#for the record yes ive been stung

[queen-of-hearts92]

"They're just chill lil dudes."

Looks at the poll results

No they ain't.

have you ever been stung by a bee?

[ppersonna]

i’ll float away - myg | m

they show you how to swim, then they throw you in the deep end. what if I don’t float?  - float, the neighborhood.

↳ summary- years after the breakup, yoongi, a successful award-winning rapper with an unhealthy addiction, finds your wedding invite on Facebook.

↳ rating- explicit/18+

↳ word count- 12.6k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre- idol!au, postbreakup!au, very heavy angst, smut, fluff

↳ warnings- discussions of drugs and death, penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), creampie, dirty talk, min yoongi being a mental health king

↳ a.n- hi everyone! some of you may recognize this fic.  this fic is my baby. i went through and edited it a little more and put all the chapters together to make it a one shot.  i think it flows better that way!  i hope you enjoy this.  this fic means so so so much to me and while it’s heavy, i hope you enjoy the ride it will take you on.  this fic got me back into writing and i will forever be thankful for that.

↳ this fic contains adult content, such as drug use, discussions of suicide, accidental overdose, discussions of drugs and addictions.  while this is not romanticized, or idolized, it is discussed.  please take care of yourself and proceed with caution.  18+ | discretion is advised.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt numb.

Yoongi always felt numb, but this felt different, wrong.  Like he was falling and had no ledge to grip.

It felt as if the world had stopped on its axis, and at any moment, gravity would turn off and he would just float, float away to nothingness.

There was no sound. Everything existed in silence.

His fingers couldn’t move. Eyes were glued to his phone screen where he stared at the wedding invite on fucking Facebook.

He wasn’t even sure why he was seeing it, considering you had blocked him on nearly every form of social media. Likely it was from your family, someone that still kept him around despite a million reasons not to.

It felt like centuries before Yoongi noticed his heartbeat again. And when it did, it hurt. It threatened to break his ribs, tear through muscle and sinew, erupt from the skin to go, get away, run run run from this.

The numbness was gone. Now all he felt was the pain.

Yoongi felt like his every cell, every fiber, was burning. Perhaps, they were mourning.

Perhaps, they were dying.

Water dripped onto his phone and it took him a few stunted breaths to realize the water was coming from him, pouring from his eyes like open wounds.

The numb silence surrounding him left him, and now he was too alert, too aware.  The sounds hit him like a tidal wave.

His body was reacting years before his brain could catch up. He could hear himself crying, choking on his sobs, and at first, it didn’t register as his own voice wailing your name.

And then emotion erupted and smashed into his psyche, nothing standing in his way to protect him.

He was heartbroken.

He had felt nothing in years, refused to face the sorrowful demons lurking around him. It was easier to hide, to run. It terrified him to think of what would happen if he allowed himself a chance to feel again. He didn’t think he would make it out alive.

Alive.

Was he? Had he been living since that day?  He wasn’t sure. He breathed, ate, drank, fucked, but he wasn’t positive he was alive at all.

Living? Sure. Existing? Yes. But alive, he couldn’t determine.

Now that he could feel every ounce of pain, his body accepted it tenfold. His throat felt angry and raw. He must be screaming—he thought. His fingers pricked with pins and needles as if they hadn’t moved an inch since the day he last touched you, refusing to believe you were gone. His arms wrapped around his own chest as his body wracked with sobs.

Yoongi hadn’t cried in years.  He hadn’t allowed himself to cry, hadn’t given permission to his mind to even think about it. Surely, once he started, he was confident he would never stop.

His mind reeled. He was only half aware of where he was, what he was doing. It wasn’t until he felt his legs moving, feet shuffling to his nightstand, that he realized what was happening.

He didn’t want to feel. His mind, in an effort to protect, to avoid, was doing the only thing Yoongi knew to do.

He grabbed the bottle of Oxy’s, poured out a handful and contemplated swallowing them.

He didn’t think he wanted to die. To be frank, he felt he was already living in purgatory. He just wanted it to stop, to end, to retreat into nothingness and stop fucking crying.

Swallowing them wouldn’t do. He would fall asleep, and likely stop breathing. Too much. He couldn’t die. He knew in his mind he would feel too guilty to die. He didn’t want death; he merely wanted respite, sanctuary.

He could continue surviving as long as his nerves dulled and frayed, mind sticky and hazy. Exist. Don’t feel.

With skilled hands and tools, Yoongi crushed some pills into a fine powder and sat on his bed to arrange the drug into 4 lines.

He always felt better this way.

He would add a line of coke had his situation been different. It was his go-to, enough to keep himself present, to do what he needed to get through the day while still feeling dissolved.  Sing, dance, record, smile for the cameras, sign for the screaming girls, plaster on that boyish smile, repeat.

He just wanted to sleep.

His body worked on auto-pilot. Yoongi was sure he was still heaving with sobs.  He could feel his chest shaking, and his hands were unsteady.

You were getting married.

One bump. Inhale. Hold it. Don’t think. Breathe.

Someone else was holding you, smiling as bright as your future. Handsome. Kind. Family man.

Alive.

Second bump. Inhale. Don’t let it go. Breathe.

He imagined your hands on someone else’s body, your voice crying out in throes of passion in someone else’s ear. Whispering someone else’s name as you succumbed to your climax.

Third bump, then straight to the fourth without stopping. It burned as it passed through his nostrils, straight to his bloodstream.

Children, a home and a dog. Family dinner. Movies, laughter. All of them without him. An outsider staring in through the window, wondering what it could feel like to be within; wondered what it was like to get what he wanted.

Yoongi leaned back on his bed, feeling the slow, syrupy wave wash over him.

‘Please, take it away’ he pleaded silently as if the drug were his doctor, his therapist. It was, in many ways. ‘I’m not strong enough.’

His eyes drooped and felt like lead. He was tired. So tired. He could feel his sobs slow, before ending in quiet little whimpers and sighs. His breathing mellowed, and he felt his chest deflate for what felt like hours before his lungs pulled in harshly more air.

He ached but felt as if someone had pulled a blanket over him, over his tortured heart and crumbling brain. No more thinking, just sleep. Can’t feel, can’t cry, don’t want to face it.  

Sleep.

Warmth.

Warmth surrounded him. It felt as if he were napping in the shady grass during summer. Warm and comforting.

You were there, in the meadow of his imagination. You were walking to him, a white dress and pretty flowers. Yoongi felt his heart tug at every artery in his body, as if begging him to stop, heel, resist, don’t go.

“Yoongi,” You called across the valley. Your dulcet voice rang through his head as if you spoke directly to his mind.

“Where are you?” You asked.

In a blink, you were in front of him. Your eyes were searching for him, even though he stood inches away.

He opened his mouth to beckon you, but no words came out. He was desperate to call out to you, embrace you. He strained to move his hand. He wanted to touch your cheek, feel real and alive again. His body would not respond.

“Yoongi, go!” You pleaded, eyes filling with tears, still seeking the male. “You can’t be here!”

His body stung, wincing at your words and aching at your distress.

“Yoongi, you need to wake up!”

The warmth faded.

It felt as if something had ripped his comfort blanket from him, exposing his body to the harsh chill of reality.

He could sense he was in a bed, and the lights were bright, so bright. He tried to open his eyes and groaned as the halogen pierced through his skull.

“Yoongi?! Oh my god, he’s waking up!” Distressed voices were too loud all around him, and he felt pokes and prods and beeping of machines.

“Ow-… loud.” His voice was rough as if he hadn’t used it in days.

Yoongi felt more acutely aware of his body as he struggled to wake up. He was so nauseated, stomach churning ferociously, even though he hadn’t eaten since… how long? He wasn’t sure. He wanted to vomit.

He wanted to sleep.

He lifted his eyes again and peered through the harsh lighting. His best friend Hoseok stood over him, along with Namjoon, his manager, and Jimin, his assistant.

Hoseok had tears in his eyes, and the sight made Yoongi wince with grief. Hobi hadn’t cried since high school when he got cut from the dance team. Something awful must have happened.

“Hobi…,” he murmured, coughing to clear his throat. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Adjusted to the light, Yoongi finally glanced at his surroundings and took stock of his environment.

He was in a hospital; he was the patient. An IV was stuck in the crook of his arm, his skin ghostly pale, enormous bags of saline attached overhead. He felt faint.

How had this happened? Did he hurt himself at practice? Was there a car accident? Yoongi could remember driving home from the dance studio but felt foggy about anything else. He didn’t even know what day it was.

His friends blanched at Yoongi’s questioning, side-eying each other.  Who would have to be the one to tell him?

Hoseok’s eyes flooded with tears again as he looked at the rapper and spoke. “Yoongi… you-… you OD’d.”

The words hit him like an oncoming train.

Overdose.  

It had never happened to him before.

He nearly died.

He had, unfortunately, been in the game long enough to watch it happen to others. Some were lucky to make it out okay, most weren’t.

It all flashed painfully in his mind as it all flooded back.

You. Marriage. OxyContin.

Inhale. Don’t breathe. Don’t feel.

“Oh, my god.”

Hoseok let out a soft sob. “Jimin found you in your bed.  Thank god you keep Narcan.”

Yoongi turned to glance at the gentle, pink-haired boy who had already done so much for him. Yoongi felt wrecked, utterly guilty for putting him in such a situation. How many times had Yoongi had to force a needle into a friend’s thigh, watch as their pinpoint pupils widened and lungs gasped for air as their synapses released?  Too many. Each time kept him awake all night and petrified for months. He regularly kept the overdose reversal drug on him, in the studio, in his home.

“Jimin,” he croaked, his own eyes filling with tears. “I’m s-so fucking sorry.”

Jimin couldn’t hold back the tears in his eyes anymore. “It’s okay, Yoongs.” Jimin’s voice was quiet, trembling.

Yoongi felt the tears slip down his cheeks at his best friends and team. He had put so much on them. So much.

“You saved my life, Jimin.” Yoongi’s quiet voice made the assistant cry more.

“You’d do it for me.” He whispered through tears as he pushed forward and fell into Yoongi’s chest, holding the rapper close. “Let’s just… get better, y-yeah?”

The rapper’s heart seized up.

Better.

What was better?  Surely, Jimin meant rehab. Sobriety. Meetings and sponsors.

To Yoongi, it meant feeling. It screamed hurting. It oozed heartbreak.

When Yoongi had been introduced to drugs at the beginning of his rap career, it had been fun and sexy. They used coke at the hottest parties, weed at all the clubs, acid at the raves. Yoongi sampled each like a buffet, found out which made him feel lightheaded and loose, which made him dizzy, which made him ache.

The drugs led to the girls. So many women begging for him. The cloudy haze of his mind found it hard to resist, even knowing you were still his, still waiting for him as you and he promised with thin silver bands symbolizing your shared devotion and dedication.

Therefore, drugs led to regret.

He left you. Days before your wedding. He exposed all of his misdeeds, his infidelity, his vices. He had promised you after he was famous, rich, well known that he would come back to you, start a family with you.

Instead, he turned away and left.

It was easier to avoid it all and leave; he rationalized. Seeing your heartbreak had been his undoing.

After the breakup, Yoongi self-medicated daily. He stuck with opiates and cocaine, finding it just the right combination to get him pleasantly numb from the guilt and loss of you while giving him the euphoric high he needed as a rising star rapper.

He had tried to keep it to himself as long as he could. Hoseok knew about the recreational use but hadn’t realized the extent of the problem until he found Yoongi too high to function, slumped in a chair in the recording studio.

Hoseok told Namjoon, his manager, who interrogated Yoongi’s assistant, Jimin. None had known quite how far Yoongi had spiraled down. And none had an idea to pull him out.

Yoongi didn’t want to go to rehab. He didn’t want the forced positivity. Group therapy. Social workers discussing ‘goals’ and ‘treatment plans’. He would risk his reputation. He was now a top-earning Grammy-winning artist. He was fucking Agust D. He couldn’t be just another celebrity who ended up in rehab. It would ruin everything he built.  He could do it himself, fix his problems alone as he always had.

“Yeah.” Yoongi croaked to his assistant. “I’ll get better.” His smile was weak, and probably unconvincing to the three men who knew him best.

As Namjoon opened his mouth to speak, a knock sounded at the door of his room. Yoongi’s brow furrowed in confusion. He did not know who it could be, the three people he interacted with most already present. His accountant? Wouldn’t seem likely. A fan? Definitely unlikely, Jimin and Namjoon had likely taken major strides to ensure his privacy and ask the hospital to provide security. Was it… you? Yoongi stopped breathing at the thought.

Namjoon strode to the door and opened it a crack, peering out. Yoongi couldn’t see who the manager was whispering too, but moments later watched as the door swung open.

It wasn’t you. He felt relief. He wouldn’t have been able to look at you. But the guest was only slightly better.  

Your mother.

The matronly woman’s eyes were full of tears. Yoongi’s mother had been your mother’s best friend from childhood, to the very day Yoongi’s mother passed away from breast cancer. Yoongi had been 17, void of any motherly contact at such an impressionable age.

Your mother had stepped in, no doubt or worry in her mind about caring for the teen. He was already such good friends with you and she even encouraged and supported the underlying feelings the two had for each other. Yoongi became family and nearly a son-in-law.  

Even after the breakup, after breaking your heart and leaving you at the altar, your mom still kept in contact with him. She still reached out, celebrated his achievements and ensured he was well. She was the picture of forgiveness and compassion.

Yoongi crumbled at the sight of her, suddenly feeling like a teenager again, and sobbed as she moved forward quickly to embrace him.  Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin stepped outside to allow privacy and Yoongi clung to the only mother figure he had.

“I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.” He bawled. 

He didn’t know exactly what he was apologizing for. For hurting you? For avoiding her and the entire realm of anything concerning you? For almost killing himself? Maybe a mix of it all.  

His chest hurt, god it hurt so bad. It felt as if all ribs snapped from the crushing weight of his sorrow and guilt.  

Her hand smoothed his hair, mint-colored now, and held his face to her neck and cried with him.

“Shh,” She soothed. “It’s okay, little lion.”

Yoongi cried harder at the childhood nickname from his deceased mother that followed him to adulthood with the woman holding him.

Yoongi couldn’t stop crying. It wouldn’t end. It felt like an endless river, a torrential storm that never passed. He felt raw, ripped from the inside out.

“You’re alive, Yoongi.” She whispered and kissed his forehead. “You’re still here.  I love you.”

He wasn’t sure what he had done in a past life to deserve this kindness and unconditional love. Yoongi knew he didn’t deserve it, especially not from the mother of the girl he loved and broke completely. Not from the woman who he promised to make a grandmother, only to turn away and leave destruction in his wake.

“She’s getting married,” He choked out, the pain in his chest overwhelming him at his own words, so consuming he felt devoid of air. He gasped, struggling to breathe at all.  “T-that should be me.”

She sensed this and squeezed her eyes tighter, hugging the boy closer to her as sobs wrecked his tired, thin body.

“I know, love.” She whispered. “I know.”  She had no words to quell the heartbreak, just as she had many years ago when you laid across her lap, crying over the boy you loved completely.  Words wouldn’t fix the wounds.  She could only provide comfort; a band-aid on a bullet hole.

Yoongi allowed himself to sob, fully cry until he felt he might pass out. She held him, rocked him like a child, whispered words of comfort as his breathing eventually slowed and even out. His sobs turned to sniffles, and though he stopped crying, his eyes remained glassy and broken.

He had stopped crying; he noticed.  The tears had stopped flowing, the thick pleas escaping his throat dried. But he hadn’t stopped the hurt. It felt as though the hurt was a gaping, infected, open sore that would never heal. He could hide it from the world, cover it up for none to see, but he couldn’t ignore the sting or the pain with every breath.

Yoongi steeled himself to look into the eyes of his comforter, preparing himself for the look of pity or disappointment in her look.

He bit back another cry as he only found compassion, comfort and unconditional love in her gaze. He didn’t deserve her.

“Please, don’t tell her,” he pleaded. “I can’t…,” he gulped. “I can’t let her know about this.”

She grimaced.  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” She sighed, stroking her fingers through his mint colored hair. “She wanted to come to see you, too.”  Yoongi groaned and felt his heart clench. “I told her it wasn’t the best idea.” She murmured.  Yoongi was suddenly comforted and struck by how very much he did not deserve the grace of this woman.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “She thought I was clean. That was the last thing I told her.”

He recalled the last time you two had spoken when he promised to get clean. Instead, he had left and spent the next few years in a haze.

“I think you should talk to her,” she admitted. “Not now. Not until you feel better, but she was distraught at the news.”

The idea of seeing you again plowed through him like a freight train.

“Sure,” he whispered. He couldn’t understand why you’d be concerned. You had swung choice words at him as he left, insults he deserved. “Maybe.”

Yoongi spent more time with his mother figure, comforting him and whispering sweet revelations and promises to keep in touch before his doctor interrupted and encouraged Yoongi to get rest without distraction.

Soon enough, he was alone again. Stuck in the too bright, too white, sterile room he had landed himself in because of his grief.

His attention diverted between the discomfort of his withdrawal and the gaping wound of having to see you again.

Even if he made it out sober, withdrawal free, he wasn’t sure he would make it out for long.

He tried to stay away, stay clean. He managed for a few weeks, immersing himself in writing an album and using his creative expression to medicate his wounds.  And it worked.

Until it didn’t.

It started with the marijuana. He couldn’t resist the way it helped soothe everything. Not just the pain, but the world around him. He could sink into his bed, write away his feelings and worries, and relish in the sensation of absolutely nothing.

That lasted for a few weeks. He’d try to smoke every day, but the darkness continued to creep up, wrapping around his throat like a vice.

He demanded his schedule to get busier, to get tighter, despite the warnings from Namjoon. He insisted on shows, award dinners, radio interviews, everything. If he was busy, he wouldn’t think about you. He could survive another day if you weren’t the first thing on his mind.

That’s when the cocaine started again.

It helped him muster the energy he needed to plaster on Agust D, rapper extraordinaire. He could sing, rap, dance, wink at the girls, sign the scantily clad flesh, throw back a shot of vodka and charm the press.

A few lines of coke every few hours pushed him forward, and towards his end.

But he was handling it. Wasn’t he? Wasn’t he working, being successful, making money?  He was rich. He was famous. He was beloved.  He was shining.

Did it even fucking matter?

The shine made his shadow darker. It made his fall from grace longer, more painful.

It didn’t fucking matter.

Yoongi found himself at the corner of the park, the same one you two had grown up playing in. It was in the center of the neighborhood you two lived.  It was where he first chased you around the swings, laughed with you over comics at the picnic table, and fucked you for the first time in the parking lot in the backseat of his car.

He couldn’t stop the memories rolling over him like a boulder, crushing his lungs and threatening to snap his bones into nothing more than dust.

It stunted his breath. He felt as if pulling in a full intake of air was impossible.

He finally sucked up his faux courage and scheduled a time to meet you here at this park. The park that held such significance to both of you.

If he thought it was hard to breathe at the memories of the park, it was even worse when you walked towards him, and planted your feet in front of him.

There was nothing. Stillness. Absolute silence as you both felt as if the barometric pressure dropped around your vicinity. A vacuum. Nothing but you two, and so much hurt it was palpable.

“Y-You’re getting married-..” Yoongi broke the silence, voice dry and quiet. He wanted to say more, but couldn’t. He couldn’t look anywhere but his feet.  Didn’t want to see a ring around your finger that wasn’t from him.

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “Yeah, I am.”

Yoongi couldn’t look at you, couldn’t look you in your eyes.  It was too much. Too painful. Those eyes used to look at him with so much love, so much pride. He couldn’t bear to see what you held in them now.

“Great, that is great,” his voice was flat.  “Happy for you.  I hope it goes well.”

You cringed and turned your face up to stare at the mint-haired boy. The man of your dreams. The one who took so much and left you with nothing.

“Hoseok told me what happened.”

Yoongi closed his eyes, as if blocking out the words.  Fuck. Of course. You and Hoseok were still close; it was bound to happen.

His world now was so dark, so ugly. Yoongi couldn’t bear ruining you any more. You had been the iron rod and lamplight that led him through the darkness. You were his lifeline. Without you, all stability, all light, gone.

“Yeah,” was all he could muster, flickering up to look at you. You were staring back, eyes full of unshed tears.

Yoongi inhaled sharply, feeling each tear from your eyes as a knife to his chest. He hadn’t seen your eyes in so long. Staring at you was like leaving a hand on a burning stove.

“Are you still using?” You asked. Your words weren’t callous or cruel. You asked to gather information, to determine an opinion, not to pass judgement. Yoongi knew you meant no harm and found himself powerless to lie to you, anyway.

“Just…,” he let out a puff of air anxiously.  “Yeah, sort of. Weed and some coke, I guess. Nothing else.” He rubbed his neck anxiously.

Your lips set in a line, and your eyes flicked back down, sadness washing over your features. He could feel it rolling off of you in waves, lumps building in his throat.

“I miss you,” He admitted, words tumbling out before he could catch himself. “So fucking much.  I know this isn’t fair, and I know that I fucked up. I just miss you more than anything else in the world.”

At first, you laughed.  Yoongi felt as if someone had punched him.

Then you cried. Yoongi felt as if he had been shot, point blank in the chest.

“You’re right, Yoongi. It isn’t fair,” You walked closer to him, a mix of grief and anger. “You ruined my fucking life.”

You pushed against his shoulder. “You left me at the fucking altar.  You cheated on me.” The tears came faster down your cheeks. “Then, you almost fucking died. And my mom won’t stop crying. And I can’t stop crying, I fucking cry my eyes out because my wedding is in 2 months and I realize I will never get over you.”

Yoongi felt another shot, execution style, to the head. He couldn’t speak and watched your anger, accepting the jabs to his chest.

“I thought I was happy, Yoongi. I really thought I would get the wedding and life I wanted so badly, and you took it away from me. Twice!” You were sobbing, pushed even closer against him. “You almost fucking dying made me realize I don’t want that life with him.  I want it with you, you fucking inconsiderate asshole!”

Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to speak. Any elation he might have had about hearing your revelation was quickly quelled by the fire of your anguish.  

“And, now you’re still using and there’s no way I could even think about seeing you high. I love you so much and it fucking hurts me knowing you do that to yourself, accepting no sort of fucking help. You can’t do it all yourself, Min Yoongi, no matter how fucking great you think you are!”

He couldn’t reply. He had no words, nothing of value to add. You were right. He couldn’t find a single argument. Your body pressed so close to him and his body ached. It yearned to close the distance and feel your shape against his, slotting together so easily as you always had. It was magnetic. He could almost weep at how badly he needed to hold you, to feel you, to touch you again.

You watched him, unable to stop the flow of tears you promised you would never shed for him again. “Look at me.” You asked quietly.

Yoongi’s own red-rimmed eyes lifted to yours. He looked so broken. So raw. He was crying, years of built up sorrow pouring down his pale cheeks.

You closed the distance and pushed together your bodies, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your face against his neck. He smelled as he always did. Dove shampoo, Old Spice, laundry detergent. You knew Yoongi nearly down to his DNA.

You lifted your face level to his and pressed a kiss to his lips. He felt no heat in the kiss, no desire.

It felt final, resolute.

“Goodbye, Yoongi.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his.

And you turned. And you left.

And another piece of Yoongi’s broken heart slipped away with you.

Yoongi avoided any semblance of routine. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t feel anything but ache. He saw you in everything he did.

He tried to stay away from the drugs.  He sincerely did. He knew the risks. He knew he had nearly died.

But he could not bear to take the pain anymore. He could not continue fighting his very breath, forcing himself to breathe even though it hurt too much.

He was still standing on the outside of your world, so far away from you. It was so cold. He didn’t remember what warmth was. He didn’t think he deserved to remember, either.

It was easy to score a baggie of smack.  Yoongi had plenty of money and connections. But Yoongi had never done heroin intravenously. He had smoked it with his old dealer, the first man he ever had to revive with Narcan. IV use scared him. But it was what he could get a hold of, and what he needed.

Tie off. Fill up. Inject. Hold it. Breathe. Don’t feel. Release.

It washed over him quickly, the same fuzzy warmth that started at his toes and slithered up to his head. It felt headier than snorting it, less of a slow rush, more of an instant dive into warmth. Comfort.

The knot in his stomach loosened. Yoongi relaxed against his pillows and inhaled deeply before exhaling. He could breathe again.

He was so sleepy. So tired. He could sleep again without the torment of his dreams. He could live again without feeling his shattered heart. No hurt. Only comfort.

His only love.

He wasn’t sure how long he slept for. He didn’t dream. He couldn’t recall if five minutes had passed or five days. His head pounded him back to reality as he woke, and he realized it was dark outside his bedroom.

His phone was still on his bedside table. He checked it and groaned. It was the next day, next evening really. He had slept over 24 hours. He felt like shit.

The nausea and the chills came soon after. He felt as if he was burning. He couldn’t stop puking, even with minimal content in his stomach to begin with. Sips of water would come back up. His fever got worse. He became so drenched in sweat he stripped his clothes and sat in a bath, hoping to sweat the fever out. It chilled him to the bone.  He was so hot, and so fucking cold at the same time.

Yoongi cried as he held himself in the tub. He was alone. He was withdrawing. He wanted more, god he wanted to sleep and feel good again, didn’t want the sickness or the grief. It was so much. So fucking much.

His fingers danced along his phone, dialing your number out of habit, out of a need to hear you.

“Why are you calling me, Yoongi?” Your voice, flat, asked through the phone.

Yoongi croaked. His voice was hoarse due to disuse for over a day. “I fucked up, baby.”

Your heart clenched at the sound of the pet name. It had been so long. God, you had missed it so much. You missed him. You fucking hated him for it.

“Are you okay?” You asked, concern edging out the anger at his call.

“No,” he sighed, shivering and holding his knees to his chest. “I sh-shot up.”

He could not stop the whimper leaving his mouth. “I’m withdrawing. I w-want to keep using it, but I can’t!” Yoongi sobbed, openly weeping at the physical and emotional pain. “I’ll fucking die again. I don’t want to die. I love you.”

Tears poured down your face, heartbroken at his words and actions.

“Yoongi, where are you?”

Yoongi quickly replied. “I’m at home, in the bathtub. The front door is locked,” He whispered.  “I don’t think I can stand.”

“I still uh… have my key.” You admitted. Yoongi felt his heart clench, unsure of what to make of that idea.

Yoongi remained in the bathtub, holding himself and shivering violently when you arrived on scene. Your heart, already so broken, shattered at the impact of seeing the love of your life and the cause of your heartbreak, suffering.

“Fuck,” you whispered, quickly grabbing towels and kneeling by the tub at his side. “Yoongs, let’s get you dry, okay? Can you stand with me?” You grasped his clammy arms and allowed him to use your weight to balance himself on shaky legs.

You were so gentle. So compassionate. Yoongi felt his resolve breaking, wanting nothing but to wrap you up and never let you go again, tell your future husband to fuck off and allow the rapper to take his rightful place.

With your help, Yoongi stood and allowed himself to be dried. He normally would have felt the stirrings of arousal at such an intimate gesture, but all he felt now was unbridled affection and overpowering guilt.

You led Yoongi to his bed, settling him on the soft surface while you moved to dig through his drawers for clothes.

“Don’t make me go to the hospital,” he pleaded softly.  You stole a look back at him, at his words.  

“Yoongi, you need to see someone.  You’re not okay.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m… I’ll be okay.  I’ve gone through the worst of it already.” He rubbed at his sweaty forehead. “Will you just stay with me? I’m so cold.” He shivered.

You glanced at the man on the bed.  He was thin, so sickly thin.  While he had always maintained a lean physique, it looked as if the rapper hadn’t eaten in weeks.  His skin was sallow, paper white with bruises on his arms and legs that seemed onyx against his alabaster skin.

You weren’t sure you could argue with him, but he definitely appeared less ill for wear now that he was out of the bath and dry.

“Yoongs,…” you breathed, dropping the clothing in your hands. “Let me hold you.”  All reservations were held back. The anger dissipated. You couldn’t fight the need to help him, to nurture and hold him.

You moved to tear your thick jacket off your frame and toe out of your shoes before making towards the bed.  Together, you took hands and slid gently in between his sheets.  Yoongi’s body was trembling.  He didn’t know if it was from the withdrawal or his proximity to you.

You pulled the blanket up and over your bodies, pressing yours against his thin body. His skin was freezing, forcing out a shiver of your own.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, forehead leaning to press against yours. You didn’t reply, not sure you’d be able to form words.

You laid in a long, comfortable silence as your warm hands rubbed along Yoongi’s arms and back, willing the blood vessels in his body to expand and return his heat. His breathing was even now, but occasionally let out a groan.  He couldn’t tell if it was a groan of pain, or of pleasure. Your hands on his skin felt like heaven and hell, wrapped in one.  

Everything he loved and lost in one package.

Bringing him to life and sentencing him to death.

“I love you,” his voice was shaky, quiet.  

You nodded, tears now easily slipping past your cheeks. “I love you too.”  There was no use denying it. It was clear in the way you ran to him, in the way you held him tightly, as if he would disappear without you pressed up against him.

His lips found yours easily, as if magnetized.  The kiss was slow, gentle.  You felt your own tears slide down your cheeks and meet his own.  Yoongi couldn’t help them, couldn’t help the simultaneous ache and burn of your touch again.

His hand slid to rest on your hip, underneath your shirt, pulling you even closer.  The kiss deepened, tongues swirling in each other’s mouth, searching for each other in the only place you knew.

It didn’t take long for your shirt to come off, and Yoongi’s hands to slide down your hips to push at your jeans.  This wasn’t passionate or steamy.  It was broken, desperately seeking comfort in the solace of each other.  

Once your clothing laid strewn across the floor, Yoongi wrapped his thin arms around your waist, pulling you as close to him as he could.  He could feel your breasts press up against his chest and was positive you could feel his hardness pressing into your thighs.  

He didn’t want to fuck you.  He wanted to love you, to feel you again. He wanted to hide inside you. He wanted the security that being buried deep within you once gave him.  He wanted to feel alive, feel you. It seemed he could no longer separate the difference.

His tears wouldn’t stop flowing, neither would yours.  

There was no foreplay, no teasing or edging.  Yoongi laid you back against the pillows and kissed at your tears, eyes boring into yours to seek consent.  You nodded, opening up your legs as a response. You needed to feel him too, fill the ache inside of you that widened each day without him. Yoongi lined himself up and slid into the familiar, inviting heat.

You muffled a cry, thrilled at the feeling of him filling you completely.  You missed him.  You loved him.  You hated him. You never felt more complete.  The thought made you cry more, both in pleasure and in sorrow.  The man bringing you so much pleasure had wrought so much sadness and pain.

Yoongi kept a slow pace, uncaring about orgasms or getting off.  His desire to be within you was void of sensuality at this point.  Yoongi only wanted to be within you, to feel safe, to feel anything again.  He felt alive.  

Alive.

His thrusting moved quicker as your lips met and danced together, pouring out emotion through unspoken gestures. He didn’t have the words, couldn’t tell you every single thought ran through his brain.  He hoped he could convey them to you here, in each roll of his hips.

Yoongi felt his release quickly approaching, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t sure what the moral code for cumming inside your ex fiancé was. He groaned as he kissed you.

“I love you, I’m close.  Where…?” He hoped you would understand his broken question.

You sighed with relief, feeling yours coming quickly too. While there had been no fire, no passion, the unadulterated emotion coursing between the two of you was enough to bring you close to completion.

“Inside me, please,” you sniffed, gasping at the tendrils of orgasm beginning to wrap around you.

Yoongi pressed his face against your neck, leaving salty kisses as he felt your channel pulse around him in completion, triggering his own end. He momentarily thrilled at his cum coating your cunt again, but the thought quickly left him.  Not that kind of night, nor that kind of fucking. Your moans were quiet, and he merely breathed a soft sigh into your neck.

It only took a moment for the reality of it all to hit you.

You had just fucked your ex. Who was in the middle of a withdrawal. While you were engaged to another man.  Who you had no desire to ever see again.

Fuck.

Yoongi pulled himself out of you, but pressed you close against him. Despite the agony in his head and his stomach from the pain of withdrawing, he felt secure again. He felt, for a minute, like he was finally on the inside of his dream, no longer looking in from the outside.

It was quickly wrenched away as you slithered out from under him, your tears quickening.

“I need to go,” you murmured. “I can’t believe I-we…,” you shook your head as you pulled your clothes on quickly. “I’m engaged.”

Yoongi winced and sat up as he watched you. “Yeah,” he felt his own tears slip down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re always sorry, Yoongi,” you snapped. It felt like a dagger to his heart.

He was. Always so sorry. He rarely felt anything other than sorry.

You felt guilty at the look that crossed his features.  Fuck.  

“I’ll-… I’ll call Hoseok to come check on you. Okay?”

Yoongi remained solid and didn’t move, only tracked you with his eyes as you shoved yourself into your coat and cried as you put on your shoes.

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” you whispered. He wondered if it was the last time he’d see you.

The door closed; all that was left of his weak heart left with you.

Fuck.

Sorry. Always so sorry.

Yoongi mulled that phrase through his mind since you left.

He was sure at this point sorrow and grief fueled his body alone.

He stopped caring, only subsisted on weed and whatever cans of food he found in his kitchen, or what Jimin would leave out for him.  He stopped caring. The minuscule amount of care inside him evaporated.

He felt like he was wandering an empty, dark pathway with no light. No end in sight.

He hid from the world, stopped all the press conferences, the interviews, the shows. He dropped out of a three-month tour of Europe, one that would have brought him significant money and status. He wasn’t sure he could even perform anymore, drugs or not.

The tabloids started running about him then, too. Tales of drug addiction, of his deep and dark secrets he tried to keep away. They spun false tales of illicit sex, arrests, gang connections, violence. His career was on the precipice of crumbling around him.

He shined, he burned bright and fast.  

Now, he was ashes on the ground.

He burned through his money, ate nothing but packaged ramen and beer, and cried himself to sleep at night.

His life was fucking pathetic.

Namjoon avoided him, only talking to him about business-related concerns and the press. Jimin remained steadfast and loyal, constantly checking in, but only looked at him with pity and sadness.  Hoseok refused to spend time with him, citing his concerns about watching his best friend die in front of him.

Losing everything eventually broke him.

He stayed up all night, every night, so drugged out his mind, and cried. He looked at old pictures of you and him, of his best friends, memories of a time much easier and happier.

He had lost all of it.

For something that was going to fucking kill him.

He let you get away. He lost his friends. All for trying to be rich and famous. And that was quickly slipping through his fingers too.

It was time to stop. It was time to stop fucking around.

It was time to end it all.

With one last jab of the needle, Yoongi slid away.

Far, far away.

Rehab wasn’t as bad as Yoongi had painted it out to be.

There were group meetings, individual therapy, social workers and their treatment goals.  There was crying.  There was pain, so much it felt overwhelming. There were the withdrawals, likely the worst aspect of it all. The nausea, the fever, the stomach churning.  He wanted so badly to end it, just use one more time to stop being sick.

But there he found healing. He found each time he cried, a piece of his heart built back up, sturdier this time.  Each dry heave of sickness brought him one step closer to never feeling it again.

He found camaraderie.  He found wellness. He found his muse and his passion again.

He met new friends, Taehyung and Jungkook, both fellow opioid addicts. Through them, they formed a bond of sobriety and perseverance. They held each other accountable and held each other close through their subsequent relapses and returns to rehab.

Yoongi started working out, started putting weight back on in places it was meant to be: his cheeks, his arms and thighs, around his ribs. Jungkook was a personal trainer and guided him through personalized workouts and a nutrition plan. Yoongi found peace in each 60 minute cardio or weight-lifting session with his new best friend.  He realized he could pour out all his pent-up emotions through his sweat, his hard work.

Taehyung was an artist, a phenomenally gifted and talented man. Yoongi felt inspired by him. Yoongi wrote and wrote. He wrote songs, poems, stories, rap lines. He found that what he couldn’t release physically through his training, he could release through his gift of creative writing.

Yoongi released his album from rehab, with the help of Namjoon. He merely titled it ‘goodbye’. Taehyung’s creative muse helped him finish the lyrics to all his songs. Yoongi felt cathartic, releasing his last record, an ode to Agust D and a goodbye to the live fast, die young lifestyle he no longer wished to partake of.

Yoongi’s therapist, Kim Seokjin, likely made the biggest impact on him.  Yoongi learned about love, actual love. Loving yourself, respecting yourself, allowing yourself to feel the entire scope and range of emotions.

It was amid a therapy session with Jin that Yoongi decided he wanted to be a therapist.

Yoongi stepped out of the spotlight, out of the lifestyle of the rich and famous, and Yoongi returned to school in the fall for his Master’s in Social Work, with Jungkook at his side working towards a degree in exercise science and Taehyung working towards a Master’s in Fine Arts.  

Yoongi followed the Narcotics Anonymous guidelines to a T.  He admitted to himself his faults, his addiction.  He attended all meetings, called his sponsor regularly and in emergency situations where the need to use was so overpowering he felt he might give in.  He apologized to Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin. It was important to him to mend those relationships. He felt it was important to right the wrongs he brought upon them over the last five years.

He apologized to your mother.  He visited her weekly, checking in on her and surprising her with her favorite foods and flowers.  She bought 6 copies of his newest album, and together they wept over the lyrics, the intricately weaved storyline, and the stunning change the boy made.

She attended his graduation, too. She cried when Yoongi slid the tassel on his cap to the right, to the left. Yoongi felt a rush that drugs never compared to as he shook the hand of the president of his university and held that thick roll of paper.

He had accomplished something. He had done something; he had worked through incredible odds stacked against him and achieved it. No longer was Yoongi content with watching his life slip by in a haze.

Yoongi became a therapist, a social worker. The same people he thought would drag him down and ruin his career and reputation were the same people who lifted him out of his darkest place.

Min Yoongi, social worker.

He liked that better than Agust D, dead rapper, anyway.

Yoongi was leaving work, a group home for adolescent men suffering from addiction, when he ran into you.

His horn-rimmed glasses framed his face and newly bleached blonde hair fell around his forehead.

His heart stuttered at the sight of you. It all came rushing back.

Pain. Sadness. Drugs. Addiction.

You smiled at him, surprised to see him looking so healthy.  You had heard all about his progress from your mother, eagerness and pride in her voice. But seeing him was as if walking into another dimension.  He looked fit, strong, healthy, intelligent. Frankly, he looked sexy.

“Hi,” you meekly croaked, a blush floating to your cheeks at the thought of finding your ex so dashing.

“Hi,” he replied, a soft smile filling his lips as he practiced his mindfulness to allow the self-sabotaging thoughts to work themselves out, replaced with hopeful and insightful ones.  Min Yoongi wasn’t afraid to feel anymore.

He wanted to talk to you. He wanted to ask you out. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to fuck you.

He felt mildly guilty about wanting to fuck another man’s wife, but shook the thought away. He would settle for talking. You may have been his ex fiancé, but you were also his childhood best friend. He craved to just settle back into that role, alone.

“Do-…” he faltered for a moment, then swallowed harshly and summoned courage. “Do you wanna grab a coffee with me? I was just headed to get one.” He pulled his backpack tighter to his back, unable to part with the bag that guided him through school and into a real-life job.

You nodded, finding it hard to speak. “Yes.”

Yoongi couldn’t stop staring at you. You looked so beautiful, so different while still so similar. Your hair was longer, healthier. Your clothes fit well to your body, accentuating your curves and sliding down elegantly and conservatively. Your eyes glistened with something. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was desire.

“I heard you’re a therapist now,” you murmured as you clutched the hot matcha latte in your hands, sitting across the tiny wood table from the ex-rapper.

Yoongi blushed and nodded. “Yeah, I am.” You didn’t miss the way his voice sounded so confident, so proud.  “I work at a group home for young men with substance abuse addictions.” He smiled, poised and content. The pride clear on his face had never been there when he was a musician.  

You couldn’t help the hard beat of your heart. “Wow,” you sighed. “That’s incredible, Yoongs. Mom said she’s proud of you,” you gulped.  “I’m proud of you, too.”

Yoongi took a moment to nod graciously, feeling a swell within him.  You were proud.  Of him.

“How’s errr…” he faltered, not remembering the name of your fiancé, or husband now, he supposed. “Your husband?”

You blanched at the words. “Oh, we, umm, didn’t get married. It didn’t work out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

You looked at the blonde boy, a smile reappearing on your features.

“It’s okay.  It was for the best,” you surmised. “Everything happens for a reason.”

Yoongi caught the look you sent and smiled. “You’re right.”

You two fell into easy conversation.  He told you all about his new best friends from rehab, Jungkook and Taehyung, and how seamlessly they fit into the friendships he already had.  He discussed stories of their escapades in graduate school and how Namjoon, his manager, quickly fell in love with Seokjin, his therapist, and how Yoongi had played matchmaker for the couple. He discussed concepts he learned in therapy, in school, and now in his practice as a therapist.

You were enthralled and captivated. You were so unabashedly in love with Yoongi and realized you had never stopped.

“Care if I walk you home?” He asked, standing suddenly as he finished his chai, holding out his hand.

Your heart leaped, and you nodded, chugging down the rest of your drink and slipping your hand into his.  He felt warm, strong. So much different from the pale, thin, clammy man you slept with years ago as he suffered through withdrawal.  

This wasn’t the Yoongi of your childhood, who wanted to be famous. This wasn’t the Yoongi who broke your heart, who wanted to hide away in his substances.  This was a culmination of all the Yoongi’s he had been and became. A strong, broken, healed, confident, loving man.

“I would love that.”

This was the Yoongi you were meant to be with. The man who you loved more than life itself.

Yoongi had courted you again since that initial coffee date. He sent flowers to your workplace, asked you out to lunch, kept things simple, proper and conservative.  Yoongi was in this now, for the long haul, and wanted to prove his devotion to you.

While in rehab, they had forced Yoongi to face the fact that everything he did in relation to you was self-sabotaging, self-deprecating; a self-defeating prophecy. Facing that was his greatest struggle through his entire treatment process. He fought against it, even relapsed a few times because of it, and refused to accept that as a possibility.

Yoongi, with the help of Seokjin and his new friends, found that a world that didn’t revolve around you was finally a world he could live in, possibly thrive in. While you could exist in his world, making you his sole singular reason for breathing was dangerous. In that mindset, being without you meant dying.

Yoongi had finally lived for himself.  Not for the money, the fame., the status, the reputation, or even you.  Yoongi loved himself, as he was.  Broken and healing.  Addicted and sober.  Yoongi lived for Min Yoongi, alone.

When he started seeing you again, he reached out to Seokjin. He was terrified that diving back in to you would be his undoing. Seokjin, in all his wisdom, spoke words of comfort.

“She is not your entire world, Yoongi. You are your entire world,” he spoke gently through the phone. “She can be part of your world, an enormous part of your world, but she cannot be the entirety.  Life does not stop without her. Life is better with her, but does not end without her.”

Yoongi had been so obsessed with the idea of never having you, that he lost you.  He stopped loving himself, stopped caring about anything but you and the pain he caused you.

“You hurt her, yes. But, it appears she is ready to forgive you now. Are you ready to forgive yourself and allow yourself to be vulnerable?” He asked the blonde boy.

Yoongi rolled the idea through his mind. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“You are allowed to love and be loved by who you want, Yoongi, but do not make your entire existence rely on that. Loving yourself will extend into all other relationships. And do not allow yourself to be consumed with the mistakes you made a long time ago. Focus on what you can do today. Living in the past causes us the most pain.  Do not run from the pain, allow it to sit within you and give yourself permission to hurt, and then move through it.”

Yoongi allowed it all. Every emotion, every feeling. He cried.  Jesus, he cried so much.  He remembered that he used to think if he started crying he would never stop.

It was true, mostly.

But what Yoongi didn’t know was that within all the crying, all the pain, was a high unmatched by any substance that could be snorted or injected or smoked.  

Yoongi no longer hid himself from feeling the darkness, but he allowed himself to remain in it until the light came back. And it came back ten thousand times stronger.

Yoongi felt encouraged to continue seeing you and progressed in his career and treatment. He took you on dinner dates, movie dates, picnics and theme parks.  The only reservation was the lack of physical intimacy.  He would hold your hand, kiss you, rub your back, but he always left your apartment without lingering. He wanted you to get to know him again, all of him, before he took that step. He wanted to do this right.

It was at the most recent date where things changed. It was a relaxing picnic in the park, the two of you laid in the soft sun-warmed grass, your head resting on his chest.

Yoongi felt content at the feeling of holding you against him. He thought of the dream he had when he was overdosing, nearly dying. Being so warm in the valley and meadows of his imagination, brain synapses firing off as his body shut down. You had been there, pretty white dress, telling him to go back, to wake up.

He admitted this to you, spoke out what he had told no one before. While he knows Jimin, with the help of Narcan, saved you, his subconscious attributed his revival to you.

“I’m in love with you, Yoongi,” you admitted, gently and easily with tears clouding your eyes, as you both watched the clouds roll by.  

Neither of you had uttered those words since you held him in your arms and within you as he came down from his high so long ago.

Yoongi let the words soak over him. If he thought drugs had been like a warm blanket wrapping him up, this was like an absolute inferno of satisfaction and comfort.

The arm he wrapped around your shoulder pulled you close.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Yoongi pressed you up against his wall, lips crashing into yours as his hands desperately sought the skin of your waist.  

After the picnic, Yoongi suggested taking you back to his place for a movie. The charged energy in his car on the way there spoke volumes, knowing you wouldn’t be watching a movie by a long shot. A giddy grin lit up your features.

“God, I missed this,” he mumbled against your lips as his hands lifted your white sundress you bought specifically for the date with your ex-fiancé, now-boyfriend.

You moaned an affirmative reply, gasping as his hands rolled over your breasts, encased in creamy satin.

“I missed you,” he mumbled over your lips, hands tugging down the cups of your bra to rub against hardened nipples. “You’re so pretty, so warm.”

You couldn’t hold back any sound, gasping and keening at his touch. You were soaked, absolutely dripping, from his ministrations against your neck and breasts.  You missed him too. Your short-lived engagement had ended without a wedding, for the second time in your life, and you pined after the boy who stole and broke your heart completely.

Yoongi pulled away from you, using the separation to tug the dress up and over your head and to gaze at you. Your breasts were haphazardly pulled out of the bra, your panties becoming slick against your core. Yoongi was sure he had never felt a pleasure this strong in any high.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured.  Your cheeks heated, you couldn’t help it.  Hearing him speak so gently, so lovingly, after so long and after so much pain flooded your senses pleasantly. His words wrapped around you like cashmere, warming and smoothing every inch of you.

“I need you, Yoongi,” you whispered, hand reaching towards his erection tenting his jeans. “Want to please you.”

Yoongi hissed at the feeling of your hand against his length. He nearly came right then. He hadn’t slept with anyone since your last time, the most heartbreaking sex he had ever had. 

The feeling of you both crying as he entered you kept him turned off of it for over a year. And now you were back, pliant in his arms, and most of all, happy. He never wanted to see your anguished grief during sex again, or ever, if he could help it.

Your eyes looked so determined to please him, how could Yoongi say no?  He nodded and leaned forward to kiss you, before switching positions and resting his back against the wall.

You thrilled at the switch and quickly dropped to your knees.  Being on your knees in front of Yoongi was so familiar, so comforting and so incredibly hot. He looked so good.  You could tell he had been working out. Muscles shone through his skin, and detailed lines appeared at his obliques and hip flexors. He was mouth watering.  You missed him.

You loved him.

You made quick work of his jeans, unbuttoning the black denim and pushing down the zip and sliding the tight pants down and off his legs. He stood in his tight underwear and shirt, eyes so full of love and grace, staring down at you. He couldn’t believe it was happening again, and on such better terms.

Yoongi knew he had so much to make up to you, so much trust to build and apologies to promise you daily. Yoongi was grateful you were giving him that chance again.

Within moments, Yoongi’s boxers laid on the floor next to his jeans and his thick, heavy cock laid hot in your delicate hand.

Yoongi nearly cried at the sensation. Not only had it been long since any stimulation, it had been so long since he had been with you. The fact it was you again after all this time held the most significance to him.

Your eyes flicked between Yoongi’s thick and delicious cock, and his own face.  No longer was the selfish, uncaring man present from so long ago.  No longer was the drugged out, sorrowful, too thin addict in front of you.  

As you pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock and swirled your tongue around the tip, you felt amazed that you now had the confident, lovely, compassionate Yoongi you were in love with.

Yoongi groaned out loud, uncaring if Jungkook or Taehyung heard from their respective rooms in his shared apartment.  

“Oh fuck, baby,” he whined, sucking air in through his teeth harshly. “So good.”

A smile danced upon your features as you stroked each vein and ridge of his cock with your tongue, flicking at the space he liked most.  The resulting gasp encouraged you more. With a quick, deep breath, you lowered your mouth and fully encompassed his length in the hollow of your throat.  

Yoongi nearly screamed, pleasure coursing through his veins as you allowed him to fuck your throat, a mix of gentle and rough. Your moans spurred him on and the visage of you with your lips wrapped around his cock and saliva streaming down the sides of your mouth nearly forced his undoing.

“Shit, C-Christ, baby,” he gasped. “I’m gonna cum if you keep that up… fuck.” He grabbed at your hair to gently pull your mouth away from him.

You pouted for a split second, already missing the luscious heat and weight of his hard cock gagging you. The pout was quickly wiped away as he wrapped his arms around your waist and carried you to the bed, unable to stop the giggles escaping.

“My turn then,” he grinned as he pushed you down to lie on the pillows. He quickly disrobed you of your bra, tits now fully on display.  He sucked one into his mouth, tongue swirling over the bud, while his other hand pinched and tugged at the opposite. He remembered how much you enjoyed the pain of nipple stimulation. The thought made you wetter.

“Yoongi, holy shit,” you cried, dazzled at the pain in your nipples as he bit down gently at the one in his mouth. “Yes!”

Yoongi couldn’t help the smirk on his face as he switched hands and nipples, sucking the other harshly now and twisting at the wet and red nub he released.

“So good, princess,” he cooed. “So good for me.”

His mouth moved south, kisses burning up your skin as he trailed. He suckled at skin here and there, leaving delicious marks on your abdomen and thighs. You loved being marked by him, even more so now.

Yoongi groaned as he pulled your satin panties down your legs. Your cunt was slick and sticking to the fabric. His mouth watered at the sight.

“My sweet, you’re so wet for me. All from sucking my cock?” He murmured, teasing you by kissing at your thighs. “My dirty little princess.”

You mewled in response, aching to feel him where you needed it most.  Words escaped you, unable to speak except in moans and sighs.

Yoongi looked up at you, watched your cheeks turn pink, your nipples hard and moistened from his mouth, marks of him all down your body.   His cock throbbed, and he rubbed himself against the bed once to relieve some tension. He could hold himself back for now, but he knew as time passed he would be absolutely aching to plunge into your depths.

“I missed this cunt,” he pressed a kiss to the mound. “I’m sure you taste just as perfect as you always have.  I’m drooling for you, baby.”

“P-please, Yoongi, I need you,” you begged, squeezing your eyes closed in desperation. “So wet.”

“I love hearing you say please, little princess.  So sweet.” He kissed the outside of your lips, between your thighs. He loved teasing you, getting you absolutely fucked out before he even touched you.

“Please, oh god Yoongi! I need you so badly!” You were desperate now, nearly tearing up at the ache in your pussy.

“I can’t resist you when you put it like that,” he teased, before finally descending on your cunt. His mouth swirled around, sucking on your clit. You gasped your satisfaction at his touch, finally satisfying that burning desire.

Yoongi took his time, ensured pleasure at each twist and flick of his tongue.  He fucked into your cunt with his tongue, groaning at the sweet taste of your channel. His mouth suckled at your clit, transitioning between harsh sucks, and tongue flicks. As he flicked up against your bundle of nerves, he slid two fingers into your pussy, hissing at the tightness.

“So tight, my sweet,” he whispered. “Can’t wait to feel you on my cock.”  

You groaned in reply, nodding quickly.  Your fingers tugged at your nipples, relishing in the painful stimulation there and hot mouth coaxing an orgasm out of you.

“Close, Yoongi!” You gasped, unable to complete a sentence. “Right there! So close!”

His fingers thrusted faster, slipping a third to stretch you out. His tongue fired rapidly against your clit, suckling and swirling as he went.  

“Yes, baby, cum for me. Cum on my fingers, my love.” He encouraged, panting with excitement, to watch your undoing.

It only took Yoongi’s salacious words and skilled mouth and fingers toying a few more moments for the orgasm to completely take over.  It rolled over you like an avalanche. You screamed in delight, gasping as you felt your channel grip his fingers and milk them as if it were his cock.

Yoongi believed he was watching heaven, itself.  You looked divine, radiant. The feeling of your convulsions around his fingers made him whine, cock head oozing pre-cum and begging to be stuffed inside your heat.

“Fuck, my love. You came so good, you did so well for me,” he praised. “I love this cunt. I love watching you scream for me.”

Your breath was heavy, chest heaving with exertion. Every nerve, every synapse felt alive, alight with ecstasy.

“I’m going to fuck you, my sweet. I will fuck you and love you, all fucking night.” He sucked at the wetness on his fingers as he pulled out of you, before he kissed back up your body to your lips. The kiss was hot and messy, all teeth and no grace or finesse.

“Please, Yoongi, I need to feel your cock,” you gasped.

Yoongi could not delay any longer. His cock felt as if it might implode if it wasn’t buried into you. He pulled your legs up to his shoulders and gazed at your open slit.

“Mine,” he whispered as he lined himself up and allowed your pussy to swallow his length.

There were no words, no accurate description or way to describe how being inside you again felt. He couldn’t put into words the feeling of your slick heat hugging his cock close, your body heaving with ecstasy, your mouth crying his name in joy and pleasure. Yoongi would go through hell a million times over again to feel this again, to feel the physical and emotional love and pleasure he felt here.  

You were his, again.  He could work to make it right.

Yoongi started a slow pace, transfixed at the vision of you taking his cock so well. Your gasps and whines encouraged him.

“You were made for me,” he whispered as he quickened. “This tight little pussy was made for me, to love and to fuck and to ruin.” His words left his mouth without thought, acting on instinct alone. “You’re all mine. Only mine.”

You clutched at his arms, lifting your hips to meet his harsh thrusts. “Yes, baby, yours!” Your voice was five octaves higher. “All yours!”

Yoongi turned feral, his dominating internal narrative spewing from his lips. His cock thrusted into you quick and fast.

“That’s right, my love.  All fucking mine. Gonna fuck you so good every fucking day,” he promised through gritted teeth. His thumb ran down to the apex of your thighs and rubbed at your clit. “Gonna fuck all my cum into you, baby.  You’re mine.”

He continued his ministrations and your pussy felt like the definition of pleasure, itself.  Sparks felt as if they erupted from your coupling. You cried his name, gasping at his possessive promises.

“Gonna marry you, baby,” he intoned. “Gonna make you my wife.”  He felt his end coming close, your shattered cries and impossibly tight cunt bringing him soaring to the edge.

“Gonna fill you with my cum, gonna make you nice and fucking pregnant with our children,” the idea thrilled both of you. “My fucking perfect wife all swollen with our children.”

You agreed loudly. “Yes! Fuck me! Fuck, I want your baby!”

“That’s right, my little love.  Your greedy cunt takes me so well. I know you want all my cum, wanna be nice and full for me.”

The end was nigh, you could feel the burning in your stomach blaze higher and higher. You begged him for more, harder, deeper, which he was more than happy to oblige.

“Fuck, babe, I’m gonna cum, gonna coat your tight little pussy.”  

It only took a few more rough poundings before Yoongi crushed your lips together.  Your orgasm washed over you with the power of the sun.  Your eyes nearly rolled back into their sockets, gasping for air against his lips as your body convulsed.  You moaned loudly as your walls pulsed around him, as if begging him to give you more and more.

Yoongi closed his eyes and soaked in the feeling, biting your bottom lip as he spilled into you, moaning your name with each pulse. The feeling of emptying himself into you rivaled the highest emotion he had ever felt. It felt like the ultimate expression of his love, his devotion.

He held you close as you both breathed heavily, allowing the afterglow of intense orgasm to bathe you in serenity. He carefully slid his cock from within you, groaning at the sight of a slow drip of seed following out your lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, leaning to kiss your lips tenderly this time. “I meant what I said. I want you to be mine again, forever.”

Tears sparked at your eyes, feeling more full, more loved, more warm than you had ever felt before.

“I love you, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi held you in his arms as he showered you, kissed your body in the warm water, dried you gently with soft towels, and pulled you close in his bed.  You melted against his body perfectly, two puzzle pieces who had been trying to force themselves into the wrong spot, finally coming together.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt anxious.

His stomach flipped. His palms were sweaty. His breathing was faster.

A warm hand landed on his back as the ex-rapper stared at himself in the mirror.

“You did it,” a gentle voice spoke. Yoongi looked at the male through the mirror.

“Jimin,” he breathed, feeling a bit of his anxiousness float away with his friend’s words.

Jimin smiled, pink lips puffy and sweet as always.

Yoongi felt his heart clench slightly.  Jimin was the one who saved his life, who stuck a needle in his thigh and revived him when Yoongi was on the verge of death. He choked up at the idea that being here wouldn’t have been possible without the pink-haired boy.

He gazed at his trusted friend, no longer an assistant but a constant companion in the tight group of 7.  He wanted to tell Jimin so much, thank him for saving his life, for pressuring him to check into rehab, for feeding him when he was too drugged out to care.  

Yoongi didn’t need to say anything.  Jimin understood at the tears pricking Yoongi’s eyes.  Jimin’s cheeks turned pink, and he nodded slowly.

“You deserve this and more, Min Yoongi,” his voice was full of such care and sincerity. “I may have revived you, but you saved your own life. I just gave you the spark to continue it.”

Yoongi had started his adult life as an addict, as an award-winning musical artist with platinum albums and money, status, reputation.  Grief had consumed Yoongi, along with regret, sorrow, loneliness.

Yoongi fought back, pushed against the odds.

Yoongi was beginning a fresh life—as a recovering addict, a therapist, a best friend, a husband.

He smiled at himself in the mirror as his groomsmen surrounded him and joined in the moment of happiness. It was peaceful. It was joyful.  Yoongi smiled at each of the 6 men who affected him.  

Hoseok, from childhood who allowed him to face the ugly fact that he was killing himself.  Namjoon, his nurturing manager, who protected him at all costs and stood by his side through each dirt-dredging tabloid. Taehyung, his creative muse, his inspiration. Jungkook, his reason for health and wellness, his comedic relief.  Seokjin, the therapist that changed his life and course of his future. Jimin, the man who saved his life, who accepted and expected nothing in return except Yoongi’s sobriety and happiness.

Together, the men walked out of the dressing room and orderly into the reception hall.

Yoongi took his place at the altar, the very one he left you at, and inhaled a breath.

The piano played gently, a soft and light version of the traditional song. It sounded ethereal. Yoongi felt as if he was flying.

The large, oak double doors swung open and the parade of flower girls and bridesmaids walked down the aisle to stand opposite the groomsmen.

Yoongi stopped breathing as the music played louder, more intently, more beautiful.

You appeared.

You looked like an angel.

Your mother flanked you to give you away. You both looked more beautiful than he could have ever recalled.

Yoongi couldn’t stifle the tears that poured out of his eyes. He couldn’t pull his gaze from anywhere but you.

There you were. Walking towards him, as if a dream. The loveliest of dreams. Wrapped in silk and chiffon and lace, delicate pearls around your neck.

Yoongi would endure it all again, feel every ounce, to have this moment.

It was complete as you stood next to him, hands clasped in each other, tears sliding down each other’s face.

At the word of the pastor, Yoongi leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, sealing you as husband and wife, finally.  

Yoongi was on the inside of your orbit now, basking in the warmth he had desired before on the outside.  Yoongi simmered in the sweet, gentle glow of you and your encompassing love.  

Now, Yoongi knew what it felt like to be the one on the inside of your world, instead of looking in from the darkness. Yoongi knew it now, and knew, with all his heart, that he deserved to remember it for the rest of his long, healthy life.

Yoongi was living.

Yoongi was finally, truly,

alive.

© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

[aestheticallyunaesthetic17]

100 questions and answers

Who is your hero? Probably future me, i want to be able to grow up and be the better person that i hope they are, and the only way of knowing that is by making it happen.

If you could live anywhere, where would it be? New Zealand, Canada or USA. I lived in TX for 3 months and loved it there and I have family in NZ and Canada.

What is your biggest fear? Wasps, 100%. Not being stung but the way they look scares me.

What is your favorite family vacation? When we went to Krakow in Poland.

What would you change about yourself if you could? My skin color. I hate it so much.

What really makes you angry? People hating others or stopping others from being themselves.

What motivates you to work hard? To make future me happier than I am now.

What is your favorite thing about your career? I want to be in cabin crew, so probably the traveling.

What is your biggest complaint about your job? Being away from family.

What is your proudest accomplishment? Getting through the shit 2020 brought me without killing myself.

What is your child's proudest accomplishment? No kids rn.

What is your favorite book to read? Noughts and Crosses by Malorie Blackman

What makes you laugh the most? My boyfriend.

What was the last movie you went to? What did you think? Freaks. I was a bad movie, a little like the scary movies franchise. My friend was scared at parts which was super funny to watch

What did you want to be when you were small? An actor. Typical Leo ;)

What does your child want to be when he/she grows up? They can be anything they want to be.

If you could choose to do anything for a day, what would it be? Visit Edinburgh alone.

What is your favorite game or sport to watch and play? To watch, American Football. To play, archery.

Would you rather ride a bike, ride a horse, or drive a car? Drive a car, it's peaceful and warm. I would blast music.

What would you sing at Karaoke night? no idea.

What two radio stations do you listen to in the car the most? Heart and Capital

Which would you rather do: wash dishes, mow the lawn, clean the bathroom, or vacuum the house? Dishes or vacuum.

If you could hire someone to help you, would it be with cleaning, cooking, or yard work? Yard work!!!

If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be? Tandoori Prawn curry.

Who is your favorite author? Jacqueline Wilson or JK Rowling (only her books, not her)

Have you ever had a nickname? What is it? Just Em. But id like to be called Millie.

Do you like or dislike surprises? Why or why not? Depends on the surprise tbh, I like to plan a lot.

In the evening, would you rather play a game, visit a relative, watch a movie, or read? Watch a movie.

Would you rather vacation in Hawaii or Alaska, and why? Hawaii. I was meant to go this year but covid and leaving the US fucked it up.

Would you rather win the lottery or work at the perfect job? And why? Work the perfect job, id get bored sitting around all day.

Who would you want to be stranded with on a deserted island? my boyfriend.

If money was no object, what would you do all day? Travel and see the world.

If you could go back in time, what year would you travel to? 2012. To see my Nana again.

How would your friends describe you? Stupid.

What are your hobbies? Traveling, photography, music and shopping.

What is the best gift you have been given? Forgiveness from myself.

What is the worst gift you have received? Sixe XXL jacket when im an XS

Aside from necessities, what one thing could you not go a day without? My macbook.

List two pet peeves. - Breaking trust - Bad table manners

Where do you see yourself in five years? Hopefully working my dream job, maybe moved to a different country and traveling the world.

How many pairs of shoes do you own? too many, roughly 16

If you were a super-hero, what powers would you have? Invisibility or teleportation.

What would you do if you won the lottery? build my own house

What form of public transportation do you prefer? (air, boat, train, bus, car, etc.) Train, its so relaxing. Then planes.

What's your favorite zoo animal? Lions or tigers.

If you could go back in time to change one thing, what would it be? My time in America.

If you could share a meal with any 4 individuals, living or dead, who would they be? - My nana - my bf - Princess Diana - Obama

How many pillows do you sleep with? 4, two on each side.

What's the longest you've gone without sleep (and why)? 26 hours, traveling to Texarkana from Edinburgh.

What's the tallest building you've been to the top in? Idk tbh

Would you rather trade intelligence for looks or looks for intelligence? looks for intelligence because then you can earn enough for plastic surgery.

How often do you buy clothes? 1/2 a month

Have you ever had a secret admirer? Idk I guess so.

What's your favorite holiday? Summer vacation Christmas for an actual holiday

What's the most daring thing you've ever done? Moved half way across the world and lived with strangers.

What was the last thing you recorded on TV? Nothing

What was the last book you read? 1984

What's your favorite type of foreign food? Indian

Are you a clean or messy person? Both, but relatively clean

Who would you want to play you in a movie of your life? Millie Bobbie Brown probably

How long does it take you to get ready in the morning? 1 hour

What kitchen appliance do you use every day? Kettle

What's your favorite fast food chain? Chick fil A (i know, i cant buy it now tho)

What's your favorite family recipe? Nana's bacon and egg pie

Do you love or hate rollercoasters? LOVE

What's your favorite family tradition? Opening gifts on Christmas Eve

What is your favorite childhood memory? I dunno really, Ive forgotten a lot of my childhood.

What's your favorite movie? Ferris Bueller's Day Off or Beautiful Boy

How old were you when you learned Santa wasn't real? How did you find out? Probably 7/8 but I dont remember.

Is your glass half full or half empty? Half empty.

What's the craziest thing you’ve done in the name of love? Said i'd come back one day.

What three items would you take with you on a deserted island? A boat and food. Yes i am that person.

What was your favorite subject in school? Scottish school, geography. US school, government.

What's the most unusual thing you've ever eaten? Haggis

Do you collect anything? Foreign coins

Is there anything you wished would come back into fashion? Skinny jeans, my ass looks gooood in them

Are you an introvert or an extrovert? introvert that likes being sociable

Which of the five senses would you say is your strongest? hearing

Have you ever had a surprise party? (that was an actual surprise) nope

Are you related or distantly related to anyone famous? my dad is well know in the whisky business. Has his own prime tv show

What do you do to keep fit? Walk a lot and swim.

Does your family have a “motto” – spoken or unspoken? nope

If you were ruler of your own country what would be the first law you would introduce? everyone is equal.

Who was your favorite teacher in school and why? Scottish School, my geo teacher. US school, my english teacher.

What three things do you think of the most each day? My bf, my mum and America

If you had a warning label, what would yours say? Sad, angry and anxious

What song would you say best sums you up? 17 again

What celebrity would you like to meet at Starbucks for a cup of coffee? Timothee Chalamet or Tom Holland

Who was your first crush? a boy called Finlay who i rode the bus with

What's the most interesting thing you can see out of your office or kitchen window? sheep or cows very often

On a scale of 1-10 how funny would you say you are? 5

Where do you see yourself in 10 years? kids, married, settled down and happy. moved countries 100%

What was your first job? never had one

If you could join any past or current music group which would you want to join? 5sos

How many languages do you speak? 1 - english

What is your favorite family holiday tradition? opening gifts on Christmas Eve

Who is the most intelligent person you know? my mum

If you had to describe yourself as an animal, which one would it be? a cat probably or a tiger

What is one thing you will never do again? trust people fully

Who knows you the best? my bf.

[ofieugogyshz]

Fic;; Memories: Riolu IV

Word Count: 8900 officially over 9000 now

Summary: Sarah accepts Cynthia’s invitation to visit her in Celestic Town. On her second day there, she finds herself visiting Cynthia in her grandmother’s home, and, once again, facing an internal struggle that her Riolu, Lance, and Cynthia, were set on helping her with.

Warnings: Lots of bad mental health, self-depreciation spirals, abusive thoughts to self. Also some awkwardness. (But it gets better!)

Notes: This is the thing that’s just been. taunting and harassing me for weeks, and i am so done with it. i am so sorry that it’s like, 2x as long as the others. I really hope it’s worth it to you guys, because I am just so done with it. Edit: Fixed up some spots, and re-pasting it added paragraph indents, so ????

(Series Masterpost)

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

After helping me with my Riolu, Cynthia invited me to visit her in Celestic Town.

“I'll be there for a while, researching more myths.”

I told her yes, but when she offered to take me with her, I declined. I said that I wanted to walk the rest of the route to fulfill my Pokedex.

“Oh, you're working on a Pokedex? That sure takes me back...” She had a wistful look on her face. “I went on a big adventure with a Pokedex when I was younger.” I told her to share with me some of those stories when I met up with her in Celestic Town. She gave me her number, and we parted ways for the time being.

I spent the rest of that day and the next playing with my Riolu named Lance to make up for the issues we had ran into. Totally not connected to the Lance of fame. Yep. Definitely not. But it wasn't like I had that much of a choice. My friend, his father's trainer, had named him that for me as a cute little joke. I suppose I could have picked a name and told my friend to name it that. But I wanted to know what a Pokemon was like before I named it; and without the Pokemon in front of me, it was so hard to find an appropriate name. But watching Riolu-- little Lance fight our way up Route 210, I couldn't help but think that maybe my friend Blaze had the right idea in naming him after him. He was definitely strong and determined like his namesake, and showed plenty of care towards other Pokemon.

<<Can we call my namesake today? I wanna tell him how strong I got!!>>

I laughed. Now that I had accepted it, it was cute whenever he asked to talk to Lance. Lance—the human-- thankfully couldn't understand what the little Riolu was saying, but watching him entertain the notion was cute. Endearing. Enjoyable.

I looked at the time. Lance might be available now...? I had tried calling him earlier, but it went straight to voicemail. Probably working, I thought to myself.

“Let's try again after we get to the Pokemon Center in Celestic, so you guys can see each other with the videophones.”

And so we went through the rest of the route. It was a rather annoying route; there were many obstacles in our way, not including the fog that limited visibility. It took a few days to traverse the rest of the route by foot. I was able to train up my Pokemon a lot more than I expected. But even with the great training it provided, I was so relieved when I finally saw the rustic buildings nestled away in the mountain range. Even if it hadn't been Celestic, I would have been grateful just to stay a few nights away from the mess that was the foggy mountainside.

It was daytime when we arrived. I immediately looked for the Pokemon Center and checked in. When my Pokemon were returned, I let Lance out of his Pokeball.

“You know what, I think I'mma call you 'Little Lance', if that's alright with you? It's a little confusing talking to my friends about the both of you...” That was only partially a lie. I thought it might help distinguish them, yes, but I also still felt a little embarrassed calling him by that name... I was hoping a working towards a middle-ground might help.

Lance considered it for a moment, then shook his head.

<<Nope.>>

“Aw, but c'mon! It's super cute, calling you 'Little Lance'. Ooh! I could even call you 'Lil Lance'”

But he wouldn't budge.

“Ugh, fine then.”

<<Can we try calling Lance now?>> he asked, pointing to the videophones. I thought about it for a moment.

“I suppose so... It's almost time for our weekly call anyways.”

<<Yes!>> Lance curled up his fist and pulled it back in excitement. It was so cute to see him emulating a human gesture; he must've picked that up from me in the last week.

I picked up one of the receivers and dialed Lance's number. My heart was pounding, as it always did whenever I called him. Often I worried that I was being a bother. Things like, “Maybe I should call back later,” would plague my mind. But for some reason, I felt less nervous about it now. Maybe because Lance the Riolu was there, just as happy as I was to talk to him, that it made me feel less scared.

No answer still.

“Hmm... Weird.” The landline recording asked if I wanted to leave a message; I hung up. It wasn't that important to me to miss once. I had to let it not be important.

<<What's wrong?>>

“He isn't answering. Hope everything's alright. He's probably busy with other stuff right now.” I wonder if they officially made him Champion yet, or if they're still filling out the paperwork on that, I thought. He had mentioned that a few weeks ago; though that had little to do with him not answering. My thoughts were wandering far away on the topic, musing on what that conversation would be like when he told me that it was officialized. Lance tugged at my pants.

<<Can we visit Miss Cynthia then?>>

“Yeah, let me just see if she's available.” I pulled out the number she gave me, slowly typing it in. It rang once before being answered. There was no visual, so I found myself staring at a screen that just said “No Visual”, accompanied by the image of a Chatot.

“Hang—Hang on a moment.” Cynthia's voice sounded far away and strained, like she was just out of reach of her phone. The distant sound made me curious on how she had answered it, but I didn't have time to think about that, because she suddenly came in much louder and clearer.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Cynthia? It's Sarah.”

“It is! I'm glad to hear from you! Are you nearby? I can go out and meet you if you want.” She sounded eager, excited. Had she been looking forward to this? I didn't think so. I was just a trainer she had met twice; and younger than her, I would later discover. Maybe the sound of her happy voice was because she just had a breakthrough with her research, and she couldn't wait to tell someone. I highly doubted she was excited to hear from me, after all. Not after the impression I gave last time.

Lance looked at me, his ears drooping a little as he examined me. Ah. Right. I shouldn't be thinking a thought like that. I guess that was something both Lances wanted me to work on.

“I'm already at the Pokemon center,” I told her. I scritched behind Lance's ears, making him feel better. It helped me, too. “I just got in.”

“Oh! That's perfect! I'll come get you.”

We hung up. She arrived in about fifteen minutes, brushing dust and dirt off of her coat as she arrived. Based on what I had seen of her in pictures and in person, I never would have imagined that she could look so disheveled.

“Where were you?” I asked. Lance and Pika both ran over to greet her.

“Oh, excavation. Have you learned about the Celestic Ruins yet? It's why I love coming back here so much! I can show you later, if you'd like.”

“N-no, that's fine for right now...”

We hadn't made any plans for the visit, so Cynthia gave me a short tour of the small town. In its center was a crater, and in the center of that crater was a small shrine. She told me that it dates back to ancient times; many of the town's residents still prayed to the deities and Pokemon they believed were tied to it. Behind the shrine was a cave; on each side of the cave's entrance were two large drawings, of what I presumed were ancient or mythological Pokemon. Beyond that, there was little of interest to passing trainers. The town was so small that it lacked a proper Pokemart. Instead, an old couple sold things from their home for any passing trainers that needed to restock between Mt. Coronet and their next destination. I wasn't sure if it was surprising or just interesting that the Champion considered this town her favorite.

For lunch, she took me to one of the few places to eat in the small town. While there wasn't much to catch Cynthia up on, I found myself excitedly telling her how Lance and I got along better since we last saw each other. She listened intently, speaking thoughtfully and giving me advice. I found myself asking her for a casual battle-- not one with her title on the line, but as between new friends.

“Very well then,” she said. “I should let you know-- I plan on going all out!”

“Couldn't ask for a better match myself!”

I sent out a Luxio and a Roselia, both Pokemon that I had caught here in Sinnoh. They were doing great at Gym Battles, and I figured the experience with a Champion might help them grow even stronger. Cynthia quirked an eyebrow, interested in the unspoken challenge of a doubles battle. She sent out a Garchomp and a Gastrodon. The double Earthquake duo had a huge advantage over Luxio; Roselia could handle Gastrodon, but that still left her Garchomp. As we battled, I did my best to keep my two Pokemon from fainting, but there was only so much they could do at their current strength. We both called back our Pokemon when the battle was over.

“That was a great match! The confidence in which you issued your commands allowed your Pokemon to trust you, and they responded well! I can't wait to have another battle with you when they've gotten stronger.”

“Tch...” Though she gave me high praise, the defeat still stung. “We should have another match with my aces.”

“Hmm. Perhaps another day... Don't forget that the key to growing as a trainer is to challenge yourself! Playing it safe is going to deprive yourself of new possibilities.”

She was right on both counts. One battle was enough for now. I had gotten a glimpse of what waited for me when I would challenge the Sinnoh Elite Four and its Champion, and I felt myself eager to train with my Pokemon for when that day would come. Beside me, Lance had looked on in awe, little tail wagging during the battle.

<<I want to battle too!>> he said to me. I knelt down to pat his head.

<<Maybe next time.>>

The next day, I headed over to where Cynthia was staying. We realized that we had a shared interest in mythology, so she invited me over to look at some of the texts that her and her grandmother kept. Pika followed behind me with Lance. I could hear the both of them talking happily amongst themselves, and I smiled. It was nice to hear him feeling like a member of the team again.

When I got to the address Cynthia gave me, an older woman answered the door. She adjusted her glasses, looking me up and down.

“Um, hi. I'm here because Cynthia invited me. This... is the right address, yes?” I looked at the address she had hastily scrawled down for me, and showed it to the woman. She didn't bother looking at it.

“That's correct. My granddaughter told me that she would be having a friend come over. Didn't think it'd be someone so young.” I winced. She motioned for me to come in, closing the door behind her. I took a look around. Stacks and stacks of paper were all over the living room, or what I thought was supposed to be one. Cynthia's grandmother followed my line of sight and sighed. “Pardon the mess. When we both really get into our research, it shows.”

“Ahaha, it's okay. Kind of reminds me of my room,” I said without thinking. Woops. Probably shouldn't've mentioned that. That wasn't a good impression, but hopefully it wouldn't mean something bad to them, if it came back up.

“In here.” Cynthia's grandmother had led me down the hall and stopped in front of one of the doors. “Cynthia's already in the library. She said she wanted to pull out some texts for you to read before you got here. Knowing her, she's probably already got a huge stack prepared for you. I'll be going out for a walk, so if you need anything, let Cynthia know.”

I was alone in the hall with my Pokemon. Lance and Pika stood on either side of me, looking up at me. I was a little nervous, and her grandmother's comment on my age left me feeling a little unsettled. Was she expecting someone older? How much older? I just realized that I don't even know how old Cynthia is! Is it really okay to call ourselves friends if she's much older than me? But I found the nerves paling in comparison to my excitement. I was excited to have someone else to call a friend; excited that the local Champion had called me a friend to her grandmother. But more importantly, I was excited to see the library that she had. All the books, all the texts, the myths and years of research that people had put into studying these things-- even if I was only interested in reading only the myths, being surrounded by so many books would be so exciting! Old books had that especially exciting aesthetic appeal to them, just thinking about it...

<<Are you okay?>> asked Lance. He tugged at my clothes, pulling me out of my reverie.

“Ah, yes. Thank you. Sorry, I got a little excited...”

<<You must really like books.>>

The comment made me smile. I took a deep breath and knocked loudly on the door.

“Come in!” I could hear Cynthia's faint response through the door. I turned the doorknob and pushed.

The sight of so many books greeted me. They were on the walls, stacked against shelving on the walls. Some stacks were so high that some of the desks and chairs were buried and hidden from view. Everywhere I turned was littered with books, folders, and handwritten notes.

“Sarah! I'm so glad to see you!” I could see Cynthia in the center of the room, holding a cup of tea. I could barely make out the sight of some fancy-looking seats centered around a coffee table in the middle of the room. I smiled, and closed the door behind me.

“Thanks for inviting me!” I said. I started walking towards her, my Pokemon carefully hopping from low bookstack to bookstack like the floor was lava. I began to talk excitedly, sentences running into each other as I couldn't wait to share what I had to say. “I'm so glad you asked me to come over, this is so amazing, and---L-Lance!!! W-w-what're y-you doing h-here?”

I stopped dead in my tracks, face flushing, unaware that there was going to be company. Much less company that I liked.

<<I'm sorry, was I not supposed to jump on the books?>> asked my Riolu. The sudden change in my reaction, the strange query mentioning his name, had left him confused. It took him a moment to realize what was going on with me. He looked to where I was stuck staring, as though I were stricken with a Glare attack and could not look away. I heard a happy yip from him, and he ran towards the red-headed trainer that was seated on the couch.

<<It's him!!! It's him!! My namesake!! We get to meet my namesake!!!>

“You must be the little Riolu that I've been talking to over the phone!” I heard Lance say. He caught the little Riolu, ruffling the top of his head. My Riolu looked up at him, starry-eyed, before turning back to me. I was still stricken to the spot. Cynthia came over to me, gently pushing me behind the back to lead me to a chair that was seated on the side, between both of theirs.

“Come on in! Don't be afraid to sit down with us!”

“I-I'm not!” I said quickly, the words out of my mouth before I realized what they were. I shut my mouth right then, glancing at Lance, before looking back at Cynthia. She gave no indication that this was intentional, but I had the underlying sense that it was... I was suddenly hyperaware of how I presented myself. I quickly placed my hands in my lap. I kept my legs together, though one foot would begin bouncing in place before I knew it.

Pika had heard the excited commotion and came over to me, peeking her head over a pile of books to look. When she saw who it was, she ran over and happily nuzzled Lance on the cheek.

I felt simultaneous embarrassment and envy of her at that moment. I could have cried. I wanted to cry.

Sensing the conflicting emotions, Lance-- the Riolu-- came over to me and climbed into my lap. He was emanating so much happiness from meeting Lance –the human-- that it started to put me at ease. I wrapped my arms around my Riolu, gently resting my chin on his head, wishing I could have fiddled with something instead.

I watched as Lance picked up my Pikachu and set her down on the couch, gently scritching her under the chin.

“And hello to you too, Pika! It's been awhile since we've seen each other, hasn't it friend?”

“Chu! Pika pikachu!!”

<<My namesake! My namesake!!!>>

This was going to give me a headache, if I didn't die from embarrassment first. I tried to suppress a groan, and looked to Cynthia once more, trying to get help from her. Any kind of help. But her attention was already towards Lance, ignoring my distress.

“I'm glad to see that you're such good friends with Sarah's Pokemon already.”

“I've met her Pikachu several times, both in and out of battle. The Riolu is new.” He turned towards me. “I hope he hasn't been giving you too much trouble?”

I sat up straight when he addressed me. “Hm?! Oh! Um, n-no, not recently,” I said, lying a little. But I could feel Riolu become a little angry with me for the lie. He didn't like me being dishonest, it seemed. “A-actually, Cynthia helped us with a, uh, misunderstanding about a week ago, so things are actually better than before!” I gave him a nervous smile.

“I see.”

“It was moving to see. Sarah really is passionate about her Pokemon.”

“Y-yeah, I am.” I turned towards Lance, asking him the same question that I asked earlier when I came in.

“W-what are you doing here, Lance? I thought you were busy, with, um. League stuff?”

“Cynthia invited me to come out. She said that she's found an ancient connection between Sinnoh and Johto, and asked if I was interested.”

“But aren't you supposed to be at the league right now?”

“Since we're still in the process of obtaining a new Elite Four member to replace me, the League's been closed. I normally have time off from the Pokemon G-Men when the League is open, so I haven't had as much to do for the time being.” He looked at me, a curious expression on his face. “Why, did you want me to be there?”

“W-what?! Uh, no, I guess? I think?” I didn't know if that was the right answer or not. This was making me so nervous, so on edge. I didn't know which way I should play into this. “I just thought that you wouldn't be able to come this far north, is all.” I looked away, cheeks flushing a little. “You never mentioned it in any of our e-mails or calls.”

“It was last minute,” Cynthia interrupted. I looked over at her; she had been watching the conversation. Her legs were crossed, one elbow propped up on a knee as she rested her chin on the back of her hand. She had an inscrutable smile on her face, but the body language told me all I needed to know. She definitely planned this. I felt my face grow hotter as I realized it, and all the implications that could mean. Riolu squeaked as my arms tightened around him.

Cynthia continued. “I had the breakthrough a few days ago, and I thought he'd be interested. I found some text that suggests that Sinnohans may have moved over to Johto, but the connecting thread mentions a cave that no one's been able to find in Johto. Not yet, anyways.”

“She thought that I might like to try and find it.”

“Ah.... I see...”

“Oh! Before I forget, these are some of the books I wanted to show you, Sarah.” Cynthia got up to grab a small handful of books. She placed a few of them on the table in front of me; I was so apprehensive of the situation now that I couldn't even glance at their titles. My Riolu looked at the books curiously. “You might enjoy familiarizing yourself with Sinnoh's myths and traditions. It's a region that's full of beauty and history!”

She handed Lance the other books she held. I watched as she spoke so passionately to him about the ruins that she had found mentioned in her texts. I found myself a little jealous. Cynthia was a beautiful, confident, and an amazing trainer. She had no problems talking to Lance and keeping him invested in a conversation. And I could barely talk to him without becoming extremely flustered, stuttering and stumbling over my words, uncertain of which ones to say at all. I wanted to say all of them, in all the ways and combinations, until I could find the best ones to say to him. But with that desire to talk to him came the same conflict of being noticed, of being watched, of being paid attention to. As much as I wanted it, I didn't want it; because if he saw me, then he was watching me. And if he was watching me, then that meant that I could be judged one way or the other over something I did. Something I said. The way I looked, the look I gave off. I didn't want him to think less of me because of that. Cynthia, on the other hand, didn't seem to care about the mess that her library was in. She knew who she was and confident that it was more than enough to be liked, to be respected. I yearned to have that kind of confidence, that fearlessness. But I had to be liked. I had to be well-liked. I couldn't stand letting someone think worse of me for an accident or lack of attention or knowledge.

So I sat there, quietly watching the two of them as they became more invested in their conversation, until I thought myself forgotten about. The things they spoke about were beyond my current knowledge, and I, for once, could not interrupt. The two of them got up to look at something else in the library, ancient maps I think. I sunk into my seat, letting out a long sigh. Riolu looked up at me from where he sat in my lap, confused and concerned.

<<What are you feeling right now? I know the confusion.>>

Jealousy, I thought back. I was jealous of her. Not to a bitter extent, but... She probably could have-- I couldn't finish the thought, the mere idea of it making me hurt. I wanted to cry. Riolu turned around to press his forehead against mine.

<<I don't understand your feelings, but I do know that you're in pain right now. I hope you can feel better.>>

“Thanks.”

I watched as Cynthia helped Lance find reference materials for the Sinjoh ruins that she talked about. He hadn't heard of it before, and Cynthia speculated it was somewhere far north of his hometown. Lance placed a hand on his chin as he thought, looking carefully at the maps she had on the wall and the documents she showed him. It looked natural, seeing them together. Perhaps if I was in a better place emotionally, I could have enjoyed watching him in a different element.

The two of them seemed to flow well together, I found myself thinking as I observed them. I didn't want to, but it came unbidden. They looked good together. People probably think... nicer things about the two of them together than if it were me with him. I was not pretty. Today, I didn't feel smart enough to even join in their conversation, though I obviously could have picked up the information. I couldn't deny that, and so, the argument inside my head began.

My thoughts struggled between telling me I was worthless as a trainer and proving all of it wrong. I was good at Pokemon battles, and I had defeated the Champions from Kanto and Hoenn, but I didn't choose to take that role of responsibility that came with being Champion. It wasn't something I could do. It required a lot of work, and I wouldn't have been free to continue on my own journey. On the other hand, it wasn't impressive to not take up the position. That was the only thing I was confident about. All those achievements didn't mean that I'd be interesting to someone. Someone that I struggled to initiate a conversation with, and sometimes procrastinated replying to text or email messages to, and thought for hours on a reply, just because I didn't want to worry about him thinking awful of me. But...

My eyes roved over to where the two of them talked. I felt something awful in the pit of my stomach. A pang of jealously.

I wish I could be like her.

Anyone but myself.

Ugh. I hated these thoughts. But once they started, they wouldn't stop coming.

If he got with me, it would be such a joke. The media would have a field day. And why would he even get with me? Because I have a one-sided crush? That's bullshit. Plus, she can talk to him about things, and hold a conversation, and, damn, even get him to travel to another region for just a myth that she thought he might be interested in? I can't even do that. I mean, I never asked him, but why would I? I know he won't show, even if he didn't have all those responsibilities. And I'm strong as a trainer, but I'm not as experienced as her. I can't even accept that my own selfish feelings might be hurting my Pokemon. I thought I knew a lot, but it's just as much hot air as Eusine. And then there's just... UGH. Expecting someone to get with me, looking like this? A Milktank, no a Snorlax-- wait what was that cat they have here? Purugly. I'm so ugly, so awful--

<<Sarah?>>

It was a sound like a cold drop of water. The burning, burdening chaotic swirl of thoughts stopped, for just a moment. Riolu's thought was like a cool, soothing balm. I opened my eyes. I hadn't even realized that I had them shut, tears welling up in the corner. He touched his forehead to mine. After a few moments, I felt a calming wave of energy sweep through my body, relaxing all the muscles that had tensed.

<<Better?>> he asked, thoughts full of concern.

Yeah, I thought back. I hugged him tight, closing my eyes again. That helped a bit. Thanks.

<<Good. Because you got Miss Cynthia's attention.>>

That made me jump. I opened my eyes again to see her standing nearby, a gentle smile on her face.

"Are you doing okay, Sarah?" she asked me quietly.

"Uhm.. Mm… y-yeah. I-I'm okay now."

"That's good. I'd hate for you to feel awful while we're all here." She gently ran her hand along the back of my head, and rested it on my shoulder. "Please, have some tea. Or, if you'd like, there are more beverages in the kitchen. I could get you something to drink.”

I looked at her, then looked over to where Lance was, still invested in the scrolls.

"Uh, um. No, I'm okay. I have water in my bag. Thank you."

It was strange. She had such a caring aura about her that I wanted to break down and cry to her. To let her know about everything that was upsetting me, including how I was both jealous of her, and that I admired her. That I hated my conflicting feelings. That I lacked the courage I would otherwise have, when it came to Lance. I wanted to ask her for advice, but I hated the idea of needing to seek it. Knowing that she showed so much care to me, a trainer she had only met a few times, was enough to make me want to break down.

But my Riolu, Lance, continued to emanate calm energy, keeping me from reacting in a way that I would have hated. He didn't understand it, but he understood enough to know that keeping me calm was what I needed most at the moment. Crying was one of the last things that I had wanted to do.

<<Thank you, Lance.>> I thought to my Riolu. I'd have to remember to give him a good treat later on.

"Do you want to step outside for a bit?" Cynthia asked me suddenly.

I blinked. I looked up at her, confused. Was she… Trying to get me to leave the room? But… did that maybe mean….

As though reading my thoughts, she quickly added, "I could give you a tour of the house. Though, I suppose we should avoid my room, it is a bit messy from all the paperwork…."

"I, uh…"

"Great!” She turned her head, calling out over her should, “Lance, we'll be back in a bit. If you're interested, there's some books I found on the Johto region, pre-dating the Tin and Brass Towers in that corner over there."

She got me to take off my bag and come with her. Riolu followed, though he didn't have much choice as my emotional support Pokemon at the moment. Pika stayed behind; she was enjoying the small snacks that Cynthia had left out. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at her.

Cynthia gently guided me towards the back of the house. And by gently, I meant that she gently pushed me towards the back, ignoring all confused protests with cheerful replies. She led me outside, to where there was a wide, empty dirt yard. She let out her Lucario, much to the joy of my own Riolu, who now squirmed in my arms so he could say hello to his newfound hero.

"Gahhh… I'm sorry about all this. I should have thought more carefully about it or let you know that he was coming over."

"Wait, so it was planned?" I said, turning around on her. I didn't know if I should have been more angry or shocked that she knew all along about my feelings towards that Lance, and still let this happened. “Or at least the him coming over part…?"

Cynthia leaned against the banister of the porch. She didn't say anything for a moment, as though she was trying to carefully word her thoughts. I waited, trying not to be angry, trying not to be embarrassed.

"I thought it might help," she finally said.

My emotions decided: I was angry, mad at her, though I couldn't put into words why. But…. I believed her. She really was trying to help me. I could feel it. And as I stared angrily at her, I felt my conviction weaken. Her Lucario stood nearby, palms out; he was using his aura powers to connect our spirits so we could better understand one another.

"...You're really scared about this," she said with a mixture of pity and understanding. “And you're right to feel angry; I should have asked or talked to you about this beforehand.” She slapped her forehead, muttering a simple idiot to herself.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I really am. Both angry and scared. Because I already did this once, like an idiot, and erroneously assumed that that's what you do to like people. That you just... Decide to. And then you tell them that you want to date them and then you become boyfriend and girlfriend or whatever and it all goes uphill from there. But it didn't. And I'm lucky at all that he still let me get to know him after that. But I guess not enough, if I didn't know that he was coming here..."

Cynthia paused, giving a thoughtful hum. Then, she said in a hopeful tone, "Well, what if he wanted to surprise you? When was the last time you guys got to see each other in person?"

Her questions gave me pause to think. I never considered that, but I also didn't think I was important enough for something like that. Like he'd come all the way out here just to surprise me, when my Pokemon journey meant that I could be anywhere between a city and a route, even stuck somewhere. Sure, I normally tell him where I was heading or planning to go; but there wasn't a guarantee that I would have been here. Or anywhere. Planning a visit was one thing, but a surprise one....?

"C-c'mon now…" I looked away from her, eyes searching ground for things to say. Burnt orange dirt greeted me as an answer. A single rock, a couple of weeds, more dirt. Nothing useful that could be said. “There's no way that he'd... wanna... I mean, I'm not someone important. I'm just a stupid, annoying teen, annoying some guy that I kn--” I stopped, horrified. “Oh Arceus, I should be leaving him alone, shouldn't I?! I bet I seem like some crazy stalker fangirl and-- ugh. Damnit, Sarah, how could you be so stupid!? You're bugging him so much--"

I was cut off as an unlikely hand-chop came down on my head, causing me more surprise than pain. Doink.

"Owwwowowowowow." I clutched at my head, tears curling up in the corners of my eyes from the pain. I looked up at Cynthia, whose hand was still vertical and poised to chop me on the head again. “What'd'you do that for!?”

“What about all those calls?” Her voice was stern.

"Courtesy. He's just doing them out of courtesy, or to be nice, or because I seem crazy enough that if he doesn't he's worried I might--"

Doink.

Another hand-chop to the head.

I rubbed the top of my head, tears welling up in frustration now.

“You need to stop the negative thinking! He wouldn't take the time out of his busy schedule to do all that just because you annoyed him, Sarah. Trust me; I've had my fair share of crazy fans, and I wouldn't let any of them near me like I've let you. I'm not saying this to get your hopes up, but it's clear that he think you're someone worth keeping near. For people like us, where we're constantly being hounded by media and trainers looking for personal gain and not much else, that's a lot. We have our own lives; but it's hard to let people in them. And with the frequency of those calls that you guys have--”

“E-EH?! W-w-wait, y-you know... a-ab-about.... th-those!?” The way she had so casually said it this time had caught me off guard. I don't know why I hadn't froze up at the first mention of the calls mere minute ago.

“Lance told me.” At the sudden deep blush that set across my face, she clarified. “Your Riolu, I mean. ...I see now why the name might have been difficult for you.”

“Oh.” I still felt alarmed, but I relaxed a little. That meant he wasn't sharing stuff like that with other people. Not that I wanted him to. I didn't want to think about what it meant if he was sharing that to someone else, especially not with Cynthia.

“I apologize, for not telling you that he was coming over. You were so afraid and scared to say Lance's name,” she said, nodding towards my Riolu, “that I thought having you come over while he was here might have helped. I didn't let you know because I thought that you might run away... And I thought that you might appreciate the surprise of getting to see him again, in person.”

“I--” I stopped to think about it. She was right; I would have thought about running away. But I realized that, despite all the fluster and frustration and everything else that just happened, it was nice to see him again, in person. I hadn't gotten to see him in person very often the last few years; part of that happily avoiding the awkwardness awarded to me by my thirteen-year-old self, while also us having our own, vastly different paths in life at the time. But, even with the information that Cynthia had now shared with me, I thought that maybe I should keep my distance from him. To leave him alone, and not bug him like I usually did. To not repeat the mistakes of the past. To make sure that I didn't do that.

I really wished I could have been better about that.

“You do like getting to see him again, right?” Cynthia asked me, noticing that my thoughts had started to spiral again. I felt myself flush right up, stammering out a reply.

"I-I… I'mma… Y-you're n-n-not… wr-wrong about… about that…." I crossed my arms, looking away for a moment so I wouldn't have to face the consequences of admitting it.

Cynthia laughed. "Who knows. Maybe this might help you get closer to him, so you're not always stuttering!"

"I'M NOT STUTTERING!!!" I shouted at her, face red. “I just…. Fumble… and stumble… over my, uh, words………."

"Can you even refer to him by name?" she asked, sounding concerned for a moment.

"Err, um… that is to say…. Uh…." I hung my head. "N-no… n-not r-really."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Um…." I paused to think. Why do I have trouble using his name? ...ah. That's why. I looked down, and I picked at the sleeve of my shirt. I didn't want to say the words.

"Because I don't think I'm worthy of saying it."

There was a solemn moment between the two of us. Putting it into words made it feel so surreal. It made no sense to think that way, or feel that way. After all, I was a human. I was a damn Champion; I've beaten his ass at Pokemon battles more times than it was worth, when I was much younger. So then, why did that not mean something? Why was I venerating a name that anyone could have? Even my own Pokemon had suffered because of those feelings.

Then, as I was contemplating the absurdity of it, Cynthia started laughing, wiping tears from her eyes as she approached me.

"Wh-WHAT?!" I shouted, embarrassed and confused. "I REALLY DO THINK- er, feel… That way… I guess."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for laughing. But just… The way you said it--"

"Ugh! Why did I even come out here with you?! I should have just gone off and trained!" I turned away, crossing my arms angrily. She came up and gave me a consoling hug.

"You really shouldn't feel that way about yourself," she said quietly. "Regardless of whether or not you're in love. It's not good to hate yourself like that. You are worth so much, and I see so much potential in you, both as a trainer and as a person. Don't give up on your dreams, because someone told you to feel this way once."

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will myself not to cry.

“W-what if...” It was a struggle to get the words out. “Wh-what.. i-if.... it w-was... m-m-more... se...several... people?”

“Not even then. Their lies are not what's true about you.”

Her words and compassion had finally gotten me to cry. Feelings that I kept pushed down inside myself burst forth. I turned around and pressed my face against her, trying to hide it, but so painfully aware in some part of my brain that it would result in some snot on her coat. It was embarrassing. But she didn't show anything other than kindness as I broke down. She soothed me with comforting words and hushes, gently rubbing my back. When I had finally stopped, spent of the emotions that I had kept bottled up, she recalled her Lucario and guided me back inside. We stopped in the kitchen for a moment; Cynthia suggested that I get something to drink before returning to the library.

Riolu had followed behind us, watching everything with quiet awe. I could feel that he had a query for me, but he couldn't quite formulate it clearly. And even if he had, I wasn't sure that I could answer him.

“Lance,” Cynthia called out sweetly to my Riolu. “Do you understand what just happened here?”

He shook his head, mouth slightly open.

“Ri.”

“Sometimes, when things hurt for us, we try to hide it. But if we keep doing that, then it gets to be too much to hold back. Sometimes you have to let yourself cry. Or scream. Or whatever it is that your emotions are making you feel. Sarah seems to be especially fond of holding them back. I can't say she's particularly good at hiding them, though.”

“Thanks, Cynthia,” I said wryly, face heating up as I took another drink. It was embarrassing having her explain things to my Pokemon, because it also felt like she was trying to wink-wink-nudge-nudge me about how to solve my own emotional issues. I should have been more than capable of doing that myself, without the explanation from someone else. She continued.

“So if you feel like she's ever in need of letting out her feelings, you might need to pull her aside and get her to open up to you. It might not be as easy as it was today. Sometimes, in order to protect herself from her feelings, she might fight you on it. But you'll have to be patient and wait her out, letting her know that you're there for her.”

“Ri...”

Riolu jumped up to hug me, startling me for a moment.

<<I promise to help take care of you!>> His feeling was sincere. The energy behind it, the strength of his feelings, almost made me cry again. I shook my head, trying to focus elsewhere.

When I calmed down, we walked back to the room. I was staring at the door again, mentally preparing myself once more to enter. The calm that I had gained was slowly giving way once more to nervousness. I found myself worrying that it would show all over my face that I had an emotional meltdown. (Cynthia told me it didn't look like I had been crying, but I wasn't convinced.) I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down while it felt like every fiber of my being was racing. My skin felt like ants were crawling all over it. I rubbed one of my arms and took a final deep breath.

Cynthia smiled at me.

“You ready?”

“Y-yeah. I'll be fine.” I picked up my Riolu, hugging him tightly. “I've got this Lance with me to help keep me calm.”

“Ri!” His tail wagged.

“We're back!” Cynthia called out when we entered. I could see Lance's tuft of red hair over by the table that we had been seated at earlier.

“Welcome back!” he replied. We walked over to him, and I could see Pika curled up beside his lap, taking a nap. I instantly felt envious of her. To just so casually....! Lance noticed that I was looking at her, and gave a small laugh.

“I came over to read some of the books, when I noticed that Pika had been left behind. I thought it was odd, but she didn't seem to be bothered by being separated from you. In fact, she curled right up next to me and fell asleep.”

I blushed. My Riolu looked up at me.

<<She felt confident that I could help,>> he said. <<I'm not sure why that is. Miss Cynthia was the one to help you the most! I think she just wanted to eat the cookies without sharing...>>

I frowned when he told me that. I put him down and picked up Pika, sitting down on the couch as I did so. I held her up, away from me, waiting for her to wake up.

Pika gave a sleepy little yawn. She squeaked when she saw me staring at her with an unamused expression. She squirmed, giggling as she tried to get out of my grip. I let go of her with a short sigh, and she fell into my lap. With a carefree attitude, she climbed back up the couch to sit on my shoulder, nuzzling me. She was definitely trying to be trouble.

“Honestly...”

“Is everything okay? It's not often that I don't see her without you.”

I jumped up for a second, forgetting that he was there. I tensed up, and feigned ignorance. “Hm? Oh, uh, Riolu said that she wanted to eat all the cookies and not share.” I gave him a nervous smile. “Some days, y'know?” I had no idea what I was trying to get at, honestly. But I hoped it was enough of an answer to avoid any future questions.

Now that I was no longer giving my Pokemon a condescending stare, knowing what her real motive was, I realized that I had sat next to him. On the same couch. I felt my face heat up and I slowly started to scoot away. Ah, but that's too obvious. Ah, quick! I patted the space next to me, motioning for Riolu to come sit there. He tilted his head at me, but obliged, climbing onto the couch. I scooted over more so he could sit between us; Lance raised an eyebrow at me.

“Ah, I forgot to mention it earlier, but Riolu's really excited to meet you!” I gave him a nervous laugh, and fumbled around for a further explanation. “Though I guess that much was obvious earlier... Ahaha... I thought, um. Well, uh... I don't really know how else to explain it, so just! Accept that he wanted to sit next to you!!”

Smooth.

As if picking up on the cue, Riolu turned towards Lance and wagged his tail. It wasn't disingenuous, as he really was excited to meet his namesake.

<<Hi, I'm Lance! I was named after you!!>> He stood up on the couch and held out his paw to Lance.

Panic coursed through me. My face instantly turned red and I grabbed Riolu. I pulled him away, hand over his mouth while trying to resist the urge to grumble something into his ear.

“What... did he say?” Lance sounded concerned, but I could hear muffled laughter from Cynthia, seated across from us. I had forgotten about her, but now wasn't the time to deal with her.

“O-Oh! Uhhh...ummm... y-y'know... how some.. Pokemon, just... say.... silly....things? To, um, their heroes?” I winced, feeling like the lie wasn't much better. My Pokemon wasn't satisfied with it either, and frowned. I could feel the dissatisfaction, right there, in my arms.

“I can't say that I know... Seeing as I haven't had any Pokemon talk to me in the same way that Riolu seems to with you.”

“Oh!” I let him go, and Riolu crossed his arms, pouting. “That's, um...” That's great! I wanted to say, but I knew that it was a very enviable thing to be able to understand Pokemon clearly. In specific words.

“That's, err, too bad, I think?” I relaxed, relieved that my Riolu hadn't somehow instantly been able to connect to and bond with Lance like he had with me. “I mean, it sucks, when they um, just have a lot of cool things they want to say to you! He thinks you're really cool!”

“And what else does Riolu think,” Cynthia said from the sidelines. I gave her a sharp look, and she stifled her laughter.

“Okay, I don't know what Cynthia thinks is so funny, but he really does look up to you!” I said, finally giving a genuine statement. “He's wanted to meet you for awhile now. And, it's, uh, it is nice to see you outside the league, for once. And not because of work!” I added, remembering that one time I had run into him. He was on a mission with the Pokemon G-Men, and somehow the events of that created this... issue. “I was just, um, surprised earlier to see you anywhere but Kanto or Johto, really. So I'm sorry if it seemed like I was being rude.”

Lance seemed to be confused by what I was saying, and I rolled my eyes and shook my head, frustrated at myself.

“Nevermind. Sorry if that didn't make any sense.”

He gave me a strange look, perhaps because my own words were strange enough without all the context on my end.

“I accept your apology, though I'm not really sure what it's for.”

“Um, 'cuz I thought maybe it seemed like I didn't want you here?”

“It didn't seem that way to me.”

I paused, trying not to overthink on what he just said. “I—oh, um. Good.” I nodded, trying to sound certain of myself.

An awkward silence followed, but it was shortly interrupted by Cynthia.

“Sarah,” she turned to me. “Where is your next badge located?”

Bless her for changing the subject to something less nerve-wracking. Riolu perked up at the mention of the Gym Challenge, and uncrossed his arms. I looked up at nothing in particular, trying to recall where I was told to go next. It was on the west side of Sinnoh, somewhere closer to Twinleaf Town than this side of Mt. Coronet.

“Umm... I think the city's called Canalave?”

“Then you should definitely make sure to train up your Riolu!” Cynthia looked excited, eyes brimming with energy and the teasing forgotten. “The Gym Leader is Byron; he's a steel-type user. Would you like to stay for awhile and train with me?”

I blinked. The offer was extremely honoring, and I couldn't figure out a reason to say no. “Sure, I'd love to! Thank you very much Cynthia.” I looked down towards the little Pokemon beside me. My Riolu jumped up, looking starry-eyed at Cynthia, tail wagging excitedly. “I'm sure Riolu would love it too, if he got to train with your Lucario!”

“Of course. I'd be more than happy for them to train together!”

“Would it be okay if I joined the two of you for your training?” Lance asked suddenly.

I felt myself freeze. I was not expecting that. I looked at him, scrutinizing him. Was there a joke in this? A prank? I was suddenly suspicious, wondering if somehow he and Cynthia were in on something. But if they were planning something like this all along, I couldn't tell; not from him. I quickly looked towards Cynthia, who clasped her hands together, smiling.

“That would be great! Incidentally, how long are you planning to stay in Sinnoh?”

“I've got a few days before I need to head to Blackthorn City.”

“Excellent! Then it's settled. We'll all train together!”

So maybe it wasn't planned. That didn't stop Cynthia from flashing me a devious smile right after. I couldn't help but feel apprehensive that she had something else up her long, black sleeves.

“That reminds me!” She pulled out a poster from under one of the books, and showed it to us. It had a drawing of a starry night sky, with what looked like shooting stars falling across it. Under that was the shrine, and the area around it was decorated.

“We're having a festival in a few days. Because we're away from any of the larger cities, the night sky is really clear. It makes it easy for us to see a meteor shower that happens once a year. It's one of the few things that draws visitors to Celestic Town, giving them revenue. The both of you should go! I'll be busy helping the town run it, so I won't be able to show you guys around, but I think you'll have plenty of fun exploring it without me!”

I felt my insides go hollow, instantly recognizing what Cynthia was doing. She was setting up an opportunity... for... a... I couldn't finish the thought, too frazzled to think it. I could only hope that, between the blanched feeling I was having and the inevitable blush that was to follow, my complexion looked relatively normal. Because I wanted to scream. And run away. And never come back.

Cynthia just gave me that, sweet, innocent, inscrutable smile, now decipherable, as a little nudge forward. She knew exactly what she was doing, and I hated that I wanted to thank her for it, too.

[power-rings]

A Different Life

50 Years Ago...

-

Of what Shadow could see was all just a blur of colors as his escape pod entered the Earth’s atmosphere, the very thing that was keeping him from burning alive was falling to pieces as it continued to descend...very rapidly. 

The events before he escaped his home - The Space Colony A.R.K, it was literally hell. Gunfire after gunfire, his Creator disappearing from his eyesight within seconds after they were ambushed. Why was this happening? He never understood. Among all of that, Maria was under fire as well. He had hollered from his escape capsule for her to get to safety. Before he knew it, she had been shot.  In the chest. Words were exchanged between the two, and before he knew it, his escape pod was released. Was she... gone? Never to be seen again? 

Shadow braced for impact as the ground grew closer and closer. He blacked out momentarily, he shook his head as his ears started to ring. Cringing in pain, he glanced up to the blue sky. The hedgehog would be awed by the beauty if the circumstances were different. He scanned his surroundings, it looked like he was on some kind of Island... soon he found the strength to roam the island. There was no sign of another escape pod. Perhaps she landed elsewhere... he quietly hoped. The sound of commotion distracted his search for his companion. There were more men dressed in the same attire that attacked their home. A low growl escaped the hedgehog. What did they want?!

“Commander!  The lifeform just landed on the Island. Do you wish for us to capture?” Shadow’s ears pinned back, prepared for a fight. “Yes, sir! We’ll need backup...” The human tensed up, as he raised his gun, loaded and ready to fire. “Don’t do anything stupid.” He muttered, as more men in uniform joined him. He fired a shot at the target, Shadow quickly dodged, and ran in the other direction. Forgetting there was a unwelcoming sea. He may be the ultimate lifeform, but he did not know anything about the ocean, except the creatures that lived in it.  He whirled around to face his enemy. Of course, they were quick to charge at him before he made a move. With the training he took at home, he was able to dodge every blow; only a few bullets brushing against his arm. The last soldier he kicked away, while another approached Shadow from behind...jabbing something sharp in his neck. Shadow swung a fist at the man, making contact with his jaw, he felt his neck. Odd. No blood? What did... oh wait, there it is. Everything around him started to spin out of control, he shook his head with no prevail. Before he knew it, he was shaking, and on his hands and knees while they gathered around him. Everything went completely black. He was out cold. 

When he woke up hours later... or was it the next day? Damn, at this point he didn’t care. What woke him was a familiar voice... Prof. Gerald Robotnik, better known to him as his creator. 

He was angry. 

“This was not the deal, at all! She had nothing to do with this!” Gerald shouted from down the hall. “He... listen! Damn you.. I built that place to protect this world. I created...-”

“What about....” whatever was said, it was inaudible to Shadow’s ears.

“...I did exactly as you selfish fools asked for, and paid me millions for. What I get in response? My granddaughter was shot for Christ’s sake! I see I made a mistake striking a deal with the likes of you....”

If anything else was spoken between the two, was muttered to Shadow as they moved to another room further from the one he was currently in. There were so many questions he had, what did his creator mean? They paid him? For what exactly?! Quite frankly, he only wanted to know if Maria was still alive. 

--

“Prison Island, really?” The elderly Professor scoffed, disgusted with the current circumstances. 

“A perfect place for criminals, don’t you think?” The commander eyed the shorter human.

“I am not a criminal.”

“That’s what they all say.” Prof. Gerald glared, “besides, you should be grateful before you leave this world... that your granddaughter’s life was spared. Oh, need I remind you before you blame my soldiers, she did intervene in the capture of Project: Shadow. Therefore, my soldier did his job like trained beforehand.”

“She’s still a child!” Gerald was furious about his last statement, despite his hate against the commander, he was relieved to hear Maria was alive. The commander guided him to her room where she was lying in a hospital bed hooked up to an IV, and various machines to keep her stable. She was still out of it, but all her vitals read normal.

--

“In the upcoming days, you will be granted a trial. Lucky you.  If you wish, you can say your goodbyes to your granddaughter. In the chair where you’ll be spend your last hour. Whatever you say will be recorded for legal purposes.” 

“Do you have any questions, Professor?” 

“I just want to see my granddaughter.” Gerald didn’t fight his consequences anymore, he had his plan ready for the years to come and that involved his greatest creation.  He had requested to have some of his former colleagues to join him in the lab that he use to work at a lot before this island became a prison. He told Maria he loved her, and as him and the other Professors watched her vitals, “you’re gonna go to sleep for awhile, ok? Once you wake up... maybe you’ll still see the beauty in this world. Somehow.” He held her hand, “I love you, my dear..” tears stung his eyes. Young and innocent. She was so blinded to the sins of this world. Oh how he wished he had felt that way. Maria looked up at him, there was a hint of panic in her eyes before falling into a deep slumber. The last thing he requested before being sent away to his death sentence, he wanted her to rest someplace a little more comfortable instead of the eerie Island they were on. 

Shadow too was preserved in a capsule, but remained on Prison Island because G.U.N was wary of how dangerous Shadow could be. He was sealed underneath the prison, to be remained untouched until the appropriate time came. 

-

Today...

Approximately, 30 years later Maria was found in Mystic Ruins when a group of people were investigating, soon she was taken to the hospital to be checked out. She was perfectly healthy...

Maria searched the room, there was a t.v displaying the news, info about the recent events around the world. The longer she watched the more she grew confused. How long has she been asleep? What happened to Shadow? And grandpa? Neither of which she knew the answers to. She got up from her bed, and stumbled to the windows, tugging at the cord to open the blinds. She was blinded by the sunlight. Once her eyes adjusted, she took in the surroundings and was in awe. Not exactly the beautiful forest she saw in books, instead she was welcomed to the busy life of the city. 

Hours, days and weeks passed by and Maria remained in the hospital, the doctors in awe of how she was still healthy after being asleep for roughly 30 years. They ran tests, poked and prodded her. Finally after the second week, the doctors left her be. Then, the cops came to ask her questions. She vaguely remembered much except her former home, save for the hellish events that almost took her life. Of course, she remembered her best friend... Shadow. But why wasn’t he in the hospital with her?  No one knew who she was talking about, of course. Eventually, she was released from the hospital and sent to a foster family had a close connection to the local orphanage. They of course welcomed her with loving arms. 

As she grew accustomed to her now current life on Earth, Maria attended the school located in Station Square, she fit right in with her classmates. She told them stories about living in space, but they didn’t believe her. Unfortunately, she had no evidence to prove her story. She would look at pictures they shared of space at school, then she would burst out where the A.R.K was located (to them it looked like a bright star). Her adopted parents listened to these stories, but was unaware of the existence of this creation.

No one took her seriously when she brought the subject up, that was until her “parents” met with her teacher at a local café to discuss her progress in school. “Yeah, she speaks about this place called... The Space Colony A.R.K, I’m not sure where she got this from-” They were interrupted by a tall gentleman in a uniform.

“Excuse me? Did you just say the Space Colony A.R.K?”

Slightly frightened, the wife confirmed his suspicions.

“...Strange. What’s your daughter’s name?“

“Maria...” The male at the table squinted at the taller individual.

“...R-Robotnik?!” 

“Why does her last name concern you?!” He stood up from the table, his eyes accusing the stranger.

“Mr. Tower, what the hell? Leave them be. We must head back to headquarters.” The other gentleman joined them, their uniforms similar.  This so called Mr. Tower muttered something under his breath before leaving with the soldier.

-

Roughly 10 years later, Shadow was found on Prison Island by Gerald Robotnik’s grandson...well-known as Dr.Eggman, his greatest plan was starting to unfold... 

Author’s note:

chapter 2 is coming hopefully. Ok it’s bedtime... Haha

[magnoliasinbloom]

Lullaby

AO3 :: Previously

Chapter 19

The rest of the summer month passed in a blur. Time breezed through July, while I plodded, feeling heavier and clumsier each day. In preparation for nursing school, I contacted my future teachers, explaining about my pregnancy and due-date, and requesting some leniency in my attendance for the first few weeks. They were all impressed at my commitment to the program and agreed to email me assignments.

I registered for courses, and Jamie helped me navigate the admission process and University of Glasgow campus. We would be back to school in September together—and I’d have my baby. I made dinner for him often at home, in thanks, navigating the kitchen with my huge stomach before me.

On a Sunday morning, I sat in the rocking chair in my room, nestled comfortably with a couple of pillows behind my back. I was preparing for classes, doing some assigned reading when a sharp pain stabbed my lower back. It wasn’t like anything I’d felt before. It was hot, but stung like an ice pick. Instantly, I was afraid. It couldn’t be time yet.

I turned to the calendar on my mobile. August 13.

Alright. So it was mid-August, quite literally. It was certainly possible that I was going into labor. I was having contractions. Who was at home to help me? Dad was shopping for groceries but Mum was here. I tried to stand up, gripping the rocking chair when I was pierced through with the spiked pain. I limped to my bedroom doorway, afraid to trigger more contractions with my movements.

“Mum?” I called out. I was breathing heavily.

“Yes, love?” she answered from the kitchen.

“I think I’m in labor!” I yelled back. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I felt a trickling down my legs. I realized my water broke, just like the pregnancy books had said. Alright, hold it together now, Beauchamp.

There was a moment of dead silence from below. Then Mum came thundering up the stairs and saw me, clinging to the doorframe. “Oh God. Oh my God. Okay. Let’s go.” I’d never seen my mother so flustered before. I almost smiled, before a small contraction made me cringe. “Please get my bag, the one I packed. It’s in the closet.” Mum hurried to get it, clutching the bag in one hand. She let me lean on her for support, like a crutch. We walked slowly down the stairs, occasional pains making me yelp. Mum winced every time I did.

She grabbed the car keys and I sat myself gingerly. The maternity dress I was wearing was immediately soaked from the back. I was getting the seat wet too, but Mum didn’t care. The pain was now like hot nails being driven through my spine. I was gasping for air, practically hyperventilating. It helped dull the ache. We made it to the Princess Royal Maternity Hospital in record time. From the car park, Mum called my dad, whom we caught driving home from the market.

“Mum?” I huffed. She turned to me, concerned. “Call Jamie, please.” He told us he would head to the hospital immediately, and that he would also tell his parents.

When we arrived to Admissions, I was about to tell the nurse, “I think I can walk,” when I doubled over as another contraction hit. I was hastily put in a wheelchair. My hair was matted, my legs still wet from my water breaking. Not pretty at all.

Mum remained in the lobby to fill out paperwork while the nurse accompanied me as I was wheeled into the labor ward. I chose to wear the hospital gown, and the nurse helped me change. She indicated the midwife would be in shortly to examine me. I climbed carefully onto the bed. The nurse set up an IV next to the bed.

Not fifteen minutes had passed when Mum was back, with Dad in tow. He had turned the car around and sped to the hospital. My father looked nervous, which only increased as I cried out whenever I felt a contraction. He stepped out of the room when the midwife and nurses came to check up on me. They took my temperature, pulse, and blood pressure. They checked the baby’s heartbeat, and felt around my belly for her position. There was a brief uncomfortable moment when the midwife checked how dilated I was.

“You’re quite advanced for your first delivery. Seems it’s going to be a quick birth. Lucky.” The midwife flashed a smile as I lowered my legs back on the bed. Her nametag read Gillian. She had a soft Scottish burr similar to Jamie’s. Mum sat on a chair next to me, holding my hand.

My father came back in, followed by a breathless Jamie. Something in me relaxed when I saw him, and I smiled. It suddenly struck me how worried he looked, anxious and pale. Almost like a first-time father. I quickly pushed that thought out of my head.

“How are ye, Sassenach?” Jamie came to stand next to the bed, hands on the rails.

“Oh, you know.” I concentrated on my breathing. I didn’t want to scare him. “Just having a baby. The pain is bloody awful, but I bet the food here is good.” He cracked a smile.

“Me mam’s outside. She didna want to crowd ye.” I noticed his Scottish accent thickening—it always did in times of stress.

“Your mum? Never. But I think maybe I’ll say hello later.” I clenched my teeth, feeling another contraction coming. He looked to me helplessly as I grabbed the bed rail but refused to cry out.

“Is it too bad?” Jamie asked apprehensively. “How far along are you?”

“Advanced, the midwife said. Hell if I know what that means. Can they give me something for the pain?”

“I’ll ask.” Jamie turned to the door. Before he left, he whispered in my mum’s ear, who ducked out and came back with a cup of crushed ice.

While he was gone, the contractions kicked up a notch—or maybe five. Mum told me to take her hand and squeeze through the pain. I feared I would break her hand. When Jamie finally returned with Gillian, I nearly wept with gratitude. She conceded that I could have a whiff of gas to ease the pain. The tank was set up beside me, and after the first deep inhale I began to feel its effects. My dad and Jamie left for the waiting room. I relaxed a bit, and asked my mum to help me walk around for a bit. I alternated between panting for breath and doses of gas. The contractions came and went like waves, closer and closer to each other. Gillian examined me again.

“Alright Claire. Ye’re fully dilated, and the baby looks about to crown any minute now.” She settled near the end of the bed, bringing with her a cart and a tray full of medical instruments. They spread blue sheets beneath me, and pushed the gown above my huge belly. I should have felt instantly embarrassed to be so exposed in front of my mother and a stranger, but I was beyond caring. I felt a strong desire to push.

Gillian noticed my expression as I tried to sit up. “Claire, I need ye to push through the contraction, and hold it, deep breaths. Don’t stop, we’ll tell ye when to relax.” The nurse propped me up with a few pillows while she and Mum hooked their hands under my kneed and spread them apart, at Gillian’s indication.

Unexpectedly, a molten wave of panic hit me. This is it, this is really it. Bloody fuck, what am I going to do… this is bollocks, I can’t do this! I shook my head vehemently, biting my lip.

“Mum, I can’t do this, there’s no way, I’m not ready!” I gripped her hand, my face twisting as I fought the urge to push and resisted.

“Of course you are, love, we’re all here with you. We’ll help you, you’re not alone, Claire.” Mum gave my hand a reassuring squeeze and touched her forehead to mine. Her words bolstered my courage, little as there was left of it.

“Claire, I need ye to push now.” Gillian’s voice was muffled behind a surgical mask.

After one last look from Mum, I gritted my teeth and pushed. I could hear them counting while I held on as long as I could. When they reached ten, I crumpled onto the bed, panting.

“Ye’re doing great, now one more time Claire.” It killed me that Gillian could sound so calm when I wanted to rip her head off. I felt Mum rub my leg sympathetically.

I spent the next few minutes bearing down, and then falling back to the pillows in exhaustion. Finally, I head the midwife say, “Here’s the head! A couple more should do it.” Mum peeked and actually squealed with excitement.

A couple more times, indeed… I pursed my lips and with a grunt, pushed hard, willing the baby to come out. When the ten seconds were up I took a deep breath and pushed again, not waiting. I finally let myself cry out with the effort and I heard a tiny, shrill wail.

“Here she is!” I collapsed, Mum’s hand pulling my hair back from my face. I closed my eyes, breathing in. I could hear my daughter crying, loud and strong. I felt the nurse set her on my stomach and my eyes flew open. I reached out to touch her while Gillian cut the cord. Her tiny mouth opened to let out her insistent cries, and I felt like crying with her. All too soon, she was taken away to be cleaned up.

“Everything’s fine,” Gillian said, still in front of me. “She’s perfectly healthy.”

“Mum…” I trailed off, exhausted.

“Shhh… I’m here. She’s beautiful, Claire.” Mum stroked my hair and kissed my forehead. “She looks like you.”

The nurse brought her back, swaddled and clean. “Here you go. Eight pounds, eight ounces. She’s a big girl! Congratulations.” She settled the baby on my chest. I held her awkwardly, afraid to drop her. She was beautiful… dark hair, my nose. Though I couldn’t see her eyes yet. They were scrunched tightly with the indignity of birth, as she wailed. But her cries quieted down gradually, as I traced her perfect features with my fingertips. Soon, she was only snuffling. I gazed at her, marveling at this perfect creature that had been inside me all along.

I felt tired, fatigue seeping into my very bones. I kissed my daughter’s forehead, before I offered her to Mum, who smiled in delight. I was so tired…

As my mother handed the baby back to the nurse, I felt my eyes begin to drift closed. Before I could go under, Mum shook my shoulder lightly.

“Claire, love, they need to know her name. Do you have it yet?”

My daughter’s name was suddenly clear.

“Faith. Her name is Faith.”

[californiadreaminghq]

Oh good, you made it!

Did you guys know Ky was coming? They brought Vance deLery, The Ghost! And just on time! Grab a drink, find a spot, and make sure you finish everything on the checklist. The band is just getting started – you have 24 hours to send in your account! We’re so glad you’re here!

I. OUT OF THE STUDIO

NAME/ALIAS: Ky

AGE: 28

PRONOUNS: they

                                                 II. ON STAGE

NAME: Vance deLery

FACE CLAIM: Ben Barnes

AGE: 35

TITLE: The Ghost

DREAM: Somebody

OCCUPATION: Guitarist/Vocalist for Indigo Dusk

                                               III. INTERVIEW

Answer the following questions in your character’s voice:

If you could do anything in the world for a living, what would it be?

“Make music. That’s why I’m here, that’s - it’s what I’ve been tryin’ to do all my life. Since I was old enough to know a note, man.” Not an exaggeration; his ma used to laugh, looking at all those polaroids she’d pinned up. Some beaming, black-eyed baby pawing at the keys of the piano in that schoolroom where she did her lessons. This kid perched on the bench, hand-me-down dress shirt tucked in nearly to his knees, crisp white cotton hanging off his skinny shoulders as he played his first something-like a recital. Keep going, sweetheart. Everybody’s gonna listen, you’ll see. Vance sighed, brushed his hair back. “Yeah, just - music. I want to make it, and share it with people. That’s what it’s for.”

If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?

“It’d be warm, I’ll tell you that. Can’t handle the cold. Bad for playing in.” He flexed his hands, callused - by steel strings, sure, but busting out license plates, too, nowadays. “Warm. But, like… nice, you know?” A kind of heat that wasn’t so brutally bright, so strong that it’d crush the breath from your chest. Not that thick, sticky sort of warmth he’d grown up in. “Somewhere with real beaches. Soft sand for miles… I mean, California’s great and all, but… gets crowded, man.”

What is one thing that makes you different than anyone else?

“Ah… shit, give me a minute, there…” Experience made him sound like an asshole, didn’t it? Everybody was out there experiencing, all the time. Just, maybe, when it came to the sort of experience people sang about - how many of them had lived all of that? Especially these young things, coming up. Young things. Christ almighty, when did he get old? “I, uh - I’ve done this before. All of it, I’m… I’m doing it again, my second go around.” He nodded, took a deep, steadying sort of breath. “That’s the dream, at least, just… this time, I’m gonna do it my way. Like Frankie said.” Just like that.

                                               IV. BACKSTAGE

BEHIND THE MUSIC:

Vance, he could charm the birds from their trees, the girls right out of their bedroom windows - some of the guys as well, even if it was just their eyes saying so. All it took was a few chords off that beat-up guitar, a couple songs, that crooked smile. He had a certain style, and a sound, but… did he have what it took, to make it big? On his own, he might never have had the confidence to go chasing stars. But he had the boys, pulling him along in their twanging, roaring wake: fellow odd-one-outs around their little town, thick as thieves. There was the frontman, The Fortunate Son, howling himself hoarse out where he could strut his stuff and drink in the crowd. The drummer, The Peace Train - he hit things, hit ‘em at the right time, despite the metric shit-ton of weed he burned through. Their bassman, The Hard-core Troubadour, he didn’t have tricky fingers, but he had rhythm. That’d do. At least, when you had Vance handling the fancy slides and such.

They called themselves the Diamondbacks. Sounded badass, and upscale. So the argument went. Vance, he didn’t see much need to be any of that. That frontman had a way of convincing people, though. Vance, especially. Those heady summer days, passing a joint around by the river, made it real easy to see the light. Their music was good, and it was something else, part of that swell of southern rock n’ roll sound. Those songs they knocked around could be in. Just had to make sure the right people heard them.

First, the Diamondbacks had to get the hell out of Pine Bluff. As soon as possible. None of those boys had any real reason to stick around, no roots they weren’t ready to sever. Vance, he was still missing his mother, her car t-boned by a drunk the spring after she got him that third-hand Fender he lugged over to every practice. His father, he kept a closer eye on the beers in his fridge than he did on his son. But Mr. deLery made sure his boy knew how to take a punch. Did he ever. When the band finally rode off into the sunset, Vance was nursing a broken nose in the backseat - God, though, he’d never laughed so hard. Fuck the whole state. They were going to California.

Beyond there, the plan got a bit hazy. The financing, especially. None of them had much more than a crumpled pocketful of savings. That and a few bucks here and there from gigs was enough to squeak by on, but they hadn’t come all that way to squeak. They wanted to shine. That took cash, though; for new shirts, new drumsticks, the occasional haircut. And the drinking. And the dope, which flowed pretty freely in the big city. The Diamondbacks needed cash on their way to the top. As usual, that singer figured out the answer. He’d met a guy who could use some people. A real cool guy, into real cool things. Like acid, pills, heroin. Just needed a hand moving a little something, now and then, here and there. Vance didn’t like it, but. The Fortunate Son, the tightest friend he’d ever had, was telling him how they were going to save their band. So, Vance listened. It’d be okay, he got promised. It’d be better than okay.

And soon, it was. That cool guy had cool friends, as it turned out, and those cool friends had cool parties. After showing up at a few of those, the Diamondbacks were reading over a record deal, signing on the dotted line. The rest, as they say, is history. There was a promising first album, then, quickly, a record-smashing second, and a third that the radio just loved. Then, trouble. That fourth record spun apart as the band got lost in being bigshots. Vance, never as comfortable being the centre of attention as The Fortunate Son, never as incredibly high as The Peace Train, never as cool and collected as The Hardcore Troubadour, could feel himself burning away in the limelight. He drank to sleep, snorted to wake up. Started to find other things to do, in between. The pressure made him jittery, on and off the stage, and it didn’t help any that that cool friend kept calling. The guy didn’t like to hear no. Said he had strings to pull, if he had to. Going on tour was just such a swell method of distribution, and the money didn’t hurt the band any, did it? The Fortunate Son wasn’t worried. So, Vance tried not to be. He really did.

It all went to hell so fast. One day, they were on top of the fuckin’ world. Next, everybody was going down for possession, intent to distribute. Everybody, or somebody. So said the lawyer The Fortunate Son’s panicked parents had called in. They wanted to make an example, here. One would do. A sacrifice, for the rest of the band, but. With good behaviour, out in no time. Vance would do it. Right? Vance could give the judge those big doe eyes, get off easy. A nice cushy stint in county. It’d be nothing, and the rest of them, they’d fix up that album and keep going, for his sake. Then he’d be back, soon, and… The Fortunate Son, he was half-hysterical. All Vance could say was yes. For his best friend, for the band. It’d be nothing.

Only, that lawyer wasn’t so good as he figured he was. Vance was thrown a dime and a half in San Quentin, a week shy of his twenty-second birthday. Example made.

The band visited, for a while. Prison wasn’t kind, but Vance, he’d grown up keeping his head down. Withdrawal didn’t make it easier. Neither did the visits, honestly. Watching the band break down, from the outside - that stung. That was his life, what he took this long, long fall for. Gone. The days blurred together, a smear of grey concrete, grey food, grey sheets, and the odd, red burst of blood. He watched his hands, playing his way through old songs every night, tapping his fingers on nothing. Listened to the radio, when they allowed - catching the chords, guessing at the picking patterns. All he had to do was stick it out, survive. There’d be music on the other side.

Turns out that all his good, good behaviour would count for something - a few reductions, then, parole. After he hitch-hiked his way to Los Angeles, Vance started strumming along the boardwalks and street corners to make ends meet. He’d lost a decade, of playing, of living; rusty, roughed up, and altogether alone in the world, he had nowhere to go and nobody to see there. Didn’t even have that old Fender. But he could clean himself up and slip into bars and music stores, pick up a guitar, and earn a few coins. Just a week shy of his last pointless parole meeting, he was pulled aside for a proposal. A band, not just some crew of up and comers but a big deal, needed a guitarist, a singer. A replacement. Maybe they weren’t his style, but - could he do it? For the money to keep himself clean, sure. They didn’t seem to have caught on to that criminal record, but that was years ago; the Diamondbacks, and the scandal that snapped them apart, were just about forgotten. All the better for Vance. For the past two years he’s been doing what Indigo Dusk pays him to do, and not much more. This isn’t his band. It’s not his music. He bears them no ill will - he’s grateful, of course, for the chance - but he doesn’t feel at home with them, doesn’t get too personal. Vance is well aware he’s just filling a space onstage, and if he’s honest with himself, he’s not playing his best for them. But, very, very quietly, over the last few months or so, he’s started to slip out to open mic nights around Los Angeles. Nothing too big. Doesn’t want to trouble that contract, obviously… but he can feel it, the quaking in the foundation of this band he’s hitched himself to. They’re going the same way The Diamondbacks did, or something like it, anyway. And that asides, he misses making music that felt like his. Maybe The Diamondbacks weren’t that, either. But he’s out looking for his own sound, now, and if the audiences are any indication, he’s starting to find it…

                                                   V. ENCORE

Let’s start with a PINTEREST! https://www.pinterest.ca/jraphicpark/vance/

HEADCANON time!

Vance got his musical talent, and then some, from his mother - a music teacher. She realized early that her boy had spectacular pitch, listening to him plink along with radio tunes on her piano. He can do more than that now, but hasn’t let the rest of Indigo Dusk in on the fact. They’ve got somebody on the keys, don’t need him. And it hurts to play, in some ways. Piano was his mom’s music, her sound, and it brings back a hell of a lot of memories. 

He can also pick something pretty out on the banjo, and knows his way around a classic diatonic harmonica. Picked that one up in prison; being able to keep folks entertained has always served Vance well, even in his worst days. 

At this point, he’s mostly playing covers for the cafe and bar crowds; but Vance is slowly, surely, starting to throw in a tune or two of his own. It’s not just his sound that’s drawing people in, either. When he warms up, past a certain natural shyness, Vance has this unpretentious, genuine way about him, a self-deprecating kind of humour that sneaks in between songs. It keeps them listening, even if his music isn’t perhaps the kind of thing that’s hitting it big on the airwaves these days.

Though nobody was throwing those words around in 1973, Vance is what we’d call dyslexic and dysgraphic - meaning, very broadly, that he struggles to read and write. It’s not something he has an explanation for, and the ones given to him by teachers and schoolmates weren’t kind. He’s been treated like he’s not terribly smart, or like he’s lazy, or both, since he was a kid. Neither’s true, but he’s still sensitive about it, and tries to hide this fact as much as possible. People already tend to judge him quickly thanks to the backwoodsy accent. It’s not fair, but Vance knows the world isn’t like that. So he just gets on by, as best he can.

And then, obviously, a PLAYLIST! I’ll just list the songs, because I don’t have a proper Spotify set up (shocking, I know). Hope it’s okay that some of these are modern. Vance typically played electric with the Diamondbacks, in their more rock n’ roll style (think CCR, Lynyrd Skynyrd); left to his own devices, he prefers an acoustic sound heavy on the finger-picking. He’s got a genuine gift for that kind of playing, very much a van Zandt kind of talent. His voice, usually background to The Fortunate Son’s in the Diamondback days, actually has a decent range - soft highs to a bit of old country growl.

Highway Kind - Townes van Zandt Little Boy - Barns Courtney

Feel Alright - Steve Earle

Built to Roam - Shakey Graves

Leaving On A Jet Plane - John Denver

Deep Dark Wells - Joe Pug

Folsom Prison Blues - Johnny Cash

My Poor Heart - The Glorious Sons

Satan and St. Paul - John Fullbright I’m Not a Saint - Billy Raffoul

Wasteland - X Ambassadors

Tearing At the Seams - Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats

And I Love You So - Don McLean

Everything Is Alright - The Glorious Sons

Unknown Legend - Shakey Graves

Bright Beginnings - Joe Pug

Lungs - Townes van Zandt

Don’t Take Your Guns to Town - Johnny Cash

History - X Ambassadors

Take Me Home, Country Roads - John Denver

Unlucky Skin - Shakey Graves

Meet Me in the Alleyway - Steve Earle

Panic Attack - The Glorious Sons

American Pie - Don McLean

Still Trying - Nathaniel Rateliff

And for a few more things, here’s some tidbits about the (ex)band, so far as wanted connections might go! Names and Titles are flexible. Faceclaims would be totally up to player, probably in the 32-37 age range.  

THE FORTUNATE SON

The oddest one out, back in Pine Bluff and the band, this character grew up as the spoiled and rebellious child of the biggest bigwigs that little town had to offer. Maybe he’s a Somebody, a country crooner or a real rockstar. Maybe he’s become a Power, staring down the kind of up and comer he used to be across a nice, expensive desk. Is he happy, now? Was it worth it? Who’s to say.

THE PEACE TRAIN

The roving spirit of the bunch, the real hippie, off in la-la land, ready to fire up a fat one the moment they left the stage. You could say that for this character - he loved the music, and couldn’t stand to see it compromised. He was a cheerleader, always ready to shove the rest of the band back on their feet and get the show on the road, eternally the sunny, can-do optimist. The weed probably helped with that, but still. Vance wound up moving plenty of product for him alone, back in the day. Now? Who knows he’s up to.

THE HARD-CORE TROUBADOUR

Once the bassist of The Diamondbacks, this character was always a hard-headed, take-no-shit sonofabitch. But he got shit done. While The Fortunate Son dreamed big and tried to smile and schmooze his way to what he wanted, The Hard-core Troubadour put in the thinking and paperwork that made stuff happen. He spent much of the friendship - and the band - frustrated. Vance was often the one who had to try and gentle things out between people, usually this stubborn bastard and their bombastic, self-righteous frontman. He might have moved on to another band, but it’s just as likely that he left music behind for managing or mixing at one of the labels.

[killerqueenjoy]

99 Question Tag

okay okay I know i got tagged to do this like a month ago on my main blog by @santonicababy iM SORRY LIN ILY BUT THIS WAS SO DAMN LONG

1) DO YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR CLOSET DOORS OPEN OR CLOSED

I sleep in the room where everybodies closets are and they all gotta be closed goddamn do you know how spooky it is to even have one open during the night

2) DO YOU TAKE THE SHAMPOOS AND CONDITIONER BOTTLES FROM HOTELS

my parents do, but alas I don't use them in case they have silicones or sulphates in them because I got a whole lotta curls to protect

3)DO YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR SHEETS TUCKED IN OR OUT?

if this refers to the sheet protecting the mattress, then my answer is in because how the fuck would you be able to sleep with that moving around???

4) HAVE YOU STOLEN A STREET SIGN BEFORE

NO SORRY IM BORING

5)DO YOU LIKE TO USE POST IT NOTES

heck yeah, but for random shit

6) DO YOU EVER CUT OUT COUPONS BUT THEN NEVER USE THEM

nee my parents are fancy fuckers who use the coupons on their phone (our local supermarket has a damn app skskksksk)

7) WOULD YOU RATHER BE ATTACKED BY A BIG BEAR OR A SWARM OF BEES

a bear because its one giant son of a bitch and not millions of tiny motherfuckers and also I've never been stung by a bee and intend to keep it that way because majority of my family seem to be allergic

8) DO YOU HAVE FRECKLES

nope! I have a couple beauty spots on my hands and face but thats kinda it

9) DO YOU ALWAYS SMILE FOR PICTURES

not really but if I've been told to smile then its 200% dead inside

10) WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST PET PEEVE

i find many things annoying

11)DO YOU EVER COUNT YOUR STEPS WHEN YOU WALK

only when i go up and down stairs, but i also try to make sure i step with each foot equally (if that makes sense) and i step on only certain colour tiles when im bored

12) HAVE YOU EVER PEED IN THE WOODS

the real question is have i ever been in the woods? both answers are no

13) HAVE YOU EVER POOPED IN THE WOODS

refer to question 12

14)ummmm idk what this question is meant to be curse you Lin

15)DO YOU CHEW YOUR PENS AND PENCILS

nope, the idea weirds me out

16) HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE YOU SLEPT WITH THIS WEEK

none, this week and in general

17) WHAT SIZE IS YOUR BED

one person and a long yet smol doggo size

18) WHAT IS YOUR SONG OF THE WEEK

Eddie from the Rocky Horror Picture Show has been stuck in my head for the whole week so yeah i guess that

19)IS IT OKAY FOR GUYS TO WEAR PINK

HeLL YEAH DUDE HAVE YOU SEEN RAMI MALEK IN PINK

SKSKSKSKS END MY LIFE

but yeah, anyone can wear anything they want to wear (although a suit made out of meat might not be wise)

20) DO YOU STILL WATCH CARTOONS

dudeeeee scooby doo and tom and jerry are my jam I watch them on the regular (among other things)

21)WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVOURITE MOVIE

uhhm idkkkkk I tend to repress bad movies sksksk

22)WHERE WOULD YOU BURY HIDDEN TREASURE IF YOU HAD SOME

idk shove it in the closet ig at least it will be hidden behind my sexuality

23)WHAT DO YOU DRINK WITH DINNER

I usually only drink before or after but ig water??? cooldrink if I'm in a restaurant

24)WHAT DO YOU DIP A CHICKEN NUGGET IN

depends on the nug

25)WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE FOOD

How dare you assume i only have one favourite

tbh it depends cos i love pizza and pasta and stuff but then i cannot live with my granny's curries ksksmks

26) WHAT MOVIES COULD YOU WATCH OVER AND OVER AGAIN AND STILL LOVE

borhap, sing street, rhps, the natm movies, the harry potter movies, any mcu movies

27)LAST PERSON YOU KISSED/KISSED YOU

ahhahahahahahha bold of you to assume anyone wants to do that

28) WERE YOU EVER A BOY/GIRL SCOUT

nope but I was a catrobat which is basically my preschools acrobatics team that was actually really terrible

29)WOULD YOU EVER STRIP OR POSE NUDE IN A MAGAZINE

nahh m8

30) WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WROTE A LETTER TO SOMEONE ON PAPER

this week for a transactional task at school (It was in Afrikaans and I got a C skskskks)

31)CAN YOU CHANGE THE OIL IN A CAR

omg no

32)EVER GOTTEN A SPEEDING TICKET

not old enough to drive!

33)EVER RAN OUT OF GAS

my parents never have for as long as i can remember

34)WHATS YOUR FAVOURITE KINDA SANDWHICH

cheese because I am actually John Deacon

35)BEST THING TO EAT FOR BREAKFAST

MUFFINS!!!!

36)WHAT IS YOUR USUAL BEDTIME

school nights its 11pm otherwise i dont have one lol

37)ARE YOU LAZY

YES BUT MY LAZINESS MAKES ME ANXIOUS OOF

38)WHEN YOU WERE A KID WHAT DID YOU DRESS UP AS FOR HALLOWEEN

we dont celebrate that here but i rly want to it seems fun!

39)WHAT IS YOUR CHINESE ASTROLOGICAL SIGN

Ram, which is really cool because im an Aries, so I'm sheep squared

40)HOW MANY LANGUAGES CAN YOU SPEAK

English, Afrikaans (at a basic highschool level), I could speak very vERY basic isiZulu when I was younger but I'm not sure about now, I know a bit of French and Telugu, and I'm gonna start learning Hindi soon!!

41) DO YOU HAVE ANY MAGAZINE SUBSCRIPTIONS

nee

42) WHICH ARE BETTER, LEGOS OR LINCOLN LOGS

i didn't play much with legos and i have no idea what the second one is rip

43)ARE YOU STUBBORN

to an extent

44)WHO IS BETTER, LENO OR LETTERMAN

I kept reading Leno as Lenin ffs

45)EVER WATCH SOAP OPERAS

I watch them occasionally with my granny, but I don't keep up with them very well (Kasamh Se is my shit tho)

46)ARE YOU AFRAID OF HEIGHTS

no, im afraid of falling in general tho

47) DO YOU SING IN THE CAR

My dad and I bop frequently to Never Gonna Give You Up in the car, and also classic bollywood songs (we have even learnt the choreography for some)

48)DO YOU SING IN THE SHOWER

i perform

49) DO YOU DANCE IN THE CAR

well theres not exactly much space

50)EVER USED A GUN

nope

51)LAST TIME YOU GOT A PORTRAIT TAKEN BY A PHOTOGRAPHER

not sure

52)DO YOU THINK MUSICALS ARE CHEESY

most are but thats why i like them

53) IS CHRISTMAS STRESSFUL

we don't celebrate because we're not Christian (we still eat a lot and exchange presents tho), but it can get stressful if we have to visit extended family, mostly because my extended family loves to insult everything about me so thats great!

54)EVER EAT A PIEROGI

not i good sir

55) FAVOURITE TYPE OF FRUIT PIE

never had one, it doesnt appeal to me

56) OCCUPATIONS YOU WANTED TO BE WHEN YOU WERE A KID

a vet

57)DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS

i am a ghost

58)EVER HAD A DEJA-VU FEELING

not that i remember

59)DO YOU TAKE A VITAMIN DAILY

yes, I take a multi vitamin, a vitamin D pill because I'm vitamin D deficient, and im not sure if this is a vitamin or not but i take evening primrose oil so that im not outwardly a bitch due to pms

60)DO YOU WEAR SLIPPERS

i wear slipper socks, because my doggo got jealous of my doggie slippers and murdered them in cold blood

61)DO YOU WEAR A BATH ROBE

i have one and rarely use it because i forget it exists

62)WHAT DO YOU WEAR TO BED

a random shirt and pants, though ive been known to kick pants off (ive been doing that since birth), occasionally i manage to get the matching pj set

63)WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CONCERT

ive unfortunately never been to a concert before

64)WALMART TARGET OR KMART

ive never seen any of these stores in my country

65)NIKE OR ADIDAS

i own neither

66) CHEETOS OR FRITOS

neither

67)PEANUTS OR SUNFLOWER SEEDS

Peanuts because thats my doggos name!

68) EVER HEARD OF THE GROUP TRES BIEN

no sorry

69)EVER TAKE DANCE LESSONS

i went to a bhangra class for about a year, and we performed for our parents at the end of that year (i was in one of the few groups that didnt have to dance in lehengas thank goodness)

70)IS THERE A PROFESSION YOU PICTURE

YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE DOING

probably something creative, but I don't mind as long as they're happy with what they're doing and its not harming others!

71)CAN YOU CURL YOUR TONGUE

yep

72)EVER WON A SPELLING BEE

never entered one, having to spell out loud makes me anxious

73)HAVE YOU EVER CRIED BECAUSE YOU WERE SO HAPPY

i think so

74)OWN ANY RECORD ALBUMS

nope

75)OWN A RECORD PLAYER

i wish

76)DO YOU REGULARLY BURN INCENSE

my granny burns incense while I'm at school because my mom and i both get really sick when its just been lit and the smell is strong. Going to the temple is a damn nightmare because of it

77)EVER BEEN IN LOVE

no, too busy fangirling

78)WHO WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE IN CONCERT

oof a long list

Queen, Twenty One Pilots, Waterparks, Frank Iero and the Future Violents (ffs fronk stop changin the name), Panic! at the Disco...to name a few

79)WHAT WAS THE LAST CONCERT YOU SAW

refer to question 63

80)HOT TEA OR COLD TEA

both

81)TEA OR COFFEE

coffee

82)SUGAR COOKIES OR SNICKERDOODLES

sugar cookies

83)CAN YOU SWIM WELL

i wouldn't drown, but im no professional either

84)CAN YOU HOLD YOUR BREATH WITHOUT HOLDING YOUR NOSE

im doing it right now

85)ARE YOU PATIENT

eh

86)DJ OR BAND AT A WEDDING

I've only ever been to Hindi,Tamil and Telugu weddings and lemme tell you 90% of the time bands flop at those weddings because they can't sing the classics without failing miserably, so DJs are generally better. However, in that case, if a band can perform those songs, then I'd prefer a band ig

87)EVER WON A CONTEST

yep, a couple of reading contests

88)HAVE YOU EVER HAD PLASTIC SURGERY

nope, not planning on it

89)WHICH ARE BETTER, BLACK OR GREEN OLIVES

dont like olives rip

90)CAN YOU KNIT OR CROCHET

i can knit!

in fact, my friends and i are so cool that we're in our schools knitting club (which besides myself, @grandfunnyemopainter and @imjustabruh , only has 2 other members)

91)BEST ROOM FOR A FIREPLACE

lounge or study/library

92)DO YOU WANT TO GET MARRIED

i guess, its not on my goal list tho

93)IF MARRIED, HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN MARRIED

no

94)WHO WAS YOUR HIGHSCHOOL CRUSH

currently in highschool, and in love with the borhap cast, sebastian stan, stephanie beatriz and band members (theres more but yeah)

95)DO YOU CRY AND THROW A FIT UNTIL YOU GET YOUR OWN WAY

nope, i have only two ways to deal, be a total pushover or a total bitch

96)DO YOU HAVE KIDS

nope

97)DO YOU WANT KIDS

kind of undecided, but i do want more pets

98)WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE COLOUR

Dark Blue

99)DO YOU MISS ANYONE RIGHT NOW

my dog, shes been ignoring me for about four hours now because I stayed at school for an extra hour (for knitting club!)

@softspaceboibrian @roger-taylor-owns-my-wigg @im-inlovewithmycar do it cowards

[boob0072]

When life gives you lemons; make lemonade ...maybe add something to it too !19/10/2018

It’s been a tough few months in cancer land. Weekly chemo over past weeks has taken its toll; weekly bloods, waiting for results to make sure chemo can go ahead then back and forth to hospital. I just want to scream out loud so I do and I don’t really care who hears me. It’s so fucking tough 😢😢😢 it’s not easy being strong and “brave” all the time, so many days I’m travelling for chemo and just want to turn back, curl up in bed and pretend it’s not happening. I’m fed up being bald, bloated, not feminine looking, agitated, sad and sometimes lonely oh and feeling like a broken down record. Fed up of hearing it, I am, I am fed up bleating on about it.

So ive had the lurgy that’s doing it’s rounds which meant chemo was deferred but I still had my CT scan and Brain MRI, I needed to know that this this chemo is doing something. Having that brain mri feeling the way I was, was the worse experience. But I pushed myself to see it through. That same afternoon my phone rings, that no caller ID I knew it wasn’t good news. It was the on call registrar to tell me unfortunately they found a pulmonary embolism in my lung (blood clot), WTF.... asking me to get back to hospital ASAP or get to my GP for them to administer an injection. Luckily I was literally round the corner from my GP so off I went. Having to try and explain to GP what the dr told me was quite difficult thankfully she gave me her number so my GP could ring her. Injections collected and first one administered - it stung like a bugger!! Sent home with injections to self administer twice a day 😢 this was going to take a bit of getting used to. Cried lots, feeling very scared and just keep saying in my head, why? Why? It’s so unfair! Good old cancer just keeps giving 😢

Scan results, 9 cycles of weekly chemo has given me a blood clot but it’s kept the cancer stable ..... and breathe! It’s good news, it really is. Means it’s been worth it, again !!! Yes I’ve a blood clot in my lung, this is hopefully being treated and I’ll be on injections for some time, but the cancer is stable STABLE!!! I’ll continue for another 8 cycles in the hope it stays stable. This news gave me my mojo back - got to keep going ...... We will not be defeated 👊🏻💪🏻💋 “At what point do you give up - decide enough is enough- never “

[junkpoetic]

Four

    On the verge of his tenth mile, Elliot had a feeling like he had to urinate. With seemingly no shrubbery around he contemplated just going in his shorts. He figured by the time he’d reach the finish line the ratio of sweat to urine would hide the fact that there was any urine at all. When he made the decision that he was going to go for it, he slowed to a trot and attempt to release, but he couldn’t. There was only more feeling of having to go. He decided to ignore everything and began running faster again.

    The wind and sweat made the road rash on his wrists and knees scream. On a whim he took a left at the next side street and slowed his run to a walk. Eventually he came to a complete stop. He found himself in a sort of rundown neighborhood that had a shoddy old shopping plaza in it vacant with more boarded windows than windows. For some reason he turned his microphone off. I did not realize this until we played back the tape later on, I was consumed in the bar lights with Juno Rafferty.

    Elliot began walking door to door and pulling on them to see if any were accidentally left unlocked. He figured there had to be an old toilet somewhere inside. He doesn’t remember if it was the fourth or fifth door he tried but he noticed the board on the window next to it was loose. He looked around to make sure he was alone before climbing in. He was shocked when the light flicked on when he flipped the switch. The majority of the bulbs were burnt out but there was enough life in the lights that lit to allow him to see things clear enough. It looked like an old insurance company or doctor’s office, the smell of ink and paper still lingered among the dust. It was a room that sat stagnant, waiting for nothing. When he turned the bathroom light on the light flickered and fought before eventually burning consistently. He stood over the toilet waiting a lifetime to piss. He inhaled deeply and then exhaled before finally feeling a painful trickle. It looked more like apple cider than lemonade. Fuck he said beneath his breath. He attempted to flush but nothing happened, nor did the water turn on so he couldn’t wash his hands. He cranked the paper towel spool and unraveled a few sheets of hardened yellowed tissue and dabbed his wounds with it. Thankfully his cuts didn’t look as bad as they stung.

    When he walked back out into the office the room felt dimmer. He wondered if more bulbs had burnt out while he was urinating. He pondered lightbulbs for some odd reason. He found it funny that when one burned out at his house, he didn’t change it right away. He’d just get used to dimmer light. He’d wait until enough burned out and change them all at once. There’s less flaw in dimmer light, he liked that. It leveled the playing field. He felt the same about the snow. Everyone’s yard looks the same in a snowstorm.

    When he climbed back through the window, he gazed out upon the empty parking lot. The broken streetlamps, the dead weeds stuck between cracks in the concrete. The trashy graffiti that meant nothing to most people and everything to whoever created it. He tried to resurface from his cavernous mind, but something was off. He kept falling deeper. He stared at the graffiti for much longer than a moment. Stuck in gaze, he couldn’t make out what it said. A voice shouted startling him from his daydream. He didn’t hear what they said, he waved and trotted back toward the marathon course.

10.87 miles- Bloody. Brown piss. Delirium.

    He didn’t remember to turn his mic back on until he felt the adhesive tape itching against his chest reminding him that he was wearing it.

    “Paulie? You there?”

    “Jesus Elliot, where have you been?”

    “Took a fall, had find a toilet.”

    “You alright?”

    “I think so.”

    He would never admit that he was not okay. He wasn’t even halfway through and so dehydrated. I told him to stop running but he kept rambling about lightbulbs and parking lots attempting to sound philosophical. It apparently made sense in his mind. I had to laugh because it reminded me of the first time we got drunk together.

    “Call off the dogs E. I am worried about you now.”

    “They’re so lonely and beautiful.”

    “What?”

    “Parking lots. They’re always waiting.”

    “What?” I laughed but not really.

    “Arrivals and departures. They’re stuck in between. Like an elevator if you pressed all the floors at once.”

    “I am coming to meet you.”

    He continued. “I have to show you the most beautiful parking lot I found.”

    “Elliot, you need water.”

    Total distance eleven miles. Total time one hundred twenty-five minutes and fifteen seconds. Split pace eleven minutes and thirty-seven seconds per mile.

    Not long into his twelfth mile, his legs wouldn’t allow him to run. He struggled to walk for a short while before he couldn’t move at all. An ambulance arrived and took Elliot Knox away from the race. They took him to South Shore hospital and pumped him full of fluids. The last thing he said before turning his microphone off was “keep the clock running”.

    I parted ways with Juno. She was kind enough to stay with my stuff at the bar while I took a cab to South Shore. The cab drivers name was Kingston and he drove like Jeff Gordon. It felt as if the tequila sodas I consumed were very disrupted in my stomach. He took sharp turns through back roads and went fifty miles per hour on straightaways. I managed to keep from vomiting but not by much. When I got to the hospital there were two other marathon runners awaiting a room, apparently Elliot was bad enough they booked him right away.

    I tried to make sense of everything a I walked the long corridors of lights and glares pasts room that smelled of insulin and disease. He only ran eleven miles… sure he drank alcohol the night before and probably didn’t hydrate but Elliot seemed healthy enough to run at least a half marathon and possibly walk another half. It wasn’t until I arrived at his room and the doctor informed that Elliot wasn’t healthy enough to run a marathon nor was he healthy enough to run a half marathon. I felt dizzy and delirious much like Elliot sounded when he was talking about parking lots and light bulbs. Everything went blurry. I felt worse than I did in Kingston’s cab. I could no longer hold back the vomit once the doctor informed me that my best friend was dying.  

    When I went into his room, he was lying in bed smiling as the IV drip nursed him back to hydration. I did not tell him what the doctor told me. He’ll tell me when he’s ready. Suddenly the jargon about light bulbs and parking lots made much more sense.

    Parking lots are places that no one ever talks about. They’re not glamorous. They’re often quite the opposite. They hold no address, and they’re left off maps, it’s like they don’t exist. So full of exhaust and the pollution of strangers constantly arriving and departing. So full during the day and so empty and lonely at night. Painted in bird shit, chewed gum, and cigarette ash. Full of Styrofoam trash, and paper cups of smoke, and they carry the weight of the happiest hellos and the saddest farewells.  

    I sat down in the chair at his bedside, and he insisted he was not done running. He brought up the time I saved his life. He always makes so much more of it than it was. I don’t think I really did much, but I suppose it goes to show how much we are affected by one another. Not just our friendship but people everywhere. The little things make a difference. The slightest detail can change someone’s everything.

    “I didn’t save your life Elliot. I just happened to be there.”

    “Yeah. You were there when I did not want to be.”

    “It was Christmas Eve, I was just dropping off a gift.”

    “Not just a gift. You gave me a Blonde On Blonde signed vinyl… possibly one of the greatest records of all time, signed.” He laughed.

    “I didn’t realize you liked it that much.” I said.

    “I don’t. I like that I was going to kill myself that night and you showed up with a gift.”

    I didn’t know how to respond when he said that, so naturally I said. “How come you didn’t tell me that you’re dying.”

    “Everyone’s dying.” He replied.

    “You’re dying quicker.” I said.

    “Imagine if I could apply my speed at dying to running a marathon.” He joked.

    “Yeah.” I said not knowing what to say.

    “Look, life is a marathon. I have been running my whole life. I’m tired Paulie. The outlook isn’t good. I want to enjoy whatever time I have left.”

    “Did you enjoy running the Boston Marathon?” I teased.

    “That was miserable. But I have to finish it.” He sniffed his nose toward me. “You smoke?”

    “I smoked three cigarettes. Yes.” I replied.

    “You’re a smoker now?”

    “Does three cigarettes make me a smoker?” I said.

    “Does eleven and a half miles make me a runner?” He replied.

    “God no.” I laughed.

    There was a resounding pause after that laugh that I’ll never forget. It was as if I could feel him coming to terms with his mortality even though he showed no signs of vulnerability. I guess when you know someone well enough you can see through them. It was difficult seeing Elliot be weak. I had only seen him week twice in my life, once that Christmas Eve night, which we never spoke of after, and then today on this October afternoon so full of gloom.  

    Later that evening he felt stable enough to refuse any more treatment. I called us a cab and lo and behold, Kingston was our driver. Elliot enjoyed the ride much more than I did. When we got back to the hotel, Elliot vanished into his hotel room for the remainder of the evening. I walked back to the bar hoping to God that she would still be there. I felt almost out of body as I reflected on the day. I felt a little guilty that my life back home hadn’t crossed my mind. I found myself wanting to smoke one hundred cigarettes with the Goddess of Light, Juno, on a sidewalk in the dark.  

    I pushed open the heavy door and walked in to find that she was gone.

[milevenisendgame]

A Normal Life | Chapter 1:  A New Papa

Chapter Selection: -1-[2][3]

_________________________________________________

She gazed down at the thick piece of paper as she held it in her hands.  She still couldn’t believe what it said, or what it meant. Silent tears fell down her cheeks as she read the words to herself over and over again. 

                                     State of Indiana

                                   Certificate of Birth

This certifies that according to the records of the State of Indiana

Name:   JANE HOPPER

Was born in:   HAWKINS, INDIANA   on   SEPTEMBER 19, 1971

Child of:   TERESA IVES   and   JAMES HOPPER

Birthplace of Father:                        Birthplace of Mother:

INDIANA                                           INDIANA

“Hey, kid,” Hopper called, breaking her concentration.  “Are you alright?”

She glanced up at him from across the dining table.  Her beautiful brown doe eyes were red and watery.  She smiled and nodded her head.

“Yes, I’m alright.”

Hopper wasn’t convinced.  She was crying, after all.  “Yeah?  You sure?  Do you want to talk about it?”

She looked down at the paper again for a moment, and then back at Hopper.  She wrinkled her nose before asking,  “Does this mean you’re my new Papa?”

The words both stung Jim Hopper, and warmed his heart all at once.  On the one hand, he didn’t want to be associated with that guy; the one who formerly called himself El’s “Papa”.  After all he put her through? Twelve years of poking and prodding and experiments.  Twelve years without human compassion or love.  No, Jim Hopper was not her “new Papa”.  Except he was, wasn’t he?  He loved her.  He loved this kid with every fiber in his being.  And there was nothing he wouldn’t do to protect her, especially from people like “Papa.”  And with that little piece of paper that she held in her hands, it was official; she was his, and he was hers.  

He was taking too long to respond.  What does that mean, El wondered to herself.  Does he not want to be my Papa?  Did I do something  bad? Her expectant eyes had been staring at him, waiting for answers, but now she dropped them to the floor and began to frown.

Hopper noticed.  Shit.

“Yeah, I...I guess that’s what it means.”

El jumped up with a start and dropped her paper onto the table.

“REALLY?!?!” she squealed with heart eyes.

Before Hopper could respond, El’s arms were wrapped around him in the tightest embrace she’d ever given him.  Her pretty dimpled smile was from one ear to the other.  He hugged her back just as snug.

“Yes, I’m your new, uh...”Papa”... But kid, we’ve got to work on that name.”

El broke away from the hug and looked up at him with confusion.

“Name?”

“Well, yeah.  A name.  What you’re going to call me.  I mean, your Papa was your Papa...  Lots of bad memories where that came from, yeah?”

“Yes,” she understood.

“So how about we call me something else?”

“Like what?”

“Well, I don’t know.  Whatever you like.  You can always just call me Hopper.  That’s what everyone else calls me.”

Eleven thought it over for a minute.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.  I don’t want to call you that.  My name is Hopper now, too.  We need something better. You don’t want to be called Papa.  What about Pop?”

“Pop?”

“Yes.  Joyce calls you Hop.  So I’ll call you Pop.”

“Pop...” he said to himself, slightly flustered after hearing El mention Joyce.  But after some contemplation, “I like it, kid.  Pop it is.”

Eleven smiled, and then burrowed her eyebrows.

“But what about me?” she asked.

“What do you mean? What about you?”

“The paper...”

“The Birth Certificate?”

“Yes. Birth Certificate.”

“What about it?”

“It doesn’t say Eleven.  It says Jane.  Jane Hopper.”

“Oh, right.” Hopper picked up the birth certificate from the table.  He looked it over for maybe the hundredth time, and then back at Eleven again.  Or was she Jane?  Shit.  This was confusing for him, too.

“Well, what do you think?  What do you want to be called?”

His daughter took a seat on the couch just a few feet away.  She was deep in thought. 011 was never meant to be her name, and it never felt like one, either.  At least not until Mike Wheeler came along.

Ah, Mike Wheeler.  She believed he saved her life that night when he found her in the woods.  She was cold, wet, and frightened.  Her first memories of Mike were so.... warm.  He gave her warm clothes, a warm place to sleep, warm food.  He kept her safe from the bad men.  And he gave her a name; El.  Aside from that poor man called Benny at the diner, Mike was the first person to ever show her any basic human compassion.  That meant a great deal to her and was something she’d never forget.

She knew her Mama called her Jane.  But Mama was gone.  Maybe not physically, but she was still just... gone.  She did as Mama wished and found her sister, Kali.  She introduced herself to Kali and her gang as Jane.  Jane was bitchin’.  Jane was cool. She was dark and mysterious.  Punk rock. But was she really Jane?  She walked away from Jane.  She left Jane behind to come home.  Home was Pop.  Home was Mike.  Home was... friends.

She snapped back to reality as Hopper joined her on the couch.

“Well, what’s it gonna be?”

“Name?”

“Yeah, kid.  What are we gonna call you?”

“Well,” she began, “I guess, you can always call me, “hey kid”...”

She giggled, and Hopper grinned.

“But, Mike already gave me my name.”

Hopper raised his eyebrows, “Is that so?”

“Yes. Eleven was... just a number... before.  But the first night I met Mike... he told me his name was Mike.  Short for Michael.  And he asked if he could call me El. Short for Eleven...  I never knew my name was Jane.  El was the first name someone gave me.  It feels.... right.”

Hopper smiled and wrapped one arm around El’s shoulder before giving her a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Yes.  It feels right, El.  That’s your name.”

El smiled.  “Promise?”

Hopper laughed.

“I promise.  I mean... your legal name is still gonna be Jane Hopper, but we can call you El.  Short for Jane.”

El blushed, and both father and daughter laughed.

“So, that Wheeler boy... He gave you your name, eh?

“Mike. Yes.”

Hopper groaned.  He had to admit, Mike wasn’t a bad kid, but he just became El’s legal dad. TODAY.  He wasn’t ready for boys.

“Okay, if Mike wants to give you a name, so be it.  Just don’t be in any hurry to take his last name yet, okay?”

“What do you mean?” El was confused.

Hopper began to laugh uncontrollably.  Of course El wouldn’t understand the concept of marriage yet.  Baby steps, Jim,  Baby steps.

“What is it?!?!”

“It’s nothing, just a dumb “dad joke”, that’s all.”

A little embarrassed at his own joke, Hopper continued to laugh, and even though El didn’t know what was so funny, his goofiness was contagious, and she began laughing, too.

She was glad he wasn’t her new Papa.  No.  No more.  She had Pop, now.  And she knew he’d never let Papa hurt her ever again.

[insarations]

these are actually hella fucking cute y’all

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk? more cereal

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day? oh yes :) but gotta  get me some hot chocolate or blanket

3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books? usually just a scrap of paper or whatevers close

4: how do you take your coffee/tea? i put soy milk and sugar in my coffee....just sugar in tea

5: are you self-conscious of your smile? ya :/ well at least if my mouth is open...I have terrible teeth

6: do you keep plants? no

7: do you name your plants? noo lol

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings? painting/drawing/crafting..sometimes writing or poetry

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself? very much

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach? usually side, sometimes back

11: what's an inner joke you have with your friends? too many to name

12: what's your favorite planet? hmm...never thought about it strangely. saturn for looks. but mars cause idk..it holds the most possibility

13: what's something that made you smile today? my cats

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like? uhhh....idk

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is! A day on Venus is actually longer than a year on Venus... wrap your head around that ;)

16: what's your favorite pasta dish? ooooh all of them lol but probably lasagna... ooh or alfredo

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair? just darker...dark brown or black

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up when i made us play hide n seek in a hotel room and i hid behind a curtain. or when i peed on my friends foot cause she got stung by a jellyfish XD

19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it? I used to :/ I dont' really anymore..probably should

20: what's your favorite eye color? um idk really it depends on the person..I usually like brown or blue. not that green isn't nice but again depends on the person lol

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that's been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces. ugh I really don't use bags or purses or anything like that much. currently my black vans drawstring

22: are you a morning person? nah, never will be. i'm used to getting up early but still hate it

23: what's your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations? SLEEP

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets? yes..a few people

25: what's the weirdest place you've ever broken into? umm i dont think ive broken into anywhere

26: what are the shoes you've had for forever and wear with every single outfit? i got rid of all my own shoes but the ones ive had a while i wear the most are my black slipon vans

27: what's your favorite bubblegum flavor? mint

28: sunrise or sunset? sunset

29: what's something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing? only she could do it, cant even explain lol

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared? more than a few times

31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks. I LOVE SOCKS lol absolutely not all white socks. I like fun patterned socks..especially my vans no shows... sometimes sleep with them on

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends. oh gosh dont let me start

33: what's your fave pastry? uggghh too many. recently something amazing I tried... lobster tails from carlos bakery. but really..any pastry lol

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it? lots of them. the main one I can think of is a small little grungy horse named Wickee lol...got him at this amusement park called Wickee Watchee... idk where he is atm :/

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often? ooooooh yesssss...from time to time

36: which band's sound would fit your mood right now? 21 pilots

37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean? I mean I like it clean.... but it's messy most the time anyways lol

38: tell us about your pet peeves! ugh so many. the #1 thing probably is when I'm walking like in a store and someone just stops right in front of me..like i'm tryna get somewhere please move haha but otherwise I just had selfish spoiled people and attitudes and people who think they're better than everyone else

39: what color do you wear the most? black and gray

40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what's it's story? does it have any meaning to you? um honestly I don't have any jewelry besides my liprings. There is this necklace that was my grandmas but I don't really wear it anymore

41: what's the last book you remember really, really loving? It's called Pawn by Robin Roseau

42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it! Starbucks. it's amazing. it's life. that is all.

43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with? this girl

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything? um hmm on and off lately and I think i'm getting there again...but probably really completely like...last spring

45: do you trust your instincts a lot? as much and often as I can

46: tell us the worst pun you can think of. oh you don't want me to do that

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe? donald trump. oh food. hahahahah omg. i thought it said thing. hahahaha. i cant even answer now.

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today? roaches. yes still same. I HATE THEM

49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought? eh neither like or dislike..rarely ever buy cds never records. But I did recently buy the Gwen Stefani Christmas album ;)

50: what's an odd thing you collect? nothing really odd. oh well.... unique boxes. I guess thats strange lol

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them? so many songs.

52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far? uh hmm.. probably the spongebob mocking one lol

53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them? honestly..dont kill me...no

54: who's the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face? myself XD

55: what's the most dramatic thing you've ever done to prove a point? gotten out of the car and walked a mile home XD

56: what are some things you find endearing in people? just being genuine and truthful and sweet and trying to be funny even if you're not really

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics? BEAUTIFUL. I didnt actually listen but I did in my head. BEAUTIFUL SONG

58: who's the wine mom and who's the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why? uhhhh..... dont really have a group of friends XD

59: what's your favorite myth? hmm too much thinking

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves? depends, most the time...the Footprints poem

61: what's the stupidest gift you've ever given? the stupidest one you've ever received? given um...idk I used to get a buncha stuff from the dollar store for my fam every year lol received? a rock from my ex bf -_-

62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind? nah not really a juice person

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be? yes organized

64: what color is the sky where you are right now? black

65: is there anyone you haven't seen in a long time who you'd love to hang out with? yesss....

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like? uhhh eh..not for me

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel? either calm or sad or sleepy or a combo

68: what's winter like where you live? it's florida. not usually cold. this week is as cold as it gets...low is like 38 but usually it doesnt even get there

69: what are your favorite board games? clue, monopoly is alright too

70: have you ever used a ouija board? no

71: what's your favorite kind of tea? not huge on tea but I like mint, or something fruity like berry or lemon or peach

72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you'll forget it? with certain things

73: what are some of your worst habits? leaving drinks or bottles half finished out or like letting my room get messy

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns. funny. sarcastic. sometimes an asshole. good time. gorgeous. fun.

75: tell us about your pets! They're two cats, sister, Lamb and Rue...they're 2 and 1/2 years old..and sweet and mischevious and fluffy and soft and cuteeee  and I love them more than anything

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren't? not really

77: pink or yellow lemonade? dont really like lemonade much but they dont make much a difference to me

78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub? fanclub :)

79: what's one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you? wrote a song for me

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why? white..nah I didnt choose

81: describe one of your friend's eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of. honestly my minds going black lol im tired

82: are/were you good in school? yes for the most part..had my moments but overall good

83: what's some of your favorite album art? so many I could name. coldplays is always really colorful and abstracty. and imagine dragons.

84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones? already have two. want a lot more..too much to name and i dont even know still what all i want

85: do you read comics? what are your faves? nah

86: do you like concept albums? which ones? YAS. many. but first came to mind, Skillets Rise

87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives? Silver Linings Playbook. Paper Towns. Shrek. All the disney movies. Avatar. Wizard of Oz. many more

88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy? all of them haha... pop art, impressionism, renaissance..just all of it all special in they're own way

89: are you close to your parents? eh idk i cant explain..neither close nor distant. like we live together and talk alot but not really the close relationship as some do..im very different from them

90: talk about your one of you favorite cities. Knoxville. the city I went to college in... interesting place with lots to do..best of both worlds. beautiful mountains and hills and views. but also the downtown areas are cool..lots of fun stuff

91: where do you plan on traveling this year? going to savannah ga for my bday. not sure where else yet but i'm sure there will be other places. i'd really like to go to phoenix..boston..new orleans..california..portland ugh so many places

92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch? CHEESE AF

93: what's the hairstyle you wear the most? just up in a bun which is boring but its too messy and long to put up with lol

94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday? my dad

95: what are your plans for this weekend? nothing really so far. probably will go to lunch or something with my friend

96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot? procrastinate

97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house? myer briggs- INFJ (advocate) sign- aquarius house- ravenclaw

98: when's the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it? legitimately...like 3 years ago...hated it...too much walking and pain XD

99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them. ugh sooooooooooo many. pretty much any song by skillet or gwen stefani/no doubt recently..dusk till dawn by sia, new rules by dua lipa... also songs by ben howard..lots of indie stuff

100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why? 5 into the future... i've already lived my past, and i've made a lot of progress...wanna jump to even more progress hopefully

[logan-are-you-okay]

Just a day at the hospital

It’s been three days... three days since Chase was stabbed by that man. They caught the guy, and apparently there was recordings on that block that caught him saying ‘How’s this for Bro Average?’ Guess he just didn’t like the show... Good thing MARKIPLIER TV has two episodes recorded of a show before they go on, so people won’t be missing their episode this week. Sadly, it’s also been three days since he has last seen Bing. The nurses keeping asking if he can come back, but Chase keeps rejecting him or he’s just asleep when he comes by. The only ones he allows back are his daughter and son. However, Chase keeps screaming whenever he’s asleep. Being woken up by his nightmares, the doctors always ask what’s wrong... but he never tells them. Why should he? It doesn’t injure his physical health so they don’t need to worry about it, right?

Slowly Chase rolls over on his side, trying his best not to yank the things that where helping him breathe. The pain in his chest wasn’t as bad anymore, it just stung and pinched when the stitches where being pulled apart. The worst thing of this all, is that when he’s alone... he’s left to his thoughts. He can’t stop them, it just happens whenever he hears dead noise.

“Sir, one of your family members are here. May I send them in?” A nurse asks as they cracked the door to the room. The hospital here was different then the ones at home. Usually they had curtains to block off each section for each room, but this was a Medicare center. It was almost like the top ER that you had to go to if your injury was super severe. Also the kids where at school right now, the only family member that lives close by was someone he’s never ever met. So... who could it be?

“Yes, you can...” He says with a groggy voice. The IV fluid was really making his mouth dry, and the more he moved his chest, the more it would hurt. God this was so stupid, hooked up to machines for something that he should be able to do on his own. God what was wrong with him? Suddenly the door opens, then promptly shuts. Chase slowly sits up grunting as he goes along, once he’s able to he looks up at the door and his eyes widen. Bing, fucking, Iplier... right there in front of him.

“Sorry, Bro. They wouldn’t let me in any other way.” He says casually. How many times had he tried to get in here and he just... rejected him?

“What did you tell them... which member anyway?” He asks timidly, the tension in the room you couldn’t even cut with a chainsaw.

“That I was your husband.” Chase’s stomach turns into knots as his throat feels like a lump got stuck in it. Why...why of all things would he say that?

“O-Okay then...” Bing then walks over to the chair right next to the bed and pulls it up closer. Chase looks down and plays with his hands. His head was still screaming to fucking run! But his heart kept screaming, IM GONNA GO RUN UP MTN EVEREST WANNA JOIN!? God if his heart goes any faster, you’ll be able to see it through his skin.

“So...” Bing asks, probably trying to start a conversation. Chase just bites his lip as he tries so desperately to stay looking away from Bing. Every single part of him was screaming his name.

“Why do you have to stay here for so long?” Bing says while looking directly at Chase. Desperately Chase tries his hardest to not look. There is no point whatsoever.

“The guy... h-he stabbed through my rib cage and it nicked my lung I guess...” He says while slowly lowering himself against the back of the bed. This was so stupid...

“Well, what did you tell them about all those scars that you had?” Chase’s eyes widen as he gets asked. Did he know that they asked him that? Or was he trying to get it off of him of what they actually are?

“T-the scars?” He says kind of high pitch trying his hardest on what he actually told them. They asked when they where wheeling him in out of surgery while he was on loopy gas so that he would tell the truth. However, he had a strong mental capacity and still managed to lie about it.

“I-I said that they where from b..Bro Average shoots.” Technically is wasn’t a lie, it is what he told them! Just... not what actually happened.

“Ah, Alright then. How about you tell the truth to me?” Chase Quickly swallows looking at the opposite side of the room as he fiddles with his necklace that his son made him while he’s been at the hospital. It had a shark tooth on it, and the line was covered in red and green. Somehow it was able to bring him peace as he did.

“I-I don’t understand w...what you mean...” He says very timidly, not wanting to talk anymore. However he’s met with pressure being added onto the bed right next to him. Now this really made Chase’s heart go a bajillion Miles a minute! Being questioned already being thrown, and then adding into the mix of Have Bing sit next to him. Instantly his body tenses up as he feels Bing place a hand on his back rubbing small circles.

“I’m not stupid Chase. I went through every single one of your ‘Bro Average’ videos trying to find which stunts could’ve given you that scar on your eye, or the scars that I saw on your chest not to long ago.” Chase instinctively pulls up the covers that he had up to his chest, almost as if trying to hide them out of embarrassment.

“Also I payed very close attention seeing scar after scar show up in different places as the series went on.” Bing slowly starts lifting up the Medical night gown as his fingers softly trail up Chase’s skin which makes Chase bite his hand to prevent from making any noise. He has never had a man, let alone his crush touch him... if you don’t count that kiss, BUT THAT’S ALL DIFFERENT SHIT! Chase can hear Bing sigh as he sees... even more scars. Chase can start to feel the guilt rushing inside of him as he screws his eyes shut trying to stop the images from passing by.

“...I don’t w-wanna talk about it...” He says while his hands dug into the medical pillow that his head was on. There was no point in any of this, telling... who’d believe him? He’s a fucking guy and no one thinks women can do such horrible things...

“Can you j...just turn the IV up... I don’t want to think about this a-anymore..” he can feel the movement in the end shift as Bing looks from the IV to him.

“Chase... the IV’s almost at 11... you could die...” Bing says with his voice full of concern. Chase soon lets tears fall, how can he act like this? He’s being so selfish, turning it up to 11 would kill you... tears start to escape his eyes as he thinks about that. Stacy’s words echo in the back of his mind, she’s right. Every single little word that she’s ever muttered to him. He’s an idiot... a bitch... a pussy... a cunt... stupid... horrible father... selfish... a faggot... scum of the earth... a failure... an abortion gone wrong... he should just do what she told him to do... just jump... just fucking jump... Randomly he feels Bing’s warm arms wrap around him, but doesn’t dare open his eyes. He wasn’t tense in the embrace, nor was his heart going a million miles. It was peaceful and calm as he cried out. If it was anything else, he would have rejected this. Chase slowly puts his hand on top of Bing’s of the one that was on top of him.

“I’m right here, Chase... you can tell me anything.” He says in a very light whisper trying to comfort him, but it doesn’t really help...

“W...why do y-you even c..care? D..damage h-has already been... d-done...” He says in the heat of the moment. Why should Bing care? It’s not like it’s going to change who he was. It’s not like Bing can help him in anyway, Stacy was already in jail for a DUI... there’s just no point anymore. In any of this. He just ruins everyone’s lives. First he came out bisexual which ruined his relationship with his parents... he married Stacy which ended his relationship with his best friend... he ruined his children’s lives by bringing them into a horrible family of yelling, screaming, swearing... then he ruined his life with being with Stacy... no matter where he went he was her’s... never able to escape the mental and physical scars that she left...

“I Care, because I’m your friend. Dude, I can tell when someone’s lying to me, please just tell me... you can’t keep something bottled up.” Bing says while slightly hugging Chase with the arm he had wrapped around him. It’s not unhealthy... it just didn’t matter... he’s one person in a place of billions... the only reason that he holds on is because of his kids. They are his only anchor in this world... if he wasn’t there they’d just be with Bing. They already love him so much...

“I-I don’t b..bottle it up... my thoughts r-replay it to me...” great fucking Excuse Chase. A- for effort... The weight on the bed shifts again as Chase feels Bing pull him closer to his chest. He can even hear his heart beat and heavy breathing. Alright NOW his heart can go ten million miles an hour and not get pulled over on the freeway. Hell heart, you just do you! Also, guess Bing’s lying down now next to him.

“Chase. Brody. You need to tell me, if you do I’ll tell you something about me. Would that be alright?” He asks with a commanding, but also comforting voice. How does that even work? He takes a deep breath, filtering through his words very carefully.

“M-my ex...” that was all he was able to manage to say before tears came pouring down. Please don’t make him say more! Please don’t make him say more! Just even saying that was to much for him to handle. Bing slowly turns Chase’s head to the side so that they where both looking at each other. Chase wanted to desperately look away, but Bing’s eyes where so beautiful...

“I would never treat you like that.” Chase lets out a long airy breath as they look at one another. The silence was peaceful, then having the last words be those... made Chase only fall even more into his love for Bing. What did he do that could have possibly been right that made Bing kiss him those three days ago? What was the one thing that he’s done right in his entire life to have Bing hold him like this? Was it because he was hurt? Did Bing feel like this was his fault?

“I promise.” Chase’s thoughts get cut short once again as Bing kisses him. Why was this happening to him? Don’t get him wrong, he loved it as he kissed him back, but what did he do to deserve this? His whole life has been a fuck up, but right now? Everything was perfect. No Stacy in his mind... no scars that stained to his body like an infection.

Slowly Bing’s hand moved to the side of Chase’s waist as Chase hesitantly moved his arms around Bing’s neck. Was this was he suppose to do? Or was he suppose to be doing something else!? He’s never been in this type of position before. His hands where shaking from the anxiety and ‘This was actually happening’ feelings. Bing must’ve felt it as he pulled back, and placed his forehead against Chase’s.

“Relax, Chase. I know what I’m doing.” With that he again pushes his lips against Chase’s.

All over again Chase melts into it, completely intoxicated by this. In the back of his mind, he can barely hear the anxiety of where did this leave them now? Once they where done with whatever this was... what where they going to be? Deep down Chase hoped this meant that they would go out and try to be a couple. However he didn’t know what Bing was feeling. Maybe the same? He has been the one to start all of this. However it doesn’t matter now. He’s in the moment right now, and everything was perfect.... right now.

(Sorry @alaughingfreak I couldn’t make it angsty! My brain wouldn’t let me)

[alpha-of-wall-street]

My Labor Story

Baby A was born at 7:59 pm on August 7th, 2017. She weighed in at 6lbs 14 oz, was 19 inches long, had a minor case of jaundice, and made all of the family fall in love with her without lifting a finger.

On August 6th, I knew something was seriously up with my body. I was 38 weeks, 6 days pregnant and I was struggling with true labor pains that would come and go. This had been going on for 3 days before I called my midwife, and she told me that it was probably my body deciding whether or not to go into labor. In the long run, that does make sense and Ill tell you why in a minute.

Zach and I head to the local hospital at about 9 pm because I was experiencing contractions lasting a good 2 minutes each and were 5 minutes apart. However- the maternity triage area checks me out and they tell me im 1 cm, amd definitely not in labor. I told them that was ridiculous, I was experiencing so much pain I had to be in labor, this was the kind of pain that i wouldnt be able to tolerate for the next few weeks. So they offered me 12 hours on a Cervidil insert to soften my cervix, then an induction. After talking it over with Zach, we opted for it. I had Zachs parents and mine, plus my 2 brothers visiting that next morning, and for 9 hours I hadn't dilated or anything even though my cervix was softened. I was in a ton of pain, and hadnt even been on pitocin yet, so i opted for pain medication in an IV. This was a temporary fix, but once my body started focusing on something other than the stress of pain, I jumped from 1 cm to 4. Which surprised my nurse, since she didnt agree with an induction at 39 weeks and had been looking down on me most of the day for chosing it, because she didn't think my body would respond.

At this point, I went for the epidural. For anyone who is curious: an epidural is the weirdest thing ever, and its absolutely terrifying. They send everyone out because they need a sterile environment. The only way I can describe recieving it is like being stung by a bee and its a struggle because you really do have to hold still, and it was painful for me and I dodmt want to hold still. I distracted myself by asking the nurse about her kids, how old they were, what it was like raising them, anything to keep me calm and still and help me ignore the pain of it. They had to prick me 3 times- the first ones busted a vein. Yes, with an epidural that can happen, its just apparently not common. Side note: when you have an epidural, you'll also be hooked up to a catheter so youll expell your urine. This was surprisingly pleasant for me, since I was numbed up. Probably because I had to pee really bad constantly, and now I didnt have to worry about it.

After the epidural, I was good to go though. I felt no contractions, but I watched them all on screen. I started joking with my family and having a grand time watchi g them eat while I wasnt allowed to. However, we did hit a road block- Baby A's heartbeat started and continued to show distress, so they turned off the pitocin and had a heart to heart woth me about a C section. I was already too far in to back out, amd my water had just broken, but the doctor was concerned about the distress signs and what they could mean for the baby.

I won't go into detail about the moments before I was wheeled into the operation room, or the operation itself, unless Im asked about it privately. But I will say that my midwife was right: my body couldnt decided if it would let me go into labor or not. She had her umbillical cord wrapped around her and had passed meconium in the womb. Despite this, they got her out in record time and as they cleaned her up, she cried and cried. And all I could do was look at Zach, dressed in his hospital scrubs and squeezing my hand, telling him that those cries were the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. They showed her to me and unstrapped one of my arms so i could touch her, and I stroked her cheeks and kissed the top of her head and cried. She had a full head of hair and chubby cheeks and wandering eyes, and i couldnt get enough of her.

I had to wait another 30 minutes to be put back together, but they wheeled me back into our room where Zach and my dad were (Everyone else was in the waiting room-Zach wanted to have a bit of time alone with my dad, so I didn't ask more). All I remember at that point is feeling like jello and being so proud of myself while our families came in to meet her for the first time. It was emotional for everyone, and even though I was dead tired after being awake for over 24 hours, I didnt want the moment to end.

Do I regret a C section? Not at all. Yes, I will have a scar and nerve damage and a pudgier tummy from now on. Yes, I will undoubtably have to have a c section in following pregnancies. Yes, this recovery sucks majorly. But I get to hold her, love her, and spend every second being the best mom I can be for her. Im thankful for that over losing her in vaginal delivery. My baby girl has already changed my life and I'm so happy for it.

[mangon3cta]

The Bad Kind Of Good

GENRE: ANGST/AU

WORD COUNT: 1.6K

i know there’s no way i can make this kind of idea into something short so there will obviously be more parts. actually i’m excited cause ive been wanting to write something like this for a long time, anyway lets see how it goes

9:42 am ; Gwangju, South Korea

If twelve years of grade school got him here, Hoseok wished he hadn't wasted all that time studying for those stupid English and math tests. What benefit had that brought him? None, that's what. Instead, it placed it him in front of a line of considerable length full of people each ordering, receiving, then leaving. "Mocha latte", "caramel vanilla", and then the occasional tag-along kid asking for a "cheese croissant"; Hoseok was sick of hearing the same sentences repeated over and over again. He lived in a colorless world where nothing mattered except the right amount of cream and sugar

"Can I have an iced caffe latte?" the girl at the counter asked. Her mouth didn't didn't close on the last word; instead it opened wider to let slip a loud yawn. "But please make sure to add only 2 ice cubes." There was also that; a personal request.

"Anything else?" Hoseok asked, pressing the specific buttons on the cash register. He felt like a broken record; asking the same thing to each customer that stepped forward. Forget service with a smile.

The girl shook her head and pulled out her wallet to pay. Someone in the kitchen was almost ready with her order. Hoseok returned her exact change, gave her her iced caffe latte and she was on her way. Check, Hoseok thought, watching the girl leave, that's another face he'll probably never see again. It was like this day in and day out.

Hoseok was about to take the next person's order; a tall man wearing a business uniform, when he noticed something behind him. Through the glass of the coffee shop, Hoseok could make out the pale face of Min Yoongi, Gwangju's most feared mob leader.

He silently cursed. "Hold on a minute," Hoseok told the man in an attempt to be polite, but he was not a morning person. The man nodded. Hoseok stuck his head into the back room. A girl was sitting on the chair with her phone pressed against her ear.

"Noona," said Hoseok, catching her attention. Jeongho looked up with an irritated look on her otherwise smiling face. "I need to go do something. Could you take my shift for me?"

"I'll call you back, ok - love you," Jeongho put the phone away and stood up, brushing her hand over her plaited hair. "What do you need, Hobi?"

"There's someone waiting for me outside. I know it's your break but please?"

Jeongho bit the skin of her bottom lip, a habit she displayed when she had reservations about something. She sighed. "Alright, go quickly. I'll tell Donghan-shi* you're in the bathroom or something."

"Thank you, noona!"

Feeling nauseous, Hoseok madly pulled off his apron and dashed out the back door where Min Yoongi was waiting for him with his hands in his pockets. Beside him were his right hand men, Sehun and Kyungsoo; he rarely traveled anywhere without them.

Hoseok tried to summon the right words to say but all thoughts were wiped from his racing brain at that moment and all he could concentrate on was Yoongi's lour. He couldn't get out of it this time.

"Hoseok," Yoongi spoke in a low voice. "You know what I came for. If you could hand my money over to me, I'll leave you to your job."

"The thing is," Hoseok replied with a growing sense of hopelessness in the pit of his stomach. "My job isn't that efficient, it being a cashier and all-"

"Get to the point."

"I don't have the money," said Hoseok weakly. "But I promise I'll get it to you by-" His sentence was cut off when a sharp pain blossomed across his his face. Hoseok stumbled back, blinking in surprise and clutched his now bleeding nose. Sehun was rubbing his knuckles.

"You know what to do," said Yoongi, nodding at Kyungsoo. Through blurred vision, Hoseok could make out the fine shape of the switchblade now sitting cozily in Kyungsoo's hand. He felt his blood run cold and his fingers began shaking.

"No, please don't do this," Hoseok begged, taking slow, shaky steps backward until he felt the wall pressed against his back. "Please..." Kyungsoo was now closer still and if he didn't kill Hoseok, Hoseok's pounding heart probably would.

"Listen, I'll have your money by the end of this month...I don't know how but I'll get it," Hoseok was now on his knees, throwing aside all sense of dignity and self-respect, begging for his life. And Yoongi summoned Kyungsoo to his side once again.

"If you don't have the money as promised then I swear to god I won't stop there," he said, his sinister face inches away from Hoseok's perspired one. "You're lucky this is all for your mom." Yoongi landed another punch in Hoseok's face, wiped his hands on a cloth and walked away until he disappeared onto the street and into another alleyway.

Hoseok sat still on his knees, nose swollen and lips teared to expose blood. He thought about his mother in the hospital and suddenly knew this was worth it. Her bills had been paid off, that's what mattered. Her bills had been paid by the leader of the most notorious gang in Gwangju. She didn't have to know that.

Wiping the dirt off his black pants, Hoseok stood up and slipped back into the coffee shop. He entered the bathroom to wash the blood and soil from his face. Once he got out, he grabbed his apron and began tying it around his lean body but before he could get to his cap, he heard the voice he was trying to avoid.

"Hoseok," said his employer, Donghan. He was pulling a crying Jeongho by the arm. Hoseok groaned inwardly. The sweat that had dried up from his neck was now gathering there again. He looked from Donghan scowling face to Jeongho's crying one and wondered why she had to cry for every little thing.

"Sir, I was in the bathroom-"

"Were you?" asked Donghan, raising his eyebrows. He looked at Jeongho whose sobs got even louder.

"I'm sorry," Jeongho sobbed, desperately wiping her tears. "I couldn't lie." Hoseok shook his head. He should have been apologizing to her, not the other way around.

"It's my fault," said Hoseok, looking at Donghan. "I shouldn't have left...I'm sorry." He bowed his head respectfully, knowing it would not appeal to the angry Donghan.

"Yes it is your fault," he said. Jeongho was sniffing and her bottom lip was trembling as she stood next to Hoseok, taking the chastisement in as well. "I should fire the lot of you."

Hoseok held his tongue to stop from cursing. "Please don't. At least don't fire noona, I'm the one who told her to lie, anyway." Jeongho said nothing but he knew she agreed.

Donghan took a breath and his face relaxed a little. "I won't fire either of you because I need the workers. But this is your last warning...now go wash up." Hoseok sighed in relief. This job was the only thing keeping Yoongi from killing him. It was his only way to earn money.

"Thank you, sir," Hoseok said gratefully.

"Not you. I was talking to Jeongho...you need to take over the cash register, Jihoon can't take your shift forever."

Donghan turned around and left. Hoseok reached around the despondent Jeongho and picked up his cap, placing it on his head. Jeongho caught his eye and he saw tears brim there once again.

"Noona, please don't cry," he said, a bit irritated. "Look on the bright side. You didn't get fired." Jeongho looked up, her black hair covering one side of her glistening face. "Why are you crying anyway?"

"He shouted at me," she said, her voice just above a whisper. "You know I don't like that kind of stuff...never ask me to lie for you again."

"I won't."

9:58 pm ; Busan, South Korea

"I'm here to see Jung Soobin," said Hoseok over the counter at the hospital. "I'm Jung Hoseok...her son." The woman's eyes flashed with a hint of recognition as she nodded and indicated towards the hallway that was too familiar to him for he had walked through it many times before.

"You're late though, you only have a couple minutes before visiting hours close," said the woman and Hoseok thanked her politely before making his way to his mother's room. He was usually on time but today his delay was blamed on his employer who kept him after hours to lecture him. It wasn't even like Hoseok could tell him he was getting late for his three hour bus ride to Busan.

"Ah, Hoseok, you're here...you're mother was getting worried," said Dr. Seo. "You have only a couple minutes." The doctor left and Hoseok pulled a chair close to the bed his mother was lying on. Every time he came here, he felt another piece of his heart break.

"Hobi," his mother whispered. Hearing his childish nickname come out of his mother's mouth in a thin whisper made his heart clench with pain that stung his eyes as well.

"I'm here, mom," Hoseok said, sliding his fingers through hers and clutching her soft, warm hand in his. "I'm here."

"What happened to you?" she asked, tracing her fingers across his sore lip.

"It's nothing, you know how my lips get chapped during the cold, that's all."

His mother smiled. "My son." Hoseok chuckled softly and held her hand even tighter. Maybe Yoongi had threatened to kill him but he was also the reason Hoseok's mother was still here with proper treatment and such. She didn't need to be stressed about her growing hospital bills. Now what to do about the debt? Hoseok cleared his head. All he wanted was to be in this moment with his sick mother and perhaps never leave her side.

[brightlotusmoon]

Sneak Peek: Crossfire Chapter 12

So, I had some tear-jerking messages on Fanfiction dot net that I suspect came from wandering Tumblr users who followed me down some rabbit holes. And also a couple of my regular readers are here. So, I’m giving a little bit of my TMNT fic “Cold Fire Rising: Crossfire” chapter 12, since a couple of people are worried that my headaches and fibromyalgia pain will make it harder to write. It does, but a) when has that ever stopped me, b) I have codeine and metaxalone!, and c) I have a husband trained in acupressure, Shiatsu, Reiki, and massage therapy specific to cerebral palsy because of his CP-having younger brother, plus he knows my body better than anyone after seeing it and touching it since 1999. I’m cool. The concern is beautiful, though. It means so much to an artist when fans worry for their health. I mean, yes, “finish the work so we can enjoy it!” is totally a reason, but when it’s just “are you okay” that is awesome. I don’t care if you just leave a comment saying “I read this and it is wonderful” with a guest account, just leave a comment. ...although, if it is a guest account, for the love of Loki, leave a signature, because some of these comments made me cry and I want to hug them but I had no way of contacting the people. When “Crossfire” is finished, I’m putting it on AO3, because authors can interact with commenters. So, yeah. If you’ve been reading the story, my head feels like Mikey’s right now. Owie.

There was light coming from somewhere. It was too bright. 

He turned away from it, and it reached for him, prodding, shaking, poking. 

He heard Neural Mike’s voice telling him to get up. 

He was tired, it was time to rest.

“You’ve rested well enough. It’s time to get the hell up and show you’re a fighter.”

“Can you not?” he grunted. “I’ve had a hard day.”

“You mean a hard three days. You’ve had worse. C’mon, I called Apollo. Look, light!”

Mikey sighed and glanced up from his prone spot in the white place. “Oh. You. Hey.”

The golden man crouched above him and grinned. “Hey! Time to finish this, sleepyhead.”

“You’re not my real dad, you can’t make me.” And he turned onto his side, wincing. It wasn’t supposed to hurt here, why was he hurting?

“Because trauma is leaking through,” Apollo said solemnly. 

“Oh. Can we make it go away?”

“No.”

“Oh.” 

He curled up into a ball, frowning. The golden light poked him again.

“I can only work with so much, remember?” Apollo said. “But I’ll do what I can. Come on, smile.”

“Don’t feel like smiling.”

“I told you he’s stubborn.”

“Shut up, Neural.”

Apollo sighed. 

Mikey felt himself lifted up into strong, huge arms, like a child, cradled against the god’s chest. “It will be hard,” the golden man said, “and it will be painful. But you’ll work through this. You have a lot of support.”

Mikey shrugged, feeling deep soreness in his shoulders. The newly scarred skin tightened and stung.

The light spread and covered him entirely, a cocoon of energy that soaked into his skin and flooded his insides. He felt himself begin to relax and loosen, and the pain lessened considerably. He managed a tiny, relieved smile.

“There we go, that’s my boy.” Apollo set him on his feet, hands on his shoulders. “Are you ready?”

Mikey looked up at him. The cobalt blue eyes were sparkling with life that he himself didn’t feel. He took a deep breath, trying as hard as he could to feel something like happy.

“It’ll come,” Apollo reassured. 

Mikey nodded. “Okay, then.”

The white place faded away.

There was still a light, and it was still bright, but it was white now, and harsh. 

He moaned, feeling something thick in his throat. But it was nowhere near as bad as the fiery prickling under his skin, the aching in his muscles, everywhere. He was in a world of nagging, twisting, throbbing pain, and he whimpered. The thing in his throat itched and tugged.

There were voices.“Okay, hang on, I’m getting it out. It’s okay, Mikey, hold on, you’re okay.”

The thing in his throat began moving, dragging upward. He felt it down in his chest. He realized it was a plastic tube; he remembered the ventilator. 

As the plastic was pulled from his mouth, he felt himself drag in lungfuls of air, raspy and burning and grateful.

“Good, Mikey, good! Can you open your eyes now? Hey, can someone dim those lights please? They’re probably hurting him.”

It was the older Donatello. Mikey felt his calloused hands on his temples, turning his head this way and that. His eyelids felt too heavy. He tried, squeezing his eye muscles.

“Come on, little bro, come on. You can do it.” Raph. Raph was holding his left hand. Someone was squeezing his right hand; it felt like Donnie.

Okay. Time to wake up. Get through this. Get up. Show them you’re fighting.

A weak grunt left his throat. He managed to open his eyes halfway; Big Don and Donnie filled his sight, plus the rim of a cup. Water!

Mikey opened his eyes all the way and blinked, and a pathetic noise made him realize he was asking for the water. Big Don slid a hand to the back of his neck and lifted his head, then tilted the cup to his lips. Recalling all the other times, Mikey drank slowly, but desperately. He was allowed to finish, and he was grateful.

Big Don handed off the empty cup but kept holding his head, peering closely. Mikey could make out tiny scars on his chin and cheeks, could see the deep hazel of his eyes and how there were spots of gold in them. He didn’t mind the penlight, the finger test.

Then he realized that the pain wasn’t really as bad as he’d thought.

Frowning, he coughed, “…pain?”

“Painkillers,” Big Don smiled. “The best kind. In your IV. Bet that makes you happy.”

“Oh, thank you,” Mikey rasped. “You’re the effing best, Big Donnie.” 

He coughed again, hating the burning. But it was part of healing.

“Yeah, I am,” Big Don winked. “There’s some nerve damage, too, but my scanners are showing that your psionics are already working on that.”  

He smiled. “It’s really amazing. I’ve recorded tons of data on what the telekinetics are actually doing.”

Mikey felt something dark and sharp leap up in his mind; felt his eyes widen for an instant.

“Oh…” Big Don glanced up somewhere, and then back at him. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. He probably said the same thing.” Frowning, he stood up. “I’m sorry, kiddo, I should’ve known that would trigger an anxiety spike on the monitors. Your heart rate sped up.”

Donnie and Raph came into view, and then Leo, and he was engulfed by a crash of brothers. Mikey closed his eyes, sighing, leaning his head against Donnie’s.

“And your heart’s down again,” Big Don’s voice said happily. “I love when hugs are medicine!”