#getting back into practicing my german anyway got overwhelmed with it for a little bit but I'm enjoying it again

[jaycewrites-192000]

Growl: Chapter 4

Warnings: None.

Tags: @theravencawsatmidnight @etroman

As you were walking to school, you decided to mentally make a list of things to remember to do during the practice match. It was a bit overwhelming, even though you weren't the one in the game, you were still going to be surrounded by lots of new people. You sighed and clutched onto your bag tightly. "Calm down. Talking to people isn't that bad..." You lie to yourself. Talking to people was the worst, especially when you preferred to just keep to your own little circle. But you didn't really have a choice now, you were a team manager. Talking to people was part of your job now. As you approached the gate of the school, a certain someone caught your eye. "Oh really?" You mutter. It was Mad Dog. Great. Now you have to deal with awkwardness on top of anxiety.

"H-hey." You greet him. He only glances at you briefly before continuing to walk. Since you were both heading in the same direction, you decided to walk beside him. Not too close though, you didn't want to make this weirder than it already was. "I'm uh, sorry for walking in on you last night. I thought you and the others were gone already."

Mad dog shrugs it off, as if it didn't phase him. "You...you don't talk a lot do you?" You question. He of course didn't respond to this. Walking in awkward silence was killing you. Glancing at him, you noticed something hanging from his bag. It was a dog key chain. "You like dogs?" He nods. "Me too." You smile slightly. "I think my favorite kind of dog has to be (dog type). I just love them." Mad dog nods again.

"They're cool." He finally says. His voice shocked you, it was deeper than you thought it would be. "Y-yeah." Again, you both walked in silence until you were inside the school. You waved him off as you both parted ways to your respective class rooms.

"Hey L/n-Chan!" Oikawa greets. "How can you be so energetic in the morning?" You mutter while taking your seat. "Well we have a big day ahead of us! Haruki's volleyball team is paying us a little visit." You leaned on your hand and stared out the window. "Haruki huh? Never heard of that school." Oikawa shook his head with a sigh. "Would it kill you to do your research? You'll be meeting them as well as us." He was right, you would have to get to know the other team, especially their manager. They would know best about what they're doing, and they could possibly help you. "I guess so." You say with a shrug. "You can be so impossible sometimes L/n-Chan!" Oikawa whines. "Just like Iwa-Chan"

"What was that?" Iwaizumi growls.

Before Oikawa could make a good argument for himself, the teacher walked in and began class. The entire time all you could think about was how the practice match would go. And maybe every now and then, Mad Dog would pop into your mind. When he wasn't glaring daggers into you, he was pretty decent. 'I guess if I want to be friends with him I should start using his real name.' You think. What was it again? Kyotani Kentaro? Pretty cool name. And at least you two had one thing in common, that you could both appreciate how wonderful and good dogs were. He had to have had a pet dog of his own. You wondered what breed it was. Maybe one that matched him perfectly. Like a Pit Bull or a German Shepard.

Great, now you had no idea what was happening in class. Not that you really cared, it was just some stupid math thing. You could always just team up with Oikawa and beg Iwaizumi to help you study if a test was coming up. You had a feeling that he would be more helpful towards you though.

After class was over, you, Oikawa, and Iwaizumi made your way to the gym.

Your P.O.V

As always the gym was spotless and as fancy as always. At least we didn't have to worry about cleaning it. Now all that was left was getting the net set up and the volleyballs ready. "I'll go and get the uniforms before the others show up." I say as you walked to the storage rooms. "Alright. Me and Lazykawa will set up the net while you do that." Iwaizumi said as he dragged Oikawa along. I entered the storage room and folded each uniform. Finally came across number 16. Kyotani's number. Like a creep, I stared at it for a bit longer than I thought I would. I felt a tinge of heat rise to my cheeks, the memory of seeing Kyotani shirtless entered my mind. Quickly I folded it and carried it out with the others. Just as I left, the other team mates entered the gym. Just in time. "Hey guys." I greet them as I hand out their uniforms. I'm surprised that I managed to remember everyone's numbers so quickly. Once I got to Kyotani my hands started to tremble. I swallow down my nerves and hand him his uniform. His hands brushed against my own as he took it. "Thanks." He muttered before slinging his uniform over his shoulder and walking to the changing rooms with the others.

"L/n-Chan's face is red!" Oikawa teases. "Shut it Shittykawa!" I snap at him.

Soon the volleyball team of Haruki High arrived. Their light green track suits they wore matched the green and white volleyball uniforms their wore underneath. The words, "Haruki", were written on the back of their suits. "Thank you for having us!" The team bows their head before entering. Oikawa was the first to speak to the team. "Welcome to Aoba Johsei. Let's have a good match." He held out his hand for the Haruki captain. He smiles warmly and meets Oikawa's hand with his own. 'Since when does Oikawa act friendly with any other team? Cheap trick Shittykawa.' I think with a slight scowl. And with that, the two teams began the match.

While the match went on, my attention slowly slipped from what was going on, to the other team's manager. She was fairly tall with short light brown hair and teal eyes. She held a clipboard in her hand, writing down something every now and then. Maybe she was writing down our team's moves or keeping track of their team's mistakes. Should I be doing that too? I turn my attention back to the match. Our team seemed to be winning at the moment. And as always, Kyotani was aggressive. He nearly landed a shot right into the other player's face. It could have broken his nose. "Yikes." I mutter.

The match was over as soon as it started, our team won, as expected I assumed. Words were being exchanged between teams, congratulations, tips, and just casual conversation. So I took this opportunity to talk to Haruki's manager. "Hello there." I wave. "Hello." She smiles softly. "This team sure is seething. We'll have to work harder if we want to keep up. My name is Shinozaki Camie."

"I'm L/n Y/n. Nice to meet you." I smile. "I was wondering if I could ask for some advice." Camie nods and placed her hands on her hips. "Sure thing. Fire away."

"Ok, well I'm kinda new at this whole manager thing. And I don't really know what I'm doing, but I watching you during the match and you seemed so focus on both teams at once. What were you writing anyway?" I asked. "Oh just your team's moves. I'm curious to know what would happen if my team could learn them. Maybe we can get half as good as these guys. Why do you ask?"

"Should I be doing something like that? I'm not to experienced at volleyball nor was I too fond of it before but, since I'm here I do want to try my best." I tell her honestly. Camie pats my back. "Well! You're already half way there. Just you wanting to try harder is already telling on how good of a manager you'll be. But yeah, you can try what I did. And remember, communication is key. Ask around with your teammates. Maybe they can help you more than you think." She had a point, even after becoming manager I didn't really speak with the team as much as I should have been. "Thank you Shinozaki-San. I'll do my best." Camie gave me a thumbs up before waving goodbye. She returned to her team who thanked Seijoh before leaving. I walk back to the team and hurried to hand out water. "Uh, good work you guys. You really uh...showed them?"

"Aw look at who's actually talking to the team! You're a little awkward but still-" Iwaizumi elbows him in the side. "Thank you L/n." I nod and hand out towels as well. "I'm going to start trying harder. I know how much volleyball means to you guys, though I don't really get it. So I'm going to try to be the best manager I can be for you all." I say determined. "L-L/n-Chan!" Oikawa says, still in pain from Iawazimi's hit. The rest of the team were very appreciative of my words, it was little weird but I had to get rid of that feeling. I meant what I said, I'm going to do my best, I want to make them proud.

I'm going to be the best manger Seijoh has ever had!

Previous | Next

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia Ch 17

Living with the Cowell's is going about as well as you'd expected it to go. In other words it's more or less a disaster for your mental health. Which is ironic considering you didn't put this much stress on yourself when you were sure a stalker was watching you.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the stalker didn't own your house and wasn't in your personal space at every turn.

You'd honestly been expecting Little Jo to be the biggest space invader but Dia and Nate were constantly hovering around you. Nate had taken up the other spare room, or rather his room away from home, the minute he heard you'd be staying with the Cowells. He's made it his job drive you to and from work for the past two days and you both take breaks together now closing the store when you do. Then the second you cross the threshold Dia is right by you either asking for some help cooking or rushing you off for hobby time in the sitting room. It's like living in a 1920's story book, minus the extreme prejudice you would've faced.

It's only been two days and you can't find a way to ask for more space. You tried asking to go on a walk earlier and it turned into a partial jog with Nate. You really just need a moment to yourself it's been five or six days since you last had some 'me' time. All your nerves are shot and you are just a few minor inconveniences away from snapping at someone.

And it would not be a smart idea to nap at your boss. Your boss who's been so considerate and helpful offering his support to you through this whole mess of a situation.

Nonetheless you need space and your own clothes. Nate's don't fit you properly and they're uncomfortably itchy against your skin. His detergent is also very smelly, more in the chemical sense than in a bad sense. Though it could be a bad sense considering the headache you've had the past day from the over bearing smell. You know it won't end well for you but you desperately need to go back home and grab your own clothes and maybe even your car.

Having the illusion of more freedom would put you more at ease.

After all it isn't like you want to knowingly put yourself in harms way, you just can't stand the suffocation any longer. That's why you decided to bring it up during dinner, and why you are now sat in the tensest atmosphere this table has possibly ever experienced.

“Installation ain't done yet.” is Big Jo's gruff response.

It's as if that short sentence gave everyone premission to breathe again.

“I'm not planning to stay, I just need my own clothes.” you press.

Nate glances over to you before placing his fork to the side, “Then why do you need your car?”

“I'd just feel more comfortavle if I had it.....y'know instead of just relaying on you for rides.” you gesture around to the table trying to get someone yo come to your defense.

Big Jo pinches the bridge of his nose, it's been a stressful week for him as well. You don't mean to be ungrateful in this scenario but you are Autistic and the routine you've spent months carving out for yourself is being ruined. You are wearing smelly itchy clothes and need to have something you have control over. Not to mention you're the one who actively experienced the home invasion and were sat in a hospital for two days.

Big Jo can deal with you asking to go collect your thing, as far as you're concerned anyway. You're at least entitled to that much.

Dia puts her hand on Jo's arm and he sighs, “Fine, if Nate takes you. You can go to the cottage.”

“Tio, they can't have the car.” Nate is wildly failing his arms and motioning to you as he explains that you're a known flight risk.

Great, nothing's been resolved and you are back to a tense dinner in the Cowell's home.

“Fine I won't take the car, just lemme give it to someone to watch it for the...the what's it gonna be a week?” directing the question to Big Jo who's been handling the security detail for your home.

He gestures in a so-so manner.

“Yea, just lemme give it to someone to watch for the week.” you pause before throwing your hand up, “Because let's face it none of us have any idea where those two are now, and they could've easily tampered with my car.”

That was the worst possible thing to say because the second you finish you sentence the table erupts into chaos. Dia and Little Jo voicing their concerns over you driving your car, Big Jo and Nate all but forbidding you from driving and you trying to find some sort of compromise.

“What if we had it towed to Whistle's? Nate takes me there after work and we make sure nothing's wrong with my car.” looking around the table at the mixed reactions before you.

“I'll call Lewis for a tow in the morning and you both can go after work.”

“thank you.” you say relieved that you can finally gain back control over your life. Maybe get a little bit of space a long with it.

Everyone calms down and goes back to eating. The air is still so tense you could practically cut it but without your constant stirring it seems to settle. The rest of the night goes by uneventfully, you've changed into some pajamas and are ready to lay awake staring at the ceiling for hours.

The antsy energy you've been building up these past few days have left you without sleep. Tomorrow the hallucinations will probably start up, you wonder if they'll be worse thanks to your healing concussion. Hallucinations aside, your real problem is being alone with your thoughts for the next seven or eight hours.

You have nothing to occupy your mind with and thus nothing to help block out the invasive thoughts.

You'd finished the TAZ graphic novels while you were still at the hospital. The Cowells had taken you straight to their home after you got discharged, so you hadn't been able to grab your switch or any smaller art supplies.

Ultimately knowing that all this was for your safety and benefit you understand them wanting to keep you away from your home. The sight of you attack. Even a supply run could prove dangerous. Try telling that to your restless and bored mind. Constantly feeling like one of the undead wandering around aimlessly with no real purpose has certainly not done anything good for your mental health The lack of stimulation was definitely making it harder to mask and not just explode in  frustration. To just let loose and rage at everything: from the situation to your stalkers, hell even to Jo and yourself. The after the brief flash of rage it would be washed away by the overwhelming guilt you felt about being in this web and dragging everyone around you into it. Whether directly or indirectly.

Safe to say, it is not good to be alone with your thoughts right now.

And it is with that restless energy that your night of staring at the ceiling turns into a morning of staring at the ceiling. Until a knock at your door signals the start of breakfast. A routine you've recently become apart of while staying with the Cowells. Getting ready for the day you make your way to the dining room, not before steadying your nerves and static filled mind with a long and drawn out huff of air.

Not quite cathartic enough to be viewed as a sigh.

And with that you begin you day.

The morning fades into late afternoon and you find yourself in the shop a little before close, just looking through the isles. A vaguely human figure, much too tall to truly be an actual person, had brushed past Nate and into one of the isles. Honestly you're sure it's one of your hallucinations but you still have to double check the isles before you finish locking up the shop. Today had been really slow and you can only recall a handful of patrons throughout the day, though you haven't been with it enough to actually hace much accuracy on that statement.

Nevertheless you are searching for stragglers, thankfully you find none. Really hoping to get out and to Whistle's soon, then home to grab things that'll keep you occupied. Things that are finally yous; actual comfortable clothes, that smell like you too. Eyes blinking in rapid succession at your near giddy nerves.

For once your tic helps you vision, you're able to catch the book laid on its side. Its cover a deep russet nearly matching the shelf in color, you'd have missed it if it weren't for the inverted shapes that pressed themselves into your eyelids almost burning the scenery into your memory. Picking the book up you try to discern where it had come from.

Upon further inspection it appeared to be more of a journal. Half written in English with margins made out it – was that German? Yeah that was definitely German, the Eszetts is way too distinctive for it to be any other language. Poorly drawn out sketches littered several pages as you flip past them. Until you see a familiar but scrathy image. It's of a symbol a circle with an 'x' through it.

As you look at the jagged lines you can't really place where you've seen this symbol before. It's so familiar but the ringing bells do nothing to help you remember where you've seen this symbol. Flipping further in you catch sight of a drawing of a being that is slim and taller than the trees. Wasn't that the figure you'd seen moments before? Right as you were doing you check for customers? You're beginning to think this shop's haunted.

“Hey YN, coast clear?” The sound of Nate's voice stops you from inspecting the book any further.

Placing it back on the shelf and nestling it in between to larger books you turn and head out of the isle.

“Yea, no customers.”

“C'mon then, I don't want to be out all night.”

Rolling your eyes at Nate's exaggeration, Whistle's probably wouldn't take more than an hour tops and you won;t take long gathering your things from the house – you follow Nate out the door.

Waiting close behind him as he locks up. One thing about the attack is you've become hyper aware of your surroundings and are nearly always on high alert now when you're out in the open like this. Luckily in most spaces you had already noted the number of exits and where to find them. Having to plan escape routes ahead of emergencies might not be the healthiest mentality but it's kept you sane throughout this ordeal. Thank you American public school system.

When you get to the auto shop you see a familiar ticcing brunette talking to a group of mechanics as he leans on your car.

“Who the hell is that?” Nate says squinting at Toby who's practically laid out across the hood of your car.

Weird, haven't they met yet? Toby did hang out at the shop for an entire day. Had Nate not noticed him then? What about the picnic? Before you can say anything Nate's already out of the car and shouting something to the group. Most of the men standing around tense up as Nate storms up to them.

But you catch the dead look in Toby's eye, the other is still horribly out of commission. Honestly without your glasses faces blur from so far away but it's undeniable that there isn't a light reflecting in his eye. Nate seems to be directing his lecture to Toby who doesn't appear to do anything. He's like a big old house cat, tired and done with everyone's shit if they aren't actively feeding him.

Sighing you exit the car, your only real thought is defusing your Karen.

You aren't at all surprised when Toby locks onto the movement of you walking towards the group. The man perks right up and lifts himself off your car in one fluid motion. He's so agile, just like a cat. You can't help but smile a bit at the connection automatically reaffirming with yourself that Toby would totally push over a precariously placed glass of water.

“Hey, wh-mrrow-what'd you bring the car in for?” Toby asks side stepping Nate, completely ignoring the older man.

“Huh – oh, yea boss wanted it checked out to make sure it wasn't like tampered with – I guess. Y'know after the accident.” you know the mechanics probably know what happened to you, you do live in a small town after all. Gossip stops for no one. But you do have control over details and talking about the incident and you won't be letting go of that any time soon.

Toby's one good eye darkens as he nods, “Gotcha, well it's fine even had Jess take it for a drive. Drove fine. Fixed that weird clicky thing it did on left turns, you're welcome.”

Hah, during the drive through Franklin Toby lost it after two left turns. He noticed the clicking sound your car would make, oddly only on left turns, and started bitching about it to you. At the time you just thought he was being funny when he'd complained you needed to take it in to the shop to fix that. Guess he wasn't. But what's the point of fixing something so trivial?

You cross your arms and are about to sass Toby about how unnecessary that was when Nate interrupts.

“Well since the car's cleared we'd better go settle the bill with Lewis.”

“No need, no parts to replace plus my free labor.” Toby looks away from Nate and back to you “It w-w-was so sl-o-ow-w so I told the old man we were dating and I'd been wanting to fix up your car.”

Normally you'd protest a friend or anyone giving you free services but since this was on the Cowells' dime you weren't going to burden them anymore.

“That's sweet – really really stupid, but sweet.”

Nate's already moving around you two and motioning towards his car as he says, “Well thank you, now we really need to get going YN. I don't want to be out late.”

You nod to Nate, turning and saying bye to Toby from over your shoulder.

When you suddenly remember, “Wait, hey Tobias can you take care of my car for the week? I know it's probably a weird request, but I'm sorta “grounded” right now and can't drive till the cottage is set up. A little worried the battery will drain from disuse.”

If it weren't for the mask and swollen eye the confused sneer of his would be clear to everyone on the lot. He sputters for a moment before speaking up.

“Ok? I mean like that's valid – whoa – a valid concern...but your car's not that old. But I guess I'll watch it? I don't have Connor so it'll have to stay in the lot tonight, that ok?”

Oh this stupid beautiful boy just gave you an out. Probably not the one he meant to give you but you are taking it and running as fast as you can.

“Or, or, or-”

“No, no, and no. You can't be trusted to not just drive off in the dead of night.” Nate cuts in.

It took a bit of coaxing but after calling the house and getting Dia's blessing you obtained one night to yourself. Really it'd be one night spent at the lodge but it was still better than being a guest in someone else's house for the night, this way you're a guest at the lodge for the night. A little mini vacation if you will. And Toby seemed fine to go with you to the cottage while you packed a bag with your essentials, before you both go back to the lodge.

He even agreed to drop you off at the bookshop in the morning.

“Are you seriously going stir crazy after five days?” he asks as you pull up to the cottage.

“it's more their constant smothering I'm over. I know everyone's worried but I still need my own agency. Y'know?”

“Yea....I do.” he murmurs with a solemn look about him before he exits the car and makes his way to the front door.

Your steps falter as you near the cottage. A few flashing images pass through your mind before you shakily inhale. Fortunately Toby is right beside you squeezing your hand to remind you of his presence. You aren't alone this won't end like Monday night.

Opening the door the house is quiet and just as you had last seen it. Nothing was disrupted, even peeking into the bathroom where you expected a crime scene to be – only a toppled shower curtain and over turned bath mat remained.

It doesn't really feel like your house right now. A fuzzy sensation clouds your thoughts, like your brain is trying to protect you from connecting with this place after your recent trauma. Although you aren't sure how you actually feel there's a strong sense of discontentment.

Noticing how you linger in the threshold of the bathroom Toby gently guides you into your room, all without a word. Leaving you alone in your room to collect your things. You move around at a moderate pace, you aren't drawing this out but you aren't rushing to leave soon either. A handful of shirts, a set of jeans, shorts, and joggers later you are grabbing your switch. Before diving into your art supplies you hear a thud across the hall.

You freeze as if ice water had just been poured onto you keeping you in place.

“Tobias!” you call out not moving.

“Fuck – sorry I acc-ack-accidently kicked your trash can.”

When had he gone to the bathroom?

“Are you ok?” you receive a quick 'yea' in response.

Jittery and in no mood to sit and draw you pick up an embroidery kit you'd been meaning to rip into. Should keep your attention long enough, but maybe you should grab another kit just in case. Bag loaded with enough of your things so you aren't driven mad during your stay – you turn to leave but decide to grab your goat plush as an after thought before leaving your room.

Walking out and into the rest of your house you notice a lack of Toby anywhere. Going towards the front door you spot him as you pass the kitchen. He's messing with your garbage can before he takes out the bag and ties it up.

“Wha' cha doin'?” he's been a bit off since you both arrived but you don;t blame him. Not like you're fairing any better.

“I, I kicked it and a whole bunch of trash came out. So then I had to put it-it all back, but there's a lot here and you aren't gonna be here for a week....I, I ju-just thought it'd be better to tak-take it out now.”

Nodding, you're thankful to have such a good friend looking out for you. It would've sucked to come home to a toxic waste site because you'd left trash in the garbage for three weeks.

You probably just thought it came from the bathroom because of the echo or something. Paranoia's been a pain this past week. Maybe you should look into getting a roommate, they might help.

“They're not that helpful trust me.”

“Wow, did I say that out loud?” Toby nods, “Fuck I am out of it. How are you and Tim doing?” you might be deflecting/ignoring your own issues. But Toby had his own shit going on Monday night and you doubt he's talked to anyone.

“We're fine. Just fucking hate him.” the sharp jerk of his head keys you in that he's very much not fine.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Who are you, my fuck-ing therapist?”

“Fine, wanna bitch then?”

He comes off the defensive like he realizes that he's talking with you right now. His good eye down cast after he relaxes his stance a bit.

You go to grab your kettle, filling it up and placing it down on the stove to warm up.

“Any preference on tea? I've got a few.” it was very much more than a few.

A chair screeches as Toby drags it out to sit down at your small kitchen table. He doesn't respond so you get one of your special blends out. This blend has rose hips which you normally dislike anything scented or flavored with roses but the ginger and cinnamon can normally over power the slightly floral sting of this tea. Plus it's made with the intention of healing the heart and promoting self love. A spell tea of sorts. Toby could probably use a little pick me up, you always did after a fight with a friend. Getting out the honey you ready the tea infuser into the cup waiting for the kettle's whistle.

“So just wanna start talking....or should I ask questions?” you turn to face Toby as you lean against the counter.

He's taken his mask off and placed it on the table, of course you remember his deteriorating face but it still surprises you to see it after a few days of not actually seeing his face. Maybe you'll get used to it and one day won't be so fascinated by his teeth.

“Tim's just a dick who thinks he has a right to act like he's my dad. Li-ike-like I'm twenty-four he doesn't need to constantly question the things I do. He doesn't have any room to talk to me about my mistakes he literally could've fucked staying here up for us....” Toby head had been snapping to the left several times during his rant and it continued as he got very quiet suddenly.

Tim could've messed staying here up? Did he mean here as in Kepler or the lodge? Barclay did have to break up the fight maybe he didn't want any of the trio in but let Toby stay out of concern for his condition.

“Hey I'm sure it wasn't that bad, I could even talk to Barclay to get you unbanned from the lodge.”

He takes the mug you pass him and spoons some honey into it/ It's weird to see half his face drawn into concentration since the other half isn't able to emote yet. Holding the cup in his hands he stares at the swirling steam rising up as you bring your own mug over to the table taking a seat. Not once does he look up at you as you stir in a bit of honey into your own tea.

Toby's neck snaps, “Am I...is it bad that I don't want you to?”

You send him a slightly pitying smile.

“No hun, you're upset. And you're having a totally valid reaction to a falling out.”

Toby rolled his eyes, at least you thin he did. Hard to tell with just the one.

“My therapist would love you. That's the kind of bullshit she tells me like all the time.”

Not knowing what to say to that you just nod as he continues to stare at you.

You both continue to talk, well you continue to let Toby rant about how stupid and dumb Brian and Tim are as you finish your tea. You still don't know the details of the fight but it sounds like the cause was just the last straw between the men and not the actual catalyst. According to Toby the other two tend to baby him or talk over his ideas and suggestions because he's the youngest of the group. Twice Toby mentioned Tim's paranoia and how that was really the cause of the tension between them. And how Brian wasn't any help because he'd always side with Tim to make sure his boyfriend was ok.

Toby was very bitter when talking about Brian's role in this more than Tim's. As if his role of passive bystander just sent Toby over the edge. Which from the way he spoke seemed like it's been dragging on for some time. All of this was painting an even worse picture of the smug asshole. Though you didn't break your silence or series of nods and hums until Toby off handily mentioned Brian getting him in trouble with his therapist by saying he was the one who started the fight.

“He fucking snitched....wait no he lied?!” Toby had to blink a few times before he finally understood what had gotten you so upset.

“Yea I mean it's not that big a deal. I was able to tell Clarise I missed a few days of my meds and she made me set reminders in front of her on the call.”

Apparently Clarise was sure Toby suffered from Bipolar Disorder, he was very flippant when he told you like it wasn't anything big. When you mentioned ADHD he kind of blanked. He got fidgety when you mentioned the symptoms you saw and  nervously told you his medication was working just fine for him. Not wanting to make him more uncomfortable you dropped the topic. Soon it was dark and you needed to leave to make it to the lodge for dinner.

“You sure you want to take the garbage out? What if Chonk is over there?” joking as you lock the door.

“Good point. Trash you live here now.” he dumps the bag onto your lawn and walks towards your kia.

“Toby!”you gasp out, which sounds weird amidst your laughter.

He stops and looks at you his expression more unclear than it's been all evening. Your heart skips a beat as you stare at each other for a moment, your laughter gone now.

“It's weird to hear you say 'Toby'.”

That's all he says before he grabs the bag and carrying it to the side of your house where your bins are.

The conversation in the car is pretty light in comparison to what it has been. Just jokes getting thrown around and sharing the gossip that you'd head in the hospital because nurses' can't keep their mouths shut. Neither of you know any of the characters in the stories but they're still pure gold. Like the man who came in after getting his hand stuck in a cookie jar. Nervous and scared his wife would find out he's been eating the new holistic dog treats. A few stories or more like vents about the auto shop got thrown in. By the time you got to the lodge both of you were in lighter spirits.

Everyone was ecstatic to see you up and about and made an extra spot for you at the table. You didn't miss how Barclay would rise an eyebrow every time you locked eyes. You just roll your eyes and continue eating. When it got time to settle in for the night you were planning to commandeer the couch but Toby offered his room.

More accurately he offered a chance to hang out with Connor which you readily accepted. The rottie was just as excited to see you, bounding over the second you stepped through the door.

“Sigh if only there was a way to see Connor everyday.” you say dramatically whistful as you hold the pup's jowls in your palms.

Toby responds in turn in a drawn out sarcastic monotone “Oh my, how sad your life must be. There's only one solution, marry me. So Connor can finally have the second parent he's always wanted” he ends with a scratch behind the pups right ear.

“I was just gonna kick you and steal your dog.”

He turns to face you, “I can't feel-”

“So if I kicked you in the back of the knee it wouldn't buckle?”

Toby goes silent before conceding to your point. A mumbled “Connor would avenge me.” is heard.

After you two settle down you both hop into bed to try and get some sleep. Toby was holding your switch hostage so you had no choice but to “sleep” now.

You really hoped he changed his sheets from the other day. You'd hate to find out you're laying in milk stained sheets. Pushing those thoughts away as your body finally starts to relax, you can feel when your mind begins to drift into the beginning stages of sleep.

“Tobes, you can crash at my place if you need to.” is the last thing you say before falling into a peaceful slumber.

Toby on the other hand wasn't able to get much sleep at all that night. He couldn't shake the feeling something bad was about to happen. And unlike Tim he didn't think it was because of you, it just had something to do with you. You were too kind to be one of The Operator's proxies, with all the clues of His presence in this town you were one of many red herrings. Looking over to you Toby only hoped you wouldn't get hurt in the crossfire. Not like Lyra did, he doesn't think he could handle something like that. Especially with how shitty Tim's been lately, he's on edge and constantly about to snap. He just needs a break from everything. Maybe then the weight in his stomach would go away.

In the morning Toby's keen to hold up his end of the deal and drive you to work. You buy him breakfast and an iced coffee from Dunkin' and a pup cup for Connor. The three of you eat in your car while you wait for Nate to arrive. When he does you say your goodbyes and head off to start your shift. Promising Toby you'd call once you've been ungrounded.

Nate's face is grim as you approach the shop, you're starting to get used to the cold sweats from these dread bearing encounters. That can't be a good thing.

Did something happen last night? Were the Cowells targeted? Was everyone alright? These thoughts and more swam through your head as Nate motioned for you to follow him into the shop quickly.

He locked the door and pushed you into the back room. His hast doing nothing to settle your fraying nerves as you stumble past the threshold.

“That Rogers kid, how well do you know him?” his eyes dart around the back looking at every shadow as if watching their movements.

“Who's Roger?” you feel out of the loop.

Was Roger one of your assailants? Had the police already found suspects so soon on what little information you had to go on?

With a groan Nate smacked his hand against his face muttering something under his breath.

“Toby, Tobias Rogers how much do you know about him?” his tone is rushed and sharp.

You didn't even know his last name until now. But maybe you had heard it before but it never clicked with you. Honestly you've known each other for a month that's not very long at all. But maybe it's long enough to learn some things?

“...ah not much?”

There's a panicked look in Nate's eyes and he does his best to control his breathing. But it's clear that Nate is either about to hyperventilate or go into an anxiety attack. You wonder what's got him so worked up as he reached into his bag and pulls out a manila folder.

He hands it to you, you can see the water marks left by his sweaty palms.

What on Earth is going on?

[zahneundklauen-retired]

Dawn of the Final Day || Kaden and Alcher

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @chasseurdeloup and @zahneundklauen SUMMARY: Hunter and wolf find each other on the last day of the moon. Surely fate has brought them together. CONTENT: Blood, Gore mention, death mention, bad coffee

Everything had seemed to change recently. Too much. But one thing stayed the same, Kaden’s morning ritual of stopping by Coffee Plus to grab a good espresso. Alright, good might be pushing it, it wasn’t amazing or anything but it was better than he could manage with any small machine at home. So he would take what he could get. As early as he rose in the morning, he was still groggy and grumpy in the mornings. Grumpier than usual, that was. Queuing was truly the worst part and it was only ever compounded by people who didn’t know what they wanted even though they’d stood there and waited forever and a day and had more than enough time to figure shit out before the moment they stepped to the counter. It didn’t help that in this town he was constantly surrounded by shifters and the dull tingle down his spine never quit in the morning. He didn’t have it in him to give a shit long enough to pay attention to where it was coming from or even properly ignore it. He sighed. It was the same every day. Small comfort, there. The lady in front was taking so long, he started to doze off where was standing. So much so that he tripped a bit and caught himself as he ran into the person behind him a little. “Putain, sorry,” he tried to offer her. Somehow they still hadn’t moved. Shit, he gripped his side a moment, stinging a little from the pain from the other night. “You have to wonder what people do this whole time in line,” he grumbled, mostly to himself, partially to the person he’d just run into. He hated small talk but he sort of felt obligated. 

 Human rituals were still wholly strange to Alcher, but lately she’d been finding herself more and more fascinated with them. Her newest endeavor was the ritual of coffee in the morning, despite the ache in her bones. She’d need something to help get her through this last moon. Though Alcher vastly preferred tea, she figured she ought to try coffee. Everyone seemed to swear by it, after all. And so, she found herself in line at Coffee Plus, the other coffee shop Regan had told her about when they’d talked last. It couldn’t be too bad, right? She’d waited for a while outside before heading in, letting the queue to the counter fill up before heading in behind a rather grumpy looking man. She was examining the menu board-- with very little success; it was so far away and her eyes were failing her in two ways-- when the man in front of her stumbled back into her. She put her hands out quickly to right him, feeling the pain throb again from when her arm had been torn to shreds, letting him fix himself. She gave a pleasant smile, despite the automatic action of wiping her hands as if she’d touched dirt on her shirt. There’d last been blood there, after all. “No problem,” she said, tilting her head, “happens to us all.” She raised a brow. “I’m not sure,” she answered, “I’m still just trying to decide what to order. What’s your favorite? I haven’t quite got the hang of American style coffee. Have you?”

 “You mean you don’t already know?” Kaden sighed. She did have a good point though about American coffee. It was… what it was. “I had a feeling you weren’t from around here by the accent but that all but confirms it,” he said with a small laugh. “I suppose you caught me, too,” he said, realizing she’d put the pieces together a bit sooner than he had. It was early. “Where are you from? And how many people ask if you’re from Germany?” he said. Admittedly, he couldn’t quite place her accent, either. It was nearly German, but he knew damn well it wasn’t after growing up around Oscar and living in the country a few years. “Anyway, it’s nothing like home, that’s for sure. Or really most of Europe if you ask me. This is the best place I’ve found in town, though.” He gave a small shrug. “It’s passable and it’s good enough. Beggars, choosers, what not.” He wasn’t entirely sure what to suggest to her but his favorite, that much he could manage. “Most days I just get an espresso or a doppio but occasionally I get a, uh, well it’s not a café crème really, but I can pretend.” He didn’t expect any coffee shop in a small town in Maine to compare to a Parisian cafe, not really, but it was hard not to think about them on occasion, miss home a little bit. Even if he wasn’t always sure how much of home France really was more and more. “I take it you’re not part of the usual crowd, then.” 

 “No, I don’t usually drink coffee, actually,” Alcher admitted, watching him closely for a moment. He looked quite tired, but she supposed that was rude to point out. Perhaps that was why he was in line for coffee. It was the drink with the most caffeine in it, aside from those nasty energy drinks. “I suppose I did. French is a very easy accent to place,” she agreed. “It’s Polish,” she said smoothly, not even flinching as he mentioned Germany and how she didn’t sound quite German. It stung on the inside, but decades worth of pretending and hiding had taught her how to keep it there. “I’m originally from Poland, though I haven’t been back in quite some time.” She nodded, as if she understood why he thought this coffee was worse than any other coffee. “I understand that.” She looked back at the menu, as if to examine the board once more, despite still not being able to see it well enough. For a moment, she remembered the sting of saltwater in her wounds. “I think the doppio sounds like a good choice,” she decided, finally, “thanks for the suggestions.” This place certainly was strange, and the people, stranger. This man, though grumpy and tired, didn’t seem so strange. He also didn’t smell strange, rather like coconut and peppermint shampoo, and dogs. If it weren’t for the overwhelming smell of bitter coffee, she was sure she could pick out something else, but it was proving a little too difficult. “No, I’m not. I’d heard this place had good coffee from a friend, and thought I might try it out. Are you, then?”

 “Strangely enough, that’s the second time I’ve heard that in this shop recently.” Kaden almost hated how easily the small talk came to him just then. He chalked it up to the fact he was speaking with another expat. There was always some strange tenus solidarity there. “Polish, of course. I hear it now. My uncle’s German so I figured it wasn’t, you know, uh…” So much for being decent at small talk. “It’s been a few years since I’ve been across the Atlantic.” Kaden wasn’t certain the next time he’d be back. Even though, strangely enough, he was finally in a spot where he might be able to afford the plane ticket without scrimping and saving. He wasn’t even sure it was duty anymore that was keeping him stateside. For as many time as he thought about going home, leaving this cursed town, he almost found himself thinking of White Crest as home. What a fucking awful thought that was. “Sorry what was that?” He almost missed what she said. It felt like he had cotton in his ears a moment. And everything seemed a little duller. Maybe he really was just that exhausted. But it almost seemed like something else. Putain, it better not be something magical. He didn’t want to deal with magic just let. Not until after 10AM, please. Still, it was easy enough to piece together what she said as he focused a little harder. “Right, yeah I’m here almost every morning. I should give up the habit but…” He gave a shrug. “It’s better than my habit for smoking I suppose.”

 “Easy mistake,” Alcher said despite the sour taste of the words in her mouth and their untruthfulness, “a few of the people I grew up with were German, so I picked up some of their accent as well, it seems.” Grinned past the taste of copper in her throat. “Is he? What part of Germany is he from?” It’d been a while since she’d met anyone from Germany, she wondered how nice it might be to be able to speak her native tongue to another. “It’s been awhile for me, as well. Nearly a decade, by now,” she said, though she’d lost track of the years a while ago. Time didn’t matter to a wolf in the forest. She opened her mouth to repeat her words, when he gathered them up himself and spoke again. Interesting. Humans were so fascinating sometimes. She wished she could place what that other smell was, that sort of metallic-y earthen scent. Perhaps it was another person’s perfume or shampoo. But her senses had been messed up since that fae child had torn into her, had ripped bits of her flesh, left her half dead and nearly drowned. She glanced around momentarily, before looking back to the man. “Well, as far as bad habits go, I doubt coffee is the worst one you could have,” she answered, knowing all the other vile habits humans developed for themselves. Pitiful creatures, that was for sure. “Like that one. Then again, smoking seems to be a big thing in France. From the time I remember when I was there, it seemed as if almost everyone I met smoked.”

 “Not too far from Stuttgart. Bad Wimpfen to be specific.” Kaden had so many mixed feelings about the country given his circumstances. He shouldn’t blame the place for it, the fact that it was where his whole life had ended in a way and began differently. Still, there were so many unpleasant memories some of those places stirred up for him to ever be excited to visit. Other than to see Oscar. “A decade, huh? Long time to be away from home. Guess that definition changes a bit, though, depending.” He wasn’t sure if that was introspective or stupid. Possibly both. “My wallet tends to disagree when it’s practically every morning. Oh well. What’s life if you can’t enjoy it a little?” Couldn’t take it with you and he was sure he wasn’t likely to have to worry about saving up for retirement or shit like that. He would be lucky to make it another decade. “Yeah, my parents would on occasion, even though they tried to hide it. I don’t know, picked it up as a teen, never stopped. Hasn’t slowed me down much. But I have cut back considerably.” They inched forward in line. “I guess she finally read the whole menu after all.” 

 “Stuttgart, ah,” Alcher said, forgetting for a moment that she could not give her true birthplace away, “I lived North of-- well,” paused, “--northwest of Czaplenik, erm...near the border. Stuttgart is far from that, though I have been through there once.” To track down her family’s killers. They ended up being in a different part, but they’d gone through the city, for what reason, Alcher did not know. She straightened herself out and smiled. “I suppose it does. What is that cheesy American saying? Heart is the home? Or...something.” The line inched forward and the person at the counter now, was having a hard time deciding between a Cafe Late and a Cafe Mocha. The wearied barista just sighed. The man behind her, dressed in a suit, tapped his foot anxiously. “Seems so, but now we’ve another stall.” The smell of chocolate filled her nose as someone behind the counter warmed up some cocoa. “The small things really do make life worth it, though. From what I’ve experienced, at least.”

 “Ah, yeah, other side of the country more or less. Makes sense. I’ve been out towards Berlin and traveled a bit through Poland but mostly kept towards Munic, Frankfurt, Cologne, all that.” Kaden had mostly lived in the South Western parts of Germany when he was there. The only times he’d seen the rest and any of Poland was on hunting trips. Not that he was about to advertise that. “Something like that, yeah,” he said with a half smile. “Home is where the heart is. Very cheesy but I suppose they have a point.” Though it did make him wonder if that meant that White Crest was currently his home. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that thought. He shook his head a bit to himself and inhaled a deep breath, pain shooting through his side as he did. Weird. It was almost like the coffee was less pungent today, the scents duller. What was going on? He pinched the bridge of his nose, tried to help open up the airflow or something. Didn’t really help much, though. “Yeah you need something to keep you going and all. Sometimes it’s coffee I guess. C'est la vie.” The line eventually moved again and he found himself up at the front. Kaden placed his order and turned back to the woman behind him. “Order what you want, I’ve got it,” he told her. “Least I can do for subjecting you to small talk after running into you.” 

 “Ah,” was all Alcher said to that. She shuffled up in line with him and gave another glance at the menu. It was finally coming into view, and she squinted to see the price by the drink she planned to order. But then the man offered to buy it for her, and she was genuinely surprised. Humans weren’t usually so generous. Rarely, in fact. Perhaps he wasn’t altogether human, then. If only she could get his scent, but the musk of smoke and coffee beans and chocolate clouded her nose. That, and she hadn’t fully healed from her moon yet, despite Zinnia’s help. A smile came to her face at the thought. “C’est la vie,” she said, then winced, “sorry, I probably butchered French for you. It’s a much softer language than I’m used to.” She gave the woman her order once they shuffled up in line. “Thank you, this is very kind of you. At least give me your name so I can repay you sometime soon? I’m Ada,” she smiled, and held out her hand, “It was real nice to meet you, small talk and all.”

 “Ada?” he said, giving her hand a shake. “Kaden. Maybe I’ll see you again. Enjoy the coffee.”

[bagels-and-seagulls]

davenzi headcanons + david studying abroad

-david gets accepted to study abroad in los angeles at ucla in their film program for a year. a whole year in la learning about film and going to see where film is made and meeting other people who know film like he does so he can gush about stupid things like camera placement all day long. at first he's so excited he can't contain it, and he immediately goes to tell the one person he tells everything to aka matteo.

-matteo is over the moon at the news and is so proud of david that he keeps calling him his star and the biggest thing hollywood has ever seen.

-david is the first one to get nervous and whispers a quiet what about us into matteo's hair later that night. matteo calls him an idiot and tells him he loves him and david can't get rid of him that easily. matteo says it's too good an opportunity to pass up and he would actually break up with david if he didn't go because he only got with david for his future fame anyways.

-matteo moves back in with hans for the year david is gone because his wages from the deli can't afford his and david's place all on his own. he grumbles about it for like a day, but hans wears him down into admitting he missed him. if only a little.

-they call and text all the time, and david sends matteo stupid selfies with his new friends and captions in english knowing that matteo is shit in english and will have to ask someone to help translate. matteo sends memes and pics of his proudest sandwiches at work and says for your sandwich fetish as the caption each time. he also sends david pics of flowers with cheesy things like not as pretty as your face. david always retaliates at those by sending matteo doodles of them and what they're going to do once they see each other again.

-matteo refuses to send any dirty pics to david for like a whole month because the idea of taking those kinds of pictures make him all nervous and itchy. he tries a couple of times and deletes them right away. it isn't until david sends a picture of him in a low cut tank top with his hair pushed back by sunglasses with a pouty face standing next to some drop dead gorgeous model looking guy in a club that matteo finally works up the nerve to send something a little spicy just so david remembers what he's missing. it isn't even anything too raunchy, just a shirtless pic of him in the mirror, one arm stretched above his head, with his pants hanging low on his hips and his bare feet. he captions it looks like you're having more fun than me tonight. and david nearly short circuits at the picture and he's in public for God's sake. he sends back a pic of him biting his lip and it says you look good.

-it takes nearly a month and a half for david to convince matteo to try phone sex. he really isn't trying to push it. it just kind of happens in the end. the first time matteo didn't seem too into the idea, david stopped immediately and only really brought sex up at all in passing. the only reason they started is because david jokingly asks what are you wearing like he does every once in a while to see matteo blush through his computer screen and matteo actually shows him this time. david practically choked.

-the gang texts david fairly often, and he's still active in all their group chats. he'll send people things that make him think if them like funny stories to the ok.cool. group or books about capitalism to jonas and pride decorations to linn and hans or graffiti to amira. hans or jonas will text david when matteo is feeling down or hasn't gotten out of bed all day, and david feels absolutely destroyed that he can't be there for his boy. he sends matteo little drawings and doodles until he gets some sort of happy sounding reply.

-david can't afford to come home for any of tbe breaks the entire year, so he spends the month he has off for winter break traveling the country with some other exchange students and they sleep out of a van. david tells them that they cant go to detroit because he promised his adorable boyfriend that he would wait until they could go together for the first time. matteo sends him a package with a scrapbook of them and david's favorite places in berlin. david sends back an actual mixtape and a Walkman he found at a thrift store.

-the boy and girl squad surprise matteo with plane tickets for christmas. they schemed with david to make sure matteo could come over his spring break and get his undivided attention away from classes. david also convinces his roommate to go to disney land for a week so they'll have the dorm to themselves. matteo only cries a little bit, but only in front of jonas and hanna so it doesn't really count.

-david can't drive in the us, so he gets two of his friends to drive him to lax to pick matteo up. they quickly agree because they've heard so much about david's bf that they really want to meet him.

-he's bouncing on his feet waiting by the arrivals gate for matteo to come through. he spots matteo before he spots david, but he doesn't do anything except stare. when matteo finally sees david, he stops dead in his tracks and just stares right back. david's friends are like wtf are you guys going to hug or not and david is just like hold on a minute I don't want to overwhelm my boy he's sensitive.

-eventually matteo walks slowly over to david with his hands shoved under his backpack straps and just likes falls into david. david is smiling way harder than his friends have ever seen him smile and david has gotten the best critique on his films like two weeks in a row, so they've seen big smiles. they step away when they see the couple cling tightly to each other and hear david start murmuring things in German to the other boy.

-they don't see the couple for the first three days of spring break. they officially meet him on the fourth day when matteo makes everyone dinner and it's delicious. david raves about how matteo is the best chef (or aspiring to be) in all of berlin and matteo only understands a little but still blushes the entire time.

-david's friends all love matteo because ofc they would even though matteo's english really is shit and david has to translate all the time. one girl they know is actually from italy though so sometimes matteo will get her to help if david is occupied. they mostly just like that they've never seen david this happy or this calm the entire time they've known him.

-david returns home two weeks early

[cravingcrazewriting]

Hard To Understand {Treebros}

English was a hard language to learn.

Okay, that was an understatement, but when you speak German, already a hard enough language for English speakers to comprehend, they expected you to pull the weight.

Which Evan thought was dumb, but whatever.

The point was that he was in a sort of messy apartment with a single mother who was letting him stay with him, because she was apart of the foster care system and always wanted a kid of her own. She was the most fluent in German and despite having a busy schedule, still would have time for Evan.

He didn't ask why she didn't have any children. He knew better to get into her personal life like that. But he did know was that she was getting remarried to some guy named Paul Heere, who was trying to learn German for Evan's sake. He even had a son himself, named Jeremy or something.

Evan doubted he'd get adopted, because he'd recently just turned seventeen and was nearly an adult. He couldn't be on his own till he was eighteen, though.

Heidi drove him to his first day, which was in the middle of the school year, and that alone made him uncomfortable. She talked to him mainly through German all throughout the car ride, talking about how she wished he'd make new friends and that he'd have a good day.

Evan didn't think either of those options were probable, but he didn't tell Heidi that.

Inside the school, he had to rely on the four years of English knowledge he'd gathered (he wasn't fluent by a long shot) to get his schedule.

"Don't worry, your teachers know you're new so don't fret if you're late," the secretary had told him while handing him a generic schedule that of course, was in English.

He managed to make out that his first period was 'Government', which okay, he supposed he'd have to learn about how the U.S. government works, so it should be interesting.

But Government was a lot harder to understand than Evan gave credit for. It was in general just complicated and had certain regulations he had to follow. Like the draft, for instance, but Evan wasn't a U.S. citizen, didn't know if he'd actually become one, or if Heidi and Paul were willing to adopt him. He had a lot of questions but was too nervous to ask them, so he spent the rest of his first period translating his schedule.

His next class was accounting, which wouldn't be so hard if he didn't have to translate every word problem on his sheet. He'd seriously had been hoping the teacher would at the very least help make sure his translations were correct, but no, they just gave Evan the sheet and went on their way.

The whole day was a hassle, to say the least, and a lot of it was wasted by translating stuff that the teachers should've previously had done for him.

Jared was apparently the son of Heidi's friend, who'd asked him to hang out with Evan. That didn't exactly happen. Jared said hello, that he'd help him to get his mom off of his back, and said some type of insult at a long haired teen walking to presumably a lunch table.

The poor guy was tall and skinny, but that didn't mean he didn't have any form of muscle on him. He had a slight build on him, with long, curly brunette hair waving all around his shoulders. Everything about him was sharp, his face, his eyes, even the shape of his body, but was covered by a soft hoodie, trench coat, and ripped jeans.

Evan could decipher a good majority of what he was saying. He was asking Jared if he wasn't... being funny enough? No, that did not make sense, especially with the angry expression the latter was holding. It was something about a joke, but that was all he got.

Before Jared walked off, he called the guy a freak. Which well, isn't that smart? Leave a foreign exchange student alone with a fully fluent English speaker who probably doesn't know German.

He made a small noise, which could've been mistaken for a laugh, because it was short and nervous.

The taller teen snapped at him, asking what he was laughing about. Evan tried to reason that he wasn't, but all he could really say was 'no, I'm not' over and over until he was shoved into the lockers.

Afterwards, a girl that looked a bit younger than him with long, blonde hair that had faded blue streaks ran to his aid. She was wearing a jean jacket, t shirt, and jeans. She was asking way too many questions for him to decipher, and he was growing closer and closer to a panic attack as it was, so he just scrambled to get up and ran to the bathroom (thankfully the signs were a dead giveaway) to try and calm down. He was just so overwhelmed with everything, and wanted to go home.

The rest of the day didn't get any better. He felt so tired and worn out from lunchtime, and with how much stuff he had to translate, it didn't leave a lot of time to actually get work done. A few teachers already translated the homework for him, which he greatly appreciated.

In his open eighth hour, he began typing out a therapy letter. Heidi had been talking to his new therapist, who apparently recommended that he wrote them. He was meeting with him that day.

Evan vented to Heidi on the phone, speaking fast in his heavy, German accent. He talked about needing to translate everything, how the teachers only understood so much of what he was saying, and how he could barely understand his classmates. Heidi tried to sympathize with him, and assured him Dr. Sherman was one hundred percent fluent in German, which Evan found hard to believe, but he tried to, anyway.

The letter was mainly in German, mostly because it was easier for Evan and it was a test to see if Dr. Sherman wasn't lying. It basically talked about how shitty of a year he was gonna have because no one cared about the German speaking kid, that he was shoved, and that no one would care or notice if he disappeared the next day.

But the tall, dark dressed teen appeared in the lab, his letter in hand.

"I um... I wanted to apologize for earlier," he said, shifting his weight every now and again, "I didn't mean to freak out on you."

"Um," Evan couldn't believe he had to uphold a conversation with the guy who shoved him. "It is okay. I am not mad."

"You're not from around here, right?" That surprised Evan, because no one had really acknowledged it. "I've heard you're from Germany."

Only a few bits and pieces made sense to him, but he got the gist of it. "Yes. That is correct."

"Do you miss it? Germany?" They crossed their arms.

Evan furrowed his brow in thought. "There is... not much to miss. I had..." he suddenly shook his head, "I am in foster care. I have no friends."

The teen's expression fell, "That really sucks. I'm sorry..."

Evan shook his head, not wanting to think about that. "How do you know I come from Germany? What is your name?"

"Word gets around when someone new shows up," again, only bits and pieces, "And I'm Connor."

Evan smiled weakly at him, sort of wanting the conversation to end. "I am Evan. It's nice to meet you, Connor."

"Evan?" The taller teen, Connor, pulled out a sheet of paper. He read the top. "Is this yours? It has your name on it."

"Yes! It's... homework, in a way," Evan took the paper, relieved in the fact that he wrote it in German. It felt private that way. "I am... seeing someone after school... to talk to..." he snapped his fingers as he tried to remember the word.

"A therapist?" Connor offered.

"Yes!" Evan beamed. "You are terrifying!"

Connor suddenly looked like he'd been slapped in the face.

"No! I did not mean that! People are terrifying, not just you! It is..." he trailed off, thinking for a moment, before suddenly remembering the word. "Anxiety! It is what my foster mom calls... social anxiety."

Connor made a face, "I guess that explains a lot."

"And because English is hard," he shrugged sheepishly.

"Um, if you want, I could give you a little help? I know it's probably weird coming from the guy who... pushed you, but maybe I could make it up to you?" Connor offered, smiling weakly.

"Oh," the offer was a surprise to Evan, and despite not wanting to being around Connor a lot, he needed both the help and practice. "Yes. I accept."

Connor set down his satchel and dug through it, before pulling out a pen. "Got something I can write on?"

"Uhh..." he looked at his letter, and handed it to him, not really caring if he wrote on it. Dr. Sherman would be happy to see he got someone's number, at least.

Connor took the letter and wrote in the back of it. He just wrote his number and name. "Text me later so we can arrange a time, okay?"

Evan smiled weakly, taking it back, "Okay."

It was hard at first, getting used to a new situation with someone completely new who hasn't exactly left the best first impression. But Connor was smarter than Evan previously thought, because he was trying to learn German to make things easier for him. There was a lot of miscommunication at first, but slowly, they started to understand each other better and better each day. They even hung out outside of study sessions, either at the park, the old orchard, or Evan's house (Connor didn't want him to go to his house).

What was once a disliking for Connor slowly turned into liking, but evolved into love, and not just the platonic best friend love. Actually in love, with how Connor messed with his hair when he was nervous, or how he'd soften up when he knew Evan was struggling with anxiety or other things. He couldn't help but stare at him unabashedly, whenever the opportunity showed itself, like when Connor faced the opposite direction of him.

That was exactly why he didn't tell him anything. Despite staying with Heidi for almost four months, he was certain she was going to give him up and send him back to Germany. Evan wasn't sure if long distance would even work out. He knew it was hard to, anyways. Plus, he was certain Connor only saw him as a friend.

One day though, when Connor was dropping him off at home, he saw a black car outside his house and paled. It was the same car he'd arrived in when he met Heidi, and was dropped off in. It was a Jeep, he realized, unlike before.

"Evan? What's wrong?" Connor noticed his distress.

"It's- my social worker," he said slowly.

"Why're they here?" He growled at the black colored car parked in front of them.

Evan bit at his lip. "Whenever they come, they are taking me away..."

Connor's hand found Evan's arm and clutched it. "They are not taking away my best friend."

"You do not have a choice..." he muttered, "It is my mom's..."

"We could run away," Connor declared. "They can't take you away if they can't find you."

"They will look for me. I... tried running once. It did not end well," Evan shook his head. "It will not work. I do not want say goodbye but..."

"You're not legally an adult yet. They can still tell you what to do," Connor filled in, looking away.

Evan just nodded sadly. "I do not want to go... I would miss you..."

Connor stayed silent, his hand staying on Evan's arm. He didn't want to let go of him, because if he did, he'd be taken away. Even though it was inevitable, it was ground, saying that was Evan was still there, that he hadn't left just yet.

"We'll have to go eventually," Evan whispered, gazing at the hand on his upper arm.

Connor nodded shortly, a small sign Evan recognized as him being upset. Finding the smallest amount of courage he could muster, he reached over the cup holders and brushed his bangs out of his eyes.

This was enough for Connor to put a hand in his cheek, like he was urging him closer. Call it his imagination, or whatever, but it made the distance between them so small, and it was only getting smaller. Just before it happened, Evan realized they were about to kiss, and despite fearing the fact that they'd be separated, he couldn't help conjoining their lips, letting his worries disappear, even if it was for a moment.

He clutched onto Connor tightly, despite the gentleness of the kiss. He wanted to be even closer to him, to climb onto Connor's lap, or pull him on top of him, something more, but yet at the same time, it was all too much. Connor had moved his hand from his cheek down to his neck, subconsciously stroking Evan's Adam's Apple which make him jump into surprise, but also made him lean into it because it felt so nice. Connor was always so gentle with him, whether it was checking a bruise (Evan was extremely clumsy) or greeting him with a hug after a panic attack, it was welcoming and soothing, but most importantly, not suffocating. The opposite of that, in fact.

They separated and pressed their foreheads together, panting as they began to catch their breaths.

The most fantastic part?

Connor's hand never left Evan's arm. Not once.

"That was- amazing," Evan shut his eyes, refusing to move even an inch. It was like the magic of that moment would shatter if he shifted even just a bit.

"You- you liked that?" Connor sounded surprised, and when Evan opened his eyes again, Connor was staring back at him.

"I like you, Connor. A lot. More than just best friends do," he insisted, meeting Connor's gaze.

"Good," He let out a shaky breath, "Cause I do, too."

Despite the situation, Evan began to laugh. How ironic everything was, and how it was about to be ripped away from him, and he could only laugh and cry because it just wasn't fair. He finally had Connor, but he was about to loose him.

"What's so funny," Connor squeezed his arm, his voice laced with worry.

Evan shook his head, tears falling from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. "We have spent- f-far too long just... liking each other from a distance, when we could've gotten together sooner... We could've had more time together as... something more."

Connor brushed away some of the big, blotchy tears from his cheeks, despite more escaping. "Hey. I'm not gonna give up that easily. I still want to be with you, and I'm more than willing to do long distance if you are."

Evan sniffled, "I... I don't know, Connor. Long distance usually does not work, and there's so much for us to loose."

Connor smiled weakly. "What's there to loose? We can make it work."

"Du bist meine Welt," Evan whispered shakily.

Connor paused, and licked his lips. "I... I don't know what that means..."

"You are my world," he repeated, running a hand through Connor's wild, messy hair. "I admit that I didn't actively try to make friends... I saw no point, especially knowing that I could be taken at a minutes notice. But you... you forced your way in, and filled an empty place in my life I didn't know I needed. I know you might forget me, but... I won't forget you."

He quickly leans over and pecked his cheek, before moving to give another to his jaw. "You're fucking insane if you think I'll forget you," he muttered against his skin.

Evan laughed, "I always thought I was non important. Glad to be proven wrong, though."

Connor pulled away, and the space was aching. He pulled out the car keys reluctantly.

Evan began to move at last. "We, we should go..."

When they exited the car, Connor briefly released his arm, but once they were side to side, he curled his fingers around Evan's. He held onto Connor tightly, because it was probably the last time they'd be there, side to side. The ironic thing was is that he was never told when he was being taken away. The social worker showed up, said, "It's time to go.", and Evan would pack up all his things and go (he was a fast packer).

He was already trembling by the time he was inside. The social worker, with long brown hair, dressed in all black, was talking to Heidi, having her sign some forms. She turned around and smiled at Evan.

"Was ist los? Soll ich meinen Koffer nehmen?" Evan asked her, fidgeting with his hands.

"Nein, heute ist ein besonderer Tag," she smiled.

"Worüber redest du?" He looked up at her.

"You are being adopted," she stated, looking back at Heidi, who nodded.

Evan stares, mouth agape. "Wha- r-really? But you... don't have much time with me..."

"That doesn't matter to me," Heidi shook her head, smiling. "With how much time we've spent together proves that you're apart of this family."

"Wait, what was that other stuff?" Connor walked over, raising an eyebrow.

"I asked if I needed my suitcase, but she said no, because today was special. When I asked why, she uh, well you know what she said," Evan clarified.

Connor started to smile. "So you're staying?"

"I am. Like it or not," Evan desperately wanted to grab Connor's hand, but he still didn't know what they even were. They didn't exactly have time beforehand to discuss it, and they thought he was leaving, as well.

"I do like it, though," Connor smirked ever so slightly.

"Even though we are both hard to understand?"

"We find our own ways, Ev. I can usually find some way to figure out what you're trying to stay."

Evan just nodded in silent agreement, taking his hand at last, because how was he supposed to argue with that?

[carlisle980]

Just Dance

It’s still Bangtan Day here in the US, and I did something I never imagined I’d do. I wrote Bangtan fic. I haven’t posted it anywhere, because ff.net is where the bulk of my work is but there’s no Bangtan archive there, and while I do all my reading on AO3, I haven’t posted there in years. I can, if the consensus is that it’s a good idea.

Anyway ... here it is. Apologies to the usual crowd. Well, more like, sorry ... not sorry. I love all my old faves. And BTS too.

+++++++

Hey, dance with me dance with me Any kind of bounce is fine, dance with me Where are you from, why are you dancing A natural conversation, say something —J-Hope, “Trivia: Just Dance”

She stands in the center of the cold grey floor feeling small and overwhelmed and old. The studio looks the same as it did twenty years ago, when she spent eight hours a week here. In this very space. Learning. Her horizons expanding. Experiencing a world that made her heart pound with expectation. The sky seemed the limit then. 

It smells the same. That combination of sweat and disinfectant with a hint of central air conditioning that she’ll forever associate with this room, with this craft. She couldn’t believe her luck when the question of using the space was as easily answered as it had been half her life ago. Now, as then, all she had to do was ask the director. Is there a chance I might use the studio sometime, when there are no classes and the company doesn’t need it?

It was easy to come by, but that doesn’t mean she can have the space indeterminately, she reminds herself. There’s no grand objective to her being here; she just wants to see if there’s still the same pull. The fascination, the exhilaration. Why, precisely, is a question she cannot answer. 

She’s thinking too much, and that won’t do. She plugs her phone into the studio’s sound system and turns on a playlist she works out to at home. It’s high-energy, if eclectic. Avicii is on there. OneRepublic, Maroon 5. “Rhythm Nation” by Janet Jackson and a bunch of vintage Art of Noise. Those are there because they were part of her teacher’s playlist back in the day. Her German-born teacher, a former student of Gus Giordano; a geologist-turned-dancer whom she idolized to the extreme. Sigh. Those were the days. 

Knowing it isn’t wise to just start dancing cold, she tries to remember how they used to warm up in class. What a dumb thing not to recall, given that she was advanced by the time she stopped. School loans and weddings don’t pay for themselves, after all, and once she had her degree she could no longer justify the indulgence. Putting off adulthood to linger at the college and take dance classes, to no particular end. So she’d got herself a big girl job out in the real world. One with a salary and health insurance and, in time, a corner office with windows and a door they let her shut so she could concentrate. Pretty sweet gig for a twenty-year-old. Sweet enough that she and her husband had bought their first home —in the overpriced Baltimore-Washington metropolitan area of the early 2000’s, no less— when she was 24. Sweet enough that by the time she left to have their first child, she was making enough that she could’ve bought a Mercedes. If, you know, that had been her priority over becoming a mother. 

In the absence of any grand recollection, she sidles up to the barre and starts with the basics. Plié, relevé, plié with a push through to relevé. Relevé down into plié. Coupé, frappé, dégagé, rond de jambe. She puts a leg up on the barre and leans sideways towards it: first one, then the other. Wiggles her shoulders a little, rolls out her lats on the foam roller. Back flexibility is a tough thing but she’s working hard. It’s better than it’s ever been, and compared to other people that’s not saying much, but for her it’s the hallmark of progress. 

That’s warm enough, right? You’re really not supposed to stretch before dancing. Cold muscle is shorter and more likely to tear, and all that. The music continues to play and she progresses to chaîné turns. This is where she begins to get frustrated. It’s the same story as it was all those years ago: she can turn to her left well enough (though spotting still doesn’t work the way it should, as evidenced by the room spinning when she stops), but turning to the right is an exercise in futility. She under-rotates and falls out of the turn and no matter how slow she goes, it doesn’t improve. It’s the same with fouettés. Pirouettes in the center go a little better, but she only lands a double once or twice out of several dozen attempts. She practices those turns from modern class that her teacher never had a name for and always referred to by sound effects, like the sound you’d make if you were suddenly punched in the stomach because that’s the mechanism: a core contraction into a spin, propelled by gravity. There was a lot of that, dancing under Lena. Sounds and gestures filling in where words failed. Those turns are still her favorite; they look pretty without the dancer having to do much besides knowing when to work with gravity and when to resist it. That’s why modern was always her preferred style: it doesn’t take a perfect body to finesse the principles of contract and release, of fall and recover. 

Little by little she begins to pull things from memory: a crazy penché-drop-spin from advanced modern class that was easy when she was nineteen and is significantly less so now; bits of the Ailey-inspired choreography they learned one semester. She is struck out of the blue by the same desire that characterized her girlhood. Whenever she would encounter a large swath of open floor, her first instinct was always to leap across it. But she knows that one doesn’t simply grand jeté indiscriminately when one has not done so for the better part of two decades. Despite Kathryn Morgan’s advice to just sling the front leg out there and go for it, she holds back. She’s already come back from a groin tear once; never again, thank you very much!

The music decides for her what will happen next when it begins playing “Black Swan.” She hauls herself to the center of the floor in what she imagines is a comedic fashion and gets herself into position. 

From there it just flows. She feels it, the struggle of which Martha Graham spoke; the one that inspired the song. It’s all too real for her. 

A dancer dies twice; once when they stop dancing, and this first death is the more painful. 

She’s danced this piece a thousand times in the privacy of her bedroom, and she nails every count, trying to make it expansive, to fill the vastness of the studio. 

Killing me now, killing me now. She has felt that. The despair, the slow death of a precious part of her soul when she’d given up her dream in favor of security. She doesn’t speak Korean —not yet, anyhow— but she’s taken every syllable to heart, knows what each one means. 

Sinking slowly like in a trance nah, nah, nah Struggle but it's all ocean floor nah, nah Every moment becomes eternity yeah, yeah, yeah Film it now, film it now Do you hear me, yeah

She’s breathing hard by the end. Tears are streaming down her face and she hadn’t even been aware she was crying. Oh, my God, what was that? That was … like a religious experience. Why did I ever give this up? Why did I let go of me?

It’s as she’s wiping the tears away with the back of her hand, taking gulps from her water bottle like she’s spent the last year in the desert, that she becomes aware she is not alone. 

Her head snaps around sharply when someone clears their throat and she gasps. There, seated on the bench above the cubbies where students stash their bags, is none other than the Jung Hoseok. He is barefoot, sitting with his legs criss crossed, in an orange t-shirt and blue shorts, pushing a hand through his dark hair like she’s seen him do countless times on YouTube. 

Surely, she’s dreaming. Because she has dreamt of situations like this, both literally and metaphorically. Many times. But in dreams, be they the daytime variety or at night, she never sees him blink, or hears him breathing. But nothing about this makes sense. What is Jung Hoseok of BTS, arguably the world’s busiest man, who cannot walk to get coffee in Seoul without being mobbed by stampeding multitudes, doing here? In the States, on the campus of a community college, and, by all appearances, alone?

Even if he is real, it isn’t as if she can ask him. She knows his English is getting better and better as time goes by and BTS’ influence in the West continues to balloon. But where he can speak a bit of her language, she only knows random words in his. 

Still. They’re staring at one another now, and she feels incredibly rude. He can’t be a dream, because he’s infinitely more beautiful in real life than even the best photographs have made him out to be. All angular, with impossibly long lashes, and yes, there’s that adorable mole just above his top lip. 

“You’re very good,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence, and isn’t that just characteristic of him? “Dance was … wow.” His accent is heavy but his meaning is clear. And oh, that smile. He really is the sunshine incarnate. 

She wants to brush off the compliment, to explain to him that maybe she was good, once upon a time, but now she’s just somebody’s mom. But she doubts it would be easy for him to understand. She wrinkles her nose, shakes her head almost imperceptibly. “I …” she stammers. She’s talking to Jung Freaking Hoseok —WHAT?! “First time really dancing in many years.”

He smiles again. “Really good,” he repeats, nodding his head for emphasis. “Serious.”

She’s not sure whether he’s saying that she looked serious while dancing, or that he’s serious about her doing well, but either way. If anyone knows the inner workings of the “Black Swan” choreography, the sentiment behind it, it is this man. 

“Thank you,” she says softly, her cheeks hot. “I love Black Swan.”

There’s so much she wants to ask him. Why are you here? Are you traveling alone? Are there security guards outside the door ready to handcuff me to a lamppost? Because I asked the program director if I could use the studio and she said yes! But the language barrier would make it impossible, and anyway, isn’t there some saying about not looking a gift horse in the mouth? She hasn’t taught that one to her kids, but she’s pretty sure her grandmother said it to her at some point. 

He smiles once again in response to what she said about “Black Swan” and makes a short humming sound in the back of his throat. “I’m Hoseok,” he says in perfect English. “Hobi.”

She almost laughs aloud. As if there was any possibility she wouldn’t know who he was. But then, hasn’t that been one of the things she’s loved best about him from the start: his humility. 

So she introduces herself, and he bows from his seat and tries out her name. It’s adorable. And now she knows the answer to one of those questions she just figured she’d ponder for eternity: her name falling from his lips sounds like angels singing. 

“Dance with me?” he asks as he rises from his seat and holds out his hand to her. 

If this is a dream, please don’t wake me up. 

‘You don’t understand,’ she almost says. ‘You’re … you, and I’m old. I don’t pop and lock, unless you wanna talk about my hip joints when I try grand battement. I don’t b-boy. Modern’s all I’ve got.’ But how many times has she said it: My dream is to dance with Hobi for a day. What kind of absolute idiot would she be to pass up an opportunity like this?

So she says, “I would love to.” And means it more than she’s meant anything since she said ‘I do,’ as a twenty-year-old kid. Nineteen years, two houses, three children, countless ups and downs later, and look how that turned out. Sometimes good things just happen. 

She was already warm, but since he isn’t, she stretches when he does, and now it’s safe to stretch hip flexors and hamstrings and they definitely need it. He watches her a little. She watches him a lot. Sometimes he copies what she’s doing, as if there’s anything she could possibly know that he doesn’t. He does these crazy boneless things, dropping to his knees and seemingly floating back up to stand, and she just shakes her head. It looks even more effortless —and even more impossible— in person. 

She whips out the chaîné turns again. Her good side, of course. She can fake spotting well enough to make it from one corner to the opposite pretty quickly. 

“Oh!” he exclaims. “Like Jimin!”

She giggles. “I wish!” she says, and watches as his expression turns to a question mark. 

“Wish?” he asks. 

How to explain? “My style?” It comes out as a question because she wants to be sure he can follow. 

He nods, so she continues. 

“My style, like Jimin’s style. But Jimin … WOW. Me? Just okay.” She makes the hand gesture that means ‘so-so,’ because some things are universal, right?

He laughs, shaking his head. “Aish! No, no, no. Not ‘just okay.’ Very strong. Very …” He thinks for a moment, and there’s another question answered. Pensive Hobi is breathtaking. “Very … grace?”

She is floored. “Graceful?” she asks. He nods emphatically. “Me?”

“Yes, yes, yes! Arms.” He gesticulates wildly with his own. Which, she knows, he would do even in the absence of a language barrier. “Pretty.”

How can she tell him she’s not built like a dancer, that that knowledge has always made her feel heavy and ungainly? That she’s always wanted to be tall and delicate, like him. “My back.” She gestures behind herself. “My spine?” BTS have a song called “Spine Breaker,” even if they call it something else, so maybe it’s a word he knows. 

He nods again, echoing, “Spine.”

She reaches into her bag for a pen and paper and draws a likeness of her spine, double curves and all. “Not straight,” she explains, handing the sketch to him. “Makes dancing hard.” It affects everything. I can’t turn properly; I have no extension. My hips are a mess. Every time I lift my leg it clicks. 

“Hurts?” His eyes are soft, his expression sympathetic. 

“Yeah,” she answers. “Yeah, sometimes. But dance makes it better.” Ironic, right?

“Keep going,” he says with finality. Insistent. Like he’s solved every mystery of her life. 

Perhaps he has. He’s only been witness to a half hour out of her entire existence, but in that short time he’s seen a side of her that few others have. He’s watched her dancing, smiling, throwing herself full-force into something she loves. Maybe she never got to perform. Maybe she gave up on training to become a dance teacher. But if dancing makes her feel this level of satisfaction, how can she afford not to give it a prominent place in her life?

She studies him for a long moment. Does she dare ask anything of him? She answers that question with another: will she ever have an opportunity like this one again?

“Hobi?” she ventures timidly. He nods. “Teach me?”

“Yeah!” He says it like it’s a forgone conclusion. 

“DNA?” She’s never been able to work that one out on her own. 

He grins in answer. 

They spend the next hour speaking the universal language of dancer and choreographer. “Pah! Pah! Pah!” “Five, six, seven, eight!” She gets on the wrong foot a time or two, turns and collides with him once, all of it to gales of laughter from the pair of them. He corrects her body position and he’s hands-on but ever the consummate gentleman, and by the time they stop she knows the entire choreography well enough that she can perfect the rest at home. 

All too soon it’s over. “I have to go,” she explains sadly, pointing to the schedule on the director’s office door. It’s printed in English, but he gets the gist. There’s a class coming in soon; her time is up.

They sling their dance bags over their shoulders at the same time and it results in another shared laugh. 

“Hobi,” she says at the door, “thank you.” There’s so much more she wants to tell him. As long as I live, I’ll never forget this. You’re my favorite dancer. You’re a legend. 

“Don’t stop,” he tells her in a tone of voice that brooks no argument, squeezing her hands in both of his own. “Always dance, friend.”

When she performs “DNA” with the company the following semester, she dedicates it to him. 

[minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong]

Ephemera Chapter Fifteen

Ephemera: In art, transitory written and printed matter (receipts, notes, tickets, clippings, etc.) not originally intended to be kept or preserved.

Alternatively, things that exist or are used for only a short time.

Description: Nobody knows who Vante really is. Everything about the popular artist is shrouded in secrecy: from his face to his name to everything in between. After years of working for his art gallery, Y/N feels she may just be the closest thing he has to a friend. Between her success at work and her relationship with campus hot-shot Jeon Jungkook, Y/N’s life has never been better. But is Jungkook truly who he says he is? And who will Y/N protect now that she knows Vante’s livelihood may be on the line?

Genre: Romance, Drama, Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Jungkook x (f) Reader x Taehyung

Word Count: 6.8k

Tags: Non-Idol!Au, Gang!Au, Art History Student!Reader, Film Student!Jungkook, Art Student!Taehyung

Warnings: Swearing and mentions of alcohol, although infrequently

A/N: Hiya! Here’s the next installment. I’ve finally added links to all my previous chapters for easier access, so if you missed any chapters please do check my masterlist! Also, next week my chapter might be a bit early as I’ll be on the road driving so I’ll have to post while I still have wifi. Anyway, please don’t be shy and send feedback, critique, questions, theories, and comments my way. I’ll be sure to respond to all asks I receive within a day of receiving them! Links will be added later, so for now check my masterlist to find previous chapters!

And again, if you want to follow my Twitter, my username is @/plzpunchmebts. I’m super active over there and hopefully in the future I’ll do some livestreams/chats with you all! And concert videos!!

- Mercury

Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

Masterlist

Weekly updates: Sunday, 1PM (PST)

I sat at a lavish table surrounded by food. Like the day before, Hayoon and Jaesun had ordered lots of dishes, perhaps sampling each, and the three of us were now settled before a banquet. Filet mignon, grilled salmon, crab cakes, lobster mac and cheese, German potatoes, and a whole bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon to split between us. I stared slack-jawed at the vast array of food and drink, and the couple — now sharply dressed as they’d been at the charity event — watched my awe with knowing smiles.

We’d met at Nunchi an hour before and walked together into a pristine black car, ushered in by a driver. The drive to Gangnam had been relatively quiet, perhaps due to my own reservations about these people. Although they were Taehyung’s parents, I found it hard to be completely at ease around them when their wealth was so obviously vast.

“Dig in, dear,” said Hayoon, brushing a stray hair back into the perfect bun at the nape of her neck.

Jaesun smiled and piled some mac and cheese onto his plate. I stiffened and looked around the airy, bright restaurant. Surely, this would look odd. This wasn’t the sort of place to share food. But the staff either didn’t mind or were conditioned not to ask too many questions, because they continued bustling across the floor like ghosts, heads down, backs straight.

I cleared my throat and nodded, slicing off a piece of steak and placing it atop my plate. “Um…,” I began, guiding my knife down. “Pardon me, but…why exactly have you been seeking me out?” I asked, meeting Hayoon’s eyes.

She raised her brows before settling into an easy smile. “Ah, well,” she began, waving a fork-wielding hand. “Our son, Taehyung, talks about you quite frequently. For a while now, Jaesun and I were very curious about what sort of person you were.”

I swallowed hard and blinked up at her, at her weathered but lovely face. “Ah,” I said with a stiff nod. “I apologize if I don’t live up to your expectations.”

She laughed and shook her head, chomping down on some salmon. “Not at all, sweetheart,” she said, then sighed. “When we let him move, he was so plucky about things. We set him up in his apartment, but that was the extent of the help he’d accept. Working all over the place. I guess we worried for him more than we said.”

I hummed and nodded. “He would’ve probably scolded you if you’d worried too much,” I said with a fond smile.

She laughed. “I agree.”

“We told him to call us if he ever needed help,” said Jaesun with a full-mouthed nod. “But the kid’s so damn stubborn. He never tells anyone when he’s struggling. At any rate, when he opened his gallery he finally started telling us more about his everyday life.”

“Maybe because he felt like he’d finally succeeded,” I offered with a nod, plopping a serving of potatoes onto my plate. These two seemed unfazed by the way they were perceived, so I tried quickly to follow suit.

Jaesun nodded, waving his steak knife at me. “Exactly!” he said, then laughed. “Anyway, when he started updating us, it was mostly about the gallery and the name that kept coming up was yours.”

“We were very curious,” said Hayoon. “He was really troubled about you for a while, but it seems like he worries a little less these days.”

I hummed. Was it that he worried less or that he spoke about his worries less? Taking a sip of wine, I nodded my head. “He’s been pushing me for a long time to start standing up for myself. I guess lately I’ve been doing that.”

Hayoon smiled and it really touched her eyes. “That’s good, dear,” she said with a nod. “Can’t get anywhere in life if you don’t advocate for yourself.”

“Are you the ones who taught Taehyung that?” I asked, swirling my wine around and watching the feet as they trailed down the side of the glass.

“Learned it from me, probably,” said Jaesun with a gruff laugh. “Kid’s more serious than he looks because I put a lot of responsibility on him growing up.”

I raised my brows. “What sort of responsibility?”

“Well, back in Daegu we run a pretty successful law firm and Tae helped out around the office when he was younger. I thought the kid would be my successor, but, you know, the art and all that…,” said Jaesun with a hearty laugh. “Anyway, I started the firm when Taehyung was a kid and he watched me dig it up from the ground. It’s not easy starting your own firm, I’ll tell you that. But once we got rolling, we kept rolling.”

“What kind of law do you practice?” I asked, watching the usually boisterous man become stoic and sober with every passing word.

He hummed, sipping his wine and smiled. “Bankruptcy and employment law mostly, but we dabble in family law. We try to help people get out of difficult situations.”

I nodded. It made sense now why Taehyung was such a busybody, trying to give assistance even when he wasn’t asked. I felt a small pang of guilt over keeping secrets from a person like that, but then I remembered what he’d said the last time we spoke.

You definitely shouldn’t be involved in this stuff anymore.

Just like his father, swooping in and trying to take responsibility for someone else’s hardships and mistakes. When a person’s out of options, out of capital, filing for bankruptcy is the only option. But the problem with bankruptcy is that it wreaks havoc on your credit score for years after. Just how damaging would it be for me to just…leave this to him? When I can still do something about it myself? When I wasn’t yet out of options?

I heard a cell phone vibrate and Hayoon jumped. She grabbed the phone from her leather bag and her features lit up as she read the name. “It’s Hwayoung,” she said with a grin toward her husband. She turned to me and chuckled. “Our daughter.” Daughter…

Jaesun’s thick, graying brows raised and he returned the smile. “Answer it!”

She turned to me, almost pleading, and I nodded once, waving my hands. She pressed the phone to her ear. “Hey sweetie!” her motherly tone, the way she cupped her hand over the bottom of her phone, cradling it against her cheek, her gentle smile, barely-there dimples: something about it made my heart clench.

I rubbed my hands together before lacing them atop my lap, watching my black dress stretch over my thighs. This moment felt intimate in a way I couldn’t intrude upon, a way that felt like trespassing to observe. I tried to tune out their joyful conversation out of respect — or perhaps self preservation — and did my best not to look melancholy, keeping my smile pasted on my lips without a single budge.

I waited for Taehyung to buzz me up the elevator a few hours later. It had been a while since the two of us had spoken, and I wasn’t so sure how much to tell him. Surely, telling him about Namjoon wasn’t the best idea. But wouldn’t it be better for him to know now rather than find out later?

After a quiet elevator ride, I emerged in the hallway and found my way to his door, knocking twice. “Hey,” I said as he emerged on the other side, smiling.

He hadn’t shaved in a few days if the darker patch of skin above his lip was anything to go by. His hair was a disaster and he was draped in a massive sweatshirt and pants that were too short to cover his ankles. The glasses he usually wore perfectly were sliding down the bridge of his nose and he had circles beneath his eyes. He looked down at me with unbridled happiness and it took me several moments to overcome the shock at seeing the state of him to slide inside his apartment.

Cleaner than before, the place didn’t look as rough as Taehyung did. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have said his condition was improving if the state of his apartment was anything to go by. I figured he had a maid or something, because the incongruity between his appearance and his apartment’s was too great. But once I turned back to look at him, I noticed him yawning, stretching his arms above his head like a cat.

And with a sigh, I resolved to keep everything to myself.

He never tells anyone when he’s struggling.

He was my friend, first and foremost, and he needed help. He needed me. One look at him was enough to tell. He was overwhelmed more than he’d ever admit. Hadn’t he been the one who’d decided to reveal his identity and throw his notions of privacy to the breeze? I glanced at him over my shoulder, watching as he rested his hands in his pockets and greeted me with a smile.

“Taehyung,” I began, eyeing him.

He hummed in response and walked closer. “Yeah?”

“How long has it been since you’ve changed clothes?” I asked, examining the wrinkles in his sweatshirt.

He paused and raised his brows. “Ah, does it smell old?” he asked, tugging on it a little with a bashful smile. “Sorry. It’s been a few days.”

I shook my head. “It’s not that,” I said, then sighed. “You’re not taking very good care of yourself, are you?”

He swallowed hard and laughed a little breathily. “Ha, well it’s not like I’m not taking care of myself, it’s just…”

I sighed and gave his upper arm a squeeze. “I’m just worried,” I said with a nod. “Your parents are too, even if they don’t say it.”

“You met my parents?”

“Haven’t you been keeping an eye on the tabloids?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.

He flushed and laughed once more, averting his gaze. “Well, I’ve been meaning to but I guess I’m in a…a little bit of a slump right now.”

Quietly, I eased down onto his couch and patted the empty space beside me. He sighed, joining me. “Wanna talk about it?” I asked, watching him in profile. His eyes were downcast, shoulders slumped just a little.

“It’s really not a big deal,” he said with a shrug.

There it was again. That diversion. I tried to put my finger on what exactly about it felt so melancholy, so dismissive. “Well if you keep everything to yourself you’re just going to be miserable alone.”

He glanced at me, eyes wide. “Hm?”

I laced my fingers on my lap and sighed. “Your parents mentioned something like that. Like you not reaching out when you need help.”

He stiffened. Had I made a mistake telling him that? He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, and nodded. “I…I guess they worry a lot, huh?”

“They’d worry less if you told them about your problems,” I urged.

“Well…more than anything, I think I’m just kinda scared,” he said, then shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, brows furrowed. “Not that it’s a big deal or anything. Honestly, I’m fi-,”

“Don’t say you’re fine.”

He paused, set his lips thin, and nodded. “Alright,” he said with a long exhale. “I’m spooked.”

“Because people know who you are now?” I asked.

He nodded, rubbing his jaw. “Mhm,” he said, then shook his head. “Leaving the apartment is hard. I’ve had my assistant bring me food and clean up the apartment, but other than that I haven’t really seen anyone.”

“And classes?”

He was quiet, hands clasped like he was praying. “I think I’m gonna drop out.”

I opened my mouth to scold him, but stopped short. To say something like that, to give up on something he truly loved and valued…it seemed that it was hard for him to even say it. Like he was hurting.

So instead, I only nodded and rested my hand on his back. I smoothed circles onto the planes of his shoulder blades and watched as he released a shaky exhale. “That’s a shame,” I said with a nod. “But…if that’s what you feel like you need to do, then I’ll support you.”

He eyed me, brows knit, and I caught a brief glimpse of vulnerability in his expression. “Really?” he asked.

I nodded. “If it’s what’ll make you happy.”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers, and sat upright. my hand fell to the back of the couch. “I don’t know when I became so weak.”

“It’s not weakness, Taehyung,” I said, smiling gently as I rested my hand once more atop my lap. “It’s fear. Everyone’s scared. Most people just hide it better.”

“When I was young,” he began, wringing his hands, “Kids weren’t too kind to me.”

My brows raised. “Hm? Were you bullied?” I asked.

He chuckled and shrugged. “At the time, I didn’t think of it that way. I thought being teased was just part of being a kid. My classmates didn’t like me from the start because of my parents’ money. I can understand that. But what they hated more was my drawings. I tried not to get down about it, but…it got to me. And I guess I was too ashamed to tell my family.”

I sighed. “You felt like you had to handle it on your own?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. I guess it made me really scared of standing out in any way. If I can blend in, then…then nobody can really hurt me.”

Quietly, I nodded my head. A thick silence enveloped us, and for a while I didn’t know how to slice through it. So, for a few moments, we simply sat there side by side, neither one speaking as the distant, muffled sounds of the city swirled on outside the big windows.

I glanced at him, at the mile-long gaze he had, and pressed a hand to his shoulder. He jolted a little, like the touch brought him back to reality, and I smiled. “For what it’s worth,” I began, “I think those people who hurt you in the past are really regretting it now.”

He was quiet for half a beat before releasing one sharp chuckle that quickly devolved into choppy, almost desperate laughter. I joined him, mindful of the way tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. I felt that, for the tiniest of moments, I could really understand him.

I released a huff of breath and stood to my feet, patting my thighs with a smile. I extended a hand to Taehyung which he took without a moment’s hesitation. He stood upright in front of me and, quickly, I slipped my hand free. I angled myself behind him and pushed him by the shoulders toward his bathroom.

“Go take a shower and put on a fresh set of clothes,” I said, to which he only laughed. “I’ll make some food.”

He paused and turned to me, clearly ready to fight me on it, but I silenced him with the cock of one eyebrow. He shut his mouth and opted instead for a small, bashful smile and a nod.

“Sorry it’s not much,” I said with a chuckle. “I’m not the best cook.”

Taehyung shook out his wet hair, water droplets clinging to the ends, and peered over my shoulder at the pan I was managing. He’d changed into a nice shirt and joggers, his skin glowing from the shower. “I like fried rice,” he said with a chuckle before plopping down at the barstool beside the counter.

I glanced at him over my shoulder and noticed he was resting his freshly shaven chin in his hand, watching me with a fond smile. I wasn’t quite sure why, but my stomach felt a little fluttery and I turned back to the food, pushing the rice and vegetables around with the spatula.

“Can I have one of your beers?” I asked quietly, not looking back again. I could feel him staring at me.

“Mhm,” he said. I kept an eye on the pan as I wandered toward the fridge and pulled out a can. “Get one for me too, hm?”

“Sure thing,” I said, grabbing a second one and sliding it to him. I paused across the counter, the two of us locking eyes as he plunged the tab down and took an easy swig. “Your parents…,” I began, rolling the toe of my sneaker into the ground. “They’re really nice.”

He chuckled, nodding and pointing with his free hand to my untouched beer. I followed suit and cracked it open, pressing the can to my lips. “They’re good folks,” he said with a sigh, eyes going far away. He pulled his glasses off his nose and cleaned the foggy patches with the sleeve of his shirt. “They never really let me want for anything.”

“Is that why you wanted to move here and do things yourself?” I asked, resting my palms on the counter.

He hummed. “Probably, yeah,” he said with a sigh. “They were really great, but I guess…those kids kinda got to me a little. Saying I had everything handed to me.” He paused to laugh and tilted his head to the side, eyes hazy with reverie. “They had a point.”

“They were assholes,” I said.

He raised his brows and glanced at me, wide-eyed. “Hm?” he asked, then laughed. “I’m having deja vu.”

“What?”

“Last time we drank together you talked like this too,” he said, chuckling. “Out of character.”

I stiffened, flushed, and turned back to the rice. “My character is very nuanced,” I said, pouting a little as I plated the food.

“Mhm,” he said, grinning as I placed the fried rice in front of him. “Thank you for cooking.”

I shrugged and joined him on one of the barstools. “It was nothing,” I said with a shrug, digging in. The two of us ate in comfortable silence for a few moments before a thought struck me. “Hey, I never knew you had a sister.”

He laughed, sipping his beer, and peered at me out the corner of his eye. “She’s a curse. I didn’t wanna risk cursing you too.”

I shoved his arm and furrowed my brow. “Don’t say that.”

With a smile, he shrugged and took another bite of food. “She’s actually really great, Hwayoung. I think I spent most of my childhood in awe of her.”

“What do you mean?”

He laughed lightly. “She’s like…a force of nature. Super strong,” he swirled his beer around in the can and hummed. “Actually, while I was being bullied she was usually the one to come to the rescue.”

“Really?” I asked. I wanted to meet the kind of person who could stand up to a group of bullies for her younger brother…

“Mhm.” He sighed. “She’s really outspoken and opinionated, and when it comes to injustice she doesn’t tolerate it. That’s probably why she naturally found her way to law.”

“She’s a lawyer?” I asked, smiling. “Like your dad.”

He scoffed. “My dad wishes he could take credit for it,” he said with a laugh. “But, no. Hwayoung isn’t a lawyer just yet. She’s studying in the US.”

“So far!” I said with a sigh. “Man, she sounds cool.”

“Don’t let all that fool you,” said Taehyung with a laugh. “She drives me crazy.”

“Well now she really sounds cool.”

He rolled his eyes, but nonetheless he was smiling. My heart settled a little. “I guess she is pretty cool,” he said, then took a sip of beer. “I wanted to live like her. Independent. Self-sustaining. The kind of person who sees injustice and fixes it.”

With a smile I took a swig. “I think you’re already that sort of person.”

“No,” he said with a sigh. “I’m still too weak. Too scared. Hwayoung was always really brave.”

“Hm,” I responded, chewing on a piece of carrot.

“Kinda reminds me of you sometimes.”

I stiffened. “Your parents said something similar at the gala,” I said.

He smiled. “I noticed it for the first time when we followed Jungkook to that club,” he said as he chewed on his rice, nodding. “You were really quick. Thought on your feet. And you were determined too. Very bold.”

“Funny…,” I remarked, thinking back with a laugh. “Seems the only time I can be bold is when I’m drunk.”

He shook his head, smiling gently at me. “No,” he said. “Lately at work I’ve seen it too.” He paused, like a thought had suddenly struck him, and he hummed a little. “I wonder if the reason I started looking after you is because I could see just a tiny bit of her in you.”

I stiffened. “What do you mean?”

He glanced at me and smiled, eyes shutting as he rested his cheek in his hand. “I mean…when you’re working you’re so capable. I think I saw that and saw how easily you were…tamed I guess. How easily you could go from this cool, confident person to someone docile and obedient. Made me worry about you.”

My cheeks felt hot to the touch and I pressed the half-empty beer can against my burning skin in the hopes of cooling it down. “I see.”

“Not that I was, like, watching you super intently! Just, you know…keeping an eye on you,” he said, then sighed and waved his hand. “Forget it.”

I was happy to. Carefully, I took a peek at his plate and noticed he was finished. I gobbled up the rest of my rice and gathered our utensils. “I’ll get going once I’m done cleaning.”

“Ah…,” said Taehyung in an exhale, and I discerned a measure of disappointment in his voice.

At the sink, I turned over my shoulder and eyed him. He watched the countertop where his hands were splayed palms-down, a sad smile on his face. Guilt traced through me. Over his shoulder, the sky was beginning to sprinkle autumn rain onto the busy streets of Seoul, navy-blue night sky extending in every direction punctured only by the city skyline.

I sighed, holding a plate and sponge in my hands, and pursed my lips. “Well…maybe I should stay a little longer. Wait out the rain,” I said with a nod, continuing to scrub. “Gotta walk to the station anyway.”

He visibly straightened up and, like some sort of kept animal, showed me his eager face. “Yeah! No, that’s a great idea.”

I smiled and nodded. “Alright then. Let’s watch a movie or something.”

I wasn’t so sure when I’d fallen asleep, but when I woke up the only light came from the moon hanging low outside the windows and the only sound was rhythmic breathing coming from somewhere beside me. As my senses returned, I glanced around the moon-drenched living room and stretched my arms above my head. I’d awoken on my side, leaning heavily on the arm of Taehyung’s large couch. It seemed Taehyung had turned off the television as the room was dark. Beside me on the couch, leaning on the opposite sofa arm, was Taehyung, glasses clinging just barely to the tip of his nose as gravity urged them downward. He looked serene, a shaft of silver light catching in his hair, and gently I scooted closer to get a good look at him.

“Stupid,” I said, sighing as he wiggled slightly in his sleep. “If you’d just rely on people more, you’d be happier.” I stood upright and padded to the hallway, searching the cabinets for a few spare blankets.

Once I found them, I returned to the living room and found Taehyung’s glasses on the floor and his mouth hanging open. Chuckling, I draped the blanket over his shoulders and involuntarily he snuggled into it. I followed suit quickly, plopping onto the couch and resting properly this time, leaning my head against one of his plush pillows.

“Y/N?”

I groaned and swatted my hand at the voice dragging me from my dreams.

“You gotta get up and check your phone.”

“Mm,” I mumbled, flailing my hand once more. But by then, I’d been awoken. Grumpy, I pried my eyes open and saw the living room bathed in morning light and Taehyung standing above me with a smile and a piece of toast in his hand.

“You awake now?”

I nodded, rubbing my eyes, and pushed myself to my feet. “Yeah,” I said, grabbing the toast he offered me and popping it in my mouth. “Why’d you wake me up?”

He chuckled and pointed to my cell phone, which he’d politely plugged in to his own wall charger. “It’s been going off for, like, an hour.”

I sniffled and nodded. “Alright,” I said, crouching beside the outlet. Taehyung laughed lightly before turning on his heel and rifling through the fridge. He pulled out a few apples. “Hey, do you have oatmeal?”

“Oatmeal?” he asked with a scoff. “What, are you eighty?”

I rolled my eyes, unlocking my phone. “Oatmeal is an excellent source of fiber and in the colder months it helps…,” I began, but my sentence trailed into silence as I registered what was on my phone.

Six missed calls from Jungkook.

Ten texts.

Heart racing, I rushed to my messages and opened the app. Could there be an emergency? Had something happened at the HQ? Was my cover blown before I could even do any digging?

Coconut: hey, u got plans today?

Coconut: should probably get a jump on ur…’investigation’ ;)

Coconut: shit, probably shouldn’t say stuff like that when Jin could check my phone…

Coconut: just kidding. hehe.

Coconut: are you not awake yet? it’s almost eleven…

Coconut: Y/N…are you at Taehyung’s house? I just saw an article.

Coconut: If you’re seeing him, then just be honest with me. I don’t want to be strung along…

Coconut: Although you have every right to punish me after what I did to you…

Coconut: Fuck.

Coconut: Please respond…

I chewed on my lip and drafted a response, but Taehyung was quick to come back and check on me once he sensed the shift in my mood. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, crouching beside me and wrapping a warm arm around my shoulders.

I stiffened and pressed the phone to my chest. If I told him everything now, he’d only scold me and demand I stop. His eyes went round and he scanned me, surprised. “Yeah! It was my dad,” I said, shaking my head. “Ah, anyway, oatmeal?”

His expression softened and he laughed, ruffling my hair. “Don’t have it,” he said, standing to his feet and wandering back to the kitchen. “I’m not a grandpa.”

I glanced back down at my phone and typed as quickly as I could.

Y/N: HQ in an hour. Will explain then.

I rushed up to the building, still wearing the leisure clothes I’d worn to Taehyung’s house, heart racing. Why did I run when Jungkook called? Was I truly going to fall for this idiot all over again? As I approached the metal front doors, I glanced around and paused for a moment, staring at its massive brick facade. While I was here, I might as well case the joint since I didn’t have the chance last time. If I could find a way into that basement, perhaps I could find documents that implicated Seokjin. Of course, it would be difficult. I didn’t expect finding evidence to be simple.

But as I wandered down the alleyway in search of any alternate way in, I really didn’t expect things to be quite so hard. There was nothing on the left side of the building or around the back. No stairs leading down to the basement, no window to crawl into and sneak around. I’d have to find another way in, or perhaps find another means of gathering intel. I sighed as I rounded the corner, snuggled between two stout buildings, to the alleyway on the right side of the warehouse. But as my feet collided with the cracked concrete, I paused a moment and lingered behind a rusting dumpster, a voice carrying loudly through the narrow passage right to me.

“No…”

Someone was on the phone. I pressed my hands against the cool metal and pressed myself close, eager to hear more. Peering cautiously around the side of the dumpster, I saw a figure at the mouth of the alleyway, arms crossed, pacing back and forth. On the shorter side with a slim build, the figure’s body language screamed frustration. As they turned around, I quickly hid once more, clinging to the lip of the dumpster

“I’m not going to entertain this conversation any longer,” said the voice, terse.

And in an instant I recognized who was speaking. I inched up on my toes to check once more, just to be absolutely certain, and saw that indeed my hypothesis was correct. Min Yoongi stood just couple yards away from me, eyes on his sneakers, wandering in imperfect circles around the front of the skinny alleyway.

I stiffened and fell back down behind the dumpster, clinging to shadow. Who was he on the phone with? And why did he sound so irritated? I’d never heard him speak so stiffly before, but I’d also never heard him sound so firm.

If I was on the other end of that call, I’d be scared as hell.

He sighed. “Listen, you tell the CEO that if he wants to talk to me he can do it himself, got it?” he said, but even though it was framed as a question, I knew it was an order.

I swallowed hard and tried to still my pounding heart with a pat to my chest. What sort of business did a CEO have with a criminal hacker? The information was intriguing and tantalizing, and something in me told me to listen very, very closely to what he said next. I wished I’d had the wherewithal to grab my phone from my purse before rounding the corner so I could record it.

Huh. Well, that wasn’t such a bad idea to gather evidence on Seokjin, was it?

“Just because we’re working together doesn’t mean we have a relationship now,” said Yoongi with a scoff. “Tell your boss not to get ahead of himself.”

What a commanding presence. I felt myself grow smaller with each passing word, crouching down lower and lower.

“I’m hanging up,” said Yoongi with a sigh, but instead of walking out of the alleyway, he lingered, not moving a single foot. Was he perhaps bluffing? Seeing how far he could push this person on the other line? “Well, that’s not much of a bargain to me. What do I gain?” He was quiet for a moment before laughing, a sharp, dangerous, sarcastic sound. “Are you kidding me? I make more in three months than I would in a year with your company.”

Was Yoongi being recruited? I furrowed my brow and tried to listen closer.

“Whatever. I’ve got my own business to take care of,” he began, then chuckled. “And remember to tell him what I said, alright?” There was a cocky edge to his voice, but also a small measure of appeal. Like he really wanted this boss to know what he said.

I sighed, rubbing my chilly hands together and preparing to leave as the conversation seemed to have ended. I wiped my palms on my pants and stood upright, still concealed by the dumpster.

But as I turned to leave, I heard Yoongi say one final thing and the words stung my ears like a cold blast of autumn wind.

“And if you have business with me in the future, go through Bangtan, Younghoon.”

I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle my gasp and felt my eyes go wide as I crouched once more behind the dumpster. I shook my head and listened as Yoongi chuckled, fabric scuffed against itself, and footsteps sounded, growing more and more distant.

Younghoon…

That guy from Sanyo Industries…

Dazed, I entered the warehouse. Sitting at the same table Yoongi had dragged in front of me while I was kidnapped, Jimin sat playing cards with Hoseok. All around, sketchy characters milled about, mostly men, giving me eyes that I knew were up to no good. Feeling uncomfortable, I pulled out a chair beside Jimin and sat down quickly.

He jumped a little at my sudden entrance, but quickly broke into an ear-splitting smile. “Hey!” he exclaimed, pointing at me.

Hoseok wore a matching grin. “Whoa, you’re really back, huh?” he asked, chuckling. “You a glutton for suffering or what?”

I smiled a little, the shock of what I’d heard slowly fleeing my system, and adjusted Jimin’s dark bucket hat just slightly. “You two are the only good people here, I swear,” I mumbled as I fussed with his hat.

Jimin giggled and swatted my hands away. “Don’t baby me!” he said, lifting his head to scowl at me. “I’m a grown man.”

“And we’re not the only good ones,” added Hoseok as he touched his face-down pile of cards with the tip of his finger. “Jungkook’s here too.”

I sighed, resting my chin in my hand, and eyed their game. Hoseok seemed to have more cards than Jimin, and neither of them were reviewing their hands. “What’re you playing?” I asked.

“War,” said Jimin with a smirk. “Wanna moderate?”

I smiled. “I’ve only played once when I was in middle school,” I said with a shake of my head. “I’ll watch for a while though.”

Jimin shrugged and the two of them locked eyes. “One,” he began, grabbing the first card on his deck, “two,” he continued, neither breaking eye contact, “three!”

On three the two both threw down their cards. Jimin’s card: six of spades. Hoseok’s: ace of hearts. Hoseok laughed and collected both cards, placing them on the bottom of his pile, and laughed as Jimin gaped at him.

“Didn’t you just have another ace?!” he shouted, pointing at Hoseok with an accusing pointer finger.

“I’m just lucky,” said Hoseok with a smug grin.

Jimin scoffed. “You rigged it!”

“How do you rig war?”

“I dunno! But you did!”

I laughed as the two descended into bickering. Before I could settle into my seat, I felt something tall looming over me from behind, blocking out sunlight, and turned quickly to see Jungkook staring down at me with a pout on his lips and his arms crossed.

He said I had every right to punish him, and yet still reacted this way to being ignored for a few hours?

It would’ve been cute if we were actually dating…

“Hey,” I said with a soft smile.

He cocked a brow, disbelieving, and worked his jaw in circles. “Hey…that’s it?”

I chuckled. “Yep.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I know you’re still mad about everything, but-,”

My eyes went wide. He was about to say too much. If anyone here knew we were getting closer, they’d get suspicious and I wouldn’t be able to use him as a resource any longer. I stood upright and placed my hands on his shoulders, wheeling him around to the back of the warehouse, behind the partition where nobody went.

“Sorry guys! I’ll watch more next time!” I called over my shoulder at the boys with a wave.

Jimin returned it, albeit somewhat hesitantly, and Hoseok simply laughed.

Soon, Jungkook and I were alone, back in that cramped back space where I’d spent an evening tied up. I glanced at the patch of brick that I’d leaned against and scowled, remembering the strike that Seokjin had blown. Somehow, the blow to my pride was more painful. Served me right for expecting anybody not to be horrible.

I glanced up at Jungkook and found him staring right into my eyes, not once wavering. “I have an update,” I said, mindful to keep my voice near a whisper.

Jungkook’s expression didn’t change. “Mm,” was all he said.

I cleared my throat. “I can’t get into the basement alone to snoop around, so maybe I can get a recording instead.”

“Is that all our relationship is to you? A way to get revenge?” he asked, voice too loud.

I stiffened and placed my hand against his lips. I felt his hot skin beneath my fingertips and shook my head. “Don’t say that stuff so loud.”

He shook my hand off and furrowed his brow. “Look, I know I said I’d let you do what you want, but I’m starting to feel like a pawn here.”

I smirked. “Not a good feeling, huh?” I asked.

His brows raised and he opened his mouth to protest, but could only manage a sigh. Some of his anger left on his breath and he lifted his head with a softer expression. He pushed his hair from his forehead and averted his eyes.

“You’re right,” he said, then set his lips thin. “Sorry for getting out of line.”

I wrung my hands, suddenly overcome with guilt over such a sad face, and sighed. “It’s not, by the way,” I began, looking at the ground. “Our relationship isn’t just a way to get revenge.”

He was quiet, soft, and almost frightened, he reached out and took my hand, lacing our fingers. “I’m really sorry for getting so annoyed. I just…I dunno, I guess this is what I’m like when I like someone.”

I met his eyes. “Obnoxious?” I asked, raising my brows.

He flushed and glanced away. “Um…I meant jealous, but…”

I chuckled and smoothed my thumb against the top of his hand. “It’s fine,” I said, then sighed. “I mean, it’s not. Being jealous in a relationship isn’t healthy. But…I guess I was pretty jealous too when I saw you with that girl.”

He stiffened. “Wait, did you just imply that we’re in a relationship?”

I swallowed hard. “Oh, uh, no. When did I do that?” I asked, scratching my arm with a laugh. “Ah, anyway! I was at Taehyung’s, but it wasn’t anything like you’re thinking. He’s just having a hard time since he went public. He really valued his anonymity, so…”

Jungkook furrowed his brow, adopted a pensive look, and took my other hand. “You’re avoiding the question.”

I blinked up at him, unable to look away from the warmth of his deep brown eyes. Since when were they so tender? His eyes scanned my face, hopping around from feature to feature, and there was something hidden in his gaze that made me blush. Was he always so intense?

Had he always looked at me like I was a piece of art?

“Y/N, are we in a relationship right now?” he asked softly, lips plush and beckoning.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek and dropped my gaze to my shoes. “I mean, technically yes. You’re in some sort of relationship with every person you meet-,”

“Y/N…”

I sighed. “I…I don’t think I can give you that, Jungkook,” I said at last after some moments of silence. “The kind of relationship you want…I’m not sure I’m ready for that right now.”

“But later?” he asked.

My whole face was burning hot, the skin he touched with his fingers stinging like fire. I inhaled, but all I smelled was his sweet cologne. “L-Later…,” I said, voice weak, with a single nod.

He exhaled, almost like relief, and nodded his head. “Okay,” he said with a laugh. “I can work with later.”

I met his eyes again and found him staring right into mine, gentle and soft, gazing at me with nothing but admiration. “Are you sure? Don’t you want someone who can give you now?”

He smiled and shook his head, leaning down close to me. So close I could feel his breath tickling my cheek. “I want you.”

My whole body was alight with energy, my nerves jittering, my pulse racing, my heart beating like a jackhammer in my ears. “Ah…,” I breathed, and perhaps I thought that was a sentence but it wasn’t.

He leaned just a little bit closer. “Is…is this alright?” he asked, eyes still locked on mine as his fingers locked on the tops of my hands, a loose tether. I swallowed my uncertainty and nodded my head. “Okay,” he said softly.

He tipped his head just slightly, just enough to let our lips brush. It might have ended there, chaste, had I not inched up on my toes to keep him close. His lips were pillowy soft, moving slowly and without urgency, but carrying a hot passion that I recognized from that night at my dad’s house. Slowly, his arms snaked around my waist and mine around his neck. Our bodies were flush, and as he tilted his head to the side to deepen the kiss I let him, holding onto him just as tightly as he held onto me.

[araliyaintheskywithdiamonds]

Dust to Dust - A CrissColfer Fic

Summary: A World War Two AU. Chris goes to fight, and Darren waits for him. 

For the anon who asked for CC in a different decade. I think you wanted something along the lines of some happy hippy 70s fic, so I hope this is okay! I couldn’t help myself!

Word Count: 2431 AO3

*Title from Dust to Dust by The Civil Wars

(Also, set in England.)

January 3, 1940

Neither of them register at the recruitment offices. The boys who do it- the younger ones, at least- do it to impress a girl or to chase the thrill of war. Newly eighteen (some, younger, if they can get away with it), they queue up, eager to serve and earn the pride that comes with it.

Chris pretends he isn’t old enough. He could pass for seventeen, or even less, and the recruitment officers don’t call him out as he passes by the queues. Darren, however, doesn’t need to pretend. He isn’t fit to serve; a blow to the leg from a horse when he was younger shattered his knee cap so severely it was nearly unsalvageable. He walks with a limp, staggered enough to deter the officers.

Neither of them believe in the glory of war. Neither of them want to leave one another. Neither of them think, as telegram after telegram arrive from the front lines, that they want to be the recipient, falling to their knees before they even read the message; already knowing.

***

April 28, 1942

There is a call-up letter in their mailbox addressed, Christopher Paul Colfer. It is Darren who finds it. He wants to hide it, wants to throw it in the flames of the fireplace and watch it burn, letters shrivelling up and turning to incomprehensible dust.

In the end, he leaves it on the kitchen table. Chris has just turned 20 and Darren is kidding himself if he had thought they could ever escape the war.  

***

Chris looks painfully beautiful in the uniform, although he had laughed, and said that the khaki washed him out. Darren had kissed him, and told him otherwise.

He watches as the train leaves and feels like an idiot amongst the crying girlfriends and wives and mothers. He should be there with Chris. He should be protecting him.

Chris hadn’t told Darren that he was scared- not even that he was in the slightest bit apprehensive. But Darren had known better. He had known it in the way Chris’ hands had shaken as they smoothed Darren’s lapel (the most intimate they could be in the light of day, people swarming around them). He had known it in the way Chris’ fingers turned white on the windowsill as he waved goodbye.

He had known in the way, the night before, Chris had clung to him- helpless.

***

August 27 1942

To my dearest D,

                         Libya is so hot that I can hardly stand it. Isn’t it just my luck that I would be sent to the North African Desert? If the Germans don’t kill us, the heatstroke surely will. Not to mention the disease. And the food. And the scorpions.

I’m sorry, I’ve not been out here for even a month and I’m already boring you with my complaints. There’s not much else to talk about, you see. The desert is just that- desert. Sand and shrub as far as the eye can see, tanks (the bloody eyesores) scattered all over the place, and tents to ward off against the night wind and the occasional spray of bullets. Dive bombers if we’re particularly unlucky.

I know I’m scaring you with all of this talk. I’m sorry. I wish you didn’t have to worry about me so much, which I know you are.

I keep a photograph of you in my breast pocket. If the others ask, I tell them you’re my brother. I’m quite sure they don’t believe me, (what with my voice, and you looking about as much like me as one of the Indian soldiers), but no one really cares. In fact, I’d be surprised if they did- we’re constantly being lectured against ‘fraternising’, for fear of venereal diseases like gonorrhea and syphilis. No matter how hard they try, the lectures really aren’t doing much against the scores of infected men that keep cropping up.

There, I’ve got you laughing now. Or more likely, wincing.

I really hope you’re well, darling. I won’t torture you anymore with my complaining- you hear enough of that from me at home. Speaking of home, how are things at the farm? Has Charles come down to help you with this season’s crops? I hope he has- you work yourself too hard.

I must get going soon- we’re doing a practice advance today with the Australians. They’re all used to the heat- damn them.

Anyway, goodbye my love. Rest easy and give the dog a cuddle from me. I’ll approve him getting on the bed just this once if it means you’re not sleeping alone at night.

Always yours,

C

***

November 17 1942

My darling D,

                  We had a ghastly sandstorm last night. Thankfully we were all in our tents, but when we woke in the morning, everything was smothered by a layer of dust about three inches thick. I feel terrible for the poor soul who had to guide one of the American fighter planes that landed in the midst of it. I’m sure he must be still shaking the sand out of his ears.

I asked one of the officers about leave. Bad news, sweetheart. I have to serve for at least fifteen months, and even then, most of the time they give me would be spent on the trip there and back. They tell me it’s not worth it, but I would give everything for even an hour with you.

I miss you, D. With every fibre of my being. I don’t feel whole most of the time, and out there, I hardly feel anything at all. I hate it. I am told I am a skilled fighter, but to use that skill to murder? They are still humans, like you and I. They have parents and siblings and husbands and wives and lovers.

We were right. This is all for nothing.  

Yours, with a thousand kisses to make up for the ones I haven’t been able to give you,

C

***

March 22 1943

My beloved D,

                  You are my first thought as I wake, and my last thought as I fall asleep. You are my life in love, and war and death. The knowledge that you are safe, away from this hell, is keeping me sane.

I love you.

Your only,

C

***

May 29, 1943

There hasn’t been a letter in two months. This is the longest Darren has gone without the comfort of fine paper pages between his fingers, coming with them the knowledge that Chris is alive. Not safe, but alive.

At home, in a village which has more sheep than people, an overwhelming sense of helplessness overcomes him. Darren doesn’t have the distraction of the air raids, heart perpetually panicked, things packed and ready to flee. He doesn’t have the sirens and the fire engines and the gas masks hanging off wrists.

He can only sit there as time flows by, as slow and viscous as treacle. Cooper, their sheep dog, knows something is wrong. He props his head up on Darren’s knees, eyes imploring.

“He’s coming back,” Darren assures him. “He’s coming back.”

His voice wavers, and Cooper doesn’t look convinced. Darren feels as if he is going mad. Sleep escapes him, and he does his work on the farm in a trance. The quiet, rolling hills and the cream plaster walls, which had at first, been an escape for the two of them, now feels like a cage. He feels trapped- trapped by his own dead leg, trapped by the farm, trapped by the overwhelming inability to get to Chris.

***

News has come from the North African front that the axis powers have surrendered. Chris was fighting on that front. He should be home soon, if not already.

Darren avoids the telegraph boys, also known as the ‘angels of death’, like the plague. Instead of relief at the knowledge that Chris is no longer in danger, he feels an inexplicable sensation of apprehension. It grows like a tumor in the pit of Darren’s stomach, unfurling and infecting the rest of his body.

He sits at the kitchen table in a daze, staring at Chris’ letters. He counts every I love you like they’re the sherbet sweets that Chris likes so much, letting them melt on his tongue. They taste like kisses.

***

Charles, his brother, is here.

Darren thinks he’s going to go out to the fields, like he always does, in case there’s something that needs doing that Darren can’t. Instead, Charles comes to the table where he sits. In his hand is a letter.

“You got rid of the letterbox,” he says in greeting.

Immediately Darren is up. “What is that?” he asks, eyes drawn to the scrap of paper. His voice shakes minutely. “Chuck- God, please don’t tell me-”

“No! Jesus, Darren, it’s not that,” Charles says, quick to dispel the vague hysteria in Darren’s eyes. “Listen to me- it’s not that.”

Darren expects the tension in his chest to dissolve, but it doesn’t. “Then what? I knocked down the damned letterbox for a reason-”

“-Chris is coming home.”

“...what?”

“Chris is coming home,” Charles repeats carefully.

“Why- why are you saying it like that?”

***

May 31, 1943

The train heaves into the station, sounding as if it may collapse at any moment, wheels screeching to a halt. Darren thinks it sounds rather like a pig before slaughter. Chris had always let Darren take charge of tasks like that- he’d blanch at even the sight of the carcasses at the butcher’s.

The doors slide open, and passengers start to pour out, some of them uniformed. Darren notices, with building unease, that all of them are injured.

He stands there stock-still, as people around him greet their loved ones.

Then, a familiar figure climbs down the steps.

Chris is leaner than Darren remembers. His face is a little scruffier than usual, hair cut choppy, bruises lingering under his lower lashes. His uniform sits tighter around his right arm and right leg, and he walks with a slight, uncertain waver.

But then he looks up- looks right at Darren- and the world is a clear blue.

Suddenly, all Darren knows is the feeling of Chris in his arms; pulling him close, pressing his lips to the sliver of his exposed neck and drinking in the heady, familiar scent of Chris, Chris, Chris. Warm and real and alive.

He doesn’t realise he’s been repeating Chris’ name like a mantra until he hears, “Darren.” The words are soft, and just a little bit admonishing. “People can see us.”

Darren steps back, not letting go of Chris’ shoulders. “I love you,” he says.

Chris’ eyes soften. They are bright in his otherwise weary face. “I love you too.”

***

The spoon clinks against the china teacup rhymically. It is loud and musical in the quiet of their kitchen. Chris uses his left hand to stir the tea, the action unrefined and shaky. He is right-handed.

“Lover,” Darren says quietly. He’s sitting close to Chris, itching to be even closer, to make up for every touch they were deprived of. “What’s wrong?”

Chris doesn’t meet his eye, instead putting the spoon aside slowly. He watches the tea swirl like a whirlpool until it settles into a calm, flat plateau.

“I am so sorry,” he starts quietly, “that I couldn’t write. I’m sorry that I had to worry you. Not knowing where I was- or even whether or not I was alive- must have been torture.”

Darren reaches across the table to cover Chris’ trembling hand. “I never really let myself think about it,” he admits. “In a fit of insanity I even knocked down the letterbox.”

A smile quirks the corner of Chris’ lips. “I saw.”

He takes a breath, and pulls up his right hand, which had been sitting in his lap. “I was shot,” he says, and Darren’s stomach drops onto the kitchen floor. “In my right leg and my right arm. I was lucky- had my arm moved even an inch, the bullet would have gone right through my side and done a whole lot more damage.” The hand holding Darren’s squeezes. “My leg fared alright. I mean, I still can’t move it without wincing, but I’m told it will heal. My arm, not so much. The nerves are apparently so damaged that I most likely won’t be able to regain movement in my right hand.” He looks up at Darren, smiling a little. “It’s quite convenient, I think. I’m of no use if I can’t even do so much as pull a trigger.”

Darren laughs, shortly and wetly.

“I’m back, Dare,” Chris says softly. “They can’t take me out there again. I’m staying right here with you.” He pushes his chair back to make to get up, but Darren is there first, wrapping his arms around Chris’ neck. He clings on tightly, feeling the tears slip down his cheeks. Darren unwittingly slides to his knees, laying his head in Chris’ lap.

“Without you,” he whispers, “I was not whole either.”

Chris’ fingers come up to cradle Darren’s head. “My beloved,” he whispers.

***

April 28, 1949

Darren wakes to a scream. Chris is sitting up beside him, eyes unfocused, breathing in deep, rasping breaths. A thin sheen of sweat lingers over his skin, seeping down his chest and across his shoulders. Darren pushes himself upright immediately, laying a cool hand on the side of Chris’ face.

He turns Chris’ cheek towards him carefully, until the glassiness dissipates and his pupils come into focus. “Love,” Darren calls out softly. “Are you with me?”

Chris swallows, nodding shakily. “Yes.” He brings up his left hand to cover Darren’s. “I’m with you.”

Darren presses a kiss to Chris’ temple, drawing him into his arms. “Do you remember what it was?” he asks quietly.

Shell shock, coined after the Great War, for the men who still had a war raging inside their heads long after the fighting was over. War Neurosis, Battle Fatigue, Combat Stress- new names surfacing for the same, debilitating terror. They all meant the same thing.

“Flashes,” Chris whispers against Darren’s shoulder. “You were there. Your l-leg, it had been blown right off. I had to pick pieces of shrapnel out of your thigh.”

Darren feels vaguely sick. “I’m alright,” he says instead. “We’re both alright.”

After a while, Chris stops trembling. He pulls back, apologetic. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I’ve always told you to wake me, Chris.”

Chris smiles and presses a kiss to Darren’s lips. He smooths the crease between Darren’s eyebrows, albeit shakily. “I’m alright, lover.”

“We’re alright,” Darren repeats.

[sanderssidecanons]

Title: A deal

Words: 1906

Pairings: None

Warnings: Violence, gore, vomiting, if I missed anything please tell me

Additional Info: Insane! Sides

Logan was walking through the hallways, thinking about the previous days he experienced in the mind-palace. Everything was pure chaos, every single side was acting unusual, Virgil didn't come out of his room once, Logan even thought that the anxious trait already starved in there, yet another way of suicide that was completely new to the logical trait, guaranteed a way to die Virgil never chose, yet alone of the long way of waiting and suffering that goes along with it. 

Logan sighed, shaking his head slightly and looking around in the hallway before continuing his way, taking deep breaths as he tried to ground himself. He had to remember, to keep the conversation with Virgil in his memories. Virgil was right, it wasn't like him to be enslaved by insanity and yet here he was corrupted to the core with no way of saving him. He will never be pure again, he honestly didn't even know why Virgil came especially to him for help. 

Logan bit his lip, his fangs piercing his skin but causing no blood to flow as he thought about everything Virgil said, tilting his head in thought. The anxious trait was calmer than usual, he certainly wasn't afraid to confront the logical trait, even though Logan killed Virgil just as many times as Patton and Roman did. Maybe even more times, and still trusted the anxious trait him. Logan simply couldn't wrap his head around it, the whole situation being completely and utterly illogical to him. It just didn't make any sense for Virgil to come to HIM for any help, since he was the first side getting corrupted AND drank his essence on multiple occasions.

 Logan shook his head again, suddenly stopping as he heard a familiar voice speaking in a foreign language.

 „Guten Tag.“

 Logan narrowed his eyes, turning around and facing Deceit, hanging upside down from the ceiling while sitting on the ceiling like a frog. It would be impossible for the villainous trait to stay on the ceiling, but he could hold his position anyway, how nobody knew. Something was with his hands and feet, something the other sides didn't have. Logan clicked with his tongue, smirking slightly as he answered: „Your german won't cause any mercy to bloom inside of me. Points for effort though.“ Deceit grinned, showing his viper-teeth, while he tilted his head so far it was no longer upside-down but the way a head usually was when you were not hanging from the ceiling.

 „Come on. Thhhrow me a bone here. I didn't do anythhing wrong.“ Logan rolled slightly with his eyes as he countered: „That's a lie.“ Logan didn't bat an eye, even as all of the dozen eyes from Deceit were glaring directly at him, white pupils almost shining from the poison Deceit wanted to throw at him, while the villainous trait himself still maintained his smile. „Anyway, assss I wasss sssaying. I have a little deal for you... And I won't be very happy if you wouldn't acccept it.“ Logan scrunched his eyebrows together, continuing to glare at Deceit, even though the logical trait was never exactly sure at which eye to glare.

 „What do you want?!“ Snarled Logan, sparks almost shooting out of his glasses. He was certainly not happy with the villainous trait, but his wrath would only be higher if he knew that he eavesdropped on Logan and Virgil talking to each other in the logical trait's laboratory. „I sssuggest you to ssstay away from Virgil for thhhe time being. You are cooperating withhh ssssome rathhher... unwanted busssssinesss.“ Logan bared his teeth as he contered: „I don't remember making my business your responsibility Deceit. And now shut your lying mouth and crawl away, I won't talk to you anymore.“

 This was certainly not what Deceit wanted to hear as Logan froze at the next words: „You got tenssssecondsss.“ The villainous trait began countin slowly, leaving Virgil enough time to run a little distance, plan's already forming in his head but unable to start any of those as Logan suddenly heard: „FIVE, I LIED!“ Followed by maniac laughter looked Logan back, surprised to see Deceit crawling on the ceiling in an insane speed, jumping from said ceiling and landing boots first on Logan's back, pinning him on the ground, but the logical trait was having none of that as he turned on the floor, leaving Deceat pinned down. Logan reeled back and punched the villainous trait right under the eye, Deceit hissing in pain as he snarled:

 „Watch for thhhhe eye you hooligan!“ Deceit opened his mouth as far as a snake, revealing sharp little fangs and Logan could only scream as the villainous trait practically broke his back to bite into Logan's shoulder, the logical trait completely forgetting that pinning Deceit down was almost useless. Deceit took advantage of Logan's stunned shock as he turned yet again to pin the logical trait on the ground, only for Logan to ram his knee into the abdomen of Deceit, who groaned in pain, giving Logan enough time to kick him in the face and sending him flying back a few feet, the villainous trait landing painfully on his back, knocking the air out of him.

 Logan snarled, his insane powers finally paying off as he dashed towards Deceit, made a high jump and landed with his feet on Deceits chest, a loud cracking audible next to the loud scream of the villainous trait, who howled in pain, trying to wriggle away, but the feeling of being trapped under Logan's shoe settling in. Logan screeched in a too high tone for a normal human being as he used his claws to slash at Deceit, the villainous trait screaming even louder as Logan slashed through multiple eyes on his face, including his original right eye. All of them were leaking black liquid that wasn't insanity, the gash on his face too big and to painful for him to open his eyes That was it. This took the cake. 

Attacking Deceit was one thing, but rendering his eyes useless was just too much! He was almost eighty percent eyes, he needed every single one of them. Deceit growled and screeched in anger, two new arms pushing Logan away who huffed in surprise, quickly landing on his feet to see what just stopped him from killing the villainous trait. He couldn't believe what he saw. Deceit used his insanity to grew two more arms, the new limbs leaking with insanity, clearly not meant to stay for long. 

Logan wanted to start another attack, but the villainous trait sprinted towards him, ramming all of his four fists in Logan's face, his nose cracking under the pressure and blood flowing down like a waterfall, the logical trait howling in pain as he was flying backwards. He tried to slow his fall with clawing on the walls, but he was too fast and flew down the stairs, crashing into the wall right next to the door, eyes drooping and unconsciousness spreading in his body, black slowly spreading in his eyesight. Logan smirked slighty, spitting some blood and insanity on the ground, smirking slightly as he saw Deceit crawling down the stairs, being significantly slower than usual, clearly in pain. 

He waited until Deceit was standing right in front of him, before he talked: „You won that one... but one wrong look towards Virgil and you're dead meat.“ Deceit smiled widely, his unhurt eyes widening as he answered: „It'sssss a deal.“ Logan closed his eyes after that, finally going to sleep after a long time of torturing his mind for so long. He lost, but he certainly won't leave it like that.

Virgil was glad he took that little trip inside of the library where all of Thomas' memories were stored, the peace and quiet and happy memories certainly soothing the anxious trait in a way he didn't experience in a long time. He especially watched the early childhood days of Thomas, where everyone was just a little worm living their merry life and the most recent memories before the corruption, where they made all of this videos together, the anxious trait tearing up once again just at the mere thought crossing his mind. 

He sniffled slighty, wiping his eyes and smiling at all the happy memories. If his plan worked, it could maybe return to the old days, it would be the same and Insanity would be nothing but a nightmare, just a bad memorie they tried to forget. Oh, if it was that easy. Virgil opened his door, surprised as he found it unlocked, remembering clearly that he did in fact lock the door. His door was locked all the time, so Patton wouldn't come in to drag him to some of the murderous games he didn't want to play. He peeked suspiciously inside, spotting a big chest on his purple rug, raising an eyebrow at the sight.

 The anxious trait didn't know how long this chest was standing there, but it was certainly for at least a few days, considering that Virgil took a few snacks and spent days int he library, just hiding and remembering everything. He read the little note attached to the chest and frowned deeply as he read the scribbly handwriting.  'A gift from me to you -Deceit“ Virgil was afraid to open it, not sure if he really should, but curiosity winning the best of him. He grabbed it and slowly opened the chest, the smell almost knocking all the air out of him as Virgil coughed, overwhelmed by the strong scent radiating from inside the chest.

 Virgil peeked inside, heart stopping at the sight he saw. It was Logan, well, what remained of Logan. He was stuffed in this chest, being that it was much too small for him, and left there for at least a few days until he suffocated in the locked chest. His face was blue due to the lack of oxygen, his mouth opened but dried out, his flesh already rotting, cockroaches crawling inside and out of his body,digging through organs and skin.

 They already chewed all the skin off of his left arm, the bone clearly visible next to the purple and blue flesh. Some flies through towards Virgil, who quickly swatted them away, eyes tearing up, not out of melancholy but of pure grief, suddenly realizing what he did with spending days in the library without returning. Logan had to be in his room for days. Maybe Virgil could have saved him. A cockroach was crawling out of Logan's mouth and Virgil slammed a hand on his mouth, the feeling in his stomach too much as he threw up right next to the chest, everything spinning and robbing every little sense inside of him.

 „I'm sorry, Logan. I'm so sorry.“ whimpered Virgil as he closed the chest, crying for a few hours over Logan's rotting body, not care if he will return, but out of simple shock for losing him like that. And one of the worst parts was, that he didn't knew if Logan would come back like he was, or already corrupted to the core. If it was the second possibility, he would have to get him back once again. But he would do it. For Logan. „I'm so sorry Logan...“  

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

nordes, axIs, allIes + prussaI, canananda, sapIn, roma- as craetures??s?

This will require a lot of research~ Let’s crack open some old tomes, light a candle, and conspire, shall we?

Allies:

America- Mimic. 

A creature able to change its shape to disguise its body as an inanimate object or another being. The concept was first introduced in Dungeons and Dragons in the 1970s, and it appealed to me for Al as America has a habit- the country as well as the character, of borrowing bits and pieces of other nations, and almost presenting as them on many an occasion. Similar to the doppelganger, but I don’t foresee Al trying to actually consume his targets, merely... Mimic them.

Canada- Ol’ Yellow Top.

Old Yellow Top is an alleged cryptid from Ontario, Canada. Allegedly, there have been sightings of this guy since 1906. Some have claimed that it could be a Sasquatch, apart from the distinctly golden mane on its head and the lightness of fur. I immediately thought of Mattie in this case- Just trying to live in the woods, mind his own business, get mistaken as a local cryptid. All in a day’s work, really.

China- Bai Zé.

An alleged mystical beast of Chinese legend. According to lore, the Bai Zé was encountered by the Yellow Emperor during a patrol. The Bai Ze gifted the Emperor with information on all 11,520 types of supernatural creatures in the world, and how to overcome their hauntings and attacks. The emperor had this information written down in a book called the Bái Zé Tú. Just thinking back to how many stories Yao's passed down to his younger siblings and the advice he has for the other nations- I felt this fit him very well.

England- Feyling.

A child born of both Fey and Human blood. Much like a Half-Fey, they have excellent charisma, and with practice and patience, eventually can successfully cast spells and incantations to overwhelm others, become seemingly invisible, and slip away from the law. These creatures are born with the ethereal beauty of the Fair Folk, but unfortunately, it also makes them a little aloof. And of course, I thought of England. It would make sense as to why he can see the Fey, and his strong connections to earth-based magicke.

France- Enfant de Melusine.

The legend of Melusine is reminiscent of a fairy bride. Melusine, vaguely similar to mermaids, had the lower half of a serpent, and the upper half of a human woman, though by some accounts, this metamorphisis only occurred once per week, some accounts by once per month. She was taken as a bride by a king, and gave birth to two sons. The legend gets further distorted- some claim that she was unable to stand the holy words of a Sunday sermon, others claim that her husband discovered her true nature- But the endgame was the same. She completed her transformation into a dragon, and fled. It is rumored that all French royals were descendents of her two sons, and that one can hear her crying for her children outside the castles to date. I feel France is definitely one of those lost, wandering children. It's in his tenancity, his resilience, and beneath his majestic beauty is a ferocity that nothing has been able to break.

Russia- Domovik.

Similar to the Brownie in Scottish folklore, the domovik is believed to protect the home from tragedy and disaster, including theives, disease, natural disasters, and evil spirits. Although he never attacks people, it has also earned the spite that falls to the common poltergeist. Rumour has it that he lives near the hearth, or perhaps behind the stove, so long as he is warm. I felt this fit Ivan; he is so desperate to help others, and he has a kind of quiet protectiveness.

Axis:

Germany- Kobold.

Kobolds are industrious small humanoid creatures, noted for their skill at building traps and preparing ambushes. As for what Ludvig may be trying to trap is anyone's guess, but combining his ingenuity with his skills in engineering and strategy, it fits him. They are also resilient as a concept, as throughout even modern history, German mythologists like Jakob Grimm (yes, from the Brothers Grimm) made many arguments that the story of the kobold dates all the way back to Rome, perhaps even before. The Church continued to tolerate the creature, and it was one of the small pieces of Germanic culture that hasn't been diluted throughout the ages. And that, to me, seems very much like something Ludvig would appreciate.

Japan- Kitsune.

Stories depict them as intelligent beings and as possessing magical abilities that increase with their age and wisdom. Some folktales speak of kitsune shape-shifting to trick others — as foxes in folklore often do — other stories portray them as guardians, friends, and lovers. Kiku downplays it frequently, but he is a devious little bastard, and it makes him all that better for keeping an eye out for his friends. And with all that age and wisdom he's obtained, I feel he's met all of the qualifications of the Kitsune.

Prussia- Vampyre.

Rather than provide a whole description of the lore on vampyres and all that wonderful blood-sucking stuff, I'm going to cut it short and give a few ideas why Gil would make a good vampyre. An isolationist longing for the simplicty of his earlier lives, relying on the energies of others to keep him young. Prussia needs to have exposure to that youthful energy, to new ideas, and soak it all up. Otherwise, he'll fade away into nothing but dust.

Romano- Werewolf.

I kind of dabbled on this before in one of my asks on Lovino headcanons, and it's a running theory I've been exploring for a while. In the supposed story of the founding of Rome, brothers Romulus and Remus were raised by wolves. Now, I had the thought of if they hadn't just been raised by wolves, but were, in fact, wolves traversing as human. And from there a long internal journey began of if Rome and eventually Romano were also part of that lineage. So anyway- Lovino is very territorial, devoted to his family, and has a deeper connection to the ancient roots than most people would think of him.

Spain- Ventolin.

NOT to be mistaken for albuterol! Ventolins are actually small wind sprites with majestic green wings. Legends depict that they will fly inland from the sea, bringing with them gentle rains and mists. They also help babies fall asleep with quiet, soft whispers, and bring with them the last goodbyes of those who died far from their homes. Spain in particular comes to mind, with his more peaceful nature, especially when it comes to children. Also, the thought of that man gently knocking on the front door with the last whispers of a loved one- It's a very soothing image to me. But mostly the sweet whisperings to quell the nightmares of a baby really stood out to me. It's Tonio; of course he's going to help out the little ones.

Veneziano- Merman.

If there's one thing I picked up while I was lost in the maze of a city that is Venice, it's that the city itself half belongs to the creatures below the waters, not just those of us above it. With deep canals filled with algaes and seaweed and centuries of mystery, it's all too easy to imagine that beautiful bastard's caramel eyes as he slowly swims nearer to the surface, charming young lads and lassies away from the dusty walkways, down the crumbling steps, and into the depths. He's got the charm, the mystery, the alluring smile and bright eyes that could make you want to sign your life away. Plus I mean- At this point, the poor boy probably actually is at least part fish.

Nordics:

Denmark- Draugr.

The Draugr are undead beings, but the rest of the lore gets very debateable. Some say that they guard their treasures in burial mounds. Others claim they haunt the oceans, and if seen are a harbringer of doom for any soul upon the waves. And yet another legend I encountered told of undead Viking armies, raised by necromancy, consuming all flesh in their wake, devouring every- Basically zombies, people. I feel like Mati would be a prime example of a ghost (or zombie) who is still around to fufill their purpose. His devotion to protect his family of Northern rapscallions has kind of become his only real dream now, and I believe it is so strong an emotion that it could essentially keep his spirit tied to the earth, with essentially the same skills he had before. Just- A lot more dead jokes. You thought the dad jokes were bad? Oh buddy-

Finland- Nisse.

Small creatures from Scandinavian folklore, Nisse live in houses and barns, secretly guarding the farmstead. If treated well, they protect the family and animals from evil, and sometimes even help with chores and farm work. In ancient times, it was believed the nisse were the first farmers. It wasn't until later in my research that I discovered that the Nisse are most commonly associated with the winter solstice, and can be seen in a lot of holiday decor; they look like little elves with white beards and either green or red clothing resembling the 17th century. Tino with his nurturing spirit, I feel, is perfect as a representative of these little guys.

Iceland- Fossegrimen.

The fossegrimen is a fiddle-playing water spirit who never wants to leave his waterfall. In lore, many travellers would stop and ask him for help in learning how to better their skill at the fiddle, and he would often gladly be of help. The cost was often just a nice meal with a good portion of meat. If travellers didn't meet the expectations, the fossegrimen would only teach their student how to tune the fiddle, but not how to play it. I thought of Emil immediately for the determined isolationism, the love of good music, and the easy going attitude of still offering help, even if the exchange wasn't quite what he expected.

Norway- Mage.

As much as I would love to explore a potential troll!Norway route, the reality that he is probably a well-rehearsed and extremely gifted magicke-user just refuses to leave me alone. Mages, unlike wizards, are not as timid about their abilities. He is absolutely out there wandering ruins and exploring foreign cities. He may be traveling alone, but he is learning plenty. I feel like at some point, Lukas probably also looked into necromancy, but that's a theory to explore when I'm a little less sleepy.

Sweden- Landvættir.

The Landvættir are land guardians, most specifically centered around farms or wild grounds. When approaching Vikings neared land, they allegedly removed the carved dragon heads from the bows of their ships, to avoid the risk of provoking the Landvættir and bringing bad luck. There wasn't very much lore on them that I could find, but from the little I did, I feel Berwald is exactly the kind of stoic guardian one must pass by quietly to safely explore a new world.

These were a lot of fun, Anon! I may do more research later into some of these concepts (may even try to find some pictures~), but for now it is late, and I thank you for the Halloween ask!

Merry Samhain!

Blessed be.

[monstrous-beauty]

Monstrous Beauty Text Posts

Jake: What (and i cannot stress this enough) the fuck/ sure. blame the guy who's a huge idiot who causes a lot problems, again/ Me in jail: so are you guys familiar with the cell block tango/ Apparently "the vibes are off" isn't a just excuse to leave work early/ what, from the bottom of my heart, the fuck/ what doesn't kill doesn't kill you/ yesterday at target the cashier said "your receipt is the bag* and I responded with "you too" so I've been dealing with that for the past 18 hours but I'm slowly coming to terms with it which is cool/ *enters my own password* i'm in/ due to personal reasons I will be cheating death/ *gets down on one knee* *gets down on the other* *doesn't get up ever*/ Not to be dramatic but if I don't get my life together I will die/ I have pure intentions, bitch! you can't kill me/ cop: can you describe the guy who stabbed you me: yeah he was not very friendly

Storm: Which is messier my life or my hair/ "I am unknowable" I say as I overshare my biggest childhood trauma's in the first conversation with someone/ I love laying the FUCK down and sleeping/ me: [vibrating slightly because I had too much caffeine] everything in the world is my fault/ my only goal in life is to destroy the space-time continuum/ i am a huge fan of space, both outer and personal/ Yeah sex is great but have you looked at common English words and then followed their systematic time changes back through Old English and Proto-Germanic all to the way to their Proto-Indo-European roots, whispered one of those roots out loud, and been overwhelmed by a sense of Lovecraftian insignificance as it dawns on you that you just reached back across scores of centuries and spoke a word older than civilization itself?/ but i don't have a hyperfixation i'll die

Adrienne: im so tired of this life. i want to be a roomba. i want knives taped to me. i want to be set loose./ are my prophetic visions a joke to you/ There has been a lady inside my head screaming for the past 10 years and u think taking a bath and doing yoga will stop her? U are wrong. She is a very mad lady and she will not be silenced/ Cranky because you haven't had any prophetic dreams to aid you on your quest aren't you/ i wish it was 1600 so i cood spelle words howe everr my harte destyred/ me: *hangs out with little kids and tries to teach them self love and feminist ideas*/ Pros and cons of wearing all black pros: hot as hell cons: hot as hell/ If someone points at your black clothes and asks you who's funeral it is, a look around the room and casual "haven't decided yet" is a good response

Solais: mentally i'm at least 5"11. physically? don't worry about it/ don't call yourself edgy unless you talk to dead people and have daddy issues/ im a simple gal. people raise their voices at me, i cry for an hour/ once i figure out how to hold a conversation it's frienship for you bitches/ me: *is tiny* me: (;'._.');/ no homo bro *thinks about you* thinks about you* *thinks about you* *thinks about you* *thinks about you* *thinks about you* *thinks about you*/ Listen man I'm just trying to wear soft sweaters and read my books and love myself/ i was put on this earth to eat bagels and be gay/ actually Ratatouille is the dish's name, you're thinking of Ratatouille's monster. im what the kids call

attention seeking/ me gay? why yes thank you for noticing/ on all levels except physical, i am a little heart shaped candy that says "i'm all yours!"/ nothing is awkward or cheesy if you don't give a fuck. i'm on this earth to have a good time. not to be cool./ i aspire to be one of those people who is known for always smelling good and treating people kindly/ big heart energy/ me @ you: >> this is my protecting women and girls knife/ doing violence tonight so watch out if you're weak to attacks/ why did my last two braincells have to be a sad one and a stupid one/ goes to the kitchen holds a knife in my hand for a while. puts it back. goes back to my room

Mal: these hands rated e for everyone/ forgive me father for I have sinned in all the coolest and most glamorous ways possible/ "I expected better from you" well that was your fault lmao i got nothing to do with that/ im beautiful im delicious i literally cannot die i want 200 dollars/ friendly reminder that i literally cannot die, and id love to see any of you fuckers try to take me down/ Slutty in theory but not in practice/ I just wannna be vaguely unsettling, not even scary or creepy, I just want people to look at me and feel like there's something A Little Bit Wrong but they don't know what when they tell the story of the slighty cryptid being to their friends later/ Hmmm gay rights but only for me i think? The rest of you are on your own/ i say i'm gay a lot for someone who is technically bisexual/ occupation: the family disappointment/ [steps on my emotions and grinds them under my heel] anyways/ i am evil and not straight/ me: breathes parents: I AM SICK AND TIRED OF YOUR ATTITUDE/ you ever listen to your dad talk and be like "why are you like this?"/ dont you hate when you wake up and you're awake/ oh god...oh fuck...*yearns*/ Due to personal reasons I'll be going feral/ Quitting school to become a plant who wants to join me we can make a forest/ Anyways! *climbs out of the scattered and ruined debris of my feelings*/ so what if i love you. shut up/ i ask myself 48 times a day "am I being dramatic? Is this #toomuch?" the answer is always yes of course/ *lawyer voice* eat a dick, your honor/ I may seem like an asshole but deep down I'm good person and even deeper down I'm a bigger asshole/ in my defense, i was left unattended

[smcadam]

Changeling 1.

Blinding light glittered off the waves of the great blue sea, stinging the eyes of Morgan Fells even through her thick sunglasses. The heat gathered in the car, boiling leather roasting its three occupants. Somehow Jen withstood it in the passenger seat; her skin simply tanned without suffering or sweating. Kyle on the other hand was burnt and flustered, surviving only by regularly opening all the windows so that the vehicle shuddered with roaring cool wind.

Morgan shook her head, feeling black locks ripple in the wind as they slid open once more, then leaned over to begin cranking one closed with tired arms. “Can’t you just open yours next time Kyle?”

“Nah, doing all of them gives better circulation! Bear with me!” Kyle’s tangled red beard grinned at her through the rear-view mirror.    

 Jen’s blonde head reached across to mutter something into his ear, words lost in the wind before she began closing her own window.

 “Yeah ��but it’s deafening whatever you do! Better do all four get it over with quickly, eh?” He kept one hand on the wheel and placed the other on four buttons. Immediately the motors buzzed again and the windows opened fully once more, eliciting a cry of despair from Jen.  “My car, my rules.”

 “Your rental,” Morgan conceded and fell back into the middle seat, blowing black bangs out of her face, “But yeah, your rules.”  

 “Don’t side with him Morgan! Keep closing them- he needs two hands to drive,” Jen scolded.  

 “Easy for you to say, you’ve got a button- these are hand cranks!”  She yelled back, leaning back to breathe. It was enough to extricate her from their contest, but Jens window continued to rise and fall for the next ten minutes as the green Spanish countryside whizzed by outside. The wind did serve to cool Morgan’s olive skin and she could close her eyes against the bright light providing her some pleasant rest only interrupted by her phone buzzing.

 “Hey, close them please, I’ve got to take this!” Morgan called, answering the call as the winds roar became a whimper.  

 “CONGRATULATIONS!” Two female voices screamed into her ear.  

 “What? Mum? Rose? What happened?”  

 “I’m sorry, she got to them firs-“ her younger sisters voice was quick and hyper.  

 “We weren’t going to leave them for two weeks before you came back sweetie,” her mother’s voice.  

 Morgan blinked and pulled at her sunglasses, suddenly nervous, “My results came? And you opened them?”  

 “Results? What, you pregnant?” Kyle teased from the driver’s seat, only to be shushed by Jen.  

 “Yes, I’ve got them here- sit down Roslyn- do you need something to write these down? No, I’ll repeat them if need be. First of all, drumroll please, English got a B! Human Biology was a B! Psychology got a C!” As her mother spoke, excited whoops and claps came from Roslyn as if to add atmosphere.

 Morgan smiled and nodded, “And German?”  

 “What do you think?”  

 “Umm… another C? You’re playing with me.”  

 “No, young lady. That was a fail. To no one’s great surprise.”    

 Morgan flinched. That badly? It had admittedly fallen behind her other subjects, her brother Dio had been back in London so there was no one to practice with, but an all-out failure? Casting her mind back, that exam hadn’t filled her with confidence, it was right after Psychology and she had fumbled over her words. Essays counted too though- had her work over the school year been that poor?  

 “I need it least anyway. Probably why I came to Spain- wait, Mum, have you been opening my other mail?” Morgan snapped, “Rose! Has she been opening my letters?”  

 “What letters? Bank statements? No, she’s been counting off the days for the SQA results to come. It’s on the calendar and everything”  

 “Don’t be down Morgan, congratulations- that’s everything you needed, right? You can apply to nursing like you wanted!”  

 “Yeah…yes, those meet the requirements,” She nodded, “Thanks, I’m glad I’m not worrying about this tomorrow.”  

 “Ooooh yeah, send us a picture when you’re on the ground. How are you feeling? Scaaaared?” Rose teased, pulling the phone from their mum.

 “N-no, I’m pumped. I’ll be basically flying! And I’ll phone straight afterwards, don’t worry Mum or Dad, they’ve only had two faulty parachutes this year.”  

 “I won’t tell them that. Congrats again Morgy! Thanks for leaving some space so I can beat your results in a couple of years.”    

 “Yeah right, Rosy, don’t tempt me to sabotage you.” She sobered, “What about Dad? How is he?”  

 “He’s fine, says it’s great to only have his favourite daughter around the house. Out working a lot, the office has a new client. Oh I gotta run though, take care, say hi to Jennifer for me!”  

 “Alright, seeya sis, bye Mum,” Morgan smiled as the other end went quiet, though a small pit filled her stomach.  

 One failure. It was just German, it didn’t matter, she had been expecting this holiday with Jen and Lyn and Emma to take them to Germany when she was choosing subjects and those plans had been scrapped around the New Year. Barcelona and her tenuous hold of the Spanish language awaited her. Nursing in Edinburgh wouldn’t need German. Right?

 Jen and Kyle were quick to offer congratulations when she shared the news with them, half yelling when the windows once more opened wide and their previous argument resumed. Morgan stayed out of it, it was indeed Kyle’s car to rent or crash if the worst came of it, and her head was still swimming with her grades- the final merits of thirteen years of schooling. There was nothing left to gain from school now, that last tenuous link since finishing sixth form was gone, leaving her free. Free to pursue nursing, or subjects beyond that. Free to enjoy the holiday without worry about grades. Free to start her next chapter.  

 Somehow the freedom left the car ride across the Spanish coast sombre, while the sun dipped down to dye the sea a molten gold. Clouds were adding great black blotches, gaps in the overwhelming brightness that Morgan relished as evening came, the tension of the air yearning for a stormy release. The night suited her better and she used the chance to speak more with the couple, aware that they were about to part; she would head west to Barcelona from here, while they went north east back up into France.

 Grass and fields faded to the urban structures of a port town, all bright pastel houses and white washed walls with seats outside guarded by umbrellas. Numerous arching canals broke up the streets to render the town almost maze-like and busy with traffic, so it was almost entirely dark by the time Kyle located her hotel, the Sirena.  

 “Well, Morg, it has been a pleasure to have an honest girl who actually listens to rules but you can stop being a third wheel now. Out we go!” The ginger man grinned as he emerged and pulled her small purple suitcase from the boot.  

 “Tch, thanks for having me Kyle, this was so much better than being the train!” She gave him a quick hug before hurrying to the passenger seat to embrace Jennifer, “Enjoy Carcassonne.”  

 “It’s the car there I’m worried about,” the tan woman muttered back, pulling her in tighter with a conspiratorial grin, “I think he might be going to pop the question.”  

 “Oh… really? Wow…If he does, say no and see how he reacts,” Morgan whispered back.  

 “I can’t do that it’d break his wee heart. Anyway shoosh and be careful tomorrow, no trying to fly without a parachute!” She released her softly, “And be careful on the train- you remember where the station is?”  

 “Yes yes, but I’ll see if I can land in Barcelona and skip that bit out,” Morgan tugged the handle from her suitcase and checked her bags pockets quickly before nodding and waving as the little red car drove off. Then she turned and pulled her suitcase into the tall cream coloured hotel.

 *********  

 Orange streetlights glimmered and reflected off the harbours waves as she hurried through the streets. Alleys crammed with staircases connected the tiered roads to one another, and all was a hustle and bustle on a hot summer evening. Loud crowds cheered for football from sports bars, families eating out nattered together, and a couple of jetskis roared across the otherwise quiet seaside.  

 She didn’t like it one bit. This tension filled the air, hot stuffiness in the night replacing the beautiful bright day. People looked more at a young woman in the dark than in the day and while she could deal with any trouble, it would waste time and energy. The girl pulled her curly black hair back under her summer hat, adjusted her rucksack and hurried up an alleyway where a gang of teenagers were practicing skateboarding on the stairs.  

 A clatter and a shout of concern came behind her, and she chuckled as she arrived outside a tall cream coloured building with high pillars leading into its atrium. Cars and taxis buzzed around outside while some two dozen holiday-goers ate and drank in a restaurant on the left side, all shades and sunburned skin. Too many to try sensing here. A narrow street off to the side caught her attention and she hurried down it instead, ducking around a pair of dumpsters to find a clear patch amidst graffiti on the wall.  

 There she glanced around a hunkered down, pulling a small lavender chalk from her pocket. With no one in sight she began to sketch, steady fingers drawing a precise circular glyph across the uneven brickwork, then adding characters and lines off of it. Once complete she inspected it, double checking for any error, and placed a hand on the rune as she focussed her Power.  

 The sensor spell wasn’t strong, it turned dark purple and began to fall apart in an instant, but that was all the better and just what she needed. She felt insight flood into her, a rough sense of the building- four storeys tall with some sixty inhabitants- and the scent of her prey. Within the building, over towards the eastern side and significantly higher. The second floor above the restaurant.  

 “Perfect. Finally everything draws together,” She murmured. It was so close. All these months of tracking, and watching and stalking- even just this evening of scouring the town’s hotels and hostels for its trace, and here it was. She fell back into a sitting position, fighting to calm the excitement within. It wasn’t over yet. It was good, but things had to be perfect for her to strike. Was it alone? Or would the other two be with it? How could she get close enough?  

 Curls flew around her head like thunderclouds as the woman shook her head. There were some things she needed no magic to do, and checking for a red car required nothing more than her eyes. Even so, it paid to be cautious, and so she switched to a long heavy scarf and coat with pointless glasses before leaving the alley. If she was recognized from anywhere before, the prey would notice and things would be far more difficult.  

 She searched four streets and two car parks for the vehicle. A few matched, the same kind of red Honda, but none had the same number plate and she doubted they had switched it. But what if they had? What if they knew and had prepared a trap with it? What if her own pursuers had anticipated her destination and made to cut her off?  

 No. There was just one her sensor spell had detected. Third floor, left hand side of the building. Steady spits of rain began to fall by the time she returned to the Sirena hotel, letting her fringe hang and obscure her features. She likely had to book a room, or pass off a story that she was already booked in as a daughter, sister or friend of someone else, but either might cause problems on departure in both the best and worst case scen-  

 It was here.  

 Her heart clenched and she suddenly veered right across the foyer, eyes watching the reflection of the restaurant in the windows. Her target sat on the end of the bar, black haired and wearing a pink jumper now against the cooling night. Its skin was tanned a little from the sun, fingers picking through the fries as it watched some newsflash over the TV.  

 She slid into a seat and pulled out her stolen phone, pretending to browse as she watched the reflection, mind racing. It was right there! So it wasn’t in the room. Therefore the room would be empty. But what if it hadn’t booked a room? There were plenty of fries left; surely she would have time to search? Unless it gave up on them. She knew a rough location, but not precisely which room, and asking would make things difficult later. Should she try to steal the key? No, that would be more attention too and involve innocents in this.

 She blinked, releasing a breath she hadn’t realize she was holding and stretching her fingers from their white knuckle grip. Information. She needed information. That was what it all came down to. Why hadn’t she packed a wig? It would be perfect for making a disguise.

 No one stopped her from making her way upstairs- as it turned out, all the rooms had key-card slots built into the handles to provide security, and several cleaners passed her without concern. The second floor held five rooms that could be the area her sensor spell picked up, but two were doubles and one was taken, leaving Eighteen and Sixteen as her options.  

 Number Eighteen was more likely. It was in the corner of the building, probably giving it two windows instead of one. She knelt down outside it and almost slid a marked envelope under the door before stopping herself. Certainty was essential. She had maybe one chance or the target would know she was hunting it.  

 “You alright?”  

 She skittered back and almost slammed into a table as a pair of feet entered her view and she tracked them upwards.  

 “Uh, are you alright? Didja get locked out?” It asked, confusion dancing in the green eyes at the sight of the marked envelope.  

 “Yes- oh, yes, thank goodness, you speak English too! I think my card fell out on the other side of the door and so I’d rather try to fish it out myself before going down and trying to charade things through,” She rambled and stood up, fighting to force her fear away. It was right there, guised as a human girl, her match in height now that she was here. Close enough to reach out and touch. Closer than she’d even been.  

 Her hand fished for the black crystal in her pocket as it smiled and said, “They’ve got pretty good English downstairs- or the lady I spoke to did. But good luck with the… uh, fishing…what was your name?”  

 Which credit card did she have? The one she lifted in Heathrow? “Eillean. Thank you, I’ll take that on board. Good evening, rest well. Bye.”    

 “Take care Eileen, don’t be scared to ask.” It smiled and turned to unlock its own door to room Sixteen , exposing the handbag under its arm in the motion.

 That was the chance to seize. She walked behind it and stretched an arm quickly. The marked envelope slipped forwards between two fingers and fell softly into the bag without a break in stride as she hurried into the staircase. A moment passed as she heard the door swing open, listening out for the cry of surprise or outrage. If that came she had to move, tackle it, get them both in the room and silence her before anything else co-  

 Click.  

 The door closed, leaving her with the sensation of drums pounding in her ears, heart beating as frantically as a bumblebee. She almost toppled down the stairs as she relaxed before catching herself and hurrying back down to the lobby, out into the night and then to the alleyway once more.

 There she set about preparations- assuming the room was square, she would need four talismans, small slates she inscribed with yellow chalk runes, and two large identical sheets of card she inscribed with identical circular green glyphs.  The black crystalline chalk still rested in her pocket, before she drew out an envelope like the one from earlier and focussed her power into it.  

 She was flagging. Preparing six talismans before this drew too much of strength and she had to pull on the power of the black crystal before there was a popping sound and another envelope appeared from nowhere into her left hand, heavy with a rectangular weight inside.  

 She collapsed, leaned against the brick wall before tired fingers tore open the envelope, revealing a black rectangle of technology.  

 “Perfect. Fortune beyond fortunes.”  

 She couldn’t help but grin as she turned its phone over in her hands and unlocked it, feeling her heat leap at the sight of a new text message waiting for her eyes.  

 ***********  

 Dio had evidently heard of Morgan’s grades from their Mum. His text was a single word with a smile at the end: SCHLECHT.  

 She shook her head and smiled at the receptionist, “Just my brother being… himself. Yes it’s definitely mine, thank you so much- here do you find it?”

 “A young woman handed it in. Said she found it in the restaurant,” the lady croaked in strong accented English and slapped a form on the desk before her, “Now sign this so we know you got it safely- and don’t lose it again, yes?”  

 “Really? Ah, sorry, I’ll take better care of it,” Morgan blushed and scribbled her name down, before hurrying away up the stairs once more, fingers tapping across the phones screen. It was tempting to just do a sad face at her brother, or maybe a German insult back. But those were cheap she considered as she swiped the key card of and unlocked her room.  

 “Gee, thanks brother, hope London is as nice as Spai-“ Morgan’s thumb typed, only for a flash of movement to catch her eye. The door clicked shut behind her by itself. A foot creaked on the floor. She was turning, but too slow and then something collided heavily with the back of her skull, making her vision flash and the world spin around her.    

 She screamed and fought to turn over as she hit the floor, phone bouncing from her gasp, but the other figure was already on her, grabbing her arms and pulling them behind her back, pinning her down.  

 “Stay down! Don’t fight or you’ll suffer more misfortune!” a girl’s voice shouted, oddly familiar. Morgan wailed and scrabbled, trying to scratch at her attacker, only for another wave of pain to crash into the back of her head and she went limp, eyes blurry and tearful. Was the floor tilting? Something was wrapping around her arms, the weight still pressed on her legs, and after a moment she belatedly realized she could still speak.  

 “HELP! HEEEEEEEELP! ROOM SIXTEEN, I’M BEING ATTACKED! HEEEEEEEEEEELP! SOMEONE! PLEASE!”  

 “They can’t hear you.” Her attacker sounded proud as she pulled something tight around her arms. “You may as well save your voice.”

 “Save my voice? SCREW YOU! HEEEEEEEEEEEEELP! SOMEONE! HELP! PLEASE! ROOM SIXTEEN! ROOM SIXTEEN!”  

 “Argh, be quiet and listen for one moment!” A hand grabbed her head and pushed her down. There were some other things in her room, she noticed belatedly. Small slates with weird yellow squiggles on them in the corners. Was that a decoration? It did match the orange walls, but she couldn’t remember seeing them before.    

 “You hear that? Nobody’s panicking, nobody’s hurrying. Everyone’s going to bed or going about their business. It’s just night time, there’s not a sound leaving this room, so screaming or talking will make no difference.”  The hand released her head and she heard the sound of scissors cut behind her neck. “There, stay calm. You needn’t suffer more misfortune than need be. I didn’t come here to hurt anyone or… well, I guess you’re female too so you don’t need to even consider that option either. I’m simply here to reclaim what you stole from me.”  

 “What? I didn’t stea-“  she gasped as something sharp was driven into her neck. An icy needle that brought with it a sudden tingling sensation through her shoulder that stayed even as the needle was removed.  “Ow!”  

 “Apologies.” The woman moved her weight and Morgan heard the floor creak, “You can move now, just… don’t attempt anything foolish.”  

 “What?” Morgan squirmed and rolled. Her hands were tied behind her back, but her legs were free and she awkwardly rose and swivelled, glaring at her captor who sat cross legged looking at an empty injection needle in her hand.  

 The woman was young, and about her height, some five and a half feet, with olive skin and black curly hair cut short in almost a bob. She wore a cardigan over a blue summer dress and her eyes were dark as the ocean, though aside from that there was a striking similarity she hadn’t noticed earlier. She looked like herself.    

 “You’re… Ellen? Eileen?” Morgan shook her head, “Hey! You were lying! You were trying to get into my room, weren’t you?”

 “A little bit.” She looked down, “My apologies, it was the best plan I had to get you alone.”  

 “Alone? What did you d- argh?” Morgan’s demand was broken by a sharp cry of pain as the tingling sensation spread through her body. Her fingers tensed and shifted, clawing at air as her back arched and a terribly itching stretched across her feet. Toes cracked and curled before her eyes as the nails stretched, curled and darkened, turning grey then black. Red blots began to shift beneath her skin as if her legs were bleeding internally, but the skin itself did not break. Instead it began to harden; a slight glossiness spreading over her legs and feet as if they were laminated.  

 “That’s why I didn’t want to blast your head more. This shall be bad enough without.” The dark eyes of her captor bored into her, and for an instant Morgan fancied she could see a faint glimmer of emotion therein.  

 Then the world flashed and the lights of the room glared with sudden intensity, shrouding everything in brightness. Something scratched at her ears and nose, a pain erupted from two points on her skull and she released another scream, toppling onto her side. She blinked and screwed eyes tight, fighting to overcome the tingling there. The horrid sensation of her legs stretching and toes moving provided an unwelcome distraction, and she curled around, risking a glance down at her feet.  

 Reddish blackish claws had sprouted to entirely cover her toes and were pooling together, stretching and merging to form two larger claws like hooves. The keratin covering spread from them, forming a tough shell across her elongating foot and up across the ankle. Tensing her fingers and rubbing them together confirmed that her restrained hands had become glassy talons too, though she still had ten digits there.    

 Hands tugged at her shoulders and she felt herself pulled across the floor, too weak and overcome with agony to resist. “Here, you’ll hit your head on the shelves if you squirm over there.”  

 “Ge…. The li… too bright…” was all Morgan managed to hiss in reply, and a moment later the blinding brightness dimmed to a welcome orange glow. Her eyes still hurt to open, and the room swam when she did so, glowing with strange colours- a blue and black blur across her doppelganger, a green glow near the doorway, and a yellow ambience all around the room. Then she blinked and there were normal colours again, albeit blurry and occasionally crackling with those other tones.  

 Another wave of pain arched her back and she fell over more, legs swinging and waving desperately as if motion would relieve her torture. They stretched thinner and long now, two pronged claw toes tensing while the reddish black chitin flowed up  to encompass her knees. Her shoulder blades cracked and a second later Morgan squealed as something smooth and scaly flowed against his back.  

 “SNAKES! G-get them out! Getthemout!” She fell back as if rubbing them against the floor would get rid of the sensation, but there was no relief and doing so let her spy her reflection in the mirror. Yellow irises surrounding by black sclera greeted her, inhuman eyes staring out from her grey tinged face, while two feathery prongs like horns sprouted from amidst her hair. “What is this? What’s h-happening to m-me? P-please… please, stop it!”  

 There was no answer from her captor. The woman had moved, and now sat with her back to Morgan’s agony, the little purple suitcase lying open before her. Then the vision swam again and Morgan tensed and writhed, every joint and ligament pulling and heavy. She cried out again before the experience repeated itself and she screamed out, arms flying out to bunch the floor in pain.  

 Her arms! Morgan blinked, staring half in horror at the dark clawed digits before her, no longer restrained or held back by her pink jumped and bonds. Those lay behind her- she was free! Free with hands ending with sharp claws, her captor facing away from her. Her new legs stretched and tensed as she scrambled to stand on them.  

 Morgan’s first step was difficult, she overbalanced but at least fell towards her, close enough that the scissors she had sliced her hair with were almost within her grasp. Her clawed hands stretched out to grab them and for a long moment she stared at the girls back as she pulled her hand back. A stab, and then she could flee and find help. A cut and then she could escape. Her hand shook, the tingling shuddering pain unwilling to let her steady her grip as she grit her teeth and dropped the scissors.

 She could only curl up as the pain grew, as if her heart and stomach were twisting within, every tendon, ligament and muscle fighting to contract and expand and tighten against her will. Another jolt came and Morgan watched in horror as everything else seemed to stretch. The orange ceilings and walls rose and shifted further away, the bed rising higher. Her t shirt felt looser, shorts hanging off her frame, and with a shriek Morgan realized how she had escaped her bonds.  

 The next wave of pain came and she felt herself shrink once more. Limbs and body folding smaller and smaller as if she was being compressed by some terrible force. Barely child sized she found herself dwindling, the bursts becoming closer and closer together as if eager to crush her down to nothing and wink her out of existence. Her own clothes soon felt too big, merely great piles of fabric around a dwindling lump, but in their place she felt something else curl around her form, soft as gossamer but slightly scaly as she pulled the strange black material close.  

 Then, as if a switch had been flicked, the pain ended. She quivered and shuddered still, curled up as she waited the next wave, the next change, the next mutation. Yet none came. Instead she felt fabric lift from above her and sudden light sting. She flinched at the sensation but dared to open her eyes to see a towering face bigger than her entire body as her captor loomed overhead, dark eyes faintly red.  

 “Wha… what did you do me? What is this? Who are you?!”  

 “Like I said, little fraud, I’m merely reclaiming what is mine” She smiled slightly and lifted an upturned empty rucksack like a trap over the tiny being. “As for my name… I am Morgan Fells. The one and only.”  

[learnspanishfans]

How to Use Systems (Instead of Goals) to Get Results in Language Learning

What’s your language learning goal? Perhaps you’re aiming to reach A2 level in French in the next 3 months. Maybe you’re looking to gain basic knowledge of Italian before your trip to Rome in a couple of weeks. Or perhaps you’re aiming for German mastery. Whatever your goal, setting a goal is the natural thing to do when you start learning. Choose your language, set a target and work towards it. Over the last 13 years I’ve set some big language goals. Some I achieved, some I didn’t. And I’ve helped hundreds of thousands of language learners achieve theirs with this blog. From all my language missions and goals, I learned a valuable lesson: The goal isn’t what’s important. What matters is the system you follow to reach your goal. In fact, the wrong type of goal can actually hold you back from learning a language. Let’s take a look at why that is...

Goal vs. Systems: What’s The Difference?

A goal-based approach focuses on where you’re going, while a systems-based approach focuses on how you’re going to get there. If your language goal is “to become fluent in Italian in six months”, a very simple system could be daily Italian practice. For example, one of my big goals in language learning was to learn Arabic while living in Brazil. That was my goal. But it was the systems I put into place - daily Skype conversations, finding and filling the holes in my knowledge - that allowed me to reach my goal of being able to genuinely travel Egypt using my Arabic. The way to tell you have a system in place is, if you were to remove your goal and just focus on what you do every day, would still end up where you want to be? If you took away my goal to learn Arabic in Brazil and I still did all of my tasks every day, would I still have learned Arabic? I think so, because by that point I’d put in at least 150 hours of practice and had spoken the language for 91 days back to back. I’ll share some specific systems you can use for language learning in a moment. First, let’s look at why the difference between systems and goals matters to language learners, and why goals might be stopping your progress.

The Problem With a Goal-Based Approach to Language Learning

There are a lot more drawbacks to setting goals than you might think. Especially when it comes to language learning. Learning a language is a huge task that takes hundreds of hours. As such, language goals can be overwhelming. As Scott Adams points out, the enormity of your goal can start to create negative emotions. And nothing can stop your language progress faster than feeling bad about what you’re doing. James Clear makes a similar point about how goals relate to feelings - you don’t feel good about yourself until you achieve them. Of course, this can leave you feeling glum. The difficult emotions created by setting goals is part of the reason you’re tempted to throw your arms in the air and exclaim, “I’m just not good at learning languages!”. Let’s say you’ve set yourself the goal of learning B1 level Mandarin in three months. That’s a heck of a big goal (as I well know!) and if this is your first foreign language it can feel like you’ve got a mountain to climb. But you set out to do it anyway. That means you’re going to need to:

Immerse yourself in Mandarin (phone, computer, television, books)

Study for at least two to three hours each day

Have at least one conversation in Mandarin every day

That’s a lot of work to try and fit into your schedule. And, if you miss a day or two (because life happens and you might just do that), you have a tight deadline breathing down your neck. If you miss enough days you’ll be tempted to say, “Screw it, I’ll come back to it at another time!” and give up on your goal altogether. I’m not saying that goals are always bad. I’ve previously written about setting appropriate goals. I’ve achieved, and seen people achieve, goals that most people would have called “unrealistic” or “impossible”. But in almost all of these cases it’s been the system that they committed to, and not the goal itself, that created that success. So why are systems the better choice?

Why Systems Are a Better Choice For Language Learners

Many language learners I speak to are surprised when I ask them to remove their goal and just look at what they’re doing every day. They often find that their goal and the system they’re following to achieve it don’t match up. That’s why I consider systems-thinking the first step in getting real about language learning. By focusing on a system rather than a goal, you give yourself more control over your language learning. If instead of saying that you want to speak B1 Mandarin in 3 months, you were to say to yourself, “Every day I’m going to practise my Mandarin to a level that I enjoy”, how much more achievable would that be? In other words, a system is right here, right now, and in front of you. If you follow your system you’re able to progress your language skills, no matter how big or small, each day. And much like brushing your teeth before going to bed, language learning becomes a habit. On some days you may only enjoy learning for 30 minutes. On others you may want to dive into your books for three hours at a time. That’s a system in action. If you have to miss a day you can pick up right where you left off and recommit to the process. That takes away that negative, guilty feeling you get when life gets in the way of a goal.

Using Systems to Speak from Day One

The number one concept I talk about when it comes to language learning is Speak from Day One. That’s not a goal for you to achieve; it’s a system for you to follow. On day one you may only be able to speak two Tarzan-like sentences, like “I Benny. Me blogger”. That conversation might be 10 seconds long. But after two weeks that will grow to a real introduction about who you are, where you’re from and what you do, and asking questions back. You’ll start to see real progress unfolding right before your eyes. It also has a built-in feedback loop. You can see what you’re doing right (positive feedback) and see where you need to improve (negative feedback). In the next section let’s look at some systems you can implement to make consistent progress with your language learning.

What Systems Can Language Learners Use?

The Seinfeld Strategy: A Little Practice Every Day

This system comes straight from the famous comedian, Jerry Seinfeld! It’s a system for creating consistency and building momentum, which is perfect for language learning. All you need for this is a calendar and a pen. Seinfeld believed that the best way to create good jokes was to write jokes every single day. I firmly believe that the best way to learn a language is to practise it every day! Let’s say you want to learn German. Each day that you sit down to practise German, no matter how long for, you can go to your calendar and put a big cross through the day, marking that you’ve accomplished what you set out to do. After a few days you’ve got a stack of crosses that show you just how much you’ve achieved. It also gives you a big positive feeling when you go up and cross out the day. After three months you’ll have so many crosses you can’t help but see how far you’ve progressed!

Habit Stacking: Tying Language Learning To A Bigger Routine

Trying to force a new skill or habit into your day can feel quite hard. But as SJ Scott writes in his book, Habit Stacking if you tie your language learning system to a bigger routine, it’s much easier to stay on track. Your day has lots of different routines in it. Getting up in the morning, commuting to work, eating your lunch, coming home from work, going to bed, to name just a few. By using these habits you already have you can begin to add other habits into that framework. Let’s say you’re on your lunch break at work, which might look like this:

You go for lunch at 12:30

You get your lunch out of the work fridge and sit at the desk

You eat

You wash your tupperware

You go back to work

These are all habits you have (whether you realise it or not) and you can use them as a framework to add in your next habit. So, where could you add your language learning into here? I’d say you could do it right here:

You eat

You review your Anki flashcards

You wash your tupperware

You don’t have to move because your phone is probably already in your pocket. There’s also usually a bit of time between eating and going back to work so you can slot it in perfectly.

HabitBull: The Habit Coach In Your Pocket

I love it when I find tech that can help you. And, HabitBull is a cool little habit app that helps you create a system for your language learning. My friend Maneesh wrote a great post about how creating a system of tiny actions, like just opening the Duolingo app, can be the start of lifelong language habit. That ties in perfectly with your new system-based approach. Choose a tiny action like opening your language workbook, logging into italki or opening Anki, and set it as a habit in HabitBull. Then set it as your habit to achieve for that day. It’ll then remind you when you should complete that action. It’s the coming together of the last two steps because you can feel the gratification of ticking the box to say you’ve completed it. And, you even get daily motivational message to keep you pushing through too! You can also time it to be part of a bigger routine, like your lunch break, so you can begin to really cement that habit.

Time to Put Your Language Learning System in Place

Having a language-learning goal to aim for is a great place to start, but without a solid system in place you’re setting yourself up to fail. So now is the time for you to focus less on where you want to be and begin to look at what you’re going to do. Think about how you want to approach your language learning and implement it into your day-to-day routine. If you’re able to create a system where you can immerse yourself at home for three hours a day, then take advantage of it. Or if small steps and incremental daily progress are your cup of tea, start there. Your system should be unique to you and how you learn. The most important part of this is to commit to your process and focus on what you can achieve right now. What system will you follow as a result of reading this article? What systems do you already follow? Let me know in the comments.

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