#but 45 chapters in and there's not a hint of romance

[seraphinitegames]

A but late, but it's here...The Wayhaven Chronicles—Update 21/June/2024 

Was a week of checking off lots of boxes again this week!

I finished writing all the needed blurbs and tag lines for Hosted Games finally! It takes a looooong time to think about a bunch of different ways to describe the story, especially in only 45 words, 80 words, etc! But it was actually really fun breaking down what’s coming up in the story and thinking how to vaguely and mysteriously hint at it, hehe! ;D

I also took the opportunity to rewrite the big blurb for Book Four. I wasn’t completely happy with it first time around, so this was a great chance to rework that:

--

The Wayhaven Chronicles: Book Four

Time is a precious commodity.

Unfortunately, it’s a commodity you don’t have much of these days.

Keeping up with the exhausting training for your new career while balancing your deepening romance on top of juggling some kind of personal life doesn’t leave much time to relax!

But it wouldn’t be a Wayhaven story you’ve come to know without something new to add to that ever-growing pile…

Something stirs beneath the town of Wayhaven.

Something old.

Something powerful.

Something with a very keen interest in you.

-

Delve into the world of Wayhaven once more, where a new enemy is not only unleashed upon the town but unleashes its advances upon you—to your vampire lover’s chagrin.

Or if your heart has yet to find a partner…perhaps you'll succumb to the villain’s romantic attempts?

The choice is yours!

--

It’s still way too wordy, so I’ll probably work on condensing it a bit, but I love it a lot more now! :D

I also got started on Chapter Three! Like, I seriously got started on it and really slammed into that, lol!

The only thing I’m having a bit of trouble with is deciding where a certain POV should go, as I’ve decided to add in an extra Unit Bravo POV with Rebecca, but I don’t want that POV leading into another POV that isn’t the reader’s straight away…I’m not sure if that makes sense, lol! But I’m going to write it all in the order I have it planned and then see how it actually reads.

I should actually get all the way to finishing the first third of the chapter tomorrow, which includes those two POVs!

Hope you all have the most amazing weekend!

[gallafics]

𝙶𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚏𝚒𝚌'𝚜 𝚁𝚎𝚌𝚜

Category — My Comfort Fics (No Major Spoilers)

“The Fight For You” by WishIHadWings

Complete. 45 chapters. 328k words. Explicit Mexico AU. Slow burn. Cheating. Smutty. Angsty. Fluffy. End game but detailed Mickey/OMC. Brief Ian/Trevor.

Beautiful dynamic. Their chemistry is INSANE in this fic. The build up is phenomenal. The reunion sex is chefs kiss perfection. Say what you want but one of my fav tropes is “Mickey/Ian in a relationship and cheating to be with Ian/Mickey.” Parts of this fic are so painful to read, the angst gets ANGSTY in this one. (Full review — coming soon!)

“You can’t hurry love” by @crazynadine (Ao3)

Complete. 43 chapters. 464k words. Explicit. Graphic depictions of violence. Rape/non-con. Angsty. Smutty. Happy ending. Drug abuse. Domestic Violence. Slow burn.

This fic is one I hold so close to my heart. I relate to a lot of things in this fic. With that being said, please read the trigger warning and take care of your mental health when reading as it deals with some pretty heavy themes. Ian and Mickey are both with others but when they give in and finally come back together is literally so beautiful. Definitely a must read! (Full review — coming soon!)

“Silent Pain in Emerald Eyes” by @takeyourpillsbitchh (Ao3)

WIP. 7 chapters. 54k words. Explicit. Graphic depictions of violence. Rape/non-con. Angsty. Suicidal thoughts. PTSD. Mute!Ian Gallagher. Therapist!Mickey. Taboo relationship — therapist/patient. Happy ending. Romantic tension. Sexual tension. Mutual Pining.

This fic being incomplete doesn’t some me from rereading it over and over. This is another that I would say to definitely make sure you read the trigger warning and make sure you’re in a good mental space. It also deals with some pretty heavy themes. Mickey and Ian’s connection in this fic is unmatched for me, they just get each other so well in this one. They both have been through so many traumatizing things and Mickey uses his trauma to help Ian heal from his trauma in a healthy way. It’s quite beautiful. I literally wait with bated breath for the author to update! (Full Review — Coming soon)

“The Crimes Surrounding Ian Gallagher” by RumbleFish14

Rereleased WIP. 11 chapters. 85k words. Graphic depictions of violence. Major character death. Rape/non-con. Underage. Angsty. Smutty. Strangers to lovers. Ghosts. Detective!Mickey. Ghost!Ian. Love at first sight. Murder. Underage sex/relationship. Mystery with a twist.

This is one of the first fics I ever read when I joined the fandom, when I tell you I about peed my pants when I realized the author reuploaded this fic I’m not kidding. I actually squealed. It is a beautiful, intricate, detailed story and writes as a true mystery novel with hints of romance. I do know the ending as I have the original downloaded, and I’m confident to say it’s a happy ending, but I’m not sure if I should upload the download link? I will have to get in touch with the author somehow! Please, give this fic a chance if you feel your mental can handle it, it’s truly an amazing read. (Full review — coming soon)

[defira85]

With the proviso that I have not finished the game and I in a really shitty mood about my Rook's body type breaking in the romance cut scene specifically, I have thoughts-

I saw a post that said that Veilguard is so fundamentally determined to say nothing that sometimes it comes out as incredibly offensive with just how aggressively noncommittal it is

and that's really it, isn't it

Shadow Dragon Rook got into trouble for saving slaves, and the Viper is a vigilante saving slaves, but we never SEE any slavery. We see poverty and abuse, but there's no talk about the rigid castes within Tevinter. Maybe the Venatori were drawn primarily from the lower classes of mages, those without family seats in the Magisterium, who were drawn to the promise that they could accumulate power instead of being trapped in a system that dooms them to failure and looks down its nose at them for being born not important enough

Tevinter's whole thing across the series has been slavery!!! And we get one or two codex entries about how Dorian gave such a nice speech about "slavery bad :c" and that's it

The Crows are so utterly toothless. Just an aggressively white-washed cool vigilante group, no hint of their child abuse or slavery practices, where's the acknowledgement that they make a lot of their money from slavery?

Lucanis' year in solitary confinement and torture is just window dressing. Again, haven't finished the game, but no examination of it at all 45 hours in. There's so much literature about what solitary confinement does to a person, how it's a form of torture, and just thinking about how much of Zevran's past abuses were woven into his characterisation so carefully... it's like chalk and cheese

Davrin once again filling the role of Bioware's obligatory "elf who hates being an elf and aggressively denies all elven heritage" companion

And like... every mini villain is just someone who was too ambitious and that made them eeeeevil. All the companions' rivals get dropped on Rook without any build-up, no casual conversations to say "oh I had this ex-friend/rival/foe who shaped me". Maybe I've been spoiled by Baldur's Gate 3 and how carefully all of the companions' abusers were woven into who they were as a character and how it shaped them and their story. Gortash didn't just come out of nowhere, Karlach was mentioning him in chapter 1! There were codex entries about him to be found weeks before you met him! But who the fuck is Johanna Hezenberouasertrousers or whatever the fuck her name is. She was ambitious, TOO ambitious, so she's evil and Emmrich's mirror. Cyrian joined the Forgotten Ones, and sure the Evanuris turned out to be super evil abusers that all the myths and religion was super wrong about but this is WORSE CYRIAN HOW COULD YOU

Don't get me started on whatever the fuck the game is trying to say about religion and about faith. Gods, it's so mid 2000s atheist edgelord memeing "unfortunately for you.... I have reason and logic on my side....... checkmate religion..." There's no nuance at all!!!!! Just "religion is a lie so faith dies now" no acknowledgement of faith as a cultural force!!! Of CULTURE being shaped by faith!!!! Okay I said don't get me started, I'll stop now

Whatever the fuck they're doing with the Qunari. They really just have gone back to their incredibly racist roots of "islamic borg" as David Gaider called it but they've made it even more offensive by making them all so... I don't know what word I'm looking for is, but it's about the sex appeal. How they've got their entire chiselled asses out. They look like they're trying to take part in Mister Bodybuilder Treviso, not a vaguely regimented army that was incredibly carefully structured up until about 5 minutes ago

This was more than what I intended to write lmfao. It's a fun game! I'm enjoying myself, as a fun action RPG. But after Baldur's Gate 3, it's just so utterly spineless. It has nothing to say. Evil people are evil, good people are good. It doesn't take a stand about anything. It is so determined not to be offensive to anyone at all that I find it gross

I'll finish it, and then I'll go back to BG3

[l1ve-l4ugh-lov3craft]

Brainrotting About A Crimson Rivers Fan Film aaaaa

And because @almostafunctionaladult (hopefully that @'s you cos idk if it worked) and a grand total of four other people liked the post I made about it, I'm gonna barf all my current ideas here

Cos why not??

FULL disclaimer I laid away late into the night conjuring all of this up and when I tried to bother my sibling with all this madness it was only semi coherent so hopefully this will make sense lol Strap in.

TO START OFF! There is SO much content even just in the first arena between all the hell James and Regulus are going through, plus wolfstar's domestic romance thing they have, and all the politics and Sirius' pov in the Hallow during the games. And THEN, you have the whole entire hellscape that is the second half of the fic and the second arena and revolution and shit, so it would be EXTREMELY hard to make a single movie. The original source material couldn't even be made into one book, let alone one movie XD

Which is why I have been stewing and pondering and have decided! Do it miniseries style >:D With the VERY large and generous budget of my dreams, it would be two seasons each with 30-45 minute episodes. Season 1 is 6-12 episodes and covers the first arena as well as the aftermath and ends once James and Regulus are on their way home. Season 2 is definitely more like 12-15 episodes and covers everything that goes down in the last 30 chapters or so.

UNFORTUNATELY, I do not have that splendid or magnificent of a budget as I am just a uni student with delusions of grandeur lol

So I would pick a few fan favourite scenes from the book and make short films about those! Starting off strong with the scene when Regulus and James meet up in the arena the first time cos I ADORE that scene and I need to see it in film XD That one is ALSO very easy to do on a budget which is nice cos it's two actors (which I still need so if you're in the US of A and can make it to Idaho, hit me up whaaaattt who said that??) and a patch of trees I could reasonably pass off as a forest on camera.

Another essential would be the Bear Trap scene and I have SO many fun ideas for camerawork on that one to add to the stress and chaos >:D never lingering on one person for two long to keep up the frantic, panicked feeling in the scene. I'd ALSO love to have a shot of them all just walking and then somehow quickly foreshadow that the trap is coming just for a split second before it cuts to a wide shot of the forest treeline for James' scream as he Gets Got. Then cut right back to all of them and commence the scene. Regulus calling James 'baby' is, of course, a must have in the book-to-film adaptation partly cos it's a recurring theme and hurts a lot when Reg says it later on, and also I just like it :) I would LOVE to do the scene with the death eaters when they catch Regulus and James cos I think that one can be really fun with the expressions. And being able to put Regulus going apeshit on Mulciber for hurting James could be a super cool but to film

I want to do EVERYTHING with Evan cos I love him so much but this is getting long so I'll have to save that for another rant

OH! And how could I forget the BEATBOXING SCENE??? I feel like I'm legally required to film the bit where James is beatboxing in the arena cos it's PEAK comedy but also the right background music could really do wonders in emphasising the level of humanity James still has in him at that point and could make it just a little bit angsty :)

RAGHHH AND MY IDEAS FOR THE FINAL SCENE WHEN REGULUS COMES OUT OF THE RIVER AND THEY REACH FOR EACOTHER! Camera blur will be my BEST friend in that one, giving the illusion that the audience is kind of seeing it from James and Regulus' pov as they're losing lucidity. Maybe some brief hints of flachbacks to all the top Jegulus highlights of the arena in, like, a 'happiest memories' sort of way? But not set on that it might be too much I dunno yet. And then I want to have the very last shot be from Regulus' pov. Imagine with me: we can see his hand in the foreground as he's reaching for James but the camera is swaying and his vision is blurry. Distantly, Slughorn's voice announces the winners of the 84th annual hunger games are none other than James Potter and Regulus Black. James, who had just been staring for the longest time, looks to Regulus, and there could possibly be the slightest twitch in his hand as he reaches back for Regulus, but the moment Slughorn's voice fades, Regulus collapses completely and it cuts to black as he passes out. And that's the end of the film. Roll credits :D

That's all I got for now, and those are only my ideas for the FIRST arena but this was getting long so I gotta cut it here lol XD Anyway yeah hopefully this was semi-coherent and as cool on metaphorical paper as it is in my head lol Let me know what yall think!! And if you have any other ideas I'd LOVE to hear them!!

[sixhours]

Chapter 1 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

Portland, Maine September 26, 2003

“Fuck.”

The air in the bathroom is thick with moisture, making it hard to breathe. You wipe at the condensation on the mirror and stare at the face reflected back at you, pale and drawn in the yellow light.

“Fuck, fuuuuck,” you mutter, holding the pregnancy test up and squinting, tilting it this way and that, hoping the extra line is just a trick of the light, but it doesn’t go away. You groan, internally vacillating between panic and rage.

Fuck.

There’s a knock at the door. Your girlfriend, Joanna, probably wondering what’s taking so long.

“Hey, you done? We just got called into the hospital again.”

“What?” You drop the stick onto the counter, but you can’t stop staring at it, the two clear blue lines taunting you. Outside your shared one-bedroom apartment a siren begins to wail. “I just got home.”

“That’s the job, babe,” Jo says. The doorknob creaks, breaking your reverie.

“Shit, just a sec,” you mutter, shoving your foot against the door and fumbling for some toilet paper to wrap the test in before tucking it at the bottom of the garbage can. You swallow the urge to vomit as Jo pokes her head in.

“You’ve been in here forever–”

“Jeez, privacy,” you snap, clutching the towel to your body more tightly, suddenly keenly aware of how flimsy it is, how exposed you are.

Jo’s eyes widen with hurt and you immediately soften, guilt stabbing at the gentlest swell in your abdomen. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…it’s just been a long-ass day.”

You soothe her with a quick kiss, hoping she can’t taste the hint of bile under the mint of your toothpaste and mouthwash.

“I’ll be right there,” you say, ducking around her, headed to your room in search of fresh scrubs.

“You want something to eat? I made sandwiches to go.”

Your stomach turns. “No, I ate at the caf after my last shift,” you lie. “Is this an all-hands thing?” you call over your shoulder as you dig in the hamper. Nothing is clean, there’s never enough time to do laundry.

Plenty of time to fuck an old buddy and get knocked up, though , you think, setting your lips in a grim line and smoothing the wrinkles out of some navy blue slacks.

“Yeah, Dan says they’re calling everyone in,” she confirms. “Something about a virus, flu season’s starting early, they’re expecting a full house. It’s bad.”

“Mmm,” you say, pulling on the freshest top you can find and tying back your hair in a ponytail. You meet Jo at the door where she hands you a brown paper sack, presumably your sandwich.

“You okay?” she asks as you walk the four blocks to the hospital, grateful for the crisp fall air. You hope it hides the flush in your cheeks, hopes she didn’t hear you retching before you stepped into the shower. She reaches for your hand and takes it, but your fingers are numb. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m fine,” you say automatically. “Just…tired.”

“Okay…hey, I had an idea for our anniversary next week.”

“Hmm?”

“There’s this new place on Congress Street, they do a great brunch with free mimosas? Since it’s on a Sunday I thought we could probably sneak in a date after your shift–”

“That’s fine,” you say automatically, squeezing her hand in weak reassurance; just the word brunch makes your stomach turn. “I mean, great, sounds great.”

She stops you outside the hospital’s employee entrance and holds fast to your hand to pull you back before you can go in.

“Babe. Are you sure you’re alright?”

You blink back tears, swallow hard, and it almost comes out. You open your mouth to speak, but the sound of a siren interrupts as an ambulance screams out of the nearby garage, lights flashing, and the moment is gone.

You pull her into a tight hug. She smells soft and warm and familiar, like oranges and vanilla. You press a tight kiss to the nape of her neck in an unusually public display of affection.

“Whoa,” she says softly, taking an unintentional step back as if to catch you.

“I’m okay,” you murmur into her neck. “We’ll be okay.”

~*~

The smell of antiseptic barely registers as you enter the building, so familiar to you now it’s like a second home. Joanna gives you a quick wave before being intercepted by her attending, who drags her off to the ICU to check on a patient.

By the time you drop your bag off at your locker, shoving the paper satchel with your sandwich at the back, you’ve almost put the pregnancy out of your mind. It comes naturally, this tight compartmentalization of your feelings, this easy decoupling from your emotional state.

The on-call attending physician looks no worse for the wear, and in the back of your mind, you wonder if someone higher up is overreacting to the news out of Indonesia. Your limited knowledge of virology knows the flu can’t jump that quickly. You’re over a hundred miles from the nearest major airport. It will be several days before what’s happening there crawls its way to this tiny state. It’s true, the waiting room is busy, but that’s not unusual for a Friday night.

You fight off a wave of nausea and take a clipboard from the wall.

~*~

Several hours later, at about the time a man named Joel Miller is holding his dead daughter in his arms somewhere in Texas, you are beginning to understand that this is not influenza.

Reports out of Boston and New York City are fragmented and, quite frankly, unbelievable. There’s a federal emergency warning on the screen of every television in the lobby and a growing sense of unease as nurses, doctors, and assistants dash between rooms, weaving between gurneys, calling out orders for beds, antibiotics, IVs. The thrum of the waiting room only grows louder and more insistent. The sirens are a constant, frenetic wail in the distance.

But all of that is a dim clamor in the background because your latest patient has a bite. A distinctly human-mouth-shaped arc of angry red impressions in the crook of their neck. The patient also has a sudden fever and a rash that is rapidly spreading up the side of their head. 

Rashes don’t move like that, rashes don’t fucking undulate …

If you didn’t know better you’d think it was blood poisoning, but you’ve never seen sepsis like this. You watched the bite happen, watched a troubled man in the waiting room lurch from his chair and fly toward his victim, sinking his teeth into the flesh of her neck before being restrained by an orderly and the receptionist. That was maybe five minutes ago, and you’ve never seen an infection spread so fucking fast . By the time you’d helped the patient into a cot, they were already shivering, skin clammy and burning at the same time.

The patient is your partner, Joanna.

“What…the fuck,” she murmurs, chest heaving. Her neck twitches and jumps under your careful, probing touch. Her skin is already dewy with sweat, hot under your fingertips.

“Hold still,” you hiss, unsure if you’re talking to her or your trembling hands. You douse the bite in antiseptic, wiping away the blood with a clean square of gauze, leaning in to examine the rash again. It’s crept up from her collarbone to her ear, and it has to be your imagination, but you can almost see it…move. Joanna is shivering, whether from the fever or shock you don’t know, but you don’t have time to process before a shriek rings out from the hall.

“Need some help out here!”

Joanna grimaces, hissing softly through her teeth. “Go.”

“Jo–”

“Go. I’ll be fine,” she says, even as her eyes roll back in pain.

You give her one last desperate look, squeezing her hand, whispering, “I’ll be right back,” before ducking out of the room.

A woman is seizing on the floor, spasms jerking her limbs from side to side. A nurse looks up at you with wide eyes as he attempts to stabilize the patient’s head and neck. The seizing woman’s head turns sharply and her teeth make contact with his wrist, ripping a gash in the tender flesh.

“Shit!” he cries, jerking his hand away, blood running in rivulets down his arm.

“Go, I’ve got this,” you bark. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t ask if you’re sure, just backs away and runs down the hall.

A hot hand on your shoulder spins you around before you can figure out what to do with the writhing woman on the floor. It’s Joanna, her eyes cloudy. The heat radiates off her body in waves, the rash–

Not a rash.

–has spread up her neck, already red and raised welt-like lines are slithering–

Rashes don’t slither.

–around the sunken sockets of her eyes.

“Help…” she croaks. Her fingers pulse and twitch against your collarbone, gripping too tight, too close.

“Jo, it’s–” you start to soothe, intending to send her back to bed, but she’s staggering toward you in sharp jerks, her mouth glistening, and some deep, primal urge makes you recoil from your lover’s embrace. You stumble backward, heels catching on the woman on the floor, and you land on your tailbone behind her.

Joanna follows like a moth to your flame, pitching forward, crawling, oblivious to the woman on the floor who is also moving underneath her, rolling over in a jerky, twisting, impossible way. Both women lock onto you and you can almost feel their need, their–

Hunger.

From down the hall comes a rising chorus of shouts, a crash. Someone bursts through the doors from the waiting room, one shoulder soaked with blood. From between the swinging doors, you see glimpses of chaos, hear more screams.

No. No. Not Jo. Not–

Something inside you breaks; you scramble backward, barely stifling a moan. You feel a hand tighten around your ankle and you kick it away, the tile floor slippery against your sweaty palms. Another hand grasps, scrabbles, another kick; a bloody palm print gleams on the crisp white leather toe of your sneaker.

No! No! Get out!

By some miracle you find your feet, feel yourself turning, running down the hall, deeper into the hospital. A dim part of your brain reaches for a reprimand, but you can’t make yourself stop, driven by panic, passing lines of gurneys and bodies slumped on the floor. You’re acutely aware of the thick smell of blood, drowning out the familiar antiseptic wash. You push your way through crowded halls over a chorus of groans and screams.

Out get out get out out out–

You burst through an emergency exit at the back of the hospital gasping for air, pressing your back to the weathered brick. Your heart lurches in your chest, wishing for this to end, for you to wake up in your bed after a bad dream.

A pregnancy dream , you think, barking a manic laugh into the night, recalling that your biggest fear this morning had been a little nausea and a missing red dot on the calendar. You taste hot bile and feel yourself swaying, ready to empty the meager contents of your stomach next to the dumpster, but a blinding light freezes you in its glare.

“Stop right there!”

You blink, stunned. Then you see the gun.

A figure in Army fatigues is pointing a rifle at you. The trembling of the muzzle makes you understand he’s just as scared as you are. If you get sick now, you’re a dead woman.

You raise your shaking hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot, I’m a…I’m a doctor.” 

He doesn’t lower the weapon. “Are you bit?”

“I’m not–I don’t know what–”

His voice rises, panic creeping in as he gestures with the rifle, jabbing it at you. “Are you bit?!? Are you sick?”

“No!” you say, trying not to let your voice shake. “No, I’m not sick.”

He swallows hard, appearing to take this in. You close your eyes in the endless seconds between breaths, waiting for the crack of the rifle.

You open your eyes at the sound of the gun being lowered to his side.

“Ma’am,” he says shakily. “I think you should come with me.”

[mejomonster]

Silent Reading, chapter 45. Car crash, funny/awkward doctor talk, Ride home "I'm selling you to a buyer" gets cake instead, takes Fei Du home for birthday and much of the conversation was pretty much the same in show Justice in the Dark. I like that Justice in the Dark added Luo Weizhao actually singing happy birthday, and him running for Pei Su in the car crash. The singing didn't happen in book but it's a good addition to hammer home the awkward vulnerable intimacy of them there and Luo Weizhao happy Pei Su's alive so happy he is, so afraid earlier that we only barely saw, trying to give Pei Su a nice birthday (maybe not even realizing how fucked Pei Sus childhood birthdays were compared to all this). The running to Pei Su in the car crash is also nice, in theory it happened "in between the lines" in the book since somehow Luo Wenzhou in the book got from seeing the crash to being with Fei Du in hospital. So I liked the additions in show.

Again it also makes me so curious: the show is adding some things sometimes. Some are just adjustments to make the plot work in 30 eps limitation (like the cigarette clue of a wish in case 1 in the show no doubt partly to give watchers a clue to catch that's Highly Noticeable in the torrent of various info we got while the script also had to Cut some clues out/minimize them due to lack of time). Some are additions or changes to scenes that in a way actually add something. That cigarette clue then let to the scene of Luo Weizhao making a wish for Fei Du, which is not in the book, but it IS romantic and heartfelt and definitely a Key scene they decided to add). The scene of Luo Weizhao asking Tao Ze to give the psp to Pei Su is not in the book as a direct scene, just a mention of it having occurred. The scene of him running to Pei Sus car is not in book but I think adds some emotional weight (which is probably good for the show since cutting some romance-text it needs to add emotional depth development another way for them, and also again cause of 30 eps they have to I imagine speed up some development as it's revealed to audience versus the way Silent Reading novel can more slowly dwell in the "they barely have feelings outwardly" region since it has character pov narration to give hints that a visual show doesn't as much, has way more time to slowly ramp up than a show). Which again... all makes me curious what scenes they will ADD to the show for pei su/Luo weizhao.

So far I think the changes, like most novel to cdrama adaptations, make it feel a bit distinctly different as a story. But at the same time I feel it's in spirit very faithful to the feelings and intent of Silent Reading novel so I'm really enjoying it.

[cookies-are-nice]

Catalyst

Content : OC self insert, day out with hinata and emma

Author's note: the romance is in the upcoming chapters so if you wanna skip the story and go straight to the mikey x Sachiko part, go to chapter 6

Chapter 2 : Danger

-ˋˏ ❀* ‧₊˚* ੈ‧₊*❈꧁🥀꧂❈ * ੈ‧₊ *₊°❀ ˎˊ-

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP* *BEE-* *slap*

"Aghh."

Sachiko yawns as she lazily gets out of bed. She slips into her bunny slippers and wobbles to her bathroom. She brushes her teeth with half-lidded eyes and takes a shower. Not feeling any different in energy from yesterday, the girl does what a normal 14-year-old would do, she chugs down a whole cup of coffee.

*Sigh* "Much better,"

Finally waking up from her drowsy state, Sachiko gets ready to go out. She yelled to notify Takemichi about her leave, but heard no reply. She figured he was still asleep and went out. Aside from her horrible sleep schedule, she was quite excited and happy today. Why? Well because she was going to have an outing with her best friends: Emma and Hinata!

When the sleep-deprived girl reached the mall, she looked around and realised they were late...again. She let out a sigh of disappointment and went to a cafe where she is a regular and ordered a cup of coffee. Despite the insane amount of caffeine she had consumed today, Rose fell asleep in the cafe.

Her dream was strange, one would even say it felt nostalgic. She dreamt of a slender male figure with white hair styled in a stepped haircut just above the shoulders, embracing a woman with beautiful long hair dressed in a trailing lilac dress ; the pair was under a sakura tree, the pink and gentle petals flowing down, littering the ground on which the duo was standing. After a few moments, the woman pulled away to look the man in his eyes, hinting to have something more than just a hug. The man seemed to understand her wants and leaned in for a kiss.

From the corner of her eye, Sachiko noticed a revolver being cocked.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" She called out the man on his actions in an attempt to stop him, but she exclamation went unnoticed by the person.

Instead, that caused the attacker to raise up the weapon, aiming it directly at the girl's head. Sachiko yelled desperately for the assailant to stop, only to be ignored as if she was only visiting a memory. She averted her attention back onto the couple, hoping they could dodge the bullet(pun not intended). Just as their lips grazed, the gun was fired.

The woman's body went limp and the blood from the gunshot in her head started to trickle down her face. Just then, Sachiko caught a glimpse of the name badge she was wearing.

<Is t-that->

Rose suddenly shot up from her chair, startled by the nightmare. Then, the disoriented teenager was surprised by a touch on her shoulder. She jerked her head around and saw familiar faces.

"EMMA, HINATA!"

"SACHIKO WE WERE LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR YOU AND YOU WERE HERE SLEEPING ALL ALONG?!" Emma exclaimed.

"JEEZ NOT LIKE I WAS THE ONE WHO CAME LATE"

"KEEP IT DOWN! WE'RE STILL IN A CAFE WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU TWO" Hinata whisper shouted.

"OK fine sorry"

"Do you have any idea what time it is right now?!"

"what"

"2:00 pm"

Sachiko was shocked to hear this seeing that she arrived at 1:15 pm.

"Damn I slept for 45 minutes." The girl stated as she scoffed at her terrifying ability to fall into rem sleep that easily.

"Hinata calculator mode, what time did Rose get here?"

"You can't do 60-45?"

"shut up."

They laughed and exited the cafe.

"Let the fun begin~"

The girls went from shop to shop, collecting bags left and right ; from cosmetic stores to grocery stores, they didn't care where they were, they just wanted to splurge on whatever they laid their eyes upon. By the end of the day, the 3 of them were almost buried in shopping bags.

"Welp im spent."

"help."

Emma and Sachiko turned around to see Hinata dying with at least 4 bags on each of her limbs. They rushed to help their friend despite the bags they were already carrying. Sachiko hurriedly ran to a glossy black car with tinted windows. She knocked on the window and the door unlocked almost instantly. She threw the bags she had inside the car and called out to Hinata and Emma to do the same. The girls sighed with relief as they put down the last bag of random stuff they bought. When Hinata came back to her senses, she asked:

"Rose, whose car is this?"

"I DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE OMG WHOSE CAR IS THIS"

"Mine idiot"

They looked at her in shock. Was their friend a billionaire all along?

"Well, it's my dads' but-"

"PHEW!"

"PHEW!" Hina and Emma exclaimed in sync, confusing Sachiko.

"WHAT?!"

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE INVOLVED IN SOME MAFIA FAMILY OR SOMETHING!"

"I THOUGHT SHE HAD A SUGER DADDY!"

"EXCUSE ME???"

She got up and hit both her friends for jumping to conclusions like that.

"ok ok, enough joking around. How are y'all gonna go home?"

"I'm walking."

"Me too."

"Are y'all sure? It's almost night, you shouldn't be walking out in the streets."

The girls nodded in sync to assure their friend.

"Alright, please stay safe!"

They bid their goodbyes and went their separate ways. By some miracle, Sachiko managed to find a seat in the pile of bags.

"Your dad's car?" The driver of the car asked with sarcasm.

"You try coming up with a better excuse" She bit back. "Don't go home yet, follow them."

The driver obeyed her words without hesitation despite her only being 15 years old, almost as if she was the daughter of some kind of mafia boss. Well, maybe she was. (😶💅💅)

‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊* ੈ✩‧₊˚*✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩*

"That was so fun!!!"

"Yea, we bought sooooo much stuff!!!"

The two girls laughed out loud. Little did they know, there were thugs right around the corner, waiting for some girls to take advantage of. As the girls turned the corner, 2 drunk-looking men with dirty clothes appeared in front of them.

"Where are you girls going this late?"

"U-uh we're going home for dinner." Emma hesitantly said.

"Surely you wouldn't mind hanging out with us a little longer wouldn't you?" Despite already declining their invitation, the men insisted on it.

Wanting to get out of this situation quickly, Hinata explained firmly, "No thank sirs, we really have to go."

As they turned to leave, one of them grabbed Hinata's wrist.

"Ah too bad you're going to have to miss dinner~"

The man pulled Hinata close to him.

"LET GO OF HER!" Emma cried out, trying to stop the man from hurting her friend.

Emma grabbed onto the man's forearm, attempting to stop his assault on her friend. But alas, it was no use, the man pushed Emma off him and she fell to the ground. Hinata turned her face away and closed her eyes, praying for someone to come save her.

"She said no you assholes."

They all turned their heads toward the voice. They saw a figure with a feminine build wearing a black mask; the piercing look in her electric purple eyes was spine-chilling.

"What are you gonna do little girl? "

The person walked toward them nonchalantly, which confused the men. She stopped right before the man who was holding Hinata's wrist and delivered a punch to his jaw, breaking it. The sound of his bones cracking was enough to scare off his friend who tried to run away. But the figure quickly chased after him and tripped him.

"PLEASE! PLEASE DON'T HURT ME!" the man begged for mercy, fearing for his life.

"Why should I listen to you, you certainly didn't listen to those girls you were about to harass."

Her cold tone in her voice sent chills down Hinata's and Emma's spines.

"I-I'LL NEVER DO THAT AGAIN! I SWEAR!"

The figure seemed to pause for a moment, before grabbing his collar.

"run."

As she let go of his collar, the man desperately ran away. Hinata and Emma could only freeze in place as the figure walked towards them.

"You girls alright?"

"I-uhm yea! Yea, we are! " Emma responded quickly.

"You girls better hurry home, it's dangerous this late out" the unknown person advised.

"We will!"

The figure gave them a nod and took off. Emma and Hinata stood there in disbelief at what just happened.

"Hinata?"

"Y-yea?"

"w-was that THE『Rose of Tokyo』???!!!"

"IT WAS!!!"

"OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG"

"I CAN'T BELIEVE WE MET HER!!!"

"SHE'S SO COOL??!???!?"

"HER EYES ARE PURPLE OMG!?!"

"NO CAUSE HER VOICE WAS SO OMG!!!"

"SHE'S SO STRONG TOO!!!"

"AHHHHHHHHH!!!"

The two girls having forgotten they were almost harassed, were fangirling over their 'saviour'.

This is so cringe, I advise yall to skip to chapter 6, not much happens in the early chapters that is important to the plot.

[sambadecomboscribbles]

Captain College Au

Tags: Mentions of Weed, Mentions of Alcohol, College and superhero stress, Heavy Language, Blood, Battles, Fighting, Injuries, Mention of divorce and more older topics! This fic isn’t for kids! Captain college au, what if I gave Harold Captain’s job and gave him dad issues? That’s it that’s the fic.

Characters: Harold Hutchins, George beard, Melvin Sneedly, Mr Krupp, Edith, Heidi Hutchins, Jessica Gordon, Billy-donabee-Ahiro and more!

Relationships: Harold and Melvin, Harold/Billy, Melvin and Billy, Harold and George, Melvin and George.

1/ ???

Chapter 1

Hey Ho, here we go.

There was a light dusting of snow along the crunchy, chipped sidewalk. The snow sticking to the rocks with gentle grasps, holding on with all their might. The air smelled of crisp smoke and a hint of the last remains of Pumpkin spice as the holidays started to settle in the bones of the city. Winter was just around the corner and it didn’t seem like the monster truck of Christmas was stopping anytime soon, slamming into Piqua like a bat out of hell.

It seemed to arrive quicker every year now. Not that the city cared, jumping up at the chance to celebrate the holiday earlier.

Walking along the roads, was one of Piqua’s oldest residents. His bright green sneakers happily dancing along the sidewalk as Old 45’s dance in his dollar store ear buds. Swinging like bells in a clock tower was tonight’s dinner, the plastic bags crinkling in tune with his steps. Chinese food, from a familiar friends family restaurant. The man didn’t seem too upset over the cold blanketing the town, instead he seemed overjoyed in the moment, letting the music dance and move his body as it pleased.

“If you think romance is dead and gooo—oooon—ooon-!!”

BRRRING! BRRRING!!

He was brought from his music induced vibe by the sound of a harsh ringtone. He blinked, pulling out his phone with slightly frozen hands, the skin red with irritation. Ah, it was his roommate!

Ah… it was his roommate…

“Shit shit- Ah! Yellow?” He answered, voice cheerful with a sniffle. Knowing fully, the earful he was about to receive.

“Harold Hutchins!! It’s been 40 minutes! where are you?” A sniveling voice barked back, voice holding simmering anger and a hint of worry. “The campus isn’t that far away dammit! Don’t tell me you’ve been kidnapped! I feel sorrow for the poor souls who have to deal with you!!”

“Hahah! Nah, I’m just taking my time Melvin! Don’t worry! I’m almost back in the gates now!” Harold reassured the other, a hand held up in a passive motion. He… was very familiar with the others intense worry and even jabs. “I’ll be home in about 20 minutes, okay? Can you have Glenda open the gates for me? I left my card in the dorm.” He asked, picking up the pace a bit, blonde hair bouncing on his head as he ran against the sidewalk. His worn shoes slamming into the ground with heavy thumps but he didn’t exactly care about the ice beginning to slick up the roads and sidewalk.

“And why should I do that?, last I checked I didn’t even like you.” Melvin sneered, a slight hint of amusement in his voice. Which was steadily growing at the sound of his roommate beginning to hurry the fuck up with dinner.

“Because- ha…! I’m the one with your Dinner! egg rolls- oof! And! crab Rangoon!” Harold replied, out of breath due to his now exercise, mouth curling like a cat’s smirk knowing he had the upper hand in this equation.

But lord was he out of shape.

Ow.

“….okay fair enough, but I still hate you!” Sneedly yelled over the small cellular device, hanging up his phone and snickering to himself in the warm comfort of their dorm. He had gotten easier with learning how to jokingly tease his friends and those close to him. It’s taken a few years but he’s made excellent progress!

Melvin pulled the blanket over his shoulders, snuggling up on their sofa, waiting for his delicious dinner. In actuality he was worried for the other due to how fast the sun was going down and what kind of nasty characters come out in the dark of night in Piqua. He knew the other could handle himself but Harold meant a lot to him. He didn’t know what he’d do without the Hutchins boy who was previously such a thorn in his side.

“That idiot better not spill my beef and broccoli…..” He mumbled, leaning back into the squeaky couch, groaning with the weight of his body. As Melvin sat and worried, the Hutchins boy finally made it to the grand gates of their local community college. His sneakers skid across the ice and salt covered sidewalk, shivering as he waited for the gates to open.

“Awh! Cmon!! Cmon! Cmon Cmon! It’s cold as hell out!!” He whined, curling the food in his arms to keep some semblance of warmth in their styrofoam containers. As the gates creaked open, snow falling from the steel rows upon rows, Harold quickly scampered across the field, running past the closed up fountain, still smelling of Pennies and wishes and hoofed it to the double doors.

He sighed heavily as the warm air hit his body and a sigh of content escaped his heavy lungs. “Man, that’s so nice….” He mused, mouth curling up like a content cat. His eyes closed in bliss as the heavy duty heater warmed his freezing legs and arms.

“And where is my share o’ the loot, Mr Hutchins?” A voice sounded infront of him, voice heavy with age and a pack a day.

Ah, Glenda.

Wonderful, amazing, stunning Glenda.

A true queen amongst queens.

“Why madam! It is right here! Two fortune cookies and a extra egg roll for you my wonderful door keeper!” Harold exclaimed, presenting her share of the loot with the upmost grace and respect one man can offer. “And I promise I did not crush them accidentally like I did before.” He smiled.

“You’re not bad Hutchins! Not bad at’all! Thank you much, dear.” She smiled at him, accepting her share with a happy chortle. “You know that roommate o’ yours called me with such the attitude! ‘If that brat Harold makes it back you lock the door in his face Glenda!!’ O’ lemme tell ya I was almost tempted to! Wondering what you did to make him so upset!!” She snickered, taking a bite of her eggroll.

“Wasn’t running fast enough Gel! Can you believe that??”

“Really now? That boy oughta learn some patience I tell ya!” She gently wiped her mouth, careful to not smudge her red ruby lipstick.

“Well, that’s a Sneedly for ya! I wouldn’t change him for the world!” Harold chuckled, shifting the bag of food to his other hand.

“Well you tell that boy to have a good night alright? And you sleep well tonight alright dear?”

“You too Glenda!! See you tomorrow!!” And with a wave and a smile he headed up the elevator to floor 5. He slumped against the wall of the elevator, taking a moment to fully catch his breath. He pulled his headphones back into their case, putting said case back into his jacket pocket.

He sighed softly, letting his head rest against the metal wall of the elevator, closing his eyes and letting the subtle movement of the box pull him upwards. He didn’t exactly like elevators, preferring the stairs but given he’s had to speedrun his route, he can tolerate the sick feeling his stomach got in order to rest his weary legs.

He almost zoned out, feeling his mind start to wander when-

Ding!

He jolted, eyes opening as he came back to himself from his daydreaming.

Ah, that’s his stop then.

Harold walked out of the elevator, yawning loudly into the quiet hall.

He fumbled a moment, pulling out his keys. A rubber ducky, various Keys to places he never visits and random keychain souvenirs he’s picked up from god knows where hang on the metal ring as he searched for the one key he needed. The others rattling like an off tune windchime, hung on his hand instead of a dad’s porch. Unlocking the door, he was hit with a familiar cinnamon and cupcake smell. Their shared discount candles burning in the dorm.

He kicked the door shut behind him. Ah, home sweet home!

Harold grinned widely and strides to the table, setting the bag down and with a loud cheerful voice, he called, “OH MELVIN!!! DINNER IS HERE!!!~~”

“AAGGHH! Harold IM RIGHT HERE!!” Melvin snapped, getting up from his comfy spot on the couch and waddled over into their connected ‘kitchen’. “Please for the love of all introverts everywhere DONT DO THAT AGAIN.”

“Right! Sorry! Anyways I got your beef and broccoli and your sides!” Harold apologized, pulling out the still warm Chinese food containers and styrofoam. He passed them off to Melvin and pulled his own dinner out. Fried rice with extra onion and pork and sweet and sour chicken.

He could already feel the drool pooling in his mouth as the scent hit his stuffy nose. The smell of freshly fried rice, and the tangy sauce of the chicken. “Mmmm!!! Oh man I can’t wait!!!” He cheered, walking over to the sink and pulling out a pair of forks.

One for him and one for Melvin.

He tossed the fork to the other and sat down with his meal, digging in like a rabid beast. Rice stuck to his face as he chowed down. “Awh man! Thish placsh’ alwaysh rocks!!” He spoke, mouth full of rice and chicken.

“Didnt your mother teach you any manners you barn animal??” Melvin scoffed, chewing on a piece of beef. “Besides! I am sensing one of my eggrolls are missing! Care to tell me why?”

“Oh, yeah I gaff’ one ta Gel!” He replied.

“Good, Gel is a wonderful lady and I can tolerate one going missing because of her. I was worried you ate one on the way here again!”

“Awh Cmon Melvin!! It was one time!!” Harold whined, frowning. His hands still red of his monstrous eggroll crime. For shame Hutchins, for shame.

“One time too MANY!” He barked, eating a forkful of broc n’ beef. The sauce was delectable and as always a knock out of the park. “Regardless, thank you for picking up dinner tonight Harold, I appreciate it.” He spoke, wiping his mouth off on a napkin.

“Heh, it was nothing Melvin, I’m just glad we got Chinese tonight! I was really craving it lately!” Harold beamed, finishing up his chicken in one huge forkful. Truth be told he was starving lately and all that running definitely helped him work up an appetite.

“So was I, it’s not every night we get Chinese food and whilst seafood is my absolute go to, I can appreciate the craftsmanship of a good meal.” Melvin agreed, smiling down at his meal with a look of content. “You have classes early tomorrow, do you want me to wake you up?” He questioned.

“Mmmmmm…..” The other groaned, eyes closing as he tried to mentally prepare himself for the absolutely difficult task of waking up in the wee hours of the morning. “MMMMM..I guess….”Harold replied, pain evident in his voice.

He was not a morning person, no definitely not. Meanwhile Melvin was the shining poster boy of morning people everywhere. Always up at 5 am, coffee in hand and fully dressed in his best slacks and khaki.

Harold never understood how he does it. He’s like Old Saint Nick, always ready at the weirdest of times. Ready to make magic happen. Science magic that is, and coffee magic. Damn does he make a good Mochachococcino.

Harold chuckled softly, shaking the mental image out of his head of his roommate in a big beard, coffee in hand. “I suppose I can get up early, Melvinhaler, unfortunately!” Harold replied, standing up and cleaning up his side of the mess of dinner. Gathering up napkins and his styrofoam.

“Well I should hope so! You’re grade is on the line Hutchins!” Melvin scoffed, waving his fork around, punctuating his words with a point. “You’re so close to graduating with me and I refuse to let you get held back again!”

“I know Melvin I know, it’s just been rough…” Harold sighed, dumping his remains of his dinner in the trash can, tossing the fork in the sink. “It’s not easy managing both a town and school, ya know?”

“Yes unfortunately I am aware of that fact, however you are close Harold and I know with an extra push it will happen.” He’s seen the other try his hardest with his studies all his life, aware of how the other struggled to focus and he’d be upset to see that potential wasted, see another failure on his shoulders.

“…..”

yeah, a push?

He wasn’t sure he wanted another push-

“Besides, I am more than certain That floating deviled egg will return sooner or later. Then, we will rejoice with rootbeer floats, mine diet of course, and soy based toast squares.” Melvin spoke, a hopeful tint to his monotone voice. He truly believed Captain would return soon.

Heh.

“Yeah…. Yeah! You’re right! And I can get pizza and we can invite George and Billy! And Edith and… yuck, Krupp.” Harold grinned, the feeling of despair sludge in his stomach pushed down by the hope filled air pushed into his lungs. Like smelling a fresh minty air freshener, a rich scent of pine and hope.

Yeah!

Yeah.

It’ll be great.

“….”

“Hey Melvin? I think I’m gonna hit the hay early tonight…all that running really wore me out ya know?” Harold said, a hand curling to the back of his neck and nervously scratched at the curls at the back of his hair.

“Of course, you are due for more exercise at some point, rest well and I will wake you up at a reasonable time to get ready. I will clean up the kitchen and head to slumber myself soon enough.” Melvin answered, pushing his glasses up with a finger, careful to not get greasy goodness on his clean glasses.

“Heh… thanks.”

Harold made his way through the small dorm, the floor creaking under his footsteps. Along the walls there was various framed photos of different families and friends. Harold gazed at the picture of him, Mom and Heidi, all dressed up and smiling for Easter. She wasn’t too happy to be dressed up but mom made up to her In chocolate and eggs. She knew Heidi loved the purple ones, she’d buy a separate bag of purple eggs just for her.

Man, Mom…

Shaking his head, He made his way into his room, directly across from the bathroom. Opening the door let out a familiar smell of cheap deodorant and the smell of pot. Along with a boatload of air spray to attempt to hide the smell. It didn’t exactly work out but it’s a good thing he’s noseblind to certain smells given his years of dealing with less than savory smelling adversaries. Along the wall was various drawing assignments and Christmas lights, discounted and still going strong with their unending power supply.

Harold pulled his raggedy jacket off, flinging it wherever was less crowded in dirty clothes, tossed his familiar worn shoes into a pile near the door and collapsed into the creaky bed. He sighed heavily, curling up in his discounted sheets and goodwill blankets. He could still smell Billy’s cologne when they stayed over the night before, the smell helping to ease his mind for a moment.

He gazed down at his mix matched socks, frowning in thought. “…Yeah, he’ll be back…” he murmured, closing his eyes and burrowing his head into the pillow next to him.

“Hopefully…”

[aldhar-ibn-beju]

A story from the dark side: The romance (Chapter 2)

"It's paying time, nigger!"

Styx Lumumba looked at the two policemen, whom she had assumed were customers looking for energy-rich white powder, in surprise. Roquefort in particular was known to the black dealer as a regular customer who might have taken a few lines for free as a bribe, but on the whole paid for his stuff.

"Oh Roquefort, you old white bread, looking for a free nose again? You don't have to get rough about it, I'd be happy to spend you and your attractive girlfriend a shot free of charge."

The drug dealer radiated an aura of self-confidence and sovereignty that made Sappho wonder how a criminal could be so strong and beautiful. This attitude and the mocking smile on her lips now aroused extreme antipathy in Hasso.

A furious hybrid of a Great Dane and a pig, the corrupt law enforcement officer approached Styx and spat contemptuously: "You want to be cheeky, nigger! We gentlemen from the South know how to treat black pigs. Back home, you would be given a hemp tie. So, that makes three grand! You'd better pay up, you cunt, if you want to do business in this town. Or do you want me to take care of you?"

Far from being intimidated, the potential victim of the attempted blackmail looked challengingly at Hasso, while Piggenhead listened in horror at the unexpected conversation.

"I'm not paying you, you miserable racist pig. You stupid white man can go screw yourself."

Hasso laughed hatefully as he drew his service weapon and aimed at Styx.

"Damn nigger, I'll shoot you like a rabid dog and get a medal for it!"

This unfortunate development now woke Sappho from her state of shock and she threw herself in front of her colleague before he could pull the trigger.

"Hasso, stop! Are you completely crazy?"

Roquefort hesitated for a moment, and then a shot shattered the silence of the night.

Well, friends, life punishes those who are late, and if you want to shoot, you should shoot and not talk, as every aficionado of Spaghetti Westerns knows. Lumumba had reacted like lightning and sent Hasso to dog or pig heaven with her pink 45.

Piggenhead couldn't believe what had just happened, but reflexively pulled out her gun. Her heart was racing as she pointed her weapon at the attractive dealer. Confused, the policewoman realized that she was unable to pull the trigger.

Styx, beautiful like an African goddess of death, looked Sappho deep in the eyes and gave the blonde detective a knowing smile that also contained a hint of arrogance, before carefully stowing her large-caliber revolver.

"You could pull the trigger now, cop, but you won't. You feel it, don't you? Something between us, something stronger than the law and your body is consumed by desire."

Her words had a strange, enticing power for the well-proportioned law enforcement officer. With all her might, her previously suppressed needs came to her consciousness, although the situation was not at all favorable for a coming out. Now completely overwhelmed by confusion, Sappho lowered her weapon and looked at Lumumba with a look that contained not only insecurity but also intense desire.

The two women remained facing each other, in the darkness of the dilapidated park, between right and wrong, sex and duty. Their love story had just begun, and it would forever unholy merge the boundaries of their world, to sink into a maelstrom of lust and passion.

The colored drug dealer slowly approached the policewoman and seized her like a hungry lioness, giving her a passionate kiss that made Sappho glow with desire. However, the black warrior princess pushed her away roughly after the deed was done.

"That's for your trouble, you little minx. See you later."

Quickly, like the shadow of death, Styx disappeared into the depths of the park's underworld.

The police officer stood alone in the park, her thoughts and emotions swirling in a seething chaos as the minutes passed by like hours. Finally, she managed to pull herself together enough to call for backup on her police cell phone.

While Sappho waited for support, she could not stop thinking about what had happened and decided to describe the events in a slightly modified way. In her narrative, the heroic Roquefort was cruelly slaughtered by an unknown person in the line of duty, while she served as a hostage to the brutal assassin, who panicked and fled after successfully killing the policeman. The story had its flaws, but it was nice to listen to and could easily be accepted due to Hasso's heroic role.

Unbeknownst to the two lovers, another dealer named Isca Riot had been watching the scene and quietly withdrawn. Isca was smart enough not to interfere in this strange and dangerous encounter.

When Sappho's colleagues finally arrived, she appeared composed and professional. However, her heart was pounding wildly and her thoughts were a stormy, dark ocean in whose bottomless depths a destructive passion slumbered.

[memorydragon]

Sometimes a found family is a police woman reincarnated into a fantasy world to become the prince's fake lover, the guard she stole the loyalty he had for the prince, the magic battery assassin that came to kill her but ends up crossdressing as her loyal maid, the beast demon child who is still learning he's not a pet anymore, and her rival of the prince's fiancee who just wants to be a geologist with mutal goals to take down the patriarchy.

[n1kolaiz]

THE GREAT FITZGERALD

thank u @dazaistabletop for getting me so interested in Fitzgerald's character. ur my favourite Fitz kinnie ok mwah( ˘ ³˘)♥

Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald's novel— The Great Gatsby— was a love story that involved Jay Gatsby, whose mannerisms and characteristics appear to be quite similar to Fitzgerald in the Bungou Stray Dogs adaptation. I just finished reading The Great Gatsby so I thought I'd just make a comparison between the main protagonist of the novel and the main antagonist in BSD's Guild Arc.

Other than the fact that both Jay and Fitzgerald share similar character traits (ambitious, arrogant, and optimistic) the relationships Jay had with the other characters of the novel and the interactions that Fitzgerald had with the other characters of BSD are quite similar, too. I'll focus on three specific associations that both Fitzgerald and Jay experienced in a parallel manner:

Zelda Fitzgerald and Daisy Buchanan

Tom Buchanan

Louisa May Alcott and Nick Carraway

SPOILERS FOR THE GREAT GATSBY!

in case anyone hasn't read it but wants to :)

To avoid confusion, every time I mention Fitzgerald from here on out, I mean the character from BSD; I will specify my references if it comes to the author.

The Great Gatsby had its plot set around the time of the Roaring Twenties: the aftermath of World War I, the peak of socialite culture, and the growth of a prosperous economy and general wealth altogether.

The Roaring Twenties was also a time of luxurious pleasure and liquor, where people indulged themselves and got addicted to hedonism— the pursuit of gratification.

The Great Gatsby was actually written on the basis to prove how corrupt this age was, and the existence of such corruption was vaguely hinted by various factors, one of which included Jay Gatsby's actual source of income: being involved in the affairs of the black market. This proves that illegal activities were not uncommon around that time, as people did anything they could to achieve materialistic gains.

This isn't a history lesson, I promise.

Both Jay Gatsby and Fitzgerald had grown up in poverty and disliked the concept of being anything short of wealthy. They both worked extremely hard to attain financial abundance.

I presume that not everything they did was actually legal when it came to gaining money. As mentioned before, Jay was involved in criminal activities which founded the basis of his wealth, while Fitz once mentioned that in order to own a gun, he had to kill 4 people. He goes on to tell us that he ended up owning that specific gun's manufacturer eventually.

Daisy Buchanan and Zelda Fitzgerald.

The Great Gatsby is actually centered around Jay Gatsby's rather obsessive infatuation with Daisy.

Daisy was a beautiful lady with a incredibly charming nature— she didn't have much trouble with attracting many men back then before she got married to Tom Buchanan, the antagonist of the story and the rival of Jay Gatsby.

"Her voice was full of money," he said suddenly.

That was it. I'd never understood before. It was full of money— that was the inexhaustible chair that rose and fell in it, the jingle of it. the cymbals' song of it... High in a white palace the King's daughter, the golden girl...

Daisy and Jay Gatsby fell in love right before he was sent off to war and a few years before she met Tom. Before they were separated, Jay's dream of gaining wealth and status was primarily flamed by his intention of reaching Daisy's social ranking in order to be worthy of her love.

Initially, because of how passionate he was about his love for her, Jay lied to Daisy about his wealth. It was only after the War did he actually gain the riches he aimed for. By the time he did achieve his monetary goals, Daisy had married Tom already. Consequently, Jay hosted a bunch of lavish parties in order to gain her attention, prove himself and his love for her, and ultimately, win her back.

Jay perceived Daisy as a literal angel, void of any flaw whatsoever. He even tells Nick, the main character, that the fact that numerous men got romantically involved with such a lady just increased her value altogether.

But what gave it an air of breathless intensity was that Daisy lived there— it was as casual a thing to her as his tent out at camp was to him. There was a ripe mystery about it, a hint of bedrooms, of gay and radiant activities taking place through its corridors, and of romances that were not musty and laid away already in lavender but fresh and breathing and redolent of this year's shining motor cars and of dances whose flowers were scarcely withered. It excited him too that many men had already loved Daisy— it increased her value in his eyes. He felt their presence all about the house, pervading the air with the shades and echoes of still vibrant emotions.

As the story unfolded, Daisy's character was torn apart for a proper, more brutally realistic perspective of her true character, revealing a shallow, selfish lady who solely placed her interest in money and luxury, the things which she often took refuge in when things went wrong. As the plot developed itself, the actuality that Jay fell in love with the idea of Daisy, instead of Daisy herself, was much more evident. And it took quite some time for him to discover and acknowledge the truth.

Fitzgerald's love for Zelda was very apparent, too, except that it seemed more genuine and pragmatic. Not much is speculated about Fitz and Zelda's relationship in the Guild Arc, but his love for her was very deep, as everything he did was for her and their deceased daughter.

Side note: Fitzgerald (the author) based Daisy's character partially on Zelda, as both women were brought up in wealthy families and took a general liking to lifestyles revolving around money and ease.

Fitzgerald was in love with Zelda, a woman plagued by a debilitating illness. In The Great Gatsby, Jay was in love with a woman who was plagued by the deceptive addiction of self-satisfaction gained by pleasure and whatnot. Zelda was impaired by an mental illness, while Daisy was intoxicated by the security of money and prestige. This is an abstract suggestion though. Personally, that's how I interpreted this correlation when it came to examining these dynamics in their respective universes.

Tom Buchanan

As mentioned before, Thomas Buchanan was Daisy's husband and Jay's rival who had similar characteristics in matters of personality. The Toms in both book and anime were arrogant and cunning, which pretty much vouches for their selfishness.

In the book, Tom is supposedly the love of Daisy's life, except that she just married him for his money instead of waiting for Gatsby. Then again, Tom was involved in a love affair outside his marriage with a lady named Myrtle Wilson. Tom cheated on Daisy by getting involved with Myrtle. On the other hand, Daisy was unfaithful to Tom by keeping her love and relationship with Jay a secret from him.

The climax of the story partly revolves around Myrtle dying in a hit-and-run car accident. The grand twist was that Daisy was the one driving the car, and the car actually belonged to Gatsby. Because the car belonged to Gatsby, George Wilson, the husband of Myrtle, was bent on revenge and tracked down the car. He ended up killing Jay Gatsby, and soon after that, he killed himself.

It was quite a scandal, but Daisy estranged herself from such a tedious matter. In fact, when Jay died, she did not even attend his funeral. Tom was under the impression that Gatsby was the one who killed his mistress, not Daisy, his wife. Either ways, Nick described them in a way that sums up what became of them after Jay's death:

They were careless people, Tom and Daisy— they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made...

It's interesting to note that in chapter 45 of the BSD manga, Tom appears as the antagonist who was later found guilty of murdering his employee, but the blame was originally put on T.J Eckleburg, the inventor of the Eyes of God.

Side note: T.J. Eckleburg was actually an optician who appeared on a billboard advertisement in the novel. This billboard was used as a personification by Nick Carraway, which was meant to embody the representation of a displeased overseer who observed the events that unfolded before him. The Eyes of God has a similar concept: scrutinising everything with an accuracy of 97%. It's a personal speculation, but the Eyes of God was proven to be of utmost importance in the Cannibalism Arc when it came to capturing Fyodor Dostoevsky. Likewise, T.J. Eckleburg's eyes showed how corruption and misconduct never escaped his judgmental visage.

sorry about the quality of the manga panels ;-;

In the manga, Fitzgerald manages to triumph over Tom by betraying his trust altogether in order to obtain the ownership of the Eyes of God and Tom's company. This stands in contrast to what became of Jay in the novel, but the protagonist got what he wanted in this universe.

Keep in mind that Fitzgerald didn't act according to fulfil what justice required; it was purely business. Just like Jay Gatsby put on the facade of a plain, rich man who was really just bootlegging his way to opulence, Fitzgerald wasn't afraid to betray someone's trust to get what he wanted.

Nick Carraway and Louisa May Alcott

If I were to pick a character that represented Louisa May Alcott in BSD from the book, I'd pick the narrator himself: Nick Carraway. Again, this is my personal interpretation, so the association between these two characters is just my personal opinion.

Nick Carraway was known as the more reserved, cynical protagonist compared to Jay. The both of them developed a cordial friendship as the story progressed.

Nick initially took a liking to Gatsby, who was his neighbour. The enigmatic aura Gatsby emitted called for Nick's attention, and in the same way, Gatsby reciprocated his interest in Nick by making the effort to acquaint himself with him.

He had one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced, or seemed to face, the whole external world for an instant and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself.

There were a few times which suggests that Nick didn't like the way Gatsby acted or spoke. Nevertheless, Nick was the only one who stuck with Gatsby until the end.

"They're a rotten crowd," I shouted across the lawn. "You're worth the whole damn bunch put together.

(This was the last thing Nick said to Jay before he died.)

At first, Nick was intrigued by Jay's mystical nature and peculiar idiosyncrasies, but found that Gatsby was a very strange, but 'morally bad' man. However, over time, Nick became one of the few who managed to recognise Gatsby's idealistic ambitions; he saw through all the fame and wealth and found a mere human being capable of being entrapped by love's snares. Basically, he understood Gatsby, despite disagreeing with his actions and even his behaviour at times.

As for Louisa, well, it is a known fact that she was loyal to Fitzgerald because of how much she respected and trusted him.

Both Nick and Louisa were intelligent, witty people with generally nice, honest, and reserved dispositions. Their self-contained demeanours make it very easy to get along with the more exurbent/dominant personas of Gatsby and Fitzgerald. So in the event where each pair was isolated from the rest of the world, they had each other to depend on.

Next morning I sent the butler to New York with a letter to Wolfsheim, which asked for information and urged him to come out on the next train. That request seemed superfluous when I wrote it. I was sure he’d start when he saw the newspapers, just as I was sure a there’d be a wire from Daisy before noon – but neither a wire nor Mr. Wolfsheim arrived; no one arrived except more police and photographers and newspaper men. When the butler brought back Wolfsheim’s answer I began to have a feeling of defiance, of scornful solidarity between Gatsby and me against them all.

Such a dynamic created a close bond of trust. Just as Nick was not hesitant to stick by Gatsby's side, Louisa went to great extents just to return Fitzgerald back to his former leading position and work together with him.

Side note: Nick Carraway is suggested to have the INTP personality type, while Louisa is most likely an INFP. Both these personalities are strikingly similar in many ways. They are individualistic in thinking and described as 'seekers' of their place in the world. If you're interested in a more detailed comparison, check this post out

Alright, that's about it for my speculations; I hope they weren't too messy. Thank you so much for reading!

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

- Nick Carraway, The Great Gatsby

[sixhours]

Chapter 11 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

You’re napping on your cot in the clinic when the walkie at your belt scratches out your name. You rub your eyes, fumbling for the switch.

“Here,” you mutter, sitting up.

“Got a situation, patroller with a busted leg,” someone says.

“Okay, bring them in.”

“Gonna need to make a house call, doc. Meet us at the east gate.”

“Copy that. Out.”

Shit.

Patrol was rough and sometimes things went sideways–Theresa told you as much–but you’ve never had to leave the settlement before. You pick up the med kit, double-check to make sure you have everything you need, and grab your down jacket.

There are two men on horseback waiting for you. You know one is Eliot, and the other…is Joel.

Well, this will be interesting.

Joel gives you a barely perceptible nod. “She can ride with me.”

You raise an eyebrow at the too-easy double entendre, and you swear you see the hint of a smirk before his face drops back into a gruff mask and he puts out a hand to help you up. You can’t ignore the flush of heat that courses through you at his touch, an embarrassing Pavlovian response. You know what those hands are capable of, and you remember all too well where they were last night. You wonder, in a flash of helpless depravity, if you could still smell your slick on his fingers. It doesn’t help that you’re forced to press your whole damn body against his back just to stay on the horse.

Fuck, this is going to be a day.

“You know how to use this?” he asks over his shoulder, holding up a pistol.

“I might.”

He scoffs as you take the gun, check the safety, then tuck it into the back of your jeans.

“Shouldn’t need it, but y’never know,” he says.

When the gates close with a thud , you feel your chest constrict. You’ve lived within the safety of Jackson’s walls for months, too used to its creature comforts. You tighten your grip slightly around Joel’s waist as he nudges the horse to a fast trot, Eliot riding ahead. Your ass is already starting to hurt.

“How far out?” you ask, trying to keep your voice light.

“Couple hours’ ride; we’re camped at the southeastern outpost.”

“What happened?”

“Allan’s horse got spooked and threw her.”

“...Theresa Allan?”

There’s a pause. “Yeah.”

“You said it was a break?”

“Uh-huh. Bone went through the skin…can’t move her until it’s set and splinted.”

“Shit.”

You shift in the saddle, trying to take some pressure off your tailbone, your thighs already aching from the effort of keeping your balance. Joel seems to notice.

“Woulda thought you’d have experience on horseback, comin’ from Nebraska.”

“I’m not from Nebraska. I grew up in New York. I was a city kid.”

“So…how’d you end up at the Omaha QZ?”

“It’s a long and uninteresting story.”

“We got time.”

You let out a deep sigh.

“Alright. I was finishing my residency at a hospital in Maine when the outbreak happened. Managed to get out alive with a…group.

“We protected each other. My medical experience was useful, so I guess I had more luck than some. Just happened to land in Omaha at some point, and that was home…until it wasn’t.”

In your defense, this is all true, save for the destination and the fact that the “group” in question was FEDRA. Your story is the same as countless others, and it comes so naturally, it doesn’t feel like lying…not exactly.

“You were right about the uninteresting part,” Joel says dryly, but there’s a teasing lilt in his voice. “I’m fallin’ asleep over here.”

You clamp down on a smirk, kicking the back of his leg with your boot.

“Asshole.”

~*~

Theresa is ashen and shivering under a moth-eaten wool blanket when you finally arrive at the outpost, which is little more than a shack in the woods. She greets you with a shaky smile through gritted teeth.

“Hey, babe. Fancy…meeting you…here.”

You wince in sympathy. “Can I take a look?”

She nods, teeth clattering as you pull back the blanket and a blood-soaked bandage to reveal the fracture, the jagged white shard of her tibia poking through the skin of her lower leg. You remember trailing kisses up that leg, her thigh, the taste of her on your tongue, and you have to stop yourself from going further with the thought. 

“Alright. Let’s get you fixed up,” you murmur.

You set your med kit on the floor and kneel, pulling out gauze, alcohol, wrapping, and a tiny bottle of precious painkillers. You hand her three of the small white pills and a canteen. “Take these. They might take the edge off.”

“Might,” Theresa snorts, but she swallows the pills with a gulp of water.

You kneel beside her, taking her hand, giving it a squeeze. “This is going to hurt like a motherfucker.”

“Wow, don’t hold back or anything,” she huffs. “Can…we get it…over with?”

“Give the pills a chance to work. I’ll be right back.”

Joel is waiting for you outside. “I’m going to need someone to help me hold her while I set and wrap the break, and someone to keep an eye on her vitals.”

“We’ve got four. Two on watch, two with you. Eliot’s got field medic training, he can handle the nurse stuff.”

You nod.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice suddenly low.

“Fine,” you reply automatically. Indeed, you’re not looking forward to the next part, but it comes with the territory.

He considers this, then nods. “I’ll hold her.”

~*~

It’s as bloody and painful as you expect. Theresa's screams are barely muffled by the belt strap in her mouth, but eventually, you’re able to get the bone back into place. The sun is setting by the time you’ve finished bandaging, wrapping, and splinting the leg. Your hands, jacket, and jeans are splattered in Theresa’s blood, and Eliot brings in snow and melts it over a camp stove to help you wash up.

Theresa is conscious, resting, covered by the wool blanket. Her blood pressure stabilizes and the painkillers are doing their work. Small favors.

Joel waits at the threshold, arms crossed. “We’ve got a sled fashioned up to take her out, but I don’t wanna risk it in the dark.”

You wince. It’s going to be a slow and painful journey back to Jackson.

He leans in, hand coming to rest lightly on your forearm. You’re glad for long sleeves that hide the sudden rash of goosebumps that pop up at his touch, the low timbre of his voice sending a pleasant shiver through you.

“Sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” you say, giving him a tired smile to prove it. He studies your face, then nods slowly.

“Alright. Make yourself comfortable, we’ll ride out when it’s light. Be outside if you need anything.”

Then he ducks out in a whirl of cold air.

You roll out a spare sleeping bag and wrap yourself in your bloody jacket, easing yourself down onto the floor next to Theresa. Your fingers find the pulse point at her throat and she stirs, eyes opening to you.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, making a mental note of her heart rate.

“Like shit,” she croaks.

“Meds might make you nauseous. Think you can eat?”

She shakes her head, making a face.

“Water, then,” you say, picking up the canteen and putting it to her lips. She takes a few slow sips and swallows, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. This seems to sap all her remaining strength, and her eyes close, fluttering shut.

You think she’s asleep, but then she speaks again, voice rough.

“So…you and Joel.”

You open your mouth to protest, but she cuts in, blinking at you with drugged eyes. “Don’t even try, babe.”

You huff a sigh, and close your eyes. “Thea–”

“I care…about you,” she says, struggling to keep her eyes on you. “You know that…right?”

The sentiment is so foreign, so unexpected, your mouth goes dry and you cough to cover your surprise.

“You’re on drugs,” you remind her dryly.

“Good ones,” she agrees. “But I know…what I see.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, even though you’re not sure you want the answer.

She grins then, a brilliant and wry smile that reminds you why you found her so attractive in the first place.

“You’re…alike, you and him.”

“I’m ‘lethal?’” you scoff. “Isn’t that how you put it?”

“Untouchable.”

The word hangs in the open air like a warning shot.

“Look, Thea, don’t…don’t tell anyone, okay? It’s not serious, and his kid doesn’t know. Would make it awkward if–”

“Secret’s safe with me,” she mumbles. “But I meant it…what I said before. Be careful.”

~*~

You’re jolted awake from a cold and troubled sleep by the sound of gunfire.

“Shit,” you breathe, reaching for the pistol at your back. Theresa is awake, too, looking at you with wide eyes.

“What’s–”

“Shh.”

There’s yelling in the distance. You creep on all fours to one wall. There are no windows, just a boarded-up hole through which you can see slivers of moonlight. You try to peek through the slats but all you see are the shadows of trees on snow.

Where the fuck are the guards?

More shouting, sounding further away, and then…shuffling. A croak that is far too close for comfort.

Your finger flicks off the pistol’s safety and you turn to Theresa, putting a finger to your lips. You put your ear to the wall, trying to pinpoint the sound’s location, when a loud thud lands on the door.

Theresa lets out a startled shriek, and you whirl around, ready to tell her to shut up, but then the door begins to crack and splinter as the infected throws itself against it, pounding and pounding until the sound drowns out Theresa’s whimpering and the infernal racket of your heart between your ears.

You get to one knee and bring the pistol up, holding it steady with both hands, trying to slow your breath.

In. Out. In. Out.

The hinges give a rusty scream as they’re wrenched off the frame and the infected breaches the door.

You take the shot.

It goes wide, but it draws the creature’s attention. Its gaping maw hisses and croaks at you, and when it lurches in your direction, you fire one more bullet into the center of its bulbous forehead. It drops like a stone.

A shadow appears in the doorway, and you aim for the head, finger steady on the trigger.

It’s Joel, wide-eyed, breathing hard. He raises his hands. “Fuck–”

You don’t lower the gun; your muscles are trembling, locked in place by adrenaline and fear. You’re still seeing the infected in front of you, coming straight at you, mouth open and ready to feed.

In. Out.

Another moment passes. You feel your finger ease up, feel yourself standing slowly. Joel switches between watching you with concern and glancing at the gnarled body on the floor.

“Are there more?” you bark, not ready to give up the gun just yet.

Joel shakes his head slowly, hands still raised like you might change your mind and shoot him after all.

“Where the fuck were you?” you hiss, finally tucking the gun back into your jeans.

“Eliot and Ashbury had one to the south, I was watchin’ their six,” he says, looking down at the infected corpse. “Seems like you had it covered, though.”

The walkie on his belt squawks, Eliot’s voice staticky over the airwaves. “Joel, you there?”

“M’here. Found one up by the cabin…we took care of it,” he says, looking pointedly at you. “Clear.”

He steps outside to continue the conversation, although now that the door is gone, there’s not much point. You turn to look at Theresa, who has pushed herself to a half-sitting position against the nearest wall, pale and shaking.

It was already freezing in the shack, and now the wind coming through the open doorway makes it unbearable. The sweat that beaded on your skin in the heat of the moment has cooled, making you feel damp and slimy beneath your coat. You grab one of the scratchy wool blankets and look for some way to secure it to the door frame.

“That was…f-f-fucking impres-s-sive,” Theresa chatters, watching as you move about the shack, looking for a spare nail, a piece of wood, anything to pin the blanket up. “If it weren’t so…fucking c-c-cold in here I’d…b-b-be turned on.”

“It was,” Joel says. You hadn’t noticed he’d re-entered the cabin, but now he’s standing there, still watching you with something like trepidation. “Impressive, I mean.”

You shoot him a look. “Help me get this up. We need to get this place warm.”

~*~

It’s only a couple of hours until dawn, but the time crawls by in a bitter-cold haze. Joel drags the infected corpse into the woods and you manage to get the door covered. You spend the rest of the time curled up against Theresa’s good side under the blanket, trying to conserve body heat.

It’s a welcome relief to be up on the horse, arms anchored firmly around Joel’s waist and heading back to Jackson in the early morning light. Eliot and his patrol partner’s horses are hooked to the makeshift sleigh upon which Theresa is bundled, while Ashbury rides ahead as a scout. You gave Theresa another pain pill before you set off, but you suspect it’s not doing much good with all the jostling on the frozen, pock-marked ground.

It’s been an hour of this lurching, plodding cadence when Joel’s voice drifts over his shoulder. 

“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

“Picked it up while I was out there, I guess.”

You feel him shift against you, leaning back slightly. Even sweaty and bloody and in pain, his proximity is unnerving. The constant pressure of the saddle rolling between your legs doesn’t help.

“Looked like a FEDRA thing.”

“That so?” you say, trying to sound disinterested.

“Hell of a shot, though,” he says when you don’t elaborate. “For a ‘city kid.’”

“Mmm. Got lucky,” you sigh, resting your forehead between his shoulder blades, smelling the warm leather of his jacket. You’re so tired you could fall asleep right now, sore ass be damned.

“Right,” he says, drawing out the word sarcastically. “Well, remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Doesn’t feel so good on the other end of the barrel, does it, Miller?”

He gives a soft, knowing chuckle. “No, I s’pose it don’t.”

~*~

You finally ride into Jackson, exhausted and bruised and desperate for a shower. Theresa is set up at home with one of the clinic nurses as a caregiver, and you promise to check on her the next morning.

Joel disappears without a word as soon as you dismount, trotting off toward the stables. You’re too tired to worry about his suspicious questioning, although in the back of your mind, you know you should be.

When you finally make it home, you don’t have the energy to do more than stumble upstairs and fall into bed fully clothed, still bloody and sweaty. The shower will have to wait.

~*~

A feather-light touch draws itself down your cheek, and you startle awake in the semi-dark, pushing yourself up and reaching for the knife you keep tucked between the mattress and box spring.

“Whoa, s’just me,” Joel says. “Don’t shoot.”

You blink up at him, confused. “What–how did you–”

“Door was open.”

Shit.

In your exhaustion, you’d forgotten to set the lock. Christ, being in Jackson has made you stupid.

You realize his hand is still resting on your cheek, and you sit up abruptly to break the contact. 

“What is it? Is Thea alright?”

“She’s fine. Checked in on her before I came over. Just…wanted to see you.”

He leans in, capturing your lips with his, tongue sliding against yours in a sweet erotic dance, and you moan softly, instantly wet. After a full day of being so close, so fucking close without being able to touch him, to feel his lips on your sensitive skin, you’re like a woman starved.

You pull back with great difficulty, breathing hard. “I need a shower. I’m filthy.”

“Yeah y’are,” he growls, nipping at your ear, sending a hot shiver of delight straight to your core. But then he stands, reaches out a hand, and you take it.

The water feels amazing when it hits your skin, washing off the remains of Theresa’s blood, the dried sweat, soothing the ache in your muscles. He holds you under the stream of rushing water as his hands run the soap up and down your back, and he kisses you and bites at your neck until your legs threaten to give out. When he grabs your ass and presses you to him, nudging his cock between your thighs just out of reach of where you need it, you groan in frustration. 

“Not in the shower, Miller.”

“M’not that stupid,” he says, but you’re not convinced. He leans back but only slightly, forehead pressed to yours, panting through gritted teeth. “God, the things you do to me. Wanted you that whole time, out there. Wanted you to…to–”

“Show me,” you murmur, reaching behind you to shut off the water, not caring that your body is still slick with soap.

You’re going to need another shower after this, anyway.

[gascon-en-exil]

Ready for the endgame route split in my second playthrough, so let's talk Chapters 11-16 in this run.

The story so far: Expelling the Roselle in Chapters 11-12 is more repetitive than protecting them, because you have to fight them in their village first and then fight Silvio and Rufus in their village, in the rain. The other path doesn't have a battle at all in Chapter 12, but it looks like Silvio dies here either way. (Also, if you've seen the map of the story structure that's been linked on Reddit and elsewhere, there's a minor error here - there's no vote in Chapter 12 regardless of which you chose in 11.) I did the Utility votes in 13 and 15, leading to a semi-stealth map at the Telliore villa - and worldbuilding for their seemingly anachronistic streetlamps, imagine that - followed by a different version of killing Thalas and Erika on the Whiteholm bridge. Cordelia takes an arrow protecting Roland here, so I suppose she's always going to get injured in this sequence. The Utility vote for 15 involves staying in the capital with Roland to deal with Patriatte's royalists, and got me Cordelia as a healer of only a slightly different flavor from Geela. Roland continues to give off Dimitri vibes when a girl tries to stab him over the death of a family member (here killed by Patriatte's troops in the name of suppressing an insurrection), but unlike Dimitri the story just keeps wearing poor Roland down by completely stacking the deck against him and making it impossible for him to be a competent ruler. It's little wonder he wants to surrender his crown and let Hyzante deal with it in his route...which I'm going to be seeing in full shortly. Worth noting - you do still get the reveal that Serenoa is Regna's bastard, clearly in order to set up the possibility of Benedict's route.

On characters: At this point I'm fairly sure I've gotten most of the character stories barring those for people I've only just recruited (Giovanna, Maxwell, and Cordelia) or that I don't have yet because they're on different story splits (Travis, Trish, and Avlora). The more of these I see the more I get oddly nostalgic for FE's lowkey horny writing, because the writing of TS is remarkably stripped down when it comes to anything approaching romance, much less dirty innuendos or fanservice-y bits. Outside of the half-naked dancer Milo openly propositioning Serenoa if he chooses to go visit his father in 15 plus a single scene of Thalas very obviously having sex with a generic NPC offscreen, there's basically nothing dirty to enjoy here. Additionally, except for Serenoa/Frederica (which itself isn't exactly bursting with chemistry as a pairing, likely to make it easier for there to be one ending where they split up and one ending where their marriage appears to remain strictly political) and little stray hints that Hughette might have a thing for Roland, there's nothing in the way of romance either. That's not TS's focus, of course, and I can appreciate that, but as I said it does make me miss FE's ridiculous fanservice and subtext.

Gameplay: The Utility version of Chapter 13 is the standout here for its stealth elements. Serenoa just hit the level cap of 50 and the rest of my characters are 45+, so unit progression is about to plateau. I still have plenty of weapon upgrades to get though as well as promoting around half the cast, so I'll have goals to work towards in later playthroughs regardless. I'm just hoping that subsequent runs don't feel too repetitive, as the Roselle arc demonstrates that TS does sometimes skimp on map variety.

[illfoandillfie]

I posted 1,595 times in 2021

717 posts created (45%)

878 posts reblogged (55%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 1.2 posts.

I added 1,413 tags in 2021

#q - 417 posts

#roger taylor - 246 posts

#anonymous - 150 posts

#queen - 144 posts

#ben hardy - 105 posts

#about me - 103 posts

#a different kind of education - 72 posts

#icymi - 65 posts

#freddie mercury - 58 posts

#my writing - 53 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#cause i totally spaced on it being the last weekend of the month so i was gonna suggest i put up a pick a card or do some short readings

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

A Different Kind of Education: A Is For Anal - Part 1 (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Professor!Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Summery: Roger's private tutoring takes a turn into a topic you aren't excited about but the practical element begins to make up for the theory.

Warnings: Modern AU, smut (18+), slow burn romance, dom/sub dynamics, dom!roger and sub!reader, professor x student sex, dialogue heavy, anal sex and discussions thereof, unprotected sex, anal fingering, anal masturbation, butt plug, mention of pegging, discussion of safe words, 

Words: 9,542

A/N: This chapter got out of hand and I ended up splitting it into two lmao. The next part should be up pretty quickly though!

As always, the actual smut scenes is marked out by stars so you can easily skip over it and still enjoy the rest of the story. But, due to the nature of this story, a lot of the non-explicit sections do discuss sex and specifically anal sex.

115 notes • Posted 2021-03-16 13:58:38 GMT

#4

Okay first a smutty one 😏 smth where ben is like super bored and it’s a rainy day and reader keeps suggesting different things they could do like board games or baking etc but he shoots everything down until finally she’s like ok you come up with smth geez and then he just tackles her and they Do It

thank you for giving me excuses to be a whore about ben sdkjsdllkdjskjsd I just really enjoy writing smut with these two cause they're such dorks and just like making each other laugh which is cute and fun.

Anyway, I did not proof read this or anything because I finished writing it at 12.40 am (ahhhh help i need to be up for work in 5 and a half hours) so apologies for any mistakes.

Words: 2,566

Warnings: Smut (obviously), a lil hint of oral (f receiving), some fingering, a single slap on the arse.

115 notes • Posted 2021-06-22 14:49:59 GMT

#3

Pet Names, Double Dates and Other Fiascos

READ PLATONICALLY

Request:  SECOND ARO FIC OH MY GOD !!!! maybe them getting a lil dirty and ben really does a number on reader, so he takes her to mcdonalds or sumn and the waiter says something along the lines of “you’re such a cute couple!” and reader gets really uncomfortable with it maybe??? and ben being taking her home and cuddling her PLATONICALLY and he’s like “it’s ok we don’t need to let anyone else’s opinions affect us”

Pairing: Aromantic!Fem!Reader x Ben Hardy

Summary:  It's (nearly) all fun and games until someone assumes your relationship is romantic.

Warnings: Smut, kitchen sex, floor sex, oral sex (f receiving), a mild hint at choking, vaguely dom!Ben but not intentionally lmao, discussions of aromanticism and queerplatonic relationships, not as dialogue heavy as the first part though. 

Words: 7, 264

A/N: Happy Arospec Awareness Week!! Big thanks to the anon who sent in that request when I asked for ideas for future chapters. I put a little bit of a twist on your idea but it’s fundamentally the same. Also the last scene is one that I’ve been thinking about for literal months now and I finally managed to fit it into a fic! 

As always, if you’re curious about anything to do with aromanticism I am very happy to talk about it and answer questions! 

120 notes • Posted 2021-02-22 13:56:56 GMT

#2

A Different Kind of Education Masterlist

Research Resources List

Chapters:

1. V is for Vanilla

2. O is for Oral

3. A is for Anal (Part 1)

4. A is for Anal (Part 2)

5. B is for Bondage

6. S is for Sensation Play

7. M is for Munch

8. I is for Impact Play 

9. S is for Sleepover

155 notes • Posted 2021-01-25 14:28:56 GMT

#1

A Different Kind of Education: V Is For Vanilla (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Professor!Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Summery: After being broken up with for not being kinky enough, Reader seeks out her professor to give her some private tutoring so she can win her boyfriend back.

Warnings: Modern AU, smut (18+), slow burn romance, light dom/sub dynamics, light dom!roger and sub!reader, professor x student sex, protected sex, vaginal fingering, light breast/nipple play, nipple sucking, light biting, i think thats it, honestly this chapter is (as the title says) pretty vanilla. But things will get more intense in later chapters. 

Words: 7,128

A/N: ahhhhhh it’s finally here. This professor Rog idea has been kicking around my head for months now and finally I’m actually doing something about it lmao

This series is going to be LONG (like in my plan it’s 15 chapters) because I have So Many kinks I want to squeeze into it. Some were chosen by me and some were chosen by everyone who voted in the poll I put up a few weeks ago and i am seriously so excited about what’s coming.

Smut scenes in this and all future chapters will be marked with stars so that if there is a kink you’d like to avoid you can skip over it and still enjoy the rest of the series. 

Also, I know the chapter title doesn’t super make sense since he’s a university bio sciences professor which doesn’t have a lot to do with the alphabet but 🤷‍♀️ that was the working chapter title and it kind of stuck. Plus, ya’ll know I love chapter titles that have a theme lmao. Anyway, no more stalling. Enjoy the filth and start preparing yourselves for it to get so much filthier.

(the ultimate hot professor rog moment tbh)

180 notes • Posted 2021-01-25 09:07:20 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[betweenthetimeandsound]

Three Minutes to Eternity: My ESC 250 (#24)

#24: Mor ve Ötesi - Deli (Turkey 2008)

“Beni büyütün, ağlatmayın, Sahte düşlerle oyalamayın,”

“Raise me, don't make me cry, Don't waste my time with fake dreams.”

This song plays some importance for me personally—I wrote a research chapter between Turkey and its struggle to get into the European Union, which was part of a larger paper (see page 45 of the document for my writing) on Turkish-U.S. relations. The overall paper discusses about how the latter's working relationship deteriorated over the past decade due to differing policy goals and Turkey's rising authoritarianism; the EU was a small part because it could give a hint to what Turkey's immediate Western neighbors were doing to help the situation.

Since this hinted at this tension, I had to listen to it. And it’s an awesome song, filled with power and thought.

I particularly like how dark the soundscape was, especially with the verses and Harun musing about whether he belongs in a specific place. Based on the whole atmosphere, if I didn't read the comments, I would assume it took place in an abusive relationship--not necessarily a physically violent one, but an emotional one. One partner was making promises on how they would be better and grant the other everything, but the other knows their habits and doesn't want to buy into their nonsense anymore. He also showcases this with his performance style--teasing the audience, acting sarcastic through his body gestures and his face, and the intensity in his voice. He's mocking the audience--did they think they got into his mind?

That said, the bridge was also fantastic--here, Harun confronts the entire situation, noting how everyone around him was "sane", while he himself was "insane". If the people who suggest the EU-Turkey relationship is right, it's very apparent here. Despite Turkey's best attempts (and their non-attempts sometimes, haha), they're considered "not European" enough to join their clique (interesting considering how much the Ottoman Empire impacted European history). The tension really rauches up towards the final chorus--I'd imagine I would just scream out just after the final "I am insane...". It's just cathartic after realizing your lack of worth in society.

Arguably, this and We Could Be the Same (#26) deal with the same themes of belonging, wanting to be one, and dealing with others. Whereas the former was more optimistic, and is pretty explicit about romance, Deli is darker, yet more cerebral. You're in a tenser situation, in which everything is at stake, and it's weird because it was released two years earlier!

Plus, I grew to love Mor ve ötesi's discography as well: I listen to Uyan the most, but I also enjoy Cambaz, Anlatamıyorum, and their covers of 1945 and Sultan-ı Yegâh. Definitely one of Turkey's best rock bands, and for good reason.

Personal ranking: 2nd/43 Actual ranking: 7th/25 GF in Belgrade

[thepencilnerd]

– a budding romance | part 1 –

➵ After moving into a new apartment, Min Yoongi stumbles across a flower shop down the street who’s radiant bouquets and even brighter personality catches his eye. What happens when two completely different worlds collide? 

➵ pairing: min yoongi x reader

➵ genre: fluff, angst, slow burn, strong friendship/family dynamic, strangers to lovers, barely a soulmate AU

➵ word count: 16.8k

➵ warnings: swearing, very heavy angst, alcohol consumption, discussions of mental health and past emotional trauma—if you are in need of help, please please seek out professional care. there is hope out there and people that are here to help you. you are not your illness and always remember that you are not alone. 

➵ a/n: I finally decided to get back to writing since I was on spring break for a short period of time (and because staying home is cool :) this story was inspired by my newly developed passion for houseplants, of which I’ve amassed a collection of over 30 in the past few months and totally don’t have an addiction to...  This chapter turned out to be a very filler-heavy introduction to the universe it takes place in; although there’s not much romance in this part, I’m very happy with how the friendship dynamic between our main/secondary characters and their backgrounds turned out, so I please forgive me ^^

I’ve missed you all so freaking much, and I cannot thank you enough for showering Melophile with so much love throughout the past year. Thank you for being patient with me during my hiatus, and I hope you and all of your loved ones are staying safe, healthy, and happy ❤️enjoy, and please stay tuned for part two ❤️

“Where do you want the shelf?” the mover asked while holding one end of the wooden bookcase. 

The sleep looked up from his seat by the kitchen island and “Right by the window,” Yoongi directed, guiding him to the west-facing window that opened up to his balcony. “Thanks.” 

Tipping each of the movers, he thanked them once and bid them goodbye, shutting the door. The whoosh of the door closing left him alone in his new apartment with nothing but hastily arranged furniture, the quiet murmur of traffic outside, and of course, his thoughts; he was finally moved in. 

Yoongi had thought about moving out for years now, but never brought up the topic until Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook were traveling out of the country more. By the time university had started, he and the guys had all agreed to move into a duplex a few minutes away from campus for time, money, and friendship’s sake. It was only a matter of time before the three boys were scouted off the street by the head of a modeling agency. Might he add that it was a late Friday night, post-finals season of senior year, and all the boys were more than inebriated, so how the man decided that giving contracts to three loud, wild, and utterly wasted uni students was astounding. Either way, the three stooges dropped out to pursue a career in modeling faster than you could say ‘show in Europe.’

After graduation, Namjoon brought up the idea of moving into a smaller building, to which Jimin and Hoseok disapproved of with arms crossed and pouty faces. Taehyung and Jungkook tried to come to an agreement and schedule what times of the year they’d be in town, but with their unpredictable schedules, it was a pointless compromise. Seokjin—the oldest of the seven—was expected to move out before any of them, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when he eventually offered to share a place with Taehyung and Jungkook. They were still employed under the same agency and manager, so understandably, they would all share similar shows, shooting schedules, flights, and time spent in and out of town. It was also pretty close from here, so the seven would still be able to spend time together when they had the chance to. 

Yoongi was the first to offer moving out so the four of them wouldn’t have to be crammed into a small condo. He had booked a few producing jobs here and there while still at university, so he practically had a contact list of full-time connections. Plus, Jimin had decided to enroll in a master’s program for traditional dance while teaching at a nearby dance studio, Namjoon started his first semester towards a postgraduate degree in literary criticism (again, how the boy had even passed his G.E. chemistry class in sophomore year was beyond anyone’s wildest imagination), and Hoseok had landed a solid job teaching hip-hop classes at the same studio Jimin was at.

“You’re sure you’re okay with it?” Jimin asked Yoongi with worry laced in his voice. The four were lounging in the living room of the quiet apartment. Seokjin and the two younger ones had moved out earlier that morning, and they were probably still getting settled. It was only a ten minute drive from Namjoon, Hoseok and Jimin’s new place. Thankfully they’d all be living a relative distance to one another even after moving. 

Patting him on the head, Yoongi’s lips formed a small grin. “Don’t worry about me. At least I won’t have to deal with Hoseok’s late night gas bombs...” 

Hoseok’s face burned bright red and his eyes grew wide as a storm of curse words flew out of his mouth. “Hey! Don’t blame me, tell Namjoon to learn how to cook raw food all the way through!"

To this, Namjoon threw his comforter at Hoseok, nailing him square in the face. Jimin held back his giggles while Yoongi stared wistfully. He would miss them more than he thought. 

“It’s only a few minutes from your place so I’ll come and check up on you guys every once in a while,” Yoongi sighed, leaning into the couch. With everything packed and sent off the day before, it was the only piece of furniture left in the apartment. A distant memory resurfaced as his eyes drifted to the dented armrest. He and Jungkook had bought it at the thrift store on 5th Street after weeks of Seokjin complaining that there was no place to sit and watch TV; a past time he required to “relieve him of his grievances.”

Yoongi cleared his throat, redirecting his attention back to the present moment. “You know, just to make sure you haven’t all starved or strangled each other.” 

The four shared one last month together and even helped Yoongi find his new place eight blocks down. According to Yoongi, the day Hoseok ran into Yoongi’s room with the crumpled piece of paper was a match made by hell and granted by heaven.

Snapping back into the present moment, Yoongi’s watch read 12:45 p.m. He rubbed his eyes at how dreadfully early in the day it was and his body was already begging for sleep. By the magic laws of the universe, the familiar sound of his ringtone reverberated through the barren apartment—his new apartment. Walking to the kitchen counter, Hoseok’s name flashed across the screen and Yoongi swiped to answer the call. 

“How’s our big boy doing?” Hoseok immediately shouted through the receiver. 

Yoongi scrunched his face in displeasure at the volume but couldn’t hide the slight smirk that grazed his lips. “I’m doing great mom, thanks for checking in.” 

“We wanted to know if you needed any help settling in!” Jimin’s soft voice, as usual, offered with nothing but joy. Judging by the distant sound of complaining and forced laughter, he had taken the opportunity to snatch the phone away from Hoseok, and Namjoon was now holding him hostage with the force of tickling. 

“I second that!” Namjoon’s voice boomed in the background.

Yoongi allowed himself the barest hint of a laugh. “I already had help from the movers, so the furniture is decently positioned already.” Opening up his fridge, he saw that it was unsurprisingly empty other than a few bottles of water. “I might need to run to the grocery store though. Can I call you guys after I get back?” 

“Jimin, I swear to god you’re going to regret sharing a room with me!” Hoseok’s voice echoed closer from the other end. 

“Call us when you get back! It’d be nice to get to know the shops around the neighborhood,” Namjoon backed up with confidence but he suddenly yelped in pain. Yoongi pictured Hoseok jabbing him in the side like he always did whenever they fought. 

Hoseok huffed as he brought up the phone and was in possession of the device once again. “We’ll swing by your place at 6 with food, so don’t worry and buy some basic groceries. Namjoon, I swear—”

“—and make some neighborhood friends!” Namjoon blurted out. “We’ll see you soon!”   

“See you soon!” Jimin added cheerfully. 

“Miss you bud!” Hoseok chirped. 

“Bye guys,” Yoongi chuckled. "Don’t kill each other.” Clicking off, he sighed once more before admiring his new place. The one-bedroom penthouse came with a decent sized-kitchen, in-unit washer and dryer, and included utilities. Not to mention the extra room that he had already moved his studio equipment into and man, that balcony view. It wasn’t considered budget-friendly for it’s square footage, but for the amenities and the part of town it was centered in? A steal.  

Even though a job in the music industry didn’t exactly pay well, Yoongi considered himself lucky to have gotten the exposure he did so early. He had been bound to music for as long as he could remember, and it was during his middle school years that he discovered the editing software that changed his life. By junior year of high school, Yoongi had accumulated hundreds of thousands of followers and millions of listens on his streaming account. After he declared his major in university, renowned musicians from all over the world were flooding his email with requests for new songs, collaborations, editing, and everything in between. 

As fame and status quickly began consuming his every waking thought, a dark cloud loomed over him. There had been a period of time when sitting in his studio was no longer enjoyable and felt like pure hell. Slowly but surely, it was the same cycle over and over again: get a request from a record label, make a new song, send it back to the tone-deaf money hungry CEO’s of the music industry, and then get feedback on how it’s not catchy enough or "up with the times.” God, that pissed him off more than anything. Good music shouldn’t have to be labeled as such because it fits into the typical mold of some teenage trend; that’s what makes it good.

That’s all they cared about these days. No meaningful lyrics or real talk about everyday life and how the world goes around—only songs about meaningless sex, regretting one night stands, repetitive ear worm tunes, unrequited and dumb young love, or things that talentless, plastic Instagram models could lip-sync and stick choreography to. It’s hard to pursue your passion in a field that you love when it’s hellbent on destroying itself. 

Don’t even start with the controversies Yoongi dealt with on a daily basis. Flashy yellow headlines that talked about who this mysterious producer Min Yoongi was, where he was brought up, who he’s dated/is dating, his sexuality, and even his family members and their backgrounds. All of these were topics that every single news and social media outlet had the audacity to stamp on hundreds of magazines covers and copy/paste on their blogs, yet if given the chance, none would have the real guts to ask him in-person, face to face. 

Yoongi found himself falling into periods of constant downward spirals. What would he become if he gave in? Who would he be if just shut up and took the money? If he listened to what everyone had to say and gave them everything they wanted? Would they love him any less or hate him even more? 

It was half past one when he realized that he still had to go to run errands. Another 30 minutes of the day spent lingering on things that can’t be changed and don’t matter, he noted to himself. Wonderful. 

Despite the chilly weather, Yoongi opted to throw on a hoodie and call it a day. His decision to wear ripped jeans was poorly made, but he refused to admit that laziness was the culprit for not packing some spare clothes into a suitcase before moving day. Before stepping out, he quickly slipped on a beanie and a face mask for privacy’s sake. He was really not in the mood today. 

Murmuring a quick thanks to the cashier, Yoongi walked out of the grocery store as fast as he could. Within minutes, people had gathered in a crowd around him asking for pictures, autographs, voice memos, and the works. 

Every single time he had to turn down someone’s request for a picture because he could not miss the last bus; constantly hiding in fear of someone catching him and finding out where he lives, or worse: his family members; always trying to leave the house at the most awkward time of day so he could actually walk around and get basic shit done. No one knew it, but he hated himself for feeling like the biggest asshole that ever existed when in reality, he was just trying to live a normal life.

Yoongi loved music, but more than anything, he loved how there were people who truly empathized with his songs and the effort he put into making them. He missed the days before fanbase culture mobbed those who genuinely understood what he was trying to say. He missed going out with the guys and not having to worry about strangers following him home and leaking his address for publicity and likes. He missed having the decency of basic privacy and boundaries. Yoongi was grateful for everyone’s unnecessary unconditional love for his work and lifelong devotion to music, but after all, he was nothing but a human being who needed some space to breathe. 

Today was no different. He got lucky and managed to snag enough fruits and vegetables to fit into a single paper bag before the overwhelming screeches and overlapping voices forced him out of the mart. 

One of the security guards and a few cashiers were kind enough to hold back a few of the people who tried following him out. Giving them a quick bow before scurrying out, he felt like an even bigger nuisance. 

What kind of a prick like me disrupts people’s day-to-day life just to get some food... 

Should’ve worn a damn ski mask.

Yoongi was two blocks from his apartment complex when the smell of smog and car exhaust was replaced by a tidal wave of—roses? The fragrance of fresh flowers flooded his nostrils with a vibrancy and sweetness that he had never smelled before. Trying to find the source, he stumbled across what appeared to be hole-in-the-wall flower shop. 

Treading carefully towards the vivid assortment of colors and warm light, he glanced over at the array of plants that graced the outside shelves. It wasn’t until he started feeling hot that he noticed a patio heater beside the entrance, which doubled as a lamp. 

As he admired the wide variety of colors, leaf shapes, and aromas, Yoongi picked up a weathered terra cotta pot. The gritty surface of the pot was splotched with discolored patches of white, probably from water and rain. It housed a plant with small, plump, ovular, dimpled emerald green leaves, and it was vining up the bamboo stick that was staked in the center. 

A delicate shuffle of shoes on hardwood accompanied a soft voice. “Need help finding something?” 

Looking up, Yoongi’s eyes met the young woman’s gaze. Even through his mask, her friendly smile seemed to glow brighter than the embers from the patio heater. Underneath her apron, she was wearing a fluffy white sweater and a pair of comfortably loose jeans that were decorated with colorful paint-splatters. 

Blinking hard after catching himself staring too long, Yoongi shook his head and put the plant back. “Just looking around. Nice place you got here.” If he spoke any quieter, he’d have a new job singing lullabies to babies.

Knitting her eyebrows with an inquisitive stare, he felt his pulse start to pick up. Did she recognize him? Was she going to freak out? Was there something on his face? 

She brought her finger up to her quirked lip and widened her eyes. “Botanophobia is my area of specialty!” she exclaimed with joy. “You don’t have to worry about killing a single plant under my wing.” Picking up the plant he set down, she held it out towards him with a warm grin. 

Yoongi won’t be the first to admit that of his absent green thumb. When he used to visit his grandmother, she’d always tug on his ear for picking at the hanging pots draped underneath her patio. He didn’t even have a plant near his vicinity until Taehyung brought home individual cactus for each of the guys. Something about keeping it on their desks for focus and oxygen or whatever.

Needless to say that Namjoon and Yoongi both learned very quickly that cacti don’t like water as much as you think. 

“Oh,” Yoongi waved his hands in defense. “ I’m not really a plant collecting type of guy.” 

The girl rolled her eyes teasingly and handed him a ball of twine from her pocket.

“Stay here until I get back,” she commanded with a stern look and playful confidence. “I’ll be but a moment.” Retreating back into the shop, Yoongi was frozen in place. Guilty if he leaves, not guilty if he stays—

Right as he was about to put the twine on the shelf, the girl came out of the shop with a paper-wrapped package. “Water it once a month and keep it by a window, preferably brightly lit but not necessarily,” she instructed with nothing less than an energetic smile. “They kind of thrive on neglect.” 

He was taken aback. “But—” 

She held her hand up to halt his rebuttal and took back the twine. “Think of this as a little welcome to the neighborhood gift. I know all of my locals by heart and I’ve never seen you around before.” 

“I can’t just take a plant from you,” Yoongi huffed, slightly annoyed at her stubborn nature. She was determined, he’d give her that. 

Shaking her head, her hands didn’t move. “You can pay me back the next time you visit, and if you still haven’t fallen in love with this guy—” her head motioned to the paper-wrapped plant in her hands. “—then I guess I’ll just have to work harder.” 

Yoongi bowed his head in thanks and accepted the parcel with a tightly pressed smile. She was definitely not one to give in. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy that there were still people in the world who loved their jobs as much as this woman. 

The dimming sky signaled that it was time for him to get back home. Waving goodbye, the sound of his steps grew louder as the echo of her voice faded farther away. “See you around!” 

Sure, the pessimist in him spat. 

You awoke to the gentle sound of rain pattering against your window. Drops bounced off of the glass as the sound grew harsher, the water droplets ricocheting off of the already-streaky pane and onto the surrounding leaves of the tree whose branches caressed your small windowsill. The freezing cold air whistled through the crack between your window pane and the latch, causing you to shiver reflexively.

Stretching out your limbs, a large and clearly gracious yawn left your mouth, which harmonized in tandem with your outstretched palms and scrunched face. The warmth of your rumpled and disheveled sheets made you groan, your body naturally refusing to leave the comfort of your own bed. Did you really have to go out today? Using the rusty spring of the mattress to swing your legs over the bed, your feet grazed the cold, damp fabric of your carpet—

“Crap.” Partially awake, your aching limbs dashed across your small studio apartment and rummaged through the pile of rubbish in the spare closet, fishing out an old bucket. You ran back to your room and placed on top of the wet patch of fabric just underneath the foot of your bed. The sound of water hitting the carpet soon turned into muffled pangs. The culprit? A leaky spot in the ceiling of your humble abode that you had so graciously discovered months after you’d moved in. 

Your landlord/makeshift, of course, said he couldn’t do anything about it. Something told you it wasn’t that he couldn’t, but rather, he couldn’t be bothered to...

The pleasantly dull morning heaviness that weighed your body slowly retreated, and left you fully aware that your feet were still wet and freezing cold. Very, very cold. It was Monday, right? A sigh escaped you as your hand came up to rub your eyes. Definitely a Monday. Stretching once more, you sat silently and found a moment of peace in gazing at the pouring rain that battered your window. 

There was something oddly relaxing about watching the water droplets slowly slide down the glass. Whether it was the transparency of the glass against the clarity of the rainwater, or the different textures of sound as the droplets bounced off of the window onto the tree leaves, one thing was certain: overcast skies and the fresh smell petrichor was one of nature’s many great gifts. 

Since the day was still immersed in the early hours of the morning, you were compelled to stay inside and burn through a book or two while in the comfort of your own bed. However, your fairytale fantasy was shattered by the reality that was your day job. You washed up, got dressed, and didn’t bother adding any extra layers to combat the cold. It was, of course, the sensation of the icy biting air against your flushed cheeks that made you treasure this kind of weather all the more. The haphazard toss a mini-umbrella into your bag and the clink of a lock and key was quite complimentary. 

Ever since you were young, you’d loved flowers. Red roses, to be exact. It was in your best interest as a 6-year old to tag alongside your dad on his trips to the hardware store. Each time you came home, you ended up bringing a 99-cent fern home that ended up dying a week later. No matter how much your little heart adored each tiny gem, it was only a matter of time before you drowned the plant with too much water. In your pre-pubescent mind, taking care of a plant meant watering it. Every day. Little did you know that tending to a garden meant leaving it alone and giving it time to grow by itself. 

Hundreds of plant funerals were held from the tender ages of six to fourteen. Years of experience, tears, frustration, determination, and love ended up raising your brown thumb well. Who knew that you’d end up majoring in biology and horticultural studies? Not to mention starting up an independent business as a flower shop and nursery. Now that was something to be grateful for. 

It might seem strange to many; working a job that doesn’t pay a ton or have a stable workload, sitting in a humid shop some days with nothing but the rustling of dried bouquets to keep you company, or learning to appreciate the quiet solitude of white noise against morning traffic. It may have seemed like torture for anyone with some ounce of sanity, but to you, it was home. 

Nothing excited you more than when you received the bi-weekly shipment of new plants. You were lucky the rain had stopped by the time you made it halfway to the shop. Marco, your go-to greenhouse guy, was just in time. He was wearing a blue sweater and the navy scarf his wife, Lucia, knitted him for Christmas four years ago. 

You’ll never forget the gifts they exchanged that year. It was two days before Christmas and Marco was so busy with deliveries, he didn’t have time to get Lucia a present. Of course, seeing him ramble his worries to you while bringing in the day’s shipment made a lightbulb go off in your head. 

As he was unloading boxes, you ran inside and whipped up a somewhat-simple but ever-classic arrangement: red tulips, white honeysuckles, baby’s-breath stems, and a mix of myrtle and lemon leaves to balance out the flower to foliage ratio. 

Before Marco could leave, you put the finishing touches on the lush bouquet and finished it off with a gold-dusted bow for added holiday spirit. 

“All done!” Marco bellowed. Running out of the shop, you handed him the box that sheltered Lucia’s gift. 

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered with a giddiness that couldn’t be held back. 

“Oh, bella...” His reaction was priceless. With a mouth parted, sparkling eyes, and a wonder-struck smile to top it all off, this was why you loved your job. 

“Red tulips for a perfect love, honeysuckles for devoted lovers, and baby’s breath for everlasting love.” The words rolled off of your tongue like a second language. 

Marco was still speechless. “You shouldn’t have—”

“Marco, my business would not function without you and neither would I,” you hushed. “This is the absolute least I could do for you and Lucia.” 

“Bella!” His deep voice brought you back to the present day. The nickname always made you feel fuzzy. “How are you?” 

“I’m doing wonderful, Marco.” Your eyes beamed. “How are Lucia and the girls?” 

He laughed, shaking his head with a grin. “As wild as always. Fia and Gianna just started 2nd grade a few days ago. They’re growing up too fast.” 

Your heart melted. “It’s always like that, isn’t it? Time flies...” The wistful tone in your voice didn’t go unnoticed. “Anyway, what’s in today’s box of treasures?” Rubbing your hands together like an animated cartoon, your eyes lit up at the sight of all the new varieties that peeked from the boxes. 

“Oh you’ll love these!” Pulling out one of the 4-inch grow pots from the boxes, he revealed to you a healthy Hoya bella. The delicately draped stems with spear-shaped leaves and grooved foliage was breathtaking. A few of them even had a few peduncles, which was where flowers bloomed from. Hoyas were known for their delicate, candy-like flowers, and Hoya bella was a prolific bloomer. 

If you had to choose a favorite type of tropical genus, it’d most definitely be the wax plant family. There are hundreds of species within that range from your typical waxy, thick and succulent leaves to thin, hair-like sparse leaves that looked like grass. Expensive grass, might you add. 

You couldn’t hold back the excitement. “You brought me hoyas!” Jumping up and down with an overzealous amount of energy, Marco bowed for dramatic effect. Today was already off to a great start. 

He counted all the boxes one more time, summing up the numbers in his head. “There are also some krinkle 8′s, compactas, variegated and green carnosas, more bellas, australis, curtisii, pubicalyx, burtoniae, lacunosa, and only a couple linearis. You know how popular those are these days.” Each time he listed off another set of species had you spinning. “The bottom boxes have some pothos, rubber trees, ferns, tradescantias, and peperomias.” 

“Thank you thank you thank you,” you exclaimed while giving him a big hug. “Don’t count me guilty if I run home with a few of these.” 

A hearty laugh reverberated from his chest. “Always a pleasure, bella. I have to get going. Watch the rain! I’ll see you next week!” 

Bidding him a goodbye, you reminded him to drive safe before he was off. 

The first customer of the day was a regular; you could spot her bright red lipstick and pinup elegance from a mile away. If she hadn’t said anything, you could have sworn she was related to Marilyn Monroe. 

 “Good morning, Ms. Simmons!” you greeted as the chime on the door jingled. “How are you?” 

Her bright red lips curled into a grin that revealed her immaculate smile. “I’m doing very well, thank you dearie.” Did you mention that she had an Irish accent? 

Stepping out from behind the counter, you pulled out the freshly wrapped parcel and unfolded the top to show her. Cupping your hand to speak, the words came out in a whisper. “I got the new shipment of linearis.” 

At this, her eyes grew bigger and mouth rounded into an O. She’d been waiting for these grass-leaved hoyas for months now and you had made a promise to her that she was the first on the waitlist. 

“You are an absolute jewel my love, an unreal star!” Handing you her usual payment method of cash, you made sure to choose the fullest plant for her before she arrived. Also, you may have added in a begonia and African violet or two. All in the name of agape love, truly. 

Even though she celebrated her 70th birthday over the winter, Ms. Simmons was a regular ever since you opened the shop. She always made the two mile walk from her home to your shop every Monday and you couldn’t understand for the life of you why. All you could do was be the best at your job and treat your customers as well, if anything, better than they treated you.  

“I’ll see you next week, Ms. Simmons,” you smiled, holding the door open for her as she went on her merry way. 

The rest of the day was business as usual. Mary, another regular, came in looking for a rubber tree and a peace lily; she’d just moved into a bigger house to accompany their newest family member, and needed some green so the place didn’t look so sterile. 

Isaac, the pastor who worked at the local church, was in need of some rose arrangements for this weekend’s sermon. He always loved how full the ones you had out on display were. 

Kat was an old university friend you had stayed in touch with and a fellow “hoya head.” She was the sweetest girl and always brought you coffee and a perfectly toasted bagel whenever she visited. The doorbell always chimed at exactly 12:25 p.m. and she never missed it once ever since you opened the shop’s doors. 

“You got a perm?!” you gawked. She’d gotten another haircut. Her once long, pin-straight dark brown hair was now shoulder length and curled like Shirley Temple’s signature look. “You look a-freaking-mazing!” 

Tussling the curls with one hand while pushing up the bridge of her cat-eye glasses with the other, she reminded you of a revamped 70’s Betty Boop. “Thank you darling, I’ve been meaning to chop it all off for a while now but the weather has had me down in the dumps,” she remarked in an over the top, received pronunciation accent. 

Shaking your head and appreciating her choice of clothing, you couldn’t help but applaud at how she always chose fashion and style over basic comfort.

"We got some bellas and compactas so grab ‘em and go before you get a cold.” Her red dress and black cardigan ensemble was an eye-catcher but did not bode well considering the cloudy sky.

She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Yes mom, I’ll take those two and a krinkle, if you please.” You will admit, her energy was something you never got tired of. 

The wrapping of planters had become muscle-memory now. Wrap around, fold over, crease the edge, tuck in the sides, and tie with some twine. A snip here and brushing off the excess soil there and voila. 

Before she left, you handed her the umbrella you brought from home. “Get home before it starts raining!” you nagged. “I only live a few minutes from here so just take it before you ruin your clothes.” Kat definitely needed it more than you. 

She wrapped her arms around you in a familiar hug and promised she’d call you back at home. “Love you!” Perfect timing, too. Right as the door shut, the slow patter of rain had started sprinkling the rooftop, and cars started whooshing by with an added splash. 

Cradling your warm cup of coffee was a routine on Kat’s visiting days. The rain was now trickling down the ridged shingles of the roof and down the gutter, droplets of water blurring into coiled trails. Absolutely mesmerizing. After making a dozen bouquets that were on today’s order list, Sara, Louie, Timmy, Kyle, and George visited one by one to pick them up. Soon after that, the day started slowing down and the rain showed no signs of stopping like you had anticipated. It was nearing closing time too, so maybe it was a good idea to head home a bit early. 

You rushed to bring in the buckets of pre-cut flowers and ready-made arrangements from outside. You ended up wrapping everything up right on time. Even better, a few new faces showed up. All of your linearis and bellas had sold out today (no surprise), and you got to meet some new customers right before closing time. It was nothing but a joyous and success-filled day in your eyes. 

Gripping the cold metal, goosebumps prickled your skin as soon as your fingertips rolled down the gate over the store windows. A smile of triumph grazed your lips. The quietest of goodbyes escaped your lips.

Until tomorrow. 

The buzz of alcohol and smell of grease wafted in the air as they all got crazier by the minute. 

Namjoon had already burned through three bottles of beer and was on the verge of losing his sense of direction. Hoseok was two sips in before his face flushed a bright red. Jimin was prancing around like a fairy after his third shot of tequila. Taehyung and Jungkook were singing and dancing to bad karaoke songs, nearly knocking over the TV a few times. 

Seokjin was the only one who was mildly sober. Again, mildly is a word that should be used very lightly. "Since when did you have a green finger?”

The five paused their shenanigans to glance over at the single plant that decorated the otherwise empty bookshelf. 

Yoongi chewed silently, unable to come up with any response. 

Jimin hiccuped before talking. “Didn’t you kill a cactus a few years back?”  

Again, Yoongi chose to stay silent and give an unbothered shrug. Hoseok’s face still looked like he was contemplating the meaning of life, but he managed to nod his head in confirmation. 

“Yeah, Namjoon drowned his, too,” the youngest spoke with a ditzy tone. Taehyung giggled like a child at Jungkook’s strangely accurate description and pointed at Namjoon. Some comment about his messy hair or turtle glasses, or a combination of both.

“I’m old enough to take care of myself so I should be able to take care of some stupid weed.” For some reason, Yoongi’s mouth burned saying those words. 

Namjoon rolled his eyes at the comment and got up to grab some water. Of course, his drunk state amplified his clumsiness and caused him to bang his knee against the corner of the kitchen island. Hoseok and Jimin burst out into cackles and snorted as Yoongi rolled his eyes. The alcohol was beginning to pass like water. He should slow down. 

“Apparently that one thrives on neglect.” Yoongi finally broke his vow of silence, changing the topic and directing his attention to Jimin and half-there Hoseok. “How’s teaching going?” 

Leaning on each other as the alcohol sleeps finally kicked in, they could only raise their thumbs-up with half-lidded eyes. 

Coming back with a tray of water cups that remained miraculously intact, Namjoon collapsed down into his seat. “They’ve been working every single day for the past month now. Jimin has his mid-semester show coming up and Hoseok got booked for some choreography with a local theater group.” 

Yoongi downed one last mouthful of the bitter drink before calling it quits, enjoying how it burned his throat as it made its way down. “And you guys?” 

Seokjin and Jungkook all murmured something about an upcoming shoot in May for the spring catalog. 

“Jungkook and Seokjin got booked for a perfume ad and I got an acting gig,” Taehyung explained. The excitement was evident in his voice. Yoongi congratulated the three, cheering them on with another shot. 

He turned to the boy rubbing his bruised knee. “And you, Joon?” 

It was Namjoon’s turn to shrug. “School is school. Always studying, reading, writing, nothing new,” he droned in a monotonous voice. “How’ve you been handling everything?” 

He was talking about all the new deals that Yoongi was offered in the last couple of weeks. Every post on social media was rampant with news of Min Yoongi’s latest tracks and upcoming collabs. Although the boys would never fully understand his stress, their sympathy for him was plenty enough.

“Same old same old. Money hungry bastards trying to get my advice on shitty tracks that have as much depth and complexity as a poptart just to get my signature stamped on it.” Yoongi spoke with painful honesty, causing everyone to sober up and focus on him. He took a final swig of his drink. “Whatever sells, I guess.” 

Namjoon and the others shook their heads in agreement solemnly, showing his wordless support and understanding. “You’ll get out of it, Yoongi. Trust me.” He patted his friend’s shoulder in vain, but only Yoongi knew it. 

Trying to swallow the words, Yoongi looked over at the snoring bundle that was Jimin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Taehyung. Seokjin was probably passed out in the bathroom. His upper teeth raked across his lower lip, savoring the dull sensation that felt more real than the situation he had gotten himself into. 

“Yeah. I’ll get out of it.” 

Spring was always the best time of the year. All of the flowers were in bloom and sunlight was streaming through everyone’s window without being unbearably hot. To top it all off, it was also the busiest time for you and your business. The shop was always flooded with customers marveling at the colors that decorated the exterior. When the inside of the shop finally cleared out, you were able to take requests for individual bouquets, parties, and weddings. 

“Need some help?” a familiar someone shouted through the crowd of people. 

Your head snapped over to the upbeat and bubbly voice you knew by heart. “Kat!” Hugging her over the counter and bringing her behind the register, you quickly thanked her before running around frantically with a notepad in hand. 

This became a routine about two springs after you opened up: people piling in by the masses for a chance at bringing home the freshest roses, tulips, and succulents you had to offer, Kat making her weekly visit and seeing you overwhelmed, weaving her way through the horde of people crammed inside the shop and lined up outside, and finally putting on an apron of her own and managing the register while you paced back and forth getting people’s orders. 

“What would I do without you?” you mouthed to her as you formed your face into a meme-worthy cry face.

She stuck her tongue out and managed the register like a pro, fingers pressing buttons left and right at lighting speed. You giggled and went back to jotting down everyone’s orders. 

1x assmt/ peace lilies; red and white in ceram. pot

2x 4-inch maiden hair ferns delivered

1 bqt/dozen red roses w/ filler foliage

1 bqt/dozen red roses w/o filler foliage

1x dozen individually wrapped W roses with gld. ribbons

R, W, PRP, PNK tulips w/ queen anne’s lace

Succ. terr. for bday, round jar, colorful

Over the course of one day, you used up three ballpoint pens and couldn’t feel your fingers or your cheeks. Writing and smiling at the same time should be an official sport for next year’s Olympics. Kat fared no better. Slung over the register like a floppy piece of bacon, the only indication of any remaining energy from either of you was the heavy sound of breathing. 

Stretching out your hands, you set down the notepad and groaned. “Kat?” Checking to make sure she was alive, she groaned back in response. “Thank you.” 

She looked up and rested her cheek against the gold glass of the counter. “Welcome,” she mumbled, flashing her signature smile. It was a quarter past seven but you usually closed the shop by five, so why were you and Kat still here? After the commotion of today, both of you were too exhausted to close up, so you just brought whatever flowers from outside remained and ordered some takeout to eat here. 

Standing up, your body needed to step outside and get some fresh air. Kat was knocked out comfortably on the counter, so you decided to leave her alone to nap in peace. The first step you took outside made your body tingle. You were constantly running back and forth earlier, but being out of breath and in a mental flux with all the orders made you feel like you were floating. 

You inhaled the cold air as deeply as you could and breathed out with an equal amount of force. The sky was tinted a coral pink color and the sun was barely kissing the horizon. Thank you spring for yet another marvelous attribute that only you can provide. 

Right before you were about to step back inside, a familiar masked figure entered your field of vision. “Hey!” Calling out through cupped hands, you prayed he could hear you over the few cars that were driving by. His head perked up and even behind his covered face, you could see that he was surprised. Ducking his head in a makeshift greeting, you waved him hello and goodbye, happy to see his masked face again. No point in calling him over this late at night. He probably had things to do. Didn’t we all? 

Jungkook and Taehyung were the first ones to point it out. 

“Yoongi...” Hoseok uttered. 

“How could you?” Seokjin continued, mouth agape in pure disbelief.  

Namjoon shook his head. “I can’t believe you’ve done this. ‘Responsible adult’ my ass.” 

“You’ve had it for two weeks and it’s already dying!” Jimin was the one who finally blurted it out. 

Yoongi rubbed his sore eyes. It was 11 in the morning and he was exhausted from staying up all night. The deadline for his upcoming track was this Friday and contrary to popular belief, making a horribly repetitive and catchy song was a lot harder than you’d think. The guys managed to find some time in their schedules to come visit him. He never thought the day would come where he wanted them to stay home. 

“It’s fine,” he grunted. 

“When was the last time you watered it?” Hoseok asked, inspecting the sick looking plant. He was making that weird face. The one where his nose wrinkled at an invisible stench and eyes narrowed into slits. 

“Don’t know,” Yoongi shrugged while chugging a few mouthfuls of water and relished the feeling of cool liquid coating his parched throat. 

They all surveyed the state of the place. There were crumpled scraps of paper that littered the hardwood floor like confetti. Empty water bottles were spread across the bathroom, music studio, kitchen counter, and balcony shelf—and who could forget the pile of worn hoodies and shirts that were nestled in the sofa corner and had slowly been growing bigger, congregating to form a laundry mountain. 

Namjoon was the one to point out that the fridge was still pretty much empty. “Did you even go grocery shopping, Yoongi?” He spoke with the tone of concern now. If anyone knew how persistent Yoongi was, it was Namjoon. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s skipped meals and sleep just to work on a song. 

“Yoongi, we can go out for you if you need us to,” Jimin offered as usual. Hoseok and Namjoon voted in support of his idea, already mouthing a list to Taehyung and Jungkook. 

“We’ll go to the supermar—” Jungkook was cut off by Yoongi’s sudden spike of anger. 

“I’m fine,” Yoongi replied a bit too harshly. He could only hold in pent up frustration for so long before he burst. “I don’t need you to go grocery shopping for me. I don’t need your help. I appreciate it, I really do, but it’s not your job to bear my burden of being a nuisance.”  

They stayed quiet. The ball was already rolling and he needed to get it all out. 

“You think I don’t want to go out? To step outside for one day and have nobody recognize me?” Yoongi scoffed, voice dripping with venom and sarcasm. “I want—” he paused. “No, no. I crave that more than anything. The anonymity I had in high school when I was a nobody and only had you guys by my side. 

“Back when I didn’t have to bury myself underneath hoodies and beanies, suffocate myself underneath scarves and face masks, or wear sunglasses when it wasn’t the slightest bit sunny out.” Yoongi held back a scream and ran his hands through his hair in anger, tugging at the strands so he could feel tense pain nip at his scalp; he needed to feel anything other than this—this thing inside of him. Realizing that he had directed his vexes toward the wrong people, he sighed. Yoongi buried his face into his hands, disappointed at himself for doing it again. 

Sinking into the ground, he couldn’t find it in himself to shed a single tear. In a fit of blind rage, he had just yelled at his childhood friends for absolutely no reason. Guilt was starting to eat away at his conscience; he’d fucked up—bad. What the hell was wrong with him? 

The six kneeled down beside Yoongi and enveloped him in a silent hug. The boys had formed their group of seven in middle school and were forever bound by their loyalty to one another. Pushing past the temper tantrums of adolescence and living through the toils of university was all accomplished by the means of what connected them as a whole: friendship. Friends were there for each other through thick and thin, and they knew that none of them were free from the confines of daily life; friends were family

Yoongi pressed the palms of his hands harder into his eye sockets and blinked back the ache that was diffusing across his muscles. 

I’ll get out of it. 

It was an unusually cloudy day for spring. The grey clouds that were spread out across the sky didn’t seem to bode well for the day ahead. Today went by slower than usual. Granted it was a Sunday, but still—it was an off day. 

You were in the middle of pruning the plants that were set up outside the shop when a hand tapped your shoulder. Turning around, you were greeted by a doe-eyed young man and his equally handsome friend. You had never seen them around before and they were each carrying two insulated grocery bags by their sides. 

“Good afternoon.” The latter greeted you with an immaculate smile, bowing slightly. His friend mirrored the greeting, also presenting himself with his own charming grin. 

Starstruck for a moment, you blinked a few times before gulping nervously. “Pleasure.” You mentally face-palmed your brain. Great job. 

The big-eyed one spoke with a certain shyness you couldn’t put your finger on. “We were looking for some advice on plants. For a friend.” Chuckling, he scratched the back of his ear. It was only after a few moments to process their appearances did you realize that they were both attractive enough to be models, or something of the sort. Maybe your eyes were tricking you, but you felt like you’d seen them on last month’s fashion catalogue...

“I’m Jungkook by the way.” Shaking his hand, you couldn’t help but be aware of the pink that crept up your face. You tried to hide it with a nervous smile. 

Act professional, you mentally scolded. “______,” you introduced yourself.

The other apologized for his manners and shook your hand as well. Your small fingers paled in comparison to his. “Taehyung. Nice to meet you.” His blinding smile made you blush furiously and you were dying inside. 

“So uh—our friend, he has a plant like this one,” Taehyung continued, stopping to point to the tray of green carnosas beside his knee. “—and it’s starting to turn brown?” 

“Hmm...” you frowned. "Does your friend always have the air conditioner or heater running? Something that might cause the air to dry out?”

The two stared at each other at a loss for words. “Not really, he always complains that the weather is too hot to turn on the heater yet too cold for the AC,” Jungkook elaborated. 

“Oh!” He gasped as if a mind-blowing thought had struck him. “There’s a humidifier by his couch. Remember? He always used to complain about nosebleeds when we lived by uni.” Jungkook shook his head up and down like a cartoon, probably recalling this as well. 

You were stumped. “You’re sure they’re brown leaves, right? Not yellow?” 

They nodded. Damn. Yellowing leaves almost always indicated over watering or under fertilizing. Browning edges and tips usually meant that the plant needed more humidity, but full blown brown leaves? 

Sighing in defeat, you packaged a small packet of water-soluble fertilizer with instructions and handed it to doe-eyed . “Try this and see if it helps,” you instructed, praying it would. Hoyas were known as bullet-proof plants, so why a carnosa of all species was starting to decline was alarming. 

They thanked you for your help and asked you a few more questions before leaving. 

“By the way,” Taehyung asked. “Do you do arrangements for large-scale productions? Like photoshoots?” 

You said yes with a gentle smile. “Occasionally I will, but being such a small shop, I try to limit it to only during the springtime. It’s harder to fill out orders for big events when there aren’t that many materials to work with.” 

Jungkook’s eyes got bigger than you thought to be possible and beamed, still running his hands through his hair shyly. “Would you be interested in helping us out?” 

Raising your eyebrow at their request, you were curious. “What exactly would I be helping with?” 

Taehyung started stuttering, his turn to be shy. “We actually have a spring photoshoot coming up for our modeling gig, and we thought it’d be cool to have an actual set full of flowers. Not just a big, white room with oversaturated fluorescents.” 

“So you are models?” You felt like Sherlock Holmes had cracked the case. 

This time, they were the ones who turned tomato red and cleared their throats, scratching their heads nervously. Humble folks. 

“Don’t fret, your secret is safe with me,” you comforted. “What kind of theme are you trying to go for?” 

You conversed for the next half twenty minutes about their ideas for the shoot and a little bit about their backgrounds, and you managed to exchange numbers. It turns out they were quite the dynamic duo. 

If you hadn’t reminded them that they had groceries that needed to be taken home, you could have easily talked to them for another couple of hours. They were the welcoming social butterflies, not the typical annoying ones that felt the compulsive need to blabber on about nothing. 

After saving their contacts into your phone, Taehyung and Jungkook thanked you once more for your time and said they’d see you around. 

What an interesting day it turned out to be indeed...

“We come bearing gifts!” Taehyung announced grandly in his signature deep voice. Setting down the bags, the six got to work organizing the food stash. Jungkook, Taehyung and Seokjin were fortunate enough to be in town for a while before their next shoot, and Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok were on spring break. Basically, all of them had been camping in Yoongi’s living room for the past few weeks, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

Jungkook and Taehyung had bought enough food to last all of them for a month had they still lived under a single roof. Jimin got to work on washing and slicing up the vegetables, Seokjin was dividing up the cuts of beef, and Hoseok was boiling some water and sauce for the pasta. Meanwhile, Taehyung was busy figuring out how to set the temperature dial on the oven and Jungkook was scolding him every few seconds for not letting him do it. 

Namjoon was keeping a keen eye on the water to make sure it was boiling.

“Do you think he’s still sleeping?” Sat on the bar counter of the kitchen, he propped up his chin while resting his elbow on the table. 

“I hope so,” Hoseok sighed. “But you know he never sleeps even at the best of times.” 

Jimin shook his head. “He was snoring a little earlier, but he might just be swaddled underneath the covers,” he added, the satisfying crunch of the vegetables timed perfectly with his words. 

“He’ll be okay, right?” Jungkook asked with worry evident in his voice. 

“He’ll talk about it when he’s ready to, but until then, it’s not our place to pry.” Seokjin was the class clown of the group, but every so often he let the wise part of his brain come out. “Let’s cook up a feast, pop open some bottles, and have a good time just like the old days.” 

“The water is boiling!” Namjoon shouted, a bit too loud for Hoseok’s taste. He jumped at the sudden spike in pitch like a cat. Bursting into a fit of laughter, Hoseok whacked Joon on the forehead with the wooden spoon, making him howl. A spitting image of siblings fighting on Thanksgiving. 

In the other room, Yoongi let out a deep sigh from beneath the jumbled mess of covers. The smell emanating from the kitchen made his mouth water and fooled him into thinking he was still dreaming. 

Sitting up slowly so the blood wouldn’t rush too quickly to his head, he stared outside at the glimmering lights of the city that lit up the dark sky. Across the street, he could barely make out the flashing shadows of people’s TV screens behind their blinds and the monotonous, undecorated, cement balconies. For the most part, the sight was nothing extraordinary. 

If he shut his eyes and listened closely, he could hear the faint hum of sirens; feel the quiet murmur of the heartbeat that lived and breathe in the city. If he silenced his mind entirely, he could smell the wet cement through the crack of his open window, still damp from the rain that poured hours earlier. 

His footsteps were light as he made his way to the kitchen, but not before sneaking a glance at his friends from the hallway. Hiding behind the doorway, Yoongi listened to their voices; somehow even throughout puberty, he could still tell exactly who’s voice belonged to who just by the energy their words radiated. 

“You told me to tell you when the water was boiling!” Namjoon defended with a whine, still rubbing his forehead from where Hoseok struck him with the spoon. He swore it was turning red.“I told you the water was boiling!” 

Jungkook hung his head down to hide his wide-toothed grin. He was trying his hardest to hold back the snort that threatened to escape. “I think Hoseok meant to let him know with some bit of sanity, not intentionally scare him.” 

“Either way, Hoseok definitely knew the water was boiling,” Taehyung chuckled with his mouth half-full. He always liked sneaking bits of food whenever they cooked something. 

“Stop eating all the carrots, Taehyung!” Jimin yelled for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I hope your nose turns orange.” 

His hand stopped midway, the carrot a mere centimeters away from his mouth which was still open. “Can—can that actually happen?” he sputtered. 

Yoongi could picture Jimin’s smirk down to the last dimple. “I don’t know Taehyung, ever wonder why some babies turn orange? 

“It only happens if you only eat carrots for a long time, like a carrot juice detox or something.” As usual, Seokjin was the voice of logic and mild reason in Yoongi’s absence. 

Taehyung pinched Jimin’s cheek as revenge, popping the carrot into his mouth. 

“I don’t know Taehyung,” Hoseok warned, sucking air in between his teeth for added effect. “Now that you mention it, your nose is starting to look a little bit—” 

“What?!” A few chunks of carrot came flying out of his mouth, causing the boys to explode into snickers and simultaneous “ew’s.” Taehyung ran to the nearest bathroom and nearly ran face-first into the mirror trying to get a good look at his face. 

“Hoseok!!!” he screeched like a demon. “You are so freaking lucky we don’t share a room anymore!” 

Jungkook was starting to hyperventilate and clap like a seal, while Jimin, Seokjin and Hoseok sounded like they were on laughing gas from all of their snorting. “How do you fall for that sort of thing?” Seokjin forced out while clutching his stomach and nearly bursting into tears. 

“God you guys are so stupid,” Namjoon facepalmed. In reality, he was hiding his ear-to-ear grin and his cheeks were sore. “I don’t know how we dealt with each other for twenty years.” 

This made all of them laugh even harder.

Still hiding behind the doorway, Yoongi felt a bruising pain bloom from within his chest. It started deep down in his ribs and moved up his chest, crawling up his throat and contracting every muscle and scraping against every bone as it made its way farther up. The ache grew into a bubble, inflating itself bigger and bigger until it hurt for him to swallow or breathe. His knees buckled from beneath him as his back slid down the wall, his body curling into a crouched position. He looped his hands behind his neck and tugged his face into his knees, the familiar darkness comforting him. He wanted to scream until his throat refused to; punch something until his knuckles were pink, kick a box, bite down on a towel until his gums ached, throw a glass at a wall and watch it shatter into pieces, thrash around until his limbs went numb from the buzz of blood circulation. 

He wanted to cry but he didn’t; he wanted to feel the tears as they trailed down his face. He wanted to feel the burning sensation of them trailing down his skin each time he wiped them away, cheek stinging even more after he did. 

He needed to cry but he couldn’t. 

“Do you wanna go wake him up, Taehyung?” Seokjin asked, his voice waking Yoongi up from his daze. It was more of a gentle command than a question, really. “He never gets mad at you for waking him up.” 

On cue, Yoongi walked into the kitchen and pretended to rub his eyes as if he were still sleepy. Sitting at the table, he blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “Wow, you actually managed to cook something and not burn my place down.” His chest was still sore and all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed, but there was also a part of him that was genuinely impressed by the setup. 

“Hey, we’re not all like Namjoon.” Hoseok poked fun at him again and twirled his spatula as if it were a hypnotist wand. 

“At least I made sure the water was boiling,” Joon mumbled under his breath. 

Yoongi had no energy to smile, but he managed to lift the edges of his lips into the ghost of one. “I’m starving,” he spoke as his voice cracked a little. 

The dinner table was already set and they just needed to bring some spare plates over. As everyone began gathering around the food, Yoongi felt the swelling in his chest begin to calm down. He was still having trouble breathing deep breaths, but it was better. Better than nothing. 

“Want some water?” Jungkook offered, face still flushed red from laughing earlier. 

“Thanks,” Yoongi accepted. He patted the youngest on the head and ruffled his hair like the high school days. Looking around, he studied every single face of his friends, admiring traits he hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate before.

Pouring him a glass, the boys soon joined Yoongi at the table, wine glass in hand. Hoseok handed the extra one he had brought to Yoongi, sneaking him a wink. A grin spread across his lips.

Jimin passed around the bottle of white wine as Taehyung cracked open a mini bottle of red for himself.  All eyes darted towards the second youngest, causing him to raise his hands in defense. “Chardonnay gives me a hangover sometimes!” 

“Mhm,” Jungkook hummed. “Totally the chardonnay.” 

Another circle of laughter encompassed the table. Right as they were about to start eating, Hoseok remembered that he forgot to take the pasta out from the saucepan. 

Namjoon stood up so fast, he didn’t have time to voice his pain when his toe struck against the table leg. “I’ll get it!” he volunteered before anyone could stop him. The dining table was right beside the kitchen so why was he in such a rush? 

The others trusted him enough with a simple task like pouring something out of a pan into a dish. At least, that was until the boy decided the pasta was lacking a little bit of “zest,” so to speak.  

“Jungkook, where’d you put the basil?” he asked while shuffling through the refrigerator. 

"In the fridge, second drawer,” Jungkook answered, going back to take a bite of his steak. “Why?” 

“The pasta needs some green!” he said with far too much energy in his voice. 

Jimin, Taehyung, Seokjin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Yoongi all looked at one another with the same puzzled expression before shrugging it off. That classical fiction analysis class was probably making him go kooky. The peace lasted for about half a second until Namjoon asked where Jimin had put the knife. 

Their calm expressions immediately turned into ones of sheer terror as they looked at each other and scrambled out of their seats at the speed of light.

“Namjoon!” they screamed in unison. 

Kat nearly dislocated her jaw. “He texted you again? What did he say? Did you text him back? What did you say? Was he being a dick again? How—”

You smacked your hand across her mouth in an effort to shut her up. Her overzealous energy was really a double-edged sword. On certain days, you absolutely thrived on it. On days like this, you hated it with a burning passion more than you hated maidenhair ferns. They were beautiful in theory but were a bitch to keep happy. 

“Kat,” you stopped. “I love you and I would do anything for you, but I really need you to just shut up for right now, okay?” Nodding slowly at your request, you carefully peeled your hand off of her mouth. 

“Are you okay?” she asked instead, much calmer than before. “You seem a little off.” 

Sighing, you decided it would just be better if you showed her the texts. 

Douchebag: hey ______, is this ur number? [ 2:22 p.m.] 

Douchebag: i got a new phone that’s y [ 2:23 p.m.]

                                                                                         You: yea [ 2:29 p.m.] 

Douchebag: how’ve you been [ 2:35 p.m.] 

                                                                             You: good, you? [ 2:42 p.m.] 

Douchebag: {download image.jpeg} [ 2:44 p.m.]

Douchebag: I wanted to snap u this cuz I was wearing the sweater you got me but I guess u don’t have snap lol [ 2:45 p.m.]

                                                                   You: I deleted all of my apps                                                                               and never got back to                                                                                        reinstalling them, sorry [ 2:50 p.m.]

Scrolling through the rest of the messages, Kat scoffed in disbelief. “I knew he was scum, but catching up after three years of nothing and acting like everything is peachy keen is a new level of assholery,” she rambled on. 

You rolled your eyes, resting your elbow on the counter and palm cradling your temple. “What can I say. I definitely know how to pick them well.” 

“And the goddamn audacity of him to send a shirtless pic, masking it as a ‘thank-you for buying me that sweater’ schtick?” she growled, fist clenching around nothing while picturing his face.

“An absolute disgrace,” you tagged along. 

“It’s not your fault, ______,” Kat soothed. “I would’ve fallen for his mind games too if he charmed me like that.” She took a sip of her iced coffee and shook her head vigorously. “God he makes me want to punch him in his stupid ugly face with that stupid dumb grin and those stupid poofy curls in his stupid misshaped head—”

“Kat,” you warned again, begging her to calm down. Her vernacular wasn’t the best, but damn was it amusing at times. “We just texted back and forth to kill some time. It didn’t mean anything and it’s not happening again.” It felt like you were trying to convince yourself more than her. 

She studied your expression carefully before deciding what to say next. “If he ever crosses the line again, call me.” Placing her hand over your free hand, she gave it a good squeeze. The edges of your lips curved into the tiniest smile and you instantly felt at ease. 

“Have I ever told you how lucky and grateful I am to have met you?” you chuckled, ignoring the throbbing in your temple that started early in the morning. 

Tossing her hair behind her shoulders like an actress from the Golden Age of Hollywood, her teeth glimmered like diamonds against the bright red lipstick she had on. “As am I, my pumpkin patch sweet pea,” she beamed.

Covering your face to hide your painful grin, the door chimed, welcoming a customer. You fanned your face to calm down your rosy cheeks. “Welcome!” you greeted with your usual bright tone. 

“Don’t touch anything,” someone criticized, the quiet sound of a hand smacking skin resounding through the small shop. 

“I didn’t!” another voice, most likely the one who was scolded, replied in an irritated whisper. 

Sitting up straight, you saw three young men standing right by where the glass terrarium displays were set up. You’d recognize that toothy smile and round face anywhere.

“Jungkook!” Finally getting out of your chair, you couldn’t help but be excited to see his face again. Kat’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as she stared back and forth between you and the guys with a blatant, “are you kidding me, you met a cute guy and didn’t bother mentioning it to me” face.

Poking the shoulder of his friend who was scolded, Jungkook greeted you with his signature smile and energetic wave. “______! Namjoon, Jimin, this is ______.” 

The taller one shook your hand. “Nice to meet you,” he spoke gently with a close-lipped smile and sensed a child-like wisdom from him that you couldn’t exactly put your finger on. It didn’t help that his horn-rimmed glasses made him look like a teacher and a student. 

“Jimin, wonderful to meet you.” The shorter-statured boy addressed you with a nearly angelic tone, voice softer than what you’d imagine clouds to feel like between your fingertips. His silver-dyed hair added to his overall ethereal aura.

Still sat at the counter, a starstruck Kat greeted the three with more confidence and gusto than you could ever muster. “Honored to meet you, I’m Kathryn but please call me Kat.” She strummed her fingers in the air as if she were plucking a harp. Jungkook, Jimin, and Namjoon grinned, already sensing the quirky nature of her personality. Yup, Kat’s so-called “Kat-Attack” was definitely contagious. 

If you had a dollar for every time you blushed because of Jungkook and/or his friends, you’d have enough money to buy your own greenhouse—and live in said greenhouse. It wasn’t until Kat forcefully coughed up her left lung out that you registered how long you had been shaking Jimin’s hand. Pulling away abruptly, you let out an awkward chuckle. This was totally not weird at all—just three attractive, charming, attractive young men who waltzed into your shop on an ordinarily quiet day. Nothing weird. God, you were making it so weird—

“I’m gonna go get some coffee, do you guys want anything?” Kat asked out of the blue. If she was going to do what you think she was about to do...

“No, that’s alright,” Jimin turned down kindly. “We stopped by a café on the way here, but thank you for offering.” 

“No problem at all!” Kat smirked just the slightest bit while saying this as if she’d gotten away with a bank heist. “I’ll see you after work, ______!” As she was walking outside, you saw her shoot you a mischievous wink through the glass before running off. 

“So,” you started, trying your best to carry on the conversation as if you weren’t the most socially awkward human in the world. “What brings you and your friends in today?” 

Jungkook, still as shy as ever, ruffled his hair lightly out of habit. “Well, you see, me Taehyung, and another friend of ours moved into an apartment a while back, and it still doesn’t feel...” he paused, trying to think of the right word. “—homey enough.” 

While listening to Jungkook, Jimin and Namjoon were exploring the shop, taking in everything they could with their eyes, smelling what they could with their nose, and feeling every leaf and petal with their fingertips. 

“We’re not the roommates,” Namjoon joked. “He dumped us ‘a while back.’” He acted out air quotes around the last three words. You held back a snort. 

“He didn’t dump us, Joon,” Jimin corrected. “He found someone else who makes him happier.” Jimin pouted, raising the back of his hand to his forehead and sniffling like a kid. 

Jungkook rolled his eyes and scoffed. “These two goofballs are with my other friend,” he clarified. “Taehyung, Seokjin and I have a pretty hectic schedule because of, you know...” Jungkook’s face was dusted with a shade of pink, clearly still too bashful to admit that he was a model. 

“I understand,” you nodded, still biting the inside of your cheek to refrain from smiling too much. “So you, Taehyung, and Seokjin share an apartment while Jimin, Namjoon, and—?” Trailing the sentence off with a higher pitched voice, Jimin got the message. 

“Hoseok,” he finished for you. “He’s an even bigger dolt than me and Joon combined, trust me.” The image he painted made you giggle.

Eventually, you arrived at the best conclusion you could form with the information given. “Right, so the six of you are best friends and live in two apartments.” 

“In theory, yes,” Namjoon established. “But we also have Yoongi who lives by himself.” 

“He’s the guy who Taehyung and I came in asking advice for?” Jungkook clarified, helping you recall back to the first time you met them. 

You heard Jimin exhale deeply. “He’s sort of like the dad of our group, if you know what I mean. Quiet, kind of emotionally detached but in reality just doesn’t know how to express himself—that kind of thing.” 

“Oh.” It slipped out by accident and sounded more melancholic than you thought. You tried coming up with something to neutralize your slip-up. “I’m really glad he has you guys as family.” 

Jimin and Jungkook gave you a heartfelt smile—then there was a thud. 

Turning around, Namjoon was hiding his face behind his hand while rubbing his temple. The grow light that was hanging still from the ceiling was now swinging back and forth like a pendulum. 

You were wincing as if you felt his pain secondhand. “Are you okay?” 

He nodded too quickly as if trying to convince you that he was really okay. “Fine. Good. Flower shop. Plants need light. Forgot about the dangling lights. A lot of them.” he sputtered like a morse code machine. 

Turning back to Jungkook and Jimin, they too had their faces buried in their hands out of sheer embarrassment. Sometimes, people found it hard to believe that Namjoon was that clumsy in his actions, but even harder for Jungkook and Jimin to tell them that he was their senior. 

“Anyway,” Jungkook coughed. “Our new place looks kind of uninviting and Jimin thought adding a couple of plants might make it more cozy.” 

Jimin had made his way to the syngoniums and rhaphidophoras. “We have better luck with plants than Namjoon and Yoongi. They don’t exactly have the greenest thumbs.” 

Chuckling, you directed their attention to the macrame the 6-inch pothos n’joy that cascaded from the ceiling. Coincidentally, Namjoon was inspecting that exact one. Perfect. “Actually, he’s a pretty forgiving little guy.” Stepping up the ladder and bringing him down, Jungkook’s eyes grew big and his hands flew out to hold the ladder steady. “Thanks,” you blushed again.  

Holding the plant up close now, you let them admire the creamy white variegation, watercolor patches of green, lighter patches of green, and the lush leaves. You also showed them the golden pothos, which was a more of a typical chlorophyll green, but it had beautiful yellow and white specks of variegation throughout the foliage. 

“I’m assuming you’re all still beginners,” you inferred, to which they all nodded in agreement. “These guys need lots of bright light, but don’t press them up against a window or they’ll get sunburn,” continuing to explain. 

“Water them every few weeks and wait until they’re bone dry, then give them a good, thorough drench. Don’t overwater them or they’ll hate you for it, trust me. They rarely ever need fertilizer, but I’ll give you guys some packets to last you a couple of months.” 

“Can we take them all home?” Jimin gawked, head tilted up towards the sky and staring at the ceiling that was ornate with vining, trailing, hanging, and branching foliage. 

An amused laughter left your lips. “I wish you could, but the next time you come and visit I’ll let you take one of those home,” you promised. “If you want another eye-candy foliage one, you could also take home a brasil.” Holding up the heart-leafed philodendron, the neon yellow stripes down the median of each leaf and clusters of light and dark green looked like they were hand-painted.

“Oh me, me, me!” Jimin’s hand shot up in the air, flapping it back and forth vigorously. 

“Could I take one of these too?” Namjoon inquired with a 6-inch pot in hand. “Rhaphid—off... fera—?” he tried to sound out, earning another giggle from you. 

“Rhaphidophora tetrasperma but it’s more commonly known as a mini monstera,” you clarified. He formed his lips into an o shape, caressing the delicate split-leaved foliage. “I think you’d be more than able to take care of that one.” Jungkook coughed to hide his snort. 

“We’ll make sure he doesn’t drown it,” Jimin assured, throwing you a sly wink. Add another dollar to your bank account, would you? 

“Hello, last time I checked we came here to buy housewarming gifts for my house?” Jungkook reminded them in the form of a rhetorical question. 

You patted him on the shoulder to wipe the pout off his face. “There’s more than enough plant love to go around.” 

“We’re gonna be here all day...” Jimin sighed in content, gently feeling the fuzzy leaves of some African violets. “Say sorry to my bank account for me, will you?” 

“I second that,” Namjoon added. “What on earth is this?” Holding up a 2-inch grow pot, you pursed your lips at his dumbfounded expression, eyebrows raised and wrinkled at the odd looking succulent. 

“It’s a lithops.” His face contorted more at your reply “They’re also known as living stones. As they grow, they split in half and pop out little baby lithops.” 

Blinking to process what he had just heard, Jimin groaned and shielded his eyes. “Don’t say it, Joon.” Looking closer at the plant Joon was holding, Jungkook parted his mouth—

“It looks like a lil’ol buttcrack,” Namjoon pointed out bluntly. The three of you let out a synchronous sigh and buried your faces into your hands, but couldn’t help and burst into laughter right after. 

“We are going to be here all day, aren’t we,” Jungkook said muffled through his hands still covering his face.

After the last crappy 72 hours, you were more than grateful to have them keep you company for the day. "I’m more than happy to make some new friends while doing my job.” The words flowed freely from your mind, excited to get to know them better. 

After sending each of the guys home with enough plants they could manage to carry, you closed up the shop for the day. Kat texted you right after the guys left in a panic. She completely blanked about the gala she had to attend for her design and commerce class and was running to catch the metro. You could tell she was still adamant on wearing her fashionable but not functional cube-heeled oxfords, as her texts were a mixture of all-caps lock and garbled, choppy sentences. 

As you made your way back to your apartment, you couldn’t help but hear a jumble of voices arguing with each other in your head.

Text him back, he misses you. 

Don’t. He’s just using you to get what he wants again. He’ll leave just like that last time. Remember last time? You don’t want that to happen again do you?

Scum. Dirtbag. Trash. User.

What if he means it this time? 

Asshole. Player. Heartbreaker. 

Maybe he’s changed. 

Don’t do it. Put your phone down.

What if he actually misses me? What if it’s different this time? Just text him. Nothing bad will happen if you text him once. 

Everything bad that can happen will happen, it’s only a matter of—

The slamming of your door seemed to silence the conflicting pieces of your collective conscience. Leaning against the door, you clicked your lock and pressed your hand against your chest, willing yourself to calm down.

You tossed your keys onto the counter and jumped into the shower as soon as you threw your clothes into the laundry basket. The steam engulfed your body with a pleasant heat, releasing the tension in your neck and shoulders that had built up from the sleepless nights in bed. 

After spending a little less than an hour in your makeshift steam sauna, you remembered that you actually had utility bills to pay. You quickly got out of the shower and slipped on your usual attire of joggers and an old shirt. The place was chilly, so you slipped on a cardigan for good measure. With your hair wrapped in a towel, you searched through your fridge for something to eat.

“Damn.” The words left your lips before you could stop them. 

Of course, it was pretty much empty. You were so caught up with spring orders for the past few weeks, you didn’t get a chance to stop by the grocery store on your way home. Settling on half of a turkey sandwich leftover from yesterday, you were grateful you still had a few cans of soda left to compliment tonight’s gourmet feast. 

You made yourself comfortable on your couch that was arranged right across your balcony. There was no use in having a TV if you couldn’t afford to pay the electric bills, and you wanted to utilize the limited space of your studio to its fullest. The fizz of the soda nearly made you choke. It had been a hot minute since you had soda, relying purely on coffee for the past few years to give you that caffeine boost. 

The sound of sirens wailing echoed throughout the city and pierced through the hum of traffic with ease. Leaning your head back into the dense cushion, you closed your eyes and listened; the relentless thumping of your upstairs neighbors, probably having another night of friends over; the faint shouts from the restaurant across the street that was overflowing with diners, typical of a Friday night; the gentle whisper of cold air that bled through the crack of your sliding balcony door. You needed to get that fixed ages ago. 

The food wasn’t going down well. It was that damn soda. Putting down the last few bits of the sandwich, you stood up and stepped outside onto your balcony. The lights flickered on and you admired the plant shelves you’d set up a few days after moving in. It was a teeny tiny space, but the luscious array of green, pinks, reds, white, and every color in between made it all the more bearable. 

You propped your elbow up against the rail that guarded the edge and breathed in for four seconds, held it for five, and exhaled for six. It was working, right? Your hands came up to the sockets of your eyes, applying the slightest bit of pressure to them. There were days where you really wanted to sleep for days on end; a hibernation, if you will. Today was most definitely one of those days. There was one problem—how were you supposed to fall asleep if you were too afraid to?

You were scared of seeing him in your dreams. Not even dreaming about him, no—the fear of encountering him as a random stranger while you were on your way to the floral market or a jogger passing by on your stroll in the park. His face resurfaced in flashes The glimpses of your favorite memories together were now inescapable bursts composed of your worst nightmares. 

You hated him. You loathed him with all of your heart, despised him with every fiber of your being and with every single living cell in your body. You wanted to forget about him; you wanted to forget he ever existed and that he ever met you. Every single moment you shared with him and every second you wasted pining over whether he loved you back; you wanted those years of your life back. 

But you knew better than anyone that time was never forgiving, and you would never get to relive those years ever again.

The funny thing—actually the hilarious thing—was that you hated yourself more than you hated him. You hated yourself for being the one who introduced yourself to him at that stupid party; you never should have gone to that stupid fucking party. You were such an idiot, what were you thinking? 

All those days, months, and years you spent constantly hovering over your phone, begging and pleading for him to send you a text. Something, anything to acknowledge that he still knew your name and to give you the opportunity to manipulate it into meaningless signals, then use that to convince yourself that he actually did care about you. 

You couldn’t remember for the life of you how or why you started falling for him. You both agreed to it no-strings-attached. No cuddles, no aftercare, no dates, and definitely no kissing in front of other people or hugging each other. He said his reputation would be ruined if his friends found out about you two. 

In love with the idea of being in love, you agreed without a second thought. No feelings, no crossing the line. Simple. 

Until he started breaking the rules. 

He’d get jealous of you hanging out with other guys, blowing up your phone with questions and angry paragraphs along the lines of “You’re not going to parties anymore unless it’s with me” and “I can’t believe you hung out with Aaron of all people. You know he’s a complete fuck up, right?” 

 Then he started caring—at least, acting like he did. Pretending. Faking. Lying. Masquerading. Call it whatever you will. He held you close to his chest after spending time with you in his bed, wrapping you under the covers to keep you warm. You’ll never forget the warmth of his chest as his heartbeat thumped against your ear. His fingers traced the outline of your face when he thought you were asleep, never knowing that you did everything in your power to hold back your smile. Then there were times when he’d leave you right after, making an excuse about a night out with his friends or a project due tomorrow. It was always due tomorrow. Other times he would go to the bathroom and then come back to throw you a towel. 

“My roommates will be here any minute. You should hurry up,” he’d warn.

Case and point, his games worked. After three years, you were head over heels for him. The memory of how it ended was blocked from your mind. Anytime you tried to remember that day, you always ran into a concrete wall. It was almost as if you built it to protect yourself from something, but what? 

The only thing you could recall were the tears. Maybe they were his too, but you vividly remember yours. They flooded your vision with a cloudy film, overflowing in streams and trails down your face and even causing you to choke on them. And the screaming—god, the screaming... More memories flooded in as your hands cupped your ears.

“I’m sorry, okay?! I’m sorry that I want what’s best for you and that you can’t see how much I care. I’m sorry for being so blind and seeing you for who I wanted you to be, that I couldn’t see you for who you truly are! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

Shutting your eyes tightly, you felt a drop of wetness fall dribble down your cheek. You were crying again. A sniffle followed the scoff that came out of your mouth. What, three years have already passed since then? Three years and you were still crying over that asshole? 

Wiping at your face with the rough fabric of your sleeve, you bit your lip to concentrate on something else. You stared at nothing to the point where everything looked blurry and your eyes stung. The temperature suddenly dropped, indicated by your shivering. You couldn’t afford to get sick and hurried back inside. 

Before you knew it, the clock had struck 11:00 p.m. and you were not the slightest bit sleepy. Sheltered in the safety of your own home, you had an idea that would not only get your mind out of the rut you’d fallen into, but also . Digging through scraps of loose paper, dry pens, and trash in general, you found your old earbuds. They worked perfectly fine, okay? Why fix something when it’s not broken? 

Plugging them into your phone because yes—you had a phone which was one of the dying species that still had a headphone jack—you turned on your favorite playlist (appropriately titled stre$$ed) and commenced dancing in your room like someone from the 70′s. The only thing missing was a pair of flare-cut jeans, a splotchy tie-dyed shirt, and a pair of Kat’s over-the-top disco boots.

Even though your neighbors were assholes about keeping it down after lights out, you chose to be the bigger person and take their residence into consideration. Mouthing the words silently and jumping as softly as you could, your damp hair stuck to the edges of your face and flung around, hitting your cheek a couple of times. Truth be told, you were far past the point of caring. 

Each time your foot came thumped against the plush carpet was an invigorating strike; every head bob was a liberating release; each labored breath and winded puff felt like the exact opposite, a breath of fresh air.

An escape. 

You flopped onto the bed with a heavy exhale, trying to catch your breath. Panting, your face felt hot and every part of your lungs burned like you were being roasted alive on a bonfire. The back of your hand felt cool against your forehead and your eyes began drooping at the soothing touch. Before you could pull the covers up, darkness engulfed your senses and you were out like a light. 

Yoongi couldn’t sleep. He had counted backwards from one hundred, two hundred, five hundred, and maybe a thousand. He tried listening to a random playlist full of rain sounds, alpha waves, crickets, and a fireplace crackling. All that came from that was an unnecessary number of bathroom trips, ear scratching, skin itching, and throwing off the covers from the heat he was imagining.  

Sitting up in annoyance, Yoongi sat on the edge of his bed with his forehead resting on his hand, elbow propped up on his elbow. He couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking about his job, the deadlines he had to meet, the songs he had to make, lyrics that still needed to be written, phone calls and emails he needed to send out—he was supposed to call his mom during lunch. 

“Fuck,” he swore, rubbing his eyes again. Looking at his alarm clock, the time 12:12 a.m. was outlined in blue. He initially settled on the traditional red one while at the store, but Hoseok convinced him to opt for a more “peppy color.” Yoongi’s lips curved into a soft grin at the memory. Within seconds, his eyebrows knitted together into a frown and his eyes flickered, the subtle expression he bore moments ago now a stone cold gaze. 

No matter how hard he tried and how badly he wished and prayed, he couldn’t compel himself to cry. Despite his adamant concentration and determination, he didn’t shed a tear. Not being able to force it out without knowing what it was, proved to be absolutely suffocating. 

He tried focusing on something else. The lights, the city, the sounds—he needed to focus on something else. Gazing through the window he’d familiarized himself with, Yoongi took in the view. From his room, he was able to see a picturesque layout of where the biggest main streets of the city intersected. Through the fog, he could also make out the faint edges of the longest footbridge that ran across the skyline. Looking down, the warm glow of street lamps and building lights twinkled through the dark night like man-made stars. 

Lifting his head up to the apartment complex directly across from his, there were still a couple of lights on here and there. Yoongi felt validated in the sense that he wasn’t the only one who had sleepless nights. One by one, they started to fade, each apartment light turning off as someone’s hand flicked a lever and went to sleep. It was strangely relaxing to watch. After about twenty minutes of staring intently at every person tune out for the night, he narrowed his eyes at one that remained. 

Directly across from his apartment was the faint yellow glow of someone’s balcony light. He imagined the wonderful warmth radiating from it, closing his eyes to immerse himself in the imagination. Looking closer, Yoongi saw the shadow of a woman leaning on the railing. She was shivering. 

Bringing her hand up, she wiped at her face and started laughing—crying? He couldn’t see in the dark all that well. Trying to get a closer look, he forgot about the glass that separated him from the outside world and face planted the pane. Wincing in pain, he wrinkled his nose and inhaled sharply through his two front teeth. 

He shook it off and centered his vision back to the balcony opposite to his room, remembering to open the window this time. Cold air bit at his cheeks but he ignored it, determined to find what he had witnessed seconds ago. The girl was still leaning on the rail and was staring at seemingly nothing. Her shoulders hiccuped up every few seconds and hands came up to wipe her face again. 

Definitely crying. 

Yoongi was awestruck. How good did it feel to finally get it out? Was it worth it? Did it feel like you could breathe again? Yoongi soon realized that he was jealous—no, he envied her ability to weep; her ability to shed real, painful, cathartic tears. 

He envied the one thing he couldn’t have and would never be able to get. 

Following your movement back inside, he should’ve gone back to bed himself, but for some reason, he just couldn’t. His gut told him not to, but then again, that way of decision-making was a 50/50 bet. 

Whether it happened in the blink of an eye or this was all some sleep-deprived dream, she ended up going from crying her eyes out to dancing her heart out? She reminded Yoongi of Seokjin’s drunk dancing; good but not good, sane but not entirely, and so rhythmic yet incredibly off beat. Her vibrancy was contagious and made Yoongi smile a real smile for the first time in a while. If you told him that she had bawled herself delirious two minutes ago, he would have snorted. It looked as if she didn’t have a single worry or care in the world....

He felt like a creep. He shouldn’t be up, period. He should be sleeping, not spying on his neighbors. Worse, they weren’t even neighbors, had never met before, nor did they even come a foot close and live in the same building. 

Hell, that made it so much freaking worse. 

He sighed at how pathetic he felt. Was he that desperate for something he didn’t even know? Yoongi decided to call it a night. Crawling into his covers, they never seemed to keep him warm, no matter how tightly he wrapped himself in them. It was either searing hot discomfort paired with cold sweat or ice cold feet and teeth chattering. 

That night by whatever random laws of the universe he slept soundly. Not once did he shoot open his eyes from nightmares or stir in his sleep out of discomfort. Maybe it was from witnessing someone’s emotional outpours and experiencing them vicariously through his own means, or maybe it was the satisfaction of selecting all of his unread emails and archiving them until tomorrow, one thing was for sure—Yoongi had accomplished his goal of sleeping through an entire night; something he hadn’t done for years now... 

I’ll get out of it.

“I never thought I’d ever say this,” you started, trying to close your agape mouth. “But I think you guys might have one too many plants.” Looking at their coffee table, it was overflowing with the eight boxes you’d delivered this morning. Yes, there were eight boxes full of plants delivered to a single apartment. Marco would have the time of his life restocking for next week. Jungkook, Taehyung, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin helped you carry up the boxes and were all staring at the ground sheepishly, their hands clasped behind their backs like children who were caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. 

You offered to deliver the boxes to their places separately, seeing as they had different spaces and floor plans, but that cheeky bugger Taehyung convinced you to rendezvous at his place. Then you wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of walking back and forth between the shop and their corresponding buildings, and the guys would get a chance to meet you. 

Guilt gnawed at you for making them interrupt their daily schedules just to bring home some houseplants, but Jungkook insisted that they were all free for the next two weeks; spring break for Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok, pre-season break and scheduling bookings for Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. 

Meeting Seokjin for the first time and Taehyung for the second was a memorable experience, to put it lightly. You walked in on them running around half naked and throwing crumpled balls of clothes at each other. Turns out they had been arguing about who’s turn it was to do the laundry and neither of them were having it. Long story short, you lived life by the rule that first impressions were a good indicator of someone’s unfiltered, raw, underlying disposition, and in this case, it proved to be entirely true in the best way possible. 

“We’ll share, we promise.” Jimin was the first to break the silence but still had trouble meeting your gaze. 

Jungkook pointed an accusing finger at Seokjin and Taehyung, his turn to talk. “They didn’t believe us after they saw how many plants we came home with, so we figured we’d invite you over to meet them in person and see whether they convert or not.” 

“Safe to say that we are officially convinced,” Taehyung raised his hands in surrender, elbowing Seokjin to do the same. 

Hiding your smile by pressing your lips together, a tingling sensation spread across your face at his odd choice of words. When you reminded them about their hectic schedules and voiced your concern about them being able to keep up with care, Seokjin revealed his contract agreement with Hoseok. “He promised that he’d come by and water them whenever we’re out of town for longer than a week,” the eldest explained while biting back a smirk. “He kind of owes me a lifelong debt...” 

Forcing out a tight-lipped sideways grin, Hoseok slung his arm over Jimin’s shoulder, bearing a smirk of his own. “Don’t worry, Jimin here owes me a debt of his own.” 

A sly grin crept along Jimin’s face. "Considering that my lifelong debt doesn’t have to do with the fact that you bl—” Before he could finish, Seokjin and Hoseok’s hands flew up faster than lightning to cover the boy’s mouth. Taehyung nearly spit out his water and the others were near tears and clutching their abdomens, their mouths sealed tight and refusing to let out one of their pact’s biggest secrets. You admired how loyal and strong their bond was, a rare thing in this day and age.

Shaking your head to distract yourself from their incessant laughter, you pressed your hand over your forehead and widened your eyes in concentration. “Well, let’s get to organizing, shall we?” 

Unpacking the boxes one by one, each contained an array of species from pothos, philodendrons, syngoniums, hoyas, pileas, peperomias, baby rubber trees, rhaphidophoras, sansevierias, ZZ plants, money trees, and finally, two mature, green monsteras for each of them to keep in their living rooms. Not knowing what kind of lighting situation they had going on, you tried to limit your recommendations to medium-light tolerant plants. After they alerted you about their east and south-exposure windows, you were relieved in your selection. 

“I call the big guy,” Jungkook cooed, picking up the staked rhaphidophora and clutching it to his chest and smirking coyly. “For my room.” 

Seokjin whined loudly. “We live in the same apartment!” 

Taehyung let out a disappointed sigh and shook his head. “You see what I have to deal with every day?” 

Namjoon reached for the philodendron micans. “It’s like velvet!” he commented in awe as he felt the leaves. It was nicknamed the velvet-leaved philodendron after all, but his reaction made you feel fuzzy with plant love. 

“Woah this looks like an alien’s flying saucer,” Hoseok noted. Picking up the pilea, it never struck you that the round, green disks did, in fact, look like flying saucers. Once everyone was satisfied with what they were taking home (it ended up taking a lot less time than you predicted), you went to work arranging them around the living room, bedroom, and kitchen, all while explaining to them the water and light requirements, periodic maintenance, and looking out for pests.

You urged Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok to go back to their place first, assuring that you’d meet them there. They said it was no bother and wanted to witness your working process. You were just doing your job, but seeing them fascinated by your passion and vigor was much more endearing than you thought it would be.

Just as you were hanging the macrame pot by their balcony, you heard the front door click open. Taehyung, Jimin, and Namjoon were holding the step ladder steady for you. 

Since you were concentrating on getting the nail at the right angle, you paid no attention to it, assuming it was Hoseok or Jungkook going to recycle the used wrapping paper and packing materials. 

“Yoongi!” Jimin called out.

“Good to see you dude,” Taehyung beamed. “Sorry, our hands are kind of full.”

“Could’ve given me a heads up that you had a guest over,” he grumbled, but you couldn’t hear through the rustling of the leaves that smacked your face. 

The sound of footsteps grew louder from afar, then paused when you felt a presence behind you. “Jungkook,” you called out, turning your shoulder and looking down to where he was standing. “Do you mind grabbing the pliers from—” 

Here’s the thing you never understood about step ladders. Standing on them is considered a safety hazard, yet it’s method of use and reason for existence is to be stood on. You wished you remembered this when you decided to turn around and look down at Jungkook, except, it wasn’t Jungkook. It wasn’t Hoseok either. Despite not wearing a mask or beanie, you instantly recognized that cold gaze, piercing through yours like daggers. 

He was equally shocked and mirrored your exact reaction, eyes growing wide and mouth parting as if you were staring through double-sided plexiglass. 

“Yoongi, this is _____,” Jungkook introduced comfortably, conversation flowing freely from him. “______, this is Yoongi. The dad Jimin talked about.” While the boys broke into convulsions of laughter, you and Yoongi were still shellshocked. Of all the people that could be in this friend circle, it had to be the guy who crossed paths with you a few of times on the street?  

You didn’t register that you’d lost your footing from the ladder until the familiar weight of gravity tipped you over. The last thing you saw were multiple pairs of hands reaching out to try and catch you, but it was too late—your body collided into his before crashing onto the floor as one whole, the clear thud of wood against flesh echoing throughout the apartment. 

That’s definitely one way to make a first impression.