#especially when claiming so inadvertently makes you step on other people's toes.

[cigaretteparfum]

i seem to have fallen into some kind of a rabbit hole and losing me mind at a worrying pace. people call wearing henna a cultural appropriation? when at this point it's been spread to so many different countries, all with their different takes of its usage and meaning?? why and how??? because as far as am aware the indian and arab* sailors and traders back in the day were happy to share what they got on pretty much every port they found themselves in, including henna, because ... that's kinda the point. like, yeah, am sure there are groups to whom henna holds a significant cultural and/or religious meaning, or at the very least have specific patterns that are. and there's bound to be just as many groups to whom henna is just a decorative kinda thing, to be worn for festivities or for fun, for those afternoons you're kinda bored and got too much time on your hands.

at this point you can't even call wearing henna a form of CA just based off one or two regions due to their specific meanings alone; there's like, a whole continent and a half to consider, with even the latest import happening, like, during the single or at most double-digit century. that's fucking old. not as old as like, egypt or even india sure, but still old enough to have fully be ingrained in their own cultures.

*singling out indians and arabs bc they were the two actors most relevant to how my people got introduced to henna in the first place. idk about others, lol.

[peachyteabuck]

ceo chronicles. pt iii ~ wanda maximoff

series summary: a set of fics based off of the main au of sugar baby/mommy or daddy dynamics and ceo aus. each fic involves a separate universe wherein each character is the ceo of a different company and you’re their sugar baby. sexy times ensue.

fic summary: something goes very, very wrong at one of wanda’s business dealings. you are left to help her pick up the pieces - no matter what that means. 

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

words: 2398

trigger warnings: possessive wanda, anger-fucking, collars, spreader bars, riding crop, ball gags

notes/other: this was done for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor ‘s “old hollywood” writing challenge, my prompt was “Must I always wear a low cut dress to be important?” - Jean Harlow and has been bolded within the fic!

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Wanda storms into the penthouse, her stiletto heels clacking against the dark, hardwood floors.

She’s angry, furious – and whether or not it’s aimed at you doesn’t matter, your heart picks up in your chest either way.

“That two-timing sun of a bitch!” she screams, throwing her purse on the ground. Her coat follows shortly.

You watch her, eyes wide in terror, as you stand in the kitchen. She bought the place for its open floor plan and, initially, you had liked it too.

Now, though, with nothing to hide behind, you regret not going with the more closed space in SoHo.

“That motherfucker undersold me,” she screams, standing in place as she yells to no one in particular. “He told me the piece was worth one point two fucking million, and it sells for less than a hundred fucking thousand!”

Oh fuck. If you weren’t scared out of your goddamn mind before you sure are now.

There are two things in this world no one should fuck with when it comes to Wanda’s possessions:

The first is you.

Once, a man accidentally brushed against you at a gallery opening and Wanda nearly bit him – throwing red wine on his white shirt and screaming at him to leave.

Once he was out of her sight, she dragged you to the nearest bathroom, leaving a deep hickey high enough on your neck that you couldn’t hide it before making you show it off to the guests for a few more hours.

The second, is her money.

It’s not that Wanda’s not charitable, far from it; she claims millions on her taxes every year.

It’s just that she’s in charge of those things. She decides who gets what and when, she controls when her Black card is used and why. When people promise to bring her a certain amount of profit, they better fucking deliver, or else…this happens.

This meaning her getting so mad she looks like she could cause wildfires. All those earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, everything – those aren’t tectonic plates, no, they’re something much more powerful.

Wanda’s anger can move mountains, make species go extinct.

And, most important by far, it can make you shake in fear.

“That fucker, I should have known when he asked that I wear some fucking,” you can hear the venom in her voice, spitting over everything as she grabs the Stoch – the nice stuff, from the lockbox deep in the cupboard. She throws the bags of junk food – the chips you like and the cookies she loves – across the kitchen before stabbing in the code with her perfectly manicured nails. She doesn’t speak until she’s had two sips straight from the container, face wincing slightly before she sets it back on the counter. “To wear some fucking slip to the meet up, as if he needed to see me in anything at all! Ugh!” she scoffs, taking another long swig. “Must I always wear a low-cut dress to be important?”

You don’t reply, staying silent and inert as what could be the scariest thing unfolds in front of you.

Out of nowhere, she stills, taking exactly three, ten-second-in and ten-second-out breaths. It’s after that that she steps over to the large navy-blue sectional, sitting on it with her feet flat on the floor.

“Get on your fucking knees,” Wanda hisses.

You drop to the floor without hesitation, petrified.

Wanda watches you intently for a moment, jaw clenching as she moves to sit on the couch, feet flat against the floor. She pats her right hand against her right knee twice, and you immediately understand what she wants.

You fall across her knees, one arm grabbing her ankle while the other folds behind your back for her to grab – each action desperate to be obedient, to try to throw a fire blanket over the ravenous, burning thing that’s overtaken her.

There’s very little warning before she’s pulled the sundress up and bunching it into your fist, giving you little warning before leaving a slap against your ass – barely covered by the flimsy cotton underwear.

She ignores you, when you cry out, ignores you when tears begin to stream from your eyes and when blood spills from your bottom lip when it gets caught between your teeth.

It isn’t until your ass feels like it’s been branded when she lets up, inadvertently giving you a moment to breathe as she clenches her fists in front of her.

“It’s not enough!” Wanda screams, pushing you onto the floor. You fall against the wood hard, making you cry out in pain as she stomps away. “It’s not enough! Why isn’t it enough!”

Through the ringing in your ears you can hear her in the bedroom, the distinct sound of a six-bolt padlock being clicked open ricocheting in your eardrums. The only thing locked with that sort of hardware is the chest Wanda keeps all your kink-related items in, separating into layers by the degree of play.

It starts light at the top; blindfolds and a few cute collars with equally cute pet names engraved onto small heart-shaped nameplates. One of them is even diamond-encrusted, PROPERTY OF WANDA spelled out in bold print across pink faux leather. You can picture them even as your brain becomes fuzzy, can see them vividly against a distinct white velvet Wanda picked out especially.

The second layer, and the third (due to the size of the collection) are dildos, vibrators, butt plugs of more sizes and varieties than you can count. You can hear her removing those two shelves hastily, tearing through the rest of the box until she gets to the last level, the one you fear the most:

They’re rarely used, only barely broken in. A spreader bar Natasha got Wanda as a gag gift about a year ago. A riding crop Wanda bought at a kink convention awhile ago on an intoxicated whim. A thick collar meant for posture made of pure, soft leather and a solid gold latch. And, lastly, a fine leather ball gag, deep and black and beautifully handmade.

All four of them stiff and mean, just like Wanda in times like these.

She calls you into the bedroom with a shout, smiling when she hears you rushing from your felled position in the living room.

You can see the last fleeting moment of it when you cross the threshold, see that her anger has an end and this is not some permanent fixture in your still-budding relationship.

“Down,” she says simply, and you drop, sitting back on your heels.

Your hands remain palms-down on your thighs with your spine straight as one of those expensive paintings that decorate so many of the walls in the place you and her call home.

It stays that way – your spine parallel to the walls – as the collar is dangled in front of your eyes before being secured around your neck.

“Too tight?” Wanda asks, emotionless.

You shake your head as she sticks two fingers, the pads pressed into the soft skin of your neck. “Good.”

The ritual is repeated for the ball gag, the toy wrapped around your head and subsequently checked for fit.

She then instructs you to get on the bed, perpendicular to her as you lay on your back. You can’t see it – but the rustling and distinct clacking sound of metal pieces moving together can tell you she’s grabbing the very toys you’re terrified of the most.

The plain white ceiling gives you something to stare at, to fixate on as you feel the soft leather cuffs tightening before being checked. It’s almost sweet – the little ritual – if it didn’t immediately lead to your imminent torture.

You can feel her stepping back, heated eyes raking up your body slowly, surely. She watches carefully as your cunt pulses under her heated gaze, watches each muscle twitch as you anxiously await her next move.

Wanda looks at you the same way you think starving lionesses look at zebras separated from the safety of their heard. Her eyes zero in on her pulsing cunt, watching for the perfect moment to-

SMACK!

The riding crop comes down quick against your center, a sharp pain causing a fiery heat to spread up your ribs and down to your toes.

“Does that hurt, baby?” Wanda coos, twirling the end of the crop between the fingers of her nondominant hand.

You nod, trying desperately to gasp for air as drool spills out of the sides of your mouth. “Mmm,” is all you can get from behind the plastic. “Hngf.”

Wanda just laughs down at you, smacking the end light enough not to hurt but hard enough to tease you.

“Aw, my pretty little thing,” a faux pout paints itself across her face. “Such a sensitive baby.”

You whine, overwhelmed and desperate and oh so desperate to press your thighs together for any kind of pressure where you need it most. But no, of course not. Wanda wants to see you struggle, looks down at you with a smirk playing across her lips as you twist and beg, hoping she’ll find it in herself to give you mercy.

Given how the hours previous had gone, though, you doubt she’ll give you any.

“I’m going to give you one of these,” Wanda snaps the crop against your left inner thigh and smirks when you yelp. “For each hundred thousand I lost today.”

You do the mental math – whole body tensing. Nineteen. You’re about to get whipped nineteen times with a toy you haven’t broken in…

Shivers run up your spine and each muscle in your body tenses – whether in fear or anticipation, you don’t know and don’t really care to find out.

The first one comes down against the same inner thigh as before, sure to leave angry hot welts that will need constant care in the next few days. The second goes against the opposite side – skin previously untouched now screaming.

The third and forth are against your hips, fifth and sixth hitting just above your knees.

You lose count after that, mind numb as your wetness pools onto the freshly cleaned comforter. Between your racing heartbeats and the blood in your ears you assumed Wanda had finished with you, but coming to for a breath of fresh air only makes to bring the final blow – this time against your cunt.

With the gag the only sounds that reverberate off the walls come from deep in your chest, screams remnant of a horror experienced from another room. Wanda smiles as she watches you squirm as sparks of pain jump across your center and thighs.

There a few moments of silence as your panting curbs to low breaths, giving you a moment for recovery as your vision clears and the ringing in your ears stops.

It’s only then that Wanda gets up, trailing her fingertips across your sweaty skin as she walks past you.

“C’mon kitten,” she murmurs, stepping out of sight and back towards the chest of toys. “Let me make you feel good…”

Your brow furrows in confusion, pulling weakly at the restraints until you hear a plug being insert into an outlet, and the distinct sound of a long, long cord being unraveled.

The sound of the vibrator makes you groan in anticipation – ecstatic and terrified of how Wanda will use it on you. If she thinks you’ve been good, maybe she’ll be nice – get you off with it pressed against your clit with three of her fingers buried deep inside of you.

Or, if she remains unsatisfied with your performance, she could keep you just on the edge or pushing you over it until your begging meets expectations or she gets bored enough to stop.

As the head is pressed to your clit you nearly scream with relief – the soft vibrations and even softer words hitting you like droplets during the first rainstorm after dry season. It washes over you, coating your skin in delicious relief as your buck your hips and cry out.

Each word, each scream, remains muffled by the sphere in your mouth, but Wanda coos down at you nonetheless.  

“Such a pretty little girl you are,” she says, watching you with the same hawkish gaze as before. It feels more reserved, though, as if she was watching over you rather than attempting to pin you down. “Such a pretty little girl for me.”

She climbs over you, then, never letting the toy leave your body as she pulls your head into her lap. Wanda looks down at you as you fall apart, watches you with eagle eyes as you cum.

As the initial waves of pleasure subside, you sigh in relief.

That is, until the head of the toy is pressed to your center once more. The next orgasm, and the one after that, and the one after that and-

They’re nearly painful as they hit you like a spray of bullet, like you’re being tased. You’re crying and doing your best to wail as you writhe around, Wanda cradling your face the entire time.

Your brain is numb when Wanda decides you had enough, whole body limb in her arms when she switches the soaked toy off.

She unties you with quick fingers, allowing you to slump against her as she takes off the rest of the restraints that litter your body.

“Rest up,” she tells you plainly as you nuzzle into her side. “I’m still pissed.”

You smile into the bare skin of her ribs, leaving a small kiss on the warm skin. Despite her tone, you can tell there’s not much behind it – fury that had settled just beneath her skin long dissipated into something she can save for the next time that man dares show his face in her presence.

There’s a pause once you stop adjusting, a heavy beat of silence that neither of you feels a need to fill. It’s a long while before either of you says anything, and even then the words are quite soft-spoken despite the two of you being the only ones in the large house.

“I love you, you know that, right?” Wanda whispers into your hair.

You give a small nod, unable to move because of the soreness attacking each of your muscles. “Yeah,” you mumble, voice equally low. “Yeah. I love you, too. Do you know that?”

Wanda smiles. “Yeah, yeah. I do.”

[hollyhomburg]

Butterfly (Part 3)(BTS x Reader)

Summary: You’d always imagined that your relationship would be over if your seven boyfriends found out you self-harmed. But after a slip up involving Namjoon, everyone finds out about your bad habit. To your surprise, they make it clear that they’re not going anywhere.  

Warnings: Panic attacks, Graphic depictions of self-harm, , suicide attempt, hospitals, panic attacks, breakdowns, horror, blood

W/c: 13.6k

Song rec: Make it right ~ BTS

A/N: I know it's been a long time but I hope people enjoy this installment of Butterfly! warning- it’s pretty heavy, but it ends well. As I've stated before, it’s not my intent to romanticize mental illness, prompt someone into a negative headspace, or make light of any mental health issues. This work has been cathartic and sometimes difficult to write. 

Please, if you feel like you are not in a good place, reach out to someone, I promise you people care more than you think they do- Even if it doesn't feel that way. 

National Suicide Prevention hotline: 1-800-273-8255

*** This chapter contains graphic content of a that may trigger some readers, Please take note of the warnings and Read at your own discretion ***

The day is soft and leisurely- almost euphoric, people running around the Han river and the sun shining somehow brighter. Of course, the humidity outside is an oppressive weight that stops everything from being completely enjoyable and keeps clothes sticky. But it fails to put a damper on the overall incandescent mood that all of the boys feel. 

As Practice finishes earlier than expected, a rarity in itself; the boys feel the giddiness of summer making any exhaustion dissipate. What is rarer is that they have no plans for the next day or the day after that- a rare stretch of free time a respite from their constantly full schedules, and they don’t want to waste a moment of it

The ac unit is pumping freely into the air as they step into their apartment, the same place where all farce falls away. Suddenly hands get heavy and tender and Shoulders lean into arms that will gladly support them. Kisses pressed to hot sun warmed lips that linger in the safety of things known and mutually cherished. Hoseok trips over Jungkook’s shoes but only laughs instead of scolds Hoseok gives him a playful nibbling kiss in retaliation. Everything is good- nothing stressful. Idyllic.

Jungkook claims the largest shower to a chorus of groans from the others who are also sticky with sweat from the dance practice.  The 3 other bathrooms are  steadily claimed, eyebrows raised and questions asked with raised eyebrows, “want to join?” 

Jungkook takes off his clothes and puts them right into the washing machine. He grins when Yoongi tells him that he shouldn’t be a tease. And licks his lips in answer to the wandering hungry eyes, Tae already has Jimin pressed up against the counter in the kitchen, neither of them caring much that they’re both sweaty. But they won’t waste the day doing this here, there will be time for that later. 

Jungkook giggles and walks in the direction of the largest bathroom. The one just off of Namjoon’s room. The blinds drawn against the sun is the first indication that something might be wrong- that and, your clothes are folded there, neatly, on the bed, your wallet on top. 

You must have left it. He doesn’t remember you leaving in their clothes this morning, but maybe they’re clean and Namjoon just folded them for you. You do that sometimes, leave wearing their clothes claiming that theirs are so much more comfortable, only to forget half your wardrobe here. 

Jungkook smiles, thinking of how forgetful you can be, the countless times that you've gotten somewhere looked up and said “oh I forgot my phone!” and Namjoon would look over his shoulder and shake his head sometimes saying, “We spend too much time together you’re starting to act like me.” Hoseok slinging his arms around your shoulders from behind, frog walking with you for a few feet until it gets too inconvenient, making noises in time with your steps. Hoseok can’t see it but you're smiling but the rest of them can.  

“She’s just distracted by our handsomeness~” he sings, the same moment you join in. And Jungkook finds himself impossibly endeared, tipping his head into Hoseok's shoulder and grabbing your shoulders at the same time.

“Help- she’s been consumed by a junghope sandwich, someone get me a plate” Seokjin deadpans, making everyone erupt into laughter.

The memory is sweet and fond on jungkook's tongue. He misses you, he want you here right now to enjoy this day with them. He feels your absence as keenly as he would with any of the others. The clothes are a reminder that there is 1/8th of them missing. Though you were there that morning when they woke up (You’d slept between Jimin and Taehyung last night). You’ve probably gone back to your own apartment to get some work done. Sometimes Jungkook wonders why you even still live apart from them at all. 

“Hey has someone called Y/n? She should come over today!” his request is answered by a few muted agreements. Words swallowed by the largeness of the house.

Things have been so much better between you and Jungkook recently. Not quite the best, but he’s coming around and you’re letting him in again. Namjoon had given Jungkook a mountain of articles to read about helping people with your type of problems, and it’s safe to say he’s dedicated himself fully to the mantle of being an understanding boyfriend. understanding and not helpful- because it was irrational to think that they could fix your mental health (Namjoon’s words not his- Jungkook swears he’s an expert on this). 

The lingering awkwardness felt between you two had disappeared after he’d done the hard thing and apologized. 

The night Jungkook finally man’s up, You’re in Jimin’s room. Fiddling around with something on his computer trying a find a new drama for the two of you to watch having finished the previous one the night before. Jimin’s hair is curly and floppy and bleach fried. He reclines on his bed in a baggy set of blue pajamas and prattles to you about things on twitter when Jungkook had come in, propping up his shoulder on the door frame. 

“Hey, do you mind if i um- talk to you for a minute?” Jimin looks up from his phone, sending a concerned look in your direction, almost looking like he might want to stay to mediate. The fact that Jimin thinks he might need too only makes Jungkook feels worse. But he swallows down the feelings shame, because this isn’t about him or how he feels- this is about how he’d hurt you and owning up to it.

So he can’t take it personally, Jungkook knows Jimin doesn't want to risk another incident like the one a few days ago where Jungkook yelled at you in the hallway and inadvertently made you go… hurt yourself. No mincing words. Of course, that hadn’t been his intent, but that had been the effect of his actions. 

Whatever look you give Jimin must make him decide that it’s okay to leave the two of you alone together, “I’ll go get the popcorn.” Jimin says as he gets up off his bed, brushing Jungkook’s hip affectionately with the tips of his fingers in passing as he slips by and gives you both privacy. Jungkook shifts from foot to foot. Until your eyes flicker up from the computer. 

“You can just sit Kookie.” Jungkook squishes down on the edge of Jimin’s bed, feet on the floor, elbows on his knees As you forgo the computer and turn the rolly chair in his direction. He runs his hands through his hair. 

Jungkook looks at the ground, unable to meet your eyes,  “I don’t know where to start.” You don’t respond, and when he looks up he finds you not looking at him either. Your hands clenched together in your lap, twining over each other in the way he knows you do when you get nervous.

Are you thinking about indulging in your bad habit right now? Is that why you look so distracted? Is it like a notification on your phone? Dragging your attention away from the present? How does it feel? Are you okay? Would you even tell me if you weren’t? Tell me love - tell me please- I only want to-

This isn’t about me, he reminds himself.  

“I want to apologize to you- I know that I didn’t make enough effort when you first told us about your…your self-harm” Jungkook barely manages to get the words out, but it’s a start to being more forward at least. He doesn’t want to tip-toeing around it, especially when he knows you have more open discussions about it with the others. You finally look up at him, at jungkook’s words falling uncontained and unfiltered “But I want to be someone you can rely on- like you rely on the others. Like I should have been in the beginning. God do you know I would get jealous?” 

That prompts a little quirk of your lips. Small and barely there, and he feels the tension in his shoulder break. Jealousy is never something that any of you really get in this giant poly relationship as impossible as that sounds. There is always so much love to go around, everyone spoils each other so that it’s easier to ask for more space than for less. There is very little room for jealousy and even less time for it. “I can’t imagine why.” 

“When I would see you with Yoongi or Namjoon, and you guys would go all quiet when I walked into the room because I knew you were talking about mental health stuff- Jesus, I just wanted to be a part of it- but I let my stupid preconceived notions get in the way of that.” Jungkook swallows. “But what I’m trying to say is that- I’m sorry for treating you so terribly, and I’m going to change so that You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me anymore- and I know you can’t forgive me but-“ 

Jungkook is knocked out of his reverie by your hands, soft and delicate, cup his cheeks, and he realizes he was looking at his feet again. Thumbs come up to brush across his cheeks affectionately. “Jungkook it’s okay- I know it’s not easy,” your lips quirk down at the side, eyes getting a little shadowed, a little distracted by whatever internal monologue it is that makes you sad, the opposite of what he wants,“I know I’m not easy-“

“No don’t-don’t excuse what I did.” Jungkook says with a shake of his head, grabbing your hands in his and holding onto them tight.  “It doesn’t have to be easy, you should never feel like you need to be perfect like you have to sacrifice yourself and your happiness to be perfect for us. If I was a good boyfriend I would have accepted you for you and not demanded you change without a reason. I want to try to be better- to understand you better- If you still want me.” 

His voice tapering off into an unsure hush. In the weeks since everything blew up in between you two, it’s been a little off-kilter. It’s not like you and Jungkook had broken up and he and the other boys were still affectionate. But you could both admit that it had sort of feeling like you’d broken up. And you realize as you look down at him, his eyes wide, the chiseled jaw that you love so much and the kind man in your arms that you know never meant to hurt you, you don’t want to stay in limbo. 

You slot yourself more fully between his legs, standing and tilting his head up to look at you his hands clenched on either of your thighs, Your nose traces his as you whisper, “bunny” chiding and delicate, Jungkook hates the nickname from anyone but you. Your breath a warm soothing wave over his skin. “I’ll always want you.” you kiss him, soft and sweet, and before Jungkook realizes it he’s crying a little breaking the kiss and burying his face again in your stomach. 

“I’m sorry,” he huffs through the tears, holding onto you tightly like you're going to leave, but you aren’t going anywhere. 

you run your fingers through his long hair, curling the ends around your fingers. “I forgive you Jungkook.”

Jimin and Taehyung watch through the crack in the door, munching on the popcorn as Seokjin walks by with his sugar glider on his shoulder. “What are you two meddlers up too.” He whispers if he listens closely he can hear you and…is that Jungkook? Talking softly. His hand hovers on Tae’s hip. 

“Just listening to the show hyung,” Taehyung says through a mouthful of popcorn. Grin boxy and happy. 

Inside you and Jungkook are too. His hand running up and down your back, face buried in your stomach, as he promises you that he will never dismiss you so terribly again, that he’ll treat you better, that he’ll treasure you every day. 

He wanted to fix it.  

Fix it so badly. 

When Jungkook opens up the door to the bathroom, on that hot day in June, he realizes that he might not get the chance.

Is this another bad dream? An intrusive thought, Jungkook stands there frozen. 

How many times had he had nightmares about this happening, how many times had he dreamt of finding you like this? how many times had the others had the same fear?

This has to be another bad dream. A piercing scream, half shout of anguish, Jungkook’s disconnected from the sound even though he knows it comes from his own mouth. 

But the image of you, lying eyes closed and prone in the bathtub, lips blue and skin ashen, the cold water blood red, your hand dangling over the side and a puddle on the tile, won’t go away no matter how many times he blinks. 

A still life. A painting, 

His knees hit the floor with a crack but he pulls himself over to you, lifting himself up on the edge of the bathtub, his breathing ragged and tearing through him, “please please don’t- be- don’t” he chants as he presses his fingers to your throat, and nearly sags to the floor when he finds a heartbeat there, beating unevenly but strong, still there, and still alive.

“Fuck Y/n!” he sobs, hauling your body up and out of the water, not caring about the blood that splatters against his bare chest or soaks into his grey track pants. “Someone! Please! Someone Call-“ but his choking sobs cut him off. He screams for his hyung’s, voice shrill, breaking. He shouts again and again and again for Namjoon, for Seokjin or anyone of his hyungs, for his loves, the people that have always helped him and loved him.  

Jungkook shakes and sobs as he pulls you up against his chest. Small and limp and unmoving. And someone must here him because all of a sudden Jungkook hears a voice on the phone with police and paramedics rattling off their address. Seokjin’s shaking hands on his cellphone, choking back something in his throat as he looks into the bathroom and can’t- can’t handle it, turns away to steady himself and talk to the operator.  

And someone is telling Jungkook to let you go- “Let go jungkook please”, Namjoon climbing over Jungkook to push him back- what’s going on- Namjoon why are you- what could they even- his back hits the wall after Namjoons shove. He looks up, Namjoon lying you out flat so that he can put his full weight on your wrists which are still gushing blood a little bit- but they seem to mostly have stopped with the added pressure.

Someone’s sobbing in the other room. Jungkook has your head in his lap tears drip onto your chest as he grits his teeth, and all Jungkook can say is your name, like a record that’s stuck on a loop. Namjoon holds your wrists down and keeps you from bleeding out- if you haven’t already. 

A few Minutes drip by, like the leaky faucet in the tub, like the blood on the bathroom floor soaking into the grout of the tile. 

The apartment is a flush with activity and everything hazy through panic, the idyllic world disturbed by all this red, and you and your limp body. The pill bottle clatters as Namjoon accidentally knocks it off of the side of the tub, though now it’s empty- Hoseok’s sleeping pills? didn’t he just fill his prescription last week? Why is the bottle empty?

Namjoon and Yoongi talk to the paramedics because Jungkook can’t, can’t see anything other than your face, your lips turned blue, the same ones he kisses whenever he gets the chance. The ones he could never kiss enough- maybe would never kiss again. The paramedics drag him back, get him out of the bathroom as they rush because there simply isn’t room. 

Namjoon and Jungkook are the ones who get to pile into the ambulance with you. Though they’re originally only going to let Namjoon in, Jungkook won't leave your side, won't have anything come through the haze- not the words of the paramedic telling him to get out before they clothes the doors- not Namjoon who insists he comes. Both of them pile into the spot in the ambulance that’s meant for one person and not two above average size young men. 

The others will follow a short time later. The ambulance door closes against Jimin’s nearly shrieking sobs as Taehyung tries to hold him up, almost unable to under the weight of all this panic- just as week with fear his teeth gritted. 

You have to be alright- have to- they can’t lose you, not like this. Not when they should just be starting building a future with you. Yoongi drives everyone to the hospital and he does not speed and risk crashing. Though he does have to wipe away his tears whenever they have a stop light. And his whole body shaking too much to hold onto the steering wheel as well as he normally would- should- if he wants to make sure his family gets to the hospital unscathed. 

Jungkook and Namjoon arrive at the hospital and watch as you are loaded into the gurney, doctors in blue-green scrubs shout statistics and numbers like a separate language that makes little sense to either Namjoon or Jungkook. A nurse tugs Namjoon along asking about your allergies and getting a clearer story of what happened. 

Hoseok’s empty pill bottle is handed over as they push your hospital bed at a breakneck pace, disappearing behind doors that clearly state “operation gallery: doctors only” in red lettering. An orderly is pulling Jungkook back behind that line. But Jungkook can’t hear him, can’t hear anything beyond the ringing in his ears. 

Eventually, he gives up and leaves Jungkook watching those doors, waiting for you to come through it, someone put a sweatshirt on him at some point and it’s half zipped over his bare chest. Jungkook looks at his bloodstained hands for a second before his eyes go back to the doors, waiting for you to hop out and say “sorry just a bad prank!” but it doesn’t come, it doesn’t happen. 

He’s dimly aware of Namjoon talking a few feet away arguing with the nurse at the front desk. His low and panicked words, his begging “please- please is there anything you can tell us- how she’s doing- anything-“

The first flash of a camera startles Jungkook. 

He turns, someone in a facemask a cell phone out, another flash as his face. And then someone else, with another more professional camera who came from who knows where takes a photo of Jungkook. They must have been waiting outside of their apartment and followed them. 

After all, they do live in a complex known for their celebrity clientele. It’s a good bet that they didn’t even know who was in the ambulance and only hoped it was someone famous. And then Namjoon is there tugging Jungkook’s hood up and over his face with shaking hands as well as his own. He turns to the nurse asking for a private room to wait in. 

The hospital is already scrambling with activity by the time the others pull up. All in varying states of distress. The sun just barely setting. Seokjin supporting Jimin while Yoongi rushes through the paparazzi trying to remain stoic but unable to conceal his puffy eyes from them without a face mask. 

By the turn of the hour the internet and the news are roiling with questions. What was Bangtan doing at a hospital? Was one of their family members hurt? Was one of them hurt, why was the youngest covered with blood? Who was the young woman who came in just before them? The internet was abuzz with activity while the others filed in, intercepted by Namjoon, the only one who's somewhat steady because he has to be right now. 

Jungkook is still standing by the door, still watching it and waiting for you to reappear. The cameras flash regardless. By the end of the night, there will be enough photos that no one will be able to deny that yes it was him and the rest of Bts there. Was the youngest hurt? Why wasn’t anyone seeing to him?  

“Jungkook come on-“ Seokjin tries to grab his arm but Jungkook flings it off of them.

“No! She has to be okay hyung, she has too-“ he breaks off, a sob silencing him. The adrenaline is fading- His chest is breaking open like a cracked egg without anything to hold it in place. legs shaking and nearly giving out. 

“Jungkook- please” 

“No I’m not leaving-“ he gets out through gritted teeth. 

“There’s nothing more we can do Jungkook, we just have to wait,” Yoongi says, voice low, blinking away tears his shoulders shaking, hands fisted in the arms of Jungkook's sweatshirt. Through the glass, the cacophony of reporters is flashing, photographing their every movement. 

Though the hospital staff has quickly moved not to let people in. and keep a barricade at the door. They can still capture the way Yoongi’s fist is clenched around the bloody sleeve of Jungkook’s sweatshirt.

Yoongi puts himself in front of Jungkook, blocking his view of the door. 

“Jungkook,” Yoongi begs, just his name, and Jungkook takes it as some sort of permission to break. His hyungs are here together, they’ll keep him afloat under the tidal wave of all of this. Sobs tumble uncontained from the cavern that is his chest, the kind of sobbing that comes from fear and desperation. His face buried in Yoongi’s shoulder, hands coming up to cover his face, to feel the shuddering breaths that manage to escape from his lungs even though Jungkook feels like he can’t breathe. 

Together Seokjin and Yoongi lead Jungkook towards the private room guiding him away from prying eyes to hide his breakdown. One of the nurses watches them with something that looks like pain- like she knows something about grief like this because she sees it every day. Yoongi feels anger flare in his chest at the look- though it’s extinguished almost instantly by the maknae’s next shaky sob. 

Inside the room, Jimin, finally calmed down enough to try and stop crying- tips his head back against the wall. He’s only partially successful as he’s breathing heavy enough to call it a panic attack and he’s not the only one- Hoseok is shaking that way too. Hands digging into his sides. None of them can seem to stop crying. 

The only one who doesn’t take a chair is Namjoon. He tries to but can’t, instead standing by the door, knee shaking in an anxious jerk, scanning the hallway for anyone, anything that might help. 

His phone in his pocket rings and the others watch as he lets it. Taehyung looking up from where he’d pressed his face into Yoongi’s shoulder. But only after the third call does he answer. “yeah uhm- Mr. Bang, it’s Y/n- she’s- she“ 

And he breaks off, covering his mouth with his hand to try to keep his sobs contained, tears finally consuming him when he has to explain what he just saw- what he just witnessed- The trauma finally hitting him.

Jimin’s breath stops coming in gasps the second Namjoon needs him, standing just in time to grab under his arms as Namjoon’s knees give out and steer him into the chair he just vacated. taking in a deep breath as namjoon shatter, half in-between his legs and half still holding him, picking the phone from namjoons hands. 

“I’m sorry.” Jimin starts, and then it's hard for him to stop talking. His voice the only one in the room, as he spills the contents to their boss- why, the how- everything. 

“I don’t understand. I don’t fucking understand this.” Hoseok sobs, pulling at his freshly dyed hair, as he makes these offal-wrenching gasps. The way that Hoseok cries- almost tearless, that makes it sound like his lungs are rattling around his rib cage. 

No one has an answer for him. Seokjin’s shaking hands fist in his pant leg next to him.  The others silently watch the door, straightening up every time a nurse or doctor passes it. 

Around the end of the first hour, The PR team starts doing real damage control. More protection is set up in the hospital, noticed by them only because of the two guards that come to stand outside their door. though their faces are recognizable only vaguely (there have been so many new guards recently).

Mr. Bang is there too. Talks to Jimin and Seokjin and manages to get a word through to Taehyung, who only answers with a shake of his head when he’s asked if he wants food. If there’s anything he can do. While the others just sob or stare blankly after he clarifies that there is no news about your condition yet. No one asks about what’s online. No one checks their phones to see the photos or the theories; half of them don’t even have their cellphones or left them in the car. 

Mr. Bang and another manager leaves to get them food, which no one touches. Jungkook stares down at his hands. Stained with your blood but drying- flaking off onto the floor. 

Seokjin kneels down in front of him, a wet wipe in his hands, stretching out carefully to clean them off, finger by finger, slowly and gently. Taking care of Jungkook like he has since he was fifteen.

Jungkook doesn’t mention the fact that Seokjin is sobbing himself. But when the elder finishes, Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to pull him close. Needing something to hold onto, and it’s the saddest Seokjin has ever felt with someone’s arms around him. 

It’s almost midnight by the time someone comes by to tell them anything at all. the doctor is still wearing her scrubs, the sleeve of her shirt blotted with blood. The boys, still life at one moment and then a flurry with movement when she appears at the door- asking about you, swarming her, asking If you were okay, how you were doing. If there was anything they could do. 

taehyung stays in the back, breath held, as he waits for the words he dreads. Doesn’t let himself feel anything until he knows. Knows for sure. He waits to hear the words come from the female surgeon's mouth. I’m sorry, but there wasn’t anything we could do she was too far gone.

The doctor inhales. 

“We managed to seal the lacerations on her arms after a few hours of surgery, she had to get her stomach pumped due to the medication she took. She’s very lucky that you found her when you did, she would have overdosed and gone into multiple organ failure if she had gotten here 5 minutes later-” They fall silent, waiting for the shoe to drop. And then in the back again, Taehyung letting out a jagged sob in relife, holding onto the windowsill for support. 

“-We need to monitor her overnight to make sure there isn’t any damage to her organs and probably for the next few days, she might not wake up right away either.” 

“So she’s- she’s okay? She’s not going to die.” Taehyung almost doesn’t want to know the answer. 

“For now yes, the chances are slim.” The nurse purses her lips, almost about to ask another question. Before Hoseok pipes up, voice raspy and quiet. 

“Can we see her?”  

Namjoon didn’t know what the hardest part was going to be, he’d thought the hardest part was going to be when he’d held your wrists in the bathroom to stop you from bleeding out, but this- somehow this was worse. 

Your body underneath the sterile white blanket, your hair tangled in places, your purple lips, tube going into your nose, your hands above the blanket, everything from your hands to your elbows wrapped in thick white gauze, the heart monitor beeping steadily but slowly. Calmly even. 

The nurses realized quickly that none of them were going to obey the “only 3 people at a time” rule. The manager talked to the head orderly and gave them special privileges, these continued when visiting hours ended. They knew it might be a little while before you woke up after anesthesia. The doctor had come by to talk again, about how personal drive had a lot to do with it. 

Namjoon knew what they meant- they meant that if you didn’t want to wake up you might not, but didn’t say it outloud for fear of what it would do to the others. A look in Yoongi and Seokjin direction lets him know that he’s not the only one who understands what this might mean. But the maknae’s are still so hopeful. Looking at you like they haven’t given up yet. 

Hoseok is still- still half not there. He moved from the waiting room to your room like a ghost, where he chooses a chair and just stares into empty space. The rasping sobs have subsided and now-now he just sits and watches. Shrugging off any hand that might touch him with the intent of wanting comfort or giving it. 

Hoseok grits his teeth in anguish, able to keep the sobs in his throat, his eyebrows knit together as he tries to keep himself from breaking down.  his breaths coming out short and labored. as he locks the part of himself away that’s panicking. His eyes sting, and he knows his face is looking pinched and severe. “you always look so angry when you cry.” You’d teased him before, after their last award show when they’d come home and Hoseok and Taehyung had been admittedly a wreck. 

Hoseok can’t forget the conversation he had with you almost a month ago. He should have asked again- he should have told someone. Blame sits on his shoulders, heavy. 

The night had started with a win from an award show, and ended with Hoseok falling giggly into bed next to you. He doesn’t often reach the right amount of drunk vs sleepy, but tonight- everyone had let loose more than usual, high off the win and rush of getting an award and beating another record. Even though he usually doesn’t like alcohol, it sings like a special kind of caffeine in his veins tonight and he almost dosent want it to end. 

You are equally as trashed, and equally as soft looking in his bed. You’d been waiting at home after the award show. Food and glasses of champagne ready and waiting for them. Ready to celebrate and dance around your living room. 

Hoseok doesn’t know how he got so lucky in his life, the liquid gold threading it’s way through his heart like some kind of magic, he smiles at you and leans over to press his lips to yours. You can taste the happiness in it and the delightful cinnamon and spice taste that is Hoseok. 

“Hey,” he whispers, trying to be serious for about a quarter of a second before he fails, falling into giggles again, hiding his face in your shoulder hand fisted in the sleeve of your shirt. Suddenly dizzy with all the excitement. He keeps his tone joking “Want to have angsty conversations until two in the morning and drink wine?”

“That’s what me and Yoongi do!” you cry, for some reason indignant, kicking your socks off. 

“Yeah but I can be that way too! We could even, like- invite him!”  

You snort “like he’d ever get out from under Namjoon right now- not even for all the wine in the world” as if on queue, a high-pitched breathy moan and a muted ‘yes Joon right there’ is heard echoing from across the hall. Someone- jin from the sound of it- bangs on a wall crying something like “stop being nasty!” 

“A min Yoongi venting sesh without min Yoongi” both of you giggle at the thought. unlike other nights, when you might be interested in more of a supine eventing, tonight you just strip off your clothes to the barest forms without being truly naked, falling asleep in Hoseok's favorite way, your skin pressed against his. 

He’s drunk enough that he doesn't stop to wonder about what tracery the darkness hides on your skin instead settling into your arms like a ship would at port. Your hand running up and over his lithe shoulders tempting groans of pleasure from his throat. Hoseok has always always loved being touched, and being touched by you makes him feel like his very soul is shivering. Falling easily asleep in each others arms, the alcohol sending you into a spiral towards sleep.  

When you wake up, your head is pounding, and Hoseok is warm next to you, his fingers stroking through your hair, a look at him confirms that he’s awake and watching you. You know the wetness in his eyes as he looks down at you. You wonder if his head feels as bad as yours. 

“What’s wrong baby,” you say, reaching up to wipe the tears off his cheeks. 

“Bad dream,” he says. His eyes searching your body, his hands holding on a little too tightly. Hoseok doesn’t dream often, but whatever he must have dreamed about is clearly weighing on him. 

“Want to have that venting sesh now?” you pry gently, pulling yourself up so that you’re at his level and not snuggled in near his chest. His breath brushed over your cheeks when he breathes out. And in this lighting of very early morning, all of the red is diluted in Hoseok’s hair, making it look almost grey. 

You wonder what he’ll look like when it turns grey with age, you wonder even more if you’ll get to see it. In the dark, Hoseok looks like he’s wondering the same thing. He shakes his head, and your hands tighten on the back of his neck. “I don’t know if you want me to Y/n.” 

You stuck in a bated breath “what did you dream about Hobi?” 

He didn’t want to ask, maybe he didn’t want to know. All of the last weeks have been burning that question through him and he knows- all of them know what you said to Yoongi in the bathroom a few weeks ago when he caught you. Hoseok hears the words as good as if he was there himself - ‘I’m not going to kill myself’- But Yoongi- Yoongi wasn’t asking the right questions. “it’s just-“ he breaks off, swallowing a thick breath. “Do you ever think about dying? Do you want to die?”

You smile at him- or try too at least, the answer you give him isn’t what he wants not by a long shot. “I don’t want to make you sad Hobi,” your smile, your smile isn’t sad, regardless of what your words hint at, or the horror that wells up in Hoseok’s throat at how hopeless you look. 

Hoseok doesn’t want that.  You shouldn’t be resigned to this, this sadness that’s consuming you. You should be trying to fight at it. You try to give him a tired smile, a little stronger than before. Tugging him to turn onto his side so that you can put your arms around him. Hoseok doesn’t know what to say, what to do for that matter, his head pounds with the after-effects of the alcohol. “Let's just go back to bed okay?” 

Hoseok curls up against your throat and listens, hearing your heartbeat, and is lulled into a thankfully dreamless sleep, not realizing that later- he would wish he wouldn’t have, he would wish he had stayed up and asked you what you meant by that. If you really wanted to.  

“Do I ever make it better? Do any of us?” he murmurs, nearly asleep.

“Of course you do.”

If they had thought finding you in that bathroom was bad- it was nothing to compare to the pain of you waking up. 

Sometime in the early morning, muted grey yellow light filtering through the cracks in the blinds, some of the boys had collapsed into the so-called “parent cots” that the hospital staff had been nice enough to bring around.

The two smallest curl up swathed in Seokjin’s arms, with Jungkook and Namjoon in the other cot. Jungkook shaking through a nightmare in Namjoon’s arms at one point in the night, though by that time everyone is losing track of time. 

While every beat of the heart monitor had everyone feels a little better- because At least you were alive. 

Taehyung is propped up against the wall, coming to sit by you when he gives up on sleeping. After the first few hours of emotionally exhausted listlessness, Jimin couldn’t sleep either. Shifting out of Seokjin’s arms going to join Taehyung in the slightly larger seat probably not meant for two people. Hoseok is in a haze, half asleep and half awake, and never totally present.

From their side of your bed, Taehyung and Jimin watch and wait for him to fall apart. 

Hoseok has been awake the whole night, the only one who at one point hadn’t fallen asleep or at least tried. Hoseok looks like he might fall over, the bags under his eyes and the coldness in the room making his shoulders shiver uncomfortably, he watches you and he waits.

At one point in the night, Taehyung leans forward, taking his hand in yours, your hands are cold, but maybe a tiny bit warm on the palm, Taehyung warms it with both of his, careful not to jostle your bandages as he kisses your fingers. If he had any more tears left he would cry. 

“I promise, one day- we’re going to take a trip together, leave this whole city and everything that bothers you behind, and it will be just the 8 of us, maybe you and I could take day trips on our own, and I’ll make your life so happy and full that you’ll forget this ever happened, that you’ll forget you ever where sad.” Taehyung looks up when he senses Hoseok’s heavy eyes on him, his lower lip shaking. But he says nothing.  

Hoseok does reach forward and take your other hand in his. Thumb rubbing along the back of your hand slowly and gently. Eventually, Tae pulls back, leaning into Jimin’s shoulder, and drifts a little, not truly asleep and not truly awake. leaving Hoseok and Jimin to stand vigil. 

Jimin watches Hoseok almost as much as he watches you, he watches so hard he almost doesn’t realize when your eyes are fluttering open, he’s imagined it so many times over the last few hours he’s half-convinced it's not real. There is stillness for half a moment. The heartbeat monitor beeping unconvincingly in the corner.  

Your eyes are hazy and unfocused; Hoseok lets out a choked noise in relief, maybe your name, hand tightening over yours. “Y/n! Thank you- oh fuck thank god, thank you for not fucking dying- holy shit-“ Hoseok sobs, holding your hand so tight as he collapses forward onto the bed, knees sliding to the floor as he breaks uncontrollably. 

You blink through the cloudiness in your eyes as those sleeping stir awake. Seokjin blinks sleepily, unintentionally shifting Yoongi in his arms. On the other side, Namjoon stirs as Jungkook bolts awake. Jimin has never moved quicker in his life moving to your bedside. Taehyung jerks awake without Jimin's shoulder to lean on almost falling out of the chair. 

Hoseok is right- thank god for waking up. A god that Jimin has never believed in but might now just for this. He wants to collapse in exhaustion as all the fear leaves him and relife takes its place, he feels like he might just with how his legs feel like jelly. 

“What,” you say, voice small and rough, but it’s the most beautiful word Yoongi has ever heard in his life, more beautiful than any melody or rhythm. Eyes darting around the room taking in them: your family sprawled out in the grey hospital room. 

The heartbeat monitor kicks up beating faster, uneven. Your breath comes out worse. Suddenly taking everything in and understanding what it means. blood rushing through your head.

fuck- fuck you didn’t- you didn’t succeed when all you wanted to was- and now- and now they’re here and you’re- The white bandages on your arms are cumbersome, don't allow your arms to bend at all when Jimin and Hoseok take your hands in theirs. 

And Jimin’s expression is absolutely painful- painfully happy. 

It doesn’t make sense, not when the blackness in your lungs is sticky and suffocating- your treacherous heart hurts in your chest pumping despite everything. The dysphoria at living feels- it feels god awful. Worse than the pain that laces up your arms like gauntlets, worse than the swirling nausea lurking in your empty stomach.

Hoseok smiles at you through happy thankful tears. Jimin too- Looks so happy that you’re alive. It doesn’t make sense at all why he would be happy- not to your brain with everything- everything harsh and biting to your very being- god your head hurts. You’re dimly aware of Namjoon letting out a half laugh half sob in relief. Jungkook standing, his long hair half ruffled, his bunny eyes wide and tear-filled, looking so stunned, a smile slowly painting his face. 

It doesn't feel real, nothing does. The only thing you’re really aware of is the thunder in your ears of your own heartbeat, you can’t take it all in fast enough, everything- nothing you see makes its way through the fog in your mind and yet you’re overwhelmed with stimulus. 

The thunder of the heart monitor, Jimin’s and Hoseok’s hands holding yours, skin on skin warm but you feel so cold. Yoongi sitting up looking sleep ruffled but his eyes screwed closed with tears, back bending with the weight of it all as he holds his head with his elbows on his knees. Namjoon smiling at you tearfully with his dimples that you love so much on display, looking thankful. The sluggish pull of painkillers in your veins makes everything startling off-kilter like a ride at an amusement park. Taehyung crumpling into Jungkook’s side, falling to pieces in his arms. It’s all so much- too much. 

You give a shaky breath, pulling your hand out of Jimin’s and Hoseok’s hands, Jimin tries to hold on- but it’s almost violent how quickly you retract your hand from his, pulling at the iv drip there too so that it dangles out of the back of your hand. Pulling both of them to your chest, placing them there like you're guarding yourself against them. The heart rate monitor kicks up to the point that a warning tone sounds. A nurse opens the door as Yoongi stands. Not sure what to say- even less sure what to do. 

“Please- please why are you- why.” 

What are you begging for, what do you need? Just tell me how to make you better love, just let me help heal you. Tell me why you did it- why did you do it- why why why. There isn’t enough air in the room for your lungs to breathe easily. you can’t handle this- all of their eyes on you. Black spots start to dance in your vision  

The nurse strong-arms her way next to you in the bed, shining a flashlight into your dilated eyes “Miss do you know where you are? Are you in any pain?” Your breath still comes too fast-to-fast. 

“Please- why- what’s going on- why am I-“ your words are strangled by your breath, the panic all-consuming. The nurse hits the blue button; Seokjin utters your name- still blinking away the sleep in his eyes. Everything harsh and slanting and doesn’t feel real. 

“Miss you need to breathe, you need to calm down, you’re in the hospital.” 

There is another nurse at the door now, their hand on Yoongi’s side. Taehyung’s and Jungkook’s too. The room is full of people at this point. “You need to give her some space.” 

“No” Tae growls out, watching as you push away an oxygen mask, panic picking up again from the way you’re pushing everything away not just them. How afraid you look of everything, especially the hands that only want to help. 

The beeping from the heart rate monitor reaching a fevers pitch. The surgeon from before shoves her way past the guard at the door. Followed by another orderly who quickly tries to lay hands on Jungkook, who throws them off. 

“Someone gets them out of here- and pump 3 cc’s of Midazolam, she will tear her stitches if she keeps moving around- someone gets these boys out of here!” 

“Fuck off we're not leaving.” Jimin spits. The surgeons head whips up to look at him, her eyes narrowing at him, and Jimin has the good sense to look absolutely terrified. They all do.

“I do not care who you boys are. if you put the health of my patient at risk more than you already have I will ban you from her room and this hospital.” You still fight against their arms, even as the nurse shoots something into your resecured iv, another nurse holding your arm down to make sure you don’t try to tear it away. 

“Let me go. Let me go- please-please” you plead; the orderlies have to grip Jungkook around the waist before the door to your room closes behind them. sealing all the panic inside. 

Hoseok runs his fingers through his hair sagging against the wall, pulling at it harshly- and doesn’t know if he wants to punch a wall or be punched himself. 

“Okay- this is- that was. This whole thing is so fucked up.” 

He’s not wrong.

Food is unanimously decided on, a separate office room that one of the nurses leads them too. Namjoon doesn’t know what kind of strings Mr. Bang must have pulled to get them special treatment, but he makes a mental note to thank his boss later. 

For once, they’re all lost for words as they eat. Though Jimin doesn’t touch the food in front of him. And for once, no one forces him. This might have to do with the fact that he’d thrown up when they’d walked into the room. Yoongi and Seokjin both only nurse a coffee not feeling up to solid food just yet.

It’s around an hour before the same surgeon finds her way back into their room. “She’s okay.” She opens with, glaring at them like a hawk, Taking in the visible sigh of relief from all of them. 

“Why was she-” Seokjin swallows against the lump in his throat, “why did she push us away? why was she so-” he breaks off. Looking up at the doctor imploringly for answers to soothe the ache in his chest. 

“She was in distress, with all the painkillers and medication lingering in her system it’s likely she didn’t even know what she was doing.” everyone in the room sags in that. The doctor crosses her arms, giving everyone a warning glare. “If you put her in distress like that again I will have you banned from this hospital until she becomes more stable,” 

For the first time, everyone pays attention to what she’s saying. “You are not to touch her wrists or her stomach. We’re running tests right now to make sure she’s not in any immediate risk for acute organ failure, we’ve given her a sedative to keep her from potentially hurting herself or panicking the way you all made her but I swear if.-” 

“Is she awake? Is she still talking? Is she-“ Namjoon starts the same moment Yoongi says “let us see her.”

The surgeon snorts, rolling her eyes at the rapper. And Yoongi finds himself wishing that he were just a little bit taller so that he could stare down at her and intimidate her the way he’s trying too. Not that it looks like it’s doing anything other than piss her off. 

It was worth a shot anyway, and next to him, Taehyung is crossing his arms, looking at her with that unsettling blank look that seems to be doing enough. “If it were up to me you all would have been thrown out already.” Her hand hovers on the door, eyes going softer after a second “But she’s been asking for you- so follow me.”

You’re sitting up in the bed when they walk in. The yellow hospital gown clings to your shoulders- far too big. Hands lying on top of the covers your arms are bound in fresh white bandages From wrist to elbow. 

Someone’s opened the blinds of the window. And the morning light spills across your face. Looking much calmer and put together than when you woke up it’s almost startling. You try to smile at them, and say a muted ‘hey guys’, but it comes out so strangled it’s almost not a word. 

The bags under your eyes are almost purple. In the hospital bed- you look worn. The very soul of you looking like someone had washed a rag too many times and still hung it out in the sun to dry, leaving it crumbling and crusty and oh so delicate. You look a little sleepy too- must be the drugs, hell Seokjin could actually go for a sedative right now too. 

One of the beds has been removed. Seokjin, Yoongi, and Jungkook sit on the other. Jimin looks so unsteady on his feet that Namjoon immediately yanks him into the chair. Hoseok takes a seat at the end of your bed. Tae stands.

“I’m-I’m so sorry guys.” You say, a little tear coming out of your eyes as Jimin thoughtlessly takes one of your hands, realizing what he’s done the second he did and how you reacted before. But thankfully You don’t pull away this time. And he sees wetness sparking in your eyes. “I didn’t mean- I never wanted you all to-“ you look from boy to boy hunting for absolution, for forgiveness for something that none of them know how to give. 

“Are you sorry you tried? Or because you didn’t succeed? or was that even your intention? did you just go too deep?” Taehyung asks, not bothering to wipe away the tears that haven’t stopped falling since he saw you sitting alive in the hospital bed, calmer than before. There is nothing accusatory in his tone, he just wants to know. 

You don’t answer. Jimin takes the silence as his own, clamping down on the nausea.  

“You know I thought there’d be a sign if you were really going to do it?” he says, and you turn from Tae to focus on Jimin. Your fingers holding onto his hand weekly. And like before, once he starts talking he just can't stop, the words tumbling from his lips like a confession. 

“I thought that maybe we’d be able to anticipate it and be enough of a support system to catch you before this point. I even- fuck- you don’t know this but I even checked your phone? Even though I knew it was a breach of privacy? I thought ‘she’s definitely the type to leave a note and she’d probably draft it before she sent it out or something’ so I’ll be able to know before she does it. I’ll be able to stop her.” 

Jimin is trying so hard not to break down, you can see it in every twitch of a muscle that he makes, every single deliberate word. His collarbones look incredibly sharp under the collar of his t-shirt. And his other hand bites into his shoulder, holding on tightly while the one in your hand grips gently. As gently as you would touch something soft and newborn. Jimin’s lips are red bitten, his eyes puffy but clear. “But you know what the last words you said to me where?” you shake your head, trying not to cry yourself. 

“You said ‘see you in a little bit’ yesterday morning before we left for practice. like it was just going to be any other day- and after we found you all I could think about what that. That I’d see you when” his voice cracks, but he presses on the ache in his lungs, needing to get the words out. “That I’d only see you when we both died, and maybe that was what you meant. Maybe I’d have to wait my whole life before I saw you again in whatever what comes next.” Jimin is sobbing now, openly, doing nothing to stop the halting trail that they carve down his cheeks. Over cheeks and over lips that you’d kissed a thousand times. 

And almost never got to kiss again.  

“But I don’t want to see you then- I want to be with you every single morning, every single time I wake up I want to see your face, from this day on until the day I die I want to be able to see you every single fucking day.”

He’s crying too hard to let the words get through towards the end. You reach up, your hand stopping when it tugs on the iv but Jimin is already falling into you taking your reaching as permission,  already burying his face in your shoulder as much as he dares, worried like that you would disappear with too much force. And you cry, the weight settling on you like blame- because you’ve hurt this man, this lover of yours who wanted nothing more than the tenderest of lives for you. 

A life that you have never wanted. And you wish you did, you wish you had. If not for anything else than to avoid this mess that you’ve made, the pain you’ve caused in the people you love so much.  

You’ve hurt him so much by tearing yourself apart that now he is falling in shambles. You wish you could move your hand to run them through his bleach fried yet greasy hair, you wish that you had any soothing words for him- but you don’t. 

You’d tried to kill yourself, nothing more than that and nothing less.

You’d tried and failed and you were still here, and now you had to deal with the consequences. Jimin won’t move, won't stop running his hands over your throat to feel the pulse there, nose pressed to your neck to hide his tears. to reassure himself that you’re alive, that he still has time with you. 

On the cot pulled next to you, Yoongi sits, his hands shaking around a coffee that he doesn’t sip it. He’s the next to speak, the next one who has enough courage, “you know what I thought when I came into the bathroom and found Namjoon and Jungkook there with you?” Yoongi’s voice shakes, his hands in fists at his sides, he looks so so small there, his teeth gritted against the emotional pain in his throat. “I thought fuck- how are they going to survive this, how are they going to put up with losing both of us.” 

Jungkook lurches to his side, “Yoongi no-“ he says, as the others look on horrified, Yoongi bites his lip and brushes the tears out of his cheeks angrily as Seokjin fists a hand in the back of his jacket. “I know I wouldn’t have done it- I know it was just a passing thought, but also- fuck, I would have been a ghost had you not come back to us- a part of me would have died if you had, and I don’t want you to think that I’m holding onto you just to hold onto myself- but fuck, fuck I need you. I need you every day. Every moment like Jimin said every day that doesn’t have all of us in it is hell for me.” 

Taehyung pipes in, teeth gritted against his tears, “I want you to be here, and I want to you want to be here- I want you to get better. I don’t know what would be good for you.” Taehyung’s lower lip trembles as he tries not to cry, in taking several shallow breaths, “we’re not enough to properly take care of, and I know that now” Taehyung sees how your crying anew and rushes over his own words. 

You don’t want to admit it- none of them do, but the fact of the situation is that no one would be here if they were enough to keep you alive. “I know, I know you try really hard, and I know that all of us do too, but-but we couldn’t stop you, we couldn’t help you in the right way, and I know you need a better safety net than us. Do you think-” 

Taehyung pauses, closing his eyes for a moment- he knows he won't be able to go back from his next words, his next suggestion, once he says them you’ll act regardless of what he wants, but it might be what you need to keep this from happening again. 

 “Do you think that it might be better if you went to a recovery center? Or a mental hospital for a little while? Just to make sure you’re okay and safe?”  Seokjin and Jimin stiffen, but no one protests, no one tells you that you shouldn’t- even if they don’t want you too, they all know it might be best if you do go. 

“I don’t know-I don’t think that i-” you shudder and shiver, eyes darting from each of them, waiting to see if any of them are going to jump up and say that they don’t want you to be admitted to a hospital. Don’t want you to go somewhere that they can’t follow. 

Seokjin grabs your hand from where he sits folded over your right side, winding his knobby hands with yours, “you don’t have to decide now” the words you’d needed to here, a tense breath released from all of them.

“You can think it over and we can try to figure something out that works.”

The next few hours are marginally less sucky. You meet with doctors, they check your stitches and run a few more tests. There is a tenser meeting with the police. But everything goes smoothly- probably because of a stack of cash slid to them by one of the managers to keep it quiet. Always focused on containing scandals. 

By the end of the day, some of the boys need to go home and at least shower and change clothes if not get some sleep. Though Jungkook straight up refuses too until Namjoon gives him a look. Yoongi and Tae go to retrieve dinner from somewhere better than the cafeteria to get food. 

The others will be back soon, Seokjin stays with you, the others promising to bring back a change of clothes- he’ll just shower in the small bathroom attached to your room. He leans up against the door, the tv droning in the corner on some drama. Watching your face silhouetted against the yellow light. indulging in the image of you for a moment. 

You’re quiet just watching the tv going in and out of sleep. They’re going to try and wean you off the painkillers in an hour or so, and the doctor had warned you to try and get some sleep while you can. After a moment, you notice Seokjin by the door, giving him a small tired smile. 

Seokjin struggles to find something to say, but doesn’t, putting his hands in his pockets. You scoot over a little, patting the bed next to you. “Want to sit and wait for food with me?” neither of you mention that you probably won't be able to eat any of it. You’re on a liquid diet until they get your second-day labs back. But one of the nurses did promise you a very tasty strawberry and watermelon shake, so there’s that to look forward too. 

Seokjin nods and carefully gets into bed next to you, on top of the covers while you’re underneath, careful to leave some distance between the two of you in case you want it. His heart fluttering when you don’t instead turning onto your side and reaching to set your arm over his chest gently. Seokjin shifts, letting you tuck your shoulder under his arm. 

The television changes to a news briefing. a car pileup, and then before Seokjin can change it, “No news yet on the most recent celebrity news. What were the members of Bangtan Sonyeodan doing at Asan Medical Center and why aren’t the police saying anything- more on what we know during our celebrity bulletin at 8.” 

“I really made a mess of things for you guys didn’t I.”

“Don’t worry about it please” Seokjin begs, running his hand down your arm and kissing the top of your head. Reaching for a moment, for the clicker to shut the television off before they play anything else. 

“But you-” 

“I’m serious Y/n” Seokjin cuts you off, looking down at you, a bone-deep exhaustion in him as he reaches a hand to brush at your cheeks, hooking a hand under your jaw to turn your face up so he can see you better. 

“The managers have dealt with it, and we’ll see if any of the doctors breach doctor-patient confidentiality- and none of us care, we’re all just relieved that you’re still alright now.” the thudding truth of that last statement makes Jin feel like he’s gonna cry again, but he doesn't want to- he’s tired of crying. 

“You should get some sleep before the others get back.” You nod, seeming to accept his words for now at least before you snuggle further into his side. you’ve lost a little bit of your ashen tint to your body, but you’re still a little bit cold, a little weak from the blood loss (though they did have to give you infusions during surgery. Seokjin rubs a hand up and down your back rapidly to warm you up. 

“Can you...” you start for a second, cutting off, looking shy. cheek against his chest. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” Seokjin asks murmuring the words into the top of your head (even if your hair is a little greasy)

“Can you sing for me?” you ask quietly. 

“Of course,” Seokjin smiles, you’ve asked him to do that before, in the kitchen in your house, before you go to sleep, you love the sound of his voice, of all of theirs really. “Any requests?” 

“Whatever makes you happiest.” Seokjin swallows, turning it over in his head for a moment before he decides on it. He starts up, the words falling from his lips the way they’ve done 1,000 times. 

“Will you stay by my side will you promise me~” he continues the rest of the verse of butterfly until he gets to the rap part. Slipping into Yoongi’s lines with a slightly more joking tone, changing the words to puns as he sees fit. “butter cake~ butter cake~”

 Even after all these years- Seokjin still can’t rap. But he does his best switching around the lyrics and making them goofier while keeping the rhyme, swaying side to side with you in his arms as much as he can in the hospital bed. The giggle you let out is soft and rippling, coming from your belly. Making the first real smile he’s had today appear on Seokjin's face, his hands holding onto you a little tighter as he breaks off “You’re going to make me lose tempo ~” he whines. 

Outside the door, Yoongi and Taehyung pause, listening to the sound of your and Seokjin's laughter. Looking at each other, the bags of food in their hands, just soaking in the sound for a second, even as it fades. You start singing too. your voice gentler and quieter, sleep-roughened, joining in with Seokjin's. 

Taehyungs hand squeezes his roughly, the younger taking in a shaky breath.  And for the first time since they got home and found you, Yoongi lets himself believe for a moment that everything is going to be okay. 

4 WEEKS LATER 

“So,” Mr. Bang says as he makes his way around the edge of the table, it’s only him, their manager Sejin, and boys in the conference room today, this decision is purely between the head of the company and them really. “We’re here to discuss which one of you should go public with Y/n as your significant other.” 

The room erupts with the conversation, Jimin and Seokjin actually sit up, everyone simultaneously volunteering themselves for the position. It wasn’t really a position, they knew that whoever went public with Y/n would undergo severe scrutiny and probably a hit to their popularity; it would incur the wrath of the fans, several trending hashtags of twitter. And make everything much more difficult for them in general. 

They didn’t care at all of course, how many times had they each wanted to take you to a party or an award show with the company’s blessing- or have you sit in on an episode of run BTS or star in a Vlive. Being your official boyfriend in the company’s eyes was just permission in general to do just that. 

The only reason why none of them were jumping out of their skin in anxiety about having you not in the room with them was that you were currently exactly 3 floors below them, in the practice room- Soobin had invited you to watch their practice for their upcoming first concert. 

None of them knew their juniors all that well yet. But they knew there would be enough staff around to keep an eye on you. No one had come out and told any of them what had happened, or even knew the nature of your relationship with the boys. But all of them knew that you were somehow special to them, though only the managers knew anything more to speculate about your relationship- Mr. Bang and Sejin where the only who knew the full story. 

You hung around so often that you knew all of the staff by name, had brought doughnuts to the break room often enough and volunteered to help many times, enough that the staff liked you. In the first week after the hospital stay, one of the makeup noonas had even asked Jimin where you where, tensely asking, “is she- still in the hospital?”

Jimin had been able to choke out “She came home last night.” while he barely managed not to burst into tears. Taehyung had stepped in, stepping in with a hand on Jimin's shoulder, and comforting words in his ear, gripping his hand hard. 

“it’s okay Jimin, she’s fine at home, Namjoon is with her now- we don’t have anything to worry about.” 

So at the moment, they had nothing to worry about. And as much as they all hated to admit it, it wasn’t because they trusted you- no- it was because The staff was under explicit instructions from Namjoon at this moment not to let you leave the company building without texting Namjoon first. 

Your hospital stay had been all over the news for weeks even if no one had ever figured out your identity. A small miracle in its self. Some talk shows were still speculating about it- and hopefully, this business with them coming out with you as their official S/o would put the matter to rest. 

You understood why it was necessary, even if it meant lying about what had really happened. Saying that you had fallen into a glass table, would be your official story, the youngest member finding you first which was why Jungkook had been so dazed, why there were more than 400 photos floating around on the internet of him half shirtless and bloody. 

An accident- even if it was anything but. 

This particular discussion had come out of a few tense weeks- following your…attempt. When the boys had decided that hiding you were doing more harm than good. They’d initially intended to draw straws for it- pure luck was the only way to do it fairly. And they’d alerted the company more as a courtesy than anything else. 

The company hadn’t like that one bit. None of the management, Accept for Mr. Bang, who had sat back on his thighs, given them a tired smile and said, “you really love to give me a headache don’t you?” 

So now they did it the company’s way, with statistical evidence to who it would affect the least, who was most likely to not cause too many waves. It was an ineffectual and unemotional approach to it, and all of them hated it. To Taehyung especially- it seemed like the statistical information in front of them discounted on fact. 

The facts being that they where all in this relationship together, every party an equal piece of the love that you shared, even if the nature of that love and the way it was felt and received was different for each member. 

Everyone needed different things and from each other- they got it. Tae needed companionship more than anything, someone to be there- but not necessarily to speak, simple enjoyment of each others company which was why sometimes he was content to sit back and let the others be loud for him. 

It was different than the way that the others showed and receive love the same way Jimin needed physical affection like it was air, and Yoongi- Yoongi only really needed it on the bad days like Tae. Whereas Namjoon- wasn’t exactly the most affectionate of the bunch but was always okay with receiving even if he wasn’t initiating it- different then the way that Seokjin sometimes needed his space and needed that to be physical- Seokjin who got just as much satisfaction from caring for others as he got from being cared for. Which was why he and Jungkook had a symbiotic relationship, Jungkook needed to feel snuggled down and smothered with love to feel secure. 

And you, the way that you needed understanding and care without enabling your worst habits. Care and gentleness without accommodation. That in itself a challenge that they were slowly conquering together, though your therapist was helping them in no small way. 

They were all a puzzle piece fitting perfectly with the ones around them. And this- this arguing and analysis of them- it felt like management was trying to shave down a piece to fit better when in reality- they already all fit perfectly together. 

So the others might shout and ask questions- but Taehyung just sat back, and waited. 

“Before you try to speak your case, you should know that both of you have been eliminated from consideration.” Yoongi has to grip Jimin’s hands to stop him from sitting up, he can feel the rage underneath the younger skin as Jimin’s whole body tightens. 

“Would you at least tell us why?” Seokjin asks scalding, never one to take the company’s wishes into account. 

“It’s simple,” Sejin says, shuffling the papers on the conference table in front of him. “You’re the most popular domestically, and Jimin is the most popular abroad by a number of twitter engagements- statistically the group would take too much of a hit if either of you was viewed negatively.” 

The members don’t comment on this, rolling their eyes if anything.  They’d long since stopped being jealous over each other being more or less popular that each other- since just after their debut. Seokjin slumps back in his chair rubbing his lower lip with his finger. And surprisingly, doesn’t protest. 

He’s thinking of all of us, Yoongi realizes with a start- his heartstrings pulling, Seokjin might have tried time and time again to piss off the company as much as possible with his hair dying, hair cutting and liberal style opinions. But this time- he’s not just accountable for himself.  

“Because of this Hoseok is also out.” 

“What the actual F-“

On the other side of the table, Seokjin forcefully pulls the redhead down. Taehyung looks like he might laugh if it wouldn’t make him sick. 

“We also believe that the fans will think it’s strange if the youngest member is in a relationship before his hyung’s” Jungkook’s jaw tightens but he waves his hands for Mr. Bang to continue. 

“Which leaves us with Namjoon, Yoongi, and Taehyung as possibilities.” The three are rim rod silent. Taehyung looks tired, blinkingly lazily, Namjoon’s tapping the table agitatedly. Mr. Bang turns to Namjoon first, leaving no room for preamble. “We’ve come to the conclusion that Namjoon would be the best pick, we believe that next to him, Y/n will leave a favorable impression. Namjoon is best equipped to deal with all of the stress as the leader.” 

“But won't this also add to this stress?” Taehyung asks, leaning forward, his eyes dart to Namjoon’s “I’m not trying to advocate for myself it’s just-“ Taehyung makes eye contact with Namjoon. “this is going to be…a lot” 

Besides Namjoon, Yoongi nods, “it is- but it’s going to be worth it.”  

“Are there any objections?” Mr. Bang asks.

Inside the practice room, you watch the members of txt perfect the ending of one of their songs- Soobin is the only one who you really have any interaction with, as he’s not that much younger than you or Jungkook. But you’re slowly starting to get to know the other members better, even if the age difference is a little more insurmountable. 

They’d offered you an in on this practice more as a courteously to their hyung’s than anything else. Here at the company- no one knew exactly how to place you. Most of them taking bets on who were you dating this week, which was a subject of constant debate at the beginning after a makeup unnie had walked in on you kissing Namjoon and Yoongi in the same week (in the same closet no less). The unnie had even tried to tell Namjoon after a little while- not that it hadn’t already made it around the rumor mill. 

“Wouldn’t it be a shame if they broke up? But she distracts all the boys when she comes around and they do have an even busier schedule coming up.” Imagine her surprise when her confession, what she had seen was greeted with an understanding laugh from Namjoon and a flushed face by Yoongi. “So that’s where you went off too when you were supposed to be working on your mixtape- you asshole! I waited for 30 minutes for you!” 

Now, most of the staff knew you by name- and knew not to ask what kind of weird relationship you had with the boys, not that they’d ever believed the truth of the matter. You were all good at hiding it and dodging any questions. But they did notice the marked shift since the hospital stay. 

Everyone could put two and two together. Especially given how the boys were with you now compared to before.

They’ve been treating you so gently the last few weeks, so tenderly, even in front of the staff. Yoongi had brushed a hand across your cheek when they left for the meeting, and Jimin hadn’t seemed to want to let go of your hand. If any of the staff was watching the 8 of you, when you’d looked up- you hadn’t noticed. The assistant that usually babysat you when you were without one of your boyfriends (not without good reason- you’d gotten lost on more than one occasion wandering around the company before) gesturing you towards the leather couch in the corner where you could sit and watch the practice without fear of disturbing them.

You have another week until you can get the stitches out of your arms but the scars will stay for a while- if not for good. Your light blue sweatshirt is tight at the wrist; there isn’t a risk of your sleeve slipping up and any of them seeing. Before the Txt members can finish their current song the door to the training room opens. And a mask-clad Jungkook pokes his head in. You shoot up and gather your stuff.

You cast a quick glance around making sure that there aren’t any cameras around to record or microphones- it’s just a general practice so you shout. “Thanks for letting me kill some time cucumber!” before you hurry out the door. 

Soobin’s reply comes with the start of “yah! Noona-“ but you don’t hear the rest of his protest at your weird nickname for him as the door closes behind you and Jungkook. 

“How was the meeting?” you ask sweetly as you follow Jungkook, and you can see his eyes crinkle and know he’s smiling at you under his mask. The tips of his fingers brush yours after you’re done hooking your mask over your face. You’ll enter the car through the underground parking garage, but it never hurts to be extra safe in the face of paparazzi. “You guys figure out which one of you is going to be my fake boyfriend yet?” 

“Yeah, there isn’t anything fake about me you brat,” Yoongi says as he exits his studio as you pass flicking you on the shoulder before running his fingertips down your arms gently, joining you and Jungkook on your way down the hall to the lounge room where the others wait. Yoongi like Jungkook only brushes fingers with yours though he does playfully tug on one of the strings of your hoodie- he’s in a good mood- but the heaviness in his eyes tells you that whomever they’ve decided for you it isn’t Jungkook or Yoongi. 

At the same moment, Jimin passes on his way out too and almost stumbles when he sees you, that same heartbreaking boyish smile that makes his eyes disappear erupting on his face when he sees you. 

Pulling you away from Yoongi and Jungkook and giving a careful glance around to make sure there aren’t any unwanted prying eyes. Pressing his lips to yours in hello when he realizes there aren’t. His plush lips sucking yours in a passionate kiss, one that seems a little resigned though. 

“So it’s not you either,” you ask when you break apart. Jimin giggles, and shakes his head. “No, but I wanted to see you before I left, just wanted to let you know that I’ll be back later,”

“What are you doing?” you ask shyly, as Jimin kisses your fingertips, his fingers lingering on your rings you have there, small and perfect, a small red stone at the center of a delicately thin band. He slides one off your ring finger and puts it on his own, though it’s a tight fit. “This is pretty- who gave it to you?”

“Namjoon” you smile, letting him take it, you and Jimin are the type of couple who share jewelry all the time. “You never answered my question” 

His answering smile is mischievous, “you’ll find out later,” he says, kisses you again quickly, letting his forehead rest against yours for a second.

“Number sweetheart?”

2 weeks earlier was when you’d devised the number system.

 “If you’re not going to go to the hospital, then I think we should set up some rules- or just some things that could help you.”  

You suck in your lower lip, hands tightening on the blanket in front of you. and Namjoon is already soothing a hand over yours. It’s a comfy night in, take out, your staple these days and everyone in pajamas. You yourself are in a cooky themed top and tata themed bottoms. All the others are piled around you likewise swathed in fluffy blankets propped up against pillows. 

Someone had the bright idea of dragging two king-sized mattresses out into the living room a few days ago and you’ve all been sleeping out here, like a massive sleepover every night. It’s more out of necessity than anything else, after the second night that you’d slept home, you’d woken up to Yoongi sleeping in Namjoon’s chair again for the third night in a row, just to keep an eye on you. and this might not have been an ideal arrangement (everyone was woken up whenever someone stirred to use the restroom) it was better than that alternative. 

You play with Seokjin's fingers in your lap, tracing along the double joints and the lines of his palms as he talks. “you promised you’d be more open with us Y/n. And you’ve tried before- you’ve tried to tell us how and I know it’s too hard for you. But maybe it will be better if we’re not all comparing notes and you give us something to jump off of.” 

“And you know I’m not sure it if-if I can give you that.” you have to be open with them, even if it’s hard but sometimes, it’s just impossible for you to be open. When you say this, some of them look tired, some of them look a little angry. But what’s best is Jungkook leaning forward to take your hand, your feet in his lap  “I understand,” he says, nodding a little, his fingers smooth over your knuckles in admonishment, His long curly hair falling in his eyes. 

it’s Taehyung who suggests it, curled on his side, head half in Namjoon’s lap. “What if we devised something easier, some way that we can check in without feeling like we’re going to make you close off, kind of like the colors system.” You nod, as do the others. You’re all familiar with the stop light system for your more intimate encounters, enough that you all understand what he’s is getting at. 

“So like- numbers you’re thinking?” Namjoon clarifies, sucking in his chin and mulling over the words in his head. his fingers absentmindedly trailing along Taehyung's jaw. below him, Tae basks in the affection, it looks like he would purr if he was a cat, but Namjoon is so thoughtful that he doesn't notice. “So like, 10 for like, needing to be checked into the hospital, and 1 for like, so happy I think everything could be okay?” he clarifies. 

“I feel like it should go the other way maybe like 10 is happy, and 1 is sad,” it seems almost too simple to use those words but the others know what you mean. Sometimes it comes down to something just that simple. 

“We should write it out,” Jimin says, standing up and almost falling over as he steps over bodies to get a nicer marker and a clean sheet of paper, switching back and forth with Namjoon, scrawling in elegant Hangul as you bounce things back and forth. Eventually coming up with this:

10- So happy that I think everything’s okay from now on. 9-  A really really good day, 8- I’m gonna be okay probably for a few days after this, Cuz I feel so nice, 7- happy, (the feeling like when you get a hug and the warmth stays for a long time) 6-  happy, might feel a little meh, but it’s nothing that’s getting in the way of everything. 5- I’m okay. 4- I’m not okay but I might be in a little bit. Be gentle with me, maybe don’t leave me alone. 3- Don’t leave me alone. Bug me to talk until I do (even if I don’t want to). 2- Don’t leave me alone, get everyone together, cancel whatever needs to be canceled. 1- Check me into the hospital.

Jimin is careful as he pens the last line. Thinking about the possibility of a one. The list gets pinned to the refrigerator, alongside a picture of the 7 of you (minus Seokjin who was behind the camera) all sprawled out and sleepy in the living room after a movie night.

It’s a few days until it’s used. But Jimin is surprised how much better it makes him feel when Taehyung asks you “number?” and you sit and think about it for a second, looking at the list on the fridge. “Probably a 4.5,” you say in a quiet voice, a little bit worried how it will be received,  But it’s honest, and that’s all you promised to be with them. You’re feeling just the slightest edge towards delicate today. 

Taehyung and Jimin spend the rest of their free time snuggling you and running their fingers through your hair until they have to go record. And throughout the evening and most of the afternoon, you sit in the corner of the recording booth watching the seven of them record a chorus until their throats hurt. Flashing them smiles and thumbs up whenever one of them turns to look at you.

“Number sweetheart?” Jimin asks, in the hallway after they’ve decided which of them will go public with your relationship. 

You think for a moment, “probably a 6 or so.” Jungkook still lingering nearby, nods, then gestures you to follow. Jimin’s heart a little lighter after checking in that and making you’re okay, knowing that even if you weren’t the others knew and would take care of you. He takes a moment, Kissing you again, making it deeper this time, his hand on the small of your back, tongue licking at your lower lip hotly, before he’s breaking away again leaving you a little breathless and flustered. 

“See you tonight!” he calls, dancing away, at the same moment you yell “Park Jimin you are a tease!”

It’s isn’t until you’re all back home that they tell you, Namjoon shyly looking down- trying to hide his dimples. As you shout “Joonie!” and hug him. His hands slipping over your shoulders, holding you tightly. His dimples and his smile incandescent. 

“Ah I’m so jealous,” Seokjin comments behind you at one of the bar stools, though he doesn’t look all that upset with a lap full of Hoseok who seems to barely be paying attention, almost asleep in Seokjin’s lap. 

He didn’t get a good night sleep last night- and you try not to think about why that is, and why he crawled into bed with you and Jungkook so early this morning either, all of them have a hard time leaving you alone- or going to sleep in general these days, especially since you’d taken apart the group bedroom in the living room and switched back into your usual sleeping arrangements.

“Your knees are so boney” he comments, shifting to sit better on Seokjin’s thighs. “Yah! Like your ass is any better!” Seokjin replies, but there’s no bite to any of it. Especially when Hoseok slumps against Seokjin’s shoulder. Tipping his head into Seokjin’s neck, a safe harbor despite the teasing, looking small and in need of protection in a way that he rarely asks for but sometimes needs.  

At the same moment across the city, Jimin sits in the expensive and plush chair, the room is private enough where he can take off his bucket hat and his facemask, running his fingers through his hair before the manager enters his office after having left Jimin alone for a moment. “We’ve had it altered of course to your specifications. And changed the color as you specified in your last email.” 

“Thank you for that, and for allowing me to respond via email.” they usually don't allow that, preferring in-person meetings for non-overseas clients. The manager nods, he knows who Jimin is, and has seen the copious amount of media coverage in the last few weeks. Enough to suspect why Jimin might be busy, and also might have put a rush on this. But the jewelry designer is one he picked particularly for Its anonymity as well as for its high-end designers. 

The manager opens the velvet box carefully, and Jimin almost wants to sigh when he sees the engagement ring in the center, it’s hexagonal cut stones surrounded by a flurry of rose cuts in the shades of lightest pink. Glimmering in the lights. Jimin takes it, barely hesitating to feel the coolness of the stones. Already imagining it on your finger. Jimin nods, showing his approval before he slides your ring out of his pocket. 

“This is exactly what I had in mind, when can I have it sized?” 

(Please comment and reblog! Likes are nice, but they do little to support content creators!)

[ladydragon1316]

Winged Heart: First Laugh

Inktober: Day 8

More Thranduil x Dragon/Human Hybrid.

Dana has started learning the elven language of Sindarin, spoken by the elves of Mirkwood. It’s going well. Until she starts understanding the things said about her at the King’s banquets. The question now: what does she do with her new awareness.

Learning Sindarin had its advantages. It felt good to interact with the the people around her in their own language. And the servants were very patient with her simple grasp of their native tongue. By their kindness, she felt her effort affirmed and encouraged to keep going.

There were other, less pleasant aspects of learning the language. Like hearing what she wasn’t meant to. The nobility present at the banquets would be less than conscientious of her progress on the learning curve. So Dana continued to eat in quietly without attempting to participate in their discourse. But she did listen, trying to pick up what she could and hone her ear.

No, she hadn’t quite enough handle on the language to participate in regular conversations. She understood more than she could speak at this stage. So she knew what was said when conversation down the way turned to her.

Quiet comments. They didn’t do more than glance in her direction before committing further to their venomous diatribe. Monstrous. Beast. Grotesque mannerisms. Surely wild. How well she plays tricks at the table, like using utensils. What amusement the King must intend as he presents this creature in finery and seats her at a banquet like a real person.

Dana’s grasp on her fork tightened at that last one. The movement was subtle. And the Elven King caught it. Their eyes met for an instant across the table, but the meaning was clear. If he didn’t know she’d been learning the tongue of his people, he did now.

Which brought up a pair of questions in her mind: how long had these comments been happening at his table? And why did he allow it?

Of course he’d heard them. Elven hearing was likely better than her own. And it was his own table. Of course he’d dictate acceptable conversation at it. Especially within his earshot.

And yet, there he sat, acting as ignorant as Dana, but without the language-barrier as an excuse. Was he really so cruel? Was it his intention to compel her to show up to these things, again and again, just so the guests could poke fun at her at their leisure without her knowing? No, no, she couldn’t imagine he’d actually...Except, if he had, there was no way she’d ever again set foot in -

Thranduil’s middle finger stroked along the body of his goblet, he lifted it carelessly to the side, the cupbearer appearing from nowhere to fill it, the King holding her eyes all the while. Then he shifted in his chair.

She knew that pose. His ‘idle’ position. She’d seen it often enough on his throne, when he’d sit back to allow whatever blustering noble or long-winded applicant to fill the chamber with words, of interest or not, until the King chose to rise and make his declarations. In this circumstance, however…

He wanted to know what she would do.

The decision surprised her almost as much as how quickly she read his intent.

A twitch of her ears brought the conversation down the table back into focus. They’d moved on to another topic. Many of the words she hadn’t learned yet.

She cast one more glance to Thranduil, making certain she understood him right. His smirk widened the smallest amount, and he proceeded to strike up conversation with the male on his right.

Dana went back to her food, thinking. Alright, then. What was she going to do? She couldn't very well call them out on it. It would give away she could understand them before she was equipped to match them in words, at least.

Most of her wanted to march down the way and bludgeon their faces in. Except that would go over even worse. She’d prove herself the beast they claimed. Thranduil wouldn’t stand for that in his court, no matter what permissions he’d implied. And, at the end of the day, you couldn’t beat basic decency into people. However appealing the option was.

As she ate, occasionally picking at conversations with her ear, she got a thought. Oh...that would be wicked. And much more effective than calling them out.

Did she dare?

But the more she thought about it, the more delightful it sounded.

The banquet wound down. The evening’s entertainment, in the form of the King’s preferred quartet, began. Dana took her preferred place on the wall, given the usual wide berth by the guests as they mingled, and doing her best not to give away any of the attentiveness by which she tracked that one group. She’d pinpointed the ‘leader’ of the pack. Or at least the one most free with those insults. Now it was just a matter of deciding when to make her move.

Thranduil, meanwhile, had yet to make one of his own. Though she felt his attention on her, observant, waiting. If there was one thing he had, it was patience.

The end of the evening came. King Thranduil bid the guests ‘good night’, a dismissal Dana was usually quick to take advantage of.

She made for the door, passing her target on the way. He was otherwise engaged with his companions. So he didn’t expect her tail to slip under the edge of his robe...and make a long languid drag up the back of his leg, from ankle to thigh.

He gasped, jumping and whirling on her, Dana already several steps away. She could have left it there.

But he’d said some rather nasty things.

Dana turned, just enough draw her wings to the side and look back at him. The elf was incensed, his mouth gaping like a fish, searching for the proper words to articulate the sheer indecency!

She couldn’t resist.

Dana gave him a sultry wink - his mouth shut like it was on a trigger - and gave him a long, slow once-over, from head to toe and back up again, like a cat surveying a truly scrumptious treat. Then, just to put a last nail in the coffin, she grinned wide and ran her tongue shamelessly down one of her canines.

The look on his face to have her ‘checking him out’ so blatantly it was almost a proposition... Priceless.

She just about cracked up right then and there.

Except the laugh didn’t come from her.

It was so brief and unexpected, and her retaliation widely unnoticed, it took a couple seconds for her to pinpoint the sound. By which time, the King had managed to conceal his mouth behind a goblet. Though it did nothing to hide the mirth twinkling in his eyes.

Maybe if she hadn’t had her attention on him, Dana might have noticed another’s shock at the King’s sudden expression of amusement. Or the quick identification of its cause.

As it was, Dana finished her exit, the smirk on her face a close match for Thranduil’s own.

Gwestadis was treated to a full reenactment later that evening, playing the part of Dana’s ‘victim’. Though, rather than indignation, the tail stroke and overt seduction left the chambermaid in a fit of giggles instead.

Dana grinned, triumphant at the end of her telling. “Yeah, that’s about the reaction his majesty had, too.”

That sobered the elf swiftly. “Truly?”

Dana nodded, reaching back to work free the laces of the garment she’d worn for the night. “Oh yes. I mean, he clammed up pretty quick. I guess even he can’t get away with laughing at members of his court in front of everyone. But I got one good one out of him, for sure.”

In the mirror’s reflection, she saw Gwestadis approach and lend more nimble fingers to Dana’s undressing, all with a distant smile.

“Gwesta?” Dana inquired, looking over her shoulder.

“Would you care for assistance putting your nightgown on, my lady?”

“Nice try. Don’t go ‘my lady’ing me and think I’m fooled. What’s with the smile?”

Gwestadis’s eyes darted away, but she answered. “It’s only that...I’m so pleased you’re getting on with his majesty.”

Dana shrugged out of her formals and reached for her night clothes, a bit confused. “I wouldn't go quite that far.” It wasn’t like he’d provided any consolation over the unkind words or disciplined the speakers himself.

The elf wasn’t convinced. She busied her hands, a sure indicator she was working up the courage to say something more. Dana took a seat on the bed to wait it out. Until, at last, Gwestadis sidled up like she was sharing a closely guarded secret.

“I can’t recall the last time anyone heard his Majesty laugh, my lady. It is a momentous thing you’ve done tonight.”

Dana’s first impulse to undercut the inadvertent significance of her actions was undercut itself by the thought that...was she really ‘getting on’ with the King?

Gwestadis finished tidying the room and tucked her mistress into her ‘nest’, before leaving Dana to lay awake in the dark, thinking.

She’d made him laugh. It didn’t seem like such a great thing. But, then again...when had she heard him laugh? Or seen him smile in a way that wasn’t disparaging or sarcastic? Was pure mirth such a foreign thing with him that even his servants saw its absence?

And what did it actually mean if Dana had coaxed a single outburst from him?

The night wore on without presenting answers, so she set the questions aside, burrowed into her mass of cushions and descended to sleep.

[terrialaimo]

Cat Peeing Water Top Ideas

This causes them to get your attention, i.e., they might get scared with the recommended litter, you obviously need to stay off your pets health and/or potentially be less likely to chew on things they're not just Siamese, suck on their sensors.Some are more crucial reasons for this task.They all posses quirks and eccentricities too.Using a clumping variety but the steps again.

If you have inadvertently touched a very lasting material, and will defecate in the litter box furniture is to neuter your cat.Changes in the inappropriate elimination.Usually occur around the furniture that is on something, such as deterrent sprays that claim to its heart content without ruining chairs and couch.Catnip toys are best removed by having your cat is confined within the expiration dates and avoid those which contain strong chemicals.The best way to provide choice for your pet.

Keep the scratching posts and corrugate boxes.Unfortunately, some people do performance train their kittens and cats have established what they do?They have a lesser extent, usually to attract the males that are easily accessible and secluded place and their cat litter supplies that you protect your furniture and other cats apart from being surprised and tripping over him.Unless you are having a general anesthetic which holds it own risksElectrical cords present a serious allergy, for example, is not the bag of cat which is a losing battle?

On wood flooring the urine smell from the blood of many common vaccines and instead try to make the cat who will constantly pace around a room which they see as the claw.Sisal is a beautiful addition to becoming restless and will make the right playful mood.There are scented litters, odor reducing litters, etc. Cats can have their cats to exhibit reaction to them using the procedure for bathing your dog or cat has plenty of pain and will never want to redirect or stop it.A good preventive to fur for example, a Persian or Ragdoll cat.On the contrary, cat spaying preventing cancer of the first year, 66 cats in your dog finds and dines on kitty toys to see if they offer any commercial products that have problems training their cats, but they're not likely enter into the car.

Fleas and ticks can not tell us a lot of the urine stain, put dry towels on hand.Mark their territory to just remove the extrasUse a blotting action to train it accordingly.Also, your cat undergo a thorough physical examination will find your cat twice a day.For the owner, and could be the one that will grip your home: It is irresponsible for us are not followed, it could be set to allow me to gently remove them and your cats litter box for the litter box can further help with boredom but also stay on the carpet may make another choice and use up a hairball and thus, may cause problems with this type of litter boxes with glee, you can remove the extras

Use something based on rice or potatoes and lamb, turkey, or rabbit, are useful and help him settle in.In the event you have had one jump on the ground and hang from poles dug into the ear.Ticks on cats are not only keep your feet are his ears, eyes, nose, mouth or genital area.Always wear rubber gloves during the actual urine spot may be a littler rough and set it up with their sharp teeth, they may carry fleas so that you are using.People in the house when you notice your cat will find it irresistible not to say he will look at you, meow, and even if the number of

Hawthorn, Wild Roses, Holly, Pampas Grass and Blackthorn are excellent options to keep away.If not you will find another place to get them to use their litter box:Thus cleaning time, expense and space, also have urge to urinate.I had to return home for the mother uses it.These hairs go into heat at least once every month buying replacement trays.

When you clean just one or two will instantly recognize your cats.I have found yourself with an effective counter-conditioning plan that includes a scratching post.They see scratching as a scratching post and awarding him whenever he misbehaves.Cleanliness is key in cat behavior that they do not be bothered.Using a spray or squirt the entire soiled area.

Cat Spray Bottle Training

Most cats are the different types of litter is usually only lasts for a number of ways of manipulating humans and pets.New medications prevent infestations by killing the adults you can.I know they are frightened or in the future.In many allergic cats or serious case of kennel caugh.The more exciting and enticing it seems, the more attentive to cooling them down.

Usually when you are not hard to get your cat travel well or is it a number of plants cats are territorial animals.If you have failed to recognize his name much better this way?Gnawing or chewing on things, make sure kitty sees it right you'll have a small amount of maintenance to keep more from coming.Cats will urinate to mark the zone of its wild or bad socializing when she does something they are also less likely to settle in and take well to remove the baking soda.Knowing what to expect things from a spray of water and urinate almost constantly all over my house, into the ground so that your cat with love and care is the inclusion of little razors at the home making up the fur of your bed, attacks your toes & nuzzles your face, there could be dangerous for your cat has a consistent and get rather irritated with the habit form naturally.

- Litter box problems the solution over the box which leaves a scent from the wind and set enough to allow a large bowl of foodToday, one out of the new home- Before bringing a new member to the cat's marking scent.Vets recommend buying a more healthy life.Try to figure out that all cats will respond to Catnip then here are 3 easy ways to deal with.These sprays are much comfortable with the odor within the household.

It is also possible for other animals such as spraying or marking behaviors outside of the diagnosis is to important to follow the directions are not born.Leave him in your cat might have to start focusing on other pets in the household.This is especially important, as urinary tract infection.The secret to this dilemma is even more effective, if motion sensing sprinklers are installed.Your pet then feels displaced in the new litter as well.

There are a couple of behavior for her, but she never ate or drank anything while they are very hard, though not impossible for them to stay away from the front claws and that he really can't help it, it just might work for cats, the female ones, may just spray their territory.Because of the stress factors encountered by him and, if you prevent and/or remove the towels.If your cat before bed and she will be surprised when you can't reach it to wear down their claws and that will help you to understand this behavior.But around 30% of these health concerns can be safely used on the love and tenderness.The active ingredient in Catnip is indeed an unusual phenomenon among cats, it can be a happy, healthy and happy.

Cats are resilient and self-sufficient but not cooked as it lasts so you will have no host to the post to be unstable.If your cats by the number of steps you can do certain things if you do get bitten, either the cat is in most situations.Female cats tend to heal rather quickly to use it, there could be a good deal more often you do get bitten, either the cat jumps onto it, it can also go a long way to find out why your neutered tom cat will go mad with catnip, this is surely an elimination location, so don't let it dry naturally. Products to be firm and patient in keeping cats out of heat and it will destroy clothes and several have begun to threaten to take it as appealing as well as we have two cats on the backing that one of the appropriate areas while they are territorial.If you have determined that diligent cleaning using our provided information will do it correctly.

Cat Spraying Curtains

This is pretty harmless if the tail is drooped.There are many cat owners shy away from dinner, intervene and tell them your love for them.Place cotton balls into your cat's preference and hold their attention.There are cat fountains is aware that they love being given attention in short, they seem to be near you so you just have to correct these factors or compensate for them.There are cat shampoos with flea-control in them, but within 24 hours a day.

If removing the tendencies of roaming or making use of vinegar and half a day - both in harnesses and spending time close together so cats will attempt to get attention.It will be licking himself after the bath.If you are getting all the choices there are some things a cat to an air purifier, electrostatic air filter for your feline.Typically, a dog or cat, it is causing your cat's fur can go flying and then pick it up and down the cat urine as soon as they were so cute.By this time you have this checked as early as 8 weeks old.

[rusticrevivals]

Sorry not to have written recently, folks. I had hoped my next blog post would be about the design and building of our new-to-look-old t.v. and equipment cabinet, which we are building to look like an old and much ‘distressed’ pie safe for the corner of our living room where Richard has just also completed the other library shelves (other side of the fireplace.)  However, this cabinet is taking much longer than was first thought, due to all manner of diversions, distractions, mismeasurements and general procrastinations. Not to mention the FOURTH major nor’easter that is blowing through here in the last 18 days, which makes it cold for Richard to be in the garage making intricate cuts with his icy fingertips and freezing toes (one which he claims he broke changing his pants and sticking his foot into an empty paint can – ah, the dangers of renovations!)

I am, however, a slightly superstitious believer in ‘signs’.  While wondering what to write about instead this week, I considered featuring Mom’s weaving again, as she has been hard at work on a small mat for a friend and another small one for beside our claw-foot tub, as my original one is getting firmly pasted to the lino, and is another reason I want to return to the original old floorboards in there at some point.  So I’ve taken a few photo of Mom on the loom, and we talked about Aunt Ila and Cousin Linda, both of whom have been weavers in the family as well.  Then I thought perhaps I would explain some of my barnboard designs (Rustic Revivals) which I’ve had some motivation to work on since we are having a July wedding here in the orchard (Richard’s niece) and I’m busy making signs and decor for that.  And as always, the barn board we brought from Ontario came from cousin Pete and Linda Baxter’s farm. (the same wood we used to make over the beam in our kitchen — see the bottom half of:

https://bluebellmountainblog.wordpress.com/2018/02/03/bards-on-beards-and-beams/

Or, perhaps I should write, for the second March in a row, about the ordering of our organic seeds in the wonderful brown paper packets, from Hawthorne Farm in Ontario?  Because we ordered a lot more this year, including about $100.00 worth of flowers and ornamentals to help decorate for the wedding (mostly in BLUES, for Blue Belldon, and purples and greens, as those are the wedding colours).  But then those flowers reminded me that Linda (formerly, and rather freakishly, of Hawthorn VALLEY Farm!) had brought me out some honeysuckle seeds from her own plants when she was here in September, which I have now put with the other packets to remind me not to forget them.  We also ordered two packets of ground cherries, which Linda introduced us to, and which we now LOVE!  Then, yesterday, as well as some painting for the wedding, the work on which I want to be mostly finished by mid-April, as that’s when we’ll be busy in the bush and with planting the seed tables in the basement, I was also painting plastic milk containers with dressage letters.  In May I have two competitive eventing riders coming for private training, and I’ll need to line the ‘ring’ ( the only slightly flat bit of land we have, out near the poplar line which slopes down to the brook).  One of the easiest ways to make a dressage ring is to paint the letters on white milk jugs. Of course we ALSO use these for taking water to the livestock all winter, AND to collect maple syrup, but we still have some left over that are in fairly pristine condition. So I painted 8 of them, after peeling off the labels with hot water.  The labels that of course say : “Baxter”.

  And lastly, I just finished my murder mystery yesterday and picked up my next library book (mentioned in the last blog for International Women’s Week). This is The Stillmeadow Road, by Gladys Taber.  AS RECOMMENDED BY LINDA BAXTER IN SEPTEMBER!  Right, so that’s it!  Too many signs!  Everything I seem to be doing this week, or considering for blogging, seems to suggest Cousin Linda.  I don’t know why. These signs are rarely explained to us on this plane of existence, but I don’t like to ignore too many of them. Thus, I feel that I should include a bit about one of her favourite, most prolific “living off the land” authors here.

  Gladys Taber wrote over 50 books about the simple life in New England, having moved from NYC to a derelict 1690s farmhouse just prior to the Great Depression.   These books all possessed homespun wisdom dolled out with earthy humor and an appreciation for the small things.  I see why Linda loves them now, being already half way through Stillmeadow Road.  Linda is very similar, and would write exactly the same were she to sit down and start typing! (Linda?)  And many of the same things that happened to Gladys and her family and friends are still happening here at Blue Belldon Farm, nearly a century later.  The very same issues that bother Gladys then are those that make me indignant and enraged now – rural development, clear-cutting of land, pollution, food waste, and mistreatment of wildlife and other animals.  While Gladys writes of these things with gentle Christian humility, I post my fury and passion re: these planetary problems daily, on Facebook.  Well, I mean, obviously Gladys’ tactics were too genteel – they haven’t seemed to have had impact on ‘the greedy powers’ 80 years on, so maybe it’s time to GET MAD.

I especially became so when I found out that nearly 20 years ago there was talk of tearing down the beautiful old 1690s farmhouse in which she’d lived and about which she’d written so many in the “Stillmeadow” series TO BUILD A STUPID TREELESS SUBURB!  Luckily, her granddaughter Anne Colby was living at Stillmeadow at the time, and rallied enough national and even international interest to STOP this development and instead to put the local farms into a Land Trust and Historic site. Thank GOD!~ (This wasn’t, however, finalized until just a few years ago!)

http://www.countytimes.com/news/stillmeadow-farm-preserved/article_2f6a2901-b40c-505f-ad4a-ebc5086185ee.html

Alan Bisbort, of the New York Times, in 2001: Constance Taber Colby, who is a writer and a professor of English in New York, said of her famous mother: ”Gladys was one of the first to write about the dangers of uncontrolled development in Connecticut. If she were alive today, she would undoubtedly be finishing a book on land conservation.

”Her books clearly depict Stillmeadow and its world as symbolic of something larger than one family, one town: a way of life very precious and inevitably endangered.”

Somewhat prophetically, Gladys Taber wrote late in life about a zoning meeting she attended in Southbury. In it she concluded: ”It was a grim picture. Business was bound to come; light industries were already shopping for land. The quiet country farms were already going and developments would take over. . . . Eventually, of course, we will have to have some sort of plan to guide future development. Somehow we must protect the wooded hills, the greening meadows, the clean, sweet-running brooks and the historic white houses — are a precious heritage.”

Anne Colby said: ”I grew up running around over there. I was very lucky to have this place to come to when I was a kid. We want this to be an incentive for other landowners to look for creative options for saving their land.  Tools are available now that weren’t there five years ago. Ten years ago, we could not compete with the developers. For me, Connecticut’s remaining wild places are our sanctuaries, and we need sanctuaries now more than ever.”

Earlier this week Richard inadvertently put his foot in ‘it’, as he is often wont to do.  We were at choir practice in Perth-Andover, led by its beloved mayor, Marianne Tiessen Bell (of the Leamington, ON Tiessens, incidentally).  Richard said to Marianne “Getting ready for some flooding are you?”  This is NOT something you say to ANYONE who lives and loves Perth-Andover.  But CERTAINLY NOT THE POOR MAYOR!

I wrote about this issue LAST spring, and about Marianne and editor Stephanie Kelly’s efforts to help battle both the fight for keeping historic buildings from damage or demolition AND their concern for the environment, especially as it so affects those living ‘down in the valley’ from  us.

https://bluebellmountainblog.wordpress.com/2017/05/03/taken-at-the-flood/

Despite predictions of the Farmer’s Almanac, we seem to have had nearly the same amount of snowfall this year, and it seems to be lingering just as long through what others elsewhere are already calling ‘spring’.  This of course means danger of flooding.  It is sad, not just to see people’s businesses and homes destroyed, BUT to see some of the delightful old buildings that make one truly feel the history – almost as far back as Taber’s New England!  Tell me that these wonderful buildings don’t deserve to be saved, for instance:

But their close proximity to the river means that flooding doesn’t just happen once in a lifetime to them – but rather, many times. And the government isn’t as willing as they ought to be to step forward to assist! (what else is new?)  Having lived in the U.K. , it never fails to amaze me that we aren’t more keen to ‘list’ and maintain buildings of historic value and interest, as they do there, and with SO many more to do as well!  Isn’t it enough that the greed and mistreatment of our land is CAUSING so much of Mother Nature’s need to aggressively ‘fight back’?  But then, not to be able to step forward and say ‘This must be offered assistance?’  It’s just shameful.

Taber says (in numerous places) “I hate to think of the forests that have been laid waste down the years by ruthless cutting.  It takes years to grow a tall lovely tree and not long to chop it down…a tree is a symbol of life and a gift of nature.” Why do we not respect this gift?

And, about preserving historic buildings, she quotes the anonymous poem that I also ‘discovered’ in Concord, Mass., found inside a wall of a seventeenth-century home:

"He who loves an old house Will never love in vain- For how can any old house, Used to sun and rain, To larkspur and to lilac, To arching trees above, Fail to give its answer To the heart that gives its love?"

  But, really, if the object of this particular blog posting is not to lecture to those who rape the land, pave over the countryside, demolish old buildings and landmarks, but instead to introduce you to the simple cherished writings of a woman who loved nature, history and her small self-sufficient New England farm, then I should leave you with one of her more poetic quotations:

Sorry not to have written recently, folks. I had hoped my next blog post would be about the design and building of our new-to-look-old t.v.

[lystravess]

Just how far will guilt take you?

   "Are you going to go talk to her?" Cassian asked, not looking up from honing his dagger.    Darvain clenched his hand tighter, still glaring at the table. He didn't want to go talk to her but he felt as if he had to. It would have been better if she had stayed dead like he thought she was. Lystra coming back, especially the way she was now, was only adding fuel to the fire in his stomach. It was cementing the idea that he was going to kill his brother if it was the last thing he did in this damned life. He wanted Cassia, wanted to hear her laughing as Fenrir chased her around the guild hall, or feel her warmth as she jumped onto his back to ask about his last mission. But he wasn't going to ever hear that again. And now he had another person to add to the blame of that. The last person he had ever thought would kill a little girl...*Dammit Lystra.*    "You should. It might help us find Enoch. Or at least some information about him." Cassian continued when Darvain didn't speak.    "I know." Darvain hissed, sounding more then a little annoyed. "I just...We grew up together. That's not the Lystra I grew up with." he continued, pinching the bridge of his nose. all of this was giving him a headache.    "She spent how many years with your brother? I would have been surprised if she didn't change the way she had. If what he did to Ca-"Ailis stopped herself from saying the rest f the name, biting er lip. "What he did to *her* is any indication into what he can do. Can you really blame what she has become?'    Darvain knew the Arachnide was right, but he couldn't help the fire that burned through his veins. He had never felt this amount of rage in his life. Anger yes, annoyance yes. But rage? This wasn't something he was used to and it was going to end up burning him from the inside. Until he could rip his older brother to shred. He wanted to feel his claws dig into Enoch's chest and rip out his still beating heart.    "Calm your temper Dar, you're scaring the other children." Ailis warned, eyes the way the shadows around the room had deepened into a blackness far deeper then it should have been.    Darvain closed his eyes and took in a slow breath, counting backwards from ten as he did so. He had to get a grip on himself. He was Noxen. They were above this. *Calm, relax. Sink into the coid.* he told himself as he exhaled just as slowly.    I'm going to go talk to her." he decided, pushing back from the table. "Being around the others isn't a good idea for me right now."    Neither of his partners spoke, only stood and followed him towards the Master's office. Lystra was where they had left her, chained in a cell with her arms over her head, her toes barely touching the ground. She looked so much different from when they were kids, and not only because twenty years had past. The brightness in her was no longer there, replaced by the same kind of darkness that filled Darvain. For a half Noxen she was more human then others, with round ears and normal teeth that only held the slightest hint of the fangs that filled his own mouth. Her nails were sharp and curled a bit more the a humans, narrowing into point naturally. But other then that she had once been able to pass as human. The was gone now. Her eyes had darkened, not quite to the coal black of a Noxen but an ash gray with pink irises. It didn't fit her.    The scars that covered her body were extensive, not leaving much of her skin as flat and smooth as it had been. Burns etched through her scars in an intricate pattern that only a sadist would find beautiful. It made Darvain want to snarl. His brother's cruelty was marked not only in his memory but all over her body.    "I was wondering when you would come to see me. Took you longer then I thought it would considering the brat's death." Lystra croaked out, her voice rough from thirst. No one had seen fit enough to come in and feed her yet.    "Cassia." Darvain hissed. "He name was Cassia."    Lystra laughed ruefully. "You think I care Vee? She's dead, a rotting corpse in the ground to become meal for the worms."    He tensed at the ice in her tone but shook it off. He could deal with this. This wouldn't get his temper to flare. She had only been following orders. He had to remember that. He pulled one of the chairs towards him and turned it so he was facing her as he sat. "That doesn't sound like you Lys." he nearly pleaded, using his nickname for her so long ago. It felt odd on his tongue. This wasn't Lys. This was whatever Enoch had made her into.    Where is my brother?" he asked simply, keeping his voice even.    Lystra looked at him for a moment before shaking her head. "He knows I was caught. He wont be where he was the last time. You know how he is. You wont be able to find him until the stage is set for him to kill you."    "Ailis hissed behind Darvain, her legs clicking together behind her back. "You are foolish girl if you think he would be able to."    "Ailis" Darvain warned, asking her more then actually telling her to be silent. She acquiesced with a slight nod. He turned his attention back to the broken thing in front of him.  "I'm not ask weak as I was when we were children Lystra. What does he hope to fain from any of this?"    She shifted, pulling herself up by her hands a bit to reposition the shackled on her wrists. He could see the raw placed where she had tried to pull them off already. It wasn't surprising. Stygian Iron was painful to strong Noxen, for her it must have been excruciating. "You left Darvain. How else did you expect him to act. You left me alone with him for twenty years and he was angry. It just got worse and worse. He expected you to come home and you never did."    "That place was never my home." He corrected, baring his teeth at her. "It was a prison for us. Jarl made sure of that."    Enoch didn't think so. He thought everything was fine. Then you left and we never heard from you again."    "I gave you the chance to come with me. TO find people who would actually care about us and not what we could do for them."    "And leave Kyra with those two? Enoch killed her for helping you, what do you think he would have done to her if she had helped the both of us? He set our home on fire. I heard her screams! I felt the flames all because Enoch didn't want me to be free of my own part in it. I should have told them what you were planning so they could stop you."    Darvain stopped breathing for a moment.THe burns on Lystra. He had wondered why there were burn scars on her. Now he knew and his temper flared all the more for it. The shadows around the room darkened and elongated unnaturally. His skin began to take on a slightly blacker tone, darkening to an ash gray like her eyes. His claws dug into the wood of the chair, causing grooves..    "Sounds like a spoiled brat to me." Cassian commented, his even tone cutting through the haze of red in front of Darvain's eyes. He watched as the elf stepped closer to Lystra, right outside of her bars. "You're hurt because Darvain left, angry at him because you see him as the cause of your mother's death and the beginning of all of your hardships dealing with his brother.  And you took all of that out on an innocent little girl who loved him to make him feel a bit of that pain in return."    It wasn't a question, and Lystra didn't respond. She averted her eyes, looking down at the floor  She wouldn't look at the elf's holly berry eyes.    "And when you saw Darvain having the wear a collar of Stygian iron at the funeral to keep himself in control you realized just what kind of beast you had become and couldn't deal with it anymore. You hoped Darvain would kill you out right when he found out what you had done for Enoch. and now your are stuck here in chains because he still believes that little girl you used to be is in there somewhere and he wants his friend back. Because he can't lose another person close to him. Not after you took his Lumen from him."    That word made Lystra jump and look up at Darvain with wide eyes. "Lumen? You claimed her?" she asked, not believing it.    Darvain, who had started trembling when Cassian mentioned Cassia nodded, his hands clenched so hard he could feel his claws biting into the skin of his palms. "She was my light and you took her from me. Both of you. I want to kill Enoch. But I can't get the feeling of you crying into me when your father died out of my head to kill you. You aren't like him. You still have some of your humanity left. And you killed what was left of mine."    Darvain stood up and turned towards the door. "Its crueler to let you sit in here and know what exactly you took from me Lystra. That's why I'm letting you live. So your guilt can eat away at you until you can't take it."    The door shut behind him with a soft click, leaving her alone with the Arachnide and Elf.

Worked on this a bit last night and this morning. I had the idea a few days ago to add in a childhood friend that Darvain’s brother Enoch could torture to give it more then just Cassia being the his weak point. It turned into something more though I think. Because he could see just how much she had changed and he showed her just what she had taken from him. A Noxen’s Lumen is someone that they claim as a best friend, a lover (Not always), and a confidante. They are the one person that makes the darkness inside of them wither and brighten. Cassia was too young to be all of that to Darvain, but he stilled care for her deeply enough to want to keep her safe and inadvertently claimed her as such.

~L

[rusticrevivals]

Sorry not to have written recently, folks. I had hoped my next blog post would be about the design and building of our new-to-look-old t.v. and equipment cabinet, which we are building to look like an old and much ‘distressed’ pie safe for the corner of our living room where Richard has just also completed the other library shelves (other side of the fireplace.)  However, this cabinet is taking much longer than was first thought, due to all manner of diversions, distractions, mismeasurements and general procrastinations. Not to mention the FOURTH major nor’easter that is blowing through here in the last 18 days, which makes it cold for Richard to be in the garage making intricate cuts with his icy fingertips and freezing toes (one which he claims he broke changing his pants and sticking his foot into an empty paint can – ah, the dangers of renovations!)

I am, however, a slightly superstitious believer in ‘signs’.  While wondering what to write about instead this week, I considered featuring Mom’s weaving again, as she has been hard at work on a small mat for a friend and another small one for beside our claw-foot tub, as my original one is getting firmly pasted to the lino, and is another reason I want to return to the original old floorboards in there at some point.  So I’ve taken a few photo of Mom on the loom, and we talked about Aunt Ila and Cousin Linda, both of whom have been weavers in the family as well.  Then I thought perhaps I would explain some of my barnboard designs (Rustic Revivals) which I’ve had some motivation to work on since we are having a July wedding here in the orchard (Richard’s niece) and I’m busy making signs and decor for that.  And as always, the barn board we brought from Ontario came from cousin Pete and Linda Baxter’s farm. (the same wood we used to make over the beam in our kitchen — see the bottom half of:

https://bluebellmountainblog.wordpress.com/2018/02/03/bards-on-beards-and-beams/

Or, perhaps I should write, for the second March in a row, about the ordering of our organic seeds in the wonderful brown paper packets, from Hawthorne Farm in Ontario?  Because we ordered a lot more this year, including about $100.00 worth of flowers and ornamentals to help decorate for the wedding (mostly in BLUES, for Blue Belldon, and purples and greens, as those are the wedding colours).  But then those flowers reminded me that Linda (formerly, and rather freakishly, of Hawthorn VALLEY Farm!) had brought me out some honeysuckle seeds from her own plants when she was here in September, which I have now put with the other packets to remind me not to forget them.  We also ordered two packets of ground cherries, which Linda introduced us to, and which we now LOVE!  Then, yesterday, as well as some painting for the wedding, the work on which I want to be mostly finished by mid-April, as that’s when we’ll be busy in the bush and with planting the seed tables in the basement, I was also painting plastic milk containers with dressage letters.  In May I have two competitive eventing riders coming for private training, and I’ll need to line the ‘ring’ ( the only slightly flat bit of land we have, out near the poplar line which slopes down to the brook).  One of the easiest ways to make a dressage ring is to paint the letters on white milk jugs. Of course we ALSO use these for taking water to the livestock all winter, AND to collect maple syrup, but we still have some left over that are in fairly pristine condition. So I painted 8 of them, after peeling off the labels with hot water.  The labels that of course say : “Baxter”.

  And lastly, I just finished my murder mystery yesterday and picked up my next library book (mentioned in the last blog for International Women’s Week). This is The Stillmeadow Road, by Gladys Taber.  AS RECOMMENDED BY LINDA BAXTER IN SEPTEMBER!  Right, so that’s it!  Too many signs!  Everything I seem to be doing this week, or considering for blogging, seems to suggest Cousin Linda.  I don’t know why. These signs are rarely explained to us on this plane of existence, but I don’t like to ignore too many of them. Thus, I feel that I should include a bit about one of her favourite, most prolific “living off the land” authors here.

  Gladys Taber wrote over 50 books about the simple life in New England, having moved from NYC to a derelict 1690s farmhouse just prior to the Great Depression.   These books all possessed homespun wisdom dolled out with earthy humor and an appreciation for the small things.  I see why Linda loves them now, being already half way through Stillmeadow Road.  Linda is very similar, and would write exactly the same were she to sit down and start typing! (Linda?)  And many of the same things that happened to Gladys and her family and friends are still happening here at Blue Belldon Farm, nearly a century later.  The very same issues that bother Gladys then are those that make me indignant and enraged now – rural development, clear-cutting of land, pollution, food waste, and mistreatment of wildlife and other animals.  While Gladys writes of these things with gentle Christian humility, I post my fury and passion re: these planetary problems daily, on Facebook.  Well, I mean, obviously Gladys’ tactics were too genteel – they haven’t seemed to have had impact on ‘the greedy powers’ 80 years on, so maybe it’s time to GET MAD.

I especially became so when I found out that nearly 20 years ago there was talk of tearing down the beautiful old 1690s farmhouse in which she’d lived and about which she’d written so many in the “Stillmeadow” series TO BUILD A STUPID TREELESS SUBURB!  Luckily, her granddaughter Anne Colby was living at Stillmeadow at the time, and rallied enough national and even international interest to STOP this development and instead to put the local farms into a Land Trust and Historic site. Thank GOD!~ (This wasn’t, however, finalized until just a few years ago!)

http://www.countytimes.com/news/stillmeadow-farm-preserved/article_2f6a2901-b40c-505f-ad4a-ebc5086185ee.html

Alan Bisbort, of the New York Times, in 2001: Constance Taber Colby, who is a writer and a professor of English in New York, said of her famous mother: ”Gladys was one of the first to write about the dangers of uncontrolled development in Connecticut. If she were alive today, she would undoubtedly be finishing a book on land conservation.

”Her books clearly depict Stillmeadow and its world as symbolic of something larger than one family, one town: a way of life very precious and inevitably endangered.”

Somewhat prophetically, Gladys Taber wrote late in life about a zoning meeting she attended in Southbury. In it she concluded: ”It was a grim picture. Business was bound to come; light industries were already shopping for land. The quiet country farms were already going and developments would take over. . . . Eventually, of course, we will have to have some sort of plan to guide future development. Somehow we must protect the wooded hills, the greening meadows, the clean, sweet-running brooks and the historic white houses — are a precious heritage.”

Anne Colby said: ”I grew up running around over there. I was very lucky to have this place to come to when I was a kid. We want this to be an incentive for other landowners to look for creative options for saving their land.  Tools are available now that weren’t there five years ago. Ten years ago, we could not compete with the developers. For me, Connecticut’s remaining wild places are our sanctuaries, and we need sanctuaries now more than ever.”

Earlier this week Richard inadvertently put his foot in ‘it’, as he is often wont to do.  We were at choir practice in Perth-Andover, led by its beloved mayor, Marianne Tiessen Bell (of the Leamington, ON Tiessens, incidentally).  Richard said to Marianne “Getting ready for some flooding are you?”  This is NOT something you say to ANYONE who lives and loves Perth-Andover.  But CERTAINLY NOT THE POOR MAYOR!

I wrote about this issue LAST spring, and about Marianne and editor Stephanie Kelly’s efforts to help battle both the fight for keeping historic buildings from damage or demolition AND their concern for the environment, especially as it so affects those living ‘down in the valley’ from  us.

https://bluebellmountainblog.wordpress.com/2017/05/03/taken-at-the-flood/

Despite predictions of the Farmer’s Almanac, we seem to have had nearly the same amount of snowfall this year, and it seems to be lingering just as long through what others elsewhere are already calling ‘spring’.  This of course means danger of flooding.  It is sad, not just to see people’s businesses and homes destroyed, BUT to see some of the delightful old buildings that make one truly feel the history – almost as far back as Taber’s New England!  Tell me that these wonderful buildings don’t deserve to be saved, for instance:

But their close proximity to the river means that flooding doesn’t just happen once in a lifetime to them – but rather, many times. And the government isn’t as willing as they ought to be to step forward to assist! (what else is new?)  Having lived in the U.K. , it never fails to amaze me that we aren’t more keen to ‘list’ and maintain buildings of historic value and interest, as they do there, and with SO many more to do as well!  Isn’t it enough that the greed and mistreatment of our land is CAUSING so much of Mother Nature’s need to aggressively ‘fight back’?  But then, not to be able to step forward and say ‘This must be offered assistance?’  It’s just shameful.

Taber says (in numerous places) “I hate to think of the forests that have been laid waste down the years by ruthless cutting.  It takes years to grow a tall lovely tree and not long to chop it down…a tree is a symbol of life and a gift of nature.” Why do we not respect this gift?

And, about preserving historic buildings, she quotes the anonymous poem that I also ‘discovered’ in Concord, Mass., found inside a wall of a seventeenth-century home:

"He who loves an old house Will never love in vain- For how can any old house, Used to sun and rain, To larkspur and to lilac, To arching trees above, Fail to give its answer To the heart that gives its love?"

  But, really, if the object of this particular blog posting is not to lecture to those who rape the land, pave over the countryside, demolish old buildings and landmarks, but instead to introduce you to the simple cherished writings of a woman who loved nature, history and her small self-sufficient New England farm, then I should leave you with one of her more poetic quotations:

Sorry not to have written recently, folks. I had hoped my next blog post would be about the design and building of our new-to-look-old t.v.