#every cat owner has bolted awake in the night to that sound

[poppy5991]

Tokoyami: Help me. It’s urgent.

Shinsou: What is it?

Tokoyami: I need you to brainwash Dark Shadow to stop eating plastic.

Dark Shadow: *crinkling noise of plastic being chomped*

Tokoyami: NO!

[tobeathief]

Prophecies and Spiky Cats Chapter 3: Also available to read on Ao3, fanfiction.net and wattpad

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Two weeks had passed since Sabetha had decided to leave Karthain, to leave Locke and Jean, at the strong encouragement of Patience. The ship's crew had taken to calling her the demon tamer, due to the fact she would scarcely be seen on deck without Locke, the little cat she had adopted, around her neck.

He refused to go near anyone else and would hiss and scratch at them if they so much as looked at him the wrong way, a fact Sabetha felt very amused by. The cat kept any would-be handsy sailors well out of her path, and for that, she was very very thankful.

They were just south-east of the Sea of Brass when a storm picked up around the ship, whipping the deck into chaos. These past weeks had been a leisurely cruise, idyllic weather every day, that with the quickness that this storm came in, it could only be God's given.

The ship was quickly turned into chaos and Sabetha didn't know what to do. For the first time in her life, she was in a situation she didn't have any skills in. She didn't know how to hoist the mainsails or man the wheel.

Her hair was whipping in her face, drenched by the cold rain and seawater, as she noticed the lifeboats clattering cautiously in the wind. Thunder rumbled all around her and mixed with the shouts and screams of the crew.

Locke was wrapped frightened around her neck, hiding in her hair. His claws digging into the sensitive skin there, Sabetha tried not to grimace. One of the sailors rushed past her, knocking her to her knees on the wet deck as a bolt of lightning split the sky and hit one of the ropes of the lifeboats, breaking it effortlessly. The lifeboat began to sway with the force, and dangling by one rope, started swinging dangerously close to the crew's oblivious heads.

Sabetha scrambled to her feet, Locke still firmly fixed on her neck and raced for the snapped rope. She leaned over the railing grasping for it as the ship swayed and creaked beneath her feet. After a few perilous tries, Sabetha succeeded, pulling the rope down just in time for the lifeboat to swing up and narrowly miss decapitating Solus Volantyne. He clutched his chest in shock as in his worried state trying to keep the crew in order, he hadn't seen it swinging for him.

"I owe you my life Verena," he remarked as Sabetha struggled with the rope.

"Don't thank me yet."

Volantyne then continued to shout orders at his terrified crew, and Sabetha was left to wrestle the rope herself. The rope creaked and strained, burning her hands as it tried to pull out of her grasp. Sabetha bit her lip with the strain, and Locke yowled in fear.

Another big wave crashed onto the ship, drenching Sabetha and Locke to the bone. The cat let out another yowl. In the shock, the rope began to pull again, finally slipping out of Sabetha's grasp. "NO!" she shouted, reaching over the railing again. Another wave crashed on the deck and washed Sabetha over with it.

She hit the water with a painful splash. The ice-cold water biting her as she struggled to stay afloat. Locke was miraculously still attached to her, stiff and shivering, tension down his long body. Sabetha tried to shout up, but the commotion was too load, the storm too violent. Nobody could hear her. So she continued to kick uselessly at the water. A few metres away something else fell into the water, causing another splash to coat the pair. The lifeboat Sabetha had been wrestling with.

Sabetha tried not to think too much as she felt something rub up against her leg and paddled for the empty boat. Reaching the side, she grasped ungracefully for the rim. The hardwood pinched her palms as she struggled to pull her weight up into the boat. After a few useless pulls, she finally did it, and woman and cat splattered into the hull.

Locke was shaking and was no doubt as scared and wet as she was. He was wide-eyed and his fur was sticking in all directions. Both hacked up seawater immediately, the feeling of it burning Sabetha's throat, and then collapsed in a heap.

When she had caught her breath, Sabetha again tried to shout and signal the crew on the ship. She cautiously stood up on shaky feet and waved her arms about, pleading for anyone to notice her, but no one did. And they were drifting further and further away. Locke yowled an even uglier sound and hide beneath one of the benches as they watched another bolt of lightning hit the Volantyne's Resolve, setting fire to one of the mainsails.

"Shit. Shit!" Sabetha cursed, shouting again with all the air in her lungs. She continued shouting until her voice was coarse, and the Volantyne's Resolve was too far out into the horizon. She collapsed back into the hull and coughed again. This time blood spattered onto her and wiping her mouth decided it was in her best interest to ignore that.

Locke looked at her nervously from his hiding place and she just sighed, before everything went dark.

Sabetha woke up to burning hot sunshine, and with Locke nervously licking and nipping at her face. She brushed him off and he let out an excited and relieved meow in response. Her neck and shoulders killed from where Locke had been digging his claws in for so long, and her whole body ached. She could barely move.

The calm ocean was a mockery to what it had been the night before, and no ship could be seen as far as Sabetha could see off into the horizon. They were well and truly lost at sea.

It served her right. She should have stayed with Locke and Jean, discarded Patience's words. At least then she might have been able to die with her family. She had run to protect a future she will no doubt not get. She would have been a useless mother anyway. She's too stubborn and aggressive to ever hope to be the calm and caring mother she hoped to be.

Patience had tricked her. And she fell headfirst for it. Locke yowled and started to bite at her hand. He was no doubt still frightened and hungry. She was too. But this was how they were to die. Miles from home, from the man she loved. In an empty boat with a grumpy cat. If she was to die first, the cat would no doubt eat her. By the time anyone came across her corpse, it will be half-rotted and mauled. Completely unrecognisable.

Locke will no doubt think she had abandoned him forever, found a wealthy man and lived a wild life. He'll no doubt die alone and cold and bitter. Cursing her name in his last dying breath.

Jean would hate her. That she knew. Hate her for the pain she will have caused his particular friend who he is devoted too so tenderly. A devotion that caused ice to form in her heart.

That second night was one of the worst. One she spent the whole time awake. Locke had propped himself up on the edge of the boat and tried to drink the seawater, but she battered him down telling him how dangerous it was.

In the early glow of the morning, Sabetha spent a few hours trying to grab a curious fish to eat. Eventually, she succeeded, but it was barely longer than her finger. She fed it to Locke. He needed it more than her.

As the third night crawled in, cold wrapped itself around the boat. Locke snuggled into her for any remaining warmth, and they laid curled up shivering.

By the fourth morning, and the blistering heat, Sabetha drank the seawater.

The fifth morning, Sabetha woke to shouting and banging. Locke was freaking out, yowling with all his little lungs could muster. Sabetha sat up groggily to be face to face with a pirate and she yelped.

"I'd be damned Captain. The redhead is alive!" Sabetha tried to shuffle back only to notice she was stuck in her little lifeboat surrounded by pirates. Sabetha threw up once again, seawater coating her shivering form. The last thing she saw was a striking woman, with black skin and braided hair, rings pierced the arch of her ear and her eyes burrowed into Sabetha's soul, and then everything went blank.

Sabetha awoke in a cabin. Not as lavish as her one of the Volantyne's resolve, but smart and cosy enough. She could feel a little hand stroking her head and for a minute she thought it might be the little cat. To her surprise when she opened her eyes, two pairs of striking young eyes stared down at her, Sabetha sat up with a start.

"Ok, give her space now you two." The children backed off immediately and sat legs crossed about a metre away patiently. "I hope you don't mind, they were worried about you and I've been trying to teach them about medicine." Sabetha shook her head. The owner of the voice was the woman she has seen before she had passed out, but Sabetha had been sure she was the Captain, why would she be nursing her? "Now drink this." Before Sabetha could argue, a cold sour liquid was forced down her throat. It was probably one of the worse things she had ever drunk, and she gagged. "Ah ah ah," the woman warned, "don't go throwing that up in my lovely cabin, I won't be able to get the smell out for weeks, and it's good for you, you need the nutrients.

"How long have I been out?" Sabetha said, the sound coming out a raspy whisper.

"A few days. You have woken up a few times like this, I've shoved this tonic down your throat, and you've fallen back asleep. Something I suggest you do again."

"What about the cat I was with, he's mostly black and he's got a little dot of white on his neck."

"The cat is safe too. Already running the mice on board wild."  

Sabetha smiled in relief and let herself slip back into sleep.

It had been a week since she had initially woken up on the ship when Sabetha had enough strength to take a walk up onto the deck. As she pushed open the door, she was momentarily blinded by the brightness of the sky and swayed unsteadily on her feet.

"Oh, steady their redhead, don't want you falling overboard when we've just fixed ya up." It was the pirate she saw when she first awoke. She stood about an inch shorter than Sabetha and had light brown skin with cropped dark hair. Her eyes were the beautiful green of seawater, and her face was slightly flushed with the sun.

"Thank you," Sabetha said, rather breathlessly gripping onto the arm she held out for her.

"The names Asha, I'm the second mate on the Poison Orchid, nice to meet you," Sabetha smiled. It was welcoming to have a friendly face and Sabetha was put at ease.

"I'm Sabetha." Before she could stop herself, her true name slipped out of her throat, she cursed herself for being so clumsy and hoped it wouldn't come back to haunt her.

"Sabetha…" Asha let the name roll on her tongue a few times, "unusual."

"Uh, thanks," Sabetha replied, still squinting in the brightness of the sun.

"Want to take a turn around the deck with me and then go and eat something?"

"I've already had my tonic today."

"I don't mean that corpse shit, I mean some proper food. We haven't long stopped off at shore, so we've got stocks of it, and it's more than just ships crackers!"

Sabetha smiled again, "That sounds great." Asha linked her arms through hers and took her for a walk around the ship. Asha muttered on about all the different parts and where not to go, as well as the latest crew gossip. Sabetha smiled a real smile for the first time in a while. It had been a very long time since she had had a friend like this.

Memories of her times with Nazca at the last mistake, sat on the roof drinking brandy filled her mind. They would both talk over each other in an excited rumble Sabetha was surprised they ever understood each other. Nazca would talk about her brothers, and her dream to be Capa one day and laugh about all of the men who would hit on her to try and win her father's favour. Nazca had only told Sabetha as far as she knew that she was only interested in women. She kept it a secret from her father and brothers and though they loved her very much, she knew it would go down like a sinking ship. If she was to be Capa, she needed to have children to pass on the legacy. Something Nazca had no interest in doing.

Nazca often told her about her dalliances with women. They were frequent, and rarely with the same person. Sabetha often thought that Nazca might have a sex life to rival that of the Sanza's. She'd even slept with both of the Berangia sisters. To think they caused her father's death filled Sabetha's stomach with disgust. To think they were flirting with Nazca while plotting her father's death. They deserved the death they got at the wrong end of Jean's hatchets.

"Are you ok? You've gone all glassy-eyed?" Asha said, breaking a roll of bread in half and offering one half to Sabetha. She took it and didn't hesitate in taking a bite. Her first real bite of food in weeks. The bread was slightly bland, but Sabetha ate it as if it was the last thing she would ever eat, and then helped herself to another full roll.

Asha didn't comment, just offered her olives and little fish, which Sabetha graciously accepted. "I'm good, just really hungry apparently," Sabetha smiled between mouthfuls. Asha nodded and then walked her back to her cabin.

[marvinswriting]

Gut feeling

Prompt: no prompt in this one buddies, just check out bear's borrower!janis au. Like my g/t mg au its something i thought about a lot but never officially put down anywhere, but she did and you fucking bet im gonna write it

This is a long one boys, and there's still more i wanna write lmfao

Think about everything you know about borrowers-

-and throw it out the fucking window.

Yep, fuck your stereotypes. I'm Janis, and yeah I guess your right about the whole tiny-people-who-live-in-walls-and-steal. You're also creepily accurate with your borrower's code (so I wanna know who blabbed. Probably Gretchen, god. I always wonder where she was before this house). I'm sidetracked. Other then that, you guys got it all wrong. 

We are very much aware of the concept of not all humans wanna kill or harm borrowers. Thank you very much. 

We just know most of them do.

And we aren't as rare as you may think. Lots of humans know about borrowers, and you all think we're a dying species or a myth. No. We're just good at what we do, thank you. The goal is to live undetected. It's safer that way.

We also don't live totally alone, isolated in walls. Well, some of us do, and some of us wish we did. (Me, it's me, I hate my roommates.)

I live with Gretchen and Kevin. Won't call them friends, because they're not. We aren't close enough. We keep each other around because we'd go insane without the interaction from others. A borrowers life can be boring and isolated.

Its the total opposite of a human's. When the owners of the house sleep, we're awake doing food runs. When the owners of the house are awake, we're hiding away, tucked in bed.

And for a long time that worked. But then something changed. I think the owners of the house called it 'the school year ended'? Now the boy, Damian- from what we've gathered he's our age. But who knows, it's not like we can just go up and meet him. He definitely seems to be the most sympathetic one of the family. 

The dad kills any fucking bug without even getting a good look, so like- don't get caught with him (not that you wanna get caught with any of them). 

The mom watches a lot of gory sci-fi shows that always end up with the main character in some type of experimental facility so we don't trust her. 

Damian just hides in his room, playing music and singing along. I like it, its harder for us to be heard that way. 

The final member of the household is the fucking cat. Her name is Ariel which is supposedly a reference to some princess, but the only royal she is is a royal pain. Little bitch almost killed me once. 

I'm so off track though. 

Apparently, this 'school year' is over, and now Damian is home all the time. He doesn't have to get up early to leave so he's opted to not sleeping at night at all. Which is just great for us. He doesn't often leave his room, but Gretch, Kevin, and I have to be a lot more careful often resulting in us grabbing a lot less.

I glance around my 'bedroom'. Through the years I like to think it's grown to be decorated nicely. Unlike my two roommates, I pride myself in my living space. I spend most of my time here, so why not. Yeah, I have the necessities, but I also have other things like plants and makeshift art supplies. In the corner of my room is what you could call a bed and a bottle cap nightstand. There's a piece of a mirror hanging. We all found mirror shards and took them, and might I say life hasn't quite been the same since. 

We don't really look at ourselves that often, there aren't many reflective surfaces to do so. Yeah, I'd catch my face staring back at me in my water, or on a shiny surface, but it was never as clear as the mirror. As I look right now, I just look stressed.

Pretty accurate.

I've got a weird feeling about tonight.

"We need food."

"No shit Gretchen." 

Gretchen and I are sitting in our combined space, waiting for Kevin. I'm hesitant to call it a living room because it hardly looks lived in. There are four beer cap chairs (and three of us, it's fucking stupid- I know) a pizza saver as a table, and a bunch of miscellaneous items that haven't found a home yet.

"Hubbards are asleep." Kevin walks out from where he was keeping watch. "The kids light is still on and I couldn't locate the cat, are we sure we want to go out tonight."

"We need food," Gretchen repeats herself.

"We don't have much of a choice," I say, shoving makeshift grappling hooks and double-sided tape into my satchel, and grabbing another bad for food. "We gotta make a big run tonight. We can't guarantee a day by day flow anymore, Damian has to unpredictable of a sleep schedule."

Gretchen makes a noise of agreement, packing up her own things.

Kevin is still peaking out of the exit into the household, worriedly. 

"Janis are you down for that trip tonight? You look stressed as fuck."

I bitterly. "Yeah, I'm just- tired. And hungry. And quite frankly I may be coming down with something."

"They stay away from me," Gretchen says, swinging her bag over her shoulder. "Ready?"

"Let's just grab food and go," Kevin says before spinning around to look at me. "Only food, Janis."

I nod. No point in trying to defend myself when he's not wrong. I have an awful habit of finding something I could use for art and going out of my way to grab it.

But we have priorities tonight. 

We file out into the household, all pressing against the wall. The exit we used lead right to the floor. Its a debate on which was riskier, but I for one, preferred to be higher. Further from the cat and a better view of everything. Kevin mumbled something about keeping watch and made his way over to the island table the Hubbard had. He pulled out his climbing supplies and made his way up as Gretchen and I continued our trek across the floor, waiting to reach the kitchen to get to higher grounds. 

"It hasn't been this hard since we all moved here." Gretchen says quietly, but I understand.

"Yeah." I whisper.

We all moved into this house together maybe two ago. We tell time by the day and the decor around the house. Humans often put of decorations for holidays and it's like marking points though the year. My least favorite holiday happens during the summer. I don't know the name but everything turns red white and blue and there's tons of loud booms and explosions. It kills my ears and sends me into sensory overload every time.

 We've pasted two Christmases. I don't know much about the holiday, but its the most decorated, with fancy trees and cookie crumbs everywhere. A borrower's dream. But it wasn't like that now. It was hot and sticky, food got left out on the counter less. We haven't eaten anything more then the minimum to survive, if you don't count yesterday where we didn't eat at all. 

I was so lost in my thought for food, I almost didn't hear it. Kevin calling out, the patter of paws on the floor-

-oh shit. 

I whirl around just in time to have a paw whacked with my side. 

Cat.

There was no claw, Ariel is here for a game of cat and mouse obviously. Roles already clear. 

That didn't make it hurt less though.

I groan skidding across the floor, curled into myself. 

Gretchen shrieks and runs away, the cat's interest on me.

She left me for fucking dead.

Wow.

Rude, but unsurprising.

I'd fucking bolt too. I wonder if Kevin ran as well. 

My heart stops as the truth of the statement catches up to me. 

I'm gonna die.

I'd like to say there's so much I still haven't done, or that my life had only just begun. But that wasn't true. I live to borrow another day and borrow to live another day. But I was content like that, I don't wanna die.

Ariel stalks towards me again. I sit up and push my self backward, only to find a wall.

Fuck.

I can see Gretchen duck back into the wall out of the corner of my eye, Kevin with her.

To be fair, I'd do the same. I can't bring myself to be too mad.

"Hey, kitty," I say softly, holding my hands out in defense. The cat sits down in front of me, eyes wide and pupils dilated, ready to play. "Ariel, right? Good kitty. I'm not a toy."

Ariel doesn't seem to get the message as she lifts her paw.

No!

"Hey, whatcha got there girl?" A voice comes from behind the cat. 

My blood runs colder than it already was. 

That was to loud to be Gretchen or Kevin, to masculine to be the mom, not deep enough to be the dad-

Hands pull Ariel away despite a mew of protest, leaving me totally exposed in the open. 

Put the cat back I'd rather die that way.

My eyes connect with the boy of the household- Damian. His gaze travels up and down my small form and he lets out breathy 'what?'.

Once again, I know not all humans are bad, but you try not even being four inches call, curled up against a wall with a full ass living moving human standing there. It's a lot.

Damian kneels down so he isn't towering over me but it doesn't feel any better. I push myself closer to the wall, ignoring the pain in my side.

"Are- I uh-" Damian seems as equally at a loss as I am. 

Don't worry buddy, I didn't think I'd be getting caught tonight either.

"Are you okay?"

I can't exactly say I've been caught before, so I don't exactly know the 'this is a bad guy' red flags, but asking about my well being probably isn't one of them. 

"Yeah." I say, shakily. My voice is weak and seems a lot quieter in contrast to the boy's in front of me.

"I'm sorry about her." Damian said, placing the cat down. Ariel glares at me before walking away, clearly bored.

I could tell we were dancing around the important questions. What are you? Why are you so small? What are you doing here?

"My name's Damian."

I almost say 'I know' but believe it or not- I do have manners and hey, this human hasn't killed you yet, don't be rude and give him a reason to.

"Janis." I say, giving a small wave. 

"Janis," Damian repeats like he's testing the name in his mouth. "It's pretty."

"Thank you." I glance around but as I suspected, my roommates did not even attempt to come back. 

"You're a borrower." Damian states. It wasn't a question and his voice sounded sure, but his raised eyebrow told a different story.

"Yeah, we're real, just-" I take a breath. "Uncommon?"

Damian nods. He knew what I was right off the bat which probably means I'll have less explaining to do. It also made me feel safer in a way. It meant he's less curious. Not to mention he has yet to move any closer or invade my space, so I felt okay. I push myself off the wall a bit, trying to ignore how my head spins a bit from lack of nutrients. 

"I'm sorry if I interrupted whatever you were doing. We'll leave if you don't want us here or-"

"No, it's okay. I honestly am glad I stepped in then I did- wait, we?"

Shit.

It was one thing to expose myself, but not I'm mentally hitting myself for exposing Gretchen and Kevin too.

"There are multiple of you?"

"Nonono forget I said anything." I wave my hand as if waving away nonexistent flies. 

Damian looks like he wants to press more but doesn't. "What are you doing out here? It's like, four am."

"It's still early for me. We- I need food." 

Damian's eyes light up. "Of course! Oh my god, I'm so sorry then. Do you-" He pauses. "Do you need help?"

My instinct is to decline but- there hasn't been much food out and Damian seems genuine. Its either die by cat or human. "Yeah, help would be nice."

Damian smiles softly. "Can I pick you up?"

What?

Oh.

Oh.

Yeah. 

Riiiight.

"Yeah, you can." I smile, trying to seem brave about this, but I've never been picked up before. The only time I'm off the ground is with my climbing tools with my fate in my own hands. 

Damian places his hand down next to me, it's huge. The sheer size difference doesn't sink in when somebody is crouched a couple of human feet away from you. 

I step onto his hand regardless, trying not to concentrate on how weird it feels. 

"You ready?" Damian's voice asked from above.

Was I ready?

Why did I think this was a good idea?

I could die right here right now.

I don't know anything about this kid other than his name and his favorite musical soundtrack. 

What if he's bad news?

"Yeah, I'm good." I say, despite my inner turmoil. 

The ground beneath me shifts and as much as I like to think I was mentally prepared, physically I was not as I ungracefully fall backward into Damian's palms.

"You okay?" He asks, freezing. 

He was as nervous as I was.

This sudden realization gave me a bit more confidence in the situation.

"Mhmm," I say, patting the hand beneath me gently. "Thanks."

"Of course." Damian says, and we're moving again. Its a significantly shorter trip from here to the kitchen for Damian. He holds me close to his chest, his fingers curled around me slightly. Its comforting, and contrary to what I expected, I don't feel ready to drop. I can see Ariel curled up contently on the couch, and the entrance to my home from here. One of them at least. I wonder if my roommates are watching or if they're already cleaning out my room. 

Damian places his hand on the table and I get off on my own.

It feels better up here, to be further up. I don't feel as small when Damian steps away. 

"You've made it clear it's just you," He does air quotes. "But how many people do you take food for."

The lie of 'it is only me' is the first thing on my tongue, but I hold it. Damian has done nothing but help me so far and he already knows there's multiple of us. No harm in giving exact numbers.

"Three," I say. "One with a big appetite." I smile as Kevin comes to mind. 

Damian grins. "What do you normally take?"

"Whatever is out." I shrug, glancing around at the table. Just like the past couple of times, the tables were empty.

Damian notices this and is silent for a bit. "I'll have to conveniently forget to put stuff back then." He says quietly. I can't tell if he was talking to me or himself but I smile nonetheless. 

"So, you've never had options?"

"No." I say. It feels weird to admit that. Damian grins. 

"Guess you're in luck. Wait here." He turns around and walks over to a cabinet. Where am I supposed to even go? 

His back isn't turned long enough to let me figure that out, because he soon comes back with two things. "So I brought this because I want you to try it," Its a cookie, I know that much from Christmas, but instead of decorative frosting and sprinkles its dotted with splotches of brown. "It's a chocolate chip cookie. And I brought this for practical reasons." He lifts up a bag. "Its granola and it comes in these little chunks- well for you they'd be big, but you can just break them off as you need!"

I smile at the thoughtfulness. Maybe this kid isn't all bad news. 

He opens the bag and pours a bit into his hand before placing one on the table. Sure enough, a cluster of granola is just big enough to fit maybe two into my bag. I can break off a piece and it will last days (assuming Kevin doesn't go to town).

"Woah." I say softly, picking it up. This is the most food I've ever even been near in one place. 

Damian chuckles as I carefully place the granola into my bag miraculously fitting three. One for each of us. Damian watches me silently, I guess we're both still stying to wrap our heads around the situation. 

"Oh! I almost forgot!" He picks up the cookie breaking off a piece and handing it to me. It's the size of my head but I can just save what's left for later. Damian takes the rest for himself, watching as I silently break a piece off to eat. 

It's grainy but smooth a the same time. Sweet and salty. It's-

"Woah." 

Damian laughs, its loud and sudden, but also contagious.

I giggle a bit as I feel my face flush. I know he's not laughing at me maliciously.

"They're good right?"

"Yeah." 

We fall into silence, and I look around. I've been up on the counters before, but I've always been in a rush, get food, and get out. I've never been this relaxed in the open and certainly never so close to a human. 

I look up at Damian and he smiles. "What are you gonna do now?"

"Huh?"

"I don't know how true the stories are but isn't this where you leave and never come back because you've been caught? I won't tell anyone if you don't want to leave."

He had a point. But- the borrower's code wasn't law. More like- recommended guidelines? I mean, not true at all, but it's not written in stone or anything. Borrower police aren't gonna break in and arrest me or anything.

I think.

Besides, I didn't want to leave. I liked my room and my roommates (not that I'd admit that to them). They don't need to know I met a human. And Damian said he wouldn't tell anyone-

"How do I know I can trust you?"

The question had a lot more of an edge then I expected, but Damian didn't seem to take offense. 

"You don't. But, follow your instincts. I'm not trying to trick you or anything if that's what your thinking."

He did help me get food. Which saved my life. He also saved me from the cat, which saved my life too. Even before he knew I existed, he always seemed to be the nicest Hubbard. Something tells me his word is good.

"I think I'm gonna stay," I say after a while.  "I'll just- never tell my roommates about this. One of them flips over everything. She'd pack in an instant if she knew."

Damian smiled. "I understand if you hope to never see me again and if you wanna just walk away like this never happened, but I'll be sure to leave granola out every once in a while."

I grin. "Thanks, Damian." It felt weird to be so close to a human and already trust them so much. Something deep inside told me that this wasn't the last time we'd see each other, and that's okay.

"I figure you can get down on your own? You don't want me to know where you live or anything."

I shook my head, patting my climbing tools. "I got this from here. Thank you so much for your help."

"Of course, Janis. I'll take Ariel to my room to make sure she doesn't cause any trouble. Maybe I'll see you around, hopefully not under any life or death circumstances though." Damian grins before walking away, leaving me alone in the kitchen. I can hear him call out to the cat followed by padding of paws as a door closes. I almost feel as if I've hallucinated the whole thing, but the weight of the granola in my bag proves to me otherwise. 

I begin to take out a hook and rope while I think of what I'm gonna tell my roommates. Gretchen will flip either way and I don't think Kevin will believe me that I was able to fend off a cat alone, but it's what I have to do if I don't want to move. Besides, deep down I feel like I can trust the teen of the Hubbard household. 

Let's just hope my gut isn't wrong. 

alt title: how borrower janis got hooked on granola tag list!!! @realmisspolarbear @musicallygt @smallsoysauce @sourishlemons

[ddaenggtan]

amae | jhs

amae - japanese. the way you act when you want to depend on another person. relying on someone’s goodwill and love to help you. frequently thought of as wanting to be loved and taken care of.

when someone new moves in next door, you don’t expect to become friends. everyone on your block was friendly, yes, but none of you gave more than a courteous wave when you spotted each other in passing. that changes with jung hoseok; a literature professor with sunlight gleaming out of every pore, who enjoys complex lectures, random coffee trips, and…sleeping in your hammock? curiosity gets the better of you as you befriend him, but just what could have this man sleeping in your garden hammock every night?

pairing | jung hoseok  x reader

genre/warnings | neighbor!hobi, writer!reader, pure cotton candy fluff, this may actually rot your teeth

word count | 6.7k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | ahaha this did end up shorter than give and take, bc it felt very right to end it where i did!!! there’s a lot of flower language used in this, bc i’m the ultimate slut for flower language, i think it’s the cutest shit i’ve ever seen. i also tried to make this MC different than g.a.t’s, pls tell me if i failed!!!! i want them all to be v distinguishable and independent and unique, and i love feedback!!!!

The moving van in front of the neighbor's house shocks you when you get up that morning. There had been a For Sale sign hanging in the yard for upwards of a year, and you've watched with mild amusement as the price continued to drop.

A favorite hobby of yours is coming up with creative reasons the realtor was more and more desperate to sell the house. Your favorite so far was that the adorable plump woman had to sell it soon, or her wife would run off with their girlfriend in the night, never to be seen again.  Until Minri did get it sold, that is, upon which her wife and girlfriend would return and they would live in bliss.

Minri was, in actuality, very nice, and you doubt you should be entertaining such thoughts about her. She'd sold you your own house, after all; a lovely little three-bedroom, with a wonderful yard for your garden and your friends' dogs. Minri had even managed it at a great price, though she had emphasized the cleanliness of the place and the nearby churches, which was a little odd. You owed her for it, no matter how peculiar she had been during the viewing. 

Well not really, she got a very nice commission from the sale, but it's the principle of the thing. 

You scavenge one of the dry erase markers from the drawer and make a note on your fridge to bake her cookies sometime soon. Your mother would have a fit if she saw you writing straight on your fridge, but it was erasable and easy and you are if nothing if not a simple girl. 

You pull yourself from your musings and make another note to call your mother before she could get huffy that you haven't in a while, and toss the marker back into the drawer when you're done. You direct your attention back at the moving van, unsurprised when a gaggle of young-looking boys emerges from the neighboring house to start unloading. Well, it wouldn't be extremely fair to call them a gaggle, as there are only three of them, but the point stands. They seem to be very close, judging by the way they tease and play, and it makes you smile a little. It was long past time the neighborhood got some life in it. The closest people to your age are the couple three doors down, in their 50s and always willing to talk about their seven children. It got tiring. 

With a soft sigh, you turn from the window at your sink and dismiss the flash of bright pink you see in the mirroring window from next door. None of the three you saw had pink hair, but you could have missed one. You slide your hand along the spine of your cat, Tuna, and smile as she wraps her tail around your wrist for a moment before chirping and jumping down from the counter. She follows as you make your way to your office, tucked into the smallest of the bedrooms because it gets the best light, and settle at your desk to return to your work. Novels don't write themselves, after all. 

You aren’t sure which of the boys lives next door, but it becomes quickly clear that it’s only one of them. Several are over at all hours of the day, but by the time the sun goes down, there’s usually only one or two there. A variety of vehicles come and go, but only one is there often enough to be the owner's. You might think it was a gay couple, had you not heard the complaints about an uncomfortable sofa on your way to get your morning paper.

They’re a very respectful bunch, whoever they are. They keep things quiet after sunset, and wait for a reasonable hour to start their backyard morning exercises. The music they play is pleasant, if a bit loud as it drifts over to where you kneel in the dirt. The fence that separates your yard from his reaches your shoulder. A white-picket thing that surrounds each of the yards in the neighborhood, you've never cared much for it, and it keeps you from seeing anything notable as you tend your garden. Still, you catch snippets of conversation, bits of stories that you never get a conclusion to, jokes with a punchline that’s carried off by the wind. 

For the most part, though, you catch names; Jungkook, Jimin, Seokjin, different variants of each, but the one you hear most often is Hobi. His name rings out constantly, gliding through the air on notes of both mirth and vitriol. It’s usually accompanied by a laugh that makes your heart warm in your chest, or some form of inhuman screech, though you’re not sure why. You’ve never seen enough to understand what happens at the house next door, nor have you actually met any of the people that come and go like leaves in the fall. 

Still, you can’t deny your curiosity, and you tell yourself that if the opportunity presents itself, you’ll introduce yourself. Despite that decision, the opportunity never does seem to present itself. Weeks pass, and you find that you feel nervous at the thought of going and introducing yourself now. The window has passed, it would be too strange now, he would think you odd. So you keep to your own house, tending your flowers and your trees, writing your novel, and doing your level best to keep Tuna off of the manuscripts and letters sitting around that you have yet to organize. You’ve resigned yourself to the sad truth that you simply won’t get to know your neighbor, won’t be able to have that adorable friendship you’ve dreamed of, won’t even know which one it is that lives there. 

The universe has always worked rather strangely for you, though, and it’s not long after your acceptance of this fact that you come out of your back door, gardening gloves in hand and already reaching for the misting hose, to find someone swaying in your hammock. 

You’re not really mad, you don’t use it very often anyway and someone should. Mostly you’re curious - you always have been, and always will be, most likely. Curious as to why someone is in your hammock when most everyone on the block has their own lawn furniture, who that someone is, how they got into your yard. The bolt on the gate is nearly impossible to unlatch from the outside; you know, from the many times that you’ve locked yourself out and had to James Bond your way into your own house through the back window.

You set your gloves on your patio table - a white bistro set your mother gave you when you moved out - and make your way over to the stranger. He’s good-looking; feather-soft brown hair and oddly clear skin, drowning in a sweatshirt that was at least two sizes too big, snoring lightly as the wind rocked him. 

“Hey,” You say. He doesn’t respond, and you frown. “Hey, dude, what are you doing?” Still no response. You huff and turn, eyeing the yard for something to help. You don’t want to shake him awake, that could prove dangerous if he swings out at you. Your eyes light up as they land on the hose, forgotten among the grass. You tromp over and pick it up, dragging it back over to where the hammock sways among the tree branches. 

“I’m gonna spray you awake,” You say. You receive no reaction, not that you expected any, and shrug. With one pulse, a fine mist of water settles on him. The guy does, indeed, flail, swinging wildly in a futile attempt to fight the water raining down him. He sputters and wipes at his face, and you watch as he does. 

“What the hell, who the fuck sprays someone with water when they're sleeping?” He asks, shaking out his now damp hair. 

“In my defense, I told you I was going to do it. You were the one that was asleep and didn’t hear.” The man freezes at the sound of your voice, looking around your yard as if seeing it for the first time. He gives you a hesitant and apologetic grin, and the sun seems to grow brighter on his face. 

“I’m so sorry, I did not mean to fall asleep in your yard, I swear. There was...it’s a long story, but it really was an accident.” He flips himself gracefully off the hammock, with practiced ease that makes you only a little jealous. You should learn to do that. 

“It’s fine, you can sleep in the hammock. I only want to know how you got in my yard.”

“I vaulted the fence,” He says as if it was obvious. You look from him to the fence, and back again. “What? It’s not difficult.” You turn back to the fence, measuring it with your eyes. If he was able to vault it without much difficulty, how fast would he have to be going? He would surely need a good deal of momentum, of course, to be able to launch himself five feet up in the air. The only thing in your brain is that ‘ten-foot vertical leap’ meme, and you curse your best friend for sending you every meme he ever thinks is remotely amusing. 

The sound of your name brings you back to the present, and you focus on the man once more. “That’s you, I’m assuming?” The man says. You nod and point to him, belatedly realizing that you still have the hose in your hand when he flinches. 

“Which one are you?” You ask him. He gives you a confused look. “There are several people next door most of the time, which one are you? Jungkook, Jimin, Seokjin, or Hobi?”

“Hobi,” He says after a second, beaming at you as he does. Something in your chest starts to unfurl itself, and the sensation is strangely comforting. “But my name is actually Hoseok, they just call me Hobi. You’re welcome to as well, most do.”

“Right.” You watch him for a few more seconds as he shakes out his sweatshirt, water dusting the grass below him. “I have gardening to do. Please let me know the next time you want to sleep in the hammock.” You turn back to the flowers closest the fence, satisfied now that you’ve answered so many of your questions about your neighbor. 

“You aren’t going to ask why I’m here?” His voice calls from behind you. You shrug, kneeling beside your white camellias and checking their soil and sprouts. They were starting to bloom and you needed to be careful to make sure they weren’t soaking up too much water. “So I can seriously sleep here whenever. I just have to tell you first?”

“That’s what I said,” You reply. You pause, thinking for a second, and turn to look at him. “Does this make us friends?” The beaming smile he wears is nearly blinding, and you find it very endearing that he is so wildly happy at such a small thing. 

“It absolutely makes us friends,” He tells you. You return the smile, albeit yours is much less sunshine-y than his. He starts to walk toward the fence and you laugh under your breath. 

“Hoseok, you can use the gate,” You tell him. He stops and looks between the gate and the fence for a second before laughing embarrassedly at himself. “Please refrain from vaulting the fence in the future, as well. I'll leave the gate unlatched for you from now on.”

Hoseok grins and waves as he jogs out the gate and to his own home. You don’t relax until you hear the click of his door shut. A soft mrow from your left has you moving to pet Tuna once more, and you beam at her. 

“It’s been a long time since I had a friend, hasn’t it?”

You don't expect to see or hear much from Hoseok after your brief interaction. You've had friends before, of course, but they all tend to fade away as they have their own lives and you have deadlines. Even your closest friends, three boys you met in college and somehow kept around, don't message you as often when you're close to finishing your work; they know better than to expect a response when you have an editor breathing down your neck. You're used to it, used to people becoming immersed in their own problems and not wanting to share them, so you never get upset about it anymore. There's no use in it, not when you do the same thing.

You're so used to this that it surprises you when Hoseok waves at you one morning as you're both getting mail. Another day he's playing football with a couple of friends and shouts a quick greeting over the fence as you dip down to do your gardening. One memorable evening, you turn from shooing a raccoon away from your trash with a feather duster to see Hoseok watching from his driveway. You give him a polite smile and he shoots you a proud, yet puzzled, grin, and the next day when he sees you putting out small feeders near the back part of your yard for the raccoon, he just chuckles. 

Not to mention that you still come outside most mornings to find him snoozing in your hammock, rocking in the gentle breeze and comfortable as can be. He's never given you any explanation, though to be fair, you also don't pry. 

It's a struggle; you want so much to know why he doesn't sleep in his house that sits not ten feet away from yours. You don't want to push him, though, too scared of breaking this tentative friendship you've built over something so small. 

Things only start to change the afternoon he knocks on your back door while you're getting lunch ready for Tuna. She yells as you set the food down in front of her - a special blend designed to help her hearing and her eyesight since she's predisposed to troubles with both - but she quiets soon enough. You step around her to open the door, and you're shocked at the expression on Hoseok's face. 

He wears a smile now, but for a second...for a second, he had looked afraid. 

Your name drops from his lips in a tone that tells you he didn't expect you to answer. "I was only wondering, do you, um…" He trails off and you wait patiently for him to finish the thought. "Do you want to get lunch? Coffee? Anything? I need to get out of the house for a while."

"Sure," You reply. "Let me get my wallet." You move to the entryway to grab the thing - old and falling apart but still useful - and when you return, Hoseok is standing exactly where you left him. You pat Tuna's head and exit, closing the door behind you before you turn to Hoseok with an expectant smile. "I'll drive?" You suggest, since he still seems somewhat jumpy, and he nods. 

He's not quiet on the drive, by any means, but it amazes you how he says so much but so little all at once. By the time you get to the cafe he directed you to, you've heard all about the antics of his friends - Jimin, Jungkook, and Seokjin, who helped him move that day - and you've heard plenty about their time at school and his days spent as a literature professor at the local university, and yet that's the most you know about him. Fun anecdotes and the off-hand comment about a student. Definitely not a word about why he sleeps in your hammock, or why he showed up at your door out of nowhere and asked you to lunch with a look in eyes that you thought you'd only see from a rabbit caught in a hunter's snare. 

Still, as curious as you are, you can't bring yourself to ask about it, because it's so obvious that he wants to talk about anything else. 

"So, what do you do? I never see you leave for work when everyone else does, so I assume you work from home?" You nod in response to Hoseok's question.

"I do. I'm an author, so I spend quite a bit of time in my office. That's why I started gardening, actually, so that I was forced to be outside in the sun at least a little bit every day. Otherwise, I tend to nest in my office for days without leaving."

"That makes a lot of sense," He says as he sips at his coffee. "What do you write?" 

"Horror." The shock on his face, like perhaps he heard you wrong, is one of your favorite things about telling people you write. He gazes at you, taking in the messy hair, overalls, daisy-covered shirt, and pink sandals. "Psychological horror, to be exact.”

"Seriously?"

"Seriously." You grin, much too amused with the entire conversation. You slide your phone out of your pocket and tap at it until you're at your official website. You slide it across for him to see, and he clicks through the pages. There are several - one for each series, one for your upcoming releases, an appearance schedule, and then a quick bio that features a picture of you and Tuna. When he slides the phone back across the table, he looks impressed, and it warms you. 

"I had no idea that was you," he says. You can't help the knowing grin. "You seem a little...bright for the genre."

"The mind is a fascinating place, Hoseok. The darker parts are so often either overlooked entirely or exaggerated for dramatic purposes. I want to tell real stories about real things that can happen. There's no need for embellishment when very real, very terrible things happen every single day. Besides, you don't need to dress in all black and carry around a leather-bound copy of Stephen King to prove you're interested in horror." He hums across the table, and his look has turned almost calculating. 

"I may have to read some of your work then."

"You might." You give him a serene smile and finish your coffee. 

He's somehow friendlier after that. He initiates small conversations almost every day, outside your mailbox or hanging over the fence while you garden. He appears all but every other day on your doorstep, looking terrified but grinning as he asks you to go to coffee. You start to wonder if there's something chasing him that only he can see, but brush the thought off the same second you have it. You've become too deep into your latest book. 

He does read your work, which surprised you; you'd never expected him to do so. You offer to lend him your copies, as you have one of each on a shelf in your office, but he steadfastly refuses. You talk about it over coffee, and though you shouldn't be surprised at the quick thinking and keen observations he makes, you are. As often as you interact with your readers at signings and readings and conventions, you've never been quite so invested in someone's thoughts before.

You're eager to know what he thinks of the most recent book he's read. You're curious as to what metaphors and symbolism he's picked up on, what foreshadowing has punched him in the gut with realization.  If he would criticize the heavy-handed allegory you've created, or if praise would fall from his lips to slide across and settle in your chest.

It's been a very long time since you cared for someone's opinion like this, you realize one morning as you stare out your kitchen window. Butterflies form in your stomach and you sigh, content in the knowledge that there would be no running from this. You watch as Hoseok runs around his own backyard, laughing at something Jimin says. He's sweaty from the game they're playing, but the sunlight seems to absorb into his skin in a way you've not seen before, and it looks like he's glowing. His smile lights up the sunset, and you can hear his laugh from here, and you want nothing more than to wrap yourself up in the sound. 

No, you decide, there would be no running from these feelings, only acceptance of the blossoming fondness inside your heart. You turn from the window as Hoseok laughs again, spotting an empty section of your garden as you do, right beside the eye-catching red tulips. It makes you frown, as you can't remember there being an empty section there before.

You make a note on your fridge to pick up some pink camellias next time you're at the garden center to fill it. Your reminder to call your mother stares back at you and frown at it for a solid minute before you pick up the phone. As it rings, you resign yourself to yet another conversation with your mother about why you're not married with a real career yet.

"Have you had dinner yet?"

You look up from the weeds in your grasp to see Hoseok leaning across your fence and beaming at you. 

"Have you had dinner yet?" Hoseok repeats at your obvious confusion. "I ordered delivery and saw you out here and I thought I should offer to share. Since you've been so kind in sharing your lovely hammock and free time, I want to repay the favor."

"Oh. No, I haven't eaten yet." You stand and dust the dirt off your gloves before sliding them off. Hoseok grins and hands two large bags over the fence to you. You take them, curious, and watch as he pulls himself up and over the fence. He’s careful not to step on your flowers, but he still gives an apologetic smile as you sigh. "The gate is right there, Hobi."

He winks as he rights himself and takes one of the bags. "It's faster like this." You laugh and slide your gloves off with care, not wanting to drop the food, and hang them on the fence beside you. Hoseok is already halfway to your back door and waves at Tuna where she waits on your dining table. 

"Oh, Hoseok, don't-" He's opened the door before you can finish your sentence, and a small black and tan fluff darts out. The dog circles him, yipping at his toes and running back and forth between the two of you. Hoseok looks startled, but a smile spreads across his face after a moment. "I'm sorry, I'm dogsitting for my friend while he's out of town."

Hoseok coos at the dog and leads him back inside, luring him along with a small bit of meat. You laugh as you follow, sliding a hand down Tuna's back as you shut the door behind you. 

"He's adorable, I love him!" Hoseok exclaims, laughing again as he sets the food on the counter. He looks at you and gestures to the piece of meat in his hand, and you nod to let him know it's fine. Yeontan takes it and follows Hobi around as he starts getting plates and utensils, the fact that he knows where they are is a testament to how often he's at your house.

The two of you eat in relative silence. Tuna bathes languidly atop her cat tower and Yeontan sits between you and Hoseok, his entire body shaking back and forth as his tail wags. Every so often, Hoseok will comment about his day, as he usually does when the two of you eat together, and he asks about yours. You tell him about the new flowers you've planted - some gorgeous white lilies that should bloom well. He tells you about his theories and opinions on the last book of yours he'd read. 

By the time you're finished eating, he has several new thoughts and notes jotted down in a hasty scrawl on a napkin. He's insightful with his questions, bringing up points you hadn't considered and opinions on continuity that you need to clarify in the future. Your heart flutters in your chest when he smiles, bouncing Yeontan in his lap. 

"I do think they're good, though," He says as he makes kissy faces at the dog. "Like, good good. If I ever teach a psychological horror class, I may use them. Students could learn a lot from the dedication to detail."

"Thanks, Hobi," You tell him, and you don't bother to hide the fond smile. The fluttering in your chest is familiar at this point, and it makes you sigh a little.

You're so smitten, you think as you watch him bounce Yeontan on his knee; you should, perhaps, feel more conflicted about your growing emotions. And yet, you've been accepting of it since you first met him. It was as if the second you met Hoseok, you knew you would fall for him. How could you not, with his charm and warmth and humor and the unbearable mystique he left in his wake each time you spoke to him? 

"Oh, that reminds me, I have something for you!" You stand and head outside for a mere moment, grabbing what you need in a flash. When you return, Yeontan is on his belly beside Hoseok, Tuna glaring at both of them with envy. You set the pot in front of him, and he blinks at it, bewildered. 

"Is this...?"

"Tulips!" You say with a grin. The yellow blossoms stand proud as he gapes, and you like to imagine that they're proud they look so good for him. "To brighten up your house. You always seem so interested them, and I had several extra seedlings this year, so I grew one for you."

The look on Hoseok's face is unreadable and he's silent for a long while as he looks at the flowers. You wait; you've seen the way he looks at your garden while the two of you talk over the fence, you've seen the way that he eyes the tulips as you weed them. You know it's a good gift, and you scream the reminder inside your chest to drown out the voice in the back of your head saying otherwise. It's worth the wait when his face splits into the biggest smile you've ever seen, radiant and bright. It almost seems to surround him, a halo of joy that feels like a summer sun. 

"I absolutely love it," He tells you. "It's gorgeous, I'm going to make sure everyone can see it." He stands, potted flowers cradled in both hands like a babe, and gives Yeontan one last kiss. "I should be going anyway, I have a class in the morning, but I need to make sure I find the perfect place for these." He beams at you again, and you return his grin. 

"It's nothing, Hobi," You say, walking him to the front door and opening it for him. "Consider it a housewarming gift." He beams as he makes his way across to his own house, and the way he's already cooing at the buds and talking to it have your emotions a mess.

It's been months since you first went to coffee with Hoseok. The two of you are, you would say, friends. You've definitely graduated from neighbors, and you spend more time together than acquaintances, but it feels strange to call him your friend when what you feel is so much more than that. 

Every time you see him, it only gets worse. More than once, you wished time would stand still if only to keep him with you a little longer. Being around him feels like standing in a meadow of daffodils in the noon sun, heat seeping into your skin and painting the world with its oranges and yellows while the breeze whispers a promise in your ear as it rolls through you. 

You wish you could bottle the feeling. 

You make a note on your fridge - 'bottling emotions for capitalistic gain - too obvious? trite? overused? must consider further' - and set out a treat for Tuna. She's grumpy, likely because you've yet again woken at four in the morning and disrupted her usual bed - your face - with your need for a bathroom and a snack.

You haven't slept much that week, too busy polishing the last few press releases and comments that had to be perfect before release. You'd finally done the last of the work and had checked the mail and done your gardening before you received Joy's email saying you were good to go back into hibernation until the next book was due. 

You took the hint and proceeded to pass out at around five that evening. You needed the sleep, clearly; you can't remember the last time you slept so long without even getting up to pee. Still, you muse as you munch on a week-old granola bar your mother left on her last visit, you're glad that you've gotten the book done. You're always relieved when you finish writing one, these days. In the beginning, you would wait anxiously until publication finished and the book was on the shelves. Joy had to pull you out of your rabbit hole several times, too consumed with what people were saying to even bother with anything else. 

That was before Tuna, of course, and the garden. 

Now, you were content seeing whatever happened your way. You didn't much care for professional reviews anymore; they were nice but they weren't as honest. The random people who stumbled onto Twitter in the early hours of the morning because they'd just turned the last page were much more genuine. There were always those that criticized you, of course, but you contented yourself with the knowledge that they never had to read your books if they didn't want to. Others enjoyed them, and that was what mattered. The ones who read them and then couldn't sleep, either for need to express their thoughts to someone before they could rest or because they were too on edge, too anxious, the ones who saw danger in every mundane shadow of their bedroom after putting your book down, those were the ones who mattered to you.

A bang startles you out of your thoughts, and you share a look with Tuna. Her fur is raised, tail straight up as she looks to your front door. You follow her gaze and see nothing, which isn't unusual. Tuna regularly communes with whatever shadow monsters exist in that parallel plane of existence only cats can see. It's not typical, however, for you to be able to hear said shadow monsters. 

You pad your way to the front door, sliding one of the hardcovers that had arrived the day before into your hand as you do, in case one of the shadow monsters tried something. Another bang echoes throughout your house, followed by a series of quick, desperate knocks. Deciding that no respectable shadow monster would knock before murdering you, you open the door to see Hoseok, panicked and sweating and panting. He looks as surprised as you feel. 

"Um…" is all he says for a minute, and you wait. "I didn't expect you to answer, honestly, I just. You weren't around earlier so I didn't want to use the hammock, and it's getting kind of chilly, and so I tried to sleep in the house, but it's gotten worse and I was doing alright but then it started making these noises? So I tried to get it to stop with some things I found online but that only made it all worse, and then it seemed like things were gonna shoot around the room, so I-"

"Hoseok," You interrupt. He stops, fixing wide eyes on you. "Context." "My house is being haunted by some kind of demon monster and I think it's going to try to kill me and I would really appreciate your help in exorcising it." You blink, but the grave expression on his face doesn't change. It takes a second for your brain to fit that particular frame around the puzzle that Hoseok has been - sleeping in the hammock, random coffee trips where he's jittery and on edge, the minute you go to leave the cafe, the terrified look in his eyes whenever he comes over or sparks a conversation out of nowhere. 

"Okay," You say, sliding the book under your arm and closing the door behind you. Hoseok looks taken aback at the idea that you're actually going to help him, but he hesitantly follows as you head across the front yard to his own front door. 

The house is quiet when you enter, the shadows of still-yet-to-be-unpacked boxes dancing on the walls as you turn the overhead light on. He's lived in the house for months and yet it seems only the bare necessities have been unpacked; it should surprise you more, but considering the fact that he's spent all that time believing there's a ghost haunting him, you aren't surprised.

Your first walk through the house doesn't seem to trigger anything. It's completely silent, eerily still, and yet Hoseok seems to jump at every creak of a floorboard, ready to run at every twisting shadow that shies away from the light. 

"Is there a ghost here?" You eventually call into the living room, and Hoseok curses at the soft thud that echoes. Your eyes narrow, darting around the space. "I asked a question. Don't be rude, it's very inconsiderate of you." There's a couple of other thuds eyes track them around the room. "If you don't stop, I'm going to start performing an exorcism, and then who's going to regret being impolite?" 

Hoseok hisses your name, but you ignore him, instead of focusing on the way the lamp in the corner wobbles ever so slightly. Hoseok clearly also notices this, inching towards the door once more. 

"Hoseok said you were talking to him. Am I not good enough?" There's a pause, and then a warbled voice reverberates through the room, eerie and lingering, which only cements your theory. You turn to Hoseok and lower your voice, barely even whispering. You're so close that your lips brush his ear as you ask him where the entrance to his attic is. He leads you to it, stepping softly and avoiding the creaky floorboards as you do.

It's harder to be quiet as he pulls the trapdoor down, stairs sliding along with it, but at this point, you don't need to be. You ascend first, Hoseok following close behind. He no longer looks afraid, merely curious, and you're glad for it. It's a pity that he's felt so alienated from his own house. 

There are several squeaking sounds as you turn on your phone flashlight and showing Hoseok exactly what has been haunting him: a pink-haired young man and his blonde friend, both scrambling for cover amidst the sleeping bag and snack wrappers that litter the floor of the attic. 

You stand aside as Hoseok chases them out, cursing about mice and sleep and ungrateful friends as he does. When Jungkook and Jimin are both gone, laughing so hard they can't run, you show Hoseok the boots they used to stomp around, the nearly-invisible fishing line threaded down and around various lamps and paintings, the radio hookup they used to change their voices.

"It's all stuff I've used in books before," You tell him as he pours a cups of coffee for you both. "Also, I could hear them laughing."

"I feel like an idiot for waking you up for this. And for sleeping in a hammock and getting chased out of my house for something so stupid." He runs a hand through his hair and the fondness in your chest grows. He doesn’t look at you, instead staring at the potted tulips sitting in his kitchen window. It mirrors your own, and you’ve caught yourself staring more than once from your own kitchen.

"There are worse things,” you say.

"Oh?"

"Mhm. I could've not had a hammock." The small grin he gives has you melting, and you want nothing more than to wrap him in a hug and kiss away the line between his brows. 

“You have a point," He says with a small laugh. "It is a really comfortable hammock. I almost don't want to go back to my bed."

"So don't," You say, voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. The tone in his voice feels new, feels good, like perhaps he's standing in that meadow of daffodils with you, and it gives you hope. "You're always welcome to use the hammock. As I said, someone should, otherwise it's going to hang there, all sad and lonely."

He looks shocked to hear that, though you aren't sure why. It isn't like you've been very secretive of the way he makes you feel; but then, you haven't been outright vocal, either. And he did think he was being haunted for the better part of four months, without realizing it was two of his friends living in his attic.

"You're welcome to come over whenever, Hobi," You tell him. "You don't need to be chased out by a ghost to talk to me."

"I don't want to interrupt your work," He says. His voice is hesitant and sweet and it reminds you of the orange blossoms you used to plant with your grandmother. 

"I'm actually finished with my book," You tell him. He makes a questioning noise, and you remember the hardcover tucked under your arm and set it on the counter. "This is actually for you." He steps closer to look it over and flips it around to look at the back as well. 

"I can't take your only copy," He starts but you cut him off with a shake of your head. 

"I have one for me," You say. Your voice is firm, unaffected by the rolling of your stomach, but it's quieter than usual. "That's yours. I wanted your opinion on it if it lives up to the hype. We talked about the one right before this last week, and I'm curious if this one will answer any of your questions or if it leaves you with more. I've been trying some new things, and I'm not sure how well I executed them."

You choke the need to keep talking. Instead, you bite your tongue and return the look Hoseok is giving you; it's intense and full of something you can't place. But he's opened the book to the back, fingers resting lightly against the dedication bearing his name, thumb brushing the red carnation you'd pressed between the pages out of sheer impulse. 

"You don't have to read it, of course," You eventually say. 

"I'll need something to do while you garden, though," He says, stepping closer and letting the book fall closed. "I can't exactly lay in that hammock and watch you garden, can I?"

"If you wanted, you could." He's closer than he's ever been now, eyes focused on your lips even as he studies your face for any sign that you don't want him there. "I wouldn't mind."

When he finally presses his lips to yours, they're softer than you expected. Even his hands are soft as he slides them up to cup your jaw and press deeper, like gardenia blossoms against your skin, and everywhere he touches is warmed, as if the sun itself was dancing across you. It makes it hard to breathe, but god, at this point, you'd be fine with never breathing again so long as he kept kissing you. 

It feels like hours when he finally pulls away, a shy smile painted pink with the sunrise, and it's breathtaking. 

Later that day, you plant lilies, white and yellow intermixed in a pattern that your grandmother taught you, while Hoseok swings lazily in your hammock, one leg on the ground to rock himself. He spouts questions at you as he does, making little notes in the margins of each page as you respond, Tuna curled beside him and happily snoring. 

You should plant more daffodils, you decide as you watch them.

[this-is-a-podcast-fanblog]

Hello! Lemme just say, I /love/ your writing. For a prompt, and cause I’m soft for hurt/comfort fics, maybe you could toy with the idea of Peter comforting Juno after a nightmare or vice versa?

*ears perk up* person likes my writing??? Oh!!!! *hops up and down* Person?! Likes my writing!???? Oh oh!!! Person likes my writing!!!!!!11!!1!!!

Thanks for the prompt! 

we’re all drinking our Stan Jupeter juice here on tumblr.com huh. 

TW for nightmares. This gets a little intense with the hurt (but comfort follows very soon after!)

~~

“Darling, are you aware that you talk in your sleep?”

“Oh yeah? Well, you snore.” 

“I do not snore.” 

“You do.” 

Over the past few weeks, I’ve gotten used to sharing a bed with another person. I haven’t had anything like this for a while. My last longer-than-a-one-night-stand relationship lasted a grand total of three days, ending right before I got the case with the damn cat. She left when she decided a bedmate who mutters someone else’s name in his sleep wasn’t her type. 

The owner of that name is in bed with me every night now, which just goes to show, I guess. 

He hasn’t left. Yet. 

I’m sure he’ll kick me out at some point. I walked out on him last time before he was able to find out enough about my sleep patterns to get annoyed, but now it’s just a matter of time. He’ll be polite about it, obviously. Gently indicate that it might suit us both better if this weren’t a regular thing. Offer to carry my things back to my room for me. Always be the gentleman.

And that’s the thing - he’s so goddamn gentle. He’s fantastic in bed and for once I don’t mean that in a sexual way. He spoons me, or cuddles with me, or on nights where I want a little more space, he tucks the blanket around me before retreating to his side of the bed; murmurs, “Good night, darling”. In the mornings he wakes me up with forehead kisses and hot coffee made exactly how I like it even though I literally never told him how I like it. 

In the mornings, he looks softer. His hair is messy, and his makeup gone. Sometimes there’s a sloppy line of hickeys trailing down to his collarbone. When I kiss him good morning his face scrunches up in a little smile. 

“Dream anything interesting?” he’ll ask, reaching across the pillow between us to stroke my hair. I never tell him what I dream. 

I haven’t woken him up with my nightmares yet. But I know I’m on borrowed time. 

It’s tonight, and we’re in bed, and I can feel his back pressed against mine, moving slightly up and down as he breathes in sleep. I’m tired after a long day. It’s so peacefully easy to drift off and not care about anything. Until -

I’m having one of those dreams again, where I know I’m dreaming but still can’t snap awake. It’s the blood chair, it’s draining me, and I can hear three voices around me all arguing while my heart races to compensate for all this blood I’m losing - and it’s like I can taste it, hot and thick and salty in my mouth -

I’m falling through dark, open space, until I land with a sudden jolt. I can hear a banging like fists on a solid surface; and I can hear laser bolts, feel my body aching, my eye throbbing - Nureyev screaming and Miasma fighting me - and then I’m falling again, this time through open dark space, frigid on my skin. “Let me wake up,” I gasp. “Please -”

I can feel my eyes freezing and icicles in my hair, numbing me, stabbing me, the stars rushing past me in these terrifying blurs of cold light. It’s like I’ve been sucked out into space, and now the void is drawing me in, it feels so vivid and real - 

-and then it’s over and then something new is starting. I feel absolutely nothing, and I know this means that I’m dead. I can hear everything, all the sounds of a fight, like a bunch of thunder and drums sounding all at once, but I’m away from it, away from everything - I’m gone I’m finished. “Let me wake up, let me wake up, please -”

“Juno!”

I gasp as I feel myself snap awake. My shoulders are held between Peter’s hands where he’s been shaking me. He sighs in relief when he sees my eyes open. “Darling -” He makes a surprised noise when I crumple against him. I burrow into his arms, crying for all I’m worth, shaking like a goddamn child. His arms are tight around me a moment later. He cradles me, whispers, “Shhh, shh,” and runs those slender fingers through my hair. “My love, what is it? Did you have a bad dream?”

“I, I-I-”

“Shhhh.” Peter pulls me onto his lap in a sitting position and kisses the top of my head. “Just nod or shake. Nightmare?”

I nod weakly.

“Alright. Relax, I’ve got you.” I press my face closer to his chest while he keeps caressing my hair, like his heartbeat’s going to keep the inevitable from happening. He knows now. He knows that this is what he’s signing up for by loving me. He knows what a mess I still am. 

I sniffle, drawing out of the embrace. This is kind of awkward since I’m still sitting on his lap. “I’ll just, uh.” I wipe my eyes on my shirt. “I’ll just -”

“Lie down.” 

Although that surprises me, I oblige. He brushes back my hair to kiss my forehead, tells me he’ll be right back, then vanishes. When he returns he has a glass of cold water, a washcloth, and a clean shirt in hand. 

“Drink.” Once I’ve drained the glass, he dabs the sweat from my face, then helps me take my damp shirt off and pulls a new one over my head. It’s too big, and it smells like him. He’s taking care of me. He should be angry that I woke him up with my weeping, but he’s taking care of me. “There. A little better?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” I hug my arms around my knees. Then I lean over and lie down on my side, so I’m lying across his lap with my head on his thigh. “Play with my hair?”

He runs his fingers over my scalp, tracing, stroking. “Talk to me, darling.”

“I have a lot of repressed trauma.” I shrug, which makes my shoulder bump against his knee. “Most people would be out that door by now.” 

“Not me.” His thumb sweeps in an arc over my forehead. “Sometimes,” he murmurs, “I have nightmares too.”

I turn my head so I can look at him. In the dim light, his eyes still seem to shine. He’s not asking me to leave. Somehow, I don’t think he’s going to.

“Come here.” He guides me up and moves with me so we can get under the covers again; and I snuggle right back into his arms, because I don’t want to be away from him for even a second. “I don’t know what you dreamed about, goddess,” he murmurs to me. I love when he calls me that. “But whatever it is, whatever you have to work through, I’ll be here. Please don’t ever doubt that.”

“I won’t,” I whisper. “And I’m - I’m here too, you know that, right?”

“I’ll never doubt it, dearest.” He kisses me very gently on the bridge of my nose. Right over my scar. Here in his warmth and his arms I can feel myself falling asleep again. “Sleep, Juno, love. Shall I sing to you?”

What did I do in a past life to deserve this guy? “Yeah,” I yawn. “That’d be… nice.”

“Alright. Go back to sleep.” He sings: “Sér- sí, tye are varna

Ni indóme mel tye  

Tenna i elena úr- eth“

I recognize the language, though I’ve only heard him speak it once or twice. Brahmese. On his lips it’s more beautiful that anything I’ve ever heard. 

And his heart beats under my head, and his arms wrap around me like shelter… and I know I’m safe here… and I know he’ll still be here when tomorrow night comes, and every night after for as long as I want him. 

For forever, if we choose. 

[rosegardentwilight]

Sweet Dreams Chapter 1

Summary:  The sleep dust affects the miraculous holders differently, and it lulls Ladybug into a deep slumber. Now it's up to Chat to travel inside her dreams and convince her that reality is better than her wildest dreams. Alternate version of Sandboy. 

Pairings: Marichat, Adrienette

Word Count: 3k

A couple things:

1. This is my version of Sandboy and that episode so things are slightly different.

2. Aged up till like 17/18 so this happened later than what it did in the show.

[next]

Marinette glanced up from her sketchpad to see 12:30 am plastered on her alarm clock. The stiff muscles relaxed with a simple stretch, and her hands rubbed her tired eyes. Staying up late wouldn't be so taxing if she didn't also have to balance her responsibilities as Ladybug. There was a fashion design contest next week that she hoped to submit if she ever finished. The only sound that filled the room was the tap of her pencil. Usually, Tikki kept her company and told her stories of past Ladybugs to past the time. To ask her to stay with her would have been selfish, especially if they could contact Nooroo. Marinette could manage to keep herself entertained for the night.

"Sandboy has checked in; now dreams can begin." Her head snapped to the window in time to see a blue figure floating on what looked like a pillow leaving dust in his wake. That was an akumatized victim if she’d ever seen one.

"Tikki, we have to-" She stopped herself short. Master Fu's rule of Kwami’s staying with their owner started to make more sense, but thankfully he only lived a few blocks away. If she ran, she could pick up Tikki and take down Sandboy.

Adrien let out a groan staring at his Literature textbook, how was he supposed to know what the author meant by a color? He shifted his gaze toward his phone debating on how easy it would be to reach out to his study partner. No doubt Marinette would be up. They had gotten in the habit of reaching out to each other if they were bored or needed help with homework. He enjoyed their conversations, the laughter they would share, and even the times where they would sit and comfortably in the silence when no words were necessary. His fingers itched to call, but instead, he turned a page in his textbook.

"Sandboy has checked in; now dreams can begin." The words hung in the air coating his skin with goosebumps. Did Hawkmoth have nothing to do at 12:30 in the morning? His test was still tomorrow even if he had to deal with an Akuma attack. It’s not like he could drop the excuse that he fought crime all night, and he had to excel in school to please his father. The one good thing about the attack was that would see his lady love.

“Plagg, claws out.” Adrien fully expected for his kwami to jump from his resting place on the pillow transforming him, but nothing happened. “Come on Plagg; Ladybug needs us.” Silence echoed through the room for a couple of seconds before Adrien made the short walk over to his bed; the covers got ripped back to reveal a black sock cat instead. This couldn’t be happening. His kwami had either turned into a sock or run away, and his lady and Paris needed him. It wasn’t like he could go without his powers...or could he? The idea sparked, he knew that his father kept a copy of his costume for the music video. If he wore it, he could still help until he found out exactly where Plagg had gone. The idea screamed dangerous, but that didn’t stop Adrien as he started to dig through his closet. I can’t let her down; his mind raced again. As soon as he found his fake suit, he zipped it on with ease. His unsteady hands cupped the edges of his mask. The sound of thunder rolled answering the lightning dancing across the sky.

You could die.

The thought stopped him in his tracks, and his gaze landed on a nearby mirror. No one would probably tell the difference at first glance until his powers were needed. He would deal with that hurdle when it arose, in the meantime, Adrien clung to the hope that his Kwami would magically turn up. Until then he would be trapped in a tailspin of fear.

Are you willing to die for her?

An image of Ladybug laughing flashed in his mind as she cooed her nickname for him. He had professed his love for his partner on several occasions, put his neck on the line, but this was different. Adrien, not Chat Noir would feel every punch, blow and hard landings that would befall him. If he did die, who knew how it would affect his father, Nathalie, his friends, Marinette. At the thought of her his stomach churned, she cared so deeply for her friends, if he could watch her at his funeral, it would break his heart. But regardless, he had to go; Ladybug needed him. It was the reason cats had nine lives, right? He could only hope that he wouldn’t lose one of his tonight.

The rain started to come down, but it pushed Adrien closer to the commotion. He decided at that moment he would never take rooftop jumping for granted again. It made things so much simpler. Then he saw her, his lady in red already in action fighting Sandboy. What she failed to see was that he was about to strike.

“Ladybug look out!” Everything slow as he felt the breath ripped from his lungs. She turned towards him instead of the danger and the dust engulfed her. He couldn’t do anything to stop it. When the rain drove away from the remainder, Adrien felt his heart drop. His lady laid motionless on a cloud that Sandboy created.

“She’s mine,” he growled lowly.

“Over my dead body,” Adrien bit back.

“That can be arranged,” his evil grin spread across his lips.

Adrien pulled out his fake staff hoping that it would aid him somehow. His fingers dipped into a secret button in the paw, and the staff extended, not enough for him to reach her, but it made him question what else it could do. He spun it in his hand before sinking into a defensive position. The only way that Sandboy would get out of here with Ladybug had to do with his body in a body bag. At that point, Hawkmoth would have what he needed, and Paris would have a whole new set of trouble.

He quickly dodged an attack and narrowed his focus, unless his staff could extend a couple of stories, he would be at a disadvantage.

“Why pull out that copycat when you can have the original?” Just like that, his heart swelled and jumped inside his chest.

“Plagg, I’ve never been happier to see you!” Adrien exclaimed not wanting to admit for a hot second that he thought his kwami had morphed into a sock. The idea seemed silly now.

“You owe me so much camembert for this.”

“Plagg, claws out!” There was no greater feeling than his real suit covering him from head to toe. He felt power and adrenaline coursing through him; now he had a fighting chance. He used his staff and vaulted up to the roof to provide an equal battlefield. He threw himself towards Sandman as he tried to tackle him. When he missed, he used his strength and his staff to catapult him back towards him. He knocked him onto the rooftop and only managed to get one punch in before he got blasted with sand like substance. Thankfully he flipped back and landed on his feet.

“Cataclysm!” His hand engulfed in the dark energy, and he eyed his pillow, that must be where the Akuma hid. If he stopped Sandboy, Ladybug might wake up and make everything right. He took a running leap off the building but as he reached out to touch the pillow with his active hand but suddenly was blasted off course. Unfortunately, it hit hand wasting his power. Sandman’s focus broke and as a result of the cloud that his partner lay on disintegrated.

“Ladybug!” He had to abort his mission. Taking down Sandboy would do nothing if Ladybug died from the impact. Adrien was suddenly grateful that Plagg showed up when he did. His staff extended upward till he met her in mid-air. He wrapped an arm around her torso and skillfully landed without any damage. She was alive that’s all that mattered, although he would be lying if he said the fact that she hadn’t woken up didn’t concern him.

“Give her back,” he snarled.

“Never,” In a snap movement, Chat positioned his partner; cradling her in his arm and bolted down an alley where he couldn’t follow him. His ring beeped, but he couldn’t worry about that now, the number one focus should be getting his lady to safety then waking her up. What did that dust do to her? He was in over his head. Usually, when these occasions occurred, he would turn to the sleeping girl in his arms.

Master Fu! The thought hit him like a brick wall. How could he not think about him sooner? After all, he was who Ladybug turned to when she needed help. The shop wasn’t too much farther; they could make it without detection. All the meantime as he ran as fast as he could he prayed that he wouldn’t be too late.

“What happened?” Master Fu cleared off the table for Chat to lay down his lady.

“Sandboy got her...and she hasn’t woken up. If I didn’t get her out of there, Hawkmoth would have her miraculous. I didn’t know where else to go.” Master Fu circled Ladybug which didn’t ease his anxiety. Ladybug needed to be awake before they could purify the Akuma, and the longer she slept, the more powerful he became, almost as if the action drained the life out of her body.

“I have just the thing,” the guardian slipped into the other room giving the two a small window of privacy.

“Fight this LB; you’re the strongest person I know.” He hesitantly reaches out and stroked her cheek the cool flesh stirred doubt inside him. She was fading, and fast.

“Drink this,” Master Fu returned carrying a purple liquid in a cup. The aroma wafted in his direction made him want to gag. If this was how it smelled, he could only imagine the taste. “We don’t have time. I can’t bring her out of her self-conscious state; something is keeping her there. I can, however, link your dreams so you can go in and convince her to wake up.” Adrien opened his mouth to argue the impossibility of that, but since he became a superhero, there wasn’t much he didn’t believe was possible. “Won’t I know her identity?” If he went through this, he would have access to her mind and thoughts without her permission.

“We will deal with that after you wake her. There is no other way, and Paris needs her.” Adrien glanced at her sleeping form for a couple of seconds before grabbing the liquid and chugging it down. His world started spinning and instantly felt the need to lay down. Master Fu helped him on the table, and he grasped Ladybug’s hand lightly.

“I’m coming, my lady,” he uttered before sleep claimed him.

Paris. At least Ladybug dreamed of somewhere familiar. Chat didn’t know what he would do if he landed in a country he had never been to, now he needed to find her. There were so many places for her to be, the only thing that aided him was the knowledge of the city.

He watched a Parisian walk cross the sidewalk, “Excuse me,” he called out hoping to get some assistance. But the mother and daughter pair continued as if he was invisible. Chat’s smile faltered, maybe this wouldn’t be as easy as he thought. Ladybug could be anywhere. He tried to gain the attention of three more sets of people but failed at every attempt. They seemed more like mindless shells walking the streets of Paris. Chat wondered if he stumbled more into a nightmare; he’d seen plenty of movies where the zombies suddenly overtook the city. Hopefully, that wasn’t the case; there was no way of knowing if his powers worked in here let alone what damage it could cause to Ladybug’s mind. The wind rustled a newspaper until it caught at his feet. The second he bent to pick it up the headline caught his attention.

Agreste Wedding Upon Us

His heart skipped. Ladybug dreamed that she married him? Whether she knew his secret or not, the thought invigorated him. She would pick plain old boring Adrien (compared to his cooler self) and love him enough to spend her life with him. It wasn’t until he unfolded the newspaper that he found his heart stop then shatter inside his chest.

Ladybug didn’t want to marry him; she dreamt that he married Marinette.

She must have seen them together and got the wrong idea; not that there was anything wrong with Marinette. She was talented, kind and beautiful; he would be lucky if she had her sights set on him. But with his rigid lifestyle, Adrien doubted that he would draw any romantic attention from anyone at school.

This still gave him a starting point, he didn’t know where Ladybug was, but he knew that he could trust Marinette to help him find her. If she was indeed marrying his civilian self (the thought stirred something inside him), then his best chance of finding her was the Agreste mansion. He was surprisingly pleased when his staff could extend giving the option to jump the rooftops.

His home was right where he remembered it, with a couple of modifications to it which included a gazebo on the front corner of the home. When he crept closer, his ears picked up some of the conversation.

“I love you.” Marinette’s confession stained his cheeks even though she didn’t speak directly to him. His mind placed the words on repeat, and each time it played his heart swelled in his chest.

Focus Adrien.

Marinette, if she could talk, then she would be useful. He could use someone in his corner, and if Ladybug wasn’t around, Marinette was his second choice.

“Luckily for you, I could never forget.” The words caused him to pause. The voice sounded exactly like him, not in dialect but the tone. If he was there then who was that? The curiosity drew him closer, this could only be described as dangerous, but Chat couldn’t bring himself to care. He tripped when he watched whoever was impersonating him steal a kiss from Marinette. His blood boiled, she must not know that she was being tricked. Suddenly he felt her eyes on him, and all he could do was freeze. The second she removed her gaze he dropped to the ground concealing his location once more. One of the first things on his agenda, get Marinette away from that creep and this place then formulate a plan to rescue Ladybug; where ever she was.

“I love you,” her smile widened as Adrien leaned in and stole another kiss. She had been waiting her whole life for a marriage with the man in front of her. She belonged to him, as he did to her. Nothing would get in the way of this.

“I love you too,” his fingers slid down to join with her hands. “And to think two days from now you’ll be Mrs. Agreste, and we’ll never be apart. You can stay here, with me, forever. Would you like that?”

“More than anything in the world,” she replied tenderly. “I can’t wait for my family, Alya, Nino to come and see this.” She dropped his hands to travel to the edge of the gazebo’s railings. “I knew from the moment we shared in the rain that it would be you....” Her words and her brow began to furrow.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t remember how you proposed,” she confessed softly. Marinette turned back to the blonde who closed the gap and rested his forehead on hers.

“Luckily for you, I could never forget.” Their eyes locked again, and Marinette resisted the urge to kiss him again in favor of gaining her answer. “It was after one of my fashion shows, I stopped us on the red carpet and dropped to my knee. I said that there wasn’t anyone else I could imagine my life with....do you remember?” Her memory kicked into overdrive. She vaguely remembered, but it felt like that was a dream rather than reality. What person would forget their proposal? Especially from the man, she was madly in love with. She should be overjoyed, but a gut in her stomach screamed that something was off.

“Yes,” If nothing else she wanted the off feeling to go away, Adrien loved her. “How silly of me to forget.” Her eyes wandered off him when she swore she saw something from the corner of her eye. “Chat Noir?” The words are barely audible. She could have sworn that she saw her partner, but it didn’t make sense why he was there. An Akuma attack? Leave it to Hawkmoth to cause chaos so close to the wedding. Her blue eyes searched for another glimpse again but came up empty. She must have seen things; the wedding planning had been stressful after all. Adrien took the couple steps before guiding her lips to meet his. Warmth enveloped her being, and all other thoughts drifted away; when they parted her eyes only opened half-mast.

“I love you,” she repeated once more lost in bliss. Adrien flashed one of his boyishly handsome grins.

“In two short days, you’ll be all mine. Why don’t you go inside and freshen up? I’m going to make sure everything is ready for tomorrow.” As soon as she slipped into the home, his eyes scanned the surrounding area for the trespassing superhero. Chat Noir joining their dream was unexpected, but he would be taken care of in no time. It was torture enough to disguised himself as this Adrien guy to gain her attention. After tomorrow it wouldn’t matter, she would stay with him. No one would take his love away from him, not in his world.

[bugcthulhu]

Spanish/Iberian mythical creatures: Lots of Bogeymen and other weirdos edition

Calzadilla Lizard: A crocodile-like beast that went around slaughtering entire flocks of sheep until a shepherd killed it by shooting its open throat with a magical shotgun. Its spirit cursed the shotgun to break on the spot so that it would never slay anything again

Patinga: A newt/salamander that is not only intensely poisonous but makes parts of one’s body disappear just by touching them

Lusitanian Dragon: Ocean-dwelling and snake-like, with green scales. A heraldric beast associated with Trebaruna, a pre-celtic goddess of home, battle, death and water currents

Machu Lanu: A bulky, shaggy, bipedal goat with enormous horns and a deformed human face. Can speak, but its voice is terrifyingly loud. 

Tiznau: Though considered a kind of goblin, it is gigantic in size, with black skin and clothes. Bad-tempered, controls the weather

Oiulari: Unseen being that announces its presence with a distant bellow. Answering back typically earns death by huge rock thrown at your direction. Leaves ten-fingered handprints on what it touches

 Deminyo: Small servile demon created by injecting a drop of blood on an egg laid by a black hen, then incubating the egg in a pile of dung. Causes terrible maladies by entering people’s bodies. Independent ones are known as “Demachinyos” and far more dangerous. Only a skilled witch can hope to control them

 Long-Teats Dog: Exactly what it sounds like. This obscene female canine appears at night and is considered an omen of death. Can imitate the sounds of other animals and transform into either crow or a wool yarn. Splits in two or three if struck.

 Ahari: A cave ram. Noted as being servants of Mari, (goddess of earth and consort of the evil dragon god Sugaar), who takes naps on their woolly bodies as pillows and spins with their horns

 Peeira: Feral nymphs that protect, live with, and usually lead packs of wolves. Sometimes said to have the power to cure lycanthropy

 Lehen: Benevolent sea serpent that guides lost sailors

 Etsai: Dragon of devilish disposition that teached science, arts and letters to whoever came to him, with the “payment” that at least one disciple would have to stay in his cave and serve him forever. Under him studied Atarrabi and Mikelatz, the rival sons of Mari and Sugaar

 Akerbeltz: A protector of animals that appears as a male black goat, kind-hearted despite his sinister appearance and possessing healing powers. The arrival of christianism lumped him with the devil and witch covens.

 Maruxaina: A sea nymph/mermaid with luminous eyes. Some tales have her as helpful and warning about incoming storms, but oftentimes she’s malicious, luring sailors towards her death. Her charming ability is such she can make raging whirlpools appear to her victims as calm waters.

 Mulachini Del Cielu: Baby-like beings with only one eye that play in storm clouds and throw lightning bolts

 Camunyes:  Extremely frightful, enormous and filthy bogeyman with shiny eyes, long skeletal claws and huge sharp teeth to gnaw bones with. Partly based on the popular figure of a guerrilla that terrorized French soldiers to avenge the unfair death of his brother.

 Carlanco: Hissing, nondescript goat-eating monster that appears in some fairy tales of Spain and Brazil in a similar vein to the Big Bad Wolf. Claims to have enough strength to tear apart mountains, but tends to be rather ineffective and easily thwarted.

 Jampon: Goblin that sneaks inside houses and eats all the food within

 Traganarru: Sea dragon with power over storms and waterspouts, sinks ships and devours whoever approaches the coast.

 Llufa: Wind spirit/fairy, invisible and silent. Stalks those they perceive as naïve to prank them and laugh at them

 Maru: Subterranean humanoids with two horns that kidnap people and cattle close to their domain

 Pericó: Tiny spirit associated with metal that grows into a giant of solid iron when exposed to fire, smashing all in its wake. Blacksmiths strike their anvils three times before work in order to keep it at bay

  Simanya: Female bogeyman of monstrous appearance and boundless appetite for human flesh, their lairs bursting with the bones of past victims. Frequent mountainous areas traditionally held as belonging to ogres

 Black Bubota: A ghost that takes the form of a black doll to frighten children

 Rabeno: Tall, thin humanoid with pale skin and a short tail. Though it watches over animals, it is a lascivious being that wanders towns to abduct women. Believed to spread leprosy and other severe skin diseases

 Trastolillo: A particularly restless goblin with horns and black fur, making a nuisance of itself on nearby houses and constantly snickering. Particularly fond of making terrible moans at night, startling families awake. Loves milk and might be bribed with it, but it’s just as likely to steal it.

 Manlleu Serpent: A huge snake sporting a hairy mane and a large diamond on its head. Slain by a child that stole the diamond while it was distracted and hid it in a mortar; Trying to get it back, the snake constricted the mortar over and over until it died of exhaustion

 Urco: A large dog with horns, long ears and clad in chains. Emerges from the sea at night, howling furiously.

 Tinyosa: A beautiful, transparent woman that appears in densely fogged areas. A child eater that “sucks” on prey until she eventually swallows it whole

 Aborteiro: Tiny insect that enters the bodies of pregnant women and does exactly what you think it does

 Grunyu: A dark, demonic beast with a guttural voice. Lives in caves by day, roams the forests at night. Hard to see, but if anyone walks past it they will be cursed on the spot and their personality will change for the worse

 Eate: Entity that embodies fire, floods and hurricanes. Incredibly destructive and merciless, but sometimes its fury can be directed by someone holding “rainbow grass”

 Fumera: Bogeyman with seven eyes (4 front, 3 in the back of the head) that appears on Christmas and keeps watch on children, taking away those that succumb to gluttony

 Cul Pelat: Ferocious being that appears in days of strong wind, using it to hide its presence and kidnap children. For some reason its name translates to “Shaved Butt”

 Pollastre: A bogeyman in the form of a foul-tempered rooster that eats the legs off naughty children

 Bofarull: Small demon/goblin that appears within and controls whirlwinds

 Maridillo: “Little hubby”. A multi-colored toad, either velvety in texture or actually wearing small clothes, given to witches as a familiar. Constantly demands food, but also vomits a stinking, black-green liquid useful for poisons and spells

 Cuine: Red-and-white gnomes that live in trees or burrows in fields, watching over children. Rather than talk, they either whistle melodiously or squeal like piglets

 Cazamentides: A really tall bogeyman with iron arms and hooks for fingers. Knows when children have told a lie, and snatches them by the dozen to eat them at sea.

 Currucuca: A bogeyman best described as a disgusting mound of hair. So hairy, in fact, it keeps tripping over itself

 Momerota: Beast between bull and horse that launches fireworks from its horns. Chases after people, but is in turn killed for its wine-like blood.

 En Micó: A spirit of brine that turns everything it touches into salt, living beings included

 Bilbiana: Half-woman, half-otter bogeyman. Takes beating her with wooden clubs to drive her away.

 Ceocrobol: Strange beings described as riding enormous birds covered in grass that they feed upon, and thus rarely touch the ground

 Goja:  Water nymphs sometimes shown with dragonfly wings. Their ethereal clothes grant good luck and prosperity to the owner, but get caught stealing them and you’ll be turned to stone. Known to marry mortals now and then: end up vanishing forever the moment their significant others blurt out their true nature

 Mascard Bull: Black and wreathed in flames, runs around mountains.

 Furtaperas: A grotesque, humanoid bogeyman that actually craves pears above all things, only turning to children if it can’t find any

 Peladits: A tall, thin ogre covered in black hair that controls armies of lice.

 Marmajor: Mountain-dwelling bogeyman apparently so good at what it does it is ALWAYS encountered gnawing on children, and carries so many upon its back it leaves a trail of wounded toddlers in its wake.

 Trubinco: Goblin that enters houses and makes a mess of things unless the owners offer them their favourite toy: A pinecone slathered in tar

 Malacosa: Black, pointy-headed being of great size that does nothing but follow people anywhere they go, even waiting outside if they take shelter

 Gops: Extremely violent giants that not only prey on humans but also their own dead and wounded. Have disgustingly matted hair, long beards growing out of their nose, and a single fang

 Taranganyo: Goblins that enter the bodies of children and give them rickets.

 Peirot: Bogeyman that appears monstrously bloated from all the children its swallowed. Constantly dancing

 Carpia: A ghostly bird that brings bad luck, sometimes appears as a thin, wrinkled hag

 Drago: Enormous, has a human-like head an arms but the body of a snake or basilisk. Enslaved an entire region, threatening the locals via terrible bellows to feed its bottomless hunger. After having devoured all the cattle they had to offer, it went on to consume every last human in the vicinity. Beyond that its ultimate fate is unclear: some say it starved to death, where others claim it left to Africa.

 Moixina: Female bogeyman that stalked water springs. Some describe it as a beautiful nymph, while others claim it’s some kind of cat-like animal

Seven-Headed Cuca: Bogeyman that might be either a giant worm, or a dragon

[bookxofxfables]

Schippeitaro

It was the custom in old times that as soon as a Japanese boy reached manhood he should leave his home and roam through the land in search of adventures. Sometimes he would meet with a young man bent on the same business as himself, and then they would fight in a friendly manner, merely to prove which was the stronger, but on other occasions the enemy would turn out to be a robber, who had become the terror of the neighbourhood, and then the battle was in deadly earnest.

One day a youth started off from his native village, resolved never to come back till he had done some great deed that would make his name famous. But adventures did not seem very plentiful just then, and he wandered about for a long time without meeting either with fierce giants or distressed damsels. At last he saw in the distance a wild mountain, half covered with a dense forest, and thinking that this promised well at once took the road that led to it. The difficulties he met with--huge rocks to be climbed, deep rivers to be crossed, and thorny tracts to be avoided--only served to make his heart beat quicker, for he was really brave all through, and not merely when he could not help himself, like a great many people. But in spite of all his efforts he could not find his way out of the forest, and he began to think he should have to pass the night there. Once more he strained his eyes to see if there was no place in which he could take shelter, and this time he caught sight of a small chapel in a little clearing. He hastened quickly towards it, and curling himself up in a warm corner soon fell asleep.

Not a sound was heard through the whole forest for some hours, but at midnight there suddenly arose such a clamour that the young man, tired as he was, started broad awake in an instant. Peeping cautiously between the wooden pillars of the chapel, he saw a troop of hideous cats, dancing furiously, making the night horrible with their yells. The full moon lighted up the weird scene, and the young warrior gazed with astonishment, taking great care to keep still, lest he should be discovered. After some time he thought that in the midst of all their shrieks he could make out the words, 'Do not tell Schippeitaro! Keep it hidden and secret! Do not tell Schippeitaro!' Then, the midnight hour having passed, they all vanished, and the youth was left alone. Exhausted by all that had been going on round him, he flung himself on the ground and slept till the sun rose.

The moment he woke he felt very hungry, and began to think how he could get something to eat. So he got up and walked on, and before he had gone very far was lucky enough to find a little side-path, where he could trace men's footsteps. He followed the track, and by-and-by came on some scattered huts, beyond which lay a village. Delighted at this discovery, he was about to hasten to the village when he heard a woman's voice weeping and lamenting, and calling on the men to take pity on her and help her. The sound of her distress made him forget he was hungry, and he strode into the hut to find out for himself what was wrong. But the men whom he asked only shook their heads and told him it was not a matter in which he could give any help, for all this sorrow was caused by the Spirit of the Mountain, to whom every year they were bound to furnish a maiden for him to eat.

'To-morrow night,' said they, 'the horrible creature will come for his dinner, and the cries you have heard were uttered by the girl before you, upon whom the lot has fallen.'

And when the young man asked if the girl was carried off straight from her home, they answered no, but that a large cask was set in the forest chapel, and into this she was fastened.

As he listened to this story, the young man was filled with a great longing to rescue the maiden from her dreadful fate. The mention of the chapel set him thinking of the scene of the previous night, and he went over all the details again in his mind. 'Who is Schippeitaro?' he suddenly asked; 'can any of you tell me?'

'Schippeitaro is the great dog that belongs to the overseer of our prince,' said they; 'and he lives not far away.' And they began to laugh at the question, which seemed to them so odd and useless.

The young man did not laugh with them, but instead left the hut and went straight to the owner of the dog, whom he begged to lend him the animal just for one night. Schippeitaro's master was not at all willing to give him in charge to a man of whom he knew nothing, but in the end he consented, and the youth led the dog away, promising faithfully to return him next day to his master. He next hurried to the hut where the maiden lived, and entreated her parents to shut her up safely in a closet, after which he took Schippeitaro to the cask, and fastened him into it. In the evening he knew that the cask would be placed in the chapel, so he hid himself there and waited.

At midnight, when the full moon appeared above the top of the mountain, the cats again filled the chapel and shrieked and yelled and danced as before. But this time they had in their midst a huge black cat who seemed to be their king, and whom the young man guessed to be the Spirit of the Mountain. The monster looked eagerly about him, and his eyes sparkled with joy when he saw the cask. He bounded high into the air with delight and uttered cries of pleasure; then he drew near and undid the bolts.

But instead of fastening his teeth in the neck of a beautiful maiden, Schippeitaro's teeth were fastened in HIM, and the youth ran up and cut off his head with his sword. The other cats were so astonished at the turn things had taken that they forgot to run away, and the young man and Schippeitaro between them killed several more before they thought of escaping.

At sunrise the brave dog was taken back to his master, and from that time the mountain girls were safe, and every year a feast was held in memory of the young warrior and the dog Schippeitaro.

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON POIZN’S MAIN VOCAL HA MINSOO...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: Min CURRENT AGE: 27 DEBUT AGE: 18 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 13 COMPANY: 99 Ent. ETC: this member has become known for their acting

IDOL IMAGE

in the beginning, he’s a dilemma.

it’s his face, they say. his features are too delicate to make the bad boy concept believable.

so they paint him in eyeliner, spike up his hair, ban him from talking and pass him off as the quiet and mysterious type. the cures give him the moniker ‘mina lisa’, as in all the photos taken of minsoo from 2010-2014, not a single one is found of him smiling with his teeth. his company markets him as something inaccessible, something exclusive. a rare collector’s edition to be framed and hung on a wall when fans reach a high enough level to unlock him. and for a long time, that’s how he stays. stuck and uncomfortable in leather pants and sleeveless shirts.

then, he’s a connection.

99 is experimenting. they manage to surprise him with ‘my type’ in 2015, a concept that trades in swagger for softness and emphasizes the member’s boyish charms. this is where minsoo thrives. clad in blue jeans, plaid tees, and a dimpled smile, he smooths over the abrupt change in poizn’s sound with his honey vocals and his natural boyfriend vibes. when the promotional era passes and poizn returns to their former direction, minsoo doesn’t quite do the same, not when 99 finally found his use.

now, he’s a solution.

he’s a pretty thing for 99 entertainment to push in front of cameras whenever they need to clean up another scandal. he’s the shiny bait meant to distract the public’s eyes with positive media attention and respectable drama ratings. he’s the pure hearted good guy. the swoon worthy male lead. he’s the picture-perfect boyfriend– all eye smiles and back-hugs and model height differences. even before he started acting, even in the beginning he had been an object to be possessed, a beautiful vessel for people to fill with their own ideals and desires. his current career path just happens to make him more accessible than ever. he has become so synonymous with the genre of romantic comedies that his off-screen image has begun to take after his roles. the expectation is to play into their expectations, to continue living in his character’s skin even when the cameras stop rolling. stay charming. stay upright. stay seen. and there’s no room for miss-step, not when the pedestal he’s been placed on is this high.  

IDOL HISTORY

i.

the day that minsoo’s life changes starts with spicy mackerel stew.

but today is not that day. it’s the beginning of the week, and minsoo is busy catching crabs by the seaside. he kicks up sand with his toes and chases those crafty crustaceans down the shoreline, giggling ferociously and waving at his grandma who watches from afar.

it’s not tuesday. his grandpa ran out of cigarettes, so he’s sat minsoo on his tractor to head towards the nearby supply store owned by an old schoolmate of his. minsoo plays with the owner’s cat on the steps of the store, surrounded by the smell of smoke and seaweed, as the two old friends chat and catch up outside.

it’s not wednesday either. that’s the day his parents have a holiday off from work, a demanding office job in the city that takes them away from minsoo and the busan countryside until late in the evening. he likes his grandparents. they sing to him and take him to the beach and sneak him treats when they think the other’s not looking.  but moments with his parents are small but precious, like candy that melts as soon as it hits his tongue. he pretends he doesn’t mind when they say that they’ll be leaving for seoul again on a weekend business trip. it’s alright he smiles. i’m a big boy now.

it’s thursday and a lady from his grandparents’ church is coming over for lunch. when she hugs minsoo, he fights the urge to pinch his nose from the strong whiff of perfume and manicures, a polished sort of smell that seems out of place in his weathered and sun-bleached house. grandma stirs the mackerel stew on the stove with one hand and twists the knobs on the radio with the other. they live in a small seaside town, and the radio station’s setlist, like its residents, is charmingly simple. the same trot song that’s been on repeat that month starts to fill the kitchen with its melody, and minsoo, hands busy with wooden toys, sings along.

“my goodness,” he hears. “my son is a tv producer in seoul, and he’s looking for cute little kids that can sing and dance for his show. i’m going up there tomorrow, so how about i take little minsoo to the audition?”

in excitement, the lady grabs both his hands and stares into his eyes. his toys clatter to the floor. he’s got a face perfectly suited for the camera, she says. like he was made to be on screen.

the broadcast airs the following week, and it’s almost a community affair. friends, family, and neighbors gather around the biggest tv in town and cheer as minsoo appears in full hair and tuxedo. when he finishes singing, the host of the show calls him a trot child prodigy, and the epithet sparks a wildfire response from the people at home. it’s entirely a scripted exaggeration. he doesn’t even hold an interest in music. but the comment must have made a strong impression to his parents’ mind. when his dad finally earns his big promotion and moves his family to seoul, they sign minsoo up for vocal lessons almost immediately.

it’s in this that they make their biggest investment, and minsoo, unused to being poured this much attention from his parents, hold out both hands to receive every drop.

ii.

his schedule only gets longer once he starts middle school. while the bell at the end of the day signals all the other students to go to cram classes, minsoo goes straight to the vocal studio to practice until the windows darken. if he ever held promise as a student, he wasn’t given the chance to find out. on the other hand, the relentless training starts to pay off. he wins community talent festivals, small neighborhood contests, and his instructor switches him permanently to modern music. little by little, his efforts begin to reap results.

but ha minsoo is not a genius.

he wrestles for every minuscule amount of improvement to close the gaps where natural talent could have filled, easily. he grows from the ground up with only two advantages: an early start and a workaholic habit from two workaholic parents. when a midas scout approaches him after a competition and hands him a business card, it feels like a sign that he’s on the right track.

he passes the first round. then the next. even with his stiff dance movements, he’s deemed to have a decent sense of rhythm. you have the right foundation, they say.and a pretty face. anything else can be improved with enough practice.

and so they hand him a contract.

his adolescence passes by in a blur of trainee activities and secondary school obligations. if in busan he was a burst of bright colors, the concrete city had long since muted his saturation with its bleak vastness. instead of community, there are cliques. asphalt instead of sand. and after being bruised for the first few years, minsoo learned how to harden the softest parts of himself. he can’t afford to be without armor. not when there’s trainers to impress and company evaluations to satisfy. but there are still some things that he crumples before. he misses his hometown. he aches for it. it’s been years since he’s been lulled to sleep by the sound of the ocean, but there are still nights where he bolts awake, muscles tense, to the honk of car horns and the wail of police sirens that cut through the city. during the day he distracts himself with training, but at night, lying in the dark, there’s nowhere to run from his mind. what if he stops? what if he goes back? what if he throws away all the money his parents poured to get him to where he is now and takes the next bus to busan?

these are secret thoughts. by morning, minsoo packs them into boxes and locks them underground.

iii.

change comes in the form of a new company. 99 entertainment is a fresh start, and he accepts the opportunity with open hands. if in midas he was a shadow stuck to the wall, here he would begin to take form. he studies the other trainees’ behavior and learns how to be more at ease with those that he shares a dorm and a practice room with. at first it’s awkward, unnatural. he not only lacks the innate ability for outward congeniality, but years of disuse has made him rusty. he improves by degrees, and at some point, an image founded on hallway gossip starts to form around him: the pretty vocalist, the princely type, the sensitive soul with the dark past. the bolder ones even gave him a tragic backstory, like he was a character from their dramas that they could pine after in real life. where his silence used to be interpreted as standoffishness, it now became a sign of his elegance.

it’s here that he understands the power of perception. that his image is his second body, but one that isn’t his own– a presence to be in the room when he isn’t. he spends the rest of his trainee years honing his vocals, dance, and performance, of course, but also cultivating his persona. he trims the edges to fit him more comfortably and learns how to read the script that’s expected of him. it’s surprisingly simple, guessing what people want to hear. once he figured out where to look, he found that most people have their expectations written on their faces, like cue cards. it becomes a habit for him, a reflex. he gives them what they want, and they don’t ask for more. he finds it works just fine.

iv.

first there are whispers: 99 is debuting a boy group.

and then there are evaluations: twice as often and twice as strenuous.

and finally there’s the lineup: a shiny jumble of 99’s best, one with a spot reserved for min, poizn’s main vocal.  

at the start, they struggle to pin a concept for him. he doesn’t quite fit the rebellious bad boy vibe they’re aiming for with poizn’s debut, not in the effortless way his members seem to take to it. so they teach him how to smirk, not smile. how to run his fingers through his hair and how to look natural in a leather jacket. it’s still not quite as convincing as they would’ve hoped, but it’s fine, they dismiss. he’s just the vocalist. he sets the stage with a soaring high note to signal the climax of the song and then retreats to the back for the main event, the rap line.

they find a better use for him when poizn starts to fall out of the public’s favor, scandal after scandal. they earn a nasty reputation of attitude controversies that prove they’re more than just a concept and so starts a ripple effect of 99 using whatever’s at their disposal to scrub it clean. including minsoo’s limited foray into acting.

they extend their influence to open doors for him, doors that would normally stay closed for his skill set. his first few roles are a train wreck of rookie acting, and it’s met with a merciless onslaught of scathing internet response at the transparency of 99’s media play. however, it’s a criticism that dies down with the buffer of time and exposure, and when he lands a spot in one of the biggest successes in cable broadcast history, minsoo gets launched into a different type of fame, one not tainted by notoriety.

suddenly, he has fans who have never heard of poizn. the drama changes the trajectory of his whole career. he establishes a name for himself in romantic comedies, a fortuitous combination of a charming and harmless public image that 99 couldn’t have planned better themselves. he becomes the perfect boyfriend, a glossy magazine cut-out that girls paste in notebook collages and sigh over on tv screens. he represents an ideal. one that doesn’t end when the cameras stop rolling, but continues in his real life interactions with producers, script writers, staff members– it’s the first rule of thumb about performing on stage: there’s always someone watching.  

as his audience grows, so do the expectations. once upon a time they were easy to meet. now, he suffocates