#but just saying “a turkey you might not be familiar with”

[ailurinae]

It's a megapode, not related to true turkeys at all (other than being in the "game bird"/"land fowl" order Galliformes)

Megapodes build huge mounds to incubate their eggs instead of sitting on them. Some (many? all? I am not sure) species constantly probe the temperature of the nest with their beak and remove or add covering to adjust the temperature.

Turkeys, namely the wild turkey, the domestic turkey and the ocellated turkey, are genus Meleagris. They are in the pheasant group, which includes pheasants, peafowl, grouse, and chickens. And they are basically on the far other end of the Galliform family tree from megapodes (that is, Phasianidae diverged from other lineages relatively recently, while Megapodiidae is the earliest diverging extant family)

Gobble, gobble? Here’s a turkey you might not be familiar with: the Australian Brush-turkey (Alectura lathami)! Found in parts of eastern Australia, this ground-dwelling omnivore feeds on insects, fallen fruits, and seeds. This species' chicks become independent almost immediately after birth. Parents leave their offspring to fend for themselves, and hatchlings are able to fly within hours of being born. Nearly hunted to extinction in the 1930s, this species’ population has since rebounded.

Photo: JJ Harrison, CC BY 3.0, Wikimedia Commons

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Always room for seconds (dp x dc)

"There they go again," says Aunt Alicia as she looks at the hazmat-clad backs of her sister and her husband jumping into their mish-mash-of-a-van. "And on Thanksgiving too," she finishes to herself as she turns toward her niece and nephew. Neither of them look surprised, though Jazz is clearly more affected if the tick in her jaw is any indication.

"They promised," she practically spits but Danny just sighs and puts a hand on her shoulder. It seems to draw the fight out of Jazz a bit and she sags onto herself.

Alicia loves her sister but she can be so irresponsible sometimes.

"Come on kids, let's go back inside. It's about time to put the turk-" she stops short, then groans. Maddie had insisted on bringing the turkey on account of not wanting Alicia to go to all the trouble, and Alicia had agreed on the condition that her sister wouldn't try to make it. "...And the turkey is still in the van isn't it?"

Danny makes a face. "It's probably for the best. I'm pretty sure I saw it move on the way here."

Alicia doesn't let her head fall into her hands, but only just. Instead, she takes a deep breath to calm herself down to rally her thoughts. "Alright. It'll be too late by the time we drive to town and buy a new raw one, so we can just get some already made from the store. That good for you guys?"

Jazz and Danny make sounds of assent before all three of them pile up in the car. Town isn't too far away, and the trip is mostly silent. Alicia is hesitating over what to say to cheer up her niece and nephew. In the end, they pull up to the grocery store before she manages to come up with anything.

"Dad was also supposed to bring desert," Jazz mentions as she grabs a caddie and wheels it back to them.

"I made apple pie just in case," Alicia answers. Despite her dislike for him, she can admit that Jack Fenton is a generous man. However, as she has learned over the years, that generosity doesn't extend to fudge. Which is why she's got her famous apple pie ready to pop into the oven.

Danny nods relieved, as he files in behind his sister. The three of them are rolling past the frozen section when a familiar voice cuts through the store music.

"Alicia?"

At that, Alicia looks up to see the face of one and only Martha Kent. Her lips stretch into a smile unconsciously at the sight.

"Martha, hi," she answers as the other woman starts walking closer. "How are you?"

"I'm good," the other woman says as she stops in front of them. "Just doing some last-minute shopping." Then Martha looks to Danny and Jazz and gives them a smile. "And who might these two be?"

"This is Jazz and Danny," Alicia introduces them, "my niece and nephew. They're spending Thanksgiving up at the cabin with me."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Martha says sincerely. "You left your sister and her husband in charge of the turkey, then?" She winks.

Alicia winces. "Ah, not exactly."

"They had a work emergency," Jazz says, unhappy.

Martha lets out a sympathetic oh.

"That's why we're here," Alicia explains. "They left with the turkey without realizing, so we'll have to settle for store-bought this year."

Martha makes a noise of sympathy before her face shifts into something more pensive. "You know," she starts. "I've got a big turkey at home and there's only going to be my son and me to eat it. If you guys would like, we'd love to have you over to help us with it."

"Oh we couldn't possibly-" Alicia starts to protest but Martha takes a step forward and takes her hands.

"You'd be doing us a favour," Martha says, her hands still into Alicia's as she looks up earnestly at the redhead. And damn it all because Alicia can feel a blush spreading on her cheeks at that.

"Alright," Alicia says, too flustered to argue.

Martha squeezes her hands once before letting go and Alicia can't help but miss the warmth of them. "Then it's settled."

"Alright," repeats Alicia. "We'll have to swing back home, though. I made pie."

"That's wonderful!" Martha's smile is radiant and it makes something in Alicia's chest warm.

She disguises it with a cough before speaking up. "Is six thirty too early for you?"

"It's perfect. We'll be waiting for you then," Martha says. "And for your sister and her husband too, if they manage to tear themselves away from work."

"That's not likely," mumbles Danny under his breath. Uncharacteristically, Jazz doesn't say anything about her brother's manners, only putting her own hand on his shoulder. Martha catches Alicia's eye and they exchange a look.

"Well, we'll be glad to have you three, anywho," Martha states firmly which gets her a hesitant smile from Jazz.

Alicia clears her throat. "We'd better get going if we want to be ready in time."

"Oh yes," Martha agrees. "I have to make sure the turkey's not burning." Then she winks, and for some reason, Alicia can feel that pesky blush coming back. It's made worse by the shrewd look Jazz gives her.

"See you soon!" says Martha as she leaves.

"Bye," Alicia answers back a little weakly. Then she looks down to the ground and sighs. When she straightens her head, she's immediately on guard as she catches her niece's smug look.

"What?" Alicia asks warily.

"Is Martha single?" Jazz asks, with a butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth face.

"Yeah," the older redhead answers slowly. "Why?"

"Just wanted to know," Jazz says innocently. And even Danny is looking at his sister suspiciously now. "since you've got a crush on her and all."

"I do no-I don't know what you're talking about!" Alicia protests though she feels her cheeks warming for the third time today.

And now Danny is starting to smirk too as he exchanges a look with his sister. "Oh," he starts as he looks towards Martha's disappearing figure. "This is going to be fun."

[hamsterclaw]

Fugitive

You're kidnapped by a desperate man and you can't see a way that this is going to end well, for either of you.

Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader

Word count: 10k

Genre: Escaped criminal, convict Yoongi

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Sex, swearing, mentions of a gun, threat of gun violence

Author note: This story is based on the romance novel Perfect by Judith McNaught. I've taken a few liberties with the plot and characters.

The coffee at this mountainside diner is good, warming your belly as you frown at the snow outside. 

All the weather reports say there’s a storm coming from the east, but it doesn’t take a trooper to know that. 

Even a city girl like you can see how the sky’s darkening, how the wind’s relentless, how the temperature is rapidly dropping.

You’ve got snow tires on, four wheel drive, emergency supplies in your trunk, but you think you won’t need them, you’re heading west and you’ve made good time on your way to visit your sister and her newborn.

Like your dad used to say, your family’s full of grit. 

You swallow your smile when you see the man standing just outside the diner looking straight at you.

Did he think you were smiling at him?

You look down hastily.

The waitress comes round with the check you signalled for, you put money on the little acrylic tray and get ready to go.

By the time you step outside, the wind’s picked up even more, snow swirling, making your eyes want to screw shut under your beanie.

You don’t hear him until he’s almost on top of you.

He’s not a lot taller than you, and he’s not particularly dressed for the weather, in denim on denim, a parka. No hat or gloves.

His hair is dark, as are his eyes, and his skin is pale, like he doesn’t get a lot of sun.

He looks vaguely familiar but you can’t really place him.

‘You have a flat,’ he says, pointing to one of your front tyres.

You look down in dismay only to see that he’s right.

Shit!

‘I can help you change it, if you’ve got a spare,’ he offers.

‘Would you?’ you ask, grateful.

‘Yeah, not a problem.’

You show him where the spare and tools are, and as he crouches by the tyre, you’re very aware of how, unlike you, he doesn’t have gloves on. 

You feel a surge of guilt.

‘Hey,’ you offer, ‘whilst you’re doing that, can I get you a hot drink or something?’

He looks up at you, hands braced on the flat.

‘I wouldn’t mind a coffee, if it’s not too much trouble.’

‘Of course,’ you say, relieved that he’s not too polite to take you up on your offer. ‘I’ll be right back.’

You hurry back into the diner to get him a coffee. As you wait you wonder if he might want a sandwich too, and impulsively, you order him a hot sandwich.

He can always say no if he doesn’t want it, you reason.

By the time you come out, he’s putting the flat in your trunk, tidying up the tools he used.

‘Thank you,’ you tell him, passing him the drink.

‘No problem,’ he says.

A little awkwardly, you hold out the wrapped sandwich. ‘I got you a sandwich too, if you want it. It’s turkey.’

He accepts with another murmured ‘thank you.’

You’re wondering if you should offer him money for his kindness when he says, hesitant, ‘I could use a lift, if you’re heading west. I’ve got a job interview I’m hoping to make it to.’

Now you’re the hesitant one. He’s shown you nothing but kindness, but he is still a total stranger.

He waits without looking at you, sipping his coffee, keeping his distance.

You think about his lack of warm clothes, and as you’re looking at him, you notice the crispness of the creases in his clothing, remnants of how they must have been folded when he bought them.

You think about his calloused palms and how he accepted the sandwich without hesitation.

‘Hey, it’s ok,’ he starts to say, and it’s that, more than anything else, that spurs you on to reply.

‘It’s fine,’ you say. ‘I’ll take you as far as I’m heading.’

***

He gets into the passenger seat, and from the sigh that passes his lips you realise that he really was as cold as you thought he might be.

You start the engine, and warm air starts to blow through your A/C vents.

You check that the GPS is still set and glance over at him. 

‘You ready?’

You’re a mile or so out of the diner, listening to the radio, when it occurs to you to ask him his name.

‘I’m Y/N,’ you say. 

‘Yoongi,’ comes the reply.

In here, away from the whistling wind, you can hear the gravel in his voice.

‘What job are you going for?’ you ask.

‘Just some construction job my friend’s lined up for me near Maisan,’ Yoongi says.

He glances in the rearview mirror. 

‘I hope you get it,’ you tell him. ‘Do you live around there?’

He seems to hesitate.

‘I don’t mean to pry,’ you say, quickly. 

To bridge the sudden silence, you say, ‘I’m going to see my sister and her new baby. She chose a good time to have him, right before a storm.’

You notice movement up ahead, a police roadblock.

Beside you, your new acquaintance sits up. 

‘Nice and easy,’ he says, and you look at him, confused, until you notice that he has a gun in his hand.

Pointed right at you.

You straighten up so quickly your neck cracks.

‘What —-‘

‘Nice and easy,’ Yoongi says again, a hardness to his voice you haven’t heard up until now. 

‘There are six shots in this gun, but I’ll only need one to hurt you,’ he continues.

Your hands tighten on the wheel, and your lips clamp together, trying to stifle the squeak of terror that threatens to slip out.

‘I just want you to know that I will hurt you if you try anything,’ Yoongi says. There’s a seriousness in his voice that makes your blood chill. ‘So nice and easy, get us past this roadblock.’

You’ve slowed automatically as you approach the uniformed policemen, your years of driving making your body do the expected things despite the way your head is reeling.

Yoongi has a gun, and he seems perfectly capable of using it on you.

The fear crystallises into a single sob before your throat closes completely. Your breathing quickens but you know you’ll need to look normal, unsuspicious, to get you and Yoongi past the police.

‘Are they looking for you?’ you ask. Your voice is shuddery, you’re trembling so hard.

In response, Yoongi jams the barrel of the gun against you, high up, against your ribs, so hard it’s like he’s impaled you.

‘Shut up and get us through this,’ he snarls.

Your lips snap together again, and you make a conscious effort to pull yourself together.

Just before you stop, Yoongi says, ‘If you try anything, I won’t just be trying to hurt you. I’ll kill you.’

His tone is low, and another shiver runs through you.

You roll down the window.

The police trooper leans in. ‘Where are you headed?’

‘We’re going to see my sister in Maisan,’ you say, grateful at least, that your voice is steady.

Beside you, Yoongi’s sitting perfectly still.

‘You’ve not picked a good time to go,’ says the trooper.

This time, it’s Yoongi who answers. ‘I did say we should wait, but my girlfriend’s been looking forward to seeing her new nephew.’

He shrugs, a picture of indulgent exasperation.

The trooper laughs along with Yoongi even as you try to make desperate eye contact with him.

‘Better carry on then, hopefully you’ll make it before the storm hits.’

Then he’s waving you off, and you have a split second of panic, a moment where you consider screaming, before Yoongi’s gun jabs into your ribs again.

Again, your body responds before you do, driving you away from your last chance to seek help.

***

Twenty miles out from the diner, Yoongi tosses your phone out of the window.

Forty miles out, he programs a different address into your GPS.

It’s another ten miles before you find your voice again.

‘You can take the car, you know, and leave me here. I can’t call anyone.’

Yoongi almost looks like he’s considering it. 

‘I can’t leave you here out in the mountains in the middle of nowhere,’ he tells you. ‘You’ll die of exposure, especially if you can’t call for help.’

‘Also,’ he adds, almost as if it’s an afterthought, ‘you know the address of where we’re going.’

‘I didn’t see it,’ you say, too quickly.

Yoongi’s silent.

Finally, he says, ‘Just keep driving.’

‘Please,’ you plead. ‘Just let me go. I won’t tell the police where you’re heading.’

Yoongi’s grasp on the gun, still in his lap, tightens.

‘You’re a fucking idiot. Why the hell would you give a ride to a strange man you’ve just met?’

You don’t have a good answer to that.

‘You changed my tyre,’ you say. ‘I thought —‘

‘I slashed your tyre,’ he says, low, cold. ‘I was hanging around outside the diner, I saw you pull up, saw you were alone.’

His admission chills you.

Tears start to spill down your cheeks when you realise what a fool you were to trust him.

‘I just wanted to help you out,’ you tell him. ‘You seemed hungry and down on your luck, and you didn’t even have any warm c-c-clothes!’

You swipe at your cheeks furiously.

‘Didn’t have any warm clothes,’ Yoongi repeats, incredulous, scornful. ‘You’re some fucking good Samaritan.’

You’re crying quietly now, despairing over your naivety.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything for a good long while, and neither do you.

***

By the time you reach your destination, it’s snowing so hard you can barely see six feet in front of your car. 

Snowy walls close in either side of you, buffeting you from the wind but heightening your sense of claustrophobia. 

The clearing’s upon you before you quite realise it, and you end up stopping in front of a huge structure in the woods. 

It’s more than a cabin, it looks like a proper house, from what you can make out, with a shed and a carport. 

Yoongi reaches out and takes your car keys. 

‘Wait until I come round to your side.’ 

He doesn’t point the gun at you, but you don’t need reminding. 

He gets out, walks around to your side, pulls open the door, pushes you in front of him.

You try to take note of your surroundings, landmarks, but all you can see is snow.

Your boots clomp on the concrete as you approach the front door.

Behind you, you can hear Yoongi rustling, glancing at his phone before he punches numbers into the keypad discreetly placed by the door. 

He cups a hand over the keypad, you don’t see a thing.

He pulls you in as he enters, and you’re initially just grateful to be out of the snow. 

Yoongi says, ‘Take your coat off.’ 

He makes a move as if to do it for you when you don’t react quickly enough, and you snap into action, pulling the snaps apart, unzipping hastily. 

He takes your coat, tosses it carelessly to one side, grasps your wrist, tight. 

You flinch as he tightens a cable tie around your wrist and attaches you to the steel flap of a radiator by the entrance hall of the house. 

‘I can’t trust you not to try to run,’ he tells you. ‘I won’t hurt you, but I can’t afford for you to interfere with my plans, not now.’ 

You’re barely listening at this point. 

The terror of the last few hours has drained most of your energy. 

Yoongi stands over you for a few moments, as if to make sure you aren’t going to bolt, and then he heads further into the house. 

***

Time passes, you’re disorientated by the darkness brought on by the storm outside and your own sense of disjointedness. 

It doesn’t seem like that long ago since you loaded your things into your trunk and set off from home, and yet, it seems like forever. 

Gradually, you become aware of the hardwood floor under your salopes. The entry hall you’re being held captive in gives you the impression that this is a nice house. 

Whoever had this built has money. 

The ceilings are high, the wood panelling rich and beautifully rendered.

The radiator beside you has started heating up, the steel flaps burning you whenever you let your hand move too close. 

Your snow boots have made puddles on the hardwood. 

Where the hell are you? Who owns this place? Why did Yoongi have the code for the door? 

If he has friends this rich willing to let him use their house why the hell did he need you to drive him? 

Your mind swirling with thoughts you can’t reconcile, you pull your knees into your chest and tuck your chin in, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

You fall into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. 

***

You wake to complete darkness and a searing pain in your hand where you’ve let it fall against the radiator. 

It all comes back to you in a flash. 

The diner. The state trooper. The house. Yoongi. 

Your hand hurts, badly, but it’s too dark to see. 

As you straighten your legs, your foot hits something that falls with a soft thud, then rolls. 

A water bottle. 

You’re suddenly aware of how dry your throat is. 

You reach for the bottle, but maddeningly, it rolls out of your reach. 

There are tears on your face but you’re not crying, not really. 

Maybe you are. 

***

When you next wake, the cold thin grey light filtering in through the windows tells you it’s morning, or early. 

You look up to see your captor standing over you. 

You look at each other wordlessly. 

Yoongi crouches next to you. 

‘Do you need the bathroom?’ he asks. 

You nod. 

He reaches down to detach you from the radiator. 

Your hand. 

You can see it clearly now, the blistered, reddened side of your palm, the thin line of blood where the cable tie’s cut into your wrist. 

You say nothing. You don’t know if you can form any words. 

You get up carefully, follow Yoongi down the hall to a small bathroom. 

‘I’ll give you five minutes,’ Yoongi says. 

You take care of business, trying not to sob at the pain in your burnt hand and wrist. 

The window to the bathroom doesn’t open, and there’s nothing that you can use to break it. 

There’s a knock at the door, you feel a surge of hysterical laughter threatening to come out. 

He’s kidnapped you, locked you to a radiator, and he’s knocking because he cares about your privacy? 

The door opens, and Yoongi comes in. 

You stare at the scissors in his hand. 

‘Your wrist,’ he says. 

You watch, detached, as he cuts the cable tie. It falls to the floor, and you instinctively raise your hand to your chest to rub at your wrist. 

Yoongi says. ‘I have food for you.’ 

He takes you down another hallway, to a huge kitchen full of windows. The early morning sun filters in, bright and blinding, adding more of a sense of unreality to the situation you now find yourself in. 

Yoongi gestures to a seat at the kitchen island, sets a plate in front of you, like he’s made you breakfast. 

You stare in disbelief at the food. 

‘The car’s coming for me in two days, I’ll let you go then,’ Yoongi tells you, like you’re making plans together. 

Like you’re just two people who know each other, discussing plans over breakfast, instead of captor and captive. 

Now you’re staring at him. 

‘You’ll let me go?’ you ask. Your voice comes out in a rasp, you have a vague recollection of trying to drink water but being unable to reach. 

Yoongi winces a little, pours out a glass of water that you gulp down. 

‘You should have told me you wanted water,’ he says. 

‘You took my phone so I couldn’t text you,’ you say, the snark coming out of your mouth surprising you. 

His brow lifts. ‘You don’t have my number anyway.’ 

‘Don’t need it,’ you snap, gulping down your refill. ‘We’re not going on a second date.’ 

Now it’s his turn to stare at you. 

‘You’re not my type anyway,’ he snaps back. ‘Eat your food.’ 

For a moment you contemplate going on a hunger strike but you suspect he wouldn’t give a shit anyway so you examine your plate. 

You fork up some eggs and chew cautiously. 

They’re good. Better than you expected. Your stomach growls as you eat. 

The food’s doing wonders for your energy levels. 

‘Why are you running from the police?’ you ask. ‘What did you do?’ 

‘I was convicted of murder,’ he tells you, cold. 

‘Did you do it?’ you ask, unimpressed. 

‘I didn’t, as a matter of fact,’ he replies, flat. 

‘Wait. Were you in prison?’ 

‘I escaped,’ he tells you. ‘With a little help from my friends.’ 

You mull this over as you finish the last of your eggs. 

‘You have friends?’ 

Yoongi gives you a look that makes your chest tighten a little. 

‘Hard to believe, isn’t it?’ he agrees. 

He takes your plate, gathers up your cutlery, turns his back to put them in the sink. 

‘Don’t even think about throwing your glass at me,’ he says, back still to you. 

Your hand stills on the counter. 

You change the subject. 

‘This is a nice house. Do your friends know they’re harbouring a fugitive from the law?’ 

‘My friends have nothing to do with anything,’ Yoongi tells you, giving you a hard look. 

He sets out a bandage and some ointment on the kitchen island in front of you. 

‘Your hand,’ he prompts impatiently, when you don’t make a move to take them. 

You’re about to reach for them when he sighs, unscrews the top of the tube, drops a dollop on your burnt palm. 

You stifle a hiss of pain as he rubs the ointment in. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Yoongi says quietly. 

He’s close to you now, so close you catch a whiff of the freshness of his shampoo. 

‘You should be sorry,’ you say. ‘I thought you were just some guy who was down on his luck who needed a break, and next thing you’re waving a gun in my face and threatening to kill me.’ 

You can feel the tears threatening to rise again, but you blink them back. 

Yoongi’s touch is gentle on your sore hand. 

‘I am sorry. Believe me, if there were any other way I would have taken it. I promise, I’ll let you go. I have no intention of hurting you.’ 

He says the words with conviction but you know you can’t believe anything he says. 

Trusting him is what got you into this in the first place. 

You let him bandage your hand. 

‘Which radiator next?’ you ask, resigned. 

‘I won’t tie you up again, but I’ll have to keep an eye on you,’ Yoongi says, surprising you. ‘There’s a den we can sit in, if you want.’ 

You don’t see that you have any better options. 

***

You start off in the furthest corner of the den from him, back to the wall, wary. 

Yoongi ignores you completely as he turns on the TV, scrolls to the news.

You glance over the books on the bookshelf along one wall, but the TV catches your attention.

‘The search continues for Min Yoongi, the disgraced former rapper who was convicted of the murder of Han Jisung three years ago.’

Your gaze snaps to Yoongi, but he’s not looking at you, attention fully on the screen as an old media clip of him rapping plays.

‘The federal police are looking into several leads, and members of the public can contact the number onscreen if they have any information as to his whereabouts.’

The next story flashes up, and Yoongi sits back. You can see the tension leaving his body.

He catches the way you’re still gaping at him.

You blink, clear your throat. 

‘So, you used to rap?’

Yoongi’s expression morphs into one of incredulity. ‘That’s your take-home from all that?’ 

You try again. ‘Too bad I don’t have my phone to call the number. Do you think there’s a reward?’

Yoongi stares at you.

‘I didn’t kill Han Jisung,’ he says. 

He refuses to be drawn into any further discussion about it, and finally, you give up and pick up one of the books from the shelf.

***

Lunch is a sombre affair, sandwiches that you eat mechanically while looking at the grey outside.

The storm’s upon you, you doubt your snow tires would be up to the challenge even if you could get your car keys off Yoongi.

There’s no visibility at all, and if the wall of ice that’s forming around the glass of the floor to ceiling windows of the house wasn’t enough to deter you, the fact that you have no idea where your parka is certainly helps put you off.

You grew up in a mountainous area like this, and you’ve got a healthy respect for the weather conditions when it's like this.

You wonder how your sister’s doing, and your new nephew, if they’ve noticed you’re missing yet.

Maybe they think you’ve stopped to seek shelter and are waiting for the storm to pass before you continue on your journey.

You wonder if they’ve put your lack of communication down to a signal failure.

You wonder if anyone will notice you’re missing.

Your thoughts drift to Seokjin, the man you’ve recently had a few dates with. 

He’s a good looking guy, outmatching you in looks if you’re being honest about what you think, but he seems to like the way you look, and to enjoy spending time with you.

You realise that Yoongi’s talking to you.

‘Are you all right?’ he asks, nodding to your half eaten sandwich.

‘I’m fine,’ you answer. You pull a face. ‘Well apart from being held captive against my will.’

Yoongi looks like he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 

‘Were you really going to see your sister?’ he asks. ‘Will she notice you’re missing?’

You eye him narrowly. ‘I don’t think anyone’s sending out a search party for me just yet, if that’s what you’re asking.’

Yoongi says, unexpectedly, ‘Why not? You’re pretty, you’d catch attention on the front page of the newspapers.’

You say, incredulously, ‘I bet dozens of women go missing every single day.’

‘They probably do,’ Yoongi agrees. 

‘How did you get put in prison if you didn’t kill that guy?’ you ask, changing the subject. ‘I’m sure you could afford a good legal team.’

Yoongi takes a while to answer. 

‘I was fucking Han Jisung’s fiancee.’

You raise a sceptical brow at him. ‘And?’

‘I think his half-brother set me up.’

You mull this over.

‘So what’s the plan? You escape from prison and leave the country?’

Yoongi shrugs, but his gaze is hard. 

‘I stay on the run until I get enough evidence for a re-trial. Prove my innocence.’

‘Seems a long shot,’ you say, but you have no desire to piss him off, at least not while he’s got a gun in his possession.

‘I have influential friends who are willing to help,’ Yoongi says, simply.

You say nothing.

‘Do you know what it’s like to be put away for life for something you didn’t do?’ Yoongi asks, suddenly. ‘I’ve lost three years of my life to this, there’s no chance of parole for another 7 years.’

His voice rings with anger and frustration.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say. 

You have no idea if he’s telling you the truth, but you’re convinced of one thing. He believes it. 

If he’s telling the truth, you can’t think of anything more awful.

‘Some say I brought this on myself,’ Yoongi says. 

He shakes his head. ‘I don’t blame them. I was an asshole and a womaniser.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ you retort.

Yoongi looks at you, momentarily speechless with surprise.

Then he laughs. 

‘Has no one ever taught you not to make fun of a man with a gun?’

You look at him seriously. ‘You promised you’d let me go in two days. Was that a lie?’

‘No,’ he answers. His eyes meet yours, gaze steady and unwavering. ‘I’ll keep my word.’

With him looking at you like this, you almost believe him.

***

Night’s falling, or so you think, it’s been dark all day but you get the sense that daylight’s fading fast.

Yoongi gets up, says, ‘Come on, I’m going to bed.’

‘You want a bedtime story?’ you ask, tetchy.

He just waits patiently by the entrance of the den for you to join him.

‘Any chance I could take a shower?’ you ask.

You’ve been in the same clothes for a day and a half, and you feel pretty grimy.

‘Sure,’ Yoongi says, surprising you. ‘Need clothes?’

Yoongi takes you to what looks like a pretty impressive master bedroom, with an equally luxurious looking bathroom.

He rummages in a drawer, hands you a set of grey sweats.

He says, the faintest note of embarrassment in his voice, ‘There’s no women’s clothes here.’

You accept the clothes with a murmured ‘thanks.’

Yoongi says, ‘the door doesn’t lock, but I won’t walk in on you. The window’s too high to jump from.’

You eye him.

‘I have no interest in walking through this snowstorm without a coat.’ 

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Unless you want to give me the car keys?’

Yoongi chooses not to answer, steps back so you can close the bathroom door.

You get undressed quickly, step under a shower of water so hot it feels like heaven after you’ve been cold most of the day.

There’s toiletries that you avail yourself of, and by the time you get redressed, you feel practically human again, burnt hand and sore wrist notwithstanding.

You wrap a towel around your hair, step out to see Yoongi sitting on an armchair by the bed.

His gaze flicks over you once, his expression unreadable.

‘I don’t want to tie you to another radiator,’ he says.

You wait to hear where he’s going with this.

‘I’m going to lock the bedroom door. You can share the bed with me, or there’s that couch.’

‘I’ll take the couch,’ you say. 

You get onto the couch, pull a blanket over your head, and you must be more tired that you thought, because you’re thinking of everything Yoongi’s told you, and then you’re not thinking of anything at all.

***

You wake in complete darkness, quiet save for your own breathing.

As your eyes adjust, you realise that the lump near the window is Yoongi. 

He’s looking out, facing away from you.

‘What time is it?’ you ask.

Yoongi inhales, keeps looking out.

‘Sometime after midnight,’ he says. ‘Does it matter?’

You sit up, curl your legs under you.

His profile is strangely lovely, the slope of his brow, the high bridge of his nose, his jaw.

‘What are you going to do if you manage to prove your innocence?’ you ask.

It’s a clumsy question, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind.

‘I’d like to live near a beach,’ he says. ‘Make music. Be away from people for a bit.’

You guess there’s not a whole lot of privacy in prison.

‘I have a beach hut,’ you say. ‘We used to spend summers at the seaside. When my parents died, my sister and I inherited it.’

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi asks, turning towards you.

‘Yeah. We swam a lot. Explored caves. Did some rockpooling.’

‘Sounds fun,’ Yoongi says. ‘When I was a kid I spent summers trying to earn money.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I did a lot of gigs, trying to get exposure. I had my own crew though.’ He sounds wistful. ‘We busted our asses.’

He laughs. ‘When I signed my first record deal I got a house so my crew would always have a roof over their heads.’

‘No diamond encrusted chains?’ you tease.

‘Baby, that was after I got my first platinum record,’ he shoots back.

You laugh, and after a moment, he does too.

‘You got a job?’ 

You look up at the ceiling.

‘I teach,’ you tell him. ‘Grade school. I’ve got a class of seven year olds.’

‘You do have that whole teacher vibe,’ Yoongi remarks.

You’re amused.

‘What whole teacher vibe?’

‘You know. Responsible, prepared for everything. I mean, I saw the supplies in your trunk.’

You can’t argue.

‘You’re too soft,’ Yoongi continues. He’s still turned towards you. ‘You shouldn’t have offered me a ride.’

‘Like I said,’ you reply. ‘You looked like you needed help.’

He scoffs. ‘If I were your man I’d teach you to make any man regret even thinking about messing with you.’

‘I don’t need a man to teach me that,’ you say. 

Yoongi shrugs, a rustle of his sweatshirt. 

‘All I’m saying is you should work on looking less sweet and harmless.’

You toss a couch cushion in his direction.

‘I’ll show you how to crush a trachea tomorrow if you want,’ Yoongi volunteers.

‘Can I practise on you?’ you mutter, disgruntled. 

Yoongi just laughs. 

He turns back to the window. 

It’s too dark to tell if the snow’s still falling but it doesn’t make a difference to you, because soon enough, you’re asleep again.

***

Yoongi’s quiet today, prepping breakfast with a distracted concentration that makes you wonder what’s on his mind. 

You’re fixing coffee, looking for filters. 

You pull open a drawer and freeze. 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see the way Yoongi’s back stiffens. 

There’s a revolver in the drawer. The same gun Yoongi used on you that first day. 

Yoongi turns around slowly, and your eyes lock. 

He’s too far away to have any chance of getting to it before you. 

Yoongi tilts his head. 

‘It’s fully loaded,’ he says. ‘You cock the trigger to arm it. Point and shoot. It’s reliable. It doesn’t jam.’ 

You blink at him. 

‘The car keys are in my pocket. The snow’s still a little crazy but if you wait a few hours it might settle. It’s safer to go tomorrow.’ 

Thoughts swirl in your head, too much for you to process. 

Finally, you reach out, and close the drawer wordlessly. 

‘You’ll let me go tomorrow?’ you ask, wondering if you’ve just made the most stupid decision of your life. 

‘I’ll let you go tomorrow, I promise you. Even if my friend doesn’t come through.’ 

You can’t look at him. 

You can hear him approaching, but instead of heading for the drawer, he heads for you. 

‘Thank you,’ he says. 

You look over. 

His eyes are serious. ‘It’s been a while since anyone who didn’t know me before trusted me.’ 

‘Like you said, I’m dumb and soft,’ you reply. There’s a wobble in your voice that belies the snarky tone you were going for. 

His hand lands on your shoulder. It’s gentle. 

‘You’d be eaten alive where I come from,’ he agrees, when you look his way again. ‘But that’s never going to happen, if I have anything to do with it.’ 

He squeezes your shoulder, reassuring. ‘Forget the coffee. I’ll make it. Go and eat.’ 

***

The unfamiliar sound from overhead is making the wineglasses rattle. 

You glance at Yoongi. 

He’s quicker than you, mouth set in a straight line, heading for the window in the lounge. 

‘What is it?’ you ask, but a moment later, you know. 

It’s a chopper, flying directly overhead. 

Yoongi turns to you. 

‘If that’s the police, stay inside, hands up, away from the windows whilst I turn myself in.’ 

You’re staring at him, again feeling like you’re three steps behind. 

‘It’s the way that it’s safest for you,’ he says, patient. ‘They’ll want you to come in for questioning once they take me in. Just tell the truth, don’t try to hide anything.’ 

Your throat feels like it’s filled with cotton, your heart’s pounding in your ears. 

‘They won’t hurt you, will they?’ 

‘There are other ways to hurt a man than shooting him on sight,’ Yoongi replies. The bitterness is back in his voice again. 

There’s a truth to his words you can’t deny. 

Overhead, the noise intensifies, until finally, it starts fading away. 

You don’t know if it’s just wishful thinking at first, but eventually it becomes clear that the chopper’s becoming more distant. 

Yoongi hasn’t moved from his spot by the window. 

‘They’re not here for you,’ you say, unnecessary, but the silence is so loaded you have to fill it with something, anything. 

‘Not this time,’ Yoongi agrees. 

***

Around mid-day, Yoongi switches on the news in the den. 

You don’t have to wait long for an update. 

‘The search for convicted murderer Min Yoongi intensifies. CCTV footage from a mountainside diner near east of Maisan suggests that he was aided in his journey by an unidentified female driving a 2004 Grand Cherokee Jeep.’ 

You watch, your heart in your stomach as grainy footage of Yoongi getting into your car is played. 

The clip is less than 10 seconds, and your face is barely visible, but it’s definitely you. 

The same information about how to get in touch with the police flashes up, but you’re beyond listening. 

You get up shakily, rush to the bathroom, and throw up the partially digested remains of your breakfast. 

By the time you emerge from the bathroom, Yoongi’s waiting outside. 

‘Are you ok?’ he asks. He’s holding out a glass of water that you accept automatically. 

‘Yeah,’ you say. You take a big gulp, swipe at your face. ‘Am I in trouble, Yoongi?’ 

‘You’ll have to make a statement when you get to your sister’s,’ Yoongi tells you. ‘Tell them I forced you at gunpoint.’ 

You think of the gun you had the opportunity to take this morning. 

‘I offered you a ride voluntarily,’ you say. 

‘I don’t give a fuck,’ Yoongi says, harshly. He steps forward. ‘And they won’t give a fuck, either. This won’t affect me, I’m already a convicted murderer. But it’ll affect you if they think you helped me.’ 

He slams his open hand against the wall next to him, startling you. 

‘You need to wise up. I don’t care if you throw me under the bus, and it won’t make a difference to the charges against me. But this could affect your future, so you need to do whatever it takes to make sure you come away clean from this.’ 

What he’s saying makes sense, but he doesn’t know you. 

‘I promised them,’ you burst out. 

Yoongi stops dead. ‘What?’ 

‘I was adopted, when I was eight,’ you say. The words are coming out in a rush now, garbled, and you’re not sure if you can make him understand but you need to say it all. 

‘I promised my adoptive parents I’d never lie again. I was some dumb kid when they adopted me, I’d been in and out of foster homes. I’d developed a thing for taking things I wanted.’ 

Stealing, your inner voice says, accurately. 

‘And when my parents adopted me, I promised them I’d never lie again.’ 

Yoongi’s staring at you now, incredulous. 

‘I’ll tell the police the truth,’ you tell him. ‘But I’m not going to ‘throw you under the bus’.’ 

Yoongi lets out a long breath. ‘Fucking hell.’ 

He shakes his head. ‘I wish I’d never got in your car.’ 

You kind of wish the same thing. 

***

Yoongi’s cracked open a couple of beers with your dinner. 

‘Be careful when you’re crossing the stream tomorrow – the bridge is hard to see at the best of times, and I don’t think the snow’s made it any easier.’ 

‘Yes, dad,’ you say, rolling your eyes. 

You’d listened the first time he said it, but he’s repeated himself a few times now. 

He’s acting like he’s more worried about you getting to your sister safely than himself evading the entire manhunt that’s looking for him. 

‘I did survive an entire adulthood without you, you know,’ you say, teasing. 

He ignores you. 

‘There’s an SOS box two miles west when you get to the main road —’ 

‘Yes, I know how that works,’ you say, cutting him off. 

‘And if any man sends you dick pics you should block him right off the bat,’ Yoongi finishes. 

You stop, processing his words, then realise he’s joking. 

Your laughter makes the frown line between his brows disappear. 

‘And you don’t owe any man anything even if he makes you come,’ Yoongi continues. 

You raise an eyebrow at him. ‘Should I be writing this wisdom down?’ 

Yoongi frowns. ‘I just don’t want anyone to take advantage of you.’ 

‘Show me how to crush a trachea,’ you suggest. 

Yoongi swigs his beer. 

‘Yeah, good idea.’ 

He gets up, pushes his sleeves back. 

You catch a glimpse of a tattoo on his upper arm. 

‘If any asshole tries anything with you, you should go for all his weak spots.’ 

He points to his own neck, the hollow between his collarbones. ‘Jab them right here, elbow up into his nose, knee into his balls. Then, fucking run.’ 

He holds out his hands. ‘Come on, try me.’ 

You look at him uncertainly. ‘You want me to hit you?’ 

Yoongi says, patient, ‘Hit me now so when you hit the next asshole you’ll know how to do it right.’ 

‘Who are all these assholes that I’m meeting?’ you ask, but you comply anyway. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes as you jab your fingers into his neck. 

‘Harder,’ he says, grabbing your hand. 

‘I don’t want to hurt you —’ 

‘Hit me as hard as I shoved that gun into your ribs,’ Yoongi says. 

The memory makes you wince, and you redouble your efforts with the next jab. 

When he coughs and splutters, you jerk your elbow up, straight into his nose. 

He’s doubled over now, but there’s one last move he’s asked you to do. 

You knee him in the balls, and he grabs your thigh at the last second so hold off the blow. 

You wrench his hand off and take two steps back. 

‘Fuck,’ Yoongi swears. 

He folds over onto the kitchen floor, still coughing, eyes watering. 

‘You’re supposed to run now,’ he wheezes out. 

‘Do you — do you want some water or something?’ you offer. 

He shakes his head. ‘I think you’re good. You’re pretty damn quick.’ 

‘Sorr—’ 

Yoongi fixes you with a glare. ‘Don’t even think about apologising,’ he scolds. ‘You fuck the asshole up, and then you run. You did it perfectly.’ 

‘Can I practice it again?’ you ask, sweetly. 

Yoongi says, ‘Yeah —’ 

It takes him a moment to realise you’re joking. 

***

Yoongi steps out of the shower, fully dressed, his hair still wet, making little trails of wet course down the neck of his sweatshirt. 

You’re already on the couch, covered in a fluffy duvet. 

‘You can take the bed if you want,’ he offers. ‘I’ll take the couch.’ 

‘I’m fine,’ you tell him. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, towel drying his hair. 

You don’t realise you’re staring at him until he asks, voice dry, ‘Something on my face?’ 

‘Nothing,’ you answer, startled. ‘You look good clean.’ 

His laughter is deep, gravelly. ‘I’d have taken a shower earlier if I’d known you preferred me clean.’ 

‘You should get clean for yourself,’ you answer, primly, but your lips are curving in a smile anyway. 

‘Your hair looks pretty like this,’ he says. 

You tug at a lock of hair, self-conscious. 

‘I’m surprised you’re not better at handling compliments,’ Yoongi continues. He’s looking at you now, teasing in his voice. ‘Given how pretty you are.’ 

You bury your face in your duvet. 

‘Stop teasing me,’ you say, muffled. 

He seems to hear you just fine. 

‘I’m not teasing,’ he says. ‘I’m just telling you what I think.’ 

‘Just turn the lights off,’ you grumble. 

Yoongi laughs again. ‘You’re not the first woman to tell me to shut up, to be fair.’ 

He gets up, turns the lights out. 

***

You wake in the middle of the night to Yoongi groaning, tossing and turning in bed. 

‘Yoongi?’ you call, sitting up to look at him. 

He doesn’t answer, but his groaning intensifies. 

You get up and pad across the room to him. 

He’s drenched in sweat, thrashing in the sheets, holding out his hands. 

He’s having a nightmare. 

‘Hey,’ you say, grasping his hand. 

He sits up abruptly, looking around in the dark, bewildered, disoriented. 

You don’t have to think about it. 

You pull him in a hug, wrapping your arms tight around him. ‘You’re fine. It was a nightmare.’ 

You don’t think he’s really listening, but he holds you back. 

His heart’s thumping so hard you can feel it under your arm. 

‘You’re fine,’ you tell him again. 

Eventually his grip loosens, and he pulls back a little. 

‘That was some bad dream,’ you say, breathless from how tightly he’s been holding you. 

He doesn’t answer, and you realise he’s staring at your lips. 

His kiss takes you by surprise, but you don’t pull away. 

His lips are soft and warm. When he licks into your mouth you can’t help the whine that falls from your lips. 

Your hand fists in the material of his sweatshirt as he kisses you again and again, pulling you into a haze of pleasure so deep it takes you a moment to realise he’s stopped, his hand on your side, on your bare skin, under your top. 

He says your name. 

‘Do you want this?’ he asks. ‘We don’t have to do this if it’s not what you want.’ 

‘This?’ you ask. ‘You mean us kissing like this?’ 

You run your hand along his chest, stopping when you get to the waistband of his sweats. 

‘You mean touching each other like this?’ 

Your hand delves lower, and he lets out a low groan as you wrap your fingers around his hardness. 

‘Like this?’ 

‘I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,’ Yoongi says, his hand closing over yours. 

‘I want to do this with you,’ you tell him. 

He groans again, pulls you fully onto the bed, helps you tug your sweatshirt over your head. 

His warm hands slide up from your waist, making slow passes over your sides, and by the time he cups your breasts, your nipples are fully hard. 

‘Don’t tease, Yoongi,’ you say, trying not to moan as he rolls a nipple under his thumb. 

‘Not teasing,’ he says, voice low, thick. ‘I just — fuck, you’re so pretty–’ 

He dips his head, and at the first flick of his tongue against the tip of your breast, you moan. 

‘Yoongi,’ you plead. 

‘I’ve got it,’ he tells you, lifting off your breast. ‘I’ve got you.’ 

Yoongi mouths at your breasts until your hips are writhing under him. 

‘Please, please,’ you plead. 

He tugs at your sweatpants, and when you raise your hips to help him get them off, he leans down and presses a warm kiss to the bare skin over your hipbone. 

‘Wanna taste you,’ he tells you. 

He pushes your thighs apart, stops with his face over your core for a split second, breathing you in. 

Then he kisses you, open-mouthed, tongue delving into your cunt like he’s starving for you. 

Your moan changes into a cry of pleasure as he licks at you, nose nudging your clit. 

You reach out for something to grab, fisting the sheets, and Yoongi’s hand grips the flesh of your thigh, firm. 

‘Shit,’ he says, ‘ you’re so wet you’re gonna make me come.’ 

The idea of him coming before he gets inside you could make you cry. 

‘Get inside, Yoongi,’ you moan. 

‘Not gonna last, not with you like this,’ Yoongi tells you. He strokes between your legs, presses his thumb in firm strokes over your clit, licks into your cunt again, and you cry his name as you come. 

‘Fuck, that’s my good girl,’ Yoongi grunts. ‘Can you take me now?’ 

He slides his cock into you, hard, thick, whilst you’re still pulsing from your orgasm, and you keen with the pleasure of it. 

He’s breathless, head thrown back, eyes shut as he moves, fucking you deep. 

You kiss along his bared throat, and he swears. ‘Fuck, baby, stop – I can’t —’ 

He pulls out suddenly, and a moment later you feel the warmth of his cum spurting on your belly. 

‘C’mere,’ he says, pulling you close, kissing you deep. ‘Stay.’ 

***

You wait on the porch whilst Yoongi drives your car out of the carport. He pulls up in front of the porch, gets out. 

‘Remember what you have to do?’ Yoongi asks. 

‘Yeah,’ you say. 

You’ve talked about it so much you don’t think you can bear to go over it again. 

‘Drive safe, ok?’ Yoongi says. He’s looking at you, intently. ‘And thank you, for everything.’ 

‘Good luck with being exonerated,’ you say. 

It sounds stupid, you sound stupid, but you don’t know what else to say. 

Yoongi walks you over to your car, waits until your seatbelt’s buckled. 

‘I’ll see you, Yoongi,’ you say. 

‘Take this,’ he says. 

You look at the phone number he’s got scribbled down on a scrap of paper. 

‘It’s a burner phone. I can’t check it all the time but do you think you could —’ 

He breaks off mid-sentence, then pushes on. ‘Do you think you could text me when you get to your sister’s? I just want to know you’re safe.’ 

‘Sure,’ you say. You slide the scrap of paper into the pocket of your salopes, zip it up. 

‘Good,’ Yoongi says. 

You reach out, tug the collar of his parka. 

His kiss is as good a way to say goodbye as any, you think. 

Yoongi closes the door, waits on the porch as you drive away. 

He gets smaller and smaller in the distance, and eventually, you can’t see him at all. 

***

It’s been nearly a month since you left Yoongi at the house. 

You’d pulled up at your sister’s house to find out she’d just filed a missing persons report on you. 

You’d had an emotional reunion with your sister, an equally emotional introduction to your new baby nephew, and one meal and one hot shower later, you’d found yourself at the police station, being questioned by a couple of detectives who’d regarded you with suspicion so strong it was a short step from open accusation. 

You’d been questioned for hours but had eventually been allowed home. You’d been truthful, as you’d told Yoongi you would be, apart from one thing. 

It was only later, when you were on your bed in your sister’s spare room, that you’d picked up your phone and scrolled to the name you’d saved Yoongi’s number under. 

You’d typed out a text, two words, unincriminating, you’d thought. 

I’m safe. 

The next morning, there was a text back, similar to yours in brevity.

I’m glad. 

You’d refrained from texting again, or calling, not wishing to put Yoongi at risk in case anyone looked into your phone records. 

You’d been called in again for questioning on two separate occasions after the initial interview, once by people who’d introduced themselves as federal agents. 

You’d thought that was the end of it until the media got hold of your identity. 

There was a week or so of reporters stopping you outside your house, waiting for you in the school car park, until eventually something more newsworthy came along. 

You’d been photographed more times in that week than you’d even been in your life. 

You’ve taken to watching the evening news every night, but as time stretches on and Min Yoongi hasn’t been found, he’s been dropping down the list of top stories, barely scraping a mention. 

You’re glad. 

You hope he’s closer to getting what he wished for. 

***

‘Y/N,’ says Bora, your head of department. ‘Mr Lee wants to see you.’ 

You look up from your grading, a little surprised. ‘Did he say what it was about?’ 

‘Nope, just that he’s free now.’ 

You pocket your phone, straighten your ID badge and get up. 

Mr Lee is the school principal, and you’d organised a meeting with him when the media frenzy over your involvement with Min Yoongi was at its peak, but you’ve not seen him since. 

Mrs Choi, his PA, waves you in. 

‘Mr Lee,’ you say in greeting. ‘Did you want to see me?’ 

‘Yes, please come in and have a seat,’ Mr Lee says. 

He’s a serious man in his mid forties, and as far as principals go, you know he’s got a good reputation. 

‘There’s been a complaint put in about you,’ Mr Lee says, sparing you any preamble. 

Your stomach drops. 

‘What about?’ you ask. 

‘I know the media furore has died off over Min Yoongi, but the PTA has fielded a number of concerns raised by worried parents over your involvement in the case.’ 

You’re taken aback. ‘A number of concerns? It’s not just one —’

‘I’m sorry,’ says Mr Lee, and to his credit, he does seem genuinely upset. ‘I’m going to have to ask if you can take a few weeks off.’ 

‘Off?’ you ask, worried. 

‘It’s not a suspension,’ Mr Lee says, somehow giving the impression that a suspension is exactly what it is. ‘You’ll be paid, and at the end of four weeks we’ll meet again to discuss what your future is at this school.’ 

You’re trying to make sense of this. ‘My future at this school?’ 

Mr Lee gets up, moves to take the seat next to you. ‘I’m hoping that having you off teaching for a month will give enough time for these parents to realise that you’re not a bad influence on their kids.’ 

‘And if they don’t?’ you ask. 

‘I’m hoping they will.’ 

You swallow, and to your horror, tears prick the back of your eyelids. 

You blink them back. 

‘Should I look for another job, Mr Lee?’ 

‘It doesn’t hurt to keep your options open,’ Mr Lee says gently. 

You suppose that’s that. 

***

You wake to a dozen missed calls and texts from your sister. 

You blink blearily at your phone and swipe to answer. 

‘Yeah?’ you grunt. ‘Is everything ok?’ 

‘It’s Min Yoongi,’ your sister says. ‘He’s all over the news.’ 

You sit up abruptly. ‘Is he ok?’ 

Your sister, who’s heard all about your time with Yoongi, barring the details of your one-night stand, laughs. 

‘He’s more than ok. Get online, sis. There’s a press statement you might want to watch.’ 

You’re still a little drowsy, but by the time you’ve got your laptop open and made yourself coffee, you’re wide awake. 

Your phone rings again whilst you’re reading about how new evidence and a new witness was brought forward, resulting in a swift retrial. 

Distractedly, you swipe to answer. 

His voice makes you stop in your tracks. 

It’s gravelly, low, with the distinct mix of sardonic and soft that brings you back to the house in the woods, over a month ago now. 

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘How’re you keeping?’ 

You close your eyes, suck in a breath. 

‘Jeez, you telemarketers are getting a little personal, aren’t you?’ you ask. 

His laughter makes you feel warm inside. 

‘I just wondered if you wanted to go get dinner with me sometime.’ 

‘Depends,’ you answer. ‘Are we going to have to avoid the police?’ 

‘Always,’ he says, making you smile. ‘But I’m a free man now, I guess you haven’t heard.’ 

‘Your friends came through, huh?’ 

‘All of them,’ he says, the warmth in his voice palpable even through the line. ‘Including you.’ 

***

You’re a little nervous as you wait for Yoongi at the restaurant he picked. It’s a little out of the way for you, but at least it’s not snowing. 

He’s dressed in black, a cashmere sweater that sets off the glow in his skin, his hair styled back. 

The rings in his fingers, the earrings in his ears gleam in the golden light. 

He’s so beautiful you can’t quite believe he’s real.

Yet it’s him who stops in front of you, gaze flickering over you with a flattering intensity. 

‘How can you be even prettier than I remember?’ he asks, tilting his head. 

‘Guess you have a bad memory,’ you say. You’re smiling so hard your cheeks are hurting, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind. 

‘I’ve thought about you a lot,’ he says. 

‘Yeah?’ 

Yoongi pulls out your chair for you. 

‘Yeah. I saw the footage of those reporters hounding you.’ 

‘They got bored after a while,’ you tell him. 

‘I’m glad you’re all right,’ Yoongi says. 

Over dinner he tells you about how the retrial resulted in all charges against him being overturned, how he’s been back home resting. 

‘Been to the beach yet?’ you ask. 

Yoongi looks at you over his wine glass. ‘You inviting me? You’re the one with a beach hut.’ 

‘We can go,’ you say. ‘I’ve been informally suspended from my job.’ 

This is news to him. 

‘Is it to do with me?’ he asks quietly. 

You shrug. ‘I’m hoping it’ll die down, especially since everyone knows you’re an innocent man now.’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. 

‘Don’t worry about it,’ you tell him. 

He frowns a little, but lets the subject slide.

After dinner he walks you to your car. 

‘Can I take you out again?’ he asks. 

‘I’d like that,’ you tell him. 

He leans close, brushes a kiss against your cheek that sends a thrill all the way to your toes. 

‘I live about a half hour drive from here,’ you tell him, when he pulls away. 

‘Maybe I can drive us this time,’ he says. 

***

Yoongi slips his hand into yours as he walks up the front driveway to your house with you. You look over at him in surprise. 

‘What?’ he teases. ‘Don’t you want to hold my hand?’ 

You stick your key in the lock, push open your front door. 

‘Baby, I want to hold more than that,’ you tell him. 

Yoongi’s eyes darken, and he lets you push him against the door. 

He’s already leaning down, lips seeking yours. He kisses you hungrily, his large hand slipping behind your neck to deepen the kiss, tongue slipping into your mouth. 

‘I’ve fucking missed you,’ he murmurs. ‘Shit, I’m so hard it’s embarrassing.’ 

‘Been deprived, huh?’ you tease, breathlessly. 

‘Nah. Just you.’ 

He kisses a fiery path down your neck, into the hollow between your collarbones. 

His hands slide down into the small of your back, cup your ass to pull you against him. 

You can feel the ridge of his cock against your belly, and you roll your hips, trying to get closer. 

‘Pull these down,’ Yoongi says, thumb looped in the band of your lacy panties. 

They’re stuck to you, the wetness between your legs trails a path down your bare thighs that Yoongi’s only too happy to lick off. 

‘I wanted to wait,’ he tells you, lifting the skirt of your dress, unzipping his trousers. 

‘Wait next time,’ you tell him. ‘Want you now.’ 

‘You’ve got me,’ he tells you. 

There’s the rustle of foil, the snick of elastic, then Yoongi’s parting your legs, sliding inside you with a groan deep in his chest. 

Just like before, he fills you perfectly.

Yoongi kisses you again, slow though you can feel his heart thudding wildly in his chest. 

‘Feels so good, every time,’ he tells you. 

He starts to move then, doesn’t stop when you part your thighs to take him deeper, doesn’t stop when you cross your ankles behind his back and cry his name, doesn’t stop until you’re panting, sticky with your release, clutching him tight. 

It’s only then that his thrusts start to become erratic, speeding up then slowing as he reaches his peak. He comes with a shout of your name, buried deep inside you, hips still moving like he, too, can’t get enough. 

***

When you wake in the morning, it’s with Yoongi’s finger tracing a lazy path down your spine, his fingertip warm on your bare skin.

‘More, Yoongi?’ you ask, sleepy.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, you can hear the rumble in his chest as he suppresses a laugh.

‘Tapping out on me so soon, my love?’ he asks.

After the first time when you hadn’t made it to your bed, you’d fucked three more times before you’d finally collapsed in a tangled heap.

You’d woken once, to see him flat on his back, looking out the window, fingers intertwined with yours. 

‘Can’t sleep?’ you’d asked. 

He’d turned to you, pressed a kiss to your forehead. ‘Just thinking how lucky I am. I’d thought being wrongly imprisoned was the worst thing that had happened to me. And here I am.’ 

‘Here you are, you lucky sonofabitch,’ you’d laughed, squealing as he’d pinned your hands to the bed and half-heartedly climbed on top of you again. 

‘I am lucky,’ he’d said, his free hand sliding under your ass, squeezing. You’d have fucked him again if he’d wanted, despite the soreness between your legs, but he’d wrapped you in his arms instead. ‘Sleep, baby.’ 

So you had. 

Now your phone rings, distracting you from Yoongi’s wandering hands, just about. 

‘Shit, it’s Mr Lee,’ you say, sitting up straight. 

Yoongi cocks a brow at you as you take the call. 

‘Y/N, I wanted to let you know that the school board have voted to have you back taking your regular classes,  at your earliest convenience. If you’ll have us.’ 

You frown. ‘I hadn’t realised there was a vote?’ 

‘An emergency meeting was convened last night,’ Mr Lee says. ‘You don’t have to let me know now, but we’d love to have you back.’ 

You hang up, thoroughly confused. 

‘I guess I’m not informally suspended any more,’ you tell Yoongi. 

‘For a new gym with a fully functional basketball court, and a grant for gym equipment, they’d better be giving you a raise too,’ drawls Yoongi. 

‘You did this?’ 

‘What? You thought I was some deadbeat who held you at gunpoint and wasn’t going to repay everything you did for me?’ 

‘I never thought you were a deadbeat,’ you say. 

‘I know,’ Yoongi agrees. ‘You’re an idiot.’ 

You swat at him, outraged. 

‘You’re my idiot,’ Yoongi says, deflecting your blows easily. ‘And I’m going to make sure no one takes advantage of you ever again.’ 

He hesitates. ‘If — if you’ll have me.’ 

You pretend to think about it. ‘Well, you’re not perfect,’ you say, ‘but I guess you’ll do.’ 

©hamsterclaw 2023

[kaisfruit]

Distraction | Kai x GN!Reader

warnings; none! except maybe ooc kai and i apologize for that!

words; 1.6k

Talking things out is hard. Is there any other way to reach out and make sure someone else is there to catch you?

“Hey Zane,” the nindroid’s head whipped around at the sound of his name, “do you need anything from the grocery store? I’m making a list.” You lifted up the notepad with said list on it as if trying to prove what you were saying to be true.

As he took his time to think, you walked further into the kitchen and began checking around trying to make note of what items to get.

“I’m not sure…” Zane mumbled. “I think we could do with some more eggs and most likely some more deli turkey…” He continued thinking aloud, a hand on his chin as you wrote down things as he kept going with his list.

“Thanks! I knew you’d be the right guy to go to for this.”

“Why is that?”

“Oh, you’re usually the one in here cooking for us so I just assumed you’d know what we were low on.” You explained, a light smile on your face. “You're good for our necessities, but I feel like I should still ask anyone if they want anything.” You added on in a mumble to yourself, already thinking Cole would want some cake mix and Jay would want some kind of chips. Those two were next.

“Ah, I suppose that makes sense.” Zane nodded in his understanding. He did know what they needed, well, after he thought about it for a second. “Well, while you’re here, do you have any requests for dinner? That is, if I have time to make it.” Zane added on that last part hastily. He really did consider cooking a hobby of his, but he knew he would put a lot of things ahead of what he actually wanted to do.

You thought for a second before slowly shaking your head. “Honestly, I’ll be happy with whatever you decide to make! I’m just grateful you choose to cook for all of us. Especially since-” Your train of thought was cut off at the feeling of arms wrapping around your waist. You practically jumped out of your skin at the contact before settling when a familiar scent enveloped you as the ninja rested his head in the crook of your neck.

“Kai, what are you doing?” You asked with an amused tone as you let a hand come up to run through his hair. You felt him mumble something against your shoulder and you rolled your eyes. “Sorry, Zane.” You sent the nindroid an apologetic glance. “I’ll let you know when I’m back from the store!” He nodded and waved bye to you, a smile filled with mirth on his face. You returned the wave and began walking towards Kai’s room with the same ninja in tow, his hands not leaving your midriff.

Locking his door, you turned around in his hold so that you could cup his face in your hands and look at him. “What’s up?” You asked casually, a contrast to the intimacy of your guys’ holds on one another.

“I was bored.” Kai answered with a yawn. “And tired. Thought you’d help with both of those things.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I’m busy?”

Kai pretended to think for a second before shaking his head. “Nah, doesn’t sound right. What do you mean your entire world doesn’t revolve around me?” He joked, a dumb smirk on his face. You just rolled your eyes affectionately at him.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” You patted his cheek and pulled away from him which caused a look of shock and hurt to cross his face.

“Wow.” Kai said in mock disbelief. “Y’know, that stings. Got me where it hurts, [name]. Right where it hurts.” He clutched his shirt around where his heart would be on his body. “Might as well just tell me you want me dead.”

“I want you dead.”

“Wow. Here I am, wanting to spend some precious time with my most stunning significant other and they’re telling me that I should just die and rot alone and that they don’t love me anymore and-”

“Shut up!” You said through laughter, holding a hand up to his mouth. “You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“It was the subtext.” Kai explained when it very much wasn’t the subtext. “You have wounded me. I don’t know if I’ll ever recover.”

“Oh no!” You finally played along. “Whatever shall I do to fix my one true love?”

“Come lay down with me?” Kai asked, clasping his hands together and giving you the face of the puppy eye emoji. You let out a sigh, but begrudgingly held out your hand which he took excitedly as he brought you over to his bed. He flopped down onto it without letting go of your hand which just brought you both down at the same time with you landing on top of him. Both of Kai’s arms wrapped around you and effectively left you trapped as he rolled over on his side so that you two could face one another. The fire ninja rested his head on top of yours and let out a content sigh. You didn’t need to pry to know that he needed this outside of just being bored.

Slowly, your arms came to wrap around his midsection as you allowed yourself to relax while you rested your head beneath his chin. You could feel as all signs of tension within Kai’s body seemed to dissipate and the warmth that naturally flowed through him became steady as it flowed onto your own skin. It was a nice feeling knowing you could help him in this way at least since it was outside of his comfort zone to talk it all out. Kai just needed a way to recharge his battery and what better way to do that than being in your presence.

Minutes passed of you two being locked in the peaceful embrace. You were nearly asleep even by the time his voice pierced your ears.

“Would you rather have feet for hands or hands for feet?” Kai asked casually, causing you to snort. “What?! Answer my question!”

“Where’d this come from?” You attempted to ask while pulling yourself up so you could look him in the eyes. That only caused him to force his head on top of yours so you couldn’t do that, so you backed down with a sigh and decided to focus on your finger that was making circles along the fabric of Kai’s shirt.

“I’m bored.”

“I thought you said I’d cure your boredom?”

“And you are…by answering my question.” You could just hear his shit eating grin in his voice.

“Your question is stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

“Fine. I’m not answering.” You shoved your face into the crook of his neck. “And I’m going to bed so you’ll be stuck in silence for hours.”

“Wait no!” Kai quickly yelped. “No you’re so smart and I didn’t mean it I promise…Please talk to me.” That last part was added on quietly, but due to your proximity you heard it anyways. You sighed and lifted a hand up to run through his hair which you felt him lean into.

“Fine. I’d rather have hands for feet because that’s basically what monkeys have and if they’re doing it then I can do it.”

Kai was the one to let out a huff of laughter this time at your answer. “You answered it like you’ve always wanted someone to ask you that question.”

“I’ve been thinking about my answer since you asked the question.” You admitted, finally letting your hand just rest on the top of his head. “I was just giving you a hard time.”

“You’re evil.” He accused to which you just laughed.

“But you love me.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Kai huffed, but you knew it was a yes. Even though he couldn’t say it, as he couldn’t say most things pertaining to how he really felt, you could feel it. Feel it in every interaction between the two of you, with every word he spoke, every action he took. Kai was built out of pure love for those around him. There were a million words he wanted to say to all of his friends and probably a million more to say to you alone, but it was hard. It was those moments where he felt the most vulnerable and that vulnerability only led to more self-doubt which plagued his every waking thought. He could feel his hold on you get the slightest bit tighter as his thoughts began to scramble in his head once more.

“Okay, would you rather have every food taste like soap or only use food as soap for the rest of your life?” This one had you laughing once more which brought a smile to his face (and also brought him back to the present despite him asking the question beforehand.)

“Okay, umm, I need to think about this one. Hold on…”

And part of you knew that Kai was only trying to distract himself by asking these questions and you really should try to help him by asking what was wrong. But hearing you two laugh as his ‘would you rather’ questions got more and more absurd quieted that part down. This was helping him, in its own way. All thoughts of getting groceries or getting any other chore at the monastery done had left your mind as you enjoyed your time with the fire elemental. Seeing him happy, a true kind of happy, made you happy. In fact, you can’t remember the last time you had this much fun. Of course, Kai would have to work through his issues eventually, but for now this was enough. Spending time with him was enough. Caring for him was enough. You were enough for him.

A/N; first post done!! tbh i am working on a sportacus (from lazytown 💀) x reader that is like,,,7k words long atp LMFAO so i'll probs be posting yhat at some point. likes + reblogs r appreciated and please do leave requests if ur enjoying my writing :]

[eroticomens]

(i wanted love, i needed love) most of all

in which Logan casually says 'i love you' and Wade talks about The Lion King a normal amount. set after my fic Empty With You but works on its own as just stupid cute fluff~ Wade’s always envisioned the first time Logan says ‘I love you’ would be a dramatic declaration, most likely mid-nasty, at which point they would switch from nasty and shift gears to making love. It’s a pretty common fantasy in his brain. Never fails to leave his hands sticky and his heart even stickier. 

He doesn’t need Logan to say it. He wants him to, more than anything in the world, but he’s learning how to be less of a brat these days. …Trying to, anyway. So he doesn’t push, doesn’t prod. He just tells Logan that he loves him every chance he gets, and takes the kisses, hugs, and affectionate smiles he receives in return. 

Logan’s headed off for work. It’s a stupidly early shift. It’s 5 AM, the actual asscrack of dawn, and he’s lacing up his boots while Wade makes him coffee in a thermos (definitely not spiked with whiskey) and stuffs it into his lunch box, along with a turkey sandwich that’s mostly meat.

Wade plops the sticker suffocated lunch box down on the couch next to Logan, leaning against the armrest and wrapping Logan’s bathrobe tighter around himself. He’s got his own, of course, but Logan’s is just comfier. 

“Whatcha buildin’ today, Peanut? Casino? Old folks home? Walk-in STD clinic? Combination of all of the above? Blind Al will be thrilled.” Wade chatters. 

A single soft laugh. “Same thing we been workin’ on all week. The overpass down by Jacob’s Convenience.” 

“Are they, though– convenient? I’d categorize a thirty minute walk as a Hassle.” 

“Maybe not. But they got good cigars.” Wolvie shrugs, standing to leave. 

He makes his way to the door with Wade in tow, as usual. “Don’t forget your lunch, sugar tits.” Wade rattles the box behind him. 

“Thanks, angel.” Logan says with a smile. His fingers are warm and rough and familiar as they brush Wade’s to take his lunch. Then he cups Wade’s cheek in his free hand and gives him a chaste kiss. “I’ll be back around 6. Try not to miss me too much.” 

“I’m not making any promises.” Wade stands on his tippy toes to give Logan another kiss. The only time Logie gets to be taller is when he’s got his work boots on and Wade’s barefoot. Wade might enjoy it a little too much. “Love you.” He says as he pulls away like he always does. 

But today, Logan replies: “Love you, too.” And even though it’s the middle of winter, his world blooms like spring. He swears he smells flowers and sunshine, like the words themselves have taken root in his soul. 

[Hold the fuck up. Was that a typo, author? Are you fucking with us right now? We will fucking gut your pumpkin seed munching ass–]

He must look as flabbergasted as he feels, because Logan tilts his head. “…Y’okay there?” 

“You said it,” Wade says flatly at first… then with much more enthusiasm as it sinks in. “You said it!!” He squeals and leaps into Logan’s arms, long limbs encircling Logan’s shoulders and waist as he buries his face in the other man’s neck. 

Logan’s deep, rich laughter vibrates through every bone in his body and makes his dying cells feel alive. “Yeah….Guess I did…” 

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry. Wade tells himself, but it’s too late. He’s already sniffling into Logan’s shirt as the other man rubs his upper back soothingly. “Don’t go to work,” He says softly. Logan’s quiet for a minute, clearly weighing the options in his head. “Wade…” “Don’t go,” Wade pleads, kissing his neck and nuzzling into him. This draws a long, resigned sigh from his lover, and Wade grins against his skin triumphantly. “Stay home with me. Say there was an emergency. Say your father died and you had to move to the jungle for a few years and eat bugs, but you’re back to reclaim the throne from your uncle Scar–” “Wade.” Logan interrupts. “Yeah?” “You’re an idiot. …and I love you.” Wade’s feet wiggle and his toes curl in uncontainable excitement, like Logan’s words are electric. He grips the other man tightly with his thighs and leans back to grab his face and pull him into a kiss– a real kiss, with tongue and a greedy little nibble of Logan’s bottom lip at the end. He can feel Logan trying to smile. “Why now? Why today?” Wade can’t help but ask. There’s a short pause while Logan assembles his thoughts. Wade’s used to giving him an extra minute to articulate his feelings, so he just strokes his kitty cat’s hair affectionately, earning a soft rumble. 

[It’s a goddamn purr.] ((But Wolvie doesn’t like when we call it that...)) [Can’t stop us from saying it inside.]

Wade stifles a tiny giggle.

“Think I been sayin’ it back in my head for months. Just…actually came out today.”

Wade wrinkles his nose and blinks fresh tears from his eyes. “Stop. I’m losing my fucking mind right now. God, I love you so much, you big beautiful bastard. Please tell me you’re gonna stay home so we can roll around in the grass and fuck like lions?”

Logan laughs again, hugging him close. “Alright, alright. I won’t go to work today, Red.”

“Oh, you’re going to work, alright, Simba.” Wade grins, still watery eyed. ”On this ass.” 

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 35

PREV

"Andrew, wake up." Andrew felt a hand on his shoulder and he lashed out as he always did. He found himself rocketing towards consciousness as he heard Neil's pained grunt. Panic lances through him as he realizes what he had hit instead of the intruder and he's glad they compromised when he and Neil had started to sleep in the same bed.

Andrew pulls Neil in closer to protect him even as Neil groans at the sudden jolting movement.

He needs to get-

"I already moved your secret pillow knife Andrew." The intruder says as Andrew's hand grasps at nothing. He has a second one but the intruder is now armed and Neil-

"Erik and the Hans Moretti Sword Box are the only combination of me, another guy, and blades being stabbed at me that I will accept. Now, wake up." The familiar sounding intruder says.

Andrew blinks awake.

Nicky's frowning face is staring down at him.

"I need to borrow the Maserati, or you need to drive me to Abby's house. Right now." Nicky says without a hint of the fear.

Or, at least, not fear of Andrew.

"What's wrong with Smith?" he asks holding out his hand for his pilfered knife as he rubs Neil's side where he had lashed out instinctively.

Nicky looks at him for a long moment before handing the knife back to Andrew, "There's...I just feel like something isn't right. I want to be there with him, I shouldn't have left him there." Nicky says.

Andrew didn't disagree.

FF had been relaxed and at ease, drinking the disgusting smoothie that Kevin had forced on him, and Andrew had noticed a hint of a smile on his friend's face.

Then that fuckface showed up and FF had looked worse than when Andrew had stabbed him. He still remembered the garbage that piece of shit had spewed and Andrew hated knowing things about his friend that his friend hadn't told him.

Hated that his brain could piece moments that made a horrible amount of sense now. FF staring at his car the first time before climbing in, how he had requested that Andrew focus on the road, Nicky looking at all of them exasperated "Smithy was going to walk back", and-

“See, you’re still upset over what that guy did. Why are you clinging to the last name of the guy that did this to you?” Fuckface asks from behind them, “He almost killed mom and you. He did kill our two-“

"Stop."

Andrew makes himself stop thinking about it. It wasn't something FF wanted to talk about.

"The keys are where I always put them." he says because he thinks if he gets out of bed he might go hunt fuckface for sport. The thought of seeing fuckface's well fucking face as he hits him with the Maserati is not a bad one.

"Thank you Andrew. Sorry Neil." Nicky says and Neil waves it off having mostly drifted back to sleep as Andrew had rubbed his back mindlessly.

Nicky leaves without another word. Andrew settled back into bed hand still mindlessly rubbing Neil's back. He closes his eyes. He thinks about how FF had looked at those two kids a few weeks back.

He'd looked like a good older brother.

He holds Neil tight, focuses on the feeling of his even breathing on his neck, and listens to Kevin's snoring to think about a monster consuming Daniel whole.

******

Sometimes Matt feels like he misses out on things with his friends. It didn't happen that often and he doesn't regret the Thanksgiving he spent with his Mom and Dan. Not a single atom regrets making hand turkeys with Dan or holding Dan and his Mom's bags during their Black Friday spree.

He still felt ice in his stomach when he heard that some of Nathan's men had come for Neil and that FF had gotten hurt. FF hadn't seemed overly bothered by the injury and Matt was looking forward to having the freshman as a roommate once he was fully cleared by Abby.

FF was a good kid and Matt had a hard time disliking someone who so obviously looked up to and liked his best friend. He'd told Dan about the 'Captain Neil' title and the two of them had just about died talking about how sweet they both found it.

Which is why he feels a certain kind of way when he finds out his Skype date with Dan had him miss out on a face that, based on what he heard from an incensed Aaron, was in desperate need of a punch.

"Where's Nicky?" Matt asks.

"He couldn't stop worrying about Smiths, he doesn't have Friday classes so he mentioned something about sticking with Smiths." Aaron explains over his oatmeal and Matt turns his head towards the wall they shared with Neil, Andrew, and Kevin's room as he hears the blender going. Aaron shovels the remainder of his oatmeal into his mouth, "I gotta go. I'll see you later." he says.

Matt waves his roommate off and wonders what the sudden rush was but it was hardly three minutes later that Kevin Day was bursting into their room without knocking. "Aaron, I need your-" Kevin stops gaze settling on Matt. "Where's Aaron?" he asks.

Matt looks at him, "He just left." he says. Kevin looks to the ceiling in obvious frustration, "Anything I can help with?" Matt asks while at the same time cursing himself for asking.

"Have you had breakfast?" Kevin asks immediately.

"Uh...no?" Matt says.

"Perfect. Drink this." Kevin says shoving a smoothie into Matt's hand. Matt looked at the blue-ish smoothie in his hands and then back up to Kevin. "You asked if there was anything you could help with. Tell me how that tastes." he points at the beverage and Matt recognizes the distinct smell of one of Kevin's health shakes.

"I don't want to do this." Matt says setting the smoothie to the side.

"I'm trying to improve the flavor." Kevin says, "It was brought to my attention that it isn't very...good tasting." Kevin adds sounding like the admission costs him something.

"Just now? You just figured out they taste like butt, just now?" Matt asks incredulously.

Kevin flushes, "Smiths drank it without complaint!" he exclaims.

"Yeah, 'cuz Smithster is nice! Also I think his face is just stuck like that." Matt says.

"There was no way I could have known they were gross!" Kevin argues.

"Kevin, most people TASTE the things they're giving to others." Matt points out and Kevin only grows redder.

"Are you going to help me improve the taste or not?!" Kevin demands pointing at the smoothie, "that's phase one right there." he points at the beverage.

Matt considers it, "This is to make these god awful smoothies taste better for Smithster?" he asks finally feeling like there was something he could offer his friend.

"Yes." Kevin says.

"And you can't just taste them yourself....because?" Matt asks.

"I need multiple datapoints, it can't just be me." Kevin answers immediately.

Matt rolls his eyes but he was not one to deny the scientific process, "Fine." he agrees and grabs the smoothie, "You said this was phase one of improving the flavor?" he asks.

"Yes." Kevin says.

Matt nods and brings the smoothie to his lips.

Bitter. Slimey. Why is it spicy? So Bitter. It's liquid how is it chalky?

He immediately spits it out, "Why does it taste like that?!" Matt demands immediately. "You said it was phase one?!" he hisses.

"That's the control. I needed your opinion on where I was starting." Kevin jerks his head to the side towards the entrance of Matt's dorm, "C'mon, we've got work to do." he says leaving the room without taking his godforsaken smoothie with him.

Matt looks to the ceiling like Kevin had earlier. Honestly, the world had been a darker place since Kevin had to take the required science course last year.

****** There was no singular more 'freshman' thing that FF had done, in Nicky's opinion, than the fact that the kid had early Friday classes. Nicky had gotten to Abby's place late and hadn't slept before, too caught up in a conversation with Aaron.

FF had been awake when he'd gotten to Abby's, staring blankly into the fridge and based on how cold his friend's pajamas were he couldn't help but wonder how long FF had been there. So he herded FF back to bed and FF had pressed his face into Nicky's shoulder and hadn't let go. So Nicky had crawled into bed after FF had nodded his consent.

Nicky had slept terribly.

Still, he woke up with FF's alarm. FF's gaze was about a thousand miles away but he got ready for his two early Friday classes robotically. Nicky shot a text to Aaron and Andrew to let them know that he'd stick with FF for the day to make sure that if Daniel showed up he wouldn't bother FF.

FF walked into a wall as he was texting. "Aw, bud." he says and sets him on a new course.

Andrew texted to tell him that Neil was going to talk with Wymack about not giving Daniel a chance.

He heard another thud, "Oh, Smith don't run into that." he hears Abby say worriedly.

Nicky puts his phone away.

Focus.

He gets FF through breakfast and through the walk to campus. He takes a seat next to FF in his Math class and ignores the narrowed eyes of the person who's usual seat he has obviously taken. He turns in FF's homework, pays attention, takes some notes, answers the clicker questions for FF, and guides him out and over towards his next class.

He sees Daniel being shown around campus by Jack.

He texts Aaron for back-up. The two of them manhandle FF across campus just in time for his Japanese class and Nicky and Aaron swear up and down that they are just there to look in on the class. Nicky hands the clicker off to Aaron since the future doctor's handwriting left a lot to be desired.

Eventually it was done and Nicky and Aaron had to maneuver FF through a truly STARTLING amount of people who wanted to 'have a word' with FF. Nicky remembers that kid from months back. 'The Adonis of the Foreign Language Department'

Eventually through a combination of Nicky's polite declinations, Aaron glowering, and FF walking into another wall they managed to escape the Foreign Language department of Palmetto State University.

"I think we deserve a treat." Nicky says, "Everyone who agrees raise your hand." he adds and raises his own hand before lifting FF's hand up and looking to see Aaron lift his own hand up.

"Are we sure he's okay in there?" Aaron asks waving a hand in front of FF's face as they made their way to an ice cream shop that had excellent waffle cones and was the place that sold FF's favorite triple berry milkshake.

"Yeah, this happens sometimes." Nicky says even if it had never gone on this long with FF having to reboot his system. It feels like his friend may have blue-screened but Nicky's willing to wait it out.

"If you're sure." Aaron says expression giving away how unconvinced he is but he moves along, "Did you do what we talked about last night?" he asks.

"Yeup." Nicky says popping the 'p' at the end.

"Good." Aaron says as he opens the door to the ice cream shop.

****** Andrew is walking to Abby's with Neil, Kevin, and Matt to pick up his car. Nicky had texted Andrew that he and Aaron were hanging out at Abby's trying to get FF to snap out of whatever daze he had fallen into.

"We have to let him tryout and there will be someone from the university there making sure it's all fair." Neil spits the word out with obvious disgust. "Like any of this shit is fair!" Neil kicks a pebble on the sidewalk.

Andrew keeps his thoughts to himself that if Daniel just doesn't make it to the tryouts then there's no issue. This whole mess kicked off because he stabbed FF and Andrew wanted to make it right. FF may not blame Andrew and may still reflexively tell anyone who asks that Romero did it, but Andrew can't forget the moment he looked over and saw his knife in FF's stomach and realized that the blood on his hands was his friend's.

"He might be a good addition to the team." Kevin says.

"Kevin, if you say that one more time I'm going to dump phase 3 down your throat." Matt hisses.

Kevin recoils in visible disgust and notably keeps his mouth shut. Andrew will have to get the recipe off of Matt if it's that effective at shutting Kevin up.

They make the final turn onto Abby's street and Andrew's eyes narrow as he looks at Abby's driveway where there was only one car.

"Where the fuck is my car?" he asks.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

[rootedinrevisions]

One of Them Girls: Part 6

PART 1 I PART 2 I PART 3 I PART 4 I PART 5

The afternoon sun filters through the curtains of your living room as you and your roommate relax on the couch, chatting about nothing in particular. It's one of those rare moments of downtime, and you're savoring the quiet.

Suddenly, there's a knock on the door. Your roommate looks at you with a raised eyebrow, clearly not expecting anyone. "Were you expecting someone?"

You shake your head, curiosity piqued. "No, I wasn't."

You get up and make your way to the door, opening it to find Tyler standing on the porch, a smile on his face that instantly makes your heart skip a beat.

"Hey," he says, his voice warm and inviting. "Got any plans this afternoon?"

You blink, caught off guard by his unexpected visit. "Uh, not really. Why?"

Tyler grins, holding out a hand as if to pull you into his world. "Come with me. I've got something to show you."

You glance back at your roommate, who's now peeking around the corner with a knowing smirk. She waves you off, clearly amused by the whole situation. "Go on, have fun."

Still a little surprised, you grab your jacket and follow Tyler out to his truck. As you step outside, you notice the bed of his truck is packed with blankets, a cooler, and a basket. The sight of it all makes you pause, warmth spreading through your chest as you realize what he's planned.

"You did all this?" you ask, looking up at him, the surprise evident in your voice.

Tyler shrugs casually, though there's a hint of pride in his eyes. "I thought it might be nice to get away for a bit. Just the two of us."

A smile tugs at your lips as you climb into the truck, the anticipation building as Tyler drives you out of town. The familiar landscape rolls by, eventually giving way to a quiet field just outside of town. The grass is lush and green, stretching out under the clear blue sky, and there's a gentle breeze that makes the whole scene feel almost surreal.

Tyler parks the truck under a large oak tree, its branches providing the perfect amount of shade. He hops out and walks around to help you out of the truck, his hand warm and steady in yours as you step down.

"Welcome to our picnic spot," he says, gesturing grandly to the field around you.

You laugh softly, shaking your head at his playful tone. "This is really sweet, Tyler."

He smiles, a genuine, heartfelt smile that makes your heart flutter. "I'm glad you like it."

Together, you help him set up the picnic in the bed of the truck. The blankets are soft and comfortable, the cooler is filled with cold drinks, and the basket is packed with sandwiches, chips, and even a small box of cookies. As you both settle in, you take a moment to soak in the peaceful atmosphere, the sound of birds chirping and the rustling of leaves in the breeze creating a serene backdrop.

The two of you sit side by side, leaning back against the cab of the truck as you start to eat. The conversation flows easily, filled with light banter and laughter as you both relax in each other's company. There's something about the simplicity of it all that makes you feel at ease, as if all the worries of the world are far away.

Tyler reaches into the basket and pulls out a couple of sandwiches, handing you one. "I hope you like turkey and cheese. It's kind of my specialty."

You take the sandwich, your fingers brushing against his in the exchange. "Sounds perfect," you reply, feeling a warmth in your chest that has nothing to do with the sun.

As you bite into the sandwich, the flavors mix with the comfort of the moment. You glance over at Tyler, who's already halfway through his sandwich, and you can't help but smile.

"This was a really good idea," you say, your voice soft but sincere.

Tyler looks at you, his expression thoughtful. "I just wanted to spend some time with you, away from everything else."

There's a depth to his words that makes your heart skip a beat. You're used to seeing the confident, easygoing side of Tyler, but in this quiet moment, you can sense something more–something genuine and real that makes you feel closer ot him than ever before.

The sun is beginning to lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the field. You and Tyler have finished eating, and now you're both lounging comfortably in the truck bed, the remnants of your picnic spread around you. There's a lull in the conversation, the kind that's comfortable rather than awkward, as you both enjoy the quiet of the moment.

Tyler turns his head to look at you, his expression thoughtful. "So, about earlier...at the farm, when I asked if you were expecting someone else–your ex, right? You mentioned he was your high school sweetheart."

You take a deep breath, feeling a mixture of emotions swirling inside you. It's not a story you share often, but with Tyler, you feel a strange sense of ease, like you can be honest without judgment. You nod slowly, your gaze drifting out to the horizon as you begin to speak.

"Yeah, we've known each other practically our whole lives. Our parents were friends, so we were always around each other. We started 'dating' when we were thirteen," you say, using air quotes to emphasize the word. You chuckle softly, a bit of nostalgia in your tone. "If you can even call it dating at that age. It was more like awkward hand-holding and passing notes in class."

Tyler listens intently, his eyes never leaving your face. Encouraged by his attention, you continue, letting the words flow.

"We dated through high school and even into college. He was...nice. He never hurt me, never did anything wrong. But that was the problem. Everything was always the same–same dinner dates, same type of conversations, same routine. It was like we were just through the motions."

You pause, reflecting on how it all felt back then, how it still feels when you think about it. There's a wistfulness in your voice as you go on.

"Everyone thought we'd get married, settle down, have kids. Our parents were more excited about our relationship than I ever was. I think they were living out some kind of dream through us, like they saw us as the perfect couple. But...I started to feel like we wanted different things. He was going to school to help his dad with the family business, and I was just...lost. I wanted more than what our small town could offer. I wanted to explore, to see the world. But he didn't. He was perfectly happy with the way things were."

Tyler nods slightly, understanding the beginning to dawn in his eyes. You glance at him briefly before continuing, the emotions you've kept bottled up starting to surface.

"I realized that even though we had what most people would call a perfect relationship, he wasn't who I was meant to be with. I didn't want to settle for a life that felt so...predictable. So, I broke up with him. It wasn't easy, but I needed to figure out who I was without him. I had been with him for so long that I didn't even know what it was like to be single.

There's a brief silence as you let those words hang in the air. The decision to break up with him was one of the hardest you've ever made, but it was necessary. You feel a sense of relief washing over you, like a weight being lifted just by sharing this with Tyler.

Tyler tilts his head slightly, his voice gentle when he speaks. "Do you think you've found what you were looking for?"

You smile faintly, considering his question. "Yes and no," you admit, your voice soft but resolute. "I still haven't gotten out to see the world the way I wanted to. But the more my parents tried to push me back toward him, the more I realized I made the right call. I needed to know what else was out there, to experience life on my own terms. I don't regret breaking up with him, even though it was hard. I think...I needed that space to figure out who I really am."

You turn to face Tyler fully now, your eyes meeting his. "Sometimes I still wonder if I'm on the right path, but I know I couldn't have stayed with him. It would have been safe, but it wouldn't have made me happy."

There's a vulnerability in your words, a raw honesty that you're not used to sharing. But with Tyler, it feels right. You've opened up a part of yourself that you usually keep guarded, and you can see in his eyes that he understands.

After you've shared your story, there's a quiet moment where Tyler seems to be absorbing everything you've said. He looks thoughtful as if weighing his own words carefully before he speaks. Then, with a deep breath, he starts to open up, his tone reflective.

"I get where you're coming from," Tyler begins, his voice steady but tinged with the same kind of vulnerability you've just shown. "In high school, I was...well, a flirt, I guess. I didn't really date anyone seriously. It was just fun, you know? And when I started bull riding, that didn't change much. There were a few girls here and there, but nothing that lasted more than a few months."

He pauses, his gaze drifting to the horizon as if he's replaying memories in his mind. "But then I met Megan. We met in college, and it was different with her. We were inseparable for those four years. She was the first girl I ever got serious with. After we graduated, we both moved to a small city in Arkansas–her for a job at a local news station, and me to start storm chasing more seriously."

You nod, feeling the weight of what he's saying. There's a shift in his tone as he continues, the memories clearly still raw.

"At first, it was great. We were in love, had all these plans...I was building my crew, and our YouTube channel started taking off. A couple of viral videos later, and we had a good-sized following. But as things got busier with storm chasing, I started noticing changes between us."

Tyler's expression darkens slightly as he delves deeper into the difficult part of his story. "We started drifting apart, and the arguments...they were constant. Megan would get jealous of the attention I was getting. She'd go through the comments on our videos, read what fans were saying about me, and it got to her. She hated that I was gone so much, that people were calling me 'Tornado Wrangler' like it was some kind of superhero thing.

His voice softens, tinged with regret. "And it didn't help that our families were pressuring me to propose. They thought we were perfect together, that it was the next logical step. But I wasn't ready. The more they pushed, the more I pulled away. I found myself leaving for storm chases more and more, just so I didn't have to deal with the tension at home."

He looks down at his hands, picking at a loose thread on the blanket beneath you both. "Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. We weren't the same people we were in college. The connection we had...it was gone. I broke up with her, and it wasn't easy. It's been a few years since then, and honestly, I haven't really dated much since. I guess part of me is scared to get into something serious again."

Tyler finally meets your eyes, his expression a mix of vulnerability and honesty. "It's hard, you know? Knowing that something so good can just...fall apart like that. But I've been trying to figure out what I want, who I am, without all the noise."

He leans back, taking a deep breath, as if letting go of something that's been weighing on him for a long time. "I guess that's why I've been so focused on chasing storms. It's simpler. No complications, no expectations. Just the thrill of the chase."

The conversation lingers in the air, the weight of Tyler's words settling between you. There's a comfortable silence, the kind that feels more like a shared understanding than an awkward pause. You glance at Tyler, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes, and feel a swell of emotion that you've been trying to keep at bay.

"I...I get what you mean about being scared to get close to someone again," you begin softly, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of the blanket beneath you. "After everything with my ex, I told myself I'd take time to figure out who I am, to be alone for a while. But with you..." you pause, gathering your thoughts. "With you, it's different. I'm still a little terrified, honestly, but at the same time, I feel like I'm willing to face that fear."

Tyler's eyes soften as he listens, his full attention to you. "I feel the same way," he admits, his voice steady but sincere. "I couldn't stop thinking about you after that first night we met. It's been a long time since I've felt this way about anyone. I didn't expect it, but...here we are."

He reaches out, gently taking your hand in his. The touch is warm, and reassuring, and it sends a shiver down your spine–not from fear, but from the intensity of what's building between you. "I know we've both been through a lot," he continues, his thrumb brushing softly over your knuckles. "And I don't want to rush into anything that we're not ready for. I'm okay with taking it slow, with figuring this out as we go. No pressure, no expectations. Just...us."

His words are like a balm to the worries you've been carrying. You squeeze his hand gently, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. "Thank you," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "I'm not used to this–being able to just...take things one step at a time. It's nice to know we're on the same page."

Tyler nods, his gaze never leaving yours. "We'll figure it out together. No rush. Just see where things go."

The sincerity in his voice wraps around you like a warm blanket, and you realize that this–whatever it is between you two–is something you want to nurture. There's a comfort in knowing that neither of you is in a hurry, and that you can take your time to explore these feelings without the pressure of labels or expectations.

As the sun begins its descent, the atmosphere changes. The skies, once clear and bright, are now covered by dark, heavy clouds. A cool breeze picks up, carrying a hint of something unsettling.

You glance at Tyler, noticing the subtle shift in his demeanor as he looks up at the sky. His previously relaxed expression is now replaced with a focused intensity. You can see him scanning the clouds, and a slight tension settles in his shoulders.

"Tyler, is everything okay?" you ask, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

He doesn't answer immediately, instead continuing to observe the swirling clouds above. "We might have a storm rolling in," he finally says, his voice calm but carrying a hint of urgency. "We need to take shelter."

Tyler's hand finds yours, and he gently but firmly pulls you towards a nearby barn. Your anxiety rises with each step, feeling the weight of the impending storm. The wind picks up, rustling the leaves and creating a haunting sound as it moves through the trees.

As you reach the barn, Tyler slides the door open with practiced ease and ushers you inside. The barn is dim, lit only by slivers of light coming through the cracks in the walls. He quickly scans the interior, searching for a safe spot.

"This corner should be good," he decides, pointing to a space tucked away from any potential debris. "Kneel down and cover your head. I'll be right here with you."

You kneel down, your heart racing as the wind outside starts to howl louder. Tyler crouches beside you, his presence a steady anchor amidst your growing fear. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close and shielding you with his body. The sound outside intensifies, creating a cacophony of wind and rattling barn walls that only heighten your anxiety.

Tyler's voice is a soothing murmur in your ear, his words barely audible over the roar of the storm. "You're okay. We're safe here. Just stay close to me."

Despite his reassurances, silent tears escape your eyes as you press your face into his chest, your breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps. You clutch at him, trying to ground yourself in the reality of his calm presence amidst the chaos.

After what feels like an eternity, the wind starts to die down, and the noise gradually fades. Tyler shifts slightly, his hands still gently holding you. He carefully wipes away a few of your tears with his thumb, his eyes soft with concern.

"You're okay," he says again, his voice gentle. "We're all good."

As your fear starts to fade, it's soon replaced by a surge of adrenaline, you lift your head and meet his faze. "I can't believe that was my first tornado," you say, your voice shaky but excited. "It felt so intense."

Tyler chuckles a glint of amusement in his eye. "That wasn't a tornado," he says, his tone light-hearted. "That was just a strong wind. But you handled it well."

He pauses, looking at you with a mix of playfulness and seriousness. "If you want to see what a tornado looks like up close, I could show you. We could go storm chasing with the crew. What do you think?"

His offer hangs in the air, and you can't help but feel a rush of excitement at the thought of experiencing something so thrilling with him. The adrenaline from the storm still courses through you, and the idea of seeing a tornado up close is both exhilarating and a little intimidating.

You take a deep breath, your fear now mingled with anticipation. "I'd like that," you say, meeting his gaze with a determined smile. "I'd like that a lot."

Tyler's smile widens, and he gently squeezes your hand. "Great. We'll plan something soon."

As you both make your way back to the truck, the storm has cleared, leaving behind a fresh, earthy scent and a sky slowly returning to its peaceful state. The experience has brought you closer, and the thought of storm chasing with Tyler adds a thrilling new chapter to your growing relationship.

[persage]

My Best Gift - S. HARRINGTON

I wanted to post it on Christmas - yes, it's a silly fluffy Christmas story- but it was a busy time and now here we are a little late but I still hope you enjoy it.

Summary: Steve is resigned to spend Christmas alone. He certainly doesn't imagine that Robin has planned a surprise for him, much less seeing someone he honestly believed he would never see again and that he misses more than he cares to admit.

Words Count: 3.5 k

Tags: none, just some Fluff I needed on Christmas time. It's silly but I promise it's cute

Steve Harrington is ready to spend a serene and peaceful Christmas, just him, his father's good whiskey and a good action movie. A calm evening, for the first time in a long time without family dramas, parents in quarrels, embarrassing silences or equally embarrassing reproaches. Also without Nancy and her family, but Steve prefers not to think about it. With them he spent the first happy Christmas with a family of his entire life, then he just lost them. Being alone on Christmas day is not sad and it is not pathetic and he has no intention of indulging in excessive thinking, he will enjoy the peace like a grown man.

Like a Harrington.

After wishing Dustin and Rob and everyone else happy holidays, reassuring an unspecified number of people that "No, I won't be alone", giving Robin and the kids his presents, now Steve clutches the remote in his hands and think back to Joyce Byers' unexpected invitation and the way in which for a moment, just one, he has risked calling her mom. He feels pathetic now.

Dinner time approaches, but he has no desire to start cooking, so he shrugs, concentrating on the colorful images that pass before him on TV. He takes a gulp of warm alcohol down his throat, which burns like pure fire and he is about to light a cigarette when the doorbell rings and for a moment he lets himself be taken by the stupid fantasy that it could be his parents, that they have come home  to surprise him and he runs towards the door without even realizing it, like a child who hopes to be able to see Santa. His heart sinks into an abyss, a dark place that he didn't even know he owned, when opening the door he finds nothing but darkness and silence waiting for him. He wants to cry to be honest, like a stupid little boy.

But before he can slam the door as hard as he is able, Robin's face peeks out. He doesn't have the chance to say anything because a pair of arms tighten around his neck and he immediately catches a scent that he knows well and calms him down. "Dingus!" Robin exclaimes happily, pulling away.

"Rob? What are you doing here? I thought... "

"Did you really think we'd let you celebrate Christmas alone?"

He raises his eyebrows in defiance, spreading his arms to make room for a series of all too familiar heads and faces and this time Steve has to use all his strength not to be moved and start crying for real, because his real family is here and for the first time he is not alone."Merry Christmas Steve"  Nancy says, making her way with Jonathan,  a turkey in her hands. She places a kiss on Steve's cheek standing up on her toes and Jonathan squeezes his shoulder and after all that has happened this is enough for him to know that everything is okay, that they are friends, that they can be together without embarrassment or resentment.

"I'll put this in the kitchen" she shouts, smiling at him. Steve lets his gaze slide over Robin, her open jacket, her red sweater and a Christmas hat identical to Max's one, who wears it with a much less happy expression than Buckley. Envelopes of every shape and color protrude from her feet.

"What are you waiting? Will you let us in?" Dustin asks, in a fake annoyed tone, actually smiling to the point that Steve fears his cheeks might come off.

"And your families?" He asks shyly, still fearful that now they might leave again. They enter the house one by one, greeting him, some with a nod, some with a hug. "They'll understand" Max replies, trying not to show satisfaction in seeing Steve so excited.

"You don't get rid of us, man." Lucas continues, bypassing him and entering the house, where Nancy is already beginning to dictate orders. One by one Dustin, Robin, Max and Lucas, even Will, Mike (who would rather be anywhere else) and El file past him. He can't deny it, this is a surprise, more like a Christmas miracle... And for a moment he feels different, lighter, more carefree. Steve Harrington feels happy. He is not used to that feeling during Cristhmas. He looks down at the ground and shakes his head, unable, however, to stop smiling. When he thinks that parade of his people is over and that there are no more intruders to let into the house, he gently pushes the door with a wave of his arm, and turns towards the living room. Before he hears the door close, however, he senses someone coughing lightly, and a voice comes clear and distinct.

"You won't let me in?"

Steve's eyes widen, because he's sure he knows who this voice belongs to and up until now he's been sure he won't be hearing it again any time soon. His breath catches in his chest. In a second he turns back towards the entrance, where the toe of a black shoes block the door from closing.

"Y/n?" He mumbles before meeting your face again. He hurries to open the door all the way back and immediately freezes to the spot. In front of him, wrapped in a black coat,  hair scattered around your face and eyes brighter than the stars exactly as he remembered them, you star at him with a faintly hinted smile on your face.

"Oh my god y/n" his voice shakes  more than he wants to, so he fakes a  a cough, while Robin looks at him knowingly and a sly smile. You star at him for a few more moments, just a fraction of a second, before dropping the envelope and purse on the floor and throwing yourself into his arms. After all it's been a while since you last saw him, before your parents forced you to leave Hawkins and move.

Hardest experience of your life.

You still remember the day of departure, passing in front of your friends' houses, you have flooded your clothes with tears and thought about everything you left behind and the things you never had the courage to say and do. And all these things are now here, in front of you and they are looking at you with the biggest eyes in the world.

Incredulous.

Because Steve Harrington has always been your biggest regret and your only desire.

"Steve." You sigh against his skin, so happy to finally be here that you almost shiver. When Robin Buckley has called you to ask you to join her in Hawkins, she really thought you couldn't do it, given the short time in which she had organized the surprise for Steve. "You'll be his Christmas present!" And you had thought of a joke and you had anxiety until you had Robin in front of you and she smiled and embraced you happily, as if your presence could really be a gift. Yet here you are, with the boy you thought you hated so much as a child, only to discover that you felt everything for him except hate, that never really felt anything but love.

"What... What are you doing here? You should... Be on the other side of the world. I haven't seen you in..." He strokes your hair lightly, then he grabs your face in his big hands and squeezes it tightly to check if you are real. "One Year and Three Months Stevie" And after saying that he squeezes it a little tighter, because he probably just realizes right now how much time has actually passed. You are one of the things Steve tries not to think about, filed away in a corner of his heart where your absence can't hurt him. You wrote to each other in the beginning, even quite often, but then it just became too difficult. He moves away a little, just enough to look you in the eye, and none of you try to hide the surprise and the smiles. Somewhere deep down there are  regret and the fear too.

"You are... Changed." he says, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. You've gotten slightly taller and your cheeks have taken on color and are fuller than the last time he saw you, when the upside-down chores were slowly draining you. You seem healthier, calmer and happier, safer than you will ever be here. With him.

"You too Harrington look...Grown up. A man"

He doesn't answer and you continue. "I guess being a hero makes you grow up fast" You burst into a nervous laugh and look down at the toes of your boots.

"Sorry, it's just that... I'm nervous" He shakes his head.

"Don't be y/n, this is still your home." You observe him, the words get caught on your tongue, stumble and never come out right.

I love you. I miss you. I wished I was here.

And instead all you can say is "I know things have happened...Bad. Difficult. I.." Steve closes his eyes, trying to erase the images of StarCourt, of the Russians, of Billy. Hopper. You have lost so many things but honestly he is happy about it. When he opens them you're watching him worried, his fingers reach your cheek again, gently brushing it

"Yes but I'm glad you weren't there. I prefer to know you're safe"

You smile, softly, placing your hand on his still firm on your skin. You're about to reply that you wish you were here just to keep him safe but Dustin's voice cuts you off.

"Lovebirds, would you do us the favor of coming here?" Stepping back, he coughs lightly as a blush spreads across his cheeks. "Come on, before someone destroys my house." He leans in towards you, reaching out to close the door behind you, and for a tiny instant, you were numb by the scent of him. The moment soon vanishes as he takes you by the hand and leads you to the room where all the voices come from.

"Steve, you haven't even decorated the tree!"

Nancy says shocked. When her eyes lock on your clasped hands, she just smiles at you sweetly.

"It's not like I exactly expected to spend Christmas like this." He tries to justify himself, earning a series of insults and "You're terrible!" from the rest of the company. "As if you mind," Dustin teases. "I'm the one who minds being here actually" Mike mutters slyly.

An hour later Steve is leaning over the dining table, a glass of white wine in his hands and watches as Lucas and Will attempt to scramble over each other to position the three topper. Robin and Jonathan burst into laugh after noticing they brought the same kind of decorations. You and El are trying in every way to whiten the tips of the tree to simulate snow. Right now, while looking at his friends, Steve again perceives this feeling: pure joy. It's has nothing to do with food, gifts or Christmas lights.

It is more a warmth,  something that objects can't bring people. He feels it again, this damned wonderful overwhelming happiness, when, having puffed and abandoned the hard work you've been doing, you look up at him and smile at him from across the hall.

You are here.

You're here, for real and Steve already feels the pain of having to let you go again. But you're here and he can hold you,  kiss your hair, talk to you. It's the best gift ever. He still remembers so distinctly the moment he met you, you were just a little thing, so small you looked like a doll running around the garden of his house and rolling with him among the flowers that his mother cared for more than her own son and Steve hated to death. He remembers your little hand hanging a drawing of the two of you on his bedroom wall. He rembers you throwing your head back and laughing by the sea when Tommy and Carol dragged you for a weekend away from the city routine and then you hiding your tears at Barbara Holland's funeral, trying to be strong and breaking down anyway, shattered in front of an empty coffin, devoured by guilt. There is no memory of his childhood or adolescence that does not involve you, or that he cannot be traced back to you. Even after your departure in every memory you are, a distant thought. Now that you're here everything seems to be back exactly as before. And even if he doesn't even know what heaven is, Steve Harrington feels very close to it. The dinner is not as perfect as Robin planned it, but no less exciting. As she studies her best friend sitting next to you, she still can't believe she haa managed to bring you home. You laugh with Nance and Jonathan. Dustin, Will and the boys are chatting across the table. Robin feels like a little girl waiting for her presents and always leaving a plate of cookies and a glass of milk by the fireplace.

In the imperfection of her life and the difficulties that her family has to face, she has managed to do something great for Steve and this is the most precious gift in the world. If everything they've been through has brought them here, Robin is ready to face it all again. There is nothing  she could want more then her dingus being in peace. You wake up abruptly, still upside down from the jet leg, in the living room, lit only by the tree surrounded by colored lights.

You must have collapsed just a few hours ago, curled up on Steve's couch - specifically next to him, surrounded by his perfume - and now you see your friends curled up in their sleeping bags scattered around the room, each too tired to even notice they're asleep on the floor. Shifting the blanket someone must have wrapped you in after you fell asleep, you decide to use it to cover Max, lying on the other side of the sofa clutching one of the large pillows to her chest, her hand left dangling down to where Lucas promptly reached out to squeeze it . With all the delicacy of which you are capable, you place your feet on the floor and try to get around the various sleeping bags scattered along the room. Luckily, you manage to make it to the kitchen without waking anyone – not that they could have woken up anyway – but noticing a light on.

Before you can even think anything, your eyes met the figure of Steve who has his back at you, wrapped in a burgundy sweatshirt and wearing a pair of shorts. You've missed seeing him so calm, so relaxed. You just missed him to tell the truth, more than you expected.

"What are you doing up?" You ask in a low voice, leaning an arm against the counter and waiting for him to turn around.When he does, he runs a hand through his messy hair and smiles at you.

"I can't sleep" he explains to you, placing a cup on the counter. You catch the movement and narrow your eyes. "By chance is that...?"

"You caught me." He raises his hands in surrender.

"Hot chocolate. Oh, God... You shouldn't have done it without me it's pur thing Steve!" You scold him, silently approaching and trying to suppress a grin. Chocolate has always been their ritual during the endless study afternoons, spent doing everything but study.

"I am sorry... "

"Now, my dear Harrington, I shall be forced to take serious measures."

You threaten. Before he can do anything, you've gotten very close and managed to grab onto his hips. You begin to tickle him when he tries to move, but you're faster and let your hands slide under the sweatshirt, on the abdomen and Steve is shaken by a series of irrepressible laughter. "I give up, I give up!" He almost screams, grabbing your wrists and finally managing to stop you.

"What do you have to say in your defense?" You lift your chin to him, closer than you've ever been all evening, and your smile fades as you notice Steve's eyes roaming over your lips tracing them with his gaze. Just do it. Please . But don't speak, in fact your breath catches in your chest. Everything is exactly like in the good old days.

Immediately he releases your wrists.

"Steve" You mumble confused by whatever is going on, this is enough to bring him back from the trance he seems to have fallen into. Steve turns and leans towards the top right locker where he keeps his cups, with his back to you. "A cup of hot chocolate on the way." He mutters, you try to suppress the sigh you feel growing in the center of her chest. "I missed you, you know?" You confess with a half smile, going to sit on the opposite counter, continuing to observe his back. It's nothing new, you know what there is between you, affection, Devotion but sometimes it's feels like it could be so much more it actually hurts.

"I would have liked to keep in touch, to contact you more often..." He starts.

" I know it. It looked wrong. ridiculous. I get it, really." you interrupt him. He still won't look at you. "I'm glad you're okay." You continue."I'm glad you're okay too. Thank God you are safe. I would die if everything ever happens to you Steve." Only now  he turns around, hitting you with the intensity of his gaze "I missed you too. You don't know how much, princess" As soon as you hear that nickname, that stupid nickname he gave you years and years ago, your heart skips a beat. And you blame the memories, you blame Christmas and the distance, for what you do afterwards. While Steve walks up to you carrying the hot cup, it's easy to take it out of his hand and place it behind you. It's easy to grab hold of his fingers that you know as your own and bring him close, just as it's easy to stare at him from below without letting go. The easiest thing, however, is to close your eyes. Close your eyes and wait, as you have done since you were twelve, when you finally understood that there is no person in the world more similar to you, more suited to you than stupid Steve Harrington. And that's why, in the end, you fell in love with him hard.

The long-awaited kiss reaches you,  the only light that remains is the sensation of this moment, imperfect as it has always been between you two, but nothing less than exceptional. You sense the initial awkwardness, which, of course, has nothing to do with inexperience– Steve seems born to kiss ypu and make it seem like the simplest thing in the whole universe. It's an embarrassment that says "you've been my best friend since before I even remotely looked like a girl, but now you want me and I want you and here we are" and likewise you feel it fade, giving way to an ease you haven't felt with anyone else.

The romantic side of your mind suggests it's because he knows you better than any other guy.

Steve, who has leaned over your legs stretching his neck towards your face as if a natural thing, moves his left hand towards his side, and only now  you suddenly realize you want him closer, you need him. Therefore you surround his waist with your legs and cling to the collar of his sweatshirt, devouring his mouth in a need that has been ignited since he held you in his arms in front of the door. Despite the desire, however, you are  this is Steve you are kissing now and you must know what the hell it means to him before doing something you could regret. In the same moment in which Steve starts to move away slightly, you do it  too and finally open your eyes.

"I wish I hadn't waited a year to be able to do it." He whispers softly, letting the fingers of his right hand get lost behind your neck, in your soft hair. And it's enough for you, for him and for everything you've never said.

For now, that's enough.

"You've always been slow Harrington"you scold him, trying with all your strength not to smile at him, "Give me a good reason to stay Steve" He leans down once more to kiss you.This time, you both smile.

This time you will never leave.

[hobgobknowsbest]

I've come to think of the recent trend making goblincore "pretty" as sort of like... a renaissance faire. We all know the medieval times were nothing like they are represented as at a faire, but it's still nice, still entertaining. People dress up as these idealized, pretty, fantasy versions of squires, knights, princesses, princes, queens and kings, laughs are had, money is spent, and everyone eats a giant turkey leg.

Same general idea. Who wouldn't love to live in a sun-dappled hole in the ground, in the middle of the woods, somehow subsisting off the land without the hardships that come with that lifestyle, happily gardening and sipping tea by candlelight? Chasing down the occasional human, causing mischief in the local town that's close to your acres of forest?

Perhaps I'm too stuck in the moment, but all I can see is what's at hand; the here and the now of it. Goblins and bugbears, bogarts, púca, changelings and creatures of all shapes and sizes, trapped in our little meatsuits, suffering from a whole new kind of culture shock day in and day out.

You can't stop humanity from encroaching too far upon nature's domain because they already have, and now you find yourself amongst them. Behind enemy lines, more or less.

You can't make yourself a hole in the ground because every inch of this land is somehow owned, regardless of whether or not someone has ever even set foot upon it.

It becomes less about roleplaying a hobbit on the weekends, and more about surviving with the power of sheer spite.

Your disguise is mostly above suspicion, so you can, for the most part, act and dress however you like. At your core, you are still the antithesis to humanity, so you find yourself stitching your clothes together, proud of your rips and tears. You earned them. You can't fully grasp the idea of money, no matter how hard you try, and so "the grind" is likely something you don't participate in.

Now, rules you are familiar with, but the ones you find in front of you have no sense to them, and feel as if they aren't directed towards you.

You're leery of people in general, and so are slow to make friends. You find yourself, more than likely, getting close to those who have been rejected by society as well: punks and felons, anarchists, street kids and van-lifers. You probably consider yourself a member of one of these little communities yourself.

It's a lonely sort of life, at the end of the day, no matter what you surround yourself with. No matter what you decide to distract yourself with. Finding more of your kind is difficult, even with the aid of the internet, but you can likely spot them here and there, and it is refreshing to bounce your unique energy back and forth.

What I'm trying to say, while I derail myself here, is that I'm coming to the conclusion that there's two sides to goblincore: there's the fashion side, and the lifestyle side. Everything becomes a fashion statement at some point, so I can't really complain.

If someone I met started dressing like me in real life, I'd be flattered, y'know? It'd be weird, as it'd be their own strange version of my normal dress, but it's still oddly endearing. A little Single White Female, but still endearing.

But if you're a lifer, if you've lived this way well before it was given a title, trust that your kind are out there. You're not alone.

You just might have to dig through a little bit of trash to find them.

[j-nor]

Hey

I know I just sent you an ask but

I’m planning on buying this female clown and I was wondering

If you could possibly bestow any knowledge about this pretty girl too before I receive her in October 🥺🥺

Tysm I love your imput 😁 (also give me name ideas if you have any!!! She needs a good name!!)

Ohoho, that’s a fancy looking lady right there, I’d be happy to give my two cents on her!

She seems to be a teacup, I’m slightly unsure of the scale since the background of the photo is blank. Those bells and that hat are classic jester traits, she’s got quite a lot of sequins, lace, ribbons and frill so I might even guess she’s a royal jester.

The monochromatic black and white color palette is very striking, I’m not quite sure what to make of that. Unlike with circus breeds, black and white colors don’t necessarily mean the clown is mixed with Pierrot/mime, or that the clown is from a very selectively bred lineage that’s been cultivated for those colors. Jesters can be grayscale without Pierrot/mime ancestry and it’s not extremely rare, this makes it difficult to determine whether a jester is a mime or Pierrot mix, along with the fact that pure bred jesters and pure bred Pierrot can have some similar features.

The best way to know without DNA testing is to interact with the clown in person. Jesters are witty and talkative, they can be crass and mischievous, and they don’t tend to be very shy. Pierrot are considered more ‘dainty’, they rarely vocalize (although they can, unlike mimes), they are shy and cautious, and their performances are more subtle and musical than slapstick and comedic. It shouldn’t be too difficult to observe your clown’s behavior and draw your own conclusion, but until you meet her it’s anyone’s guess what her ancestry is. (If she is mixed, it’s probably not with mime because of the info I mentioned in my last clown husbandry ask)

Whether she’s got some Pierrot DNA or she’s purely jester, her diet should consist mainly of things like hard cheeses, preserved fruits, chicken/turkey, potatoes and sweet breads. That’s not to say she can never have more staple clown foods like cotton candy or corndogs, just that it’s not what she’s meant to rely on, jesters have different nutritional needs than circus clowns, for example they require higher sodium intake. This diet generally works for jesters and jester mixes, so it’s not necessary to modify if she’s partially Pierrot.

Other than diet it’s important to get some props for her, small bells and items to juggle are a good place to start. Jesters are inquisitive and love games, puzzles and riddles are a staple of theirs. Be carful when you take her places, because of how curious they are, small jesters can wander off to explore and become near impossible to track down.

Other than that I can’t think of any advice that’s specific to her, she should settle in easily with the other clowns, the enrichment of having so many friends should be very good for her, and she probably won’t need a setup too different from theirs. Of course I’m not a vet, (sorry for hammering this into the ground lol, but it is important for anyone who isn’t familiar with me) and I’m more experienced with standard teacup party clowns, so if you notice anything wrong or odd you should take her to the vet.

And lastly, I’d be happy to give you some name suggestions!

Periwinkle comes to mind, based on those beautiful blue eyes of hers.

Quinn, because I can’t stop thinking of Harley Quinn the harlequin.

Koi, Iris, Swan, Juniper, Goose, Olive and Fawn, just because I think they sound cool.

Wow, this one was pretty long! But it was worth every minute it took, and I really hope you find it helpful, it’s always a pleasure to answer your asks.

Happy clowning <3

[butcherlarry]

Kent farm and country Clark Headcanons

Some headcanons about the Kent family farm that @januariat requested I post about :) 

I grew up on a farm and at our peak we had a couple hundred head of beef cattle (we’ve had registered angus cattle for about 100 years, and have been farming since the family settled in that area in the mid 1800s I think?  We’re no longer at that farm, the parents moved themselves and the cattle to another one in the state, so they’re still farming).  We also did a lot of crop farming, mostly corn, wheat, and soybeans.  Dad had some hay fields that he would mow and bale multiple times throughout throughout the summer/fall to make bales as some of the food to feed our cattle throughout the year.  My siblings and I were involved in 4H/FFA growing up (my sister and I were in 4H, my brother did 4H and then FFA when he got to high school).  We always raised two steers to take to our county fair as projects (and maybe some breeding and open class projects on the side), and my brother did shop/metal working projects as well.  Needless to say, I have a lot of THOUGHTS and FEELINGS about Clark growing up on a farm in a small rural community.

I don’t read the comics (except WFA), and most of my interaction with the Superman/Clark Kent fandom has been through watching the newer movies, being in fandom discords, reading Tumblr posts, and fanfic that I’ve read.  This was just something fun for me to ponder about based on my life experiences (I also work in the ag industry, specifically the meats industry if you couldn’t tell from my username, lol)

For the type of farm, I think the Kents would have a lot of acreage do crop farming. I'm not as familiar with any specialty crops grown in Kansas, but as I stated before, the big three that were grown on my farm growing up were corn, wheat, and soybeans.  Those are pretty popular crops to grow in the midwest, so I could see the Kents growing those too. Not sure how viable it would be, but sunflowers can also grown as a crop.  I like the thought of the Kents maybe growing that because, you know, Kansas. 

If they had any livestock, it would be a small amount.  I’m not 100% sure on Clark’s current age in the comics, but if he was around before the 1980s, he might remember his parents raising some cattle or hogs as an extra way to get cash.  Unfortunately, there was a farm crisis that hit the Midwest in the 80s, and it hurt a lot of small farms.  Now a days, you have to to be raising a lot of one animal to make any kind of profit (if any).  If you’re raising hogs, you need a barn that holds 2000+ head finishing hogs to make money (I worked in one of these barns and a hog nursey that held 5000+ during covid when I got laid off from my job.  It SUCKS.  I developed a new fear in life of being eaten alive by 300+ lb pigs, but that’s a story for another day).  It’s the same with chicken and turkey as well, but I’m not as sure on the barn size.  If the Kents do have any livestock, it would be animals that would be used to supplement their diet, like a small flock of chickens for eggs, and a dairy animal (goat or cow?  Maybe goat since they’re smaller and don’t take up as much space as a cow.  Might also be easier to handle for the Kent parents as they get older, but I’ve never owned a goat before, so don’t quote me on that.  Goats are smart and are pretty good at getting in trouble, lol).  

If the Kents have any large meat livestock, like cattle, it would only be one or two, which leads me to my next headcanon, that Clark was in 4H/FFA growing up!  I love, love, LOVE the idea of Clark being in 4H or FFA while in school at Smallville, and having a beef or dairy beef steer(s) as a livestock project.  Also, Clark would show his project animals at his county fair!  I don't think he would win or do well in the main classes.  From my experience, usually it's families that are big into showing cattle, and you need a lot of money for that for all the equipment and supplies that goes with it. They also tend to travel a lot with those animals, and show them in other contests as well (maybe state fair.  If you want to hear a rant about how much I don’t like show cattle and the show cattle industry, hmu). If anything, Clark would probably do well in the showmanship shows. That's more dependent on the trust between you and your animal, and how much you've worked with them.  I can definitely see Clark working with his animals everyday, cleaning, feeding, and leading them.  You know someone has really worked with there animal if they can lead and stop them so the animal’s feet are positioned correctly without having to use a show stick to move the feet (yes, there is a correct way cattle need to stand when showing.  A lot of terminology describing the feet positions too.  Again, if you want more details, hmu).

On top of showing cattle, I also love the thought of Clark taking a shop project through FFA/4H, especially if it's welding. He could use it as a way to practice with his laser vision!  You can definitely tell a good weld from a bad weld, and I can see Clark working on his laser vision skills to improve.  My brother and Dad would work on, fix and build equipment and fences with welding, so I can also see Clark learning how to do that to help out on the farm!  And I'm sure Jonathan Kent would appreciate it since he wouldn't have to spend as much money on the welding and torch gasses and the equipment that goes with it.

Welp, those are my headcanons for Clark, the Kents, and farming.  I’m sure if you poke me, I could go into more detail on somethings, or think of more headcanons about those topics.  Most of my ag experience has been in raising beef cattle, so that shaped most of these headcanons that I have.   If you or someone else in the Superman fandom have a farming background, please tell me what your headcanons are!!  I would love to hear them!  Growing up on a farm was a big part of Clark’s life, so we need more country Clark stories!

[anistarrose]

oh I would love to hear about the lich academia wip !

(WIP meme here, still taking asks!)

oh boy, excellent choice. this is a premise I've mentioned before under the alternate placeholder title of "Eighth Bird Kravitz Fic Containing No Stolen Century Scenes," where Krav is a Goldcliff music theory professor on sabbatical for a year at Neverwinter. except, in a truly shocking twist, who does he run into on the premises but some weird guy named Barry Bluejeans who seems oddly familiar to him...

oh yeah and Kravitz is unknowingly a lich too in this one. for eighth bird reasons. guess that's useful context

(also TYSM reese for asking about this one, because I've really been having some motivation issues lately, but this premise was quietly calling to me like a siren song — and I ended up writing more than I've written all week, just in the process of making sure I had more than a mere paragraph to share with you!)

—

As of the second time Kravitz sees The Guy, he’s willing to hazard a guess that their Monday-Wednesday schedules look the same. Which wouldn’t be a problem, except — except this time, The Guy sees him too. And doesn’t say anything, just kinda smiles and waves — but for Kravitz, this might as well all be fucking nightmare fuel. 

Shit, does this guy know him? He still doesn’t know this guy. Was this guy important? Is he supposed to know this guy’s name? Is this guy his boss? Does this guy sign off on Krav’s fucking stipend? Kravitz should goddamn remember where he saw that weird fucking sweater vest-and-denim jacket combo going on before! Is he already armpits-deep in an academic faux pas? Raven Queen almighty, spare him from an academic faux pas on just his third entire day —

Kravitz smiles through gritted teeth, and waves back. The guy pleasantly returns his gaze for about five more microseconds, and then bustles away through the crowd, turkey club and napkins in hand.

Oh. He seems like a nice enough guy. And Kravitz likes to think he’s a nice enough guy too, honestly. Other than, like — to students who create a whole percussive instrument out of crunchin’ on Fantasy Fritos in class. Or to Derek, from the Goldcliff Fantasy Senate. Or to those freshman who kept calling their trombones “tromboners” until it, like, wasn’t funny anymore; like, Kravitz used to actually chuckle at that joke, until they ruined it for him. Or to —

You know what, actually. Never mind. The point is, this guy seems nice, and Kravitz is… also able to seem it, so… maybe the fault lines of a massive academic feud aren’t quaking beneath Kravitz’s boots after all. Maybe this Neverwinter sabbatical really will be a break from all the drama — so deep breaths, bud. You’ve got so many ways to figure out this guy’s name before he starts actually speaking to you — you’re gonna crack this case open before he can even say “tenure.”

[leomoon65]

The photo/ artwork belongs to @triple-phoenix . I simply just wrote a fanfiction inspired by the art. All art credit goes to them, not me, I’m just the writer.

Warnings: Angst, Slight Bullying, idk flirting?

Written for: AFAB, this fic was for someone and i decided to post it, “M” the best friend is NB so they can be whoever you want.

DNI: *read pinned post*

——————————————————————————

Summary: You are a shy girl who just moved to the Jackson commune with your best friend. While still adjusting to your new-found home and life of being around others, you run into Dina, a girl who rather lightly bully you over telling anyone she has an ounce of attraction for you. (spoilers: her little crush weighs about 10lbs). What happens when, one morning, Dina decides to show her odd affection over a pile of eggs?

——————————————————————————

You and your best friend M have been in Tommy and Maria Miller’s community for about a week. You two traveled like most young people and landed in Jackson, Wyoming, hoping to find somewhere safe forever. So far, besides the Millers, you (and J) have met Ellie, a lesbian with witty humor and awkward tendencies. Her artist girlfriend, Cat, has been begging to tattoo your ink-virgin arm. Jesse is a southern boy with a big heart who is always there for you, especially when you first started, and sisters that you and M have gotten to know… sort of. Talia, the oldest, is an intelligent girl with protective tendencies of her sister but is always down to have a good time and her rude but mysterious… little sister Dina. 

Now, you could say Dina is nice to M, an angel to them per se. When you two first got to Jackson, Dina had the task of giving you two and some other young adults a tour of the community, a mayor per se. After her tour, Dina talked M’s ear off about anything and everything, even battering her eyes. M, while being nice, seemed interested in Dina in a friendly manner but had googly eyes for the older sister, Talia… to Dina’s dislike. You might be wondering how Dina treats you; well, she would rather bully you. Some background, you’re quite shy, having M talk for the both of you at the start, and you also hate conflict. Dina read right through you and now always has something up her sleeve. 

Dina is not a cruel bully, per se, to everyone else, she has a fat crush on you that she REFUSES to acknowledge or maybe she does accept it but chooses to bully you instead of telling you… she’s Dina, okay. Dina’s “bullying” is teasing a rather innocent you over little things. She’ll tell you your flannel is unbuttoned and laugh to herself while you check. She will purposely switch the patrol list so you and her are stuck together for at least 7 hours as she invades everything about your life with questions you answer. It’s fun for Dina and for you; you just want to make peace with a 5’3 bisexual that you think hates you. 

On this particular day, you, M, and everyone else are up for breakfast in the morning. There are Eggs, Bacon, and Turkey sausage on the side with Hash-Browns with some water… that’s all they have for a “healthy” drink in the apocalypse minus beer and other alcohol. You make yourself a plate and choose bacon because you have always liked it. You look to find M, who you usually sit with but is now flirting with Talia while she eats but enjoys it, smiling while your best friend tries to impress her.  You giggle to yourself softly as you sit down at a table. You start to salt and pepper your eggs as you feel a mysterious presence. “BOO!” you hear an all too familiar voice. It’s Dina. She’s sporting her usual maroon shirt (dance scene) with some sweatpants she found due to its fall in Jackson, and she has no patrol today. 

She looks at your plate. “Bacon, huh? Icky,” Dina says, as it is against her religion to eat pork rather than her overall dislike for the pig-like food. “I—i’m sorry, Dina,” you say softly, not wanting to offend her. She smiles as she holds her fork from her own food tray, for which she opts for turkey sausage due to no pork in the links. She gets really close to you (while making you incredibly nervous… but sort of flustered) and says, “Gimme yer eggs, nerd.” She has a little angry arch to her brow as she smiles, giving the impression she wants your eggs, similar to a high school bully wanting lunch money. “D— Dina”! You say, cheeks all blushed, but a worried look, not knowing what to do. Dina stabs her fork on your eggs and puts a small piece from the scrabbled batch in her mouth.  “Mmm, yummy,” she says, enjoying her newfound stolen treasure of your eggs. 

“Dina?” you say, gaining some confidence. “Um, those were my eggs; why didn’t you put more on your plate if you wanted some”? You say with a friendly but still worried smile. Dina turns her head and gets close to you again. “Because I enjoy watching pretty girls like you get all flustered over some eggs.” She boops… yes, she boops your nose as she takes another bite. 

You just sit there in so much confusion. Does she like you? Is she playing games with you? Is she bored? So many questions rush through your head. Soon, your cheeks go red out of embarrassment/confusion. Dina puts her hand on your shoulder to take you out of your deep thoughts of what this girl could possibly want. “Hey, they’re just eggs, pretty girl, no need to get all scrambled up,” she says as she has finished her plate and gets up to put her tray away, ultimately leaving you with butterflies in your stomach over this mysterious Jewish girl. 

End A/N: I lowkey forgot I had this account, let alone fics and such. I hope you enjoy this shorter angst read with you and Dina. I did proofread this for once, but still, any errors, please be kind. Again, the artwork is done by @triple-phoenix // Please read the pinned post if you want a fic yourself. Anyways, thanks again. See you in the next one- c

[strangestcase]

honestly it was already obvious with Jekyll saying he can get rid of Hyde any time he wants, as if Hyde wasnt a person to him but an addiction he fails to realize he is struggling with, but Hyde very much symbolizes Jekyll's addiction (to the drug/to being a bad person/to the euphoria both give him, etc, compare and contrast with: cocaine, alcohol; remember how prevalent alcohol is in this book? how the salts on Jekyll's table look like powdered cocaine? that's deliberate!)

and later, when Jekyll gets to narrate and describes the abstinence syndrome (from taking the potion/being Hyde) as he attempts to quit cold turkey as Hyde struggling for freedom (Hyde the addiction), then compares himself to an alcoholic when he talks about how he eventually consumed again (Hyde the drug)... and later as he describes his constant fixes as Hyde struggling to be born, born of him, overtake all he is or can be.

Then, as the transformations become more unstable he needs more serum, now no longer to experience a high but to REMAIN "normal", to remain "himself", to avoid experiencing pain which in this case comes from the transformations (into Hyde, remember, Hyde the addict) taking on the role of that very same abstinence syndrome, pushing him to consume whether he likes it or not.

what's more, during the last chapter, it seems that Jekyll transforms randomly into Hyde, but he associates those transformations to moments of mental vulnerability: any sort of moral weakness, faltering, even falling asleep, when he's most in touch with the subconscious mind that Hyde embodies!

So. knowing Stevenson was an addict as well... he anthropomorphized addiction as Hyde as much as Jekyll did. He gave it a face and a name (Edward Hyde), and meanwhile, as an echo of his creator, Jekyll takes his symbolic addiction and casts it away from him.

Notice how at first, Jekyll only refers to Hyde as "he", as someone other, when he's specifically talking about Hyde as a persona alone, as a side of himself; by the end of the narrative, he does so because he's disgusted of what he has become, because Hyde can't be human, and eventually Jekyll reasons he also can't even be a living thing, just something that can mimic life, something that can mimic a person. Which starts making sense when you take that for an allegory of addiction, and not a literal description.

the more evident it becomes for Jekyll that he's addicted to his creation (again- Hyde as the drug), that he's losing his body and mind to it, that it is a disease that is killing him, the less he wants to accept he is Hyde (the addict), but can only fight to keep him under control, can't kill him. likewise, as the addiction metaphor becomes more and more evident, Hyde also becomes more self-destructive, attacking and tormenting Jekyll out of pure spite, regardless of wether Jekyll is Hyde or not at the moment, because the addiction is always there even when you can't see it...

when you start the narrative it's clear that Hyde symbolizes the addict in Jekyll and the substance he craves, what has killed him, eventually taking over so much time of his life..., but also, the pervasive nature of addiction itself, in its most abstract and painful form. substance abuse can't create, only destroy.

And as a result, the story becomes more powerful and terrifying. Hyde becomes a formidable monster when you come to realize, you could be like him. You could be forced to fight him, to outsmart him, every day of your life, just like Jekyll, if the right circumstances arose. The monster is addiction. Something many readers might be familiar with, or also struggle with. The monster is in you. And it becomes all the easier to pity Jekyll even despite the horrible things he's done and allowed to happen- because what else there is to do in that situation? Who wouldn't turn to consume, even knowing the risks, in an oppressive, repressive society that rewards you for doing so?

So, that's why Hyde works so well as a villain, in my opinion. Not only he is a metaphor for the reader to decipher, but a metaphor within the universe of the story itself.

[novelmonger]

Back at the beginning of this year, I made a silly New Year's resolution to watch a movie made in the year I was born. I had a few possibilities in mind, but just the other day, I happened across a movie I saw when I was a kid and mostly forgot about, but it's been on my mind lately as I've been thinking about one of my original stories. Then what do you know? I discover that it came out the year I was born! At least according to IMdB, which only has release dates for Australia and the Netherlands, which is a different year than what it says on YouTube, where I'm watching it, but whatever, we're counting it!

It's a TV movie (I assume?) called On Our Own, about four siblings who have recently been orphaned and run away because they're afraid of being split up if they're sent to foster homes. I know it's been at least a small unconscious inspiration for my superpowered siblings story (though a much bigger inspiration for that story was Escape to Witch Mountain, since that's about orphans who have supernatural powers), so I was curious to watch it again with an adult's eyes.

So without further ado, here are some thoughts I had while watching:

How is it that this movie, which I must have seen on TV one time when I was 6 or 8 or something, maybe at my grandparents' house (or it might have been from the library or something), still feels so familiar, like a movie I grew up watching over and over again? Like, if you'd asked me before I started watching how the movie begins, I probably couldn't have told you, but as soon as the first shot of an ambulance driving through the streets came on, I was like, "YES! OF COURSE! I REMEMBER THIS!"

Wow, the acting is terrible in this XD Not just the kids, who can be somewhat excused for lack of experience, but none of the adults are that great either ^^'

Even though these siblings are two boys and two girls, while my story is about one brother and three sisters, I can definitely see an influence on my characters and how they interact. Particularly in the older two siblings, who end up kind of having to be de facto parents to their much younger siblings.

I get that this is a movie intended for kids to watch and understand, so the writing is pretty blunt, but yikes, the adults have no tact when discussing the kids' future and how they'll have to be split up, never see their dog again, etc.

When escaping the orphanage, Kate hands Mitch the suitcase, and he accidentally drops it to the ground several stories below. Then he immediately turns and says, "Okay, hand me Lori." I snorted XD

I can't put my finger on it, but there's something about the way they filmed the scenery shots of city streets and highways that just feels very low-budget. Even though they probably had to use a helicopter for some of them.

Uh...is every song on this soundtrack with vocals from Kidz Bop or something? <_<

The most unrealistic thing in this whole movie may be that Mitch can drive a stick-shift Volkswagen beetle across two states with only the very occasional issue when he's only driven in the parking lot one time before -_- (Not to mention that that tiny car has enough gas to get them as far as they go before having to get more.)

Okay, wait wait wait. They only have $9 to get them where they need to go, and Mitch comes out of the gas station with this big brown paper bag full of food that cost $8? Like...yeah, he said he didn't get Twinkies or plastic cups, but...wait, how much is that in today-dollars? *calculates* $19.32 Okaaaayyy....

Yay, obviously over-dubbed little girl who sounds completely out of place and not like it's actually Lori at all.

"Of all the turkeys in the world, how'd I get hung up with this hamster going all the way to Arizona?" - What kind of line is that??? XD

Also, like...these are police chasing the kids, right? Yet they're like, "Oh no, we only have a ZIP Code from a torn envelope [at least, that's where I'm assuming they got it from], and all we know is that there's someone they call "Uncle Jack." But we don't know what his last name is! There is absolutely no way that the police could look up public records and find out what their mother's maiden name was and see if there's somebody at that ZIP Code named Jack who also has that last name!"

Random non-sequitur moment #125: "Hey, look at this old old bottle!" *no one responds and it never goes anywhere*

Okay, like the one thing I remember from this movie is Mitch falling asleep at the wheel. Guess that made a huge impression on me, like a cautionary tale. But why did he keep driving so far until he hit a cactus??? Ever heard of brakes, kid?!

Wow, watching this as an adult really drives home how completely helpless these kids are. I'm sure when I watched this movie as a kid, Mitch and Kate seemed so old and responsible and capable. But now, watching Kate break down because they have no money and no food, and with the car crashed and not starting, all I can think is how young they all look.

This framing story with the grandma making a cake or whatever and getting the whole story told to her on the phone is completely unnecessary, but funny in a very stereotypical sort of way XD (But yikes, I don't wanna see her phone bill at the end of this!) And lol, she doesn't even take her burning cake out of the oven, just turns it down and leaves it in there!

This movie feels like its message is "As long as you're desperate, anything is excusable." Just judging from the triumphant "we're gonna make it!" music that plays every time they steal a vehicle -_- Aaaand not thirty seconds later, he runs into a conveniently placed...stick? that conveniently stabs the car and makes in unusable. Because that's a thing that often happens.

And then Travis puts a quarter in a slot machine and wins the jackpot??? What are you trying to convey to impressionable kids, movie?!

HOLEY SLICES OF BREAD, THAT ESCALATED QUICKLY! Two bullies come after the kids, trying to steal their winnings, Mitch threatens to throw a rock at them with the most unconvincing threat in the world, then they're scuffling around like these two guys couldn't take all four of them with their hands behind their backs, it's intercut jarringly with Peggy driving up in a truck full of sheep...and then out of nowhere, she pulls out a gun?!?!?

*pointing gun* "I know how to use this!" Uh...yeah, real convincing. Still, can't blame those guys for backing away slowly from the crazy lady with the wild eyes.

Oh, okay, it wasn't a real gun. I was about to get upset about gun safety when she just tossed it onto the ground at a kid's feet.

And...the car is magically fixed now? They just drive off no problem? Okay, who cares about continuity anyway?

OH MY GOODNESS LORI IS ADORABLE :3

Oh, okay, the car is not perfectly fine. But it sure took a long time for the smoking engine to become a problem again.

What a cascade of revelations one after another. Jack isn't really their uncle (so I guess it wouldn't have worked for the police to look up their mother's maiden name after all), he's got a...girlfriend? with a son, and their father is in prison. I wonder what for? Will we ever find out?

That was the most awkward little fist-fight ever. It was like...sluggish? No tension, no sense of danger. Like...oh noooo, he grabbed the carrot. Oh nooooo, he splashed some water on him. And then Travis has to be super gross and grab horse manure and throw it at him. Just...why?

"If I wasn't bleeding all over the place, I'd clean your plow!" Is that a thing people say??? XD

"Tell you the truth, it's something I've been wanting to do for quite some time." Okay, I had to play it back like three times, but I finally realized that Jack is saying he wanted to bust his girlfriend's kid's nose and throw manure at him. Uh...okay then ._.

Aha, the bus! This is the other part of the movie I actually remember, where Mitch somehow knows how to drive a whole freaking bus when he's supposedly never driven before.

Why is the guy selling bus tickets giving me such creepy vibes??? <_<

*Four children drive off in a bus* Peggy: "Oh no." Super convincing, lady.

Really? The police are too slow to catch them, even when they stop the bus so Travis can hop out and get their dog, because the policeman accidentally got into the back seat instead of the driver's seat? Literally when would that ever happen??? And then they just drive right through a stack of...banana crates? I don't even know what those were. And then he doesn't even notice there's a one-lane bridge ahead and ends up in the creek. The kid is better at this than you, Mr. Detective!

Police cars swiftly gaining on them from behind, a roadblock ahead, a freaking prop plane touches down right in front of them, and what is Mitch's response? An eyeroll.

Oh, okay, now he's crying. Poor kid has had a rough day or two.

Whoa, attack of the over-dubbed Mitch whose voice suddenly got a lot deeper!

"I'm a real strong worker, you'll see!" *Uncle Jack gives him a blank stare* A+ acting all around, fellas.

Wow. The police explain how, legally, they can't just let the kids stay with someone who's not a relative in a completely different state, but then he says, "Come to my house and have some barbecue and we'll work this out." AND THEY GO FOR IT. Did the people who wrote this script know the first thing about how laws work?

Oh, okay. They did have to go back to LA and get it worked out in the court. And Mitch and Kate had to do community service to make up for all the laws they broke.

"They must have had a pretty bad example from their alcoholic father." Okay, movie, sheesh, you don't have to yell in our ears that alcoholism is bad. We get the picture.

Why on earth did I remember the last scene so clearly? As soon as the grandma starts putting the little decorations on the cake, it was like I remembered every single word everyone said. "Because I'm a grandma!"

Huh. A weirdly long stretch of black screen after the credits are done, but the music isn't quite finished. Usually you just fade out at that point, you know.... (I'm not exaggerating when I say there's like a whole verse and chorus left after the credits where you're just staring at nothing.)

Well, all in all, this was a fun trip down memory lane. I'm glad I managed to track it down again, and see some of the ingredients in the idea soup for my own story of four siblings running away. But...it's not a very good movie, all things considered XD

[mtdthoughts]

Moonlight Pt. 1 (Migi & Dali Fanfiction)

At the time I'm writing this post, it's New Year's Eve, and I wanted to finish 2023 with something that I've been cooking up for a while.

Never in my life did I imagine that I would write fanfiction.

But I really do love this series, and I thought that I could help fill in some of the story that wasn't shown. In particular, this fanfiction occurs during Chapter 43 of the Migi & Dali manga or Episode 13 of the anime. It is told from Migi's perspective, and I wanted to add some context based on my interpretations of the characters and my (limited) imagination.

Be warned, I am not an expert at writing, so I can't guarantee that the reader will enjoy reading this, but I hope they do. Tumblr is probably not the best place to post this, but it'll do for now. I might post the other parts here too.

I decided to title this fanfiction "Moonlight" as a reference to the "Water Flea Song" that the twins are so familiar with.

CHAPTER 1

It was the night of Christmas Eve, and I laid in bed excited, unable to sleep. Because Santa would come tonight, or at least that's what the old couple said. I don't know if Santa's real or not, but that doesn't matter, because I'm a good boy and I’m getting a present!

"Perfect, if I continue to pretend to believe in Santa, I can get presents forever. Right, Dali?"

Dali was on the other side of the bed, but I couldn't feel him move or hear anything from him.

"You asleep?" I asked. No response.

Dali has been acting strangely lately. I know that the old couple would accept us both, but Dali says he's fine with just me being happy. That can't be true, right? To be honest, I'm not sure what Dali was thinking, but I thought that if I cheered him up, maybe he'd change his mind.

"Let's split the presents in half..." I whispered.

But was that okay? Did Dali really want to share my presents?

Oh well, no use in thinking now. Better get to sleep, or else Santa won't come tonight...

I was now sitting at the dining table, and as usual the old couple was sitting across from me with smiles on their faces, and the golden beast was pacing around, looking hungry. The table was set with lots of delicious food like jambalaya and turkey, and the air was filled with the smell of cherry pie. We talked and laughed as we usually did, but then I noticed a familiar voice. I turned to my right, and there was Dali, with his scar, sitting next to me, laughing with a joyful expression that I had not seen in a long time.

Huh?

"Dali...?"

I was now lying in bed with my pajamas on. Oh, it was just a dream.

I yawned and got up from bed, and saw that Dali was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at something. At our little Christmas tree, there were two presents that looked the same.

"Huh? Did the present split in two?"

A knock came at the door. Dali reacted, and quickly ran to the wardrobe to hide himself. Right, we still needed to be Hitori. Rather, I still needed to be Hitori...

The door opened, and it was the old couple, with the same warm smiles on their faces.

"Good morning, Hitori!" said the old woman.

"Good morning," said the old man.

Before I could greet them, I remembered that it was time to open my present. I looked back toward our little tree. Oh right, there were two presents.

"Hey, I thought that each child only gets one present. Did Santa make a mistake?" I asked.

The old couple turned to look at each other, then looked back at me with the same smiles.

"Santa doesn't make mistakes," said the old woman.

"Why don't you go ahead and open them?" said the old man.

I went ahead and tore open the presents and revealed what they were.

"Whoa, a clay pasta set!" I exclaimed. I could make so many delicious-looking creations with this! Spaghetti, cherry pie, omelets, and so much more! I turned to the next present.

"And this is, an exciting and exhilarating science set?" I said, confused. Huh? I don't think I could play with this. This looked a bit too hard for me to figure out. I returned to marvel at the pasta set.

"I see," said the old woman, "It looks like this house has a gluttonous and creative child, as well as an intelligent and sensitive child."

"It took us a while to notice the differences," said the old man.

Huh? Did they figure us out?

"We'll be waiting downstairs with seats for the both of you," the old lady said, as the old couple smiled and walked away.

I can't believe this; they finally accepted us! I was so happy that tears came out of my eyes. Dali and I could finally be ourselves now! We could finally live the lives we always wanted!

Or so I thought. I ran to the wardrobe and called for Dali's name as I tried opening the door, but Dali kept it shut.

Why? What was Dali thinking? Even though we’re twin brothers, I still couldn't understand what Dali was thinking. Dali usually knew what I was thinking, so why couldn't I do the same for him?

Still, I knew that Dali was suffering, just like the time when I ran away from him. Ever since we came home from the Ichijo house, he spent every day sitting under the dining table just eating the scraps I gave him. He told me he was fine with being my shadow because we would always be together, but for some reason I still felt his loneliness and sadness.

I wanted to help him, but I wasn't sure how. I just wanted Dali and me to be happy together...

That’s it!

"Dali... it seems like we're different after all. And maybe we'll only be getting even more different from now on, with what we like, what we dislike, and how we feel about things... But there will still be some things that'll never change, like my happiness being Dali's happiness, and Dali's happiness being my happiness!"

That's right. It didn't matter that we were different, and it's okay that I didn't understand everything in Dali’s mind. What mattered was that we understood each other’s hearts, and that we would always be together helping each other.

Please Dali, let my feelings get through to you…

"..."

It was silent for a little while before the wardrobe door started creaking. As the door slowly opened, Dali came out, facing down so that I couldn't see the face he was making. As soon as Dali stepped onto the floor, I ran to him and gave him a big hug.

"Dali!" I exclaimed as I embraced him tightly.

He returned my hug, and I felt that he was slightly shaking.

A few seconds later, we released each other, and Dali had his usual confident grin.

"Well then, let's get to breakfast, Migi. We don't want to keep them waiting, right?"

Tears continued to flow from my eyes as I gave him a wide smile and replied, "Yeah!"