#Pale September I wore the time like a dress that year.

[karvroom]

10 Things I Hate About Katsuki Bakugo

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001. English Literature is a Pain in the Ass

The September breeze sent all things flimsy to sway in its path. The wind danced with the falling leaves before hitting the ground, occasionally picking them back up only to fall once again. You loved this time of year. It was perfect for going outside without having to dress in a stringy top to beat the heat or wearing a jacket over your stylish outfit. The only downside to this amazing weather was the tradition of going to school at the start of the month.

You let out a breathy sigh, head in the palm of your hand as your elbow rested against the windowsill. The windows of your faded red Dodge Dart GT were rolled down, allowing the wind to blow through your luscious (H/C) locks. Your loud, edgy music causing heads to turn in your direction the further down the street you went. As you came to a red octagon, you stopped, letting the following cars pass by accordingly at the four-way. You tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel as you patiently waited, paying no mind to the four girls in the pale moon convertible next to you.

You stepped on the gas, turning into your schools parking lot. It was a struggle finding a spot to park due to everyone walking and waiting around for God knows what. You were relieved once you found an empty space, quickly pulling in with no hesitation.

You navigated your way through the crowded courtyard, your messenger bag filled with books in hand. You bumped shoulders with anyone who obviously saw you were walking, but refused to move even if it was the teensiest step forward to clear a path. It was only seven in the morning and you were already fed up with everyone's shit.

The bell rung and eventually you made it to your first class of the day: English Literature. You sat in the second row of the seating chart. Intently, you listened to Aizawa drone on like he always did at the beginning of class.

"Okay, then. What did everyone think of The Sun Also Rises?" He scanned his sluggish students after he asked, looking for any volunteers to speak freely about the book.

A girl in your class named Hagakure raised her hand, bringing it down once she made eye contact with Aizawa. The class turned to look at her, including yourself. She spoke in a dreamy tone, "I loved it. He's so romantic."

"Romantic? Hemingway?" You asked, wondering if she was being serious. You heard Aizawa release an elongated sigh before you turned to him and continued, "He was an abusive alcoholic misogynist who squandered half his life hanging around Picasso trying to nail his leftovers."

"As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends?" Kaminari asked from the back of the class, earning a few chuckles from his buddies. You rolled your eyes at the comment from him. He held his hand out toward a smaller high school boy, Mineta. The crisp clap of their hands was cut short when Aizawa shouted at him.

"Pipe down, Chachi." That quickly wiped the smirk off Kaminari's stupid face. He was embarrassed to say the least. It wouldn't have been the first time he was shut down by Aizawa in front of a large crowd.

"I guess in this society being male and an asshole makes you worthy of our time." You didn't waste a second to snap back. Your classmates groaned, knowing you were about to go on a spiel. "What about Sylvia Plath, or Charlotte Brontë or Simone de Beauvoir?"

The door opened, totally unscripted from the looks of everyone's faces. As nosy as your class was, they turned their attention to the person at the door.

The tall teenage boy wore a black, short sleeve t-shirt. His straight fit, dark wash jeans ran down to his plain sneakers. His chiseled jawline looked almost like it could slice and dice any vegetable he wanted to.

"What'd I miss?" He asked as he panted. He looked like he'd just run a marathon—sweaty and a pinkish tint added to his cheeks. A clear frown was plastered onto his face. His crimson eyes darted around the classroom.

You turned away and crossed your arms over your stomach. You stared Mr. Aizawa right in the eyes as you spoke, as if he were to blame for the previous conversation, "The oppressive patriarchal values that dictate our education."

"Good." The blonde spat, doing a 180 on his heel, and walking out of the classroom before Aizawa could stop him.

"Hey, hey!" Aizawa shouted after him.

"Mr. Aizawa. Is there any chance we could get (Y/N) to take her Midol before she comes to class?" Kaminari, once again, was mouthing off about you. Of course, even more of your classmates laughed at his joke.

You felt like it was a game of turning between Kaminari and Mr. Aizawa. You were getting tired of it. You whipped your head once more, giving Kaminari the meanest glare he'd ever seen. You wanted to wipe the floor with his smug face.

"Someday you're gonna get bitch-slapped, and I'm not gonna do a thing to stop it." Aizawa shook his head around, emphasizing his sentence. You felt a small ego boost from him taking your side, especially because Aizawa would usually just ignore the conversation or egg you both on. Your teacher began to slowly strut to your side of the classroom, making direct eye contact with you as he did so. "And (Y/N), I want to thank you for your point of view. I know how difficult it must be for you to overcome all those years of upper-middle class suburban oppression. Must be tough."

"Anything else?" You sarcastically inquired, expecting there to be a complaint about your mouthy and unpopular view of things.

"Yeah, go to the office. You're pissing me off." Aizawa pointed to the door, walking back to the front of the class.

"What? Mr. Aizawa—"

"Later!" Your teacher cut you off, holding a hand up to silence your protests.

You rolled your eyes in defeat, standing from your desk and grabbing your satchel. Scattered chuckling was heard, including the most obnoxious coming from Kaminari. As you swung your book bag onto your shoulder, you managed to hit the annoying blonde in the shoulder. No remorse coming from you when he exclaimed in shock.

Upon entering the office, you were checking in with the front desk lady, explaining the situation. Though, she already knew of your antics and how much Aizawa despised you in his class.

"Emi!" As if on cue, Ms. Joke was at the door of Ms. Midnight's office. "What's another word for "engorged"?"

"I'll look it up." Ms. Joke offered, scurrying back to her desk.

"Okay." Midnight whispered. You listened to her ponder as you wandered into her room. The office lady told you to have your almost "daily talk" with Midnight. Midnight stared at her computer screen, typing then deleting words from her page, "Swollen. Turgid."

"Tumescent?" You asked, hands in your pockets.

"Perfect." Midnight mused, returning her gaze to the screen in front of her. She put her red-framed glasses on. Midnight typed and talked at the same time, trying to finish her lewd work, "So, I hear you were terrorizing Mr. Aizawa's class again."

"Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action." You defended, sitting in the uncomfy chair across from Midnight.

"The way you expressed your opinion to Minoru Mineta?" Midnight shut her laptop, taking off her glasses and setting them on her desk. She faked a smile as she spoke, "By the way, his testicle retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested."

"I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls."

"The point is, (Y/N)..." Midnight picked up her mug, assumably sipping on her morning coffee before she continued. Her fingers remained in the handle of the mug, "People perceive you as somewhat..."

"Tempestuous?"

""Heinous bitch" is the term used most often." Midnight informed. You looked to the floor, then brought your gaze back up as you smiled to yourself at the funny description. Ms. Midnight saw that you took pride in the saying, she admired that you could handle such strong words, but for the sake of other students, advised otherwise, "You might want to work on that. Thank you."

"As always, thank you for your excellent guidance." You stood from your seat, repeating the same process you did when you were in class; scooping your messenger bag onto your shoulder. "I'll let you get back to Captain Celebrity's quivering member."

You walked out of the room before she could even say anything. She didn't know how you knew she was writing about one of her favorite American heroes.

""Quivering member"," Ms. Midnight hummed in thought. Then she lifted her computer screen, typing a storm, "I like that."

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⇨ 002. Your Overgrown Hatred for Assholes

first chapter of this story ! i intend for the story to be short because it’s based off the movie (duh). let me know what you all thought.

taglist🫐 @wheezdostuff @honeydwitch @chuugarettes

[antigone-ks]

Lantern of Evil, Chapter Five

MARVEL MASTERLIST

CHAPTER FOUR

Chapter Five - The Autumn Days Swung Soft

Pale September, I wore the time like a dress that year/ The autumn days swung soft around me, like cotton on my skin

____________________

“I’ve passed this a hundred times and didn’t notice it,” Grant says.

“You didn’t notice pedestrians on the Mid-Hudson Bridge?”

“I noticed them; I just didn’t realize it was a whole thing.” The whole thing was a 4-and-a-half-mile loop that went from the waterfront over the bridge to the state park, then up to the Walkway Over the Hudson, through town, and back again.

Classes had started again, which meant the museum was filled with freshman art history students who hadn’t lost interest yet. “Give it a couple more weeks,” you’d assured Grant, “and we’ll have it pretty much to ourselves again.”

In the meantime, though, you’d agreed to find alternate ways to get you out of the house and Grant out of the office. This week was supposed to have unseasonably cool temperatures (meaning it shouldn’t get above 80), so you were taking the opportunity to enjoy it. Grant had apparently endless time that he could take off work, and had offered to join you.

You’d teased him about that, about his secret-agent job, or his fake witness-protection job, that let him just wander off in the middle of the day. He’d chuckled along and said that whenever the current project’s issues were solved, he’d lose most of his free time, so he was making the most of it now.

“How long have you lived up here?” you ask, fiddling with the camera on your phone. “Cheese!”

Grant smiles obligingly, his back to the railing. “Uhh . . .” he looks sheepish. “2015, more or less. I was away for a bit, but yeah. A few years.”

“Not a fan of the outdoors, then?” He’s joked about his asthma, but promised it was fine when you suggested this walk. “Allergies?”

“Strangely enough, not a single allergy,” he says. “I just, I grew up in the city, and there weren’t a lot of parks in that part of Brooklyn when I was a kid. Plus, I was always kinda . . .” he gestures to himself, a sweeping motion that takes in the entirety of his small frame. “My mother worried about me, running the streets, getting in fights.”

“Getting in fights?” you hoot. Grant is sublimely even-tempered, as far as you’ve seen. He barely even grouses at traffic, which shouldn’t even count as temperamental in your book. “I can’t at all picture you starting fights, and I’ve got a really good imagination.”

“I never started them!” he says, offended. “But if some other guy started it, bein’ rude or something . . .”

“Then you’d finish it?” You bump him with your hip, and he laughs and puts his arm around your waist.

“Well, ah. Sometimes. Kind of. If I was lucky, buh – my pal James would sniff me out and get ‘em off me.” He grins, lost in nostalgia. “He was like a bloodhound if he thought I might be getting into trouble. One time he found me in an alley behind the movies – I hadn’t seen him all day – he was just going about his business and thought ‘geez, I bet Grant’s in hot water,’ and I sure was.”

“What, was someone talking at the movies?”

He opens his mouth, shuts it, and deliberately looks away.

“Oh my god.”

“It’s not like – look, he was being really disrespectful,” he says, pulling away sulkily.

You stroke his arm, and he turns his palm up to catch your hand in his. “I just find it very hard to imagine you losing your temper. You’re always so sweet.”

He’s staring hard at your entwined hands, and you wonder what he’s thinking. Maybe he doesn’t like being called sweet; some men object to any description that might sound weak, and if he’s feeling insecure it might not go over well. You wish you could tell him that his height has never been a negative for you. It’s nice to not feel overwhelmed by a man, to be able to look into his eyes with ease, to (you imagine, frequently) be able to kiss him without anyone getting a crick in their neck . . . but even after weeks of haunting the museum together, semi-cuddling at the movies, and holding hands in public, you still feel like he’s not quite. Like he’s not. Like he might not want you.

You ought to just stop, you tell yourself. Walk away from whatever this is before your dumbass heart gets broken and it’s all your fault. You boyfriend-zoned him and he doesn’t even –

But he pins you with a look from those intense blue eyes and presses his lips to your fingers. “Well. It’s easy to be sweet with you.”

And that’s why you can’t walk away.

There are sailboats on the river, just a few, and some late summer wildflowers growing along the path that Grant wraps into an honest-to-gosh cloth handkerchief for you to keep. The breeze off the river is still a little chilly, and Grant puts his arm around you again as you stroll on. The first time he did it, you felt self-conscious about the breadth of your waist. It’s one thing for him to know that you’re chubby, zaftig, fat – but another entirely for him to feel the softness of your body, feel it yield against his hands. But he didn’t seem to mind, not that first time nor any other, and by now you feel comfortable enough to put your own arm around his narrow waist.

(The first time he tried put his arm around you was at the movies, that second week as you watched Ingrid Bergman pine over Cary Grant in Notorious. Like you yourselves were in a period piece, he’d offered his jacket as soon as you got into the theater, settled next to you like a gentleman, and about twenty minutes in had done what would have been the smoothest yawn-and-stretch maneuver known to man, if he hadn’t accidentally smacked the back of your head and then spilled the entire bucket of popcorn in his haste to apologize. His cheeks were still red when you walked out at the end of the movie. So honestly it was a wonder he’d tried again at all, bless him.)

“So what was it like, growing up in the city?”

He considers for a moment. “Loud,” he says, and you both laugh. “Louder than here, but not as loud as the city is now. No sirens, more neighbors yelling and talking and babies crying. Kids running around. Pretty loose rein on most of them – as long as they were back by dinner, their mothers didn’t check.”

“Probably glad to have a second to themselves,” you joke.

“No doubt.”

“It sounds kind of idyllic. I didn’t realize New York was that safe in the 70s and 80s. The news made it seem like the whole city was packed with Times Square pimps and dealers.”

“Oh, ah, well.” Grant rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, which you now recognize as a sign of nerves. “Well, you know, every borough is different, and my neighborhood was mostly just . . . poor. Lot of immigrants and all of us poor.”

“Were your parents . . . ?”

“Yeah, from Ireland. Looking for a better life.” He looks out across the river, his eyes downcast. You knew they’d both died young; his father when he was a baby – or maybe right before he was born? You’re a little unclear – and his mother right after he’d left high school.

You give him a little squeeze. “And now their son is a hotshot graphic designer who stares at moderately-famous art for fun.”

He snorts. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Ok; barely-famous art.”

He looks aghast. “There’s a Chagall in there.”

“Most people would guess that’s a wine.”

“You can’t say stuff like that, doll; you’re gonna give me dyspepsia,” He shakes his head at you, but the sadness is gone from his eyes as you walk on.

***

It’s a good thing modern medicine has come as far as it has, Steve thinks; he’d have been hard-pressed to make this walk with you seventy years ago. It’s not the distance – he wandered all over Brooklyn looking for work, fought all over Brooklyn when he had to. It’s the – it’s just –

His heart started pounding while he was getting dressed this morning, and it keeps surging whenever you touch him. It’s the same every time you meet – his heart races when he thinks about you, gallops when you let him take your hand, or slide his arm around you. It’s only when he looks at you, looks right into your eyes, that everything stills. His pulse slows, the world goes weightless. In your eyes, he can just be . . . he can be. Not be Captain America, not carry that weight. Just be a man, with a woman he adores. Is fond of. If he could live in your eyes, he wouldn’t need that damned inhaler.

But when you squeeze him close and make jokes about art, he’s hard-pressed to stay on his feet.

He wonders, idly, if the de-seruming had put him as he had been, entirely unchanged. Not just his health, but his whole being. He feels like a teenager with an arm around his first girlfriend – not that he’d had one then – too nervous to ask for a kiss, instead of a thirty-five-year-old man who’d had girlfriends, plural. Well, two. Sort of. And a couple of ladies who’d gotten very friendly but weren’t quite interested in being serious. Which is their choice, of course, he thinks hastily. And it’s not like I objected.

Still. He’s felt like this before. He should feel like he's felt this way before. This feeling should be familiar, even if he's only felt it this intensely once before, but it's not. He feels new, with you in his arms. In his arm. Just the one, until he gets back to himself.

You’re playing a dangerous game, pal, he scolds himself. Getting this close when you’re still lying to her. Should have backed off until they got you fixed up. His hand flexes on your waist and you glance at him, smiling like an angel. Got no right to mess with her like this, acting like she’s your girl one minute, then pulling back when you feel guilty. Got no right putting your hands on a lady when you can’t even be honest with her.

But what can he say? “I’m really Captain America, and Iron Man and the Hulk promised me that in a few weeks I’ll be the kind of guy you’ll actually want to be with.”

She wants to be with you now, genius.

You do, he knows.

It’s not Captain America who gets to hold your hand. It’s not America’s Golden Boy who’s got his arm around you, watching the breeze lift strands of your hair into the light. It’s not even Nomad, the persona he’d worn for a while until he and Tony could get themselves right again (and the ladies had really liked Nomad. It was almost a shame to shave off that beard when he picked up the shield again. Maybe you’d like the beard, if he grew it out again). No, the guy you’re with is just little snack-sized Steve.[1] Or Grant.

Shit.

“You ok?” you murmur, shifting against him.

Steve sighs. “Yeah.” He can feel your eyes on him, and he risks a brief, heart-stopping look into them. “It’s a good day.”

The sun is high by the time you reach the Walkway Over the Hudson, the bridge almost empty, the wind picking up. You lean on the northern railing, looking at the boats at the marina upriver. You look so tranquil, your cheeks just the slightest bit reddened by the sun and wind, your eyes clear and wide.

Steve edges away, pulls out his sketchbook. You look at him quizzically as he digs out his graphite pencils.

He takes a breath. “Can I draw you?” He’s done it before, secretly, in bits and pieces. Your eyes – pages of your eyes, over and over – the curve of your mouth, the place where necks meets shoulder should meet his lips, your bosom – no, the neckline of your blouse, last week, and the way it draped against your skin.

(But also, yes, your breasts, and his hands on your breasts, and the way they would fill his hands, and how your nipples would harden against his palms, against his lips. He’d torn that one from the sketchbook as soon as it was done.)

He can see the shyness in your expression now, but you nod.

“How do you want me?” you ask softly.

Oh, God.

Every way. Always.

His hands are trembling, so he shakes them out and busies himself choosing a pencil. “Just, just look at whatever you were before.”

He roughs out a sketch, the lines and angles, how you lean against the railing with your hip cocked. You’re a little tense, now, aware of yourself in a way you hadn’t been before, and Steve reaches out to stroke your hair.

“Relax, sweetheart.”

If your breath is a little shaky, he pretends not to notice. If his is, well, he’s got asthma.

He stops every now and then, lets you move and shake the stiffness out. It’s absolutely not a gambit to make you let him readjust you back into position. But, like. He’s not above that. His hand slides along your hip, dangerously low, and when you make a soft, unsteady sound Steve’s heart pounds so quickly he thinks he might actually have a heart attack. That’s it. He’s going to die here on this bridge because he came this close to touching a lady’s derrière. He can hear Sam’s voice now; “Cause of death: that booty.”

He chokes on a laugh and you turn, lips pursed. “Sorry, sorry. Just thought about a friend of mine. He likes to poke at me when I’m being . . . when I’m in my head.” He ought to step back, get back to the sketch, but he’s not moving. “You’d like him.”

“And here I was, thinking I was your only friend,” you tease.

“You should meet him,” he says before he can get his goddamn mouth back in line with his brain. “In a . . . sometime . . . after a while.”

The light in your eyes dims a little, and you look away. Steve steps back at last, picking up the sketchbook. He’s almost finished; it’s not sophisticated, but it’s got your curves and your hair waving around your face and the peaceful expression that he loves.

Loves. No, not now. Not like this. You can’t do this.

His pencil stutters across the paper, mercifully missing anything delicate.

“Grant?” You’re facing him now, biting your lower lip.

“It’s ok; my hand just – “

“What is this?”

“– cramped, and. What?”

“This thing we’re doing. What is it?”

He looks at you, brain gone static-y like a radio late at night. He looks at you until your gaze drops and you step back and he has to grab your hand, has to pull you back, has to keep you here with him, because if you walk away something important will be lost. Something that matters more than he wants to consider.

“I like you,” he whispers. “I . . . I like you so much, sometimes I can’t breathe. I just . . .” You try to tug your hand away, but he clings to you, pulls your hand to his chest, lays it against his heart that’s beating like a drum. “You’re so beautiful. I just need to take it slow. Please.”

Liar, liar, you’d take her now if your lungs wouldn’t explode.

You’re silent for a long moment, then you bring your other hand up to cover his. Your smile is soft, uncertain, but real.

“I like you, too.”

[1] Bucky’s the only one who’ll say it, and Steve loves him for it

____________________

Fiona Apple – “Pale September”Pale September, I wore the time like a dress that year/ The autumn days swung soft around me, like cotton on my skin

READ CHAPTER SIX

[devilsainz]

Pale September, I wore the time like a dress that year The autumn days swung soft around me, like cotton on my skin But as the embers of the summer lost their breath and disappeared My heart went cold and only hollow rhythms resounded from within But then he rose, brilliant as the moon in full And sank in the burrows of my keep

And all my armor falling down in a pile at my feet

(Pale September, Fiona apple, 1996)

(a timeline of carlos most important moments for me... i bet you guys dont know which circuit the 2018 renault picture is from/ r: singapore a.k.a. if you know you know)

ps.: couldnt stop associating this song with him ever since i knew he was born on sep. 1st.

happy birthday carlito!

[idreamofhazeleyes]

Written in Blood

This is the re-write of "Ties in Blood" I've been putting off for the past couple years. Aeryn Malone is a nursing student at a major Michigan college when she's suddenly introduced to the supernatural world.

@squirrelnotsam @impala-dreamer @mrswhozeewhatsis @idreamofplaid

Chapter 1

“Hey, Emily,” I greeted as I dumped my class books onto my cluttered dorm desk. 

Exhaustion crept through my body as I reminded myself that I had work in about forty five minutes. Third year nursing classes were kicking my ass. I wasn’t sure what drove me into taking the nursing program at the Southeast Michigan college. Yet here I was working my way through college. A fleeting thought of calling my brother passed through my mind.

“Hey, Aeryn. Harper called a floor meeting soon. She wanted to make sure we’re all here for it.”

“For what? We’re half way through September already.”

“You’ve heard about the animal attacks, right?”

There had been a few bodies found in the trails and parks in the city that surrounded the university. Reports from the city officials and police said that the victims were missing their hearts and nothing else. No one knew what animal in the area that could take down a fully grown human and just take the heart. 

“What about it?” I asked, half knowing what it was about the animal attacks.

“Probably has new safety things for us to follow,” Emily said. 

Any hope of a shower had gone out the window thanks to the floor meeting Harper wanted to have. A quick wash at the sink and putting on some makeup would have to do. I pulled out my make up bag and shuffled through it and decided on little make up due to the time. Enough to make me look less tired. My icy blue eyes reflected back in the mirror. My skin was pale despite the late summer sun. Too many hours indoors for classes and laboratory work. No amount of make up would cover up how tired I was. 

“Come on,” Emily called when I finished with the makeup. 

“Hold up.” I stepped out of the bathroom. “I’m nearly ready.” 

Back in the room, I pulled out a women’s v cut shirt for work that show enough cleavage to be flirty and slipped off the men’s shirt I’ve worn all day. A number of patrons at the bar I worked at seemed to respond with flirting if I wore clothes that flatter my figure. 

Emily was at the door when I finished dressing. We left the room and made our way down to the common area where other women our age had gathered.

“Okay, everyone,” Harper called over the general chattering of the dozen or so women. “I know you all have plans this evening, but this is important. The University is stressing the òimportance of being careful when going out at night. We don’t know what sort of animal is causing the maulings, so whenever you all go out at night, do your best to travel in groups. If you cannot do that, tell anyone in this group where you’re going and how long you may be gone for. Let anyone know when you’re on the way home from work or the library or classes. Understood?”

There was a gathering of nods or acknowledgements. 

“Alright,” Harper finished. “Be careful out there and be aware of your surroundings.”

The group of floor mates started to disperse and talking about the new guidelines while Emily and I worked our way back to our own room.

“Any idea what the creature is?” Emily asked when we walked back in.

I shook my head. “I doubt that there’s any animals that are big enough to take down a fully grown human or would just take the hearts and nothing else. I don’t know any creature that could do that. Do you?”

Emily shook her head.

I gathered my bag and ensured that I had everything in it before heading for the door.

“I’m off to work. I should be back around ten.”

With my bag in hand, I made my way out of the dorm building and out onto the street. I melded into the crowds of students that were out after a long day of classes. A number of them seemed to have the air of being at the university on their parents’ money. I’ve had students like that in the bar and I refused to serve them. If the students had an issue with being denied service, I would call over a bouncer and have them escort the student out.

Getting to the back door of the building, I saw a couple of the cooks sitting nearby while sharing a joint. I waved in greeting before going in. Taking the elevator down to the kitchen and cutting through to get to the landing, I dumped my bag on the top of the cabinets.  

“Hey, Aeryn,” Tami called from the top of the stairs. 

“Hey.” I came up into the server area to see Tami and Nikki there. I ducked out into the sitting area and over to a computer monitor and pulled up the clock to clock in. 

“Did you hear about the animal attacks?” Nikki asked when I returned to the server area. 

I nodded. “Yeah. My RA had a quick meeting before I came here about it. Basically travel in groups or communicate with our dormmates about where we’re going and when we might be back.”

We all eventually dove into serving people. The shift went by quickly enough and there weren’t anyone I did not have to remove. At the end, I cashed out and collected my bag. With a quick text to Emily on the way out, I started to make my way back to the dorm building.

The streets were relatively quiet on the walk back. There was a small breeze that ruffled the leaves. I swore there was a noise on that breeze I could not place at first. It came around again and that time it sounded like a howl. My heart started racing and adrenaline flooded my system. I fought against the urge to run back to the dorm building. If it was a predator, it would be a bad idea to run. 

As I turned a corner, I saw a large body on four legs and feeding on a prone body. My own body froze in fear. I stood there for a few moments before noping out of the area. I turned in that weird calm way and started back down the street. There was another way I could take to get back to the dorms. 

My hands fumbled a little as I reached for my keys to unlock the main door for the dorm building. I double checked that the door was closed and locked behind me once I was inside. That thing was not a normal creature. Definitely too large for a normal wolf, and there were no wolves in the area. Coyotes, yes. Definitely not wolves. 

Emily was passed out on her bed with a class book and study papers before her. I left her to sleep while I gathered things for a shower. The thought of studying passed through my head as the hot water washed over my exhausted body.

<<Chapter Two>>

[lloronaluna]

Pale September, I wore the time like a dress that year

The autumn days swung soft around me, like cotton on my skin

But as the embers of the summer lost their breath and disappeared

My heart went cold and only hollow rhythms resounded from within

But then he rose, brilliant as the moon in full

And sank in the burrows of my keep

And all my armor falling down in a pile at my feet

And my winter giving way to warm, as I'm singing him to sleep

He goes along just as a water lily

Gentle on the surface of his thoughts his body floats

Unweighted down by passion or intensity

Yet unaware of the depth upon which he coasts

And he finds a home in me

For what misfortune sows, he knows my touch will reap

And all my armor failing down in a pile at my feet

And my winter giving way to warm, as I'm singing him to sleep

All my armor falling down in a pile at my feet

And my winter giving way to warm, as I'm singing him to sleep

All my armour falling down in a pile at my feet

And my winter giving way to warm, as I'm singing him to sleep

[vlindervin7]

pale september, i wore the time like a dress that year, the autumn days swung soft around me like cotton on my skin

(star - mitski; have you prayed? - li-young lee; first time - hozier; pale september - fiona apple)

[terresviolettes]

Pale September, I wore the time like a dress that year

The autumn days swung soft around me, like cotton on my skin

But as the embers of the summer lost their breath and disappeared

My heart went cold and only hollow rhythms resounded from within

[paperbag1999]

HAPPY PALE SEPTEMBER I WORE THAT TIME LIKE A DRESS LAST YEAR

[sugarpalta]

pale september

i wore the time like a dress that year

the autumn days swung soft around me

like cotton on my skin

Pale September - Fiona Apple

[lovesbluu]

"Pale september... I wore the time like a dress that year."

[blondrichclosetwitch]

“Young girl, they call them the Diamond Dogs.”

If I could, you know I would let it go.

And please, remember me that Halloween.

And we remember why we came.

Baby girl, you are real~~

The first truth that I've ever had.

Oh, crying in the alleyway.

If you thought things had changed, friend you'd better think again.

And I'm dying to know is it killing you like it's killing me, yeah I don't know what to say. And the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now.

“Can I please see you jump!”

“My emotional stability is leavin' me.”

“I love you Baby, I love you.”: The grand finale. The kid in me remembers how it feels.The devil's in the details, Baby.

“We all stand complicit in the greed. Aw, but let us forget the war and buy something pretty.”

Change the channel. Create the illusion of real safety. Amidst the fruits of slavery.

Pale September, I wore the time like a dress that year. The autumn days swung soft around me, like cotton on my skin, but as the embers of the summer lost their breath and disappeared, my heart went cold and only hollow rhythms resounded from within.

Because of you I need to rest. Because it's you that sets the test.

“We used her. We let her use her powers. We let her fill our needs.”

And the road is coming to its end. Now the damned have no time to make amends. Our weapons were the tongues of crying rage.

'Screw Up Your Brother or He'll Get You In the End, And we can force you to believe. And I see a child laid slain on the ground.’*

You'll never see the courage I know.

You make me mad, on fire again.

All the pills that you did (violet, blue, green, red )to keep me at arm's length don't work. You try to push me out but I just find my way back in.

Violet, blue, green, red to keep me out?

I win.

Caught in your own creation.

The very thing you're best at is the thing that hurts the most.

Happiness is what you need. Girl, the answer lies with you.

“I'm so tired, I can't sleep. I'm a liar and a thief. Distill the life inside of me.”

You just went too far. Listen to yourself. You need to get some help.

I never really noticed that I had to decide to play someone's game, or live my own life

And now I do

[givemeanorigami]

Pale September, I wore the time like a dress that year.

Ciao Settembre, ben arrivato. Prima di scrivere, come ogni anno, sono andata a rileggere cosa scrivevo un anno prima e mi sono stupita del fatto che un anno fa non avessi niente da dire, niente da augurarmi, niente da voler cambiare, niente da volermi ricordare. Sinceramente, provo a ripensarci e non riesco a ricordare molto di un anno fa. Sì, ricordo qualcosa - alcune cose meno carine altre più carine -, ma niente di chi, niente di memorabile, tutte cose tra qualche anno penserò "ma che anno era?". Non era un bel periodo, proprio per niente. E quest'anno? Quest'anno non lo so. Va ad alti e bassi, come va un po' a tutti del resto. Cos'è cambiato nell'ultimo anno? Tutto e niente. Cos'è successo? E' successo che un anno fa mi sono iscritta a un corso di danza aerea per principianti. Dovevano essere due lezioni di prova, si è trasformato in un appuntamento fisso due volte a settimana. Non sono brava, sono quella che ci mette più tempo a imparare le figure, quella che per andare in pallina ci ha messo una vita - "eri totalmente non allenata e ti scoraggiavi, non ti poteva venire no!" - e che ancora si domanda perché continua, ma sono anche quella che ci ha preso gusto a tornare a casa con un segno rosso o un livido. Mi piace, mi fa sentire leggera, mi fa spegnere la testa per un'ora. Perché ho iniziato a parlare di questo? Perché più i muscoli delle mie braccia di rinforzavano, più imparavo a staccare i piedi da terra, più capivo come andare a testa in giù senza essere convinta che sarei caduta, più imparavo a stare been con me stessa, più mi liberavo di tutte quelle sicurezze che mi facevano evitare tante cose. Le prime lezioni erano per me odi et amo: odiavo socializzare, odiavo dover andare in tshirt e leggins - e sappiamo che a dire la verità sono gli ubriachi, i bambini e i leggins -, odiavo tentare di fare qualcosa e non riuscirci, odiavo quello che per altri era normale. Amavo, però, quella sensazione bellissima quando ti riusciva qualcosa - e poco importa se è il primo o il decimo tentativo -, amavo la sensazione di libertà che cresceva giorno dopo giorno. Imparare a stare sui tessuti era una rivoluzione. Una rivoluzione che non so quando sia iniziata, non ha una data precisa, non c'è stato un giorno o un'ora, è stato un lento inesorabile percorso di cambiato. Ho smesso di preoccuparmi del giudizio degli altri, di entrare in un negozio e di negarmi anche il solo provare qualcosa perché "sarei ridicola", ho smesso di guardarmi allo specchio e vedermi come un insieme di difetti. E' successo che così imparassi ad alternare i jeans a delle gonne, a stare a scegliere con cura cosa mettermi prima di uscire con un'amica anziché optare subito per i jeans e felpa - o, se ero in buona, per la camicia - come ho smesso di dovermi preparare psicologicamente con giorni di anticipo prima di mettermi una gonna. E non so neanche quando è successo che gli altri hanno iniziato ad accorgersene, a dirmi che mi vedevano cambiata, che mi vedevano bene. E' successo addirittura che un'amica mi confessasse di essersi quasi emozionata quando mi ha vista uscire da Tezenis con un costume dopo anni che per convincermi a fare una mezza giornata di mare dovevano piangere in turco: io che odiavo mettermi in costume ne avevo comprato uno (quando questo discorso è uscito davanti al suo ragazzo si è stupito, non gli sembravo il tipo da farsi problemi). La cosa più bella di questo cambiamento non è che ogni tanto esco vestita "da femmina" - come ha detto qualcuno -, ma è che esco come mi piace, esco essendo me stessa: un giorno sembro una piccola wannabe punk girl, il giorno dopo sembro quasi femminile fino a che non apro la bocca, il giorno dopo sono coi miei jeans preferiti e una tshirt enorme. Non penso più a cosa diranno gli altri, faccio quello che voglio anche mettermi un bellissimo costume intero di Wonder Woman regalatomi dalle amiche. Certo, non va sempre bene. Ci sono giorni in cui sto male, in cui mi faccio schifo, in cui la sola idea di provarmi un vestito che un'amica non mette più e che so essere aperto sulla schiena mi fa stare malissimo, ma poi passa. Passa perché guardo le foto del saggio, la foto di fine luglio seduta su un cerchio a quella che solo un anno prima mi sembrava un'altezza impossibile - ed è ancora basso - e mi dico che "se ho fatto questo, posso farcela". In tutto questo, ho anche imparato a socializzare, a relazionarmi con gli altri anche in situazioni dove conosco poco persone - se non proprio nessuno, come in vacanza - anziché mettermi in un angolo, ricordo ancora la sera che un'amica lontana mi ha raccontato che erano fieri del fatto che fossi a socializzare ad una grigliata. Rido, scherzo, parlo con gente mai vista seduta a tavolate piene, a volte mi sento ancora fuori posto, incapace di relazionarmi, ma poi passa. E non è sempre tutto rosa e fiore, tutto facile. Ci sono ancora periodi in cui faccio fatica ad uscire di casa, in cui vorrei solo chiudere la porta di camera e fare finta che non esista niente se non il peso sul petto che non mi fa respirare; ci sono momenti in cui mi tremano le mani così forte che per non farlo notare devo stringerle a pugno così forte che poi mi fanno male, ci sono notti che le passo in preda agli incubi. Ci sono giornate come ieri, come oggi, che guardo i libri da studiare e non metto a fuoco niente o che mando un report per il blog della Radio dell'università dicendo a me stessa che fa schifo - e nessuno è d'accordo, non capisco chi sbaglia - e mi si capovolge lo stomaco a comunicare che "l'ho mandato in revisione". Ci sono giorni, settimane, periodi più o meno lunghi che va tutto male e fingo che vada benissimo, che reggo tutti senza far vedere come sto, ma alla fine me la cavo, non sempre bene, ma me la cavo. E, Settembre, se dobbiamo parlare di cose leggere e farci anche una risata, sembra che tutto quello scritto sopra abbia effetti positivi: c'è chi c'ha provato, finendo generalmente in un nulla di fatto, ma è successo. Certo, poi c'è chi ti resta nelle canzoni costringendoti a sentire ridendo, ma questo è un discorso a sé. Sai Settembre, stasera avrei voluto uscire, è sabato sera, ma invece a breve tornerò a studiare. Gli altri non gli ho sentiti, forse BFF è ancora impegnata a sistemare la casa in cui è ufficialmente andata a convivere, forse sono rimasti su o chi lo sa - se lasciassi parlare la vocina nella testa, direbbe che sono usciti senza di me perché non mi volevano -, ma vocina a parte è okay anche così e non lo dico come tempo fa perché dovevo autoconvincermene, va bene davvero. Sai, nonostante i mesi, mi fa ancora strano come io abbia imparato a non odiarmi, ma a convivere con me stessa e soprattutto come io passi periodi con me stessa perché mi va, non perché socializzare a forza mi ha messo ko - sì, certo, ci sono ancora sere in cui torno e mi fa male la testa per essere stata a contatto con gli altri, non perché io beva o altro, solo stare in mezzo alle persone. Sai Settembre, ho passato così tanto tempo senza scrivere per non parlare con me stessa che ora faccio fatica a smettere, ci sono così tante cose che vorrei scrivere a te che non esiste per dirle a me che potrei scrivere in eterno, ma ci sarà tempo. Cerca solo di essere più buono di altri anni, cerca solo di non darmi sfide troppo grandi, di non darmi troppo da affrontare.

[inthenameofallthingsholy]

Fandom: Amphibia

Ship: Sashanne

Rating: Explicit

Au: Wrestling

Words: Glacier, Bronze, Miracle

Notes: Ima be completely honest with you, idk how pro wrestling works, I saw fighting with my family one time. I got wrestling au from a generator and thought “huh, that could work for a sashanne fic” so here we are. Also no beta go cry about it (jk ily)

The air was cold and damp on the September day that Anne Boonchuy started her career. She realized early on in her life that wrestling was what she wanted to do. She was 13 years old when she found the wonderful world of wrestling.

She was in the lunchroom  when she saw a guy Andrias (douchey name) harassing her friend, Marcy. She turned to her only other friend, Sasha, and instantly they knew what to do. Jumping up, they tackled him down to a pulp. They got detention of course, but it was worth it for the safety of their friend.

Luckily for them, the teacher on lunch duty also happened to be the coach of the women’s wrestling team at their school, so overnight Sasha and Anne became the school’s most powerful team players. 

Eventually, Sasha, Anne, and Marcy grew apart with Sasha being sent to boarding school by her parents and Marcy having to move away because of her dad’s job, but Anne never stopped working hard on her wrestling. 

After a long 2 years of bronze medals, she finally started racking up some wins as her trophy cabinet started filling with silver and gold. 

And now, 2 weeks after her 20th birthday, it was time for her to really start her career as Anne “The Beast” Boonchuy! 

Flashing back to the present day, Anne woke up ready to start her day. She brushed her teeth, got dressed into her blue workout clothes,  got her hair to a small semblance of normalcy, and said goodbye to her frogs, Hop-Pop, Polly, and Sprig, and her cat, Domino. 

She leapt out of her crummy pale blue apartment in LA with the enthusiasm of a dog on crack. She then jumped into her old, faded purple station wagon (with wood siding) she  affectionately named Bessie, and excitedly drove to her first practice as a pro-wrestler.

She did not however expect the face she saw when she got there. 

“Anne?” 

“Sasha?”

Staring directly at Anne was the blonde girl Anne had spent the majority of her childhood with.  

And she was super hot.

Fuck.

Since 8th grade Sasha had clearly worked out a lot more than Anne did. Every inch of her was tan and toned, with her hair tied in a small ponytail that couldn’t have amounted to anything below her shoulders when taken out. She wore a pink tank top, that clearly displayed her red sports bra underneath, and pink shorts that ended right around her mid thigh and clung to the muscles that were built up in her legs. 

Anne had no idea how to react. Was she jealous of Sasha’s muscles, or attracted to them? The problems with being a lesbian in sports, ladies and gentlemen. 

“Oh my god, girlfriend!! I haven’t seen you in so long!!” Sasha exclaimed, dropping her red duffle bag and pulling Anne into a painfully tight hug. 

“hEy…sAsH…” Anne gasped, struggling to breathe as Sasha held on so tight. “bEeN a bIt!”

Sasha quickly realized she held on to tight, and let go with a quick apology. 

“So! You do wrestling still?” Anne awkwardly asked.

“No I come here for donuts.”

“Very funny.”

Anne tried to hide her clear anxiety at seeing Sasha again. She hadn’t realized it in 8th grade, but in the years since Sasha left Anne realized that Sasha was her first crush. 

“So what’s your name?” Sasha broke Anne’s train of thought.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your name. Ya know, like Anne ‘The Bitch’ Boonchuy or something” said Sasha.

“Actually it’s Anne ‘The Beast’ Boonchuy, but your idea was better.” Anne replied. “What about you?” 

“Oh i’m going strong with ‘Sasha The Slayer.’” 

“Your old nickname from middle school!” Anne said excitedly

“Nickname? Sweetie that was a title I rightfully earned for kicking asses!” 

The two of them shared a laugh as they remembered old times. Then a loud voice over the gym speaker system yelled to the 20 girls in the gym.

“ALLLLLRIGHHHHT LADIES IT’S TIME TO GET OUR WRESTLE ON!!!”

All the girls cheered before the voice continued.

“FOOOOOORRRRR TODAY, We will be having HEAD ON MATCHES Between you. Here are you opponents, IN ORDER OF FIGHT!!” 

Everyone cheered before silencing in anticipation. 

The person over the speaker said multiple pairings as more and more girls stood off with their opponents. Anne and Sasha eagerly waited before slowly realizing what was happening.

“AAAAAAANNNNDDDD Our LAST COMBOOO!! SASHA THE SLAYER VERSES ANNE ‘THE BEAST’ BOONCHUYYYYYYY!!”

Fuck. Again.

Anne and Sasha stood next to each other, waiting for the other to say something. They didn’t. Eventually, every team had gone (though in Anne’s opinion they all went at a glacial pace) and it was time for Anne and Sasha to fight.

Anne knew she was gonna lose, I mean look at Sasha, she’s fucking perfect, but Anne was more concerned about whether Sasha was gonna actually fuck her up bad or not. 

They got up into the ring, and began. 

By some miracle (again, Anne’s opinion) Sasha did not in fact kill her. 

Anne actually got a couple good take downs in before Sasha tore her strategy to shreds. 

————————————————

Afterwards, the two were in locker room getting changed and exchanging some usual post-match banter.

“Seems like I kicked your ass out there, Boonchuy.” Sasha said with a sly yet sexy smile

“Hey I got some good take downs in!” Protested Anne as she slowly realized that the two of them were alone in the locker room.

“Oh no I am fairly certain I won that fight.” 

“Only cause I forfeit”

“You forfeit cause you were stuck between my legs and couldn’t move”

Anne smirked “Sounds like a win for me more than for you.” 

In preparation to shower, the two of them both took of their shirts, leaving them both in bras.

Sasha laughed and slapped Anne with her shirt. “You are naughty! You’ve changed since 8th grade.”

“What do you mean! I’m still that bushy haired nerd you once knew.” Anne giggled

Sasha smirked quietly to herself “Yeah but you’re like hot now.” 

Then there was a silence as the two girls tried not to approach the awkwardness of that statement. 

Sasha dropped her shorts and grabbed a towel from her locker. Suddenly, she dropped the towel on the ground. 

Both Anne and Sasha reached for it, hands touching it at the same second. They looked up and noticed how close their faces were. The feel of their breaths on each other completely turned Anne on, and there was a sudden gravitational pull to Sasha’s lips that she could no quite describe

After about 20 seconds of silence, both holding the towel, Anne heard Sasha whisper something in a low yet soft voice

“Kiss me…”

Anne leaned in and went with the force that bound their lips together. What started as a soft touch turned into a full french as the passion grew around them. 

The kiss was legendary, the kind of shit people write songs and fairytales about. Then it became the shit people like E.L. James write about, full of fireworks like the two had never felt before

They stood up in kisses, eyes completely closed, and fumbled around the room without focus. Anne slammed Sasha into the red metal behind them, closing Sasha’s locker. 

Anne then moved on to kissing Sasha’s neck as Sasha felt Anne’s hands exploring new areas of her body. She felt tingles of Anne’s fingertips on her stomach, her thighs, her hips, her hair, anywhere she could imagine. It was an incredible feeling. 

Sasha then felt Anne’s hand on her boob, over the pink sports bra. Sasha then felt that the pink sports bra she earlier today thought was the most comfortable thing to wear, now constricted her more than any other item of clothing in the world, and had to be removed immediately. So with a nearly split second movement, it was gone and her boobs were in full display.

Anne played with Sasha’s tits for a little bit, kissing, licking, and sucking them to make her moan with anticipation, then moved on the real prize. 

She slowly moved down to the soaked white undies Sash wore. She traced her fingers down Sasha’s chest and stomach, which cause small gasps to release from the blonde woman. 

To Anne, this was the most stunning, angelic woman to ever exist. Her skin smelled like lavender and nostalgia as Anne removed her little undies. She kissed Sasha slowly as she gently entered her with two fingers. Sasha moaned through the kiss as Anne’s other hand reached in her hair, removing her hair-tie. Sasha’s short, blonde locks fell to her shoulders, nearly in Anne’s face, not that she cared. All she cared about was the mission at hand.

She felt Sasha was very open and went for the kill. She carefully put her two fingers into Sasha’s hole, trying not to let her excitement get the better of her. 

Sasha gasped loudly and squirmed with pleasure as Anne broke off a kiss and bent down. 

Anne added to the pleasure by not only moving her fingers in and out, but also using her mouth on her clit. 

She made sure to go slow, to ensure the pleasure would last longer, but it wasn’t too long before she noticed Sasha starting to tighten as she moaned louder and breathed harder. She was almost done..

So Anne decided to help Sasha go out with a bang and stretched her hand up real high to reach Sasha’s left boob, making sure to touch her hips and stomach lightly along the way.

Then as she hear Sasha scream “FUCK ANNE!!” She grabbed her tit and squeezed with all her might, feeling (and hearing) Sasha let go to her orgasm. It was so intense she nearly got a concussion from hitting her head on the locker behind her. 

Anne rose up and kissed her on the lips. “That good huh?” 

Sasha giggled. “Oh hell yeah, but nothing compared to what I’m gonna do to you.” She smirked. 

Anne prepared herself for the absolute earth-shattering feeling she was about to receive, and Sasha got to work…

End Notes: it’s 9:30 and I’ve been working on this single one shot for about a week. My ponytail was so crammed into my pillow while writing this I think i’m going to have a permanent indent in the back of my head from the elastic. So anyway I hope you enjoyed!!

[vkookjamz]

⋆☽Kitten☾⋆

|| Prologue. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17.

| 𝐽𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑘𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑥 𝐶𝑎𝑡-𝐻𝑦𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑑 𝐹𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 |

"𝘉-𝘉𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭..?"

𝘑𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘬𝘰𝘰𝘬'𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯. 𝘈𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦..

---------------------------------------------------

Y/n's POV

"What the hell hyung-" Jungkook hissed at the older.

Taehyung rose up, moving to stand aside as the younger replaced his previous spot kneeling down beside you.

"What happened?? Why is y/n in here like this??" The males brows knitted together as he rolled up the sleeves of his dark grey sweater, reaching down to pull the drain emptying the tub.

You were weak, you could still feel a slight dizziness in your head, and your cheeks were flushed.

The white cream colored baggy long sleeve you wore stuck clinging to your body, your black shorts dripped with excess water that had soaked into the now heavy material.

Surely you couldn't tell either of them or anyone else what had really happened just yet- you wouldn't even know how to explain it yourself.

Sighing at the continued silence that followed after his questioning, Jungkook then lifted you into his strong arms with ease, holding you only for a moment before he grabbed a towel to dry you off.

"Well?"

Hearing the tone in Jungkook's voice, you couldn't help but feel a little worried since he was the overly jealous type.

And after all, you and Tae probably looked a little too close for comfort without a proper explanation in his eyes..

"She was overheating- and her head was in pain so I had to cool her down"

Tae spoke smoothly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slightly oversized pale-tan khaki pants.

"Why didn't you call for me. I could've helped her" Jungkook said lowly, earning a slight eye roll from the older.

Sensing the tension, you let your hand cup Jungkook's cheek to make him face you. "I said not to- I didn't want to worry you.."

You felt bad having to lie, but you would've felt worse if your current state had caused any more friction between the two older males.

After all, Taehyung was one of Jungkook's closest hyungs-

Feeling your touch seemed to put the worried male at ease as he gave a slight smile your way, to which you returned.

Taehyung cleared his throat with a hum, running a hand through his hair as he let himself slowly back out of the bathroom.

"You should get her changed into something comfy, maybe one of my silk shirts, she does love rolling around in them" he chuckled with a slight smirk before disappearing out of the room.

Your eyes widened slightly and you already felt the familiar heat rise to face.

'Aish Taehyung..'

"Oh really?"

You glanced back to Jungkook, feeling his arms that held you somehow pull you in closer against his firm warm chest.

"I- That was when I was a kitten of course-" you laughed nervously trying to avoid any further talk on the matter.

"Well, you're still my kitten"

Yoongi's POV

"Hyung are you sure this is the place?" I looked to Jin as he stepped out of the passenger side of my car.

We had to drive nearly to Incheon to get here, we were basically at the western edge of Seoul.

"Yoongi, I may be old but I'm pretty sure I know where I got my car towed" Jin retorted as he stepped out shortly after me.

Locking the vehicle, I put my keys into my coat pocket and stepped forward looking up at the small, worn out building.

"G.E.- "

Huh, their signs missing a letter- this place looks like it hasn't had any business in years-

"This doesn't look like a place were they keep towed cars"

The other let out a sigh, once again taking out the small crumpled piece of paper to show me.

"Yah, I'm aware of that, but this is the address on the receipt they gave me so wether it 'looks' like a place where they keep cars or not this better be where my car is" Jin huffed shoving the paper that he had previously been waving in my face back into his pocket.

I knew I should've let Jimin drive him here instead of me-

Without any further complaints, I followed the older up the short flight of steps and walked inside the establishment.

It was cold inside, slightly dim but the flickering of a single light on the ceiling provided some light.

At least the sun was still up by the time we got here, already I got the sense I definitely wouldn't wanna be in this place at night-

The interior was painted a dull white that probably only became dull with age, along with matching marble tiled floors.

Potted plants were neatly placed at each corner of what appeared to be a waiting area, with only two black leather furnished chairs against the right side wall from the entrance.

"I guess we just wait here-" I spoke taking a seat as Jin gave me a glance after he himself finished eyeing around the room.

"Wait hell, I want my car and I'm not waiting in this creepy room for longer than I need to-"

"Ah, you're finally here. And you've brought a friend excellent"

The both of us looked forward to the front of the room where a large desk counter was placed, watching as a slightly smiling man stepped out from the door behind it.

"Hyung you know this guy?" I mumbled under my breath, getting up from my seat as I kept my eyes on the stranger as he headed towards us.

"No-" Jin replied quickly tugging on my coat sleeve, as if to help me get up quicker.

The man looked older than us, his hair was black and appeared to be gelled, no grey hairs so maybe in his late thirties or early forties.

Oddly he was dressed nice, despite his outfit being all black.

He wore a dark black dress shirt, black pants, and some nice matching leather shoes of which I'm sure were from an expensive name brand.

One wouldn't get the impression this guy worked at a place that handles cars- more of an office type place.

"Kim Seokjin I presume? You're car is out all ready to go, and you are?"

I narrowed my eyes and looked down at the mans hand that extended to me, finally deciding to reach out, I gave it a shake.

"I'm with him" I responded vaguely before clearing my throat.

"And you are?" I repeated the mans words to him causing him to chuckle.

"Hanseong"

It sounds familiar but I couldn't imagine anyone else having that name.

"My father was into historical figures so I'm sure if you know anything about the Joseon dynasty you'll understand its meaning" he responded after seeming to notice my thinking.

He sounded almost prideful.

Guess I'll have to do some digging on that with Jungkook later.

"If you don't mind, we've got a bit of a drive back so, my car?" Jin bowed his head respectfully and took out his wallet.

"Oh there won't be any need for that it's already taken care of" Hanseong waved his hand as he started walking right towards the way we entered.

"But-"

Quickly, I smacked Jin in the chest with the back of my hand, causing him to stare at me with his eyes wide and mouth agape as if he was about to snap.

"If this weirdo says you don't have to pay then you DON'T HAVE TO PAY" I  whisper yelled raising my brows at the other before I followed behind the stranger.

As we all exited, there was Jin's car, parked perfectly right beside mine.

I looked over at Hanseong, who stood outside the doors of the building watching as Jin inspected his car, who then nodded at me signalling everything was alright.

"Everything in order Mr. Kim?" The older man questioned tucking his hands into his pants pockets.

He nodded getting into his car and closing the door.

"Yes- thank you- you were very quick and professional, I'll be sure to give you 10 stars on yelp" Jin chuckled nervously to which I just rolled my eyes.

Following Jin, I got into my own car and gave him an annoyed glance as I started the engine after he did.

Raising my head, I looked one last time to the smiling older male through my windshield before he spoke.

"Sounds good, have a safe drive back. Mr. Kim, Mr. Min."

He waved turning on his heel only to disappear into the building as we pulled out of the buildings driveway, and began to head back home.

As I drove following shortly behind Jin, it took me maybe thirty minutes after going through all that had happened for me to realize.

The last thing Hanseong actually said.

"Mr. Min"

I never told him my name.

A/n: Please excuse my late update, they will be that way for awhile due to health reasons, I was supposed post this back in September but unfortunately I had to go to the hospital. Please be assured I'm recovering and it's hopefully nothing too serious. As always I hope you enjoyed~

-ⓙ

[the-music-dealer]

(Ginger’s Song of the Day: November 23rd, 2020)

It’s the middle of November, but I’m feeling this for some reason.

“Pale September, I wore the time like a dress that year The autumn days swung soft around me, like cotton on my skin But as the embers of the summer lost their breath and disappeared My heart went cold and only hollow rhythms resounded from within But then he rose, brilliant as the moon in full And sank in the burrows of my keep

And all my armor falling down in a pile at my feet And my winter giving way to warm, as I'm singing him to sleep.”

[rose-and-thorns]

Pale September, I wore the time like a dress that year The autumn days swung soft around me, like cotton on my skin But as the embers of the summer lost their breath and disappeared My heart went cold and only hollow rhythms resounded from within

But then he rose, brilliant as the moon in full And sank in the burrows of my keep