form a wrinkle. “Simply, it would be like a tunnel traveling through this paper. But that wrinkle needs to exist first.”

“And you don’t know ‘if the technology which we humans have created would be able to survive traveling in a wrinkle through space. Or if the human body would survive on a molecular level’,” Hugh carried on.

You nodded slowly, not sure if he knew what he was quoting, “Yes, that was from my… um, my graduate thesis.”

Hugh smiled and held up a stapled stack of paper, “I know, I printed it out.” He laughed as he confessed, “I think I’ve read it three or four times to grasp everything you discussed.”

You tried to hide the blush forming on your cheeks. While you took great pride in that thesis, you didn’t think anyone–especially Hugh Jackman–would have taken such an interest in it.

“The other issue is what lies beyond the thin fabric of space if a wormhole exists? That’s the greatest mystery of my field, though,” you laughed, “We have no idea what our universe is actually expanding into. Does matter just cease to exist past that point? Is it a giant black hole? We have no clue.”

“From the sounds of it, you can’t answer our questions then.” The bald man said to you from across the room, his icy glare making you snap your mouth shut, before turning to Shawn, “I told you it would be a waste of our time–”

“I think you should leave,” a gruff voice announced, and it took you a moment to register that it was Hugh who said it. Was he seriously willing to stand up for you like that?

The man scoffed, “Seriously?”

Hugh stood suddenly, his chair scraping against the hardwood floor. It was hard not to notice how mouth-drooling good he looked in his green cashmere sweater. It really did hug him in all the right ways.

“Yes, seriously,” Hugh insisted as he began to walk around the table. As he passed by you, he gave your shoulder–at least what you imagined was–an apologetic squeeze. The feeling of his calloused hand against your bare shoulder sent a shiver down your spine. “Come, I’ll walk you out.”

“Shawn, really?” The bald man looked to the director.

Shawn sighed as he glanced up at Hugh. He must have seen something in his lead actor's eyes since he said, “I think it would be best for you to take a break for now, we will see you again tomorrow.”

Without another word, the man gathered his belongings and stormed out of the house, slamming the backdoor before Hugh was able to close it for him. Once Hugh returned to the room, you felt like you could breathe again.

“So, where were we?” Hugh asked as he sat back down, and you didn’t miss the way he shuffled closer to you to rub soothing circles on the small of your back.

* * *

You answered a few more of their questions regarding wormhole travel, black holes, and also the passing of time in space versus on-planet. After an hour and a half it felt like you were losing their attention, so you decided to end the discussion there. Ashley had fallen asleep on the chair, but when it was time to go you gave her the keys and she went out to the car.

Eventually everyone had cleared out of the room besides you and Hugh, which left you not really knowing what to say.

“I’m sorry about Steven,” Hugh had started. He was standing behind his chair, hands braced on the back of it. His fingers were so long and elegant, and his palms were double the size of yours. He was an all-around giant compared to you.

You waved it off, “It didn’t phase me. I’ve dealt with worse individuals before, happens a lot in my field actually.” You paused before saying, “Thank you, though, for, um, sticking up for me. But you should know I can take care of myself,” you said with a playful smile.

Hugh’s face grew into a smile that matched yours as he took a few steps forward until he was just a handreach away. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah!” You said and playfully punched him in the chest, your fist contacting with refined muscle, “I’m a big girl. Do you see these guns?” You laughed and pretended to flex your arms.

“I feel bad for whatever person crosses you,” Hugh laughed, though it quickly tapered off as he worried at his bottom lip.

You furrowed your brow and titled your head, “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Hugh gave you a lopsided smile, though it didn’t really reach his eyes. “Just nervous.”

“About what?”

“Well,” Hugh began but quickly paused as he scratched at the rough beginnings of a beard. You wish you could feel that stubble scraping against your skin and watch it leave irritated marks all over you. “I am assuming you know the debut night for Deadpool & Wolverine is coming up soon.”

“Duh!” You laughed, “I already got tickets for me and Ashley opening night.”

“Right, of course, nevermind then,” Hugh laughed it off with a shrug, but you caught his arm as he went to go past you.

“You aren’t getting off that easy. What were you going to say?”

It seemed like he still took a moment to contemplate it before he said, “I am allowed a plus one for the debut, and my kids already have stuff going on. I guess I was wondering, as a thank you for your help with all this, would you like to go?” He let the question hang in the air for a second, “As my plus one, of course. And I could get you in contact with my stylists and I am sure they would love to have a woman to dress for a change,” he said with an awkward laugh that you still found quite endearing.

“Hugh,” you began and he looked at you as if you held the entire world in your hands, “I would love to go. I’ll arrange with Ashley to make sure one of our friends can go with her in my place.” You paused, something like anxiety creeping up your spine, “But won’t you be worried about what people will say if they see me there with you? I know you are inviting me as a friend and colleague, but… the media tends to run with stuff like this.”

Hugh shook his head and grabbed at the hand you still had on his arm, “No, I won’t be worried. It would be an honor to have you there.” Before you could move away, Hugh brought your hand up to his mouth, leaving a quick kiss on the back of it. “You should get going,” he said, his voice rougher, darker than usual. It’s what you imagined his bedroom voice would be like. WHOA, totally not the time to be thinking about that. “Ashley is probably waiting for you.”

You nodded and shook yourself out of whatever trance he put you in, “Yeah, right, right.” You gathered your belongings and went to leave the room, and you aren’t entirely sure what confidence came over you as you turned back to him to say, “Oh, and Hugh? I am definitely the hottie of my department.” With a wink, you disappeared from sight.

Taglist: @corvusmorte, @chinchie, @reinabxitch (if you aren't on this last but want to be let me know!)

[silverseaming]

At the harbour there’s noise everywhere — hurried rushes of footsteps, snatches of conversation, the voices of street-sellers rising above the everyday din with cries of “Fresh whelks! Fresh whel—”, “Apples and pears! Fresh today!”, “Roses, sir, roses for your Mis—!”. Along the quayside cargo masters bark instructions to their men, and crates clatter earthward from the decks or are borne aloft on the shoulders of brawny dockers. Beneath it all is the sound of the shipyard, a constant beat of hammers that Kit can feel in his chest.

Kit pushes on through the crowds, buffeted along by the busy current of fellow humanity. He wishes dearly for the open fields or leafy avenues of Brindleton. There the air is sweet, not thick with the salty seaweed taste, the people don’t rush, don’t crowd together, shout, or jostle.

A journey of bumping shoulders and muttered apologies washes him up on the doorstep of The Lermond’s Cove company, as the modest brass plate beside the door proclaims. The building is smaller than the grand shipping offices, tucked on the end of the harbour frontage, but it’s smart enough, and offers welcome shelter from the bustle outside. A small bell rings above the door as Kit makes his way inside.

“Hello, sir.” The young woman greeting him sits behind a solitary desk, a large ledger arrayed in front of her. The frugality of the outside of the building is continued on the inside, with the only ornaments to the small room besides its occupant being a few framed charts and maps. The whole arrangement gives the impression of being newly established. “How can I help you?”

“I, er, have an appointment with Mr Allen,” Kit says, suddenly abashed.

After checking an entry in the ledger, the young woman gestures down the hallway.

“It’s the first door on the left, sir.”

Making his way to the indicated door, Kit hesitates a second before knocking. He can hardly turn back now, with the secretary watching in the entryway.

His knock is answered by a curt “Enter.”

The man behind the desk rises to greet Kit, extending a hand over the tabletop. He’s smartly dressed, in a well-made suit of the latest fashion. The clothes look new — too new, perhaps. The thick callouses beneath Kit’s hand betray the lifetime of hard work that the suit tries hard to erase.

“Fred Allen,” The man says, by way of introduction. Releasing Kit’s hand, he gestures to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “You must be Calloway.”

“That’s right, sir. As I said in my letter, Mr Miller up in Brindleton heard you might have opportunities going for someone willing to sell their crop.”

“Well, he heard correctly, I guess, though I have to say I wasn’t expecting anyone round here so soon. How’s about you tell me what set up you’ve got going, and then I’ll think about it?” says Allen.

“I’ve got about two-hundred acres just outside Brindleton, wheat and potatoes mainly. Only took over two years ago, but the last two harvests have done well.” Kit picks at a loose thread at the edge of his jacket, wishing he hadn’t done his collar up so tightly.

“You got any hands, or is it a one man show?” Allen asks as he sifts through a stack of papers, running a finger down a column of figures.

“Just me at the moment, sir, but some of the local lads help out around harvest. There’s room for expansion, though, if we come to an agreement.”

“Hm.” Allen seems to be considering, rubbing a large hand across his coarse chin. The more Kit looks at him, the more he struggles to see the businessman through the farmer — or is it sailor? At any rate, Allen’s tanned skin and deep crow’s feet speak of a life that, until recently, was spent working out of doors. The tailored clothes seem almost like a costume. It’s reassuring, perhaps, to know that Allen would understand something of the toil put into producing the crop.

Eventually Allen reaches the end of his deliberations with a great sigh.

“Look, son, I won’t pretend this isn’t somewhat of a cowboy venture, and that I haven’t got as much capital to be free with as certain larger companies. But I think we understand each other, and on account of your being the first to come and see me, I’m willing to give you an offer. I’ll take half your next wheat harvest, and I’ll give you two dollars a bushel if you’re willing to shake on it now.”

“I’m more than willing, sir, thank you,” Kit says. There’s a weight that’s lifted from his shoulders with Allen’s words, the anxious knot in his stomach loosening a little. Somehow, he’s managed to grab hold of the life ring thrown to him, and for a minute the hard work of hauling to shore can be forgotten.

Arriving home that night, dusty from the road, Kit feels lighter than he has done in months. For once he looks at the farm and sees it as something beautiful, rather than a never-ending source of work. There’s a little moonlight dappling through the trees, outlining the farmhouse against the night sky behind it.

For a moment, he leans against the fence of the cow-pen, taking slow lungfuls of the cool night air. Then he turns towards the house, and the faint glow behind the front door that draws his weary feet over the threshold.

Meg’s standing at the kitchen table, placing the finishing touches on a freshly baked cake. From the untidy tendrils of hair she keeps trying to blow from her face and the flour down her apron, it’s been a hard-fought battle with the sponge. The weak firelight from the stove behind her casts her in a rosy glow, and oh, it’s enough to knock the air from Kit’s chest.

“You’re up late,” he murmurs, giving into the urge to take her in his arms. Her body is warm against his, and she smells slightly of strawberry jam.

“I had to remake the sponge,” Meg sighs, finally pushing the finished cake away and leaning into his touch. “And I split the cream. It’s all a horrible mess.”

“Well hang the cake then, because I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up.” Gently Kit spins her round to face him, pulling her close.

“I take it your meeting went well?” She smiles.

“I think so. He’ll take half of next year’s wheat, and for a good price as well.”

“Oh, you wonderful man,” Meg says softly.

Kit’s reply is to lean down and kiss her. Even though he’s only been gone a day, it feels like he’s waited months for that kiss, for Meg’s hands on his shoulders and lips on his. Without thinking, he lifts her onto the table, hands finding her waist and hair.

“Christopher James Calloway, if you want to carry on with this nonsense then you will unhand me and let me clear up before we go upstairs!” Meg pulls away, trying to sound cross, but the barely concealed laughter rather ruins the effect. “I love you very much, but I will not ruin this cake for you.”

“Consider me told,” Kit laughs.

[persphonesorchid]

Connotations Of Sin - JHS (m)

Summary: At your lowest, you’ve been living on the streets for the past couple of months. When you decide to leave your only safe haven and find yourself lost in a mysterious fog, an angel stretches out a hand of mercy. Little do you know, black taints his once alabaster wings.

Genre: Fallen Angel Au | Angst, fluff, smut (mdni), horror (V lowkey, I swear)

Word Count: 30k

Masterlist

Please read these warnings carefully!!

Warnings: Homelessness, Kidnapping (? is it though??), Suicidal ideation, referenced and described abuse and murder of a child. Hoseok is his own warning. Mc gets drugged and then she gets sick... A bit of religious babble, mc has nightmares (one of which is actually kinda bad...), she almost dies at one point. Hoseok likes playing mind games, but they aren't serious (Honestly debatable...). Implied gang activity and violence. Hoseok contradicts himself a lot, he's really confusing. Smut: oral ( m and f receiving) soft dom Hoseok, i think Hoseok has an oral fixation (or is it ME, the author?????) unprotected sex.

Notes: Phew, welcome!! SO, it's finally here!!! I'm so excited to share this project with you alll! It was such a big project for me, and so much time and effort went into it. Believe it or not, this started out as a smut piece and it had nothing going for it at all. If you've been following me for a while, you'd remember that back in 2021 i posted a teaser for something similar. Tbh back then probably wasn't the right time to post such a thing lmao, i for certain wasn't ready to write it and it wouldn't have been written in the way it was meant to with my writing style back then. It's been a long journey of understanding the characters portrayed here, and a lot of work to get them right. Very big shoutout to @hwaslayer who's - as always - been there with me from the very beginning and has been the biggest help and motivator, please look out for her Ateez's Seonghwa fic that shares this universe!! I won't keep you any longer, but please be sure to leave feedback, a lot of effort went into this project and i'd love to hear what you think and answer any questions! Happy reading!!!

“You sure you don’t wanna stay here with me dearie? I know it ain’t much, but it’s better than being out in the elements.” Abigail takes your hands in hers, hands that – much like yours – are dirt stained and ruddy, but bring you comfort that you wouldn’t find elsewhere. Abigail – or Toothy as everyone else calls her – is a frail woman with wispy auburn hair and a gap tooth smile. Her hair had gone white in some places, the crows’ feet at her eyes can barely help you guess her age. Her eyes are blue and dull but still regard you warmly like she did when she’d found you wandering along the fourth avenue weeks or so ago.

The space where she stays isn’t much; a nook in an alleyway between two rundown buildings that people don’t bother to go into. She’d tried her best to make it into a space that’s comfortable enough, the roof made of termite bitten sheets of ply that’s at least a square and a half wide. An old, mildew ridden tarp thrown over it and held down by a couple pieces of rubble from the building across makes up the walls that offer shelter from cold wind and rain and as much privacy you could get out here. The floor made of giant trash bags Abigail had swindled from some place or another, covered with old sheets that’s definitely seen better days. Even though the sheets had long lost their softness and leave you itching, they kept your butt off the cold concrete.

You’re going to miss the stories she’d tell. You’d lay on the floor, the longest part of the tarp folded over the top, and stare up at the strip of night sky between the buildings, twinkling with the bit of stars you can see and listen.

She’d tell you of her life before she fell to rock bottom, how grand everything was. How, many years ago, she’d won the lottery by a stroke of luck, only to have it turn sour when her fiancé gambled it all away and she lost everything. She never did tell you what happened to him.

You’d miss walking the couple of miles to the river, armed with pieces of run-down bar soaps and plastic bags with the little clothes you owned in them bundled in your arms. Or the nights when it’s cold, you’d go down to the square with her and look around for things to burn and dump them into the steel barrel to keep warm.

There are days when there’s nothing, and Abigail would distract you from your stomach trying to eat at itself with another one of her stories and old cans filled with steaming boiled rain water. There are days when you’d sit with a full tummy, there’s usually one kind soul out there that takes pity on you both to offer as much as they could.

You’ll be forever grateful for Abigail, with her motherly affection and her warm hands. She never once asked how you ended up here too, she simply offered a hand when you needed it most.

You felt as though you lingered too long... this is the longest you’ve stayed in a place. The company was good, but you feel like there’s just so much you’re robbing Abigail of by staying with her. You know she would strongly disagree; she’d probably whack you with her busted up sneaker and send you to sit in a corner until you’ve apologized. It’s simply how you feel, if you’re not here, Abigail wouldn’t have to share the little of what she gets, you feel terrible enough that she gives you more than she keeps for herself.

“Don’t worry Abigail.” You smile, pulling one hand away to pat hers. Her fingers are bony and long, and lacking the warmth they did earlier in the day. “I don’t stay one place for too long.”

It’s a lie, obviously. You’d rather chew your leg off than go out there alone. Away from the safety this little nook had been for the past month, away from Abigail, who’s cared more about you than anyone has in a while. But you care about her too, enough that you’d leave to make sure that she eats well enough to survive and not give it all to you. She’d be better off.

Abigail narrows her eyes at you, the wrinkles of her face deepening as she frowns. She looks sad, you note, the blue of her eyes dark and stormy, but she says nothing, just squeezes your hands for a while before letting go.

You smile softly, and continue stuffing your clothes into an old backpack Abigail had given you a while back. You fold the dirty ones tight, setting them at the bottom, and the few clean ones you had that still smelled like your last bar soap at the top. You don’t have much, and you’ve gotten used to it – as hard as it was.

When you shouldered your bag and stepped out from under the tarp, Abigail follows, worry on her brow, saying that she’d walk you to the mouth of the alleyway.

“Oh!” She says, turning back to duck under the tarp. You hear the rummaging of her old pot wares, the clanking of the metal before she comes back and holds out a can to you. The label looks worn, peeling off in some places, but you make out the bright red ‘canned peach’ on the side. “I was savin’ this for when we go down to the river, but you’d better have it.”

“Abigail...” You sigh, guilt gnawing at your edges, “I can’t take this.”

Abigail purses her lips, smacking the can into your hand, “Yes, you can. It’ll hold you out for a little while.”

“Then what would you eat?” You outstretch your hand, offering the peaches back to her and she narrows her eyes at you.

“I can manage.” She says testily, and then sighs, softening, “Are you sure you’ll be okay out there?” She takes the can and tucks it into the outside pocket of your bag, “It’ll be rough ya know.”

“I’ll be fine,” You say, and then, you hug her. Truly, you’ll miss her. She pats your back gently, “Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t mention it, we gotta look out for each other out here.” Abigail smiles, pulling away. She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her baggy jeans, something she’d picked up at a donation shelter a couple of days ago. It’s got a few holes and it’s frayed at the ankles but she’d never complain. “If you fall into luck, don’t forget me.”

“Never.”

You both say your goodbyes and you try your best to not cry at the sadness that clings to Abigail’s form as she hobbles back to her little nook. You take a breath and pick a direction to walk in.

You think about going to the river first, to get a little cleaned up before you go looking for somewhere to sleep for the night. You’re already regretting leaving the comfort that Abigail provided. You know she wouldn’t blame you if you turned right around and dragged yourself back. You’ve already made your mind up, though – it’s better this way.

You don’t have a gauge on the time, but the sun’s getting quite low. It streaks the sky in orange and pink, hiding behind a fluffy white cloud as it makes its slow decent. You might be able to make it to the river and back before night falls completely if you hurry. So you walk, and walk, and it’s a long way past the street Abigail first found you, where the city meets a forest edge.

You once asked Abigail why she didn’t live closer to the river, you worry about her most days, taking her frail self through the streets for such a long walk just to get here. She’d told you that even though some of your street dwelling comrades are friendly, most aren’t, and would do the worst to get what they need. It’s too risky to be close to the river where all manner of folk pass to get to it.

You tuck your bag to your front and keep an ear out for anyone that may be in the area. You grimace as the twigs and stones of the forest floor poke at your feet. Your shoes were on their last, they kept your feet warm most days, but they’re biting holes into your last good pair of socks. The trees get sparse the further in you go, and over the tweeting and chittering of the forest critters, there’s the sound of rushing water.

You break out of the trees and stand on the little edge where the forest pauses and the soft wet dirt begins. The river is a bit wild today, rushing through the rocks as it makes its way from wherever it starts. You know there must be a spring somewhere deeper if you follow the river back, but you don’t have the time to as the setting sun makes the forest look darker already. You wouldn’t like to be out here at night.

You slip out of your shoes and socks, wanting to keep them dry and walk down to the bank. Abigail has a little spot between three large boulders where she hides things. The spot is covered with leaves and sticks, and you dig through it to find the old blue bucket. It’s missing it’s handle and turned over to keep things under it.

There’s a new pack of soap powder that’s already been opened, a little square plastic bowl that’s probably seen better days on a dish rack and half of a soap bar. You pull the bucket out of its hiding place, taking just a handful of the soap powder and tossing it into the bucket. You tuck the powder into a corner of the rock with the soap bar on top of it and carry the bucket over to the river.

You rummage through your bag to find the clothes that needed cleaning, and put them in the bucket with the soap. It takes a moment of scooping water from the river and pouring it into the bucket. All the while you’re wondering where Abigail scored the soap powder from. A lot of things are hard to come by, but some people make trades with the little they’ve got. You feel a little guilty as you watch the water and soap soak into your clothes, though you know she wouldn’t mind if its you – you’re the only two that know where she keeps her stuff hidden – but still.

The soap smells sweet, and fresh in a way you haven’t smelt in a while. With the sun long gone behind the trees but still lighting the sky a bit, you wash your clothes as quickly as you can. You throw the soapy water on the bank and not back in the river, and rinse your clothes out just as quick.

There’s no time to wait for them to dry, with the sun being as low as it is and the wind baring its teeth. So you wring them out and pull out the plastic handle bag you keep folded in one of your backpack pockets to stuff them into.

It’s completely dark out once you’ve put the bucket back and covered Abigail’s things again and made your way back out of the forest. You would’ve liked to take a quick wash, but it’s too dark and the water’s too cold now. You’ll come back tomorrow when the sun’s high and hot.

You walk in a different direction than the way you came, looking for the little park that Abigail mentioned once. Its completely dark by the time you get there, your feet aching from the long walk and your mind muddled with thoughts.

You would often remind yourself not to think too hard, as your thoughts would often lead you to a dark place you find difficult to crawl out of. You would often regret not having people close enough to call good friends, maybe then you wouldn’t be out here.

You didn’t have a difficult life; you grew up in a loving home with both parents making sure that you were happy and not too spoilt by the fruits of their labour. You know the value of things and you know well to act like your parents raised you with some sense. Your mother passed when you were ten, and your father remarried when you were sixteen. You couldn’t understand why, your father loved your mother so much and you thought it would just be you and him against the world. You understood that your mother wouldn’t want him to live the rest of his life overshadowed by her passing and forget to continue living. So when he introduced you to the woman he met on a business trip, looking happier than he had in six years, you didn’t have the heart to tell him that something was off.

Your mother had always taught you to see the good in people, to give them the benefit of a doubt. There was no mistaking the thinly veiled disgust in your step mother’s eyes when she would look at you. She was quite young, compared to your father, anyway, and as the years went by, he spoilt her. He gave her whatever she wanted when she wanted it as long as it made her happy and you could only watch from the sidelines.

Your father fell ill, and everything went downhill from there.

When he passed, your world shattered and crumbled, leaving you standing in the rubble grasping at the wisps of it slipping through your fingers. Things were okay, for a while, grieving the loss of your father and trying to move on and step without him. Then the news of his will came not long after he was buried.

Your father left everything for his wife, the house, his money, and as you’d found on the first night you were out here, the savings account your mother had set up for you.

You had nothing.

You’d always kept to yourself growing up, and never let anyone closer than you would allow. You were home-schooled – all the way up to your tertiary education – and had no friends to speak of. Your parents never spoke of their family, all you knew and had were your mother and father.

It’s been a while since then. A good long while. It was hard to adjust to having everything at the tip of your fingers to having it ripped away all at once.

The first week was hard. You’d worked odd jobs here and there to keep your head above the water. Sleeping in a motel every night wasn’t ideal, especially since you had to buy food and every thing else. The little money you had ran out quickly, even when you pawned the possessions you did own it wasn’t enough.

You’ve had time to adjust since then. You met Abigail and things were as okay as they could’ve been considering. You remember, she had been pestering you about why you were pacing around on that bridge when she found you.

The deep rushing water below it had looked inviting – an easy way out. No one would’ve missed you, anyway.

You take a breath in sharply, and it burns. Cold air fills your lungs with little pinpricks as night fully settles. You try not to think about anything more as you walk through the park.

It looks empty, large trees and neat grass fields and cobbled walkways. There are dark metal benches scattered about, a trickle of water you can’t pinpoint coming from somewhere.

You’d just stay here for tonight, and find somewhere you wouldn’t be in trouble to stay at in the morning. You’re pretty sure you’re breaking some law being who you are as you sit down on the bench. It’s uncomfortable, the metal cold and biting, but you’d just have to deal for the night.

You dig through your backpack, pulling out the plastic bag with your damp clothes, a jacket that’s still in good condition and the canned peach Abigail sent you off with.

You spread your clothes out on the back of the bench, and you’re hoping they dry properly even if the air feels a little damp.

With a soft sigh, you lift the circular pin on the lid of the can and pull. The peaches are cut into slices and swimming in a sweet juice, and with some guilt you pick a piece out. It’s sweeter than anything you’ve had in a while, and for a moment you feel like crying.

You feel tears burn your eyes and nose as you chew the fruit, washing it down with a sip of the juice that tastes slightly like the can. It wasn’t long before it was all gone, your fingers sticky with the juice and you stare into the empty can with a frown. You wonder about Abigail and if she’s okay right now.

Setting the can down near the foot of the bench that’s bolted into the cobblestone path, you lay back. The sky is fairly clear, with a little smattering of wispy clouds floating by and stars that twinkle in the distance.

Drifting off slowly, you try to find a comfortable position to sleep in – though there isn’t one with this metal bench. Your jacket thrown over you as a makeshift blanket.

You’re not certain how long you sleep for, but when you wake, its to a tapping on your shoulder. The air is thick with something as you breathe in, and a lot damper than it was when you’d settled.

“Ma’am.” A voice calls, prodding your shoulder again, “Hello, miss?”

You open your eyes and your blood runs cold at the sight of the man in uniform standing above you. You sit up, excuses dancing at the tip of your tongue before you realised you could barely see past your nose.

The officer is holding a flashlight, the beam directed somewhere off to your right. A thick fog had settled while you slept, swirling way past the officer’s head.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t sleep here. This is a private park.” His words aren’t unkind, they come out gentle and a little pitying, as though he regrets having to do his job of keeping the riffraff out. He lets you gather your things, stuffing your still damp clothes back into your bag.

He takes a step back when you stand, “If you need somewhere to stay, there’s a shelter not far from here. Couple blocks that way.” He waves his flashlight behind you, towards the park’s exit, “Can’t miss it.”

You could barely see the guy, much less which way exactly he’s directing you to. You turn, squinting at the way you think he pointed. “Thank you... I’m really sorry about –”

“Don’t worry about it...just keep walking straight and you’ll find it.”

He motions with his flashlight again and you take two steps away before stopping and turning back, “Sorry but...the fog...which way...”

The man is gone, no sign of him having been there in the first place. It’s quiet, not even insects are chirping, you don’t hear any retreating footsteps. You stare at the spot he was just in, but didn’t want to linger lest he comes back and he’s decidedly less kind.

You hike your bag up on your shoulder, squinting to see through the fog as you walk towards the exit. The roads are empty, there’s the soft clicking of the traffic lights and the glow of shop lights and street lamps that make it a little bit easier to see. You still look both ways before walking quickly across the street, keeping straight like the officer told you.

It’s quiet, and honestly, it freaks you out a bit. You don’t think it’s that late, and even so, there should be people out and about. You don’t even think you slept for that long, it couldn’t have been more than an hour. There’s no reason for no one to be around, then again, you don’t know this area very well.

You walk for some time, the sound of your footsteps and your steady breaths your only company. You’re keeping your eyes peeled for any sign of the shelter, staring up at the glowing signs and squinting to see through the fog. You passed a convenience store, a pharmacy and a pet shop, all closed and dark inside. You’ve crossed two roads so far; it shouldn’t be much more walking...unless a couple of blocks have two different meanings between you and the officer.

You stop for a moment, taking a breath that settles heavy and damp in your chest. You look back the way you came, look at the signs of the buildings across the street and the one you’re outside of. You can’t see much more than that unless you keep walking straight.

You’re beginning to wonder if he’d only said so to get you out of the park. You take a couple of steps forward and then stop, looking over your shoulder. Your brows furrow and the hairs on the back of your neck stands on end.

It’s said that the mind always knows when you’re being watched, a sixth sense to be aware when someone is staring at you.

You feel watched.

And it isn’t an ordinary feeling.

It feels off, like some primal switch just flicked up in your brain. Briefly, you think that this is how a bunny feels being cornered by a fox. Your heart suddenly kicks against your ribs and something in the back of your mind screams for you to move.

You press forward, the feeling lingers, and intensifies. You walk as quickly as you can, your once steady breaths loud and harsh in the quietness of the night. You try not to look behind you as your ears pick up on the sound of another pair of footsteps. They match yours, and you’re not too certain if it’s just really your own bouncing off the walls of the buildings. When you stop, they stop, and start back up again when you start.

There’s another sound below it. Something snarls like a dog somewhere in the distance behind you, but, like everything else about this moment in this fog, it sounds wrong. Like it’s coming from a creature that’s trying to mimic the sound of an animal.

You stop dead in your tracks, goosebumps rippling along your skin like a wave from the top of your head and downwards. You take a breath, and with one foot in front of the other – you sprint.

Your footfalls are loud in the quiet, and even through your panic you notice the change of the footsteps that mimicked yours. There’s two more with it that falls in rhythm, like a large beast running on all fours.

It’s running faster than you are, the pounding of its feet against the pavement is double the speed of your own. You feel like your lungs are about to burst, your legs burning, and the damp air becomes fire in your throat when you breathe.

Whatever it is snarls again, and it sounds way closer than it was before. You could almost feel the sound rumble through you, and something hot fans at the back of your neck. You nearly trip, stumbling over your own feet in an attempt to run faster. You round a corner blindly, hoping to throw whatever it is off your trail and smack right into someone.

With your momentum, you’d think that you would send yourself and the person sprawling to the hard concrete. The terrified scream you let out rings in your own ears, high pitched and shrill, as you bounce back, falling in a heap. There’s a sharp twinge in your wrist as you brace, and a stinging in your palm when you just barely managed to catch yourself.

“Shit!” the person exclaims – a man, if the deep timbre of his voice was anything to go by. “Are you okay?!”

The man crouches down and you scramble back, then remember that you crashed into him because you were running from something and the panic comes back.

“I—there’s ... Something’s following me! It chased me all the way here...It’s—”

“Hey, hey...it’s okay...you’re fine.” The man seems to look behind you. You could barely see his face, even with him being as close as he was; the fog just seems to get thicker. “It’s just us out here...”

His voice suddenly seems hesitant, and you wouldn’t blame him if he thought you were crazy.

You breathing is still erratic, heart still trying to pound its way out of your chest.

The man’s hands hover at your shoulders, and there’s worry in his tone when he speaks again. “It’s okay. You’re alright, nothing’s out here but us.”

He takes your hand – the one that’s not holding your weight – and presses it to his chest. You almost jump out of your skin at the contact, but his own heart is steady, beating a slow rhythm against his sternum. “Breathe with me.”

He takes a deep breath in, and you feel his chest expand as his lungs fill, you try your best. Your throat is burning, and every breath feels like fine glass is swirling at the back of your mouth. It takes a moment, but eventually, your breaths match his and the adrenaline seeps out with your every exhale.

Your brain finally registers the throbbing of your wrist and palm, and the ache in your sides.

“There you go.” You can faintly make out the smile that spreads across the man’s face, heart shaped and pretty white teeth. “Good now?”

You nod, just barely, and he releases your hand. There’s a shuffling and the sound of a zipper and then he’s holding a bottle of water out to you. You eye it with some suspicion, and he picks up on it.

“It’s just water, promise.” He says, wiggling the bottle a little. “The seal isn’t cracked or anything.”

You take your weight off your palm, wincing at the hot flash of pain from the movement. You right yourself a little, taking the water from him with your uninjured hand and a soft thanks.

“Oh...here...” he keeps the bottle steady in your hand with a palm under the bottom of it, and the other cracking the seal with a twist. He lifts the bottle to your lips and you take a sip, and then a gulp, “Easy, not too fast.”

The water is cool, and a blessing, you didn’t realise how thirsty you were. When you’ve drank at least half of the bottle, the man puts the cap back on and leaves it in your hold.

“Were you looking for something?” he asks gently, and you nod.

“The homeless shelter...I think I’m lost now, though.”

The man tilts his head, “There aren’t any shelters in this area...you’re on the wrong side of the city if that’s what you were looking for.”

You stare at him for a moment, “...Oh.” The officer really did just say it, then. You’re not sure what to say to the man and you glance around at the street that’s still teeming with the thick fog.

You’re not sure what to say to him, and instead, look around the street for any sign of the shelter even though he’d said there isn’t one.

“I think the fog’s lifting...” The man mumbles. The fog is clearing; it’s easier to see further down the street and the man in front of you. He presses his palms against his knees and stands, looking around for a moment before looking down at you. “There aren’t any shelters around...but...I can help you. If you want, I live a bit that way, and I’ve got an extra room...”

This is a bad idea.

He’s quite tall, on the lean side with long limbs. He’s wearing a long black coat, and his black, suede shoes look just as expensive as the watch that peeks from the end of his sleeve at his wrist. The white tee shirt he wears looks a little billowy, like it would swallow his frame once he takes the coat off. He turns a little and you get to admire the sharp cut of his jaw and the elegant slope of his nose.

“I won’t hurt you or anything. I just want to help.” He says, turning back to you. His eyes are dark, but kind as he offers a hand to help you off the concrete. “I’m Hoseok.”

You take his hand, and there’s nothing in the back of your mind telling you to get away. Nothing in his body language that shows ill intent, and you have to remind yourself that some people are simply kind.

He helps you to your feet and you thank him softly, giving him your name. His smile is soft as he nods, lips turned up slightly at the corners, eyes squinted just a bit.

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay. It’s a bit late, though, and you’d have to walk a long way to find the shelter...” Hoseok says softly.

You’re still holding his hand, and the warmth of it grounds you. You honestly shouldn’t, really, you’re smart enough to know you shouldn’t follow random men promising kindness. He really looks like a good person, quietly waiting for your answer as he gives you chance to change your mind should you wish.

He doesn’t rush you, and briefly you wonder if he doesn’t have anything else to do. He was clearly going about his business before you tackled him, though that word should be used lightly considering you’re the one who ended up on the ground.

“Okay...thank you.” When you finally speak his smile broadens, showing pretty teeth and still holding your hand, he leads you in the direction he was coming from before. You feel a bit bad, turning his night on its head and probably inconveniencing him.

The fog is lighter now, the air not as thick with it as you follow along. Hoseok didn’t talk much, not once mentioning your pitiful state of dress, or asking any questions. You’re grateful, not many people would go out of their way to open their homes to someone without one.

The place he leads you to looks expensive and you feel out of place. The road winds and twists into a residential area with houses and three storey apartments. There are cars parked in driveways, neatly trimmed grass and hedges, a fence around every tree. Lampposts dot the sidewalk every thirty or so steps, casting their orange glows across every surface.

Across from there, the road veers off into a more commercial area, with fancier housing and shops and a tall, looming hotel. The streets are quiet, shops already closed for the night and you wonder what time it is. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around, save for you and Hoseok making your way towards the hotel.

The doors slide open with a little mechanical whir, and you balk at the sheer size of the lobby alone. Light fixtures hang from the ceiling, bouncing their glows off of shiny surfaces. There are red and black lounge seats along a far wall, coffee tables of black tempered glass between them and the single seated chairs across. On the other side of the lobby is a little open cafe area, closed of course, with comfortable looking chairs tucked under tables.

There are two elevators, one of which you assume to be for staff. The reception area is a counter space of smooth looking white marble, though no one sits behind it.

Hoseok leads you to the elevator, pressing the button to call it down. You’ve let go of his hand now, as you take in the sight of the place. You wonder what anyone would think seeing someone like you in here. With your shabby clothes that’s seen better days, your dirty sneakers and backpack that looks like it’s moments away from just splitting apart.

There’s no one to see you, as the elevator comes down and opens with a ding. You catch sight of your reflection in the elevator walls, and grimace, regretting not bracing the cold river earlier. You definitely look homeless, your last bath was exactly two days ago, you look grubby standing just a little bit behind Hoseok. Anyone who would see you now would definitely turn their nose up at you and outright ask what you’re doing in their pristine hotel. Though, there isn’t much you can do to prevent that.

When the doors slide close you focus on the button panel, and next to it is a key card scanner and a button under it. The word penthouse is neatly labelled on the button in little black letters, and Hoseok fishes around his coat to pull out a key card. You blink, of course he lives in the penthouse.

The scanner beeps softly and Hoseok presses the button that glows a soft blue before the elevator lurches slight and ascends.

You fiddle nervously with your fingers in front of you, keeping your eyes on your shoes. There’s a shuffle and Hoseok turns to look at you, he’s smiling kindly again, something like pity woven into it and you feel a coil of shame twist in your chest.

“I’m sorry...” You say without much reason, glancing at him and then back down, “For the trouble.”

“No trouble.” Hoseok says softly, concern on his brow, his hand reaching out but stopping short, as though he’s not sure if he could touch you. You’re surprised he even want to. Heck, you’re surprised he’s doing any of this at all. “Really.”

“Do you usually take in random homeless people?” You ask, and his chuckle is light and teasing.

“Only the cute ones.” He says and then looks a little mortified, “Sorry. I’m kidding. It’s just...you looked like you really needed help...so I’m helping.”

“You’re very kind.” You murmur and offer a smile.

He smiles back, not as brightly as his other ones, it curls his mouth less, doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He nods, “I try to be.”

The elevator slows to a stop, doors sliding open to a little well-lit hallway. On the other end of the hall is a wide pane of glass that overlooks the city lights, twinkling in a dance of their own making, and an emergency exit sign jutting out of the wall. You follow Hoseok out of the elevator towards the door which he unlocks with a password — the beeps loud in the quiet — the door opens with a soft thunk and a beep and he lets you walk in first.

The lights are on, as though he’d only planned to be out for a moment. You’re not too sure what to do with yourself now that you’re here, staring at Hoseok’s back unsurely as he takes his shoes off and tucks them neatly on a shoe rack.

He turns to face you, “I don’t mean anything by this, so please don’t misunderstand...”

You nod, waiting for him to continue.

He seems to weigh his words carefully, “Do you want to take a bath?”

You flush, yeah, you surely look grubby enough for him to ask that. It’s warranted, so, you’re not upset that he asked. You’d actually love to, when was the last time you took a bath that wasn’t in the freezing river?

Still though, it’s embarrassing. So you nod silently, “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He says, looking genuinely relieved. “You can leave your stuff here and I’ll take care of everything.”

“Okay...” You step out of your shoes, nudging them in a corner before you take your bag off and set it down. The clothes you have are still damp, stuffed in a plastic bag somewhere in the depths of your tattered backpack and Hoseok doesn’t give you a moment before he’s leading you through his home.

The chill of the grey tiled floor runs up your legs through your thin, threadbare socks. You don’t have much time to look around, but you’re aware you’ve passed an open space kitchen and living room, splashes of white, reds and black in the corner of your vision.

He lets you into the bathroom, “Use whatever you need. The towels and things are in the cabinet.”

You turn to face him, “I really can’t thank you enough.” You say earnestly, and he waves you off, turning to leave and shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

“I’ll bring you some clothes that you could use.” He says through the door, his voice muffled. You thank him again and his footsteps trail away.

You turn and glance around the bathroom, floor to ceiling glass panes makes up the furthest wall. Before it is a porcelain bathtub that could easily fit three people, on a raised platform of white stained marble, and that platform on another, creating a single step up in order to get into the tub. The colour of the platforms compliments the dark reflective marble floor. The undersides of the platforms are lined with what you assume must be LED lights, glowing a pale white along the bottom.

The same LEDs line the back of the large wall mounted mirror, giving it an ominous glow. Below the mirror is a dark granite sink with a faucet you’re not even sure how to turn on. The cabinet below the sink house only cleaning supplies, and you look around for the towel space.

The shower takes up nearly the whole wall it’s connected to, frosted glass and jets embedded into the wall.  

You walk over to the shower and realise that was wall beside it sorts of curve and you let out a surprised sound when you walk the short way towards the back of it. The ‘cabinet’ is more of a little walk-in closet, there’s a few fluffy looking bathrobes sorted by length and colour, and towels and washcloths stacked on shelves that match.

Under those are neat little space savers filled with bath oils and shower gels, sweet scented candles tucked into corners. Bar soaps and toilet paper on their own shelves at the bottom, unopened toothbrushes and what have you.

There’s enough room to turn full circle without bumping into anything if you step into it. But you look at your hands and decide to not touch anything until they're clean.

So you walk back out to the sink, frowning at the faucet with no visible way to turn it on; it’s just a sleek piece of metal that curves back into the basin. You look at it to and fro and wave your hand under it, startling slightly when water sprays from the faucet. You hold your hand away and it turns off after a moment. Now, your parents had money but it wasn’t anything like this.

You can’t imagine the cost of this place.

You find hand soap after peeking into the cabinet below the sink again, taking your time to thoroughly wash your hands clean. It’s hard to see the dirt go down the drain against the dark granite, but you’re grateful. You inspect your hands once your done, and finally allow yourself to touch Hoseok’s things. You take a towel down from the shelf, the one that’s at the top of the pile. It’s a nice pale yellow, and near the bottom right corner is a little blue butterfly embroidered into the fabric. After a little debate with yourself, you pull the washcloth that matches from its pile.

You set the towel on the closed lid of the toilet, and strip out of your clothes. You fold them neatly and set them on the floor along with your socks, stuffing your underwear into the pocket of your jacket. You step into the shower and pull the door shut behind you.

You turn the knobs and adjust the water so that’s it not too hot, and for a moment, you simply stand there. The water flows over your skin in rivulets, washing away the sweat and grime of the past two days. You try not to take too long, but made sure that you’re thoroughly scrubbed clean. You try not to use too much of Hoseok’s things, even though he’d told you to use whatever you needed.

You’re not sure how long you were in there, how long you stood letting the water wash away your tears as well.

When you step out, steam billowing put behind you, you wiggle your toes into the fluffy cotton mat under you, wrapping the towel around your form. It feels nice to be clean, skin feeling a little raw from the hot water. You tiptoe to the door and ease it open, and it pushes lightly against a bundle of folded clothes on the ground. Next to it, a pair of warm looking house slippers that you shuffle into immediately after drying your feet.

The clothes: a dark grey long sleeve crew neck tee that hangs just a little off one shoulder, a pair of boxer shorts still in it’s wrapping, and long fleece lined sweatpants that you have to fold at your ankles.

Near the door is a towel rack where you hang the towel you used to dry, and after taking a breath, you step out of the bathroom.

You walk back the way Hoseok led you, and the air is prickled with the scent of freshly made food and it makes you wonder just how long you took in the bathroom.

The kitchen is a wide space, between the area that makes up the entrance hallway is a kitchen island, and much like everything else you’ve seen, is a long, polished slab of dark marble. There’s a sink in the middle, sleek and silver and soft white light comes from the fixings above it. Across from that is a large refrigerator, an electric stove and more counter space. There are a few scattered appliances, a coffee maker and a small espresso machine tucked under a cupboard over them, and a blender with something or the other in it.

Hoseok stands with his back to you, he turns slightly, looking over his shoulder and startles.

“Oh – shit.” He laughs softly, “Hey, was your bath okay?”

“Sorry...” You apologize for scaring him and he waves you off, turning to face you fully. He scans your form but there’s nothing odd in the action, and he nods to himself at whatever he was looking for. “Oh, yeah. My bath was okay, thank you.”

“Dinner’s ready if you...oh...” he glances to the side, back to you and then to whatever he’s got going on the stovetop. “...This might be too heavy for you right now...” He murmurs to himself, a hand scratching at the back of his neck. He looks sheepish, a little guilty about something he didn’t consider.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll eat whatever it is.” You’re not about to make him waste his food, or be impolite.

“Okay, well.” He presses a button on the stove panel, turning to the island. There’s the sound of a drawer opening and he pulls out a kitchen towel, smiling at you. He nods his head to the right, where, tucked to the wall is a modest sized wooden table. There’re two plates of what he’s made already there, and tall glasses of water. “Go ahead.”

You walk over to the table, pulling out the chair to sit. Dinner is creamy mashed potatoes, a hearty portion of steamed mixed veggies and steak that’s somehow done to your liking and already cut into pieces. Your mouth waters at the sight and it smells so good you could cry. Hoseok isn’t finished at the island, so you busy yourself with folding the sleeves of your borrowed tee-shirt up and out of the way.

When he comes over he frowns a little, “You didn’t have to wait, dove.” He takes his seat opposite you, “Please, eat.”

The random pet name flies over your head, not that you would’ve been bothered by it had you been paying attention. Hoseok was kind enough to open his home to you, let you use his things and now he’s feeding you. He could call you whatever he likes.

You murmur a thank you and dig into your food. The sound you make when you take the first bite borders on erotic, but your gracious host doesn’t seem to mind very much. There’s a pleased glint in his eyes and a small curl to his mouth as he watches you eat for a moment.

You’re too hungry to be embarrassed by the intensity of his stare, but you’re mindful to not choke or look like you left your manners somewhere at your feet.

The food settles in your stomach, heavy but it’s a feeling you welcome. You could barely remember the last time you had a full meal. The bite you swallow brings the odd feeling of it slowing down behind your sternum, and you take a long drink of the cold water Hoseok had set out for you.

The man himself barely touched his own food, seemingly content to watch you scarf yours down. He has his chin propped in his hand, a small curl to the corner of his mouth and a glint of something in his eyes.

“Thank you...for the food.” You stare at your plate, drizzled with gravy and what’s left of your dinner. You can’t meet his gaze and you’re not certain why, and the intensity of it is starting to gnaw on your senses.

“No need for thanks, little dove.” Hoseok says, and there’s a soft clink when he finally picks his fork up and it knocks against the round rim of the plate. “Just doing my good deed for the day.”

The pet name strikes you this time, no longer distracted by the delicious food and your rumbling tummy. The way it rolls off his tongue sends a shiver racing down your spine, one that was decidedly unpleasant. There’s something in his tone, the way he stares when you raise your eyes to meet his, something in his beautiful heart shaped smile.

The fine hairs at the back of your neck raises, and you’re back to feeling like a bunny in a fox’s burrow. It was the same feeling you’d gotten earlier in the strange fog; the primal sense that you’re no longer the apex.

Something like a bell jingles in the back of your mind and grows louder until its a wailing alarm.

You should leave. Thank him for being so kind and get as far away from him as possible.

The look in his eyes unnerves you, but it’s something you can’t put a finger on. Just off the edge of his form something flutters, a shadow that shouldn’t be there, but it’s gone so quickly you didn’t have time to focus on it. The feeling intensifies; tugging, now.

You don’t think he’s blinked.

A shudder runs through you, rippling along your skin like a shockwave and Hoseok is calling your name.

“Are you okay?” there’s concern on his brow, his unoccupied hand raised in a wave as though he’s been trying to get your attention for a while. “Do you feel sick?”

“N... no. I’m fine, thank you.” You try to smile, but you’re pretty certain it looks as strained as it feels. He was almost done eating, though he’s paused to asses you with furrowed brows. You feel like you’ve missed something in the past minute.

“I asked if you wanted more food but you just blanked on me.” Hoseok sets his fork down and you feel like you’re losing your mind. The feeling from before is gone, and you’re not even certain if you felt it in the first place. Maybe you’re tired, or maybe the feeling of the comforts you’ve missed for so long is messing with your head.

Hoseok looks perfectly normal, there’s nothing flickering at his back or anything odd in his stare.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure.” You don’t feel certain, and if Hoseok noticed he didn’t comment on it. You pick up the fork again, scraping up the little left of your food onto it quietly. You feel strange, as though the past two minutes moved by too quickly, or like they happened weeks ago and you’re struggling to cling to the details of them.

Hoseok is focused on his plate, and uncertainty at the hope that he keeps his eyes there blooms in your chest. You’re not sure why.

It’s awkwardly quiet for a couple moments, with Hoseok finishing his meal and you, playing with the folded ends of your borrowed tee-shirt. When he was done, he takes the plates and the empty glasses to the sink to clean them and you sit idly at the table.

He’s drying his hands with a dark kitchen towel when he’s done, settling at the edge of the island and facing you. The overhead lights glow against his form, casting shadows along his visage that makes him look sharper; menacing. It clings to his hair like a depiction of something holy, making his dark hair look russet in the gleam.

You go to thank him again, even though he’d probably wave you off like he’s been doing the whole time, but the lights are too bright. The glow of the lights swells and flood your eyes, you squeeze them shut, trying to dispel the ache that comes with it. You turn your head and it feels like you’re neck deep in mud, it takes too much effort to do something so simple.

Panic wells in your chest, sending your heart kicking against your ribs harshly. You take a breath, well, you try, but it gets stuck somewhere in your throat and you choke on it.

There’s two Hoseoks when you peel your eyes open, and they neatly fold the towel they were using and put it down. For a minute, your vision settles, and the man leans against the island nonchalantly, crossing his arms and tilting his head as he watches you spiral.

“You should try to calm down.” He says softly, and you hate the way you cling to the sound of his voice when it’s very clear what’s happening.

“Wh...” Your tongue feels heavy, and the words you try to say are slurred and unintelligible. You move to stand, trying to get away even when your limbs feel like there’s a ball and chains at the ends of them. The world tilts on an axis, doubling as you make to your feet, you’re not sure if it’s leaning or you are.

Hoseok reaches you in a single step and a strangled sound escapes you. He places a hand on your shoulder, gently guiding you back into the chair. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing your body can’t handle.”

You can barely hear him, your ears feel as though there’s cotton in them, reducing his words to a muddled murmur. You can’t feel the way his fingers curl into the hair at your nape, but you notice the shift as he tilts your heavy head back to look up at him.

He’s smiling, you think. Pretty and heart shaped, all white teeth and sinister. And there’s that feeling again, as he says something you can’t hear, can’t focus, your eyes are closing.

There’s something dark and broken that flickers against the light above his head and shadows that dance at his back.

When the morning came and you didn’t wake, Hoseok wasn’t too concerned. He watched over you as once was his duty to another, tucked you into the sheets and the blankets and let you sink into the warmth of them. He sits in a chair at your bedside, simply watching the rise and fall of your chest and the pinch of your brow as sweat beads upon it.

Your body is fighting hard to flush out what he put in, and he admits, he may have given you a bit too much of it. It wasn’t his intention, but nothing can be done now but wait for you to come to.

When the afternoon comes and the first sign of your conscious shows in a weak attempt to rouse yourself, and a jumble of words that Hoseok deciphers with a well-trained ear it; was clear you weren’t fully there yet. Your skin was too warm, eyes not nearly focused enough, barely looking at him, and then the contents of your stomach come in a rush of bile and acid.

Hoseok tends to you gently, patiently, taking you to the bath and settling you in a way so that you don’t slip under and drown in your unconscious state. He cleans your mess, changes the bedding, puts you in a fresh set of clothes and lays you back to rest.

You stay asleep throughout the day, and Hoseok isn’t too concerned.

Humans are such fragile, foolish things. To him, you’re a porcelain doll, pretty to stare at and admire if it sits on the top of a shelf behind a case. Take it out of that case and it’s so easily broken. Hoseok is like a child in a sandbox of his own creation with too much power in his fingers. If he isn’t careful, he could shatter your form and lose you to the dunes.

The fear you felt the night before played you directly into his hands – never mind he had nothing to do with it – and Hoseok knows, you don’t have to be inclined to feel the weight of his presence. Your mind knew that something wasn’t quite right -- unconsciously or not --, and yet, you willingly followed.

Foolish.

Though, it was purely coincidental that you ran into him, he had been on his way to somewhere and wondering about the strangeness of the fog that rolled in out of nowhere. He hadn’t missed the weird quiet and lack of people either, it hadn’t been that late.

He doesn’t know exactly what you were doing in it, running around the way you were like a mouse in a maze. It’s something that sits at the back of his mind.

The morning of the second day brought no change; you were in and out of your drug induced sleep, and now, Hoseok was a little concerned.

::

“How much did you give her?”

There’s a squeak of leather as Seungcheol crosses his arms, when it’s quiet for far too long he gives Hoseok a look.

“A little.”

Seungcheol leans over your sleeping form, raising a hand to rest against your forehead. Hoseok would think you were dead if it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of your chest.

“If it was a little, you wouldn’t have called.” Seungcheol says, shaking his head, the dark waves of his hair brushing his eyelashes.

“Well, she’s not dead.”

“Dude.” Seungcheol looks a little disturbed, straightening to stare at Hoseok with a displeased furrow in his brow. “You can’t just – humans have limitations.”

“I’m aware, Cheol. Thank you.” Hoseok grumbles, and he ignores the raise of Seungcheol’s eyebrow and the clear disbelief in his eyes.

“‘Course you are.” He rolls his eyes and then sighs lowly, he turns back to you, placing his hand on your forehead again until the tension in your face fades. “Don’t give her any more of that shit. She should wake up sometime today, maybe.”

Hoseok knows better than anyone the limitations of humans. Not that he acknowledges them, he hadn’t the need to in a long time, but he should be careful at least.

Hoseok leads the way out of his guest bedroom with Seungcheol following and closing the door gently behind him. Walking to the kitchen he could feel his eyes burning into the back of his head.

Hoseok takes his time, fetching a glass from one of his cupboards and the whisky he keeps stashed away for his more stressful days. “Spit it out.”

Seungcheol braces his arms on the other side of the island, eyes dark. “Hoseok. I normally don’t care what you get up to; it’s not my business.” He says, looking somewhere to Hoseok’s right. “You don’t fuck around with humans. Who’s the girl?”

Hoseok hums, looking down at the amber liquid in his glass with a contemplative stare. “Street urchin. No one anyone would miss or bother to look for.”

“So you just took her off the street?” Seungcheol frowns, but Hoseok could tell from the look in his eyes that he knows it’s not that simple.

“She came willingly.” Hoseok corrects, taking a sip of the alcohol he could barely taste.

He sets the glass down on the island and pours the whisky to fill half. Seungcheol is quiet, and Hoseok hates it. It gives his mind a moment to wonder, to open a box he’s kept locked and chained.

On most days, Hoseok barely knows himself. He remembers what he’s supposed to be – what he was – and sometimes, that part of him rears its head to fight with what he’s become. Wings dipped in gold and divinity at the end of his fingertips battle endlessly with the shadows that encased him.

A memory of a time he held something as fragile as glass in his hands, broken before he could properly hold it by someone who was supposed to keep it safe. The ache of it burns like a rash that never goes away, always there, only hiding under his skin until it flares up again.

“Just... don’t do anything stupid.” Seungcheol says after a while, watching Hoseok carefully.

“You and your moral compass.” Hoseok shakes his head, and just like that, the golden light is bundled up tightly and pushed back into the corner where he long hid it.

Seungcheol heaves a sigh, shaking his head, picking up his bag he threw on the island counter when he got here.

“I need you to do something for me.” Hoseok says, watching the light shine through the glass in pretty crystal shapes. There’s a furrow of Seungcheol’s brows, but he tells Hoseok to continue with a raise of his chin. “Keep an eye out for a fog.”

“A fog? Why?”

“She was in one the night before.” Hoseok sucks air in through his teeth, “and she wasn’t alone.”

Seungcheol hums, “Alright.”

Hoseok drinks the last of the whisky in one go and waves a hand at Seungcheol, “You can go now.”

“Thank you, Cheol. Don’t know what I’d do without you.” Seungcheol grumbles and then raps his knuckles against the countertop. “I’ll be over here for a few days, gotta sort some things out. Call if you need me.”

Hoseok watches him leave, stuffing his hands into his pocket as he walks back to the bedroom where you still lay asleep.

He sits on the chair, watching the rise and fall of your chest, every minute twitch of your facial features. Restlessness tugs at his limbs as the sun makes its descent western sky, spraying the dimming canvas in hues of lilac and peach.

Something in the back of his mind asks what exactly he’s doing. There was no reason – there wasn’t a reason for him to take you in. A sprout of boredom, maybe, or something involuntary.

Hoseok stares out the window at the slowly darkening sky and the soft glimmer of early evening stars, until the sky is navy and darkness clings to the room.

Your mouth feels like someone’s stuffed cotton in it, and your throat feels like sandpaper when you try to swallow.

You haven’t opened your eyes, laying on what you presume is a bed, if the softness beneath you was anything to go by.

There’s not much that you remember, even as the fog in your mind clears little by little. You remember eating, you remember feeling strange like someone had shrunk you and shook you around in a jar of water. You remember the fear that quickened your heart and your breaths and Hoseok, standing above you like a malevolent God.

You remember the strangeness of his form, and even now your mind can’t comprehend it. You’re not even certain if what you saw was actually real and not an effect of whatever Hoseok had drugged you with.

Drugged.

He drugged you.

Your eyes open and the room is dark. The blankets are thick and heavy and they make you feel warm. There’s a window to your far left, curtains drawn back to show the city in all it’s glory.

Slowly, you sit up, pushing yourself upwards on arms that feel a little weak, and find – to your horror – the clothes you were wearing before aren’t what you’re wearing now.

You take a breath before the panic could set in. You could feel it rolling under your skin like a rumble of thunder before rain, and you try your best to stay calm. You need to find a way out of here.

The apartment seems to be quiet as you slide your feet out of the bed and onto the floor. You barely register the chill of it when you stand, sock-less feet making it easier to sneak over to the door without making a sound. You don’t know where Hoseok put your things, and you don’t have time to go looking for them.

The door isn’t locked, and doesn’t make noise when you push it open slightly to peek out through the little gap you made. You recognise the hallway, the bathroom is two doors down on the other side, and opening the door a little more, you poke your head out tentatively. 

You don’t breathe as you listen, but it’s so quiet, so much so that your exhale seems too loud, and there’s a soft ringing in your ears that set you on edge. Stepping outside the room, you contemplate your next course of action: You can bolt right for the door and get out, but risk making too much noise if Hoseok is indeed here. Or, you can slowly and quietly make your way over and slip out without cluing your kidnapper in on your escape.

Can it be called kidnapping if you were living on the streets?

The door seems miles away as you inch slowly towards the open kitchen and living room area. There are a few lights on, the same LED lighting strips run along the edge of the large pane windows and glows an ominous blue and the lights over the marble island had been dimmed. Both rooms seem empty and you couldn’t be more thankful.

Like a mouse, you skitter across along the hallway space that divides the two, down the little platform at the entrance and take one more step towards the door.

The door that seems further back than it was a second ago.

The stretch of space that was just an arm’s length away was now more than a hallway’s length. You stand still and stare at it, reaching an arm out in case you’re suddenly tripping balls but your hand swipes through air and falls limply at your side.

You look behind you and the rooms and hallway are just as they were, and turning back, the door was right where it was before. You could’ve sworn there was a handle on it. You place your palm against the cool, smooth surface where the handle should be and in the face of your freedom thwarted, you pinch your thigh.

You must be dreaming. The pain flares and grounds you and you realise there’s no explanation for this. You’re wide awake. Still drugged then. But you feel fine. There’s no swirling vision or heavy limbs, your mouth doesn’t feel like someone squeezed glue into it; you’re fine. This doesn’t make sense.

You back away from the door and almost stumble against the raised ledge behind your heels. Steadying yourself with a hand against the wall, you turn, and immediately, notice the darkness of the hallway.

Your breath catches in your throat and your heart slams so harshly against your sternum it hurt. There’s that feeling again, it sends a shiver racing down your spine and scattering goosebumps along your skin. You’re being watched. You are not the apex here.

You want to run, or curl up into a ball and hope the darkness hides you. Fear coils into your muscles and locks them tight, and you’re left standing still, eyes darting around trying to make sense of the shapes in the dark.

There’s a darkness that curls at the center of the space a few feet away from you, undulating and crashing in on itself in an uncoordinated dance of chaos. It’s somehow darker than the darkness – stands out against it like white on black paint. It doesn’t make sense to you, and it could simply be your mind turning against you and scaring you further.

It slowly floats towards you, wraps around you in a languid, bored way, like smoke, no longer as tangible as it seemed before. You don’t feel it’s caress, but it’s cold, like you’d submerged yourself into a tub full of ice and water. You feel as though you’ll pass out, like the black wisps of strange smoke is filling your lungs and carving its way through. There’s fear, which is yours, and something that isn’t.

Something dark and lonely, desperate and afraid. It’s sad, so sad that you feel like you’ll drown in it, that tears would well in your eyes and squeeze your throat tight. There’s anger. It feels as though you can burn the world and revel in it.

The smoke snaps back and away from you, crumples on itself violently and then the lights are on, blinding you.

Hoseok is standing in front of you. There’s a mix of conflicted emotions on his face like he can’t settle on one before the storm in his eyes calm.

There’s a tenseness to his brow, and he studies you quietly with a tilt of his head.

“You’re awake.”

He takes one step forward and you take two back in turn. His eyes dart down to your feet and quickly back to your face, and draws the foot he put forward back to himself.

“I won’t hurt you.”

You scoff before you could help it, fear pushed slightly to the side as your anger rushes forward. “Right. Like I’ll believe that after you fucking drugged me.”

“Like I said, it was nothing your body couldn’t handle.” Hoseok counters calmly, “If I wanted to hurt you, you’d be dead.”

“Then why am I here? What do you want?” His threat didn’t go unheard, it settles into your mind and buries itself underneath everything else you’re trying to absorb for you to freak out about later.

Hoseok smiles, and its bright in its visage, every bit of sweet and caring as you thought him to be. Dimples you haven’t noticed before sinks into his laugh lines, and you think briefly, it makes him even more dangerous. He looks so harmless, as his smile blossoms and blooms into the heart shape you remember from the night before.

“Just you.” He says, eyes glinting with something you’ve decided is more than a little crazy.

You take another step back and he remains in his spot. If you’re quick enough – just enough – you can make it to the door. You might be able to outrun him.

“You can leave if you like.” He says, like he could tell what you’re thinking – or read your mind – and his smile fades, like a raincloud swelling and covering the warm rays of the sun. “Can’t guarantee you’d get very far, so I advise against it.”

You’re not sure if he’s being honest. Though, he looks pretty damn serious. He stares at you quietly, intensely, like he’s daring you to make that mistake. You hazard a look at the door behind you and the handle is still gone.

“What are you?” you ask, turning to face him and he’s directly in front of you. The startled squeak that leaves you makes him chuckle. Bending at his waist, Hoseok stares right into your eyes and you feel like your heart might just burst out of your chest and take off running.

Bunny in a fox’s burrow.

“Hm.” He hums, “Now you’re asking questions.” He straightens with a smile and steps aside, gesturing to the kitchen with a slight nod of his head. “I’ll tell you eventually. For now though, you should eat.”

You stay rooted to your spot and decide that if he wants you to move, he’s going to have to move you himself. He’s insane if he thinks you’d be eating anything he gives you.

“Come now, dove. Don’t be that way.” He sighs, stares at you for a moment later before nodding. He turns on his heel and walks into the kitchen without you.

There’re the soft clangs of him moving things around, doing whatever he’s doing in there.

“You’ve been unconscious for two days, and you’ve been sick. You shouldn’t be standing.” You hear him say from the kitchen, and you think you could make another attempt at the door but the handle is still missing, so you have no choice but to go.

You eye him suspiciously when you enter, watching as he butters a piece of toast and puts it on a plate. He doesn’t look at you as you hover unsurely at the dining table, watching the lights catch on the dark marble island counter.

“I won’t give you anything to drink. Get it yourself if you’re worried I’d try something.” He says softly, and not unkind. There’s a shift in his tone and the way his body moves as he brings the plate over. You feel like the man who was standing in front of you a couple of minutes ago in the hallway had hidden himself away and the man you’d met on the street had crawled his way back to the surface.

He sets it down on the table and walks back around the island, opposite from where you’re standing, and out of the kitchen.

You’ve been here for two days – whatever he’d given you must have been strong as hell – trapped here with...him. You’re certain you can’t call him a man, he’s something more than that and you won’t know until he tells you. Most of the memory of the night you came here are blurry and frayed at the edges, making them impossible to cling to and analyse.

There was something strange in the moments before the drug kicked in and right before you passed out. Something strange about Hoseok, but you can’t seem to recall it. It’s like it happened years ago.

The inconsistencies of your memory leave you on edge, and you eye the two slices of perfectly buttered toast on the plate. He’s given you something light enough that your stomach won’t be upset. As the thought comes to mind you faintly remember being sick at some point, but that too is fuzzy and you aren’t sure if its real. At least now the change of clothes makes sense, though, it doesn’t make you feel any better. He could’ve done anything to you while you were drugged and unconscious.

You wonder what he could possibly want with you. Why you, of all people? You’re just a girl who had everything taken from her and thrown off the ladder, now at rock bottom fending for yourself. There’s nothing left of you that could be given.

You feel Hoseok’s presence before you see him, a sort of odd pressure in the back of your mind and your chest. He pokes his head into the room like he’s checking to see if you’d started eating or not and doesn’t look surprised to see you’d left the toast untouched and you’re still standing.

“The toast is fine, you know.” He says, and there’s an understanding in his eyes when he looks at you. He knows you don’t trust him, though, he doesn’t seem too bothered by it. He sighs when you don’t make a move and comes into the kitchen. He takes the same route as before, walking around the opposite side of the island – away from you – until he’s standing at the other side of table.

“Okay.” He says, picking up one of the toast slices, he bites into it and stares at you while he chews. “Make something yourself then.”

You blink, “Huh?”

“The bread is in the fridge if you want. There’re oats if you prefer that instead. Stick to light things. I’d rather not be cleaning up after you.” You don’t understand him. In the short time you’ve known him, he’s like a square that’s trying to fit into a circle. The circle is too round to accommodate his sharp edges, but he somehow manages to get just half of the square through, even if the circle is struggling to contain it.

Not to mention the weird things that’s happened within the half hour you’ve been awake, things he’s yet to explain to you. Matter of fact, strange things has been happening since you left Abigail. The police officer, the fog, and whatever the hell was out there in it with you. You’re not even sure if that was real either.

You feel like if you focus on it, you’ll go crazy. So your mind does the only thing it can do to protect itself – pushes it away into a corner to mull over later along with everything else.

“I’d rather not.” You no longer feel the need to show him gratitude. You feel stupid, for one, why did you think trusting a random stranger would be a good thing?

Hoseok shrugs, dropping the half-eaten toast back onto the plate. He walks around you, close enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stands on end, that the warning bells are going crazy in your head again.

It’s uncomfortable being this close. The reaction is visceral, unable to ignore and you wonder why you hadn’t felt it the night before. Why you’d manage to follow him all the way here and not noticed. Maybe you had, briefly and in little moments that were small enough for you to brush them off.

You watch him watch you as he circles you like a vulture, “What are you?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was human?” He asks from behind you, and it feels like a terrible idea to have your back to him. He sounds amused, like this is nothing but a little game to him – just something to pass time while he’s bored.

As he rounds your right, your eyes meet the darkness of his. “You’re not.” It would be strange if you still thought he was after everything that’s happened already.

Hoseok hums, a twinkle lighting his eyes, “Perceptive, aren’t we?” There’s something like pride in his voice but you’re not sure what it’s for, “What do you think I am?”

“You expect me to guess correctly?” The difference in your height does nothing to stop you from glaring at him. He tilts his head at you, dark locks of his hair swaying against his forehead gently.

“No.” Hoseok smiles, “But it’ll make things interesting. I like games; play along.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his tone and the darkness in his eyes. He takes a step away from you and it feels like you can finally take a breath. His movements are fluid as he pulls the dining chair out from below the table. He sits gracefully, propping his chin in his palm as he watches you expectantly.

“Do you want a hint?” He asks, smiling sweetly.

“Why don’t you just tell me?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. You’re tired of whatever game he’s playing at, sick of the fear that keeps you standing still as he stares you down.

He stares at you like you’re a complex puzzle he’s trying to piece together. “I used to be an angel. Fallen from grace.”

You’d laugh at the absurdity of his words, but he has that look again. He has that look that makes you believe him, and everything seems to click into place and make sense, even if you barely understand it at all.

“Okay.” You nod, and then take a seat. You focus on the gentle waves of his dark hair and not his eyes, “Why am I here? Why can’t I leave?”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. You can if you want to. I said that I can’t guarantee you’d get far; You weren’t alone out in that fog.”

You’d almost forgotten about that. Recent happenings had been enough to push it to the back of your mind. You knew you weren’t losing your mind that night, something had definitely chased you and you’re positive it wasn’t a regular animal.

“But that’s another topic.” Hoseok mumbles, more to himself than you, and it looks as though his thoughts strayed elsewhere for a moment before he focused. “You should be thanking me.” He says, tilting his head to meet your gaze with a smile.

He couldn’t be seriously wanting you to thank him. For what? Saving you? For all you know it could’ve been one of his tricks. Why would you thank him? He says that you could leave if you like – him messing with you since you woke up says otherwise. He’s not actually giving you a choice. You’re not going anywhere unless he lets you.

When you remain silent, he leans forward, pink tongue darting out to moisten his lips. “There’s nothing for you out there, though.”

You know he’s right. But that doesn’t justify what he’s doing. You assume he doesn’t care, if you were him, you wouldn’t feel the need to abide by law either.

You’d never been much for fantasy stories, growing up you were well aware that they were just that – stories. Your parents weren’t very religious, but you’d say grace before meals, pray before you go to sleep and when you woke up. Your parents would sometimes quote the bible when you were being naughty and every now and again you’d find yourself in a church for Sunday mas.

Your father used to say that the bible is a book of stories and lessons, and even if you aren’t to abide strictly by it, you should at least heed it. There’s someone up above, watching always.

The angels in the bible were described differently than the man before you, you think. Can angels really do things so bad that it gets them casted out?

Did he do something bad that got him sent here like some wayward child sent off to boot camp?

Even if a part of you is ever doubtful, his existence proves the existence of a higher being and you have some choice words for them.

In the days that go by, you remain wary of Hoseok. You don’t trust him, but you appreciate him letting you hover about him anytime he makes you something to eat. He makes everything from scratch and you wonder most of the time if it’s a skill he just has or was it something he had to hone on his own.

He barely bothers you, goes about his business, which really, entails him sitting in the living room and ignoring you.

Some days is another story entirely. You came to realise quickly that Hoseok is fond of games, usually at your expense. A shadow following you here, whispers that come from no where and bounces off the walls.

There are moments when you catch glimpses of something out of the corner of your eye – a figure lurking in the darkness, just beyond your line of sight. When you turn to look, there’s nothing there, leaving you to wonder if it was ever really there at all. You’ve seen shit at the corner of your vision way too many times for it to be a coincidence. You try to brush them off as tricks of the mind, but deep down, you know it’s not that simple.

Hoseok is always there when it happens, some sort of mirth in his eyes like your suffering is amusing.

The feeling of being watched becomes a constant presence, a weight on your shoulders that you can’t shake no matter how hard you try. Every time you turn around, you half expect to find Hoseok lurking in the shadows, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he revels in your discomfort.

For the first week it’s been this way, and when the second week started, he’d leave at one point during the day. Bored of you most likely, not that you’re complaining; at least he was no longer trying to send you crazy.

He’d give you the same instruction he did the night be brought you, use anything you need with additions of ‘Don’t cause trouble’ and ‘Stay put’. You always roll your eyes at that, the door remains the same; missing it’s handle. You couldn’t leave even if you wanted to.

You would stand in the living room, which looks much like the rest of Hoseok’s penthouse apartment; sleek and dark. There’s a few accents of white and red, black leather couches and clear glass tables. A flat screen TV you’ve never seen used mounted on the wall, a fluffy white rug covering the space between it and the couch. You’ve seen no other electronics besides that, nothing that you can use to contact anyone.

He’d left you things to occupy your time – like you’re a child – books and puzzles and what have you. And you found that the TV works if you become bored of the other things.

Weirdly enough, there’s people outside and below, unlike the night you came when it looked like a ghost town. You can see the glint of the sun bouncing off of shiny cars driving in and out of the hotel’s compound. Little people walking around as they go about their days, oblivious to your plight.

Sometimes you would hear someone out in the hallway beyond the door, like someone coming to clean and you would bang on the door and be as loud as you possibly could. It’s like you’re a ghost. You asked him about that once, and he told you that he can mimic spaces, make it seems as though something is or isn’t there.

Sometimes Hoseok would come back from his little excursions and be as normal as he could be. He’d talk to you like he isn’t holding you captive, ask you about what you did for the day as though there’s a million and one things you could do while there. You’d answer as to not be on the wrong side of him, even though it’s clear that he doesn’t quite mind you not saying anything back. He’d ask you what you’d like for dinner, and he’d eat with you.

On days like those it feels... normal. You feel comfortable and the nature of the situation escapes you. Like this had been your life for as long as you could remember. And sometimes you think, that maybe, if things were different. If perhaps he hadn’t kidnapped you, ‘helping’ you or otherwise. Maybe if your life had gone a little differently and you’d met him under different circumstances...then maybe.

Sometimes on those days he’d sit quietly as you give him little pieces of you; telling him about your childhood and not so important things. He’d clear the coffee table to put a puzzle together and ask you to help him with it.

Some days he’d come back and he wouldn’t be in a good mood. He’d stand and brood at the large windows looking out, lost in thought. On those days he’d look gone, vacant, as though whatever going on in his head was paramount to the reality around him. His eyes are sad then, and he’d be so quiet you’d forget he’s there. He’d make dinner, and he would not eat.

On days like those, if you wake at night and venture out of your room, you’d find Hoseok as you did the night you first woke up. A swirling ball of shadows and smoke somewhere about, and the lights are always off. It scares the hell out of you every time. It reminds you of what he is, despite the nature of his existence, there’s something very dark about him. He scares you mostly, even when he’s being nice, it’s unnerving. You’d try to stay clear of him then.

Something in your mind had been made aware that he is beyond your understanding. He’s stronger and faster than you, can do things that makes your brain grind to a halt trying to process. Sometimes it feels like he’s in your head, watching your every move and surveying your every thought. It scares you.

On days like those, the last thing you want to do is sleep.

Sleep evades you and when you do finally catch it, your dreams are wrought with nightmares of shadows and screams and blood. Sometimes Hoseok is there and he’s less kind than he’s ever been, and you’re lost in darkness and can’t find your way out.

Sometimes it’s a man with red hair lurking at the corners of them, smiling and taunting you. You feel like you could never escape them, like your dreams lasts the entire night and leave you exhausted when you wake up.

The room you woke up in so long ago was yours; Hoseok stays clear of it and never enters without knocking. One day Hoseok had brought you clothes you’re certain costs more than your life, they’re mostly comfort clothes as you have nowhere to be at no point in time. From sweaters to tee-shirts, lounge pants to bicycle shorts and an assortment of underwear that made you scowl at him.

That day you asked him just how long he was going to keep you captive – he didn’t much like the use of that word, prefers ‘keeping you safe’. He told you about the mysterious animal that chased you in the fog, that he and a friend are looking into it and reminds you that you wouldn’t get very far should you leave. You reminded him that he’s not letting you go anywhere.

You stare up at the ceiling, counting the swirling pattern from one corner to the next. You’ve lost count of them every time and you’ve lost count on just how long you’ve been here. Hoseok remains the same, fluctuating between rivalling the sun and being the moon that sometimes eclipse it.

It’s the morning of yet another day, and you can hear Hoseok moving about already. Sometimes you wonder if he ever sleeps...does he need sleep? He eats...that much is for certain, so by any rate he functions partially human.

You sigh softly, getting out of bed and shuffling your feet to the house slippers Hoseok gave to you. There’s the smell of breakfast coming from the kitchen, the sound of Hoseok moving about, and it sounds like he’s in a good mood if his humming is anything to go by.

You wash up for the morning and get changed before carrying yourself out to the kitchen.

Hoseok looks devastatingly domestic and the smile he directs at you is enough to send your mind haywire. These past few days has been confusing for you. Though the initial fear you felt for him was there, lately, it’s been less. You’ve found yourself missing him when he goes off to do whatever he does during the day and you’re excited when he comes back. You’re chalking up the reason for that being that he’s the only person you’ve been in contact with for possibly a month or two.

On some of the days where he would come back and be less than happy, and the lights go out like they’re scheduled to and Hoseok is no longer tangible. When he hovers in a little ball of controlled chaos that blends into the darkness, you sit and wait. You wait until he’s there again and the lights are back on and he looks at you like you’re something he’s lost.

It confuses you as much as his smile that sends your heart thrumming against your ribcage in a dance that isn’t out of fear. You actually can’t remember when you’d stopped being afraid of him.

“I’m going out today.”

Your brows furrow, he’s never told you that he’s leaving before. He brings over a breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon and sliced fruit. A sealed carton of orange juice and a glass for you.

“Okay...?”

Hoseok smiles, “Okay.”

::

When lunch came around, you’re sitting at the island watching Hoseok prepare the ingredients for whatever he’s going to make.

You don’t really feel the need to watch him as closely as you did when you first got here, now you simply do it because there isn’t anything better to do.

He moves in the kitchen like it’s a dance, turning to and fro with a grace you could only hope to have.

He’s already got something on the stove, some sort of sauce you think. It smells amazing and you’re looking forward to whatever it could be.

He looks a bit in his head, brows furrowed as he concentrated a little too hard to just be cutting an onion into crescent slices. He mutters something under his breath, turning to stir the contents in the pot before going back at the onion.

“Hoseok?” You call softly as he sets the onion aside in a bowl and pulls something else onto the cutting board. For a moment you’re not sure if he’s heard you, with just the steady sound of the knife hitting the board, he hums, glancing at you. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.” You can tell he’s in one of his moods, but he’s actively trying to be pleasant. He fills a pot with water and sets it on the stove and then turns the oven on to heat up. “What is it?”

His tone isn’t harsh, just a tad bit impatient.

“Is cooking just something that you can do? Or did you have to learn?”

He turns, pauses, stares at you for a moment and then chuckles, “It’s a skill I acquired through a lot of trial and error. I had a long time to perfect it, though.”

“How long are we talking?” You’re a little intrigued, besides him telling you that he’s a fallen angel, he hasn’t told you exactly how he became one or how long he’s been here.

He tilts his head and smiles gently in the way he does when he’s thinking if he should answer you honestly or not before shrugging, “Long enough.”

You sigh, “Fine. Don’t tell me. You’re probably older than dirt anyway.”

A surprised laugh leaves him, high pitched and a little untamed. The sound is infectious and now you’re laughing too.

Happiness looks good on him, you wish he wore it often.

When it was about four in the afternoon, you hear the closing of Hoseok’s door and the sound of his footsteps walking up the hall.

You’re curled up against the corner of the couch, tucked under a yellow blanket with a book in your hand. You smell him before you see him; the cologne he’s wearing reaching the room before he does.

He steps in and stands near the entrance, the end of his coat brushing against his shins while he secures a watch to his wrist. His hair’s grown longer since he brought you here, curling against his jaw and the bangs are long enough to almost hide his eyes if not for the middle part. The rings on his fingers catch the light of the sun, and he finally settles, a serious look on his face as he watches you for a moment.

He seems to be contemplating something, the muscle of his jaw tensing as he grinds his teeth. He lifts a hand and crooks a finger at you.

Unwrapping yourself from the blanket, you walk over to him. He doesn’t say anything, but levels you with a look and guides you into the hallway with a hand at your back. “I’m leaving the door alone.”

The door is practically singing your freedom, the silver handle looks like a lighthouse at a stormy sea at night. Hoseok is looking down his nose at you when you finally tear your eyes away. His eyes narrow as though he can hear your thoughts and steps away from you.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

And you didn’t. You messed around with the TV, got bored, read another book, and decide to take a nap. Doing it all to ignore the door. You wouldn’t get very far. You really don’t want to know what Hoseok meant by that.

There isn’t anywhere you can go, you have nothing to your name. You get three square meals, clean clothes and a bed to sleep in when night comes – you think about Abigail, you wonder if she’s alright – you’d actually be quite dumb to go out there. Hoseok hasn’t done much but mentally exhaust you, you aren’t chained up in a dank room and being made to do things against your will. It’s actually quite pleasant.

You shuffle to your room and crawl under the covers, suddenly too sleepy to keep your eyes open. You would usually take naps when there’s nothing else for you to do, but you’re never this sleepy. It’s like your body is demanding you close your eyes and pass out right now.

You open your eyes a couple of minutes later and realise you didn’t know you fell asleep. It’s dark out already.

You throw the covers back, scoot to the edge of the bed, and put your feet right into water. You look down at it confused – did you leave a tap on? Hoseok would probably throw you out a window for flooding his place. Or maybe he’ll start up his silly mind games again and drive you nuts.

You’re not too concerned about it, strangely enough, as you get up, the water soaks into the legs of your pants. It’s high enough to lap against the middle of your shins and you curse softly, how could you forget to turn the tap off?

You swish through the water, reaching the door and pulling it open. The water is gone and you’re standing in the living room. Hoseok sits on the couch, one leg lapped over the other, bobbing idly as he turns the page of a thick book balanced on his thigh.

“Hoseok.” You sigh, “Stop it. I’m not in the mood for your stupid games.”

He turns his head slowly to look at you, crooks a finger like he did at you earlier. You stomp over to him, not caring that you probably look rather childish doing so. When you stop in front of him, he gently puts the book aside and then wraps his fingers around your wrist.

Your pulse flutters and you pray that he can’t feel it. A soft squeak leaving you as he tugs you to him, you fumble to catch yourself, trying not to trip over your feet and the carpet. Your hand lands beside his head, sinking into the leather, his eyes meet yours through his hair, and when he pulls you down, you follow without question.

He settles you in his lap, one hand gripping your waist and the other snaking upward to bury itself into your hair. He leans forward, nosing along the underside of your jaw and when the warmth of his tongue streaks against your pulse, a shiver races down your spine before you catch yourself. You push against his shoulder, “Hoseok.”

His chuckle sounds dark to your ears, his grip on your waist tightens enough that you fear you’d bruise. His teeth drag against your earlobe and yours sink into your bottom lip. “Don’t act like this isn’t what you want.”

His words wrap around your head, burying themselves under your skin and makes home there. The hand in your hair slowly slides out of it, moving down until it’s wrapped around your throat. His thumb presses against your racing pulse, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “You want me to break you.”

It’s a moment of bliss, warmth spreading through you before it instantly chills. It’s all fun and games until he’s actually trying to choke you out. Your breaths come in shallow gasps as Hoseok’s grip tightens around your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. Panic surges through you, and for a moment, you’re certain you’ll pass out from lack of oxygen.

He’s going to kill you.

Desperate, you claw at his hands, trying to pry them away, but his strength overwhelms you. Your struggles intensify as you realize the danger you’re in.

He stands swiftly and lets you go, and you crash unceremoniously into the glass coffee table, nearly breaking your wrist trying to catch your weight. You cough and gasp, clutching at your throat that burns with every breath you take. Your eyes sting with tears as you scramble to put distance between you and him.

He watches you, amused, taking slow steps towards you. He laughs, the sound echoing off the walls and you realise – there’s nowhere to run.

You look up at him, and you’re now facing the windows. The LEDs that line the perimeter of them are glowing a sinister red and they’re the only source of light. There’s something slick under your palms, something you slide in as you try to get up. Inspecting it in the lighting does nothing, as it simply looks dark against your skin, but, there’s no mistaking the scent of copper.

Gazing around, you’re sitting in a pool of blood. Hoseok is nowhere to be found. The pool stretches off like something was dragged through it, going out the living room and down the hall.

You follow it, against your better judgement. This is the worst trick he’s ever played.

Your pants stick to your skin uncomfortably, and you wipe your hands hurriedly against the front of them. It doesn’t do much but spread the mess of blood around. The trail leads into your bedroom, and you stand outside the slightly ajar door with your heart pounding against your ribs.

Raising a hand, you push the door open, but plan to go no further than the threshold. The lights are on, dimly, it doesn’t give you much vision, but you could see Hoseok standing over someone.

It’s you, well...it was you. You’re not sure if you could call that you anymore. Limbs twisted in unnatural angles, sharp ends of bone sticking out from your bruised skin.

You stumble backwards, slipping in the still wet trail of blood and falling against the door behind you. Tears blur your vision, you feel sick.

“You see?” a voice whispers, echoing and bouncing around in your head. “This is what will happen.”

There’s someone else here.

“He’ll kill you.” The voice snickers, crawling along your skin like poison ivy. “Run. Get out.”

You startle awake, gasping for air, searching your body for any sign of blood. The sun is almost setting, preparing to make its descent in the west and you dart out of bed. Your skin feels tight, like you’re too big for it and it makes you uncomfortable. Your breaths are harsh barely making it into your lungs before you’re forcing it out again.

You make for the door, yanking it open and running down the hall. You didn’t stop to think, you just want out. You push the entrance door and it opens and you stumble out into the hallway you haven’t seen in ages.

You run up to the elevator, the overhead floor indicator is blank. And the elevator doesn’t budge when you push the button frantically. Hands caught in your hair you spin around, there must be a way.

The green exit sign glows like a beacon of hope. You trip over your feet getting to it, almost face planting on the expensive rug that lines the hallway. The door opens with a click and your footsteps echo in the stairwell as you take them two at a time to get as far away from this place as possible.

You don’t stop until you’re three flights down, breath ragged and vision spotty. You lean against the wall to catch your breath, panting and wiping the sweat off your brow.

There’s a loud bang that echoes from somewhere below and you freeze. Taking careful steps you peek between the railings and see nothing.

It might be Hoseok.

Or, it could be someone else in the building and your only hope of getting out of here.

“Hello? Is someone ther—” There’s another loud bang, and you take a couple steps down the fourth flight and look over the railing again. A thick fog swirls just a floor below.

The hair on the back of your neck shoots up at the low growl that dances up the stairwell. You nearly go tumbling down it in your haste to turn around and go back up.

As you turn to go back up the third flight, the fog surrounds you and you stop as it becomes impossible to see. You grip tightly to the stair railing, tentatively stepping up – You’re trying not to breathe too loudly.

There’s something scraping against the ground on the stairs below and your heart kicks. You step faster, at the same time trying not to trip and break your neck. There’s a low snarl and you bolt, taking the stair two at a time back up the way you came.

The floor vibrates beneath you as whatever it is gives chase. You make it up to the first landing, pulling the exit door open with a grunt. You’re just about to step through when what feels like three hot butcher knives slices through your back. The force of it sends you pitching forward, smacking hard into the wall on the opposite side before you crumple against it.

You could barely feel it, you’re aware you’re hurt...you could feel the pulsing, open wounds at your back. Your mind is trying to process as you struggle to move, taking a breath aches as you push yourself upward and away from the wall just enough to turn. You don’t manage much more than that, sliding down the wall until your butt hits the pretty red carpet.

The metal door of the emergency exit swings open harshly, banging loudly against the wall before it leans forward; one of the hinges broken. The thing that stands in the doorway looks like it crawled out of some deep, dark part of hell. It’s standing on it’s hind legs before it drops forward, claws that look at least nine inches long scraping against the linoleum.

It looks like a giant dog, honestly. It’s hard to tell when all you could focus on was that you could feel your heartbeat at your back, and the slick warmth soaking into your ruined sweater and pants. Shock maybe...or adrenaline, was keeping most of the pain at bay, you’re pretty sure you’d be dead otherwise right now.

With a guttural growl, the creature emerges, its form contorted and twisted, as if it were forged from the very essence of nightmares.

Its body is a grotesque fusion of twisted flesh and sinew, its skin a sickly shade of mottled grey, stretched taut over bulging muscles that ripple with every movement. Sharp spikes protrude from its spine, glinting menacingly in the dim light, while its black eyes burn with a fiery intensity that seems to pierce through your very soul.

The creature's mouth curls into a snarl, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth stained with blood. Its breath is a noxious cloud of decay and sulphur, filling the air with a suffocating stench that makes your stomach churn.

As it lurches forward on all fours, its movements are unnaturally fluid, each step sending tremors through the ground beneath you. It’s trying to squeeze its way through the small space of the doorway, too big to pass through, and you could do nothing but watch.

Your vision goes hazy as you simply stare at the creature.

The adrenaline is fading and you’re starting to feel your wounds, but maybe if you could crawl towards the door...

At six pm on a Friday evening, Hoseok isn’t at all surprised to see the line of people waiting to get into the club. It’s still a long way to opening, but with the prestige of this place, again, he isn’t surprised.

He was with Yoongi when he bought the place, watched him build it from the ground up. Watched his taste for the interior bounce around erratically until he settled, as the clientele flickered from the common club goer to people – if they had enough money – buying their way in.

Haegeum is on the high-end of the city, the type of place where you’d wonder if folks had enough money to burn just because. Yoongi doesn’t discriminate and all are welcomed.

The queue is a mix of people: folks dressed to the nines just to step a foot in the place, those of which would most likely be sitting pretty in the VIP section. People just looking for a place to escape to for a while, teenagers holding tight to their fake Ids and clinging to their friends. They mingle in groups or alone, their chatter filling the air with a soft buzz of voices and hushed giggles.

Hoseok takes everything in with an air of nonchalance as he strolls by.

The bouncer at the heavy black door stands stoically, clipboard in hand for VIP clients. Hoseok breezes past him when he opens the door to let him in, stepping into the entrance foyer, illuminated by dim red lights. He walks down the hall, and down the dark metal staircase into the main floor of the club.

The above head white florescent lights do nothing to take away from the grandeur of the club, though, Hoseok likes it better when it’s late and the lights are off. The main floor is usually accented in lights of blue and red, casting shadows streaking along the sitting area. Embedded into the walls are velvet couches that flow with the design in a sort of snake like shape, a short-legged coffee table and single seated chairs dotted between every inward curve. There’s a wide enough walkway for two people walking side by side to pass, a partition of glass, and on the other side of it, black leather couches and even more glass coffee tables.

 The walls are interesting, and Hoseok thinks this because he doesn’t know why Yoongi likes it so much. In large arched alcoves sits head statues of Greek gods of mortal tales, staring lifelessly into the distance, bathed in dark blue light. Between every two are columns that resembles those of a temple, and smooth grey stone. Hoseok honestly doesn’t know which vibe Yoongi is going for, not that he’d say it to his face.

He walks down the little walkway, down another set of stairs and across the dance floor. The bar is tucked in a corner, glasses being wiped by one of Yoongi’s employees behind it. Hoseok offers the man a nod of his head, moving towards the staircase that curves with the wall and upwards.

Yoongi’s office veers just off the VIP lounge, set behind large mahogany doors. And Hoseok doesn’t bother knocking. The room looks pretty much the same as it’s always had: dark walls with darker patterns, a maroon carpet lining the floor, abstract paintings hanging on the walls that allude to a darker nature, and in the far corner on the wall between two paintings is a golden blade dagger behind a mounted glass case.

“...Pick your side, kid. It’s either you’re with me, or against me.” Yoongi’s voice is cold, not angry per se, but reeking in annoyance that chills rather than burns. “And trust me when I say that you don’t want me as your enemy. I don’t play nice.”

There’s a young man standing in front of Yoongi’s large desk, his hands behind his back where one hand squeezes the other in bouts of nervous jitter. There are bruises on his knuckles, and even from behind, Hoseok could tell that he’s trying to fit into a crowd that doesn’t suit him. Haegeum isn’t just a club but a base of operations so to speak, in the middle of this high-end city, its easy for Yoongi to wrack up a certain clientele. People who seek a different ease of mind and has a different lifestyle.

Hoseok leans against the door, watching the scene play out, as the young man bows slightly and Yoongi waves his hand at him.

“Keep shadowing Seonghwa and Hongjoong for the week, and I don’t want any trouble this time.” He says dismissively, and the boy turns to leave. As Hoseok catches his eye, something akin to a bolt of lightening shoots down his spine. It isn’t noticeable to the more ordinary folk, but Hoseok isn’t ordinary, and neither are Yoongi and the rest of his boys. 

The air crackles with static, raw, untrained power that itches Hoseok the wrong way. The boy stands there clearly a moment too long, and Yoongi’s knuckles raps against the table top. “Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun gives a soft apology, and quickly walks towards the door. Hoseok opens it for him, not out of kindness, but purely to give him a long unbroken stare. He smiles as the boy struggles to hold his gaze, even as the hair on the back of his neck stands on end at his proximity.

When he shuts the door behind him, Yoongi is already watching him with a raised brow. Hoseok wanders over to the leather armchair at the front of Yoongi’s desk and sits, shifting around until he’s comfortable in it. “I thought they were a myth.”

“Obviously they’re not.” Yoongi mutters, shaking his head as he sieves through a stack of papers scattered on his desk before he finds what he’s looking for. “Kid wanted in, so I let him. More trouble than it’s worth, honestly. But, the Nephilim are stronger than the order, so I gave it a shot.”

Hoseok hums, and Yoongi seems to catch himself, narrowing his eyes at him. The scar that runs through his right eye looks pink and irritated in the motion and the overhead lights. “What are you doing here?”

“What? I can’t visit?”

If Yoongi narrows his eyes any more, he’d close them, “I think you know better than anyone that you’re never here.” He says, “You’re absent more often than not, so I have the right to ask. Did you do something? I’m not cleaning up any more of your messes.”

Yoongi pushes back his chair, walking across the room to the mini bar he has tucked in the corner. He pulls a glass from the cabinet and pours himself a glass of whisky from a long necked crystalline bottle. He takes a sip and turns leaning against the bar’s edge. “Last time was enough trouble.”

“You’d clean it up anyways.” Hoseok says, leaning his head back against the chair, tilting his head to look at Yoongi. “I found something fun to do.”

Yoongi stares at him for a moment, quiet, contemplative, “Causing a different type of trouble, I see.” He chuckles, “Don’t break her.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Hoseok smirks, and then frowns a little. With all Yoongi’s prowess and danger, he’s gone a little soft around the edges, and he could see that softness in his eyes as he looks off into the distance. Surely thinking about the mortal girl that has him wrapped around her little fingers like bubble gum.

“You’ll learn.” Yoongi says cryptically, and it reminds Hoseok that he’s never really sure what Yoongi is thinking. Sometimes he’s an open book and Hoseok could read him like one, easy to figure out in the way that he moves, and sometimes he’s sealed tight.

Yoongi drains his glass of whisky, setting it down with a clink on the bar top before walking back over to his desk. “Since you’re here...” He opens a drawer and pulls out a thick black file, “Give this to Seonghwa.”

Hoseok takes the file and opens it, reading over the contents. There’s a man on Yoongi’s black list that’s due a checking in. “You let him and Joong have all the fun.”

“You’re too messy.” Yoongi retorts, “I said I’m not cleaning up after you.”

Hoseok shrugs, and gets up, skirting around the back of the chair and walking towards the door.

“Hobi.” Yoongi calls, “I don’t have to remind you that there’s a meeting at the end of the month, right?”

“I’ll be here.” Hoseok says, as the look in Yoongi’s eyes gave no room to say anything else.

He leaves the office, closing the door behind him with a quiet click and lets the tension roll off his shoulders. He goes back the way he came, black file in hand, towards the VIP section where he knows Seonghwa would be lurking. He walks down the little walkway, through the identical couches and tables on raised platforms that overlook the main floor of the club.

At the end, there’s a small section of booths, black velvet and low lit, and standing with his back to him is Hongjoong. He seems to be busy, twin pistols in pieces on the booth’s table, cleaning supplies set up neatly in a little row. Hoseok saunters over, and throws his arm over the man’s shoulders.

Hongjoong doesn’t spare him a glance but sighs softly through his nose. “I’m busy, Hoseok.”

“Where’s your shadow?” Hoseok asks, and waves the file at him, “Yoongi has work for you two.”

“When doesn’t Yoongi have work for us.” Hongjoong slides away from under Hoseok’s arm, sitting down in the booth to avoid him all together. There’s a dull glint of light as the fixtures catch on the gold diamond studded crucifix that swings against the white of Hongjoong’s tee-shirt.

Hoseok clicks his tongue against his teeth, “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

The dark bangs of his hair, which are usually styled away from his forehead, falls into his eyes when he glances upward at Hoseok. He picks up the cleaning solvent and pours a bit of it into the cap before dropping a cotton patch in to let it soak, then, he wraps the patch around the bristles of a small bore brush.

“Seonghwa isn’t here, he’s out back.” Hongjoong picks up the dismantled gun barrel, sliding the bore brush through until the now dirty cotton patch pokes out from the other end. The scent of the solvent burns Hoseok’s nose, and he leaves Hongjoong be, going back down to the main floor and through the emergency exit. The exit sits in the middle of an alleyway that connects two streets, and Hoseok catches sight of Seonghwa’s faux fur coat on one end.

Smoke curls away from his form with a light wind and brings the scent of a cigarette as Hoseok walks with quiet steps towards him. He’s laughing at something, phone in hand, and Hoseok drops his hand heavily on his shoulder and feels the way he immediately tenses.

“I’ve told you one too many times, Seonghwa.” Hoseok says, stepping to the side and around him, “Always be on your guard.”

There’s a glint in the way that he sneers, pulling away from Hoseok’s grip. He takes a couple steps back, watching Hoseok as though he spat at his feet.

“Aw, don’t look at me like that. Makes me all tingly.” Hoseok teases mockingly with a smile, and then offers the file to him. “Here.”

Seonghwa shoves his phone into the pocket of his coat, taking the file and looking through it. He takes one last drag of the cigarette between his fingers before tossing it. He raises a perfect brow at Hoseok and tilts his head, something like amusement in his eyes. “You don’t show up for weeks, and now you’re just Yoongi’s errand boy.”

Hoseok chuckles and it’s dark, low in his throat. “Seonghwa.” He takes a step closer, “Don’t forget your place.”

It’s irritating how Seonghwa doesn’t back down, the way he looks at Hoseok as though he’s beneath him. He stands tall and proud with his chest puffed out like a peacock, and Hoseok knows he’s about to say something stupid without using that brain of his first.

“Don’t act like we’re not in the same boat.” Seonghwa scoffs, and even before he opens his mouth, Hoseok could see the thought in his eyes, glowing like an ember in the dark. He sees the minute curl at the corner of his mouth and the glow of the street light that catches on the pretty studded silver of his teeth. “You got your ward killed, and killed the man that killed her. There’s no hierarchy among murderers.”

Hoseok takes a breath, and he feels the heat rising from the tips of his toes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the images he’s locked away floods out of the steel box he’s put them in. The little girl he’d been guardian to, her short, miserable and painful life. Found end at the hands of someone she had the misfortune of being born to. It was too late – he was too late, when he’d found her. And just like then, Hoseok sees red.

Warm, gushing red that spill into the creases of his fingers when he swings his fist at Seonghwa’s face. The black file and the papers within scatter on the wind.

Hoseok doesn’t let the surprise and force send the younger man stumbling back too far, and grabs hold of the front of his coat, curling his fingers into the material tightly. He kicks at his knee, and when he’s forced to kneel, Hoseok leans down to his height.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who lost his wings for something so trivial; your sin and mine are two different things.” Hoseok sneers, and he’s so mad he could set Seonghwa on fire and watch him dance. “But I can remind you exactly why Yoongi doesn’t bother to have me involved.”

Someone pulls Seonghwa back, dragging him up to his feet. “The fuck are you two doing?”

There’s a tick in Seonghwa’s jaw that doesn’t go unnoticed and his eyes stay locked with Hoseok as he straightens. He should think twice, Hoseok knows he knows better.

Hongjoong shoves at Seonghwa’s shoulder, “Go pick that shit up.”

Yeonjun stands at the open doorway of the emergency exit, watching with wide eyes, looking like he’s halfway to backing out on his choice to get into Yoongi’s ranks. Hongjoong eyes Hoseok warily, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that Seonghwa was doing as told.

Hoseok’s gaze burns a hole into the back of Seonghwa’s head as he moves around to pick up the scattered papers while Hongjoong stands like a watchdog.

Hoseok shoves his hands into the pockets of his black coat, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. “You boys be good, now.” He says in parting, turning on his heel and walking out of the alley.

“What the fuck did you say to him?...”

Hoseok walks up the street, through the throngs of people still waiting to get into Haegeum. His phone vibrates in his coat pocket, with a sigh he pulls it out and answers.

“Yes, Cheol?”

“Hey, remember when you asked me to tell you when I’ve seen that weird fog?” Seungcheol sounds distracted, there’s a sharp sound from his end that has Hoseok pulling the phone away from his ear with a wince. He says something to someone else, voice too far away for Hoseok to catch, before he speaks again. “Couple of nights ago, it was in my area. Whatever’s in it is pretty good at hiding. It’s not the only thing in it either.”

Hoseok crosses the street, going in the opposite direction of which he came from. The people that line the sidewalk give him a wide berth as he weaves through them; unconsciously reacting to him being near.

“Didn’t see much of the guy, some twinky-looking redhead.” Cheol sighs, “I think the fog is like a domain. If you get lost in it, it’s like there’s no-one in there but you. Like a mirror realm.”

‘They who fight monsters should be careful, lest they become a monster themselves.  And if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.’

What defines a monster? Something that goes beyond human comprehension, something that stands outside the bounds of what is morally accepted. Something that a person fails to understand and is therefore scared by. Something that make stories entertaining because they’re meant to be defeated in the end. They’re meant to be slain and mounted like trophies, pinned up for grotesque display of heroism.

What defines a creature that goes beyond human comprehension? White coloured morals and the freedom to help in the way it needed. He stopped being what he was created to be, and instead became something that someone needed the most. He did everything right. He had his head in the right place, he was determined to see it through to the end.

He was a little too late.

Over the years, Hoseok could no longer recall just how late he was. If it was by seconds or minutes, or an hour by a half. When he was finally strong enough to move, he traced the memory of a place he’d seen for years, all the way to a house where his charge waited inside.

She was always afraid. Alone, trapped with a monster of man’s making. A child he’s watched since the moment of her birth, watched her grow to be afraid and the light never reach her. By the laws of his nature he was forced to do nothing.

He was restricted to assisting in the only way he could. He couldn’t shield her physically, so he instead manipulated the monster in her closet. He made sure that his mind was changed, that he didn’t swing his claws as fiercely, that he slept deeply so that the child can have a night of rest.

He started to question, as he watched the monster that called himself a father, prey upon what he was meant to protect.

What’s the point? Is he not allowed to stop this? Why can’t he stop this? He could stop it because he has the power to do so.

The ideology was shared by another, and together, hubris.

Hoseok fell with pride; he fell with the intention to seek his ward out and help her. Even if he had no idea what was to come afterwards. Stripped of his grace and the feathers of his wings burned away, it didn’t matter to him.

He went as quickly as his wounds allowed, which in retrospect, wasn’t quickly enough. She was only six. An awfully short time to the likes of him, even shorter to mortals, not enough time to live and laugh – she wasn’t allowed to even do that. He’d stood there, in the broken doorway of a broken home and watched as the monster of his ward’s nightmare became a man before him. Hoseok’s vision had tunnelled and in the centre was the broken body of the child he’d sworn to protect.

When the shadows on the walls grew tall and Hoseok’s mind closed in on itself and allowed those shadows to encase him, the man cried. He pleaded on his knees at the sight of his reckoning, begged for mercy when he gave none.

Then, Hoseok shattered. Scattered like tiny specs of dust floating on the wind, and under the heat and pressure of his own realisations, he turned into glass. With his sharp edges he cut into the man and reveled in it. The sounds of his pleas like the gentle strum of a harp’s string, and the warmth of his blood was a bath Hoseok sunk into.

What he was, was something that was no longer needed, and with his hands covered in blood and gore and mess he held tight to his reasons for being and cried for her. He became something else that only protected himself. While he locked everything away and allowed the shadows to stay. The light he’s trapped struggles to glow, to breathe, and some days Hoseok wants to snuff it out for good, to become the shadows he plays in.

He wouldn’t allow himself to reach that point, though. He still has a sense of himself, however skewed.

He owes Yoongi a lot, his partner in crime that he would follow to the ends of the earth. He never turned his back on him even as Hoseok changed to suit his troubles.

Hoseok remembers Yoongi standing at the doorway, catching up much later than he had. He stayed there quietly while Hoseok mourned the death of his ward and his tears made tracks in the blood that coated him.

Hoseok buried her away from her cursed home, far away and as deep as the roots of an old oak runs and salt floats on the air. Wild flowers bloom there, giving her the beauty in death she wasn’t allowed in life.

His chest aches as he stands there now. Under the shade of the oak tree where little speckles of the setting orange sun spills through leaves and dances along the space that he occupies. There’s a crinkle of plastic and Hoseok stares at the small bouquet in his grip. He chose every flower that reminded him of her: daises and lavender, lilies and snapdragons.

He lays it gently on the patch of grass that’s long grown over between two large protruding roots, mutters the same apology he does every time he comes by, and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat as he straightens.

He’s sorry he wasn’t there in time.

He wished she was given a chance, and wondered if her death was his punishment. He wonders what it would’ve been like to watch her grow, safe and happy. What her favourite flower would’ve been, if she would’ve valued the little things. He would’ve given her everything – pulled the moon from the sky if she so desired it. He would’ve taken the stars and put them in her little hands for her to watch them shine.

He wonders if it would’ve been better had he waited a little longer. That maybe the slightest change would’ve brought about a different outcome.

Hoseok sighs, turns his head to watch the sun set, dragged behind the ocean’s edge far off in the distance. Something at the back of his mind wiggles and tugs. He knows something’s wrong and he’s in no mood to deal with it.

You’re dying...you think. Your hand slides against the floor and it takes a moment to realise it’s your blood you’re slipping in. You can barely feel the rest of your body, adrenaline pumping your blood out of the wounds at your back. The doors of the elevator doubles and swarms in your vision.

You see them open but it’s so hard to focus. Hoseok steps out and walks slowly to you, you can’t see his expression, but you faintly hear the long, drawn-out sigh he releases. Your eyes focus on the darkness that surrounds him, the way it curls like smoke. The shadows at his back are clearer to you than they’ve ever been – wings. Dark plumage that glitters with something silver in the light, the feathers are long, long enough that they drag behind his steps. If he were to unfold them they would easily span to the ends of the hallway.

He hardly gives you a glance, stopping in front of you. You can’t see the creature now – blocked by Hoseok’s wings – but you hear it growl, and the scraping of it’s claws against the floor. Something glints in his hand against the flickering lights, a short sword that looks like it was dipped in gold from the hilt and it ran down the edges of the blade.

He’s a blur as he moves and your tired eyes can barely keep up with him, if it weren’t for the small space and shadows his wings casted you would’ve lost sight of him completely. 

The creature snarls and lashes out with its razor-sharp claws, but Hoseok is already one step ahead, dodging with effortless grace. He moves with a speed and agility that seems impossible in the space he occupies, closing in on the creature that growls and snarls at him. It’s forced to dislodge itself from the doorway, pulling back into the stairwell that gives it even less room to defend.

Hoseok’s wings fold tightly to his back as he follows, and you could only hear the sound of his weapon sliding through the air, the sound of the blade whistling and the increasingly irritated sounds from the creature. Hoseok ducks under a swiped claw, makes a spin on his knee, and switches the hands that holds his blade. It slices through the creature’s gigantic paw like it’s made of something soft, and through the other as it comes back down. The severed limb drops heavily on the ground before it dissolves into ashes and float upward.

The sound it makes grate on your ears, loud and sharp and you can’t bring your hands up to cover them, something warm trickles out of each.

Without it’s two front legs to support it’s weight, the creature drops forward, and Hoseok grabs hold of the first spike at the top of its head. With a flick of his wrist his weapon spins in his palm and he points the blade right between the creature’s eyes and pushes.

Golden light flashes, nearly blinding you on top of everything else, you can just barely hear the cry it makes this time as it writhes in agony. It’s monstrous form twists and contorts before finally collapsing to the ground in a heap.

Hoseok stands over the fallen beast, his weapon clenched tightly in his hand, watching intently as it’s body dissipates like ash from a fire.

With a satisfied nod, Hoseok sheaths his weapon and it vanishes, and then turns his attention back to you, his expression a mixture of something. You can’t tell, everything seems so dark and it’s hard to breathe. He approaches you slowly, his movements cautious as he assesses the extent of your injuries.

Hoseok crouches and you slowly look up at him, he tilts his head and clicks his tongue against his teeth.

“I told you not to go anywhere, little dove.” He says softly, calmly, as though he’s telling you about his day and you’re not bleeding out in his hallway. “You’re so troublesome.”

You try to respond, but the words stick in your throat, drowned out by the rush of blood and the overwhelming sense of impending darkness. Hoseok’s presence feels both comforting and ominous, his wings casting elongated shadows that dance across the walls. You try to focus on his face, to find some semblance of reassurance in his eyes, but all you see is a blur of shadows and flickering light.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to choke out, your voice barely audible above the sound of your own laboured breathing.

Hoseok’s expression softens slightly, a hint of concern flickering in his eyes. He reaches out a hand to gently brush the hair from your forehead, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the underlying tension in the air.

“Jesus...” Another voice says, the sound of footsteps hurrying close and the last thing you see is the shift of the hallway.

The night he found you out in the fog wasn’t the first time Hoseok had seen you.

By now, it would’ve been at least three months ago. You were alone, pacing around like a worried mother on a bridge over your perceived peace – had you decided to take it.

Human lives were no longer any concern to him; no consequence. He and his kind were here before and would be long after your kind has crumbled to dust and returned to the earth. He stopped then, and watched you contemplate the height of the bridge and the chill of the water below it; whether or not you’ll receive the mercy you seek. You’d cried for a long time on that bridge.

Hoseok is many things, but cruel is not one of them. He changed your mind and sent you away into the arms of someone that would care.

Hoseok has many contradictions. The darkness that he allowed entry fights the light, beating it into a corner where it cowers on most days. On those days he’s distant and struggling to contain it, he could taste malice on his tongue and the bitterness of it. The steel walls he painstakingly built with bloody and broken fingers are nothing more than barbwire fences; they do nothing to protect the glass figurines that make him whole.

Sometimes the glass are shards, sharp and unforgiving and willing to cut anything that gets too close. Sometimes they’re splintered panes and Hoseok is cutting his fingers to keep them in place. He curls in on himself, draws himself away, pushes everything outside his barbwire fence and tries to reinforce the walls. The darkness that swirls outside it seeps in and he can’t keep it out so he lets it fester and churn and he becomes intangible.

You weren’t there, and then, at some point, you were.

Sometimes...

Sometimes he’s standing in a grass field full of wild daises and the sun is warm and there’s salt in the air. The light peeks through the leaves of an old oak tree, and there’s a little girl who’s placed her life in his hands, who skitters about in the  grass like something wild and free. She glows in her happiness, and nature stains her hands and the bottom of her white dress. She makes faces at him behind the trunk of the tree, smiles and hold his hands and tell him that it’s okay. It wasn’t his fault and he’s forgiven, he could let it go and be.

On those days, Hoseok feels like a still pool of water. The ones with lily pads and life, and everything’s alright. You’re always there then.

Hoseok knows of the fragility of humans. How easily they could shatter and break and suddenly be no more. He was something once, and then he became something else, and sometimes it’s hard to not be what he is. His darker nature prevails, and he doesn’t do much to stop it. Sure, sometimes he’s done things simply because he’s feeling particularly malicious and thinks that everyone should suffer – it’s almost always harmless.

He has a sense of himself, he knows when to stop, when things are taken too far and you can’t take much more of it. You eventually learnt to take it in stride and Hoseok was proud of that, though, a part of him thought it wasn’t nearly as fun anymore.

He would walk your dreams some nights when he was bored and had nothing better to entertain himself, his presence would sometimes bring his darkness and your dreams would not be as pleasant. He tried to walk through them less often.

When you were jumping at every little sound, the silence that Hoseok moves with and the way you’re less of yourself some days – he realised something. Not every nightmare was his doing, and the whispers in the walls of your dreams spoke of something else entirely.

The far, fuzzy edges of your vivid dreams where he’s reminded of things he’s tried very hard to lock away, lurks something red and more sinister than he.

He’s every reason to believe that hellspawn didn’t find it’s way here on accident, and for it to go undetected until the very last moment. It bothers him like nothing else has.

Though you lay peaceful now and Seungcheol had left after doing what he does best, the unease lingers in bouts under Hoseok’s skin, skittering about like electricity on a wire. His feelings where you’re concerned contradicts each other. Like oil on water he’s stuck in between wanting you close and keeping you at arm’s length. He likes when you’re near, but he likes when you’re far. A consequence of his nature, he toes the line of something sinister and could get dangerous and down right evil if he doesn’t reign himself in.

At a point he wasn’t quite sure what to do with you. He was just as confused on why he stopped you from ending your own life that night on the bridge and why he took you in that night in the fog. At first, he was just as wary of you as you were of him, despite the way he acted. He can’t help what he is.

On the days where he feels like splintered glass and he’s choking on his despair, you’d waited. You were there until the smoke cleared and your quiet presence helped put the glass back up and straighten out the posts in his fence.

He told Yoongi, there’s no fun in not breaking you. Yoongi said that he’d learn.

He can’t help what he is.

He could try, though.

He doesn’t want to break you, it’s a matter of cause and effect. You’re here with him, evidently, you’d be broken regardless. The most he could do is try. He could try to not be the straw, and try to not let outside forces become it.

He cares. He cares so much that sometimes he could taste it on his tongue. He cares that you smile when he’s earned it, that you eat well, that you greet him like a friend and then somewhere along get shy when you do. He cares if you live or die.

Hoseok squeezes his eyes shut, opening them to blink away the image of you, helplessly laying in a pool of your own blood.

Fear. He’s has only felt it once, the fear that you would die and he would’ve failed again to protect someone.

He sips slowly at his glass of whisky, drinking in the sight of you. He thought you were smart enough to listen to him at least, trusted that you would stay out until he got back. Perhaps it was his mistake, but he wonders, and he ponders as you give a minute twitch in your sleep. Your eyebrows draw together and you murmur something unintelligible.

Hoseok sets his tumbler on your bedside drawer and pulls his chair closer. This is something he could easily do from another room, though, for what he’s about to do he would need to be touching you in some capacity.

Your dream had started off vividly, as most of your dreams have since you came here. Hoseok stands just in the corner of it, watching you wake within your dream and put your feet down into water.

He walks along the edge of it, watching it play out like a simulation, following behind you as you make your way down the hall towards the living room. He’s there and Hoseok isn’t surprised – it’s not the first time you’ve dreamt him.

He watches as your dreamscape version of him pull you into his lap and he feels a little offended and rolls his eyes – he didn’t even try to make it look sexy. Is this what you think of him? He isn’t half as tactless. Seduction takes finesse, and you clearly have no idea what that is.

Hoseok turns, gazing at the darkened edges of your dream.

There’s a shift and he feels it. It’s heavy like a wet blanket and seeps in like mist, and your dream changes accordingly.

He knows this feeling too well – the intrusion of an external force manipulating the dream, it’s faint enough that he knows it wasn’t in his apartment or anywhere nearby, but strong enough to reach so far.

Hoseok hovers hesitantly between the doorway of the living room and the hallway, and closes his eyes against the image of him hurting you.

He follows you as you follow blood, and he wishes you weren’t so frightened. He stays close to you, stepping where you’ve stepped as though he could protect you from something that’s already occurred. You push the door to your bedroom open and he wants to stop you, turn you around and shake you awake, but he can only watch.

You’re there and he is too, whispers skittering along the walls like mice, and Hoseok yanks himself out of your subconscious mind.

He feels like glass.

When you wake it’s dark and your back is sore like you fell from a high place and splatted against a body of water. The moment feels like déjà vu regardless as you swing your legs over the side of the bed with a wince.

The broken projector of your sleep-addled mind flickers in black and white cut scene imagines of the evening. Hoseok, the fog, the dog that crawled out of hell specifically for you – as you can only assume – things considered, you’re pretty certain you died at some point.

The dark unnerves you, it makes you feel like a kid as you pull your feet back up onto the bed, and pull the blanket up over your head and pulled tight between your fingers at your chest.

You scoot back, wiggling a bit until your back is pressed flush against the headboard. There’s no light seeping in from under your door, and you sink lower, curling into yourself and hold the blanket tighter.

There’s a prickling at the back of your neck that sends a shiver racing down your spine. Your head turns slowly to the left and notice the unnatural darkness of the space between the edge of the wall and the window pane. Relief blooms in your chest at the sight of it.

“...Hoseok.” You call softly, waving a hand into the dark. You wait for a moment, but the lights don’t come on and he doesn’t appear as he usually would.

Carefully, you unwrap the covers from around you and place your foot on the ground. Taking a moment, you count your fingers – it’s always hard to count them in your dreams. All ten are there, and you take a breath before standing.

The floor is cold, and you notice the carpet that’s usually under your feet is missing, and the silhouettes of the things you’ve made yours are different; this isn’t your room.

You approach the ball of chaos carefully, and stand five steps away from the space it occupies. This is the second time you’ve been close to it, the first time had been much closer and you hadn’t understood it then. You reach a hand out, and gently: “Hoseok...”

It slows, the shadows and wisps shifting gently like a leaf on a soft wind. It elongates into a vague outline and then, Hoseok stares through you before he sees you. He’s still wearing the clothes he left in earlier, coat and all, looking a little more than rattled even in the dark.

He raises a hand and it hovers by your cheek, thumb ghosting the skin like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. The lights didn’t come back on and it’s hard to decipher his emotions in the dark.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice soft, barely a whisper in the darkness. Somewhere behind you, a lamp flickers on dimly and Hoseok looks like he’d shatter if you touched him.

“I’m okay.”

Hoseok’s hand drops slowly from your face as he blinks, as though waking from a dream. His gaze focuses on you, but there’s a vacancy in his eyes. For a moment, he seems almost confused, as if he’s not sure how he ended up here or what to make of your presence.

His touch is light, gentle, like he’s handling something fragile when his fingers brushes yours. You feel his fear, a palpable thing, thick and heavy. It’s a side of him you’ve never seen before, and you’re not sure what to do with it.

He exhales softly through his nose, nods once and then his eyes are somewhere above your head. “Are you in pain?”

“No,” Your back sings a low hymn, achy and sore, but it’s nothing to fuss over. “I’m okay.”

There’s a lot of things you want to ask, but you can’t seem to pick one. You want to ask him about the fog and the creature, about his wings or how you’re even alive to mull over said questions.

Instead, you ask: “Are you okay?”

Hoseok looks unprepared for that, his eyes snapping back to yours and he flounders. His mouth opens and closes before he stares at you in that unnerving way he had your first couple of days here, like he’s trying to understand you. Like he could strip you down to atoms and see what makes you act the way you do and therefore comprehend the bases of your human nature.

“I’m...” He blinks, looks away, and a muscle beneath his right eye twitches, “I’m okay.”

He doesn’t sound convinced and you aren’t either, and where his hand brushes yours you reach out first. His fingers are cold and he looks down, staring at your hand like it’s something foreign, but his grip tightens. It’s quiet for a moment, he takes a breath that doesn’t seem to ease the weight he carries.

“You almost died.” He says quietly, brows furrowed as though he can’t understand his own concern. “When I brought you here...I did so with the intention to keep you safe.”

It’s quiet again and you wait, and wait.

Hoseok’s eyes mist, his breath shudders on the exhale. “I wasn’t here in time. Again. I—”

His hand in yours tremble, he’s looking through you again, not entirely here and he looks like a man haunted by ghosts he alone could see. You stumble a step back when he falls to his knees before you, but didn’t get far as his arms wound tight around your waist. There’s something strange about a creature such as him with all his prowess and tainted grace kneeling at your feet, and his words tumble from his mouth like his tears that soak into your borrowed shirt and he lets you hold the chain that drags behind him.

The weight is heavy, heavy enough that it grounds you and you listen to it rattle as Hoseok tells you everything. In a broken tone about a broken home and a child he couldn’t reach in time to save, about the shadows that he let hide the light and now he struggles to find it. The things he’s done since that would make the most wicked men cower.

You make the connection, as he lays himself bare before you. He peeled back the layers of his being himself and let you look inside; the bases of his nature, the connotations of his own sins. It makes sense to you now. The way he would change like the tide and his near obsessive, compulsive need to wrap you in bubble wrap and put you in a glass case. He’d long stopped scaring you and somehow became a comfort despite himself.

Maybe it’s circumstantial, or something else entirely, but you’ve grown to care for him and he’s been caring for you from the start. However skewed that was.

When he’s stopped his babbling, and he’s no longer crying, he still holds you tight, whispering apologies against the dampness of your shirt. You meet his height, gently pulling his arms away from you and you kneel, too. He blinks away the last of his tears and you catch them with your thumbs just under his red-rimmed eyes.

He’s no longer looking through you, one of his hands covers yours, his lips brushing delicately against your wrist when he turns his head; your heart flutters. He whispers something you didn’t catch, he closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them, he repeats: “You can leave if you want.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Will you stay, then?” He looks away when he asks, pressing his fingers against your palm in a way that tickles and distracts, and studies the lines of them quietly. “Stay here with me.”

There’s something like hope in his eyes that glints against the shadows that linger, shining like flecks gold in cracked rock. You nod slowly and he smiles easily, all teeth and heart shaped and his hand is warm when he cups your cheek with the one that isn’t holding yours.

“Your dream...” He says softly, and later you’d find that it troubled him the most; he would never do something like that – not to you. “I’m sorry.”

You store the fact that he knows about it at the back of your mind for later – later when he’s not pressing the pad of his thumb against the fullness of your bottom lip, tracing the shape of it. You’ve learnt to ebb and flow with him, a boat on his tide, taking the shift of his mood in stride.

There’s something in his eyes now that has nothing to do with how you found him earlier, something that makes you follow his lead, leaning in when he pulls you towards him. Deja vu accompanies the way he shifts, easing back and turning you as he does, leaning against a dresser you hadn’t noticed. He keeps his eyes locked with yours, directing your leg over his with a hand, and he settles you on his lap.

“This feels familiar.” He giggles, lifting his head to nose along your jaw and you’re reminded that he knows. Heat flares at the back of your neck and races up your ears, and when you push against his shoulders, he steadies and keeps you still with his hands on the top of your thighs and a click of his tongue against his teeth.

“I’m teasing.” He gives a crooked smile, tilting his head, “It’s cute that you think it’ll play out that way.”

“Isn’t it, though?” You blurt out, embarrassment forgotten. Honestly, the only thing that’s changed is the room, and when Hoseok pauses you smirk.

He smirks right back, something dangerous, and he chuckles, “Keep talking back. I like that.”

His hand slides up your back, and you don’t suppress the shiver that follows after it. The air grows heavy, charged with unspoken tension. You’re vaguely aware of your heart pounding, the rhythm matching the erratic thrum of your blood. He leaves a kiss where your jaw meets your neck, sucking lightly on the spot.

“Hoseok...” You start to say his name, but it comes out as a breathless whisper. You’re not sure what you intended to say, but the words get caught in your throat.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “What is it?” he asks, his voice rough with desire and darker still. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head, unable to form words.

With a low growl, he takes your silence as an invitation, his fingers tangle in your hair, and he tilts your head down, his lips meeting yours in a kiss you gasp into. It quickly deepens, becoming more urgent, as if he’s trying to devour your very soul. His other hand finds your hip, squeezing possessively.

You’re lost in the sensation, the taste of him, the feel of his body pressed against yours. The world has narrowed to the two of you, to this moment.

A soft moan escapes your lips, and he takes that as a cue, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that sets your entire being ablaze.

His touch ignites a fire within you, consuming your senses and leaving you breathless, his hand sliding from your hip to your lower back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

He pulls away slowly and you chase, he smirks against your kiss, and when he lifts his hips you feel the press of his arousal. His kisses trail, ghosting along your jaw, his tongue warm where your pulse thrums. He directs the shifts of your hips, grinding you down against clothed erection with a curse growled against your skin.

You follow the light tug of his hand in your hair, tilting your head back and to the side to give him more room to work. He hums appreciatively around your skin between his teeth and you hiss softly at the sting of the pull.

“So good for me.” He whispers when he pulls away. His fingers tap at your hip before he wraps his arm around, bracing the other against the dresser behind and stands easily.

A startled squeak leaves you, wrapping your arms around his neck even though he’s holding you steady. He reaches the bed in two strides, and drops you there, a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

You bounce a bit amongst the soft sheets with a soft giggle before you settle. His index finger curls beneath your chin and tilts, thumb brushing along your bottom lip again, “Ah.”

You comply easily, and then his thumb is pressing against your tongue. Saliva pools in your mouth and he hums when you wrap your lips around the digit. There’s a tick of his brow and the dull glint of his teeth when he smiles in the dim light of the singular lamp, and a darkness in his eyes that doesn’t scare you.

He tests the boundaries of what you’d allow, sliding his thumb along your tongue. His palm lays flat against your cheek, thumb reaching far until you feel the lurch of your stomach and pull back with a gasp.

He coos softly, leaning down just as he slips his finger out of your mouth to capture your lips in a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue than anything else. He nudges you back softly, large hands sneaking their way under your tee to reach your skin, desperate in a way that makes you think he’d die if he doesn’t.

He stops just shy of the undersides of your breasts, pulling away from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours. His breaths are shallow, he whispers your name, “I can get intense.”

“I know.”

“I could hurt you.”

“I know.”

He studies you for a moment, then, tugs gently on the hem of your tee-shirt, “Up.”

As you shift to sit, you’re not surprised to find you aren’t wearing anything underneath the tee-shirt and cotton shorts he’s put you in; dressing you properly must’ve been the last thing on his mind.

Hoseok stands back to shed his coat, dropping it carelessly on the floor. There’s a metallic clink as the buckle of his belt jingles, and the sound of it racing through the loops of his pants.

You – oddly – don’t feel ashamed under his gaze that sets a heat wherever it settles as he roams over your exposed upper half. Putting your weight on your hands, you lean back, watching Hoseok roll the long sleeves of his tee-shirt up his forearms.

His tongue darts out to moisten his lips as he closes the distance again, climbing into the bed on his knees and coming up until they’re on either side of your thighs. Silently he trails a finger down the slope of your neck, it tickles across your collarbone and his fingers spread and palms your left breast.

Your breath hitches and he chuckles, and you know very well he could feel the shifting of your thighs as you rub them together seeking friction. It’s been ages since anyone’s touched you like this, all of Hoseok’s teasing isn’t doing you much good.

His lips meet yours, licking into your mouth, and he groans when you suck on his tongue. His fingers lightly pinch at your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. His other hand roams, goosebumps following it’s path down your side and stops where his fingers tease the band of your shorts.

Your hips buck as you whine and Hoseok pulls away, eyelids heavy, pupils all but gone, panting softly; looking drunk on you.

He smiles and makes a disapproving sound at the back of his throat. “Patience little dove.” He tuts, tilting his head at you, “I’ll give you what you need.”

He trails his fingers along the edges of your shorts before pulling them down and off, leaving you exposed to his touch. His hair tickles where it drags against your sensitive skin as he moves downward. He avoids where you need him most entirely and you squirm, a soft whine building in your chest.

He kisses and licks his way up your thighs, teasing you until you’re begging. Gently, he spreads your legs, kissing the inner thigh of your right before he rests it over his shoulder, pushing your other up and holding it there with a palm.

His dark gaze meets yours and you can’t hold it when he licks a hot stripe from your weeping entrance to your clit. Your hand shoots down to grip his hair, back arching when his responding growl vibrates against your core.

With each stroke of his tongue, Hoseok explores every inch of your most sensitive areas. He laps at your clit, drawing out a series of gasps and moans that fill the room. You’re shaking and swearing as he eats you out like a man starved, his tongue swirling around your clit in figure eights and then dipping into you. He moans like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Your hands curl into the sheets, fingers digging in as if to anchor yourself. You’re lost in the sensations, a whirlwind of pleasure that leaves you breathless. And you wonder, briefly, if this was just something he was good at or something he had to hone.

His arm draping over your hips was the only warning you got before his lips wraps around your clit and sucks. Your back arches with a pitched moan and he slips a finger into your heat, and groans when you clench and gasp his name.

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat a reminder of your vulnerability. Yet, paradoxically, it’s this vulnerability that fuels your desire, pushing you to new heights. You’re a wild thing now, driven by pure, primal need.

From between your legs, Hoseok watches your reactions, a dark-haired god feasting on your pleasure. His gaze is intense, a silent promise that he’ll take you to the edge. He adds another finger and they curl against your g-spot and it brings about your undoing.

If your arousal was a fire, Hoseok just threw gasoline on it just to watch it explode. He keeps hips lips around your clit as it throbs, fingers dragging along your fluttering walls and your eyes squeeze shut. You could barely breathe, lights dancing behind your eyelids as you gasp his name.

“Good girl.” Hoseok praises, lips brushing your clit and your thighs tremble. He rubs his hand gently over your stomach while you come down, and evilly, bites your thigh with a dark chuckle.

“Hoseok...” you whine as he laves his tongue over the stinging spot.

“Hm?” He smiles, “Want more, little dove?”

You almost cry as he changes course, pulling away entirely, and makes it clear he revel in your suffering when he coos mockingly, standing now.

He slowly unbuttons his pants, slowly pulls his legs out of them one after the other, smirking at you all the while. Even in the dim lighting, you could see the strain his cock against his black boxer briefs and you don’t miss the near inaudible sigh of relief from Hoseok at the change in pressure.

He crooks a finger at you, and shuffles closer as you do. He stands at the edge of the bed, and he sinks his fingers into your hair, brushing it back as you look up at him. He looks down his nose at  you, and raises a brow, “Be a good girl now, dove. Or do I have to teach you?”

“I know how to suck cock you ass.”

Hoseok shrugs, a playful smile shifting his expression as he gently squeezes your cheeks, puckering your lips, “Is all that little mouth good for talking back to me?”

“You said you like that.” You say defiantly.

Hoseok hums, “Have your fun then,” He says, smiling, “Won’t be able to say much in a bit, anyway.” He tugs on your hair, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to signal his impatience.

Funny, he was preaching patience is a virtue a while ago.

You scoff softly, holding your weight with a hand and tugging his boxers down with the other. His cock springs out, long and thick enough that you wonder if it would fit anywhere. It’s flushed red at the tip and leaking pre that beads and dribbles down the underside, and maybe if you focus enough you could just about see the throb of the vein that runs along side. A breath hisses through Hoseok’s teeth when you wrap your fingers around him, his eyes shut and his head tilts back.

Your eyes meet his when you slowly drag your hand down the length of his shaft, teasing him like he did you; turnabout is fair play. His hold in your hair tightens just a bit, eyes narrowing.

“Dangerous game you’re trying to start.” He murmurs, “I don’t take well t – fuck.” He hisses, the word tapering off into a low groan as you wrap your lips around the head of his cock.

The slightly salty taste of him bursts against your tongue and you hum, twisting your wrist as you bring your hand back up to meet your mouth and follow it down again. The saliva that escapes from the corners of your mouth helps with the glide.

You take a breath through your nose and relax your jaw, taking him in until he hits the back of your throat and you gag. Hoseok’s thighs tense and a stuttered breath leaves him.

“Easy there.” He soothingly runs his fingers through your hair, though it does nothing for the involuntary tears springing at your waterline. You decide to play it safe, not taking more than you can handle. Hoseok doesn’t seem to mind, letting you set your own pace, whispering swears and your praises.

Heat pools in your gut as your head bobs back and forth, your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, swirling around the head every time you pull back.

Slick with spit, your hand strokes the rest of him, and his groans vibrate in your ears. His fingers tighten in your hair, and it’s the only time he directs; holding you still.

“Take a deep breath for me, dove.” You do as told, and as you inhale, Hoseok slowly pushes forward, his cock reaching the back of your throat in no time at all. He groans above you, cock throbbing against your tongue, “There you go.”

He holds you there for a moment, only easing you back when your throat tightens with the need for air. He lets you breathe for a bit before he’s going again, thrusting slowly, once, twice and then holding you still. He keeps you there, cock throbbing at the back of your throat, your nose pressed against the neatly trimmed hair at the base.

When you gag he pulls you back, barely letting you breathe before he’s leaning down to kiss you, catching the string of drool that hangs from your bottom lip with his tongue. He lets you catch your breath, stepping back to pull his tee-shirt over his head and your mouth goes dry at the full expanse of his lithe frame.

Sitting back on your heels, breath a little ragged, you admire the sculpted lines of his body. Every movement is fluid and graceful, his muscles shifting smoothly beneath his skin.

His chest is defined, the faintest sheen of sweat highlighting each ripple of muscle. You can see the strength in his arms and shoulders, the way they flex as he moves. There’s a raw, primal energy about him, but it’s tempered by a quiet confidence.

Hoseok comes back to you quickly, cupping your cheek and kissing you fervently, moving with you as you shift back, cock smearing pre-cum along your inner thighs as he slots his narrow hips between them. He nibbles at your bottom lip, fingers sliding through your slick folds before the head of his cock nudges against your entrance.

For a quiet moment he stares then, kisses you tenderly as he breeches. It’s an easy glide, but it stings none the less, and you give an appreciative squeeze to his wrist when he goes slow. The stretch is bearable and soon the slight discomfort dissipates when he bottoms out and gives you a moment.

“Good?” he breathes out, hips pressed flush against yours. The same breath sucked back through his teeth when your walls tightens around him, his cock throbs in response and you keen. He grinds his hips down, pelvis pressing against your swollen clit and the sensation is almost too much and not nearly enough.

He’s close enough that you can run your tongue along his collarbone  and feel him shiver. Leave your own marks there with your teeth and revel in the growl that rumbles in his chest.

He hooks an arm at the back of your knee, pressing it against your chest as he raises and balances his weight. You’re spread open for him, his cock sinks deeper, rubbing against a spot that makes your eyes roll back. He gives shallow thrusts at first, pressing kisses and bruises wherever he could reach.

“Fuck.” Hoseok hisses between his teeth, hips still, palm against your cheek, and he watches you with something other than lust in his eyes. Something gentle as he caresses your cheek with his thumb. “Look at you, such a good girl. Taking everything I give you.”

His hips snap forward and you cry out, hands gripping the sheets between them at his sinful groan. He keeps a relentless pace, and you could feel him everywhere. His fingers on your skin, leaving you cold and hot at the same time, gripping your hips so tightly you fear they’ll bruise. It would simply add to the ones he’s already placed, scattered on your neck and chest like mismatched constellations in a dark sky.

He brings your hands up above your head, holding them there, together with his free one.

“You’re so good to me, Dove. And all mine, hm? Say it.” He grunts, “Say you belong to me, promise me that you’ll stay here with me.” He says this softly, tenderly, grinding his hips against yours in slow movements, tightening the coil in your stomach.

“I’m yours, I’m yours. I promise.” You babble, hips moving against his on their own accord. “I’ll stay. I promise. Please.”

Hoseok groans at your words, leaning down to capture your lips with his, tongue finding yours with ease. “That’s right. You’re mine. Fuck. All mine. Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Hoseok.”

He curses under his breath, straightening his form and brings his hands down to grip your hips tight, and sets a brutal pace. Head tilting back to reveal the marks you left on him, groaning before he looks back down at you, “Close? Hm? You’re squeezing so tight.” His words taunt, as did the smirk on his pretty pink lips, “Make a mess for me, Dove. Cum all over my cock. That’s it, good girl.”

White lights dance behind your tightly shut eyelids, a ringing in your ears. And Hoseok was fucking you through it, fast and hard, his praises a rumble in his chest. You lay there boneless, taking what he gave with a haze over your mind, a weak moan leaving your parted lips when his hand met your throat. Your heart spikes for another reason entirely, but he doesn’t squeeze. Fingers just there, barely any pressure, as he chased his own end, cock kissing your cervix with each trust, his other hand pressed against your lower stomach.

His thumb finds your clit and you jolt, catching his sinister smirk that curled his lips. “There’s no going back after this, baby. Fuck – you’re mine, understand?” You can feel him throbbing, feel the way his hips stutter on the draw back, he was close and you wanted nothing more than him marking you, claiming you in this way. When your eyes meet his, a shiver goes through you.

He comes undone with a low groan, hips flushed with your own, still thrusting through it, and you can see them with your own eyes, as he shudders and stills. His wings uncurl, dark feathers, darker than anything you’ve ever seen, dipped in silver, spreads out behind him and flutters. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, gentle, barely there and you feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

Your eyelids were heavy, and sleepily, you reach out to brush your fingers through the feathers that encased your forms. Hoseok stiffens before your fingers reach them, and chuckles, nipping softly at the flesh of your neck, “Go ahead, Dove.”

He relaxes, when your fingers touch, and you feel him shudder, groaning softly against your neck. They’re soft, your fingers disappearing in the inky blackness of them. With a final brush of his lips against your neck, Hoseok pulls back, his wings shimmering away like a mirage and your hand passes through air before lands limply at your side.

He squeezes your hip gently, mindful, and then he’s gone, walking out his room and into the hallway. The light that spills in helps you see a lot better than the dim lamp, and you notice that Hoseok’s bedroom looks much like the rest of his apartment; sleek and dark. There isn’t much to it either, the basics, more utilirian than a comfort space. You wonder if he uses it at all.

Hoseok comes back and gathers your boneless self into his arms. You rest your cheek against his collarbone, the sound of running water reaching your ears when he steps out into the hallway.

The tub is filling, steam rising from the bubbles that form at the top of the disturbed water. It smells like mint and some sort of fruit, and the temperature is just right when he steps into it and lowers you down. He positions you so that your back is against his chest and turns off the water when it’s high enough. You sense that he’s in his head again, not quite here even as he presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

“Feeling okay?” he asks suddenly, tracing a mindless pattern along your arm.

You hum softly, “Yeah. Sore, though.”

“I expected that.” Another kiss, apologetic, against your shoulder. “Also...” Hoseok pauses, “I finished inside you. I didn’t ask. I’m sorry.”

The realisation dawns on you too and you shift a little to look at him, “I don’t mind, but....is that a bad thing?”

There’s a strange half smile on his lips and he lifts a hand to tug softly on one tangled end of your hair, gently sifting his fingers through until he’s satisfied. “It can be, if it takes. But, I’ll get something for it tomorrow.”

You notice that the marks you left along his skin have begun to fade already, and you poke at them with a finger. He heals quickly, you figured. He chuckles softly, taking your hand to press kisses along your finger tips and then to your palm. Your finger brushes over the mole on his upper lip gently and watch him melt.

He studies you for a moment, the same way he did before he left earlier, though, it’s softer now. “Would you like to come with me?”

You brighten, perking up with a nod, “Is that okay?”

Hoseok hums, mischief in his eyes, “If you promise not to run off as soon as you step foot outside.”

You roll your eyes and turn around, and Hoseok pulls you back to him with an arm around your middle. “I have nowhere to go.”

“I know, I was only teasing.” He chuckles.

You’re both quiet for a while, and you simply relax, almost falling asleep against him as the warm water soothes your aching muscles. You aren’t aware that you did, and only wake when Hoseok was just done tucking fresh clean sheets up to your chin. You’re back in his room but you don’t mind, the thought of going back to your own unsettles you right now. You haven’t forgotten your nightmare, and it’s something you’d definitely have to unpack another day.

You wait until he’s crawled in behind you, the warmth of him encasing you gently. His form melds against your back like he belongs there, an arm slipping under your head and the other over your hip. “Hoseok?”

“Yes Dove?”

You worry at your bottom lip, fingers finding his under the covers and they squeeze your own encouragingly. “There’s a friend of mine...I was with her before I met you.”

“I can help her.” He murmurs, and he sounds...sleepy. Today was a lot for him as well, you suppose. “I can get her a job here.”

You shift, turning to face him, he tucks you to him when you settle, chin resting on top of your head. “How are you gonna do that?”

You hear the smirk when he answers, “Do you think everything I have magically appeared? I own the hotel.”

“Wha—”

“Shh.” Hoseok squeezes your hip, “Go to sleep.”

Sometime later you’ll realise that Hoseok needed you more than he would admit. When you learn his tells he would help put himself back together with you instead of trying to do it alone.

Sometime later he’d take you to see her. When the wind is cold and the old oak tree reaches it’s bare, spindly arms to the frosted sky. When the day marks yet another year and he lets you put the flowers between the roots. He looks like a shadow against the glittering white, and he tells you he’s okay.

He’d take you to meet his friends at a club on the high-end and you’d would realise that he’s soft only with you and the guy who reminds you of a cat. With the others he’s closed off and friendly in a way that seems a little odd.

You’d see Abigail often and would skirt around how you actually met Hoseok when she’d ask. Anyone would think you’re crazy if you told them.

You spend most of your time at home while Hoseok goes off doing god knows what when he’s not there. It’s something to do with his friends and you never ask.

Then he’s there and everything beyond him and you and the space you both occupy doesn’t matter. And it’s kind of easy to forget where it all started – it’d been so long since you’d wondered where you were going to get anything to help you get by.

He’s made of cracks and splintered glass but he let you sink into the spaces, filled the pieces with you and settled. There would always be cracks in the glass that he’s made of, and there would always be a post in his fence that he needs to hammered in to fix. Despite the unconventional way you’d both started, the abnormality of his existence, you’d be there.

[bold, can't tag]

Tagging: @iammeandmeisiam , @imanhaitani @allhobbitstoisengard @dontstoptime @astormunchar @eoieopda @blog-name-idk @madbutgloriouspond @bangtansmauyeondan @taestefully-in-luv @mssukeyna​ @euphoricfilter @luaspersona

[ausetkmt]

Lynching victim Rubin Stacy’s story being told by his family in film screening at NSU

Anne Naves knew something bad had happened to her uncle when her male relatives came home from fishing, each wearing a pall of silence. Dad wasn’t cracking jokes like usual. Grandfather looked grave. And her uncle, Rubin Stacy, hadn’t come back. The next day, someone from the funeral home said a body had been dropped off.

Naves, 8 years old at the time, only discovered the full gruesome truth about her uncle years later. On July 19, 1935, acting on an unproven accusation from a white woman, a masked lynch mob strung up Stacy under a Fort Lauderdale tree, hanged him and shot him 17 times as spectators gawked and children laughed.

The brutality and silence of Stacy’s lynching is revisited in the new documentary, “Rubin,” which will screen on Tuesday, Oct. 3, at Nova Southeastern University. In the hourlong film, the farmhand’s death is recounted through the eyes of his surviving descendants, but mainly through Naves, who was the last living eyewitness to the trauma — and to the secrecy — that followed.

The film, the first to be made by relatives of Stacy’s family, also chronicles the history of lynchings in America, used as a tool of punishment and to foster silence.

“I think (my family) knew that, without telling us (kids) what really happened, they would save us a lot of trauma,” Naves says in the documentary. “The neighbors and our church members respected our silence, too, because they knew that if it could happen to our family, it could happen to theirs.”

For “Rubin” director Tenille Brown, who is a cousin of Rubin Stacy, the film has in recent weeks also morphed into something else: a posthumous tribute to Naves. After filming her interviews for the documentary, she died on Sept. 18 at age 96, leaving behind a strong legacy: She was a Broward County educator for 25 years, teaching at Pines Middle and other schools.

“The biggest piece of the film was Anne,” Brown says in an interview with the South Florida Sun Sentinel. “Without her, there’s no story. She’s the driving force. She was ready to talk. She told me to record her. She really pushed me when I didn’t feel confident and said, ‘Record me anyway. Just go.’ ”

The rest of America witnessed the cruelty of Stacy’s lynching long before Naves did. A series of photos immortalize the moment when a white crowd gathered around Stacy’s body hanging from a tree. These images ran in newspapers nationwide, were published by the NAACP, Life magazine and National Geographic, and are now archived in the Library of Congress.

It was a tale of Jim Crow-era racism that Fort Lauderdale would’ve rather forgotten — the brother of a corrupt Broward County sheriff participated in the lynching — but city officials have made strides in recent years to acknowledge the tragedy by placing memorial markers around Fort Lauderdale. One is on Davie Boulevard and Southwest 31st Avenue, also known as Martin Luther King Jr. Avenue, near where Stacy took his last breath. There’s another on the 800 block of Northwest Second Street, where he lived, and a third at Woodlawn Cemetery, his final resting place. In February 2022, a section of Davie Boulevard was renamed Rubin Stacy Memorial Boulevard.

“I’m glad they acknowledged it,” says Brown, of Pompano Beach. “These stories make some people in the state uncomfortable, but if they are based on fact, we need to tell the truth. You can’t turn your head. These are things you can’t ignore.”

For Brown, it was these memorials — and Naves’ willingness to break her silence — that motivated her to reconstruct Stacy’s story. To do so, she also interviewed Ken Cutler, Parkland commissioner and historian, and Tameka Bradley Hobbs, library regional manager of Fort Lauderdale’s African American Research Library and Cultural Center.

“My family didn’t want to talk about it out of fear for years,” Brown says. “There was shame. There’s an element of hurt, and you can hear that emotion in Anne’s voice. Now it feels freeing. This is a story that was suppressed for years and by sharing it, this is how we overcome.”

Michael Anderson, a producer for “Rubin,” says the film also tackles what too many school textbooks don’t stress enough: the history of Black lynchings.

“For Black youth to know their stories, they have to know the history of lynchings,” Anderson says. “They still don’t know how lynchings were used as a weapon to keep a community quiet. That’s exactly what it did to Rubin Stacy’s family.”

IF YOU GO

WHAT: “Rubin”

WHEN: 7 p.m. Tuesday, Oct. 3

WHERE: NSU’s Rose & Alfred Miniaci Performing Arts Center, 3100 Ray Ferrero Jr. Blvd., Davie

COST: Free, but tickets must be presented for entry

INFORMATION: 954-462-0222; MiniaciPAC.com

[constellationguy]

Say That We’re Sweethearts Again

TW ⚠️: murder, attempted murder, blood, physical violence, domestic violence

“Oh dear…. How did it come to this my love?” You ask Alastor as you caress his cheek, his head lying on your lap.

“Life used to be a gay thing

A filled with happiness, night and day thing

It was something to have and to hold

But it seems that your love grew cold”

Just like it was today in the snow and ice covered forest.

“I never knew that our romance had ended

Until you poisoned my food”

You debated doing the same but Alastor never let you mess with his food, he was always so particular with everything around him.

“And I thought it was a lark

When you kicked me in the park

But now I think it was rude”

Alastor had a strange way to keep you in line at any cost, at first it was fine but looking back it hurt you more than you thought.

“I never knew that our romance had finished

Until that bottle hit my head”

Another memory that seems so obvious to you now but back then you didn’t have the strength to leave your husband for blowing up and hurting you. Perhaps you should have ran back then, before everything spiraled out of control.

“Though I tried to be aloof

When you pushed me off the roof

I feel our romance is dead”

Just like he was now.

“It wouldn't have been so bad if you'd told me

That someone had taken my place”

Even though this truth hurt deeply if he told you out right, maybe you wouldn’t have had to do what you did.

“But no, you didn't even scold me

You just tried to disfigure my face”

So instances crosses your mind for when you should have left Alastor. Even though he threatened to do so to you, you couldn’t find the courage to harm his face too much, he just looked so peaceful now, unlike how he had been lately.

“You'll never know how my poor heart is breaking

It looks so helpless, but then

Life used to be so placid

Won't you please put back that acid

And say that we're sweethearts again”

Looking back you said so many things to Alastor that your parents would’ve probably killed him for making you say. But to everyone else you both seemed so happy together.

You used to have a loving household, you and Alastor used to live together and love one another. However, now it seems only you love him and only you are still living.

“Oh, how well I remember that night in Bridgeport that was the night you gave me the hotfoot I thought that there was sort of a strange look in your eyes but you smiled, and well, it made everything alright”

The old happy memories start flooding in but maybe they were never happy, it seems only now that Alastor is gone you can see how terrible he used to be.

“Then there was the time we went canoeing and you set fire to my dress you said you pushed me overboard to put out the flame but I never quite understood why you held me under water so long”

Now that you’ve put all the pieces together… it seems odd now that you ended up killing Alastor before he killed you seeing how many times he tried to end your life.

“Now, I've never met this girl who's taking my place but I wish you all the happiness in the world and if there's anything I can do you know you can always reach me in room number 304 in the General Hospital.”

You are only here now since you told the hospital you were getting another jacket from home for the cold weather.

He’s done so much to hurt you but somehow you still wish him well, in hell that is. You hope that him and that girl can be happy together, should they meet each other after you kill her too.

“Farewell, my sweet”

You set his head back down in the snow, his blood flowing from the bullet wound on his forehead.

“You'll never know how my poor heart is breaking

It looks so helpless, but then”

You might have been helpless then, but now you’ve become a similar monster to your now late husband.

“My love can go just so far

Won't you please put down that crow bar

And say that we're sweethearts again.”

Another phrase you told him once, but as the roles were reversed you felt no remorse as you used the same crow bar to break his leg, just like he threatened to do to you.

Perhaps it was weird to talk the to corpse of your dead husband before you mutated it, but it felt comforting to finally tell Alastor how much he’s hurt you, even if he isn’t present to hear it.

And now that you’ve killed Alastor, you and him would forever be sweethearts, just as it was ment to be. Because everyone knows that people cannot divorce their wife’s after they died, you two will forever be married, just like he promised and you always wanted.

[i-can-read-to-him]

The Wesper Fic Club's Author Spotlight is a post series that aims to feature two to three fic authors a month, randomly selected from a pool of names put forth on our server. The authors are then asked to answer three interview questions, select up to five of their fics for us to feature, and finally, recommend three fics by others in the fandom.

(Note: Our spotlighted fics are not limited to Wesper, though they tend to be a central pairing in most of our authors' featured works.)

This week, we are putting a spotlight on Ashlynn's writing!

Socials: @oneofthewednesdays (Tumblr) | oneofthewednesdays (AO3)

❀

Part One: Author Interview

Q: What’s something you haven’t written yet, but want to write in the future?

A:  So, one of my favorite series when I was in high school was The Mediator series by Meg Cabot. I was absolutely obsessed with the budding romance between Jesse and Suze. In fact, I used to write for the fandom back in my fanfiction.net days. Those early fics have been purged from the Internet as far as I can tell. Anyway, I want to write a Mediator AU for the Six of Crows fandom. Instead of zowa powers, Jesper can see dead people. These dead people may or may not include the ghost of his mother. In his first year at university, he ends up moving into a room in a building that used to be an inn back in the 1800s. Wylan is haunting his bedroom. (He was murdered en route to a music conservatory back in the day). Jesper decides to solve the mystery of Wylan’s murder, at first because he is annoyed by his ghostly roommate. He wants to force Wylan to move on so he can have his room to himself. But later Jesper begins to care about Wylan, even falling in love with him. If you have read The Mediator series, you already know how it is going to end…. Also, Paul Slater will be played by Kuwei Yul-Bo. If you know, you know.

Q: If you could travel anywhere in the Grishaverse, where would you go?

A: I would travel to Ketterdam to study at the university. I absolutely fell in love with the description in the book, with its crooked little alleyways filled with bookbinders and apothecaries. It reminds me so much of Oxford University in real life. I had the opportunity to conduct archival research at Oxford as a visiting scholar when I was in graduate school. During my two summers in England, I spent hours nestled in the Bodleian Library, surrounded by stacks of books. The design of the Boeksplein is basically the same, but with more interesting gargoyles. I am also about to begin my career as a university professor, so the University of Ketterdam just seems like a good fit… as long as gunfights don’t break out in the reading room.

Q: Apart from sight, what is your favourite of the senses to describe when writing?

A: I absolutely love writing with sound, especially words with subtle onomatopoeia. I love the rustle of leaves on a crisp autumn morning, and the murmur of the wind through the branches of a willow tree. I draw quite a bit of inspiration from Edgar Allan Poe here. When I was young, I fell in love with his description of a heartbeat in “The Tell-Tale Heart.” His poem “The Bells” is absolutely mesmerizing to me, and I borrow sounds from it all the time. Indeed, Poe talks quite a bit about the importance of sound in creating mood in one of his essays—“The Philosophy of Composition”—and it is something I think about quite a bit when I write. I love to use the ticking of clocks and the dripping of water to stretch silences. Finally, I absolutely love movies like the Quiet Place franchise because they are a study in soundscapes. In another life, I think it would have been really cool to become a foley artist in the film industry.

❀

Part Two: Selected Works

Sleep No More

Teen | 51.1K | Wesper Modern AU, NYC, Homelessness, Angst with a Happy Ending

Sleep No More is my love letter to New York City. In the opening scene, Wylan wakes up on the 7-train as it leaves the tunnel at Hunters Point Avenue. The glare flickers beneath his eyelids, making it impossible to sleep.  I took the same commute on the 7-train for several years when I was working out at a school in Queens. I would spend over an hour on the train, listening to Crooked Kingdom and other audiobooks on my commute. On one of those commutes, I started to consider the challenges Wylan would face as an unhoused teenager in the city. The story evolved from there to include alternating point-of-view chapters between Wylan and Jesper, and of course, some guest appearances from other crows, as they work together to outwit Jan Van Eck.

Musée des Beaux Arts

Teen | 24.6K | Gen with background Wesper, Kanej Friendship, Pre-Canon, Post-Canon, Ableism, Happy Ending

I wrote Musée des Beaux Arts during the Six of Crows Big Bang event back in 2022. I wanted to explore how Wylan and Kaz complement each other as character foils throughout the series. Therefore, the story includes alternating point-of-view chapters, starting with the Queen’s Lady Plague. The title comes from a poem of the same name by W.H. Auden, and I tried to incorporate themes from that poem throughout the story. The poem, in particular, discusses a Pieter Bruegel painting called Landscape with the Fall of Icarus. Therefore, artwork plays a central role throughout the narrative. Each chapter shares a title with a famous painting from the Dutch Golden Age. My favorite chapter is probably the third because I had so much fun writing Jesper. 

Sankta Margaretha and Other Tales Of Sorrow

Teen | 18.4K | Kanej  Hurt/Comfort, Family, Angst, Implied/Referenced Non-con

This was the first story that I ever wrote for the Six of Crows fandom, and it is easily my most popular fic. It follows Mama and Papa Ghafa on their journey to Ketterdam to reunite with their daughter. I had so much fun developing the unique narrative voices for both Mama Ghafa and Papa Ghafa. The Lives of the Saints features heavily in this fic as well. I fell in love with the story of Sankta Margaretha when I first read it, and I wanted to infuse as much of that mythos into the story as possible. It is, at its core, a story about faith and forgiveness. Plus, I got to write one of my favorite interactions between Papa Ghafa and Kaz Brekker. 

Escapology

Teen | 2.2K | Gen  Modern AU, Escape Rooms, Friendship, Humor

Escapology is such a self-indulgent little fic. I am an escape room enthusiast in real life. I have traveled to multiple cities with my friends to complete escape rooms. We have, to date, done thirty-nine rooms together as a team. I wanted to explore the chaotic energy of a Modern AU where the Crows work together to escape an Ice Court-themed escape room. Kuwei is their poor, exhausted gamemaster.  If we ever get our Six of Crows spin-off, I need Netflix to create an exclusive Ice Court escape room in real life. Can you imagine how fun it would be? 

Pas De Deaux 

Teen | 9.7K | Wesper Holidays, Healing, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Post-Canon

I am so fond of this little fic, and not very many people have read it compared to some of the others, but I am not surprised because it was a winter fic that was published well after the winter holidays. It is heavily inspired by the Soldier Prince story in The Language of Thorns, which was in turn heavily inspired by The Nutcracker Suite. Wylan is struggling with less-than-happy memories during Nachtspel, and Jesper helps him make new memories. I started this story writing the kiss at the end, and then had to write nine thousand words to actually get to the kiss.

❀

Part Three: Author's Recs

Bright Morning Stars by endoftheworld 

Mature | 163.5K | Wesper Hunger Games Crossover, Canon Typical Violence, Rebellion

This is the second story in Now We Are All Chosen Ones. While I would encourage you to read the opening story in the series first, it can absolutely stand on its own as a self-contained story. Jesper has always known that he would be reaped for the Hunger Games. It was only a matter of time. Meanwhile, Wylan is the son of the president, and he begins to realize that he is being watched. Bright Morning Stars keeps you on the edge of your seat from start to finish, and I absolutely love how the author wove together Six of Crows and the Hunger Games. 

hybrid signal by pyrrhlc

Mature | 110K | Kanej with background Wesper, Helnik  Fairy Tale Curses, Haunted House, Monster Kaz, Hurt/Comfort

Written through the lens of a Beauty and the Beast AU, this is an absolutely gorgeous exploration of not only the love between Kaz and Inej, but also the meaning of forgiveness in all its forms. The worldbuilding is stunning, and I loved how the enchantment transformed each of the crows. There are tragic notes to it, of course, there is an eventual happy ending. 

crystal cut by twosoulsinonehome

Mature | 107K | Wesper Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Figure Skating, Hurt/Comfort

I have reread this fic at least three times since the final chapter was posted in February. It is a figure skating AU. I know nothing about figure skating. However, I was absolutely entranced by the annoyances-to-lovers dynamic throughout the fic. Wylan is a figure skater. Jesper is his coach. Will they kill each other before the end of the season? Or will they kiss each other senseless instead? (Who am I kidding? You already know the answer to that question.)

❀

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[burningvelvet]

one of my favorite excerpts from charlotte brontë's jane eyre (1847), taken from chapter 15:

"'You never felt jealousy, did you, Miss Eyre? Of course not: I need not ask you; because you never felt love. You have both sentiments yet to experience: your soul sleeps; the shock is yet to be given which shall waken it. You think all existence lapses in as quiet a flow as that in which your youth has hitherto slid away. Floating on with closed eyes and muffled ears, you neither see the rocks bristling not far off in the bed of the flood, nor hear the breakers boil at their base. But I tell you — and you mark my words — you will come some day to a craggy pass of the channel, where the whole of life's stream will be broken up into whirl and tumult, foam and noise: either you will be dashed to atoms on crag points, or lifted up and borne on by some master wave into a calmer current — as I am now.

'I like this day: I like that sky of steel; I like the sternness and stillness of the world under this frost. I like Thornfield; its antiquity; its retirement; its old crow-trees and thorn-trees; its grey facade, and lines of dark windows reflecting that metal welkin: and yet how long have I abhorred the very thought of it; shunned it like a great plague-house! How I do still abhor ——'

He ground his teeth and was silent: he arrested his step and struck his boot against the hard ground. Some hated thought seemed to have him in its grip, and to hold him so tightly that he could not advance.

We were ascending the avenue when he thus paused; the hall was before us. Lifting his eye to its battlements, he cast over them a glare such as I never saw before or since. Pain, shame, ire — impatience, disgust, detestation — seemed momentarily to hold a quivering conflict in the large pupil dilating under his ebon eyebrow. Wild was the wrestle which should be paramount; but another feeling rose and triumphed: something hard and cynical; self-willed and resolute: it settled his passion and petrified his countenance: he went on:

'During the moment I was silent, Miss Eyre, I was arranging a point with my destiny. She stood there, by that beech-trunk — a hag like one of those who appeared to Macbeth on the heath of Forres. 'You like Thornfield?' she said, lifting her finger; and then she wrote in the air a memento, which ran in lurid hieroglyphics all along the house-front, between the upper and lower row of windows. 'Like it if you can!' 'Like it if you dare!'

'I will like it,' said I. 'I dare like it;' and (he subjoined moodily) I will keep my word: I will break obstacles to happiness, to goodness — yes, goodness; I wish to be a better man than I have been; than I am — as Job's leviathan broke the spear, the dart, and the habergeon, hinderances which others count as iron and brass, I will esteem but straw and rotten wood.'"

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

The Phoenix and the Crow

part five

pairing: (in the making) kaz brekker x fem!reader

genre: neutural

el's thoughts: this one has a lot of action haha and was a bit harder to get through, but here it is! hope y'all like it! please remember to reblog and comment :)

series masterlist

The inferni rushed over to the brunette and wrapped her in a tight hug, “Oh, I’ve missed you!” Nina gasped in surprise, “Y/N! What in Saint’s sake are you doing here of all places?” Y/N chuckled, “I thought I needed a vacation. Look where and with who I’ve ended up.” 

Kaz looked between the two grisha. “And how do you two know each other?” 

“The little palace.” They replied together.

Wylan shuffled his feet once the silence settled in the workshop. “Can I get anyone some tea?”

Kaz rolled his eyes at Wylan and turned back to Nina, “You worked with Arken.”

“It was more of a limited partnership.” Nina shrugged while she kept an arm wrapped around Y/N’s shoulders. 

“Did you trust him?” Kaz was expecting a certain answer.

Nina scoffed, “That turncoat? Not on your life. He was shadier than an oak at three bells.”

Kaz looked satisfied, “What’s your price?”

“I’ve expended the legal avenues on my problem. Every clerk in the city says the same thing. ‘The judge will see you in six months.’” Nina’s voice grew frustrated at the reminder of being turned down and away time and time again.

“And so you’re looking for the not-so-legal route on… What, exactly?”

“I’m told you could free someone from Hellgate.”

Kaz looked towards Inej and she stood there unmoving, both their eyes were calculating, but one pair was colder than the other. 

“Hellgate? Who do you need from Hellgate?” Y/N asked.

“Someone, I say as if he’s anyone, and in truth, he’s the love of my life,” Nina spoke while looking between Y/N and Kaz. The inferni smiled with pride at the thought of her good friend finding love. Kaz on the other hand pursed his lips in thought and tilted his head, “I can’t get you a release from Hellgate.” Nina nodded in acceptance before he spoke up again, “But I can get you a visit. In exchange for your services.”

“What do you need me for?”

“The aftermath.”

Everyone stared at him as he walked up the steps, “Follow me.” Y/N and Nina stood in place for a moment before Inej spoke up. “He does this.” She turned to follow the others as the two grisha women shared a look, “Does he?”

The group of six walked up and out onto the roof now having a great view of the city. Continuing to follow him, they all lined up beside each other waiting expectantly for Kaz to say something. “Brick by brick.”

Inej looked up at Jesper beside her with furrowed eyebrows seconds before an explosion went off. The large puff of fire and smoke seemed almost unreal as the screams of citizens could barely be heard over the distance.

“What was that?” Jesper’s voice was shaken as he spoke.

“The Crow Club.”

The zemini turned to Wylan, “Was that yours?” The brown-haired boy didn’t respond but looked down in guilt as he realized what he’d helped Kaz do.

Y/N spoke, starting hesitantly, “I take it we’re now in the aftermath?”

“This doesn’t help us clear our name, Kaz. This is war with Pekka Rollins, the King of the Barrel.”

Kaz’s face had no emotion written across it, he held his composer well. “The Barrel doesn’t belong to kings.” He turned on his heel and walked back to the door they came from, “It belongs to bastards.”

~

Crows symbolize prophecy, transformation, change, and freedom. They also remember faces, the people who’ve wronged them, and the people who’ve shown them kindness. ‘It makes sense.’ Y/N thought to herself. Revenge was something that seemed to plague Kaz’s mind, while that alone would be pure danger in a shot glass… He had Inej and Jesper to balance him out. Together they’re still dangerous but more sensible if only Kaz was able to sit and hear his crew out. Their feelings and thoughts, if everything was on the table and sorted properly, would be a well-shaken cocktail.

Y/N walked through the door of the restaurant and quickly found the table her group was seated at. Nina, Wylan, and Inej sat on one side of the booth while Jesper and Kaz sat on the other. “Sorry, I’m late. I got distracted.” She looked at Kaz expectantly, waiting for him to stand or slide into the booth to make room for her. He scowled before he stood up and let her slide in next to Jesper. 

“Move closer,” Jesper muttered in her ear causing her to glance at him confused but she moved either way, leaving more space for Kaz.

“Back to topic. If you hate him so much, why not just hire me to kill him?” Nina asked, “Or why hire me at all? Your sharpshooter or your Wraith could take him out, easy.”

“It’s not enough to kill him.” Kaz’s voice was rough as if it was difficult to speak.

Inej and Jesper shared a look while Nina and Y/N did the same. 

“Killing him doesn’t help clear our names. That’s why I need all of you, so I can hang everything back on him.”

Y/N hummed as Inej responded. “And we are the pawns who enact your personal vendetta?”

“The three of us are under equal jeopardy. And if they catch us, we can’t protect you.” His coffee-brown eyes bore into Wylan before he shifted his gaze to Nina. “And you’ll have to turn to Pekka to see your man. No doubt with some very unappealing conditions attached.”

“All of that in mind,” Jesper spoke. “I mean, Inej and I need to know the plan.”

Wylan nodded, “Um, yes, I… I, too, would like to know the plan.” He crossed his arms over his chest after speaking. The inferni and bastard’s eyes moved in sync down to his crossed arms and back to his face. One pair was filled with amusement and endearment while the other was filled with the exact opposite.

Kaz scanned the restaurant quickly before shifting his body to the side, “To get leverage on him, I need to know the scope of his business, inside-out. There are two easy to learn this. This first is by following his private driver, and tracking his schedule. Second, his accountant, Henrik Van Poel. If I get access to Pekka’s books, it’ll tell me everything I need to know. So, we need to get into that building.”

Inej pulled the small curtain open and everyone turned to look at the building across the street. 

“It’s where his accountant works. Although, there’s no way of knowing which office.” Nina stood from the table, took the menu, and walked away. Kaz paid no mind and continued, “That’s the mission. It looks like a typical office building, but it has a number of subtle features.”

Y/N zoned out of the conversation. ‘How’d I get from being a soldier to being a thief?’ Nina came back and sat down with a waffle on her plate. Kaz stared at her in disbelief, “I need you with me while I copy Henrik’s books.” He turned to face the girl beside him, “You as well. Gunfire will only draw attention, but a Heartrender-” 

“Has many skills. Yes, like this.” Nina finished swallowing her bite of waffle. “Second floor, second-last door on the left.” Everyone stared at her in confusion. 

After a moment Kaz asked, “What?”

“Henrik's office.” She replied in an obvious tone and turned to Inej, “Do you mind?” She nodded at the empty glass and pitcher of water. “How do you know this?” Inej asked as she passed the water. “I asked the waitress.”

“How did she know?” Jesper asked in utter shock.

“People who work in places like that, they eat in places like this. And sometimes they get meals delivered.” Y/N spoke up this time.

Nina nodded, “Yes, exactly. So I said, ‘Um, excuse me, but I have a delivery and I can’t read the directions.’ Ta-da.”

Jesper chuckled, “I like having her around.”

“And I like truth. You said you’d get me in to see Matthias.”

Kaz nodded his head slowly, clearly impressed with her skills. “You’ll get your visit to Hellgate.”

~

Y/N climbed up the stairs to the roof where Jesper said Kaz was waiting. She had gone with Inej to scope out the building so they have a basic idea of what they were getting themselves into. 

“What did you find?” 

His voice startled her a bit since his back was facing her. “There’s a doorman even after hours, and a pair of roving guards in the halls. But Inej can get you in through a window as long as Nina and myself watch the front.”

“If this goes sideways, tell the others to regroup at the Black Veil. Get the Heartrender. We leave in ten.”

She hesitated and sighed, “Her name is Nina.” She walked closer to him, “Does your crew know what happened between you and Rollins?” She didn’t quite know his full story, but she did know that the two had a history. That was what was fueling his thirst for revenge.

He looked back at her, “All they need to know is that I have a reason. And you need to know even less.”

She rolled her eyes, “There’s enough secrecy in the crew as is, Brekker.”

“Secrecy is the only way to survive the Barrel, Y/L/N.” His voice was harsh, getting on her last nerve.

“So keeping us, keeping your friends in the dark is about survival?”

“Now you’re getting it.”

She hummed, “Their survival or yours?” She received only silence as an answer. “Trust is the other side of secrecy, Kaz. I know I’ve done nothing to earn your trust, but they do. Especially Inej and Jesper, but you’ve instilled such fear into them that they can’t even talk to you about it.” She quickly reined in her tone and temper, “It’d do you good to remember that.” She quickly turned back to the door and walked back down the stairs. 

~

Nina leaned against the wall as Y/N looked around her up and down the street. “Clear.” The pair walked slowly across the street. “Why must I be the drunk one?” Y/N whined quietly. 

“‘Cause I’m the one who’s gonna knock him out.” 

“Doesn’t explain why-” 

Nina yanked the inferni’s arm over her shoulder and kicked her leg out just a little so she was leaning into her side. They made it to the front steps when the doorman stopped in front of them.

“Ooh. Closed up for the night.”

Nina chuckled, “Uh, We’ll just be a minute. I, uh, need to use the loo.”

“You can go down the street to Manny’s pub. They’re open.” He pointed to a building down the road where the lights shined brighter.

“They won’t let us back in there… Not since we drank the barkeep under the table.” She chuckled as Y/N giggled and let a hiccup slip through her lips.

The doorman laughed and looked the Heartrender up and down, “I do like a woman who can hold her liquor.”

“Oh, well, I, uh, can’t hold it everywhere.” She said in a sing-song voice. Y/N giggled again and started humming. “So, do you mind?” She finished.

He cleared his throat, “Not tonight. Sorry, love.”

Nina rolled her eyes and threw up her hands, quickly slowing his heart down. Y/N stood up as the man fell forward onto Nina. “Oof, okay.” She placed him down on the steps. 

“Sorry, love.” The inferni mocked as the pair walked to the door and slipped through.

They made it to the second floor in a hurry, their heels causing a slight echo in the otherwise silent halls. “I thought there were guards in the halls,” Nina asked. Y/N nodded, “There were supposed to be.” The brunette shrugged, “Down that side.” Y/N walked to the office door and pushed it open slowly finding the room empty for just a moment before Kaz appeared in the window.

They were silently sorted through files and heavy books when a heavily accented voice spoke from behind them.

“Fine night, ain’t it, Brekker?”

Kaz slowly looked up as Pekka Rollins turned on an oil lamp on the desk. Guards stood on the other side of the door. ‘We’re trapped.’ “Burning the midnight oil, are we?” Kaz asked.

“I thought I’d cut to the chase.” Pekka ignored Y/N entirely, keeping his attention solely on Kaz. “You can’t show your faces at my clubs and my brothels to pull threads on me, so where would you go?” Kaz stayed silent. “Step away from the desk.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want blood on my furniture. My numbers man’ll bill me for it, and, well, you’ve already cost me enough money by blowing up my club.”

Kaz’s fist clenched as he leaned forward, “My club.”

Pekka hummed in amusement, “Before I kill you, I want you to know that I brought in a madman to capture your Wraith. Sorry. My Wraith.”

Both Y/N and Kaz turned to the window and saw a man in a fur mask climb up the rope that lead to Inej. A low groan was heard from the back of her throat. 

“I fixed up the cellar at the Menagerie, got the best shackles that money can buy.” 

Kaz’s face dropped as anger boiled in the pit of Y/N’s stomach.

“Oh, and I got my man to lay a trap for your gunslinger.”

‘He was outnumbered and outsmarted… Again.’

Kaz only clenched his fist and tightened his grip on his cane.

“Clean sweep, Brekker. All that will be left will be my little spider, back in her cage. Ooh, I’m going to sleep well.”

The door was pushed open and Y/N saw Nina down the hall. Pekka saw her through the glass on the door. “Heartrender!”

“Meet the newest member of my crew.” Kaz held the door still so Nina could see Pekka clearly through the glass as well. The guard on the floor gathered enough strength when Rollins fell to the floor to raise his arm and fire at Nina. She fell backward when the bullet hit her arm. Kaz dived behind the desk and Y/N fell down beside him when gunshots were fired at them.

“Kaz, let me-”

“No.”

The gunshots didn’t let up as grunts were barely heard from the hall. “It’s over, Brekker!” Pekka shouted over the gunfire. Kaz pulled out two small bombs from his pocket and a lighter. He tried to start the lighter but no flicker of fire came from it. He cursed under his breath before Y/N scoffed, “Oh, hand it over.” She pulled the bombs from his hands, snapped her fingers, and lit the fuses before throwing them over to the other side of the desk. Kaz stared at her as she brought her hands over her ears. “Ears!” She shouted at him and he quickly covered his ears right before the bombs went off.

~

“Black Veil is a cemetery?” 

No one answered Y/N’s question as they kept walking, crossing paths with Jesper and Wylan.

“Assuming you got ambushed too?” Jesper asked.

“Oh, yeah, so many of them, I lost count,” Nina said, slightly out of breath. 

“I got what I needed, and Wylan’s bombs took take of the rest.”

Y/N scoffed at him as they followed and waited while he pushed open a large tomb, Inej was leaning on her heavily. “Get her inside,” Kaz instructed. Nina followed the other two girls inside without question. The clicking of the crow cane was familiar at this point and brought a weird sense of peace to Y/N as she lead the group blindly through the tomb.

~*~*~*~

taglist: @rachelcarroll1819 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @khaleesihavilliard @simrah1012 @foulkryptonitepeanut @astridyoo15 @queenofshinigamis @peakyispunk @jahayla-parker @maliciousbrekker @writingmysanity @brekkershadowsinger @winstonthecow22 @lee-says-things

[edupunkn00b]

Hey hey Edu! I am having a day™️today and I have been thinking about why it is so hard for me to reread "What Might Have Been", but not "The Uses of Adversity"

Buckle up, there are spoilers for anyone who somehow has not read those masterpieces already

So, I think, I figured out my difficulty with WMHB is that at the core, I can barely cope with how much Remus spirals in that fic. The way he loses his grasp on himself more and more, the way his mind offers him another reality to deal with the how his life is getting out of order just- it did blindside me. Not because it's unrealistic or because you wrote it badly.

I think it just took me so off-guard after reading Happily Ever After where Remus, may have struggled but ended up helping Logan so often. Like, there is this underlying strength in his character that I adored. This hope and playfulness that never seized to show up.

And then he falls apart. It all falls apart and shatters. And I know that people do that. I know that characters do that and that it creates so much more interesting stories.

Later in different tidbits you show us how Remus was, versions of Remus and how he self-destructed before. You showed us better versions of himself, where he gets help earlier, chooses different paths, is able to choose different paths.

So it makes sense that he spirals, gets worse than ever before.

It just hurts so much because to me, it felt like he had it already. It felt like he was out of the woods. It felt like he had gotten better and was stronger than this. But the problem is that healing isn't linear. Sometimes you don't heal at all. Sometimes you just deal with the chipped state you're in.

And I think that was the thing that hurt. That Remus wasn't broken, but chipped. He seemed fine. He seemed to be doing well, to adjust, to grow. But he wasn't really broken, he was just chipped. He is chipped. And that is not something to be fixed but to be dealt with. And it's exhausting and tiresome if you don't know how to do it or have lost the motivation to do it.

But in TUoA we have Logan. And this version of Logan, who has suffered so much and is hurt and fearful and so very much in pain is less painful for me to see than WMHB Remus could ever be. Because that Logan has been broken. That Logan has been irreparably changed and will never be the same again.

And yet. And yet he gets the chance to become someone new. He gets the chance to be put back together in a new way. He gets to have Roman by his side, who looks at his broken pieces with love and care and is with him anyway.

And I think that hit less hard than what happened with Remus and feels more hopeful to me even though I understand that there is much more to come for Logan in that universe. But maybe, he'll be spared to have his son admitted to a mental hospital. Maybe he'll he spared to see his love fall apart because of something he couldn't have.

Maybe at least this portion of his life ends up being gentler than what WMHB would have given him.

Yeah.

I am very normal about your fics.

Kudos.

First of all, all the hugs in the world for you, Eir <3. You are beautiful inside and out and I hope you know that your stories touch me in so many of the same ways you're describing. (Most especially Life on Crow Avenue and Words Are Hard.) <3

I first read your note last night and had to sit with it because you're right, at the core of Remus' journey in What Might Have Been is the terrible truth that mental illness doesn't just go away. It can be managed to varying levels but it won't ever simply 'heal' like a cold or a broken leg. It's always there with us.

That was a difficult lesson for me to learn and one I'm probably still learning. I knew it intellectually but there have been times when life decided I needed to really learn it.

So many of us are those chipped cups, sitting on a shelf or serving some purpose. Just like those chipped cups, some of us break more easily than someone who has never been cracked and we do require extra care.

When I wrote Happily Ever After, I intended it to be a fairy tale. A fantasy, my fantasy, of what my life could have been like had I had friends like Janus and Roman in my life during my darkest times. Of how much stronger and better I could be if I'd had the support they gave him over the years.

I structured it like a fairy tale, took every chapter title from the first line of famous books. Logan started the story sad but unbroken, still surrounded by love and support. He ended the story discovering what I discovered about my self, ended the story with love for him and promising futures for his children. It was my dream fairy tale ending.

And it was completely unrealistic.

After sitting with the story for bit, I wanted to see how that might have actually happened, what a real ending to Logan's story might have been like, because if I could make Logan's fairy tale ending more realistic, I could make it realistic for me, too. That if in the more realistic version when Remus couldn't just bounce back again this time, if in even that version, he and Logan (and Janus and Roman and all of them) could still find a happy ending, I knew I could, too.

The Uses of Adversity is the same tale but backwards. What could possibly lead Logan to a happy ending when he started without Janus as a friend? The first part of TUoA, It Could Always Be Worse was very dark and was nearly even darker. I wasn't sure how it would end until I got to the last chapter. The original tags included an "author chose not to use Archive warnings" tag because that story nearly ended very differently.

Strangely, The Uses of Adversity, as straightforward as Logan and Roman's love story was, was much harder to write than WMHB or any of the other tales.

I hope that for every person who can't ever go back to WMHB, there's a person who reads it and can see that happy endings aren't just for fairy tales. That we can go through it all and still find a way to happiness in the end. That, chipped and broken and spiraling, there's always another chance for us to pick ourselves up or to allow ourselves be picked up, and keep on going toward a place of warmth and joy.

No matter what we've been through, it's never too late to build joyful connections with other people. It's never too late for a happy ending.

[hazelnut-u-out]

My "Morty Deserves More Relevance" rant:

My main criticism of S6 of “Rick and Morty” so far is that Morty hasn’t had nearly enough relevance to the season on any front for one of the two main protagonists. 

I could probably excuse this if the show had been rather Rick-focused for the majority of its run, but the show has been about BOTH of these characters since the get-go. 

I’m not someone that generally tries to hide my Morty bias. I relate to Morty in a lot of ways, and I don’t think that’s uncommon. 

I think that the writers currently have more of a Rick bias (or, at least, find it more important to tell his story or show things more in terms of how they effect him). 

I want to preface this by saying that I DO believe that Rick has a right to heal, grow, and get better. I guess I’m just saying that it’s not on us to forgive him. 

I think that the writers kind of needed to put Morty to the side for a bit– to have him pushed into the background in favor of Rick– because it’s really difficult to begin to empathize with/feel bad for an abuser when the impact of their behavior on their victim is staring you right in the face. 

(I rewatched the series to make this post, and GOD is some of Rick's behavior downright sickening and inexcusable in seasons 1-4...)

I don’t think that anyone else can forgive Rick for what he’s done to Morty. Only Morty can do that. 

Again, I’m not saying that Rick doesn’t deserve the right to heal, but I don’t think that he should get to dictate the pace of the healing in their dynamic. I think this is why I have a hard time feeling bad for Rick in terms of Morty developing agency. 

Rick most definitely deserves sympathy and support for what happened to him before he came into Morty’s life, but I have to say that I find Morty’s story a lot more tragic than Rick’s. Morty’s story is one about child abuse– about becoming a victim and having your identity swallowed alive as it’s dictated by the actions of an abuser. 

Take the events of “Forgetting Sarick Mortshall,” for example. I think this is one of the episodes that really puts into perspective the extent of Morty’s trauma bond with Rick, and how that can manifest in a victim. When you’re a victim of an abuser, one of the only avenues of control you have is deciding whether to stay in the situation or leave. That is literally all Morty has. He tries to put his foot down only for Rick to “cold shoulder” him, which is ultimately just another manipulation tactic. He wanted Morty to be afraid of losing the only real connection he has left. That’s how narcissistic abuse works: they isolate you from every other reliable relationship in your life so that you are entirely dependent upon their approval. When Rick drops the bombshell at the end of the episode that he’s going to be leaving with the crows, that literally strips Morty of any control he had at all. Morty is left with absolutely NO choice anymore- not even to cooperate with Rick or not. 

When something like that happens to a victim– when an abuser decides that they are the one who gets to dictate healing and growth– it’s technically within their rights to leave, grow, and heal, but it strips the victim of the only sense of autonomy that was left intact for them. It’s like one last vengeful powerplay, and we can see that play out in Morty’s decisions thereafter. 

We see him desperately grasp for any control of the situation back, because he (the VICTIM) wasn’t ready for this to happen, yet. 

I’m not saying that Morty isn’t a flawed character, but I think that a lot of people tend to forget about the fact that he is a CHILD, who wouldn’t otherwise be involved in the morally gray situations he’s in if he hadn’t been consistently neglected, used, and abused. 

Every fucked up thing that Morty has done has been as a child who, truthfully, doesn’t know better because of the way his worldview has been consistently skewed. He’s put in these situations time and time again that force him to stray from his own moral compass. Rick even goes out of his way (like in “The Vat of Acid Episode”) to intentionally manipulate Morty into thinking that anything he wants to do that would stray from what Rick thinks is best will only result in more harm to other people. 

There are other episodes that enforce this kind of philosophy (straying from Rick’s corrupt set of rules and regulations must be the only way to prevent death and destruction– even though that often means actively choosing death and destruction at face value), such as “Mortynight Run,” “Auto Erotic Assimilation,” etc. 

Rick, on the other hand, is the adult in the situation. Everything fucked up Rick has done throughout the course of the show was done as an adult, who most definitely DID know better. 

The core of this show is literally a “hardened adult meets naive child” trope, and I think that a lot of people have lost sight of the reason that Rick’s healing should feel so satisfying in the long run. The whole point of rooting for Rick’s healing in the first place is set up to be about giving Morty the grandpa he deserves. Morty basically has no one in his corner other than Rick, and Rick is riddled with an inky sickness that bleeds and infects Morty with every movement of his character that is too quick or abrasive. It’s important to give Morty the chance to view the world as an actual child might while he still has a bit of that  innocence left inside of him– in the same way it’s important to give Rick the opportunity to foster that innocence instead of crush it for once. 

I think that a lot of people (writers included) have started to view Rick’s “Crybaby Backstory” as an excuse for his shitty behavior over the first 5 seasons, when there really aren’t any valid excuses for what he’s put Morty through. There are only reasons that he did what he did, not excuses. Viewing these reasons as excuses for child abuse means that some people inevitably view the situation as not requiring communication, confessions, and apologies in order to right Rick’s wrongs with Morty– but those things are NEEDED in order for this to feel EARNED. Changing and growing without acknowledging the effort and will to change with the needs, wants, and feelings of the victim taken into account isn’t really conducive to change or growth in ANY character. 

99.9% of abusers exist within a cycle of trauma, and this plays a huge reason in why I have such a difficult time letting Rick’s trauma serve as a satisfying excuse for his actions towards Morty. 

I feel like a lot of the same people who allow Rick’s past to serve as an excuse are the same people who tend to hold Morty 100% accountable, but I would go out on the line to say that Morty’s actions are almost always more excusable than Rick’s. While being an adult who was traumatized but knew better isn’t a reasonable excuse, it IS a reasonable excuse to be a traumatized child who doesn’t know any better. 

A good example of this would be in “Solaricks” when Cronenberg Jerry calls Morty out for leaving them and talking about them like they weren’t people. It’s pretty obvious that the audience is supposed to agree with Jerry here, but it falls flat for me. Nothing about that situation was actually Morty’s fault, ESPECIALLY the initial leaving of the Prime Dimension in “Rick Potion No. 9.” Rick was the adult in that situation, and Morty couldn’t have known better if he’d wanted to. 

Morty is an insert character for anyone who has ever been abused/manipulated as a child, and I think that it’s not only a disservice to Morty, but also all of those people who connected with his journey, to essentially erase any relevance his feelings had to the plot of the show. I think that completely setting his relevance to the show aside was a real mishandle of his character by the writers. I understand that it would have made an exploration of Rick’s character progression feel less linear and clean cut, but I can’t say that I wouldn’t want to see Morty gain some agency in his relationship with Rick. I genuinely don’t care that Morty’s character progression has pushed him to be less compliant and more stand-offish with Rick, even if Rick is actively changing. Morty deserves to be angry. That would have felt earned– and it would have made Rick’s development towards being a more soft/docile familial figure and someone who cares about doing the right/noble thing a lot more earned, too. 

Sometimes, growth is hard. Getting better is hard. It’s so challenging to move on from being an abuser because it’s one of the most difficult things in the world to look at the carnage you’ve left in your wake and actively pick up the pieces of the people you’ve broken. It sucks to have to face your actions and realize that no one is obligated to forgive you, and that you don’t get to spend an indefinite amount of time being an abuser and then expect to dictate when people feel bad for you. That’s ultimately what’s fair, though, because you aren’t the victim.

It’s unfair for Morty to not get to share his opinion on the matter all that much when the audience’s opinion of Rick shifts to something more positive and soft. We should at least get to see some of how this has effected Morty in the present.

Morty deserves his own “Morty goes to therapy” episode. Morty deserves his own solo scenes where he lumbers off to his room and breaks down. Morty deserves to be sad and broken and irreparably damaged in the eyes of the audience as much as Rick does. I love Rick– I really, really do– but I think that part of loving Rick is rooting for his relationship with Morty to get better, too– and the reality of how all of this is effecting Morty as an equal has been a bit lost this season. 

I hope that we get a more Morty-centric season next season, or at least a good handful of Morty-centric episodes that push Rick to the background in favor of Morty’s perspective to balance everything out.

[relatableblorbopoll]

Preliminaries

Here's how it will work:

The first round will consist of 18 polls of 6 participants each, the first two places get a place on the bracket

For the second round, there will be 12 polls of 6 participants each, the first two places get a place on the bracket

The third round will consist of 4 polls of 12 participants each where there will be a (metaphorical) knife battle to the death where only one character from each poll will get in the bracket

All pairings of groups are randomly generated

Check after the read more for the full list of participants and for the groups of the first round of preliminaries

Group 1 poll

Nimona (Nimona)

Twelfth Doctor (Doctor Who)

Blue/Green Oak (Pokémon Green/Blue/Red)

Jack Reacher (Reacher Series)

Tsubakura Enraku (Len'en Project)

Albedo (Genshin Impact)

Group 2 poll

Jessica Day (New Girl)

Daniel LaRusso (Karate Kid)

Omota Uramichi (Life Lessons with Uramichi Oniisan)

Jack Spicer (Xiaolin Showdown)

Hatsune Miku (Vocaloid)

Eichi Tenshouin (Ensemble Stars)

Group 3 poll

Conner Bailey (The Land of Stories)

Lucy Honeychurch (A Room With A View)

Greg Heffley (Diary of a Wimpy Kid)

Gideon Nav (The Locked Tomb)

Akaashi Keiji (Haikyuu!!)

Burgerpants (Undertale)

Group 4 poll

Legosi (Beastars)

Stephen Stills (Scott Pilgrim comics)

Sunny (Omori)

Tony Stark (Marvel Avengers)

Rookie (Club Penguin)

Charlie Morningstar (Hazbin Hotel)

Grupo 5 poll

Melissa Chase (Milo Murphy’s Law)

Candace Flynn (Phineas and Ferb)

V-Flower (Vocaloid)

Ciaphas Cain (Warhammer 40k)

Percy Jackson (Percy Jackson series)

MK (Lego Monkie Kid)

Group 6 poll

Jesper Fahey (Six of Crows)

Crowley (Good Omens)

Dave Strider (Homestuck)

Junior (Total Drama Presents: The Ridonculous Race)

Kim Dokja (Omnicient Reader's Viewpoint)

Donutella (Tokidoki)

Group 7 poll

Rigby (Regular Show)

Angua (Discworld)

Cao Weining (Word of Honor)

Aang (Avatar: The Last Air Bender)

Okuyasu Nijimura (Jojo's Bizarre Adventure)

Shin Tsukimi (Your Turn to Die)

Group 8 poll

Stanford Pines (Gravity Falls)

Miles "Tails" Prower (Sonic The Hedgehog Franchise)

Jonathan Sims (The Magnus Archives)

Ford Prefect (The Hitchhiker’s guide to the Galaxy)

Shaun Murphy (The Good Doctor)

Sonic (Sonic The Hedgehog Franchise)

Group 9 poll

Overlord (Bad End Theater)

Denji (Chainsaw Man)

Abed Nadir (NBC Community)

Entrapta (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)

Gren (The Dragon Prince)

Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg (Ride The Cyclone)

Group 10 poll

Nagisa Ran (Ensemble Stars)

Waver Velvet (Fate series /The Case Files of Lord El-Melloi II)

Shuichi Saihara (Danganronpa V3)

Opossums (real life)

Midori Takamine (Ensemble Stars!! Music)

Seven of nine (Star Trek)

Group 11 poll

Mae Borowski (Night in the Woods)

Shigeo Kageyama / Mob (Mob Psycho 100)

Barry the Quokka (The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog)

Kaveh (Genshin Impact)

Yusuke Kitagawa (Persona 5)

Nanami Kento (Jujutsu Kaisen)

Group 12 poll

Rod (Avenue Q)

Missi (Vampair Series)

Lia (The Music Freaks)

Sand (Only Friends)

Pa Jindapat (Bad Buddy)

Sara Murphy (Milo Murphy’s Law)

Group 13 poll

Cecil Gershwin Palmer (Welcome to Night Vale)

Noah (Total Drama Series)

Basil (Omori)

Stanley Pines (Gravity Falls)

Wen Ning (Mo Dao Zu Shi/The Untamed)

Nick (Only Friends)

Group 14 poll

Oz Vessalius (Pandora Hearts)

Sound (My School President)

Luz Noceda (The Owl House)

Gundham Tanaka (Super Danganronpa 2)

Saiki Kusuo (Saiki Kusuo no Psi Nan/The Disastrous Life of Saiki K)

Drew (The Music Freaks)

Group 15 poll

Wen Kexing (Tian Ya Ke / Faraway Wanderers)

Homura Akemi (Puella Magi Madoka Magica)

Nico di Angelo (Percy Jackson Series)

Heinz Doofenshmirtz (Phineas and Ferb)

Reki Kyan (Sk8 the Infinity)

q!Quackity (QSMP)

Group 16 poll

Parker (Leverage)

Gudetama (Sanrio)

Finn the Human (Adventure Time)

Rain O'Fire Frazier (Worm)

Piper Mclean (Heroes of the Olympus)

Norma Khan (Dead End Paranormal Park)

Group 17 poll

Berdly (Deltarune)

Hamlet (Hamlet)

Squidward Tentacles (Spongebob)

Hunter (The Owl House)

Szeth-son-son-Vallano (The Stormlight Archive)

Nami (One Piece)

Group 18 poll

Tobias (Animorphs)

Isaac O'Connor (Paranatural)

Trisana Chandler / Tris (Emelan book series)

Sokka (Avatar: The Last Air Bender)

Haruhi Fujioka (Ouran Highschool Hostclub)

Shinji Ikari (Evangelion)

[carlsdarling]

Playlist

Ok this is probably the weirdest combination of songs you’ve ever seen… there is a reason none of my friends wants to listen to any music with me. But it’s what I listen to when I write and I get a lot of inspiration from it… (yes a lot of 80’s, I just love the spirit of 80’s music a lot, and also some German bands)

Tags: @enid-rhees @wh0reishslxtsstuff

Ease My Mind - The Faim Scorpions – Send Me An Angel Don Henley – The Boys Of Summer The Hunna – Flickin‘ your hair Nightwish – Bless the child Nightwish – End Of All Hope Sirenia – The Path to Decay Sirenia – Lost In Life Blue Oyster Cult – Don’t Fear The Reaper America – The Last Unicorn U96 – Love Sees No Colour Alter Bridge – This Is War Alter Bridge – Open Your Eyes Seether feat. Amy Lee– Broken Pharao – There Is A Star Republica – Out Of The Darkness Bryan Adams – Summer of 69 Thirty Seconds To Mars – This Is War Genesis – In Too Deep Blackmore’s Night – World Of Stone The Cranberries – Zombie Good Charlotte – Life Changes The Killers – Run For Cover The Killers – When You Were Young Biffy Clyro – Black Chandelier Low Shoulder – Through The Trees Madonna – Live To Tell Whitesnake – Is This Love Ronan Keating – Iris Papa Roach – Feel Like Home Guano Apes – Living In A Lie Johnny Cash – Hurt Def Leppard – Hysteria The Naked And Famous – Young Blood The Naked And Famous – Rolling Waves The Naked And Famous – Punching In A Dream Breaking Benjamin – Diary Of Jane Fury In The Slaughterhouse – I won’t forget these days Prime Circle – Ghosts Ed Sheeran – Castle On The Hill My Chemical Romance – Helena Sunrise Avenue – Little Bit Love Rea Garvey – Can’t Say No Kings Of Leon– This Sex Is On Fire Steven Tyler, Red, White And You Churches – Leave A Trace Eddie Money – Take Me Home Tonight ASP – Ungeschickte Liebesbriefe RIVO DREI – Wie Flugzeuge Max Giesinger – Legenden Silbermond - Symphonie Oomph – Augen Auf Eisblume – Eisblumen Echt – Du trägst keine Liebe in dir Unheilig – Geboren, um zu leben Avril Lavigne -Losing Grip White Lies – Bigger Than Us Mumford & Sons – Ditmas Bryan Adams – Run To You U2 – City Of Blinding Lights Red Jumpsuit Apparatus – Face Down The Fray – You Found Me Lifehouse – Hanging By A Moment Lifehouse – Everything Lifehouse - Broken Kim Petras – Can’t Do Better Placebo – Every you, every me Counting Crows – Colorblind Puddle of Mudd – Blurry HIM – Heartache Every Moment HIM – Venus Doom HIM – Behind The Crimson Door HIM – Poison Girl Creed – Higher Sum 41 – Fat Lip Lee Ann Womack – I Hope You Dance Angels And Airwaves – Surrender Staind – Outside Staind – So Far Away Whitney Houston – It’s Not Right But It’s Ok (Thunderpuss Mix) Incubus – Wish You Were Here Disturbed – Prayer Blink-182 – What’s my age again

[babe-a-yaga]

It's a shame the Shadow Dragons really got the shaft for content, because I really just have a crystal clear backstory head canon for my SD Rook, I know who she is, where she came from and what her motivations are, and I just don't have even close to this level of a concept for another Rook yet. I got maybe 20% through a crow Rook but a story wasn't coming together for me so I rerolled a new "canon" SD (my first play is the fuck around and find out playthrough for me in any dragon age, my "canon" protagonist comes later after multiple runs of ironing out details). It's kind of emblematic of what I feel are the major shortcomings of Veilguard overall though. There are a lot of brilliant components, but they're sanitized and underrealised in practice. Lucanis as a romance is the same. On paper, it's like he was built in a lab specifically to appeal to me, and the pieces are there for an amazing romance story, but they fumbled the execution. It could have stayed a slow burn, I think one extra scene, of spite/lucanis struggling with Rook disappearing into regret jail in the same vein as spite taking over with Illario, and acknowledgement of the time elapsed with her gone would have sold the entire thing exponentially harder! One more scene! But, I digress.

If they hadn't super glossed over the slavery thing in Tevinter, Shadow Dragon could have had some serious grit as an origin.

My headcanon for Rook builds on the official SD story of a foundling adopted into a military family. In Tevinter society, a mage being born into a Soporati family elevates the entire family to Leitan class. Like winning the Tevene lottery.

I have this vision of a baby Rook being abandoned by slave parents in hope they'd give their child a better life, Rook is found and adopted by soldier Mercar family, who are Soporati. They later have another child, a son. Rook grows up scrappy and boyish, alongside her adoptive brother, with some training to fight as they're both likely to grow up into soldiers.

Rook's magic manifests, she's thrilled, thinking the family as a whole will be elevated, but then learns because she is adopted, and the magic doesn't run in the Mercar bloodline, the rest of her family will remain Soporati. She struggles with this, but with the encouragement of her family, accepts her path and joins the Minrathous circle. She isn't an especially scholarly person, never has been, and learns enough to control her magic, but develops it into a scrappy orb-and-dagger style befitting her military "heritage" as opposed to a more refined, ritual based, studied mage.

As a young adult, her younger brother brother, with youthful aspirations of bettering the family his own way, runs badly afoul of some Minrathous crime syndicates that are less savory than the Threads we meet in Docktown. His crimes are just the short sighted cockiness of a young man, but faced with crippling debts and no clear way out, he takes the unfortunate avenue available to the desperate in Tevinter: he sells himself into slavery to absolve his family of his foolish debts.

Rook is only informed after the deed is done and there is no way to intervene. Disillusioned with the class structure that granted her opportunity but failed her family, and motivated to if not save her brother then to save everyone else LIKE him, Rook is now motivated to get involved with the Shadow Dragons and fight the institutions that lead to this.

She's like Neve, loves Minrathous, loves Tevinter, but hates it too. Hates it for not living up to what it could be. She's all scrappy fire to Neve's poise and ice. They become a natural pair, united by this common conviction.

I wish it didn't have to just be up to headcanon to rough up the smooth edges of Tevinter as it's presented to us.

It would also really play into this mirror-of-Solas dynamic in that she was forced into paths she didn't choose for herself until she couldn't take the injustice anymore and started fighting tyrannical systems.

It COULD have been spectacular. Instead it's disparate pieces of spectacular that were never really knit together. I want more exploration of Tevinter class disparities. Of slavery. Of Minrathous' cosmopolitan side to contrast the slums of docktown. Of Tevinter Soporati military culture! Dirty up Tevinter the way it deserves. Give the Shadow Dragons some teeth.

All of this *does* fit within the story we got, it's just left totally unexplored in game, which leaves me wanting.

[power-chords]

There were a bunch of crows making a fuss by the train station on my way home from work, and it's pretty unusual to see them there, so I assumed there must be trouble afoot. I looked around, and sure enough, the culprit was perched in a tree opposite Ferris Avenue. Another massive red-tail! There must be a few nesting pairs in the Bronx River Parkway Reservation because I feel like I spot one every time I take a few minutes to inspect the tree line.

There was also a dead crow lying right in the middle of the sidewalk in front of the Gateway Building but I think these events were unrelated. Upon inspecting the carcass it looked like it was probably illness or impact trauma. Red-tails tend to leave horrible gory messes at mealtime, and they'd prefer to eat away from human foot traffic.

Which reminds me: when I was running my senior thesis trials years ago in Van Cortlandt Park there was a juvenile red-tail that made a couple klutzy attempts on the flock I was working with, and a Cooper's hawk that actually succeeded. Very annoying* because if you have a bunch of pigeons in your lap and like two dozen other birds within three feet of you, you DO get hit in the face when a hawk makes a go for one of them. Zero warning. All of a sudden it's a bomb of flapping wings going off and a face-full of panicked city pigeon.

And when the Cooper's hawk got one of them and carried it away to eat in a nearby tree, I was quite upset. Not for very long (Circle of Life, hawk's gotta eat, too), but the bastard killed one of my birds! I was standing at the base of the tree fuming and cursing at it while a flurry of downy feathers rained down from above.

*NOT AS ANNOYING AS THE SQUIRRELS but that's another story.